"You want the deed to my house too?" He’s almost not sarcastic.
"Does it have a mortgage?" Totally serious.
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@justaboy-burning
"You want the deed to my house too?" He’s almost not sarcastic.
"Does it have a mortgage?" Totally serious.
Oh, shit… that’s a dead body. You just tapped this guy’s shoulder (after obnoxiously yelling TAGYOU’REIT), prepared his soul, and then—well, he sort of just dropped dead right there. And so you’re standing by a dead guy.
Well, this doesn’t look suspicious at all.
Dead body. Sure, why not. Okay, he's just gonna faint, if you don't mind.
"Ellie, ma'e."
"…Yeah, alright, deal."
"Oh, an' a puppy." He's almost not serious.
"Long story short, I pissed off the wrong girl and I need you to find me my clothes."
"Then I wan' a bagel. An' three bags'a chips."
"It’s one way to feed someone’s ego," he says, but he’s smiling like a dumpass.
"You're certified fuckin' mental." But he's smiling too, eyes just a touch too soft to be teasing.
"Your face is cute, but your grammar’s pretty bad," he chuckles. "I don’t know if I’m flattered at that last statement, though."
"You were doubtin' your 'otness. Wha' was I s'posed t'do? Le' ya walk through life thinkin' you ain't hot? Ma'e, I's jus' doin' my country some duty."
Oh my fucking god, says the omnipresent narrator, as Peter blushes. “You’re lyin’.”
"You're kiddin', righ'? Ma'e, you're bloody gorgeous. Look a' you! I ain't sayin' I'd have sexy dreams abou' you, bu' I ain' no' sayin' it either."
Yeah, but who cares, asks the other omnipresent narrator, because Mattie and Peter are my lifeblood at the moment. “Cause you are.”
"Y'ain't too bad yourself, mate." And by that he means 'holy fuck you're cute, but cute in the 'fuck me over a kitchen worktop' kind of way'.
Peter smiles, an actual one this time, which, frankly, makes him look like a big, stupid, idiot. God, they’re so fucking stupidly adorable.
You're telling me, says the omnipresent narrator, who really shouldn't be intoning her voice into the writing but she will continue to anyway because this rocks. "Y'called me cute." No he is not blushing.
He wants to say it came with the bike. It didn’t. “I know.”
"Alrigh' then." Should he go, or?
“I hate chips,” He’s only saying that because he just wants to be a shit. “You couldn’t even fuck the chips, bro. You’d have to fuck the bag with the chips, but not just a chip.”
"Could if I tried really 'ard." Don't rain on his parade, man! If the boy wants to fuck chips, let him fuck chips.
"Nah - it’s only the cute ones that I talk to," he says, with a bit of a smile.
He's just gonna giggle a little. Flirting is super easy for him when he's trying to get sex, and only sex. But cute boys in the park? Nah, mate, he's not equipped for this.
"One'a these day's, m'mum's gonna come find me an' everything'll be great again."
Ladies & gentlemen, this kind of optimism cannot be faked.
"Did I have a reason t’be nice t’em?”
"Common decency?"
Oh, you’ve caught him at possibly the worst time. He’s starving and distressed and he’s certainly not in the mood to deal with a complete stranger. Especially not one asking for a favor, no matter how small said favor turns out to be.
“Why the fuck would I let you borrow my phone? For all I fucking you, you could be a cunt & run with it.”
"Shi', mate, you can hold my hand if you really wanna, but I gotta call someone 'cause I don' know 'ow t'get home."
He's probably got a bit of money in his wallet ( if he wasn't robbed, that is ), and he'd buy the guy some food if he wanted. But he has to find some way of getting back to England.
"That's a really cool jacket." He was meant to whisper it in awe, but he's sure it came out louder than expected.