thvnderstormrab

[thvnderstormrab]

gid-prewxtt:

Knockturn Alley had always given him chills, much in the same way that he’d experienced wandering outside his flat without a jacket in early fall. It was the sort of spine-tingling shiver that not only coursed down the length of a person’s back, but made a person’s bones ache from the cold. Still, Aversio business sent a person down paths that strange paths and Gideon had never been one to turn down an opportunity to explore. Having been asked to locate some sort of flammable, undetectable powder that the group might be able to use, he had only a single destination in mind.

He entered the darkened shop confidently, as though he strode through the doors every day of his life. Immediately, he spotted a tall, dark-haired lad who, from his age, looked no older than a recent Hogwarts graduate. The blonde man, smile affixed firmly in place as always, strode up confidently and nudged the bloke’s arm gently. “Patron or employee? Either way, ‘ve got a few questions about a product.”

@thvnderstormrab

The shop was empty and blissfully quiet in the fading light--the little that made its way down Knockturn Alley, anyway--as Rabastan checked and double checked the magical seals on a few innocuous-looking clay pots he had brought in that afternoon. Only the occasional sound from the back room, obscured by its dark curtain, reminded Rabastan of Cassandra’s presence, shifting crates around in the back of the shop. So when he heard the door, he thought it must be Cyrus returning from his errand. That was until he felt a nudge at his elbow.

Straightening, he was somewhat surprised to take in the tall, sunny form of Gideon Prewett. Perhaps moreso because the last time he had seen Prewett he was lying bleeding out on the cold floor conjured up in his little sister’s nightmare than because he was standing in Borgin and Burkes of all places. It was a strange dichotomy, but it didn’t throw him off for more than a moment. In a blink, he registered what the man had said, and his familiar, lopsided grin fell into place. “Depends on the day,” he said with a wink, not untruthfully. Wiping dust off his hands, he held the right one out to shake. “Rab. What sort of product are you in the market for?”

[thvnderstormrab]

thvnderstormrab:

always-pure:

Growing up Narcissa was a happy child. The little girl she back then didn’t understand what it meant that her father barely talked to her, or that her mother looked sad whenever she spent time with her. Back then Narcissa didn’t noticed those things. She had her sisters, and they loved her, and she loved them, and it was enough. Narcissa grew up surrounded by people she loved, her sisters, her cousins, friends that became family. A family where the parents barely spent time with their children was common amongst her people, it was normal, Narcissa didn’t knew any different. It wasn’t until she got to Hogwarts that she learned that happy families do exist, and they were nothing like hers.

Narcissa made a promise to herself, that she would get her happy family, that she would prove that it was possible for someone like them to have a happy family. As she grew older she realized that family comes in different forms. That not everyone who carries your blood is family, and that true family doesn’t need to have the same blood as you. Andromeda left. Sirius left. They were no longer part of her family. Alecto stayed. Rabastan stayed. They were her true family. Narcissa had always wanted a family she could call her own, a happy marriage, children. But when she looked around to the bruised and blood-stained faces, and her heart ached, she realized that they were her family. And she got to call them her own. Narcissa had always known she would do anything for her family, she just needed to find people worth loving, worth being a part of her.  

I belong to the people I love, and they belong to me.

The smile on her face only grew. Narcissa once again found herself being thankful that Rabastan had picked a place where no one knew them. They could be free, as free as they had ever been. Pureblood society had rules, and it was unforgiven. Narcissa would never complain, but when it was frowned upon for them to show their true feelings, she could not help but feel bitter about it. She had learned to compartmentalize, to bottle everything up, but she had always felt too much. And her carefully crafted boxes, containing everything she wasn’t supposed to feel, busted open, letting her emotions flow out of her.

