with quiet words i'll lead you in.

[prcttyteacher]

+ @mockeryofreason​ | v: some truths are fire.

     For as long as Heather could remember, it had just been her and ‘the Reverend’ (otherwise known as ‘Dad’) Matthew Lisinski. Nearly the entire town of New Bern was quite familiar with his work, charity and ‘good deeds’ and otherwise. He was a prominent figure head, the man she looked up to more than any, and all she had left within this brutish world. They were two peas in a pod, father and daughter, Reverend and perfectionist. That’s right. Heather Lisinksi was the world’s biggest perfectionist! Ok well, if not ‘the world’s’ then she was certainly close to fitting the title. She could receive a 95% on an exam and demand the educator re-look over her paper, or ask for extra credit to make up for the one so called incorrect answer. She was audacious and fiery and at times inconsolable. But most would not have it any other way (particularly her father), because it was what made Heather, Heather. A special kind of snowflake.        With a loud GRUNT, Heather pushed her way through the double doors of the (all too familiar) beautiful building -- her icy blues were far too consumed with frustrated and hot tears to truly take in the wonder of said pathway as she stumbled in not-so-quietly (or as quietly as her father would have preferred). Because of it, whomever may be in the middle of prayer or Bible class would obviously/probably be interrupted. But the brunette could care less. She was wasted in a selfish haze filtered in vexation (and dare she admit it) hatred for certain so-called ‘philosophers’ of the arts. In other words, her tech-shop and biochemistry teachers. Science was NOT that hard. Not when she considered herself somewhat of a ‘genius’ in her own right...but, they truly pushed her to her limitations, which she understood was because they ‘expected the best out of her’ and blah blah blah blaaah!!       With something a-kin to a snarl, she tossed her book bag onto one of the nearest pews, it was only then, when she looked up to see the perturbed expression upon her father’s features did she even herself out, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ears. She struggled to speak as he shook his head, sighing whilst he headed into the shadows (and probably down the hallway to his office). Heather wasn’t certain if it were an invitation for her to follow, or if he were merely reveling in his annoyance with his daughter’s attitude. Whatever the case, the teen became more startled at the fact that there had indeed been someone present at the time of her entry -- and she felt a bit foolish to be standing there with tears brimming against her pupils. Quickly, she removed them from off her face as they trickled downward. She also cleared her throat, smoothing palms along the fabric of her outfit.       Then, her brow furrowed as she surveyed this being. He was new. She could tell, at least not someone she rightly knew...and she thought she had known most everyone in that God-forsaken (ha-ironic) town. And, he was handsome. 

     Mortified, Heather weighed out her choices. She could just run away after her father and pretend as if she hadn’t just made a fool out of herself (and him) with her show of angst, or she could be polite, introduce herself?? --- or she could just...stand there awkwardly...staring???       Finally, she came-to, rapidly removing her glance. “Uh--um...” she struggled to speak. “Sorry...” it was all she could muster on such short notice.

[prcttyteacher]

lovelysuggestions :

I’m proud of you. I know you don’t hear that enough.

[aseaofquotes]

[prcttyteacher]

aseaofquotes :

Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

[thursday]

[oh-mich]

Аrtist ★ Edit

[nechellemybelle]

[magicwithink-blog]

And I’d choose you, in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.

The Chaos of Stars (via magicwithink)

[postmarkedhenri]

[wnq-writers]

To love is to give someone permission to kill you.

Alexander Auron   (via deathdanciing)

[keptyn]

Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975) dir. Terry Gilliam & Terry Jones

[grace--upon--grace]

Nik @nikarthur

[cyberimplant]

[rpvisualosities]

[newblogisjacindaelena]

  SamAlive

[prcttyteacher]

jake. @prodiigalhero | v: the problem of pain.

With the September Attacks, the world had truly changed: catapulted back to times where a man could die of a fever, food rations running low, gas and electricity had become a commodity.  They had to adapt, and fast, for it was a life and death situation ( only the strongest would survive. )

It was no different from what he’d been through overseas - he’d known poverty and desperation, loss and sorrow firsthand before. Sleepless nights, keeping watch on the next possible threat which could be hiding right around the corner, or looming just over the horizon as the sun made its ascent in the morning sky. Paranoia had kept him sharp. It had kept him alive.

And now he found himself doing the exact same thing, although in the comfort of his home rather than in a truck or tent parked in the middle of a warzone. Hands on the rifle, charcoal hues were fixed on the shutters, scrutinizing. His family fast asleep upstairs, unsuspecting – if Ravenwood showed up at their doorsteps, Jake would be the only defense between the mercenaries and his sick father, a worried mother, a traumatized brother and his wife…but he would be ready.

