Twisted Deviant

Tonks dived beneath the waves of the lake, gently kicking with her feet as her eyes adjusted to the watery atmosphere. She vaguely wondered if Harry had felt this disorientated when he plunged into the lake’s depths during the Tri Wizard Tournament. With nary a conscious thought, her body adjusted to the watery climate, adapting in such away that she felt no need to breathe in the traditional manner. Nymphadora Tonks was not what one would call a conventional witch. Besides being one of the few female Aurors employed by the Ministry of Magic, she also had the rare distinction of being the only Metamorphmagus in England, an ability that allowed her to change her appearance, and body make-up at will. In the distance, she could hear the strange, eerie musical language of the mer-people which inhabited the bottom the lake. It twined around her seductively, and she moved instinctively towards the sound. Bits of seaweed coiled about her legs as she floated down. The giant squid, ever c

Is it the silence that stretches as we fumble for the right words trying to connect on some level with spoken articulation when it has always been the medium of the computer between us? Is it the harsh glare of reality the knowledge that we face one another without the comfort of a metallic screen and whirling processors to soften the light? Has our desire to reach out to be more than just single entities alone in the dark with our strange obsessions actually created the very thing we were desperately trying to avoid? When did we become neo drones catering to the digitized queen plodding along in our solitary confinement in a place where human touch has become the anathema rather than the desired result? How did we go from light and laughter to the fluttering fingers caressing the letters of our absolution each stroke of the keys our homage to technology as our skin forgets the touch of kindness? When did our closest confidants become the separated masses tucked in inaccessible corner

Richard Wright: Lives and Fictions Just an interesting site I stumbled upon today.

April 3, 2005 Quincy, California It was broad daylight the first time Neville kissed her. The sky was dark blue; the sound of a particularly loud lawn mower reverberated through the air as she lead him to their destination. Josie’s palms were sweaty. She had never actually brought anyone here before – never wanted to bring anyone here before. Neville must have noticed her distress as they crossed the lawn, because he reached out a hand and wove his fingers between hers. Josie gave him a hesitant smile as they walked along the immaculate green lawn, dotted by rows of inlaid granite snuggled close to the ground. Her heart pounded loudly against her chest – so loudly she was sure Neville could hear its strangely rapid tattoo. He gave her hand a quick squeeze as she slowed their pace. Without a word, he pulled her close to his body, brushing back a few strands of hair from her face. Josie’s breath caught in her throat. His eyes – such beautiful eyes – scanned her face as his head bent clos

March 20, 2005 Henderson, Nevada “Are you going out with him again tonight?” Sarah asked. She reached across the counter and snagged an apple from the bowl. Taking a bite of it, she watched Josie dig around in the refrigerator with a measured looked. “Do you really think that is wise?” “Why wouldn’t it be wise?” Josie asked, looking at her roommate over the refrigerator door. “Well, you hardly know this man – he could be an serial killer, a rapist, or God knows what; yet the past four nights, you’ve been out with him.” “I doubt he’s a serial killer or a rapist,” Josie laughed out, pouring herself a glass of soda. “Trust me, Neville isn’t the type.” “Really,” Sarah drawled, her voice laced with sarcasm. “I bet that’s what Jeffery Dahmer’s dates said about him.” “Damn it, Sarah! I’m not stupid. We meet in public places, it’s not like I’m really ever alone with him; although the more time I spend with him the more time I want alone with him.” “I never said you were stupid, Josie. I just –

March 16, 2005 Las Vegas The faux deck that served as the sidewalk in front of the Treasure Island Casino was crowded as the first showing of the nightly pirate battle drew near. People pushed into the front crevices of the deck, trying to get the best possible view, pressing against one another to create a human gridlock. Josie moved through the crowd, squeezing past a group of Japanese tourists, taking pictures of the opulent city. She scanned the area for the young Englishman she’d met the day before, hardly daring to believe that he’d show. She twisted, hiking up on her tiptoes, wondering why her brain had come up with this place, at this time of day. There were far too many people. Just as she was about to give up and head back, Josie felt a hand on her shoulder. She whipped around, and caught sight of her intended date standing a few feet from her. “You made it,” she yelled over the din, scooting around a heavy set man in shorts with black tube socks pulled up to his knees

Aspria Hogglesnop ~ St Mungo’s Field Medic It’s all about the blood; funny, how I remember that axiom of my old grandmother’s now, or rather it would be if it didn’t have such a foreboding ironic touch to it. In a way, it always has been about the blood. I’m one of those on the fringe, not really old enough to remember the last time – even now I have a hard time saying the name – Voldemort, he-who-must-not-be-named, or rather Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle sounds so innocuous though… such a normal sounding name, that it doesn’t deliver the punch-in-the-gut response that the first two monikers bring. However, I digress. As I was saying, I’m one of those on the fringe. I wasn’t old enough to have terrifying memories of when he – when Riddle, was first around, so, it was hard to believe that he could have possibly returned. He was a vague figure, much like Grindwald or the Muggles’ Boogieman, used to scare children onto the path of goodness. He wasn’t real. How apathetic I seemed when I lo