And right now she could not contain her relief, her happiness, her love. Rabastan was safe, hurt, shaken, but he was alive. He was sitting right across from her, and when he smiled, Narcissa was eight years old again and Rabastan was laughing with her. Happy, whole. And just like all those years ago, Narcissa would do everything in her power to ensure there was always a smile on his face. But this was war, and war had already started to take things away from her. She would be damned if she let it take him. Narcissa nodded, biting her lip lightly, ❝I heard❞ she said softly. ❝I feel asleep waiting for news… it was…❞ she let out a sigh. Several homes had been hit, but it was as if somehow the stupid little insurgent group had figured out that Lestrange manor was holding the Order members. ❝Material damage is nothing❞ she said reaching out for his hand across the table, ❝they are going to get what they deserve❞ she said in almost a whisper as their drinks arrived. Narcissa took her drink and smiled at the waitress.

It would be so easy, to live a life free of worry. Narcissa thought as the woman retreated. But she had a duty to her family, her current family and her future one. And the only thing standing between her and a happy ending was a group of traitors. ❝I wouldn’t doubt it…❞ she said taking a sip of her drink, the warm liquid filling her chest. ❝They have showed nothing but cowardice❞ Narcissa bitterly, ❝I wouldn’t doubt it if they are betraying one another❞ these two groups were supposed to be on the same side, but now it was clear they could not be more different. ❝We need to find a way to confirm it, because it would be much better to crush them while they are busy fighting each other…❞

Rabastan took hold of her hand without hesitation as she reached across the table, squeezing her fingers in reassurance. As he looked at Narcissa, the restraint holding his smile taut fell away. It was an innate gift of hers, he swore, relieving those around her of the strain that bowed their backs, if only for a moment. He couldn’t help but think, not for the first time, of the two sisters as sides of the same coin. Rabastan respected their strength and fortitude and courage, and it had carried him through many difficult times. Bellatrix’s strength radiated out from her on the battlefield, bolstering the fighters around her when they needed it most. But where Bellatrix was cruel, Narcissa was kind. She seemed to have within herself a wellspring of kindness that never ran dry for those she chose to call sister or brother, and it was a gift Rabastan would be repaying for the rest of his life. He was proud to know her, to call her family, even when he couldn’t say the same about his own flesh and blood. Perhaps especially then. And then her tone shifted into something sharper, weighing and calculating the enemy in her mind’s eye. Kind, yes, and clever as a hidden blade.

“They will get what they deserve,” he agreed, taking a sip of his dark coffee. “They have and they will continue to. I don’t know if Bella told you, but in the days following the attack I was able to track down the meeting place for Aversio supporters that a couple of the fighters had come from. She went with me to send a message,” he said. “The move was cowardly, perhaps, but striking us while we weren’t looking out for it was smart. After seeing the way they fight, it’s clear that desperation and zeal drives them forward. Combined with the element of surprise, that becomes something to reckon with. The Order is wrapped up in their self-righteous ideals of justice, see, but these people are something far different. I could imagine them turning on the Order with just as much force as they come at us, if they find the Order in their way. Now, if there are defectors from the Order working with Aversio, I feel we could witness a schism very soon. Traitor families turning on one another would do our work for us. And you’re right, it would be better to crush them while they’re fighting each other, using their own playbook against them.”

He leaned back in his chair and looked out the cafe windows onto the calm street, and was momentarily surprised at where he found himself. When had war begun to feel more familiar than this, than peace and quiet? Rabastan wondered. After raising his mug to his lips again and shaking himself of the thought, he said, “Among the documents I recovered that day during the Order meeting were files on the Death Eaters and Aversio. They had pages and pages of possible members they had been investigating. While I’m sure any Order members who may support Aversio -- if there are any, truly -- would have kept their own names out of the files, it would be a good place to start looking for connections.”

When the silence fell again, Rabastan frowned, realizing what he was doing. “I apologize, Cissy. Everything always seems to circle back to the war, and it wasn’t my intention to talk about it, much less drone on as I have. I didn’t even think to ask about Lucius, did I? How are you, truly, and how is the family?”

ignorance is bliss || rabastan & narcissa

[thvnderstormrab]

mvlciber:

@thvnderstormrab

            “Let’s play spin the bottle, shall we?” Cassius spun in a grand sweeping motion, gesturing to the group of muggles around him. Twelve evenly spaced chairs sat in a circle, their occupants held down by magic. Each muggle was specifically chosen for their mundane and boring lives. Lives so dull they not only affected the ones who lived them, but those around them. Call it a personal pet peeve, but he hated people whose lives served no true purpose. So, he gave them a purpose by using them for his own entertainment.

