#tusked grouper

[ms-scarletwings]

Dave the Diver: On Aberrations

Between a scattering of recently discovered islands rests a jewel of paradise, mystery, and a hint of exotic danger. The famous Blue Hole has found a name for itself among the most envied tourist destinations among the world, with a gorgeous view, thrills to experience, and rich natural resources… but on a day like this, the scene has become anything but recognizable as the bustling hub described. That is because a ponderous fog has decided to linger over the lagoon by the time my vessel reaches port.

Despite the warm weather, I could feel my hairs standing on end from the very moment the clouds had enveloped our ship. Aside from the occasional day like this, fog horns would usually be a rare sound to hear across the bay. Since the discovery of the area, vacationers have enjoyed a tropical climate punctuated by mild storms. It all paints a picture so drastically unlike the eerie one I have pursued to this end. By sunset, I know that the white mist outside will give way to a crimson haze. With it, begins the investigation into the unusual animals only spotted on previous fogged nights: What familiar aberrants have made their way to the region, what are they capable of, and to where they fit within the additional puzzle of Blue Hole’s astounding ecosystem.

The Fog Coast, Part One

The hour is roughly 10pm, and “Blue” Hole has turned to a sight otherworldly. Thick, red vapors and an eerie silence hang in place of what was a starlight sky over the whistles of dolphins a mere night ago. The locals claim that the lagoon is an inscrutable locale, whose underwater geography both hosts an impossible collection of species and undergoes rapid, unexplained changes every few hours. On a night of crimson fog, it has been made enigmatic even from the surface view. Rocks easily seen by daylight make sailing close to the shorelines a hazardous endeavor along a coast with no lighthouse or other navigational indicators. It is a coastal venture treacherous, but also rewarding, for much more hides under these waves than the rocks. A watery gyre is barely seen at the edge of shiplight, and at its core, I have heard there can be found treasures far more interesting than mere gold.

• Encyclopedia Entry No. 83, 84

[Testimony of a local fisherman]

“Now it’s not unusual for cod to happen up close to the shores at night. Obviously, I was hoping for it or I wouldn’t have been fishing in that stuff, but there was something else going on with these fish. Something not right. They weren’t taking to the bait, but they just kept coming up closer. Like they were trying best they could to get up on my ankles without getting stranded. Almost like they see someone standing on the beach and that’s all they’re interested in. Not that I let them, but they got close enough to tell something ugly about them. The only thing I managed to get hooked snapped my line before I could figure out what I was even looking at, other than big teeth and nasty looking eyes.“

Analysis: Our first descriptive cases of mutated cod corroborated with archived specimens from off the coast of Greater Marrow. Though there are instances where residents have managed to capture these codfish whole and live, no success has been found in attempting to keep them or any other mutated fish in captivity, due to their propensity to die shortly after they are harvested from the ocean. The two ‘flavors’ of tainted cod found here include the Fanged and Three-Headed variants, with no cases of hypertrophy. Their behavior has observed to feature heightened predatory behavior, to the point of stalking and testing large animals as oppurtunistic targets. They approach sluggishly at first, and lunge to close distances. They pose some hazard to swimmers, notably the unarmed, but can be reeled or netted as readily as any scrod. The three-headed cods are generally larger than the fanged variant, and both can be found close to the surface during a fog night.

• Encyclopedia Entry No. 79, 80

[We join the crew of a commercial trawler, company left unnamed to permit this revord of the onboard operations. As the ship coasts upon the outskirts of one of the smaller outcrops, fishermen gather at the fresh haul to do their work. Mackerel from all global ranges and climates incredulously line the deck of the vessel, meticulously sorted into an array of containers. One worker calls out as an unusual sight is plucked from the pile- a brown shiner with half a dozen too many eyes for an average fish. The bosun indicates for me a specific container the individual is packed into. What I find there is a collection of similar wretches, scales still twitching and mouths gasping wet with a shimmering fluid.]

“We don’t actually come across that many of them in the nets. One for about every hundred of the healthy ones. Their meat is considered tainted and has to be separated from the catch, but we aren’t allowed to return them to the environment either. They’ll stay on ice for now, later today they’ll be dropped off with a merchant who’s agreed to handle the… disposal.”

Analysis: In spite of the sheer diversity of mackerel to be seen at Blue Hole, these turned pacific mackerel are the only shared species between Greater Marrow and this living collection in such regard. Specifically, the Many-Eyed and Grotesque mackerels found in shallower coastal water. Like most aberrants, they are prone to agitation and exhibit territorial, if not predatory aggression at first contact. Like all aberrations, their blood runs a purple hue, and their sightings dry up once the fog has dissipated.

• Encyclopedia Entry No. 91, 92

[Shared anecdote from a lionfish diver]

“You have to really love a place like Blue Hole to do what I do. A lot of people don’t think of lionfish as an invasive species here, but they can do real damage to reefs where they’re not native, and ours are no exception. Worse still is that they’re far more aggressive here than anywhere else in the world, and not any less venomous. I thought if anyone was prepared to do a part in protecting local animals from these new pests, why not me? And yeah, I bagged a few. I speared things with a few too many eyes, a few too many heads, a few too many teeth. I found these great big ugly fish with no eyes at all that still would come right at you. And then I saw a… thing. The thing, Reason I don’t go night diving anymore. Came out of the dark like a ghost, black bones and green light. It didn’t look like something that should have even been real. I was lining a shot up and I felt like my arm had taken a lion’s barb. I didn’t even know what happened, that thing sparked, and I felt pure pain pulse through half of my body. Everything was panic after that. Panic to get back up and the hell out of the water. Fingers were still tingling almost until morning. All I know that I know is, I’m sticking to day hunting.”

