#killerjawline

Welcome back!

You’ll be staying in HOUSE 116.

You will retain everything you were given during your previous stay.

Enjoy!

its been a cruel irony, having to stay so chaste due to his duties only to constantly run into the hottest people he remembers only seeing in the city. it’s like some god out there is taunting him, if one such thing even exists. 

when lanque finally feels like he’s done with these run-ins and honestly starting to believe these caverns are merely the work of his imagination, he hears a gunshot. but the sound has such an immense boom to it, realistically it seems like a terrible idea to follow it.

curiosity kills the cat, and if he does end up dying at least lanque already knows he’ll just come back. oh, it’s... that guy. the name is completely escaping him, not like that’s a rare occurrence by any stretch of the imagination. but it is legitimately concerning to see him shoot absolutely nothing. ( at least... nothing that lanque can see. )

there are so many things that john missed doing for the past few years. he had lost all motivation to get up and enjoy the snow as he got older. which he thinks, must have to do with being an adult. 

now that he’s been ripped away from his comfort zone and forces him to adapt to a new environment yet again, he figures, why the hell not. there’s nothing wrong with having fun on the first days of snow. 

john was halfway into his sculpture, a young man’s attempt at a complicated sculpture of nicholas cage. it’s not the most perfect sculpture, and his attempt pales in comparison to the other sculptures. he never did say he was much of an artist. 

...

“Oh geez!” Steven ran down the sidewalk on his way home from the library, trying not to slid on the frozen sidewalk. The sleet was coming down fast, and Steven’s shield projected over his head was doing little to block the slush that blew in sideways against the back of his neck.

His cheeseburger backpack, now filled with more books than usual, was clutched against his chest to keep the already worn out burger from getting any more beat up.

“I guess that’s what I get for wanting to go old school for school!” Steven’s time at a normal kid student at the city’s high school was pretty fun, but of course he wanted to go above and beyond and get real books when they were assigned a research paper. No easy online references for him!

“Huh?” Steven gasped as he approached a frozen puddle on the sidewalk. Jumping up, Steven chuckled as he soared over it, only to then land and slide, falling right into the slush. “Oh geez, oh geez!”

He’s seen the guy at the bar a few times. He just came out of nowhere, really. He should definitely greet himself. He’ll make his way over and give a short wave, “hey. You enjoyin’ yourself?” Listen, he has a business to run and that means customer service has to be OFF THE CHARTS. Even if he owns this place.

He thought life was just all hunky dory. People were getting along. It had been a while since Nightmare Knight had done anything fucky and Steve was starting to forget that guy even existed. He’d bought christmas presents for people too! He met Asriel so that was the start of his new little life chapter. Be a good big brother rolemodel for a young kid with some messed up stuff going on, you know?

It was over some coffee. Some coffee, of all things. Dragged, fussing and bitching behind a gas station and then literally beaten to death over some fucking. Coffee. Sure he was an asshole. He was not the world’s most likeable person. He was not the best rolemodel. If he wanted to be a really good rolemodel, he could spin this into a lesson about how mean people exist and it’s better to be the better guy or whatever. But no.

This was too far.

“Handsome Jack, huh?” He mutters to himself, running the edge of his knife through his fingers to make sure it was nice and clean. Tucking it in his belt away from prying eyes, he casually spins the cylinder of the large caliber revolver he had bought. Sure he had that fancy Gunner star that spat lightning and that awesome Shielder star that could give him a cool set of armor, but there was no good substitue for the smell of gunpowder after fan-firing a .44 Magnum into someone’s chest. It had been a real. Long. Time. Since Steve had even bothered to get the gun and the knife out of his wardrobe. But this was unacceptable on every level Steve had. His pet python squirms uncomfortably in its cage, sensing the abnormal amount of malice and hate in Steve.

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