            Killing muggles was one of the smartest decisions he’d ever made. Muggle authorities didn’t have a single hope of catching him. Magic leaves behind very little evidence. The Ministry didn’t even notice the killings, they simply wrote them off as a muggle serial killer and left it alone as long as no witches or wizards were harmed. There were a few other death eaters who knew of his actions, he’d had some join him before in the festivities.

            Using his magic, he placed a bottle on the ground in the center of the circle. He loved the desperate sounds the muggles made as they tried to escape from their metaphysical restraints. There was a certain horror aspect to the way he psychologically manipulated these muggles. It was truly so easy to warp their minds to do exactly what he wanted and react exactly as he expected.

            He spun the bottle and watched as it slowed until coming to a stop pointed towards an elderly woman. He walked over to her and squatted down in front of her chair. “You know, I was going to kill you since the bottle pointed me here, but I just thought of a much better game.” He stepped away from her and using the imperius curse forced her to stand. He guided her to bend and spin the bottle. He watched with satisfaction as it pointed to a young boy, no older than thirteen. The boy he knew for a fact was in a class taught by the older woman and he loved the personal tension it brought into the situation.

            He forced the woman over to the boy and with a laugh had her place her hands around the boy’s throat. He didn’t make her squeeze, not just yet. He wanted her to have time to soak in what she was about to do. Slowly, he made her hands tighten, constricting around the boy’s small throat. He bit his lower lip, fighting to contain his excitement at the child’s imminent death. Walking behind the woman, he leaned forward and whispered into her ear. “There’s nothing darker than the murder of a child.” He watched gleefully as she released the boy’s body and it crashed to the floor. “That was a job well done, dear. You know what? I’ll even let you pick who you kill next. Who shall it be?”

            “You’re the devil.” She spat towards him as soon as he released her mouth from the imperius curse.

            “I’ve been told that before. Though, you shouldn’t speak to your superiors in such a hateful manner.” With a flick of his wand and one simple command, the woman fell dead in a flash of green. He sighed heavily, before turning to face Rabastan with a smile. “So, who’s next?” Up until this point Rabastan had been silently watching. He had helped gather the muggles but he had yet to join in on the fun.

With one heel propped against the wall at his back and a cigarette between his teeth, Rabastan watched intently as Cassius took center stage. He seemed to pause for effect, basking in the attention of the thirteen pairs of eyes locked on him there, standing in the spotlight. The buzzing electric light above refracted off his feral grin and the dangerous gleam in his dark eyes, and it was on.

Muggles were pests--scurrying, simple-minded creatures, but Rabastan didn’t hunt them for sport. Not like Cassius. Not when he had more dangerous game to put down. And so, on the few occasions that Cassius had brought Rabastan along to his little performances, Rabastan acquiesced not for his own pleasure, but to feed off Cassius’s. The man was as volatile as a reactor in a constant state of meltdown, unstable as the cocktail of pills he had pressed into Rabastan’s hand at the start of the night, and the magic and excitement rolling off him in waves was what Rabastan was really there for. But he had to admit to himself that wasn’t all it was that night. He needed this, perhaps to loosen the valve and relieve the pressure that had been building within him for months. Hunting down the muggleborn rebels from the Manor hadn’t righted him. But even if it was only a temporary patch, the anger and confusion and pain he felt faded until there was only here and now.

When Cassius finished with the old woman and turned to him expectantly, Rabastan dropped his cigarette on the concrete floor and put it out with the toe of his boot before stepping into the ring of chairs. Stooping, he spun the glass bottle on the floor and the captive audience flinched at the sound. It wobbled to a stop with the mouth of the bottle pointing towards a young woman, her dark hair mussed by the struggle that had brought her here to this place. Jean, a night secretary at a grimy motel in a bad part of town who took community college courses during the day, he recalled. No family to speak of aside from a scrappy tom cat she kept illegally in her flat. Terror was as clear to see on her expressive face as if it were written there in ink, but she didn’t make a sound as Rabastan moved toward her. She pressed her spine against the back of her chair as Rabastan reached out and brushed her hair back from her face, tucking it neatly behind her ear, but she still didn’t say a word.