Analysis: What’s to be expected was found in observation of the Tusked grouper. Despite their blindness, they show no hesitance to begin tracking and pursuing any nearby disturbance of water they sense. While their sole offensive boast is a strong mouth full of elongated teeth, the Voltaic variant wields a far less conventional weapon. When approached to a range of a couple of meters, it is capable of discharging a potent shock. Likely, this is utilized both as a defensive and hunting technique, similar to the currents produced by an electric eel. Similar accounts have attested to this stunning capability, reporting temporary paralytic effects from direct contact with the fish. Mechanism of this ability remains unknown. Especial caution recommended in presence of Voltaic grouper, not only for the risk of attack, but also from the drowning hazard posed by their stray arcs.

[dredgingthedepths]

Tuesday 5th April 1947

Returned to Greater Marrow, found more mutated crabs in my pots - the larger ones sport the same teal tumors as the smaller. The Painter was able to grind them up into paints, though, so at least somebody appreciates them.

Caught a grouper with enormous tusks on my way back to Greater Marrow. The Fishmonger purchased it without comment.

[savagesneversleepnyc]

COLORS OF JULY

RED is what she said

As hands that never tire

Pluck tender coals

To cast the ORE

Of the hammer to crack

The broken wheel

Grinning at the sky

Ants scurry to chase

The grace of shadows that

Cast cool silhouettes and

Hues of RED

7.2.24.00003 HOD OGE

ORANGE dots and spots of

sidewalk chalk as

Dogs squat with piercing eyes over

The steel rain guard

The rust of the industry

Drips into the gutter

A copper finger so filthy

No one could love it

Not even a mutha

2:01pm HOD BK 7.1.24

GREEN

PETALS WAIT AS BEAMS BREAK

DEWY DROPS APART

LULLING THEIR TIRED EYELET

TO QUENCH THE THIRSTY MUD

SLENDER ROOTS CREEP IN TINY

INCREMENTS NEXT

TO EARTHWORMS

AND SQUIRRELS BURROWS

FROM LILLY PAD

TO LICHEN

AND MOSS TO

GREEN EVERGLADES SLURRY

FROM CANOPY

TO FIRMAMENT BELOW

GREEN

11:32am YARDIE 6.30.24.0000003 OGE

VIOLET

VIOLET TIPS OF TULIP

DRIPS AND PUDDLES

ON PUTNAM THAT JIMMY’Z

DOG MADE AGAIN

THE BREAD IS FRESH

BUT THE PRICE OF

FLOUR AND OIL STAY STEEP

AS SAPPHIRE EYE CAST SMILES

THROUGH ANCIENT

STAINED GLASS TEETH

THE HEART OF PURPLE

GLORY ON THE CARD

IS ODD

BUT SO

IS THE

VIOLET BALL

10:56am NYU NYC 7.2.24.000003 OGE

Blue

Tiles fish platelets and rays coveted dismay

ELLs prone lurched as URCHINS spines unwind ALGEE and PLATYPUS papyrus siren’s beckon call roll in ORCA and SEA CUCUMBER clamor PUFFER’S at BAFIN BAY

Cold torrent trust over straits and PENGUINS gate WALRUS tusks sink vessels as lesser vassals of MACREL, SNAPPER, FLUKE and GROUPER slap the flailing sailors bailing BLUE buckets of CHUM and DUCKETTS too shiny to be mined in ocean beds were OCTOPUS GARDENS are REEFS that have old teeth TOO HUMBLE to MUMBLE back LAUGHTER over the claps of tiny GULLS picking CLOWN FISH from SHALLOWS so clear BLUE reflecting the under from the sand and rock that keep the BOX JELLY cozy and lonely LIKE a TIGER SHARK swims back up the canal in a VOW to somehow sniff out and BITE the RIGHT one who HARPOONED his brethren GATOR while cackling like HILLBILLIES chugging warm BUSCH BEERS out of a BLUE COOLER half over flowing with CATCH and the snouts of COPPERHEADS that slink over the rail

THE DEAD WOOD of the flooded floor below the BLUE blanket that hangs all the CATFISH and TICKS back when TIMBER RATTLERS all charge the beach at SUNSET

BLUE as ABOVE and BELOW and the NOTE we summon and LIVE LOVE KNOW AS NONE OTHER or the interval we command the tiller with in the GALE… Athe eye of MOBY DICK blinks again before thinking which one them to EAT FIRST…

FOR the OCEAN is a JUNGLE and the LAW of ORDER as such shall make WEAK into FOOD to sustain a BROOD as this the WAY as tides turn slowly to MERMAIDS and DREAMS I CHOOSE TO SEE… BLUE

5:06am YARDIE HOD

7.4.24.00000003

OGE IZU

INDIGO

INDIGO BLIND

GAZING WITH EYES SLAMMED SHUT

WANDERING AS A MOLE TO THE HOLE

BUT AS A MAN IN THE HEATH OR DESERT

OR SEA ALONE TO PONDER THE SOUP OF POINTS OF LIGHT ABOVE THAT ARE ALL SO FAR OFF YET GLEEM LIKE A BILLION SUNS OF INDGO HUES SHE USED TO TAKE THE SHINE INSIDE US AND GUIDE THROUGH CHOPPY WATERS AND PUT ON A WHITE KNIT BERET IN MIDTOWN WITH A FROWN AND IDIGO WENT IN MY HEART AS THE TRAIN ROLLS TO THE BLUE TUBE WE USED TO HOLD HANDS WAITING FIR ANYTHING ANYWHERE TO TRANSFORM OUR MESS INTO A GEM WE KNOW AND ALWAYS HOLD GLOWS IDIGO

5:14am YARDIE HOD

7.5.24.0000003

[spidermilkshake]

Ancardia's Unusual Animals--The Gajah Mina

Classification: Beast (pinniped)

Habitat: Reef, sandbar, and seagrass regions of the Buldar Sea and surrounding subtropical regions.

