Patience Undertale Novels & Stories

I'd mapped it in my mind during the long years of my confinement—every dip and rise, every rabbit trail and deer path, every hidden gully and treacherous slope. My chair could handle things their feet couldn't. I'd made sure of it. The third trick was simpler than both— patience. They were waiting for me to make a mistake. To lead them somewhere interesting. To do something that justified the hours they'd spent trailing a cripple through the morning mist. I'd give them nothing. For hours, if I had to. For days. Because the thing about patience was that it favored the person who had already accepted that they might be waiting forever.

"Were you monitoring?" "I notice things," she said without apology. "He comes and waits outside. Never comes in. Doesn't text you to hurry. Just waits." I said nothing. "That's a specific kind of patience," Petra said. "The kind that doesn't need acknowledgment." I looked at the window. "Yes," I said. "It is." She picked up her coffee. "I like him," she said. "I told you on the first Thursday. Still true." "I know," I said.

It was as if he had expected me to already know what he meant. “I’m sorry—I don’t understand,” I said, barely shaking my head. What about the glowing eyes stuff? Where was the fire from my hands? That crazy thing Adelaide had done before when she had paralyzed people with just one simple touch on the head? Where was the real stuff? Aelius sat up straighter. “Your biggest challenge is your lack of patience.” Then he turned his head toward Kylan. “Isn’t that right, young prince?” Lifting my brows, I turned to Kylan as well, daring him to answer, and it better be the right one at that. I had plenty of patience. I could be very, very patient.

“Don’t pocket it. I might demand change.” We finish the meal as if it were a treaty and not a temptation. He refuses the last of the wine because he likes winning more than just about anything. At the door he pauses, hand on the latch, and looks back. “You’re going to keep trying,” he says. “Yes,” I say. “With patience.” “Why patience?” “Because men who have everything quickly prefer the hunt that takes time,” I say. “Because you’d only respect the thing I didn’t grab.”

I released a puff and spoke up, "What's the problem? Are you going to speak, or are you just going to stand there like a dummy?" Beta Ryan sighed before speaking up, "There appears to be a slight problem, Jace." I was done, and I lost my patience. I took out the cigar from my mouth and extinguished the heat on Beta Ryan's neck angrily. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I was not a very patient person?" "Pardon me, young Alpha," he pleaded. But I wasn't done. I kept pressing the heat against his neck until it left a scar. "Then talk to me already."

Is she crazy? "This is to test your patience, if you don’t know." "Well, if you also don’t know, I'm almost running out of it," Arth uttered in a grumpy manner. “And what’re you gonna do after you ran out of it? Give up?” “Like hell I would.” Alice sighed. "Fine, if you can finish that, then I'll reward you.” Arth's face brightened. "Reward?" he asked with his blue eyes blinking in excitement. "Stupid kid," Alice whispered, shaking her head. "Meet me outside when you're done."

said the old lady next to her "Ma'am, there are times that waiting for something or patience is the most beautiful thing, besides what is there to life without patience, and imagination?" "You are such an optimistic and lovely girl, I hope that boy keeps his promise," said the old lady smiling "And they do say that waiting is a sign of true love and patience, anyone can say 'i love you but not everyone can wait and prove it's true," said a middle-aged man in another row" "Thank you, both you ma'am and you sir," said Toni happily and looked back at the picture in her hand "We will reunite soon, wait for me Stephen" At the exact moment, a guy woke up in a flash looking horrified them signed in

I held it for a moment — felt the paper between my fingers, Carol's cheerful font, the specific weight of a decision that would be easier and worse. Then I put it in the desk drawer and closed it. I picked up the card with its two words and its small postscript and read it one more time, and I thought about patience as a form of power — the kind that didn't announce itself, that built and built beneath the surface until the surface had no choice but to change. We will wait longer, if you need it. They had waited three generations. They could wait four more months. I found a piece of paper and wrote a single sentence, sealed it in a plain envelope, and gave it to Petra to send through the cou

He was thorough with me. Not in the instrumental sense. Thorough in the way of someone who has been given a gift they understand the value of and intends to demonstrate that understanding without haste. He moved over me with the patience that was his most fundamental quality, the patience of a man who had learned early that things worth having required sustained attention and had applied that learning to everything that mattered to him. I did not manage anything.

"This is the best thing I have eaten in a very long time." I felt the specific satisfaction of someone who had worked on something until it was right and had it confirmed by someone with good instincts. "The passionfruit took a while to understand," I said. "How long?" "Four months," I said. "Approximately." She looked at the tart. "Four months to make something this good," she said. "That's patience." "That's understanding an ingredient," I said. "Patience is what it looks like from the outside." She looked at me.