It was a different sort of feeling, standing back and pondering taking a life rather than fighting for his own with his back to a wall, or killing to save his masked brothers and sisters in the streets, or tracking and killing for the cause. The fury in his gut that drove him through it all left a void in its absence, but the haze of the drugs and the atmosphere Cassius had created filled it.

Rabastan drew his wand and, lifting the woman’s hand to his mouth, whispered a few words against her skin. When he straightened, he drew a knife from his belt, the blade releasing with a snap. The young woman inhaled sharply. “Oh no, my dear. This isn’t for me, it’s for you,” he said, throwing the knife at her feet and releasing her bonds. Because on the next exhale, her breath misted out in a cloud before her. Looking down, she took in the the changing color of her skin and the stiffness in the fingers he had held just moments before, the blackening at their tips. “I can stop this, but only if you kill one of the others in this circle before it’s too late to save you.”

She leapt forward without hesitation, breathing hard as she tried to control her shaking hands enough to take the knife. A fingernail on one blackened digit caught against the rough concrete floor and peeled right off, but still she did not hesitate until she straightened, the knife in her hands, looking into the eyes of the people around her. But even then, it was just for a moment.

bones shaking.

[thvnderstormrab]

[thvnderstormrab]

✨ Disney Character Aesthetic ⇾ ↟ Rabastan as Shang ↟

I’ll get that arrow pretty boy, and I’ll do it with my shirt on. Whoa, one moment. You seemed to be missing something. This represents discipline. And this represents strength. You need both to reach the arrow.                                                                             @thvnderstormrab

[thvnderstormrab]

characters: rabastan lestrange

kovu;; heir to the shadows

            kovu was caught between two prides, one his family, the other the love of his life. when he tried to help his family he permanently scarred for his efforts. as he helped his lover, he was exiled by his lover’s father. 

@thvnderstormrab

[thvnderstormrab]

…they were among the divine, and heaven help those who would not acknowledge such.

{ @lestrangexrod, @thvnderstormrab }

[thvnderstormrab]

Rabastan Lestrange → S l y t h e r i n

[thvnderstormrab]

thvnderstormrab:

simplysybill:

He was charming, oh so charming.  He walked into the room and, in any other place or any other company, he would have taken their breath away.  He would have taken her breath away, if she wasn’t fully in her element.  Still, there was no denying he had an attractive darkness about him that commanded attention.  Sybill wanted that commanding presence on her side, and feeding jobs and money into the palm of her hand.  

Along with his impeccably rugged appearance, he had incredible intelligence.  He spoke firmly but not brutish, like many purebloods were want to do.  Sybill did not respond well with loud threats and suggestive charms.  However the soft, self assured speech of the man in front of her was alluring.  Where most might get flustered he kept his cool, and the secret seemed to be in his lineage.

Somehow her eyes got even wider, greedily taking the sight of the notebook.  Hardly realizing she wasn’t breathing, Sybill reached out a shaky hand towards the leather.  Fingertips brushed against the soft, worn fabric.  She desperately yearned to open the page, plumb through the depths.  It wasn’t often you got to see the inner thoughts of another seer, an intimate personal journal of their wanderings through the other realm.  Even if her main method was arithmancy, it was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up.  

“Oh, of course.  I would be happy to show you the extent of my abilities, my dear.  Yes, for the relative of a fellow seer, I would do nothing but the most powerful and deep methods of connecting to the other realm.”  She looked lamely at the cards and crystals on the table, knowing they would never bring about the showstopping flash and desire that Lestrange was looking for.  She rose, going to one of her trunks and opening it, unsuccessfully attempting to disguise her growing panic.  She pushed around the items in her trunk.  “Never you fear, my dear Rabastan.  You are deserving of the farthest reaches into the other realm.”  Her finger pricked something in the deep of her trunk and she pulled back, hissing.  But an idea hit her, and she pulled the offending item out, walking solemnly to the table and taking her seat.  