            A curious example of tropical ocean wildlife, the Gajah Mina, or the “Fish Elephant” as it has sometimes been called, is a large predator of pelagic and reef life in the Eastern reaches of the world. Related to the walrus of the north and south polar regions, the gajah mina is a magnitude even larger and has its signature tusks aligned to point sharply forward rather than downwards. Unlike the walrus, the gajah mina does not feed on bottom-dwellers or molluscs but primarily rushes into schools of jacks, silversides, and other tropical fishes to spear a few unwary individuals; they are also known to prey upon several much larger species, such as stingray, reef shark, and the larger groupers if given the chance. They are not considered safe to dive around since they are fairly aggressive and touchy about having larger creatures within a certain radius of themselves—and their territorial fights can sometimes cause enlarged breakers in harbor regions from the violence of the struggle. It is generally best to avoid coming within 10 meters of this beast at the best of times.

            The gajah mina spends most of its adults life swimming or floating on their backs on the surface to rest. They do very rarely come ashore on small sandbars and rocky islets, usually only in the rutting season and again in the pupping season. Males clash with each other over breeding rights atop these tiny spits of land in a way very similar to stags; when they cross their tusks like this it seldom results in death or serious injury, unlike when two of these beasts are battling over territory in the sea. After the rutting season is done, there is an eight-month lull before the pregnant cows come ashore on these same little islands, where the competition for space and escalated hormones often results in loud and protracted fights between the gajah mina, as each will prefer to have a 5-to-10-meter radius of land to give birth undisturbed, and many of these rocky and sandy patches are not large enough to host more than one or two of the cows at a time. Smaller, weaker, and less determined gajah mina cows are often forced to leave and swim to a different patch of land.

    Newborns are relatively small and mostly helpless for a while, with a much darker coloration than the adults to help blend in with the rocky islands. At this stage, gajah mina are vulnerable to some predation from large seabirds and occasionally large sharks and toothed whales, though this is not common as the mothers stay with their pups most hours of the day, even forgoing hunting to a degree they may lose 20% of their body mass before their pups are weaned and can join their parents in the water. 4-or-5-month-old gajah mina are about the size of fur seals, and have begun to grow their signature forward-pointing tusks, though they are still too small to allow it to begin hunting like the adults. Until about a year of age, gajah mina feed mostly on prawns, bits of chum given by their parents, and the odd molluscs like squid and sea snails. After a year of age, these youngsters are close to walrus-size and their tusks have grown to protrude about a foot from their mouths, enabling them to begin spearing fish as a hunting strategy, though it is only at year 4 they are considered mature adults and may breed themselves. The natural lifespan of a gajah mina is usually between 40 and 60 years, though some have been recorded as living to an excess of 70 years.

[luveline]

hi jade! what music have you been listening to lately?

Hey! all sorts of nonsense tbh— smashing pumpkins, phillip glass, the nerves(!!), cool about it by boygenius, tusk by fleetwood mac, ruins by grouper. what about you?

[todaysbiggesthits]

The Exam

Best Music Moment of 2018:

Nasty: Hearing Red Eyes live. I've already said it on TBH, but seeing your favorite band in their relative prime is such a cool thing. 

BC: Since partying all night with my favorite band fell within the short window between Bestuv '17 ending and Bestuv '18 beginning, I'd have to say:

1. Kacey Musgrave's performance of "Slow Burn" on SNL

2. Radiohead perfectly executing "There There" which transported me back to Lollapalooza in '08 3. Despite the annoyance of sitting in lots of Indy500 traffic due to a new parking situation, I quite enjoyed working through half of the Stones' catalogue with Bronco riding shotgun and Codemin listening in from the flatbed of Dillon's pickup

Codem: Spending what was New Year's Eve for the central timezone in the USA at a Fijian medical bath facility listening to music, playing cards, downing tequeel and getting ringworm with my blushing bride. -hearing peter hook play the bass line from shadowplay live and in person. -Arden, JD and JJ encouraging me to go talk to Kyle from Swearin'. -Silver Jews and Westing (By Musket and Sextant) came to Spotify. -Watching "Random Rules" video for the first time

Larse: Sitting behind this massive (I mean orca fat) guy at the CHVRCHES show, feeling really bad for him before the show started because he was all alone and kept looking around and worrying about letting people in his row and things. As soon as CHVRCHES came on though, this guy was exactly where he was supposed to be that night. Sang the words and danced to every song and just made my day with how happy he was to be there. Jotted down every song of the setlist into his smartphone and just had an all around great time. And some of you motherfuckers won't even go to a movie by yourself!

JD: May: A moody Chinatown stroll with the new Grouper album in the rain. July: Soaking up some good tunes at the housewarming party to ring in our new pad. July: Some hilariously rambunctious youths having at it when “House of Jealous Lovers” came on during a full play of Compilation 1 at the DFA summer party. One of them (who must have been ~8 in the bygone days of 02) screamed out “this is the song that started it all!” to a crowd of stationary gawkers and I felt a brief moment of hope for the youngs. August: Shaking a leg at Pete’s wedding (also featuring a delightful hojl spin). September: A rowdy spin of “Sentient Oona” on the Levee juke with an impromptu digital jukebox dance party at the Turkey’s Nest with jj’s cousin and his lovely girlfriend. October: The best music cue I’ve ever seen at the end of Beau Travail.