He always was.

God, he would be dead  before he let Jericho end up like Rogue River. A ghost town, empty streets and silent buildings, newspapers and leaflets flying in the wind. A hospital filled with corpses, reeking of death - dry blood staining once-stark white walls and bodies scattered across the floors. They’d walked through darkened wards, witnessed Ravenwood’s viciousness with their own eyes as Peyton, a survivor of the massacre perpetuated by his comrades, told them his side of the story. Kid was in shock, Jake couldn’t blame him; it was a horror show.  And as if they’d needed any kind of validation, they had soon found the doctor, crazed look and hands deep into a patient’s chest, fervently cussing for the lack of proper light as he kept cutting through the skin – a desperate  act, considering the man under the knife was already dead, but people always reacted to trauma in different ways.

Despite he were shaken himself, he hadn’t lost his focus; a man with a mission, Jake had successfully led the majority of them out of the med center, panicked but alive, yet still well aware that without Randy’s sacrifice, none of them would have gotten home in time to save Johnston’s life. And now, Ravenwood could be on their way to the town he’d sworn to keep safe. He wouldn’t blame Eric for it; as his older brother, it was Jake’s job to fix the other’s messes, after all – his ( very human ) mistake aside, the younger Green had done things as best as he could, in a terrifying situation a civilian should never have the misfortune of encountering.

It was a lot to take even for Jake – not  a soldier but experienced enough to handle it the way a soldier would.  It hadn’t been his first run-in with a J&R contractor ( and it wouldn’t be the last. ) Their little trip to Rogue River had dredged up memories of his past he hadn’t been able to bury completely… and maybe that had been the worst part; being reminded of what those mercenaries were capable of – what Jake himself had done.

Things he couldn’t speak of.

As busy as he was fighting his own demons, he had barely spared Emily and Heather a glance. The two of them had spent the entire day at his place, helping out his mother however they could and he’d only had the strength to convey his gratitude through hushed words. Jake had forgotten about it the moment they had excused themselves out the front door, and was now reminded of Heather’s presence by quiet shuffling coming from the stoop.

Throwing the rifle over his shoulder, he stretched his arms over his head, joints popping and muscles twitching. Silent, Jake all but dragged himself to the door, cracking it open just enough to cast exhausted gaze upon the brunette. Clearing his throat, he attempted to make himself known, careful not to scare her with his sudden appearence on the threshold.

    «Hey,» he greeted, leaning against wooden frame, arms crossed over his chest, «I thought you’d gone home…»

     The crickets continued on playing their tunes as though there hadn’t nearly been a great tragedy that day. The stars above danced along, twinkling, maybe even singing in their own way, magical, captivating, beautiful. It would have been a nicer sight to see if Heather wasn’t so distant in thought, wondering if she should just take off despite Gail’s insistence. (What would she do then? Sleep right there on the front porch?? -- for fear of disturbing a very private Green family moment, it was a possibility...or you know, she could just go home??) And while a gentle (and slightly on the warmer side) wind blew kisses upon her cheeks, her palms still felt sweaty and chilled as if she had just dipped them into that homemade ice. She couldn’t decide if it were fear of some kind (perhaps the pending discussion she had yet to have with Jake) or merely the relief flooding her system -- she had actually helped. Not that it mattered much, they owed all that had occurred to April’s faithful medicinal knowledge and of course the supplies Jake and Eric were able to bring with them, including the doc. It was a team effort, surely, but Heather would never take credit for her panicked hesitance...it was sheer luck, that’s all.        Instinctively, her arms were wrapped around her petite figure as if shielding herself from the cold, only she wasn’t cold at all, lost in a rapid train of thought. It wasn’t until she heard Jake’s voice that she came-to, blinking a little, head gazing over her shoulder. At first she was comforted, a soft “Hey,” gently trickled from off her lips, even a crooked grin formed -- until she realized his anticipation (that she should’ve been gone?) and felt as though she were invading some very sacred space.  With that, her eyes went wide and she raised to her feet, dusting off the back of her jeans. Typical nerves took over and she began to stutter:            “I--I well I just...Gail had asked me to...” Her brow furrowed, eyes blinked, voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “--I should get going...” Mentally, she scolded herself. This didn’t have to be awkward...it didn’t have to be anything at all. And there she went on being her doe-eyed oh-so-eloquently-verbal self. “I’m...sorry.” 

[americanbeautiful0129-blog]

[wordsnquotes]

You are so brave and quiet I forget you are suffering.

Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms  (via theimpalpable)