“I have something, something that few dare attempt because of the way it opens the seer and the seeker up to the dangers of the other realm.  It’s a difficult process, one that I don’t usually practice myself.  But I trained in the jungles with a tribe of wizards who were adept at the art… I’m willing to try it, if you believe yourself brave enough to plumb the depths of the other realm.  I will need your support and cooperation.”  She sighed, setting the ornamental knife on the table.  Runes were etched into the metal of the blade.  

“We will attempt to commune with spirits since departed, a very tricky and dangerous branch of divination.  It takes a small offering of blood, and, if I believe correctly, using your blood may help us to commune with your family.  Perhaps, if we are lucky, your great aunt Leta herself.  But I will rely on you in order to make my way back.  It is a very difficult and taxing process, one that, without support, I will not be able to successfully complete the endeavor.”  

Rabastan could see the hunger in Sybill’s eyes as they landed on the thin journal, and he watched her closely as trembling fingers brushed over the leather binding. It was telling, he thought. An imposter would not appreciate such an offering, but there was pure, unadulterated wonder on her face. And so he spoke softly, so as not to drag her attention away.

“Leta left behind an untold number of such journals. That and stacks of free pages, scraps of paper, anything she could get her hands on it seems, covered in her notes and drawings describing the things she saw and learned. I can’t imagine she wrote for her own benefit alone. She left her life’s work in my care, but I can only appreciate and learn from her observations, I’m afraid--unlike a seer, who could put them to good use. I should warn you, my great aunt was a fearless woman, and never more so than in her search for knowledge. Some of the methods and observations detailed in her journals may be a bit… unconventional, even terrifying. But if this works, I will open her collection to you if you will promise your discretion and care.”

Watching as Sybill ignored the cards and crystals on the table and instead went to a large trunk, he was surprised by the item she retrieved. She hesitated for just a beat, looking down at the dagger, but closed the trunk and brought it to him nonetheless. He gave his full attention as she gave her warning and nodded in understanding. Reaching out one hand, his palm moved slowly through the air above the dagger. Rabastan could feel the magic humming through the dagger, contained by the runes scratched into the thin, curved blade. A shiver passed through him. He could almost hear it whispering the dark work it had done into his ear, and he pulled back, clenching and unclenching his fingers.

“I must admit you’ve surprised me, Miss Trelawney,” he said, then allowed the silence to settle over the table for a few moments as he formulated his reply. She was untested in this method, she had said so herself, but Rabastan supposed there was no better way to discover her ability to contact Leta than to jump right in. Besides, Rabastan was a man with very little to lose and much to gain. “I am no stranger to this sort of magic, Miss Trelawney,” he said as vaguely as he could, “though this I’ve never done. But I assure you I won’t desert you there. You will have all of my support, but I will need your guidance.”

He rested his hand on the table, palm up and open, waiting. 

clarity in chaos || rabastan & sybill

[thvnderstormrab]

alectocx:

Shaking her head in disbelieve she looked at Rab. “You’re impossible Lestrange and of course you will. Amy will probably come home and think I bloody killed somebody on the couch. Which I would never do, because it’s a nice couch…” For a second Alecto actually thought she might have done something terrible, watching him nearly unconscious, his face clearly expressing the agony he must’ve been going through. The thought of losing him to her own inability was too hurtful to actually process so when he extended his arm to grab the bottle next to her a released sigh escaped her lips.

Watching him down a few gulps of the whiskey she just sat there, more relieved than she ever felt before. His first words directed at her made her grin a little. “Well, those are idiots and to be honest I wouldn’t have come back for any of them.” She answered, shrugging a little. But it was the truth, there weren’t many people Ali would risk her life for, actually there were really little. Following his gaze to her arm she realized her own injury for the first time ever since they reached the flat. “Forget about it, it’s nothing. It barely even hurts. But I do agree with the putting them down. As soon as you’re on your feet and ready we’re gonna find out who those dickheads were and hunt them down. You don’t get away with something like that.” She promised as she went on taking care of his wounds, now that they already went through the hardest part the rest seemed easy to Lecto. Mumbling the spells needed in order to fix him up she kept a wary look at him the entire time. “We’re nearly done. We’ll need to get you out of that shirt though, there are a bunch of cuts on your arms they might expand to your torso.”