Bronco: Taking John to his first concert, and that first concert was Mastodon. That was pretty awesome to be able to share that experience with him. He was super into it, and so were the metalheads at the show. "Dad of the Year" was definitely shouted more than a few times, and I thought to myself, "fuckin-A right."

Chap: My kids saying "Papa" when "She Drives Me Crazy" by Fine Young Cannibals comes on.

Best Shows Seen in 2018:

C: Open Mike Eagle at Pitchfork

Bronco: Sleep

Laser: CHVRCHES at Riverside Theater; Chromeo at Summerfest

BC: The Brian Jonestown Massacre, Radiohead

Nasty: The War on Drugs. 

Code: kraus - schubas peter hook - metro no age - the bottle swearin' - bowery eleanor friedberger - lincoln hall my bloody valentine - aragon "quickly climbing the ranks of my nice" ballroom kraus - the bottle pictureplane - bottom lounge soft moon - the bottle book of love - chop shop

JD: 1. Shame at Market Hotel 2. Hamilton Leithauser at the Carlyle Hotel 3. Beach House at United Palace Theater 4. The Voidz at Elsewhere 5. Parquet Courts’ Wide Awake! mid-day album release show with my morning coffee at Rough Trade

6. Flasher at St. Vitus 7. Deafheaven at Brooklyn Steel 8. Panda Bear at Brooklyn Steel 9. No Age at Brooklyn Bazaar 10. CCFX at the DFA summer party at Elsewhere with my girlfriend in full blown rem sleep standing up with her head on my shoulder 11. Alex Cameron at Warsaw 12. Gang Gang Dance and Interpol at House of Vans Of note: Dekkar at On Cinema Live at the Bell House.

Confession of 2018:

JD: I have a real TBH confession that I held until now. I was thoroughly enjoying the Flasher album on a recent evening after a few too many drinks when a burning urge to see them washed over me. They had a show coming up at a bar just a few blocks from my apartment, so I enthusiastically snapped up tickets for me and jj. Thinking this might be a good opportunity for a TBH outing, I emailed Chap trying to peer pressure him into attending the Flasher show and gauging his interest in a Parquet Courts concert that would be happening the following evening. No response.

We later received an invitation to a holiday cocktail party at a friend’s apartment on the same night as the Flasher show, and I hatched a cockamamie scheme to go from our home in Greenpoint to the party in Soho, leave after an hour to catch the concert back in Greenpoint, head back to the party in Soho, and finally retire back to Greenpoint. JJ wisely passed on such a scheme and I left the party to trek off to the concert solo with an extra ticket in tow. 

Awash in good cheer and excitement while Flasher set up, I thought what the hell, might as well take a flier on reminding Chap of the show. Maybe the twins are asleep, he’s just sitting around, can jump into a cab, claim the extra ticket, watch the show, and cruise on back. Mid-text I paused, wondering just why he never responded to the initial email weeks ago. A quick gmail search, and there sat my drunkenly composed beseechment to join, rotting in the drafts folder unsent. 

A couple of the dudes from Parquet Courts were bouncing around the bar, and I decided it would make more sense to hit up Chap about attending their show the next day than explain the whole snafu and extend a ludicrous invitation that required dropping everything and leaving immediately for a show he didn’t even know was happening. I ate the extra ticket, had a blast watching Flasher, zipped back to the party, drank myself into oblivion, and was way too hung over to even consider the Parquet Courts show the next day. NICK SORRY NICK! (editor’s note: too long)

Larson: I saw Timberlake at Fiserv Forum

BC: My neighbor invited me to see Imagine Dragons. I lied and said I had to travel for work. "On a Saturdee?" he inquired. "Yeah. Totally sucks," I awkwardly replied. I hid inside my house all weekend.

Bronco: I'd rather see shows by myself than with my buddy. He likes going to shows, and I keep inviting him, and we have a fine time, but he doesn't live in town anymore, so I gotta worry about him drinking too much and driving an hour home. And his wife is a psychopath and that complicates shit. Too much. And it's just so much more freeing being able to not give a fuck about anyone else during that time, to just soak it all in, it feels good and right.

Codem: -despite all of the bad things that kanye said, i still liked listening to his catalogue throughout the year. i even liked his EP that came out in 2018.   -i really liked the beach house album!   -i liked the snail mail album, skipped two opportunities to see her and then by --the end of the year, i thought the album was sort of boring.   -Arden and i went to see pictureplane open for alice glass and thought that the show sucked and pictureplane played such stupid songs. three months later, he put out my favorite album of the year and i can't stop thinking that i hated all of the same songs the first time i heard them. -i read an article on a bright fall saturday morning that exhaustively detailed the Cardi B and Nicki Minaj feud and i watched all of the instagram story clips that showed Cardi B scrolling through her phone with those outlandish nails of hers. it took me two cups of coffee to get through it all, but get through it i did. [i couldn't think of nicki minaj's name just now so i stared at the ceiling and kept running through names in my mind's eye: missy, kim, cardi, kelis, kim??, eve, trina. i couldn't remember. so i finally googled "kanye monster" and found her name. easy.]

Nasty: I'm done with new music. It’s over. I didn't listen to a single new album - I don't even know if I could name a new album. Realistically, I did like Daytona. 