This just had me laughing my ass off. Granted, the way JKR has written the character, he is terribly complex and convoluted, but there is no way in hell that he is innocent. With the exception of this first book, everything we’ve seen of this character has been colored by the “Harry radar,” and those glimpses gives us a look at an unpleasant man who enjoys terrorizing those he holds within his power. What I mean is, throughout the HP books, we basically have Harry as the narrator, but he is an unreliable one at best. We see everything colored through Harry vision. For example: Malfoy is, by din of that one small little meeting in Madam Mankin’s, now the new Dudley, and there for we have the initial set-up of why Harry will never be his friend. Yes, I know the dislike goes much deeper than that, but it is that first impression which leads the reader to know that Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter will never be friends. The Weasley’s also, by din of first impressions, become very impor

We are the same, he and I, though he tries to make it sound like I am a curse, an affliction that rises with the full, pale face of the Goddess. He is the human, I am the wolf, and instead of embracing the gifts the Goddess has offered, he tries to bind me; as if that could ever truly stop me. He cages me, and I admit, I do allow him this small victory, for now. Each month I feel her calling, her power ebbs and flows over me as the days wear on, only to surge as she regains power. I wish to bay at her face, to let my voice rise up in praise to her glory, but he keeps me in check with a potion. He is terrified of what we are, fears what happens when he shifts and becomes me, as if I am unnatural. If only he weren’t so afraid… there are so many things I could offer him, so many things that would make us both more than we are, yet he insists on burying me deeply. I am not evil, not as he believes; I just loose myself to the sensations when I escape. Anyone caged would react so, and I

March 15, 2005 Death Valley It was a place of brutal beauty, where jagged rocks of red cut into the crystalline blue sky, and tuffs of tumbleweed bled into dashes of color as fragile flowers rose up from dry earth. It was a desolate land, often full of stark nothingness, where serrated fissures of rock separated the lush Californian coast from the east. In a space of pure desert, hardy flowers climbed out of the barren sand, clinging to large granite rocks that rose out of the earth like giant teeth. Josie Rutledge hoisted up her Pentax Ds 35MM with a telephoto lens, trying to frame the right shot as the air rippled over the sand. In her back pocket, she had a super slim Pentax Optio digital camera, to catch those moments where a click and point might work better than the manual focus camera. The very air seemed to shimmer with anticipation as she moved back, her fingers working the lens to bring the rippling effect into sharp focus. As soon as she took the first shot, her fingers

Saturday, June 8th Craig Mhor “A cat?” Hermione asked with a puzzled expression, looking over at where Molly sat. Molly shook her head, as if to say she hadn’t any idea. “Oh, yes, it was all black, and it had a white spot just on the tip of its nose,” Alice responded excitedly, squirming on Hermione’s lap. “I tried to pet it, but it wouldn’t let me. So, I tried to get Mummy, but it had disappeared.” She leaned back and tugged Hermione’s head down. “Do you think it’s a magic cat?” she asked in an awed whisper. “I don’t know,” Hermione whispered back, wrapping her arms around the girl’s waist. “Mummy said,” Alice began, leaning her head on Hermione’s shoulder, “that if you said it was all right, that I could keep it. Can I keep the kitty?” “I – errrmmm,” Hermione sputtered, staring down into Alice’s eager, earnest face. She looked up at Molly again, only to see the older woman trying to stifle a laugh over her predicament. “I can’t give you permission to keep that cat,” she said with a s

Friday, June 7 th Hermione Granger’s Flat Hermione was in the middle of changing her clothes for bed when the sound of someone pounding on her door drifted to the back of her flat. Reaching for her robe, she strolled, barefoot, to the front room. Her eyes wandered to the clock on the mantle of her fireplace, noting that it was nearly midnight before she peeked through the eyehole to see who it was. “What are you doing here?” she asked sharply, pulling the door open. “Do I need a reason to be here, Granger?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe. “If I invite you over, no. If you just randomly pop in, then yes.” “Ah, so, I’m only allowed when it’s convenient, how utterly cosmopolitan of you. Though, after spending nearly every night here for the last few weeks, I thought I’d warrant a better reception than this.” “Contrary to what you might believe, I don’t need to have you underfoot at every juncture to live a fulfilling life. This isn’t a relationship; we fuck, and that is it

OMG I just heard what happened this morning on the Underground. My deepest sympathies are with everyone from England this morning. I don't know if anyone on my Flist is from London, and most of my MSN friends are from northern England, but if you are, give me a shout so I know that you're okay. Cyrus, you're in London, goodness and so is English_Gent Alan, oh dear and Andy(vainrogue)... Guys give me a shout out when you can. *Cross posting this to my Livejournal, HmmmFactor on MSN groups, my Blogger, and AOL Journal*

Friday, June 7th Hermione Granger’s Flat The alarm went off with a high-pitched shrill, startling the lone occupant of the bed. She rolled over, the flat of her palm slapping against the top of the clock as she stuffed a pillow over her head. Hermione was just on the verge of falling back asleep when a loud tapping rapped at her window. She pulled at the covers bunched around her waist, pulling them up over her head as well as she tried to ignore the persistent noise. Unfortunately, the snooze timer on the alarm went off again, shrilling loudly in her ear. With a muttered oath, she pushed the pillow and the blankets from her tired body, and rolled onto her back. She stared at the ceiling, letting her eyes adjust to the cheery brightness of early morning, knowing that it was going to be a long day. The tapping at the window got consistently louder as she lazed, unmoving, on the bed. Hermione slapped at the alarm clock as she struggled to sit up, noticing that not only was she alone in b