Before she could continue doing so his words made her stop. She herself hadn’t spend a single thought on what this whole situation must have meant but he oviously already realized. “You’re right, somebody must have tipped them off.” Her mind was already going through the ranks of death eaters, trying to figure out who could be the traitor. “I didn’t try yet… was too busy trying to keep you alive.” She answered his question, a grin on her face. “However you seem to be doing rather good, already thinking of all those things we need to do next.”

“Knowing Amycus, he would probably be more upset thinking you left him out of the fun than upset about the ruined couch,” Rabastan said, letting out a quiet chuckle. “We’ll find them. A useful side effect I’ve discovered about being in the business of tracking things is that the movements of people begin to make more sense. And these people, they’re like rats, just holed up and waiting for us.”

He allowed the silence to prevail in the minutes that Alecto focused on his wound, staunching the flow of blood and stitching fiber and bone and skin back together with her words. It wasn’t clean, it wasn’t perfect, but Rabastan was all too familiar with this sort of thing for one so young and he knew that time would do the rest of the healing. When he was asked, Rabastan gingerly pulled his shirt away from his skin and over his head, wincing as the movement caused fresh blood to well up along a nasty cut on his ribs. But when Alecto paused, he looked up. “Well, you did a good job of it, if I do say so myself,” he said. “You know me, ‘Lecto. Mind moving a mile a minute. I think that should be the next thing we do. I don’t know what you might’ve seen of the situation after I was… incapacitated, but if anyone else got out, they’re likely to be worse off than we are. And the Dark Lord should be alerted. He should know something was wrong before more damage can be done.”

But he leaned back and let Alecto do her work patiently. Once it was done and she moved to the gash on his head, wicking the blood from his hair and closing the wound, Rabastan began to speak again. “But first, let me take a look at that arm.” He slowly pushed himself to a seated position and, reaching down, shifted his injured leg to make room for her and patted the couch cushions. Drawing his wand, he took hold of her wrist and carefully slid her sleeve up over the bone. The limb was badly bruised and inflamed, worsened perhaps by her continuing to run and fight after the injury, but the break didn’t appear to be severe. “Take a deep breath,” he warned just before whispering the necessary spell. Her arm twitched in his grip and there was an audible crack as the bone was set, and he waved his wand slowly over the length of her arm, hoping to relieve her pain and reduce the swelling enough to be functional.

Precipice || Rabastan & Alecto

[thvnderstormrab]

I’m in love with my anger / my war-won body / tense and vicious.

Trista Mateer (via tristamateer)

[thvnderstormrab]

bartyxxcrouch:

There had always been a certain sense of doubt with the younger Lestrange. Rodolphus had been an inspiration to Barty, having been older yet close to himself in age. While he had like Rabastan well enough, he had never gotten to know the younger man all that well, and he found himself just thinking of him as a child. When he left school and joined their ranks, Barty had kept on eye on him, hoping that there was promise in the boy.

And he had proved himself in Barty’s eyes. He had managed to break into the home of an auror, albeit a junior, and allowed them to infiltrate the Order and get the information they were after. Sure, there had been complications from Aversio, but that was always the fun part to Barty. Succeeding in missions easily was far too boring. 

Barty was glad to see Rabastan sitting in the corner of the pub as he walked in. He had not had the chance to speak to him properly since New Years, and had wanted to buy him a pint. Rabastan had earned it, along with Barty’s respect.

Clapping him on the back in greeting, he slunk into the seat next to the younger man. “How’re we doing today, Lestrange?”

@thvnderstormrab

Tapping one finger against the side of his glass, Rabastan skimmed the printed pages of the Daily Prophet laid out on the table before him. The moving photo in the corner of the page showed a skull hanging in the clouds above Muggle London, a snake twisting out of the mouth. The picture was so clear he could almost hear the sound it had made in the sky that night, along with the screaming of car alarms and the trickle of blood into the gutter. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. Truly, they had gotten off easy.