Biggest Disappointment of 2018:

Nasty: MAGA Kanye

Larse: Timberlake at Fiserv Forum

Bronco: Black Tusk, Alice in Chains

BC: Getting into The Orwells literally two days before #MeToo chewed 'em up and spit 'em out

Chap: Car Seat Headrest. Can't believe he's gay! jk the album was the disappointment.

Code: -somebody hacked my spotify account and wiped all of my music and replaced it with raggaeton and halsey. i was able to get my music back, but i lost all of my meticulously cared for folder structure. -i wanted the simple minds album to be cool; it was not.   -i wanted the swearin' album to be really great; it was okay. -pictureplane and ovlov did not tour their albums.   -i had to eat two tickets to my bloody valentine after buying four. the original show sold out and i thought i was going to be able to sell my extras for a profit -- they ended up announcing a second show and there was no secondary market for the original show.   -no CCFX followup ):  

JD: Got to Hammerstein Ballroom for MBV and there was a line longer than an entire avenue. They were already on by the time we made it into the heinously oversold venue and we were stuck by the bar in the lobby surrounded by people constantly shouting in an effort to compete with the apocalyptic noise.

C: Terrible sound at Tame Impala show

Most Overrated of 2018:

Code: -probably that kacey musgraves album; i got absolutely nothing out of it. also, i liked the robyn album, but i wanted to love it after many years between releases. i think i'm just being greedy.   -i'm going to get killed for this, but the throwing the baby out with the bathwater approach to artists' criminal behavior or inflammatory tweets is pretty overrated right now. 

Bronco: Ghost - I like their schtick, with rotating members and the whole inverted church thing. It's campy but they're sticking to it, and that's fine, but their music isn't metal. It's poppy glam shit about the devil, and that's also fine, but I don't get why it's on anyone's list. Production value maybe? But the music itself isn't anything to write home about. I just don't get it.

JD: n/a. The thick layer of nonsensical, Pynchonian obfuscation the platform economy dollops over everything has made it impossible to understand how anything is rated. Almost feel bad for the click driven publications that have to just throw out a guess.

C: Mitski

Chap: Snail Mail

BC: Kanye. His new music is no longer good enough to put up with his bufoonery.

Laser: Timberlake at Fiserv Forum

Nasty: Clemson. GOARSH. 

Make It Stop 2018:

Nasty: DJT, anytime now. 

Bronco: Party politics. No more labels allowed. You can have a list of stuff you support and a list of stuff you are against, but that's fucking it. No more this side vs that side for reasons as caddy as an R vs. a D. Also religion having any influence whatsoever in the way our country is run. Believe whatever you want to believe, but don't force your bullshit on anyone else. You want to torment yourself with a lifelong christian guilt trip, that's your boat to float, but don't go poking holes in my boat just because you're a miserable fuck. Just stop. Also, Jack White.

Larse: Timberlake at Fiserv Forum

Chap: Baby Shark

BC: My shrinking attention span

JD: The cultural currency of clapbacks, shade, and tea.

Code: trap music playing from a phone's external speaker while i'm trapped on public transportation.  i'm going to go broke buying enough earbuds to distribute to these offenders.

Biggest TBH Regret of 2018:

Larse: Timberlake at Fiserv Forum

C: Not seeing Low at a church on University of Chicago's Campus

JD: -Hearing about a Grouper show at a church around the corner from my pad after it sold out. -Not necessarily a regret because I didn’t know it was happening, but oh how I wish I had seen Jon Glaser and Jon Benjamin as Dave Farina and Dave Franz, Dennis and Dennis’ sons, at a Bowery Ballroom Yo La Tengo show.

BC: -I wish I would've cooked up a way to see Shame play a midnight show in Bloomington.  I just want that kid to scream "Concrete" in my face. -I probably should've seen Smashing Pumpkins when they rolled through town too. 

Code: my flight got delayed and i missed the swearin' show at that place in brooklyn that "smelled like hot fish"

Bronco: Not a regret so much as I was super-bummed when High on Fire dropped out of the tour I saw in November. The venue we were at put my buddy and I right next to the stage. It would've been crazy awesome to see HOF there, but they've rescheduled at least, and I'll see them in January.

Bin: I haven't listened to any Kanye this year. I thought it would feel gratifying by year end - it doesn't. I'll probably still avoid this most recent album, but I'm going back to the well. I'll continue to talk shit about him though. Take that Ye!

Chap: No regrets 

Detective Murtaugh of 2018:

Larse: Getting too old to keep up with all of this new music and put a worthwhile list together at the end of the year…

Nasty:

Code: i added book of love show to my top ten concert list because Arden and i were able to take a seat on the ground in the balcony section. we had to continually move our spot on the floor to be able to peer through the railing and a mass of bodies in order to catch a glimpse of the stage.

JD: -Two of my favorite music related experiences of the year were seeing Hamilton Leithauser in the cafe of the Carlyle Hotel and the extended Niles family in The Nutcracker at the NYC Ballet. -When I googled “Detective Murtaugh” just now it was mostly pictures of Damon Wayans (Jr. no less!) playing the role on the Lethal Weapon CBS series.

Bronco: Putting up with shit instead of speaking up about it. There's room on the train but I'm squished by the door because some self-absorbed dinks won't move in? "Could you please move in?" It sounds so simple, but breaking that silence barrier was a scary thing. Now I don't give a shit. I'm on train for two stops, and I'm not going to see you again, so fuck you, move in or I'm going to move myself in and it aint gonna be pleasant for you.

