Irish Accent In Writing Novels & Stories

"My Maimeó always said she knew we had arrived when my da started cussing out that damn goat." "What does that mean?" I ask. "What?" "Maim… I don't know how to pronounce it." He smiles at my half-ass attempt of imitating his words. "Maimeó. My grandmother. Sorry. Sometimes I forget not everyone knows those words." "So you speak Irish? You don't have the brogue." "Gaelic. And I know a little bit, mostly cusswords from my da." He chuckles. "But I do have a brogue sometimes. When I get tired or upset about something its starts to bleed through a little."

' 'Faolan,' he answered simply and fixed his pale eyes onto Iris's. Iris shivered, a remnant of her earlier exposure to the elements, or was it something deeper, something primal that Faolan's stare had stirred in her guts? 'Interesting name,' Iris said eventually, breaking the spell. 'Gaelic,' Faolan explained, 'Irish,' he elaborated slightly. 'Speaking of Irish,' he said and clapped his hands together. 'How about something to warm you up? You must think I'm a terrible host.' 'Not at all,' Iris replied. 'You've been more than kind. I... I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't found me.'

The man said his Russian accent completely gone replaced with a thick Irish one. "Взгляните на этого клоуна! Он, должно быть, новичок, говорящий с нами так, какой дурак!" Kirill growled. (Get a look at this clown! He must be new speaking to us like that, what a fool!) Both Ivan and himself began rising to their feet with pure rage on their faces. It had been a long time since anyone had the balls to insult them like this. New person or not they were both violent people by nature and that nature was only being enhanced by the alcohol flowing through their veins. "You're about to die you Irish fu-"

Our very own little sex pet, think of how good she will look when we put a pretty gold collar on her’ Conner turned as the office door opened and Kelly was shown in by the Capos, ‘Hello little Colleen, you looked as if you needed our help from those two goons’ He put his arm around her led her over to their drinks cabinet and poured her a large brandy, ‘Tis good for shock, so it is.’ He used his best Irish accent, and he knew women loved his sexy Southern Irish brogue even though he had never set foot in the country it was where his Mother had come from and he still had relatives over there. Kelly was charmed, she knew exactly who he was, all the women did, and the Twins were well known ever

Cheeks bounced in place, her face pulled up in hope. Drace's gaze was sliding over Cheeks' body like she wanted to lick all that moving flesh. I chuckled, well acquainted with the feeling. "Yes, for the love of the stars, quit jumping about so, though," Drace said with a wince. She tipped her head back, her eyes screwed tightly shut. "Sweet merciful heavens." I chuckled. Drace lowered her head, glared at me. "Like you'd be able to resist it, then?" I shook my head. "I fully admit to failing that temptation. I was laughing at you. I think this is the first time you actually sound like you're from Ireland. Bit of a lilt there, love." I botched the accent, laughed when Drace winced.

“I can’t for the life of me understand why ye’d give up your native tongue, lad. I’ve been here since eighteen-fifty-four and I still talk like the folks back home.” “Would ye prefer I reverted back to me brogue?” Aiden asked. He’d worked so hard to shed his Irish accent that it felt foreign to resume it for the benefits of the O’Malley family. Dennis cocked his head as he studied Aiden for a moment and smiled. “The Texas accent suits ye, lad.”

"He didn't let me speak to him. Wanted to be alone by the beach area." I don't respond immediately, but I'm cataloging the shift in his tone, the way his accent has gotten thicker, the subtle Irish lilt that comes out when he's feeling something he doesn't want to feel. I catch the way his feet are moving in an staccato rhythm, like he's barely aware he's doing it. The unconscious stomp-stomp-stomp of someone trying to burn off nervous energy. Oh shit. "He's a fine man," Declan continues, and I can hear the way the words are costing him. "He's—"

His eyes were on me and on the shelves of alcohol, not on the crowd. “See anyone you fancy?” he asked in his funny Irish accent. He had a thick one because he was from Northern Ireland. “Norn Iren so it is,” he always slapped my back while he said. I had no idea what it meant and didn’t give two shits either. But I liked Carter. We were the same age—twenty-eight—and we both owed our lives to Derek Savage for different reasons. I never asked too many questions, but Derek made it sound like Carter’s story was even sadder than mine.

And I figured it wouldn’t take more than a few moments of Liam’s time with Fionna to realize there was a lot more to that story than anything Mage Jaye or Mage Nuthatch was about to tell them. “Well, that’s right kind of you,” he said. I noticed his accent was thicker than Liam’s, and I supposed that was because Liam had been in France long enough for it to get a little muddled. “Must be a good friend of yours for you to go to all of that trouble.”

Ethan said. "It'll be disrespectful of me to call you...E..than" Irish said. "Good! That sounds better" "I can't call you that" Irish said. "That's what i want you to call me" Ethan insisted. "You're talking like it's no big deal" Irish said. "It's not" Ethan said. "Well..i don't think I'll ever get used to calling you that " Irish said. "You will,the way you got used to calling me Mr Ethan"Ethan said air quoting the Mr.