Rabastan was pulled from his thoughts by a hand clapping him on the back, but before he could reach for his wand, Barty Crouch Jr. appeared in his line of vision and settled into the chair at his side. Folding his paper and pushing it to the side, Rabastan turned to look at Barty. “Right as rain after a couple glasses of this swill,” he said, a conspiratorial smile on his face. “And yourself, Crouch? I can’t say I’ve seen you except in passing for a few weeks now.”

 The younger Lestrange was nothing if not a curious man, and if he were honest, this meeting in itself was curious. It wasn’t often that the older Death Eater sought him out, not outside of business.

proven worth || barty + rabastan

[thvnderstormrab]

❛ i may not live to see our glory, but i will gladly join the fight ❜

“And I will be right by your side, brother.”

[thvnderstormrab]

'i hope that you burn' (cyrus)

“I’m sure that I will. I told you a hundred times that you were wrong about me, Cyrus.”

{ @cyrusborgin }

[thvnderstormrab]

lottewrites:

HAMILTON : AN AMERICAN MUSICAL  → STARTERS

❛ he was longing for something to be a part of. ❜

❛ and the world is gonna know your name. ❜

❛ there’s a million things i haven’t done, but just you wait. ❜

❛ you never learned to take your time. ❜

❛ talk less…smile more. ❜

❛ who’s the best? c’est moi! ❜

❛ the plan is to fan this spark into a flame. ❜

❛ i’m not throwing away my shot. ❜

❛ i may not live to see our glory, but i will gladly join the fight !  ❜

❛ they’ll tell the story of tonight. ❜

❛ tomorrow there’ll be more of us. ❜

❛ i’m looking for a mind at work. ❜

❛ look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now. ❜

❛ oh my god. tear this dude apart. ❜

❛ i will send a fully armed battalion to remind you of my love… ❜

❛ dying is easy, young man… living is harder. ❜

❛ then you walked in and my heart went ‘boom’! ❜

❛ you look at me and suddenly i’m helpless. ❜

❛ i am so into you. ❜

❛ i’m just saying if you really loved me, you would share him. ❜

❛ love doesn’t discriminate from the sinners and the saints. ❜

❛ i’m willing to wait for it. ❜

❛ i am the one thing in life i can control. ❜

❛ call me son one more time —…. ❜

❛ i don’t pretend to know the challenges you’re facing. ❜

❛ that would be enough. ❜

❛ and we could be enough. ❜

❛ let me a part of the narrative in the story they will write one day. ❜

❛ you have no control : who lives, who dies, who tells your story. ❜

❛ history has its eyes on you. ❜

❛ awesome. wow. ❜

❛ i’ll make the world safe and sound for you. ❜

❛ why do you assume you’re the smartest in the room? ❜

❛ what’d i miss? ❜

❛ run away with us for the summer. ❜

❛ take a break. ❜

❛ well, hate the sin, love the sinner. ❜

❛ no one else was in the room where it happened. ❜

❛ and then we’ll teach them how to say goodbye. ❜

❛ we both know what we know. ❜

❛ i will choose her happiness over mine every time. ❜

❛ god, i hope you’re satisfied. ❜

❛ i saved every letter you wrote me. ❜

❛ you built me palaces out of paragraphs. ❜

❛ be careful with that one, love, he will do what it takes to survive. ❜

❛ when you were mine, the world seemed to burn. ❜

❛ the world has no right to my heart. ❜

❛ i hope that you burn. ❜

❛ everything is legal in new jersey… ❜

❛ i’m so sorry for forgetting what you taught me. ❜

❛ it’s quiet uptown. ❜

❛ they are trying to do the unimaginable. ❜

❛ there are moments that the words don’t reach. ❜

❛ forgiveness. can you imagine? ❜

❛ i had only one thought before the slaughter. ❜

❛ i imagine death so much, it feels more like a memory. ❜

❛ what is a legacy? it’s planting seeds in a garden you will never see. ❜

❛ death doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints. ❜

❛ i survived, but i paid for it. ❜

❛ have i done enough? will they tell my story? ❜

[thvnderstormrab]

They put a shot in my back.