Chap: A hipster female barber said I was a silver fox. AYFKM?

BC: What the hell is Fortnite?

Resolution for 2018 Update:

Larse: get my list in on time! How it went: probably horseshit! (editor’s note: it was early yet!)

NACK: While I didn’t have the occasion to catch shows this year, I anticipate doing so in '18 due to some changes afoot. How it went: Joe Dons has yet to let me know of a concert going on and I have no other friends here, so I blame him for my failure

Bin: I’m just going to keep saying “get to NY for a show with JD” until I make it happen. How it went: Didn't get to NY for a show with JD.

JD: See you gents more often with or without a show attached.  How it went: Fairly decent, but is it really ever enough?

Bronco: Get in shape. I want to stick to a schedule of running all year round. I ran a 10K back in June, then needed to recover for a bit, been recovering ever since…Fat Dad needs to keep running all year round without excuse, especially given that we go skiing between Xmas and New Year’s and I’m gonna be a floppy legged mess. During those runs, I’ll try to listen to new material each time. How it went: I ran a 5-miler in May. Haven't run since. Though I have been reasonably consistent with my prison workout (situps and pushups before bed time), so now there's a hint of muscle under my fat dad layer. Just gotta combine the two now somehow.

Code: make more playlists for my wife How it went: i said that i was going to make more mixes for my wife. i made one year-end mix for her and i'm sure she's loving it :*

BC: No more resolutions How it went: 2018 Resolution was "No More Resolutions," so pretty darn good!

Resolution for 2019:

Laser: ---

BC: Listen to one new album a week; reboot the Classic Album Review Club

JD: Greater consciousness of how I’m using my attention - an ineffectual and meaningless protest of the ways the world is burning down in pursuit of it.

Bronco: Read more 'classic' books. I didn't read many of them, even in school (especially in school? Never could read a book I was told to read). But I'm leaning in the sci-fi direction of 'classics'. I just read Dune this summer, and wrapped up Fahrenheit 451 the other day. I'm feeling an unexplained need to beef up my nerd credentials and this seems the way to accomplish it.

Chap: Learn Piano; Guilt Joe Dons into finally inviting me to a concert

Nasty: I'm sticking with it - get to NY for a show with JD.

Code: catch ovlov, pictureplane, washer, chromatics, EMA and colleen green live this year.

Most Anticipated of 2019:

Bronco: Tool. Fifth year's the charm. I'm actually hopeful this time around. In fact, I half expect them to drop it on New Year's Eve or something, just so it's post Listicle season, but not quite 2019 so it can't end up on those lists either. They're such dicks like that.

BC: Still waitin' on dat Vampire Weekend yet

Chap: Vampire Weekend, Chromatics

C: Lin Manuel in Mary Poppins... I kid, My Bloody Valentine

JD: Going to put Frank Ocean out into the universe, MBV take 2, Grimes, Panda Bear, Kanye’s escape from the Black Lodge

Codem: chromatics - tommy, MBV, washer, colleen green, EMA(?), DoM

Laser: no idea what's even on the docket

Nasty: Mueller's Report

[hillnerd]

Taking a Shallow Breath Ch 6

|Harry Potter | Fanfiction | PG-13 | in-progress | Chapter: 4422 words

Ships: Rose/Scorpius, canon and others | Fanfiction.net link

Romance friendship comedy family & drama |

Ch 1  | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

"Rose?"

What in the world was that sound?

Rose rolled herself even tighter in her cocoon of bed sheets.

"Rose?"

"Go 'way, Hugo," she muttered.

"Hugo?" she heard another voice giggle. There was a chorus of laughs.

Rose opened up one sleep-encrusted eye to see a group of eleven-year-old girls, all dressed pristinely in their school uniforms and headed for the door.

"We have class in about forty-five minutes," said the stylish brunette girl at the foot of the bed. She had enviable waves of chestnut brown hair, and looked like one of those girls Rose had seen on the covers of Witch Teen Weekly magazines. "It might take a while to sort out your hair, so I suggest you start now."

Rose sat up and blearily peered at her well-groomed dorm-mates, who giggled amongst themselves again as they stared at her. Rose was fairly certain it looked like a small explosive device had been detonated in her hair, and a look in the bathroom mirror later confirmed it.

"Oh," Rose croaked. "Are you all headed for breakfast, then?"

"Yes," said one of them. Rose was not sure which girl it was who answered her, but within moments the giggling gaggle had left.

In an awkward tumble she landed next to her trunk to get out her clothes for the day. Her trunk was in disarray from the night before, as she had annoyingly placed her pajamas at the bottom of her trunk. It made it difficult to dress, with clothing unconscionably spread around her bed, but after a few moments of swearing and pillaging, she found her robes. Dressed, she headed to the Great Hall by herself, she was determined not to let anything dampen her first day of classes.

She took her time as she walked down the stone steps, staring at the many moving paintings. There was something about them she found intriguing. She hadn't really had a chance to see many Wizarding painters' works outside of the stuffy portraits she'd seen at Grimmauld Place. They were nothing compared to these menageries and elegantly dressed wizards and witches. Seeing them moving about and following her, their brushstrokes so smooth and—

"Bollocks!" she cried as her foot fell into what had appeared to be a solid stair.

She tried to step out of the invisible hole, but couldn't: the step obstinately refused to let go of her foot. She tried from an assortment of angles to remove her foot, but nothing seemed to work. She looked about to see if there were any helpful portraits nearby, buy the frames were empty of any speaking inhabitants. A fat rabbit sat staring at her, nibbling on a rather large carrot.

