Favourite Scores~ Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Buckbeaks Flight

joshunf:

if a charmander running in circles chasing its tail doesnt fit your blog then you are running the wrong kind of blog

joshunf:

if a charmander running in circles chasing its tail doesnt fit your blog then you are running the wrong kind of blog

justinaireland:

erinbowman:

heyteenbookshey:

The Story Coaster by Grant Snider

This is amazing. The unicorn in “extraneous scenery” wins.

I’m dying over the unreliable narrator.  I wish I could love this a hundred times.  The critical reaction is so spot on.

vx-vvxx-vx:

breadprincess:

gold-star-4-trying:

In case you were feeling sad.

This is the third time I’ve reblogged this today and I DON’T EVEN CARE

affliiction

vx-vvxx-vx:

breadprincess:

gold-star-4-trying:

In case you were feeling sad.

This is the third time I’ve reblogged this today and I DON’T EVEN CARE

affliiction

“Tessa!” he cried out suddenly, his voice echoig off the rocks. “Tessa!” 
~*~
“Tessa!” The voice echoed in her ear, a ragged shout. She sat bolt upright on the riverbank, her body trembling.     “Will?” She scrambled to her feet and looked around. The moon had passed behind a cloud. The sky above was like dark gray marble, shot through with veins of black. The river ran before her, dark gray in the poor light, and glancing around, she saw only gnarled trees, the steep cli  down which she had fallen, a broad swatch of countryside stretching away in the other direction— elds and stone fences, the occasionally distant dotting of a farmhouse or habitation. She could see nothing like a city or a town, not even a cluster of lights that might have indicated a tiny hamlet.     “Will,” she whispered again, drawing her arms about herself. She was sure it had been his voice she had heard calling her name. No one else’s voice sounded like his. But it was ridiculous. He was not here. He could not be. Perhaps, like Jane Eyre, who had heard Rochester’s voice calling for her on the moors, she was half-dreaming.                           

Tessa!” he cried out suddenly, his voice echoig off the rocks. “Tessa!” 

~*~

Tessa!” The voice echoed in her ear, a ragged shout. She sat bolt upright on the riverbank, her body trembling.    
Will?” She scrambled to her feet and looked around. The moon had passed behind a cloud. The sky above was like dark gray marble, shot through with veins of black. The river ran before her, dark gray in the poor light, and glancing around, she saw only gnarled trees, the steep cli  down which she had fallen, a broad swatch of countryside stretching away in the other direction— elds and stone fences, the occasionally distant dotting of a farmhouse or habitation. She could see nothing like a city or a town, not even a cluster of lights that might have indicated a tiny hamlet.    
Will,” she whispered again, drawing her arms about herself. She was sure it had been his voice she had heard calling her name. No one else’s voice sounded like his. But it was ridiculous. He was not here. He could not be. Perhaps, like Jane Eyre, who had heard Rochester’s voice calling for her on the moors, she was half-dreaming.                           

sjmoriarty:

one time i was channel surfing and i came to a scene in twilight where rob pattinson climbs up into a tree as edward cullen and i changed the channel and rob pattinson hopped out of a tree as cedric diggory from harry potter

rootswillbindus:

duplication:

don’t cross oceans for people who wouldn’t cross a puddle for you.

No, do it. Do cross oceans for people. Love people, all people. No conditions attached, no wondering wether or not they’re worthy. Cross oceans, climb mountains. Life and love isn’t about what you gain, it’s about what you give.