Twisted Deviant

I so totally am stealing this interesting tidbit from lj user matociquala (yes, I know stealing is bad, but I couldn't resist). lj user filkertom , aka Tom Smith, aka the Fastest Filker on the Seas, has written a new song in honor of International Talk Like A Pirate Day, which also happens to fall on Hermione Granger's birthday. *snort* This is delightful!!!! And my other post for the day: The World Language Test Meme . If I could remember to cross post, maybe this thing will work out right. (Still want blogger feeds to make it easier though, damnit!)

Because poor Blogger's been feeling like my unloved, redheaded step-child, I've decided to try something new. Or at least make this as interactive as I can with my more used livejournal. So, to further those ends, new posts over in LJ land will be linked here. Case in point: 100 Things About Me meme

“Why are you here?” Harry asked in a tired voice, watching as his childhood tormenter walked into the hospital room. Severus Snape paused just inside the doorway. “I was under the impression I was needed,” he said in a deceptively mild tone. “However, if that isn’t the case, I shall tell Minerva that there simply wasn’t a thing I could do.” He turned to leave, only to stop short as Harry desperately called out, “wait.” “I –” Harry started hesitantly. “Do you think you can help them?” Snape’s eyes traveled over the pale forms of Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley occupying two separate hospital beds. Their eyes were wide open, pupils dilated, bodies so rigid they could’ve been carved from stone. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment, glancing over at the younger man’s haggard face. “Please,” Harry whispered softly. “If there is anything you can do, please, please do it. They are all I have left.” “Really, Potter,” Snape said with a sneer. “There’s no need to be melodram...

Chapter Title: The Tonk’s Incident Diagon Alley – 1966 “Will you hurry up? I want to get into Madam Malkin’s before the rush!” Bellatrix Black yelled, tugging on her younger sister’s sleeve. “I have to get the perfect robe for this year’s Yule ball, and if I end up in something puce, you’re going to regret it.” “But, Bella, I’m supposed to go to Ollivander’s first.” “Fine! Go to Ollivander’s then!” Bellatrix shoved her sister away. “I’m going to Malkin’s.” “I – but… but – Mum said to stay with you! I can’t go there alone!” Andromeda gasped out, stumbling over the uneven cobblestones. “Aw – is the lil’ baby scared?” Bella sneered, her dark hair flying into her face. “Just go. There’s nothing to be scared about. Just go down the street, get your wand, and meet me at Madam Malkin’s. It’s quite simple.” Andromeda nibbled lightly on her lower lip, weighing her options. She really didn’t want to go to Ollivander’s by herself, yet she also didn’t want to incur Bella’s anger –...

I pull a towel out of the wardrobe and make my way into the lavatory. I’ve charmed the mirror above the sink not to talk, so the reflection of me just mouths silent words as I reach into the bath and twist on the hot-water faucet. I slowly strip the constricting faculty robes from my body – there are times when I wish I could wear the simpler Muggle attire, but that’s the price I pay for working here. The coolness of the room brushes against my skin, causing my flesh to break out in goose bumps. It’s never warm in this part of the castle, no matter how many fireplaces are lit. I rub my hands up and down my arms as I wait for the steam to warm the room. Just before I step into the streaming water, I reach over and slightly turn the cold-water faucet. I may adore hot showers, but I have no desire to boil myself to death. I can feel the knot at the back of my neck start to loosen as I step into the now comfortable hot stream of water. I drop my head forward, resting my forehead a...

I am wicked you say some sort of craven child seeking the wildness of passion in harrowing moonlight nights tempted by some sinister force claimed by wild that calls untamed beasts into the dark but wickedness has it place in the whispered moments before the dawn the tickling of a breath just at the base of a jaw my wildness pleases you when it is directed towards you my teeth have known your flesh and I am tempted by more than you know I am wicked in ways you could not fathom craving things that would kill someone lesser I seek all I want all and I will not relent until I have bits and pieces of your soul for I am the wild song singing in the hot torrents of your breath like adrenaline rushing through your blood I call to the instinct inside is it wickedness to want you in these moments of clarity that come to want you when the heat is boiling deep in my blood and all my thoughts are of you naked before me so that I can dine on the lushness of your form I am all that wicked could clai...

I should’ve known better. Never, ever take anything from one of the Weasley twins; it was a creed I developed during my first year at Hogwarts, and it has always served me well. Fred and George are notorious for their interesting ingredient combinations, and for causing a stir – usually by transforming, in some manner, the person stupid enough to ingest one of their concoctions. Normally, I’m not that stupid. I avoid anything those rotters give me like the plague – as Moody always coaches, constant vigilance , and with those two, it’s not only a mantra, it’s a way of life. Bastards. You might ask how I could’ve failed to protect myself, after all these years. All I can say is there were mitigating circumstances. Harry, Ron, and I have a long-standing tradition of meeting at the Leaky Cauldron once a month and getting utterly pissed. Okay, normally Harry and Ron get utterly pissed, and I make sure they don’t Splinch themselves on the way home, but it isn’t as if I’m a teetotaler –...

I am afraid of these shadows thoughts that should not be scared of who I am as opposed to who I should be wishing for something I aught not to wanting the impossible wanting what I am not even sure is real or even available Too long I have walked alone with my demons and they hold me back still yet in my dreams I long for what I once believed in do I reach for the stars or hide behind clever innuendos a smile as my shield my demons know my weaknesses well and I stumble over the hope perhaps if I can be found behind the façade seen for who I am not what others wish me to be accepting everything warts and all but I am cynical by nature or is it that nature has made me cynical I can lie to myself and pretend it doesn’t matter for really it should not matter still there is a small kernel of hope or perhaps it is only my jaded interest which whispers to try or at least see this until the end if I can be brave nonetheless I am afraid of me of life perhaps I am afraid of happiness though I ca...

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It’s the quiet of night which does her in; silence makes the night stretch out in unbearable strains of half remembered flashes of red and green – they chase around inside her head until she wants to scream. Often she does, making the nurses rush into the room with pounding feet and weary sighs. Post-Traumatic Stress , the nurses in sterling white whisper to one another as they push her against the mattress, pinning her to the bed with cruel, cold hands as they work the leather straps around her flailing limbs. Once she is bound, they stab at the translucent flesh of her arm as they try to inject the medication right into her veins. When that happens, she can’t stop the images, horrible and frightening as they push into her waiting brain. They call her Jane Doe to her face, in strange accents that sound odd to her ears. She wants to scream at them to talk correctly – to use the Queen’s English – anything, to stop the strange twang of words that come out in incomprehensible garbles. It ...