"Hulloooo? Anybody there?"

The only sounds she could hear were her own grunts of exertion as she pulled again at her foot, and the gnawing of the carrot. It was just her, the rabbit, and the cavernous limestone.

She attempted to hopelessly sit, but her leg was at such an angle the task proved impossible. Minutes passed. Not a soul. Perhaps the stone was charmed to attach itself permanently. They would have to cut out the stair itself in order for her to leave that spot, but her foot would remain forever attached to that block of stone. She would have to take a broom to class in order to get there on time, as walking with a one-hundred pound block of stone attached to your ankle would not be a speedy event. Years would pass, and forever shunned, she would have to live in a cave, where only wild birds would tolerate her company, and would bring her books and food until the day she died, withered, outcast and quite dirty. This was her fate. She was almost comfortable with it, when she heard the footsteps of someone a few flights down.

"Salvation!" Rose exclaimed. Perhaps there was hope yet. The footsteps made no change in pace, which meant they didn't hear her.

"Excuse me!" she called to the feet. "Could you please help me? My foot is stuck!"

The footsteps sped up, and a blond head came into view.

"Up here!" she called down.

The student looked up, and there was the countenance of Scorpius Malfoy.

"Bollocks," Rose let out. She then cursed under her breath some more. Oh well. At least she was being begrudgingly helped by him. Maybe they could even become friends for the second time in twenty four hours.

He gave her an annoyingly superior smirk, before continuing his way to the Great Hall.

"BOLLOCKS!" Rose cleverly shouted back down the stairs. Her chest constricted, her cheeks began to flush, and she had the sensation a bull must feel when a red cape is teasingly flourished in its direction. She let out a frustrated scream, and did what she could to kick the air. All she succeeded in was sinking her foot deeper and dropping her book sack down the stairs with a vociferous crash. "Could today be any worse?"

"I imagine it could," she heard a deep voice chuckle.

There was Uncle Neville— Professor Longbottom!— standing a flight down.

"I've gotten stuck in this stair a fair few times," he said, extracting her foot with a swift flick of his wand and handing over her book bag.

"They should have warning signs."

Longbottom ruefully laughed.

"Agreed. Unfortunately, the stairs have plenty of spells that keep them from getting worn down: this includes spells that make writing a warning sign on the steps near impossible. That, and Peeves enjoys setting any non permanent signs on fire and hurling them at students."

"Thanks for helping me," Rose said as they reached the Great Hall.

Neville her a comforting pat on the shoulder. "Now I need to go and tend to the plants, but enjoy your breakfast, Rose. I believe Al is still at the Gryffindor table."

It took no more than a glance to find the always-disheveled hair of Al amongst the first years. He seemed to already have a host of little friends around him. They all laughed as one of the boys did an impression of a unicorn by holding a piece of toast to his forehead. Rose made her way towards the group rather slowly until she spotted Scorpius' pale hair. He was reading the same book she'd seen him reading on the Hogwarts Express, and sitting by himself. Instead of feeling pity for him, Rose felt a wrathful surge of anger.

In a haze she forcefully hit Scorpius with her book bag as she sped by.

"Ouch!" he let out, rubbing his back as best he could.

"Oh! So very sorry," she snarled over her shoulder.

"I see you're out of the step, now," she heard from behind her.

"Yeah, well, it's a good thing Professor Longbottom came along when he did," she replied with restraint, turning around to face the horrid boy who had the audacity to smirk at her. "I thought maybe you would help, but I guess it's true that the only people Malfoys ever help are themselves."

Scorpius's smirk fled the scene to be replaced by a potent glare.

"And judging by you it's true that Weasleys are a brood of ugly, foul-tempered, judgmental idiots."

"U-ugly?" Rose gasped, a hand going to her frazzled hair.

"Just go sit at your table already, Weasley. People are trying to eat, and your face is causing indigestion," he added with merciless precision.

There was a moment, not more than maybe a tenth of a second, where Rose thought she might cry. The fleeting moment of weakness was replaced with a burning fury. Unfortunately she was now unable to form any words and her mouth opened and closed like a grouper fish.

"Dyspepsia," Scorpius responded, giving her a look of revulsion.

Rose let out a guttural cry before stamping her foot, turning around and marching towards the Gryffindor table. She flung herself next to Albus without preamble and the three boys around him stopped talking.

"Here's our schedule. Everything ok?" Al looked at her a bit warily.

Rose shook her head, ignoring the stares as she filled her plate to the brim and started shoveling food into her trap with a vengeance.

Al turned around in his seat, and leaned his back against the table, curiously looking at the Slytherin table. "Why is Scorpius glaring at you?"

Rose gave a flippant shrug. "Becaush he'sh a Malfoy. Dey're shupposhed to grare at Weashreesh, right?"

The other three boys looked on with avid interest. Al looked like he was thinking hard about something, and didn't bother to make eye contact with her.

"Itch no bug deal," Rose managed to say around her food.

"Is that why you were late for breakfast? Did you two duel or something?" asked the chubby boy across from her.

"No." Rose swallowed her bite with a grimace. "I got caught in a stair on the way."

"How'd you manage to forget about the stair? That prefect talked about it for like five minutes on the way to the common room," the light brown-haired boy said with a derisive snort.

"Nice," muttered Rose.

"She wasn't with our group," said Al, suddenly looking her in the eye. His stare promised they would be talking about it later.

"Why weren't you with us?" the chubby boy asked. "Is that when you dueled with Malfoy?"

"There was no duel." She wrathfully stabbed her French toast.

"Well then why weren't you with our group?" asked the Scottish black boy. He had two triangles of toast tucked in his upper lip dangling like walrus tusks. "Vampire try to suck your blood?"

The boys all laughed.

"I got distracted by the paintings. No big deal."

She gave a pleading look to Al. He nodded in understanding and got up from the table.

"Yeah, some of those paintings are weird. Ready for class?"

"Yeah," said Rose, grabbing a few sausage patties in a napkin and following him from the table.

Al gave a wave to the still curious boys. "See you at Potions."

Rose scuttled past Scorpius's table as quickly as she could. Perhaps if she just ran by him every time he was near she would forget he existed. Yes, that was most definitely her plan: ignore him and never talk to, or about him, again!

"So what really happened between you and Scorpius?"

Thanks, Al.

Rose gave a great sigh and nibbled on a sausage patty.

"We had a fight. I told him I didn't care if he was Slytherin, we'd still be friends. Then he got really mad, saying I care about it, and that he didn't want to be friends with a Gryffindor anyways. This morning he said my face causes him dyspepsia."

Al let out a laugh.

"It's not funny, Al! You can't be laughing at what he said!"

He gave a shrug of nonchalance. "It was funny."

Rose was not sure that she had adequately described the events. How could he be defending the little monster? Rose savagely tore the end off of her patty.

"He inshulted me. Humiriated me!"

She swallowed.

"He insulted me, our house, and the whole Weasley family," she added, accidentally flinging the last of her breakfast across the hall. She hurriedly started picking them up. Al didn't move to help her. "You're my cousin and a Gryffindor; how could you not be on my side with this? He said I was stupid, ugly and-"

"Why would he do that?" Al said in annoyingly calm voice.

Rose gave a derisive snort. "Because he's a Malfoy and a Slytherin."

"He seemed alright on the train, yeah? You were the one who wanted to be friends with him in the—"

"Past tense!"

"Why don't you stop acting like a dragon, and just be friends?"

"You just don't get it," said Rose with a shake of her head.

"Huh."

"'Huh?!' Use some words! 'Huh' is not a word!" Rose grouched as one of the sausage patties rolled out of her hand further down the hallway.

"I just really don't want to get in the middle of this."

Al quietly crossed his arms and gave her one of his stares. He had an annoying ability to almost always get his way. He had an assembly of weapons, and today he was using the 'stare oppressively, deliberately and unfazedly' method.

"I am never going to be friends with him," she replied in a harsh whisper.

The S.O.D. U. struck with precision.

"But I will stop 'acting like a dragon.'"

Al nodded in approval.

"This is only for now, though! If he's mean to me again, there are no guarantees. If he talks to me, I'll probably go into dragon-mode."

"Just don't do it in front of people," Al said, giving the password to the Fat Lady. "It's embarrassing."

They stopped by their dorms to get their incredibly awkward and heavy potions kits, along with the rest of their school books for the day.

She rushed up the stairs, grabbed the kit, and was about to leave when she discovered a piece of parchment stuck to her shoe. It was haphazardly folded and on it Dad's large scrawl read 'To My Wild Girl.' She picked up the letter and gently unfolded it.

There were three letters in a row, each in different handwriting.

In large, almost illegible, handwriting was the letter from Hugo.

DEAR ROSIE

what huose are you in? It shuold be Gryffindor becuas its the best. I want to be ther to but mum says no becuas I am not old enuogh. I wnat to see yuo soon but not til Chrismas becuaes mum says yup want to be at skool til Chrismas. Pleaze bring me a ghost!

HUGO

Rose dearly loved her little brother, but she had to wonder about his writing skills at times. He was nine and couldn't spell or write worth a lick. Next was Mum's tight neat script. Rose wasn't all that surprised at how long it was. Scanning it, she spotted a paragraph or two about elf rights. Rose decided to save that for later. Next was Dad's. She most looked forward to his. He was never prone to monologuing like Mum.

"Rose? Hurry up, already!" she heard the muffled yell of Al.

"I'M COMING!" Rose shouted back. Looking at the letter she felt a pang for home. She stuffed the letter in her rucksack and awkwardly waddled down the stairs with her kit.

Al carried his the rest of the way, while Rose used a pair of attachable wheels Mum had bought her. At first she thought them to be a wonderful invention, as it would save her from years of a severely curved spine, but upon arriving at the classroom door, she realized she was the only one using them.

The group of girls from her dorm were standing about giggling. When Rose looked to join them, they subtly turned away and giggled some more. Not one to be fazed, Rose decided to stick by her cousin.

The Gryffindor boys quickly sought out Al. Unlike at breakfast, he made sure to introduce them to Rose rather than have them interrogate her again. The chubby boy was Ward Watkins. He had dark curly hair and seemed better suited for Hufflepuff than Gryffindor to her. The somewhat condescending boy with light brown hair was Alex Hooper. He had hooded light blue eyes and a snobby attitude. The Scottish black boy was Porter McKirnan. He had a wide, inviting smile, and seemed friendly enough, though a bit of a goofball. He had been the one using toast to do impressions of creatures. None of them particularly wanted to talk to her, besides Ward, who excitedly prattled on about a pet gerbil he brought with him.

"It said 'rat' on the list, but I figure a rodent is a rodent, and Gus is much better than any old rat."

"Hmm," Rose responded, bored.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rose spotted Malfoy, quite alone, which brought her a nasty sort of satisfaction. He was surreptitiously eyeing them.

"It's nice that you have such a great pet, Ward. Pets and friends are very important. You're quite lucky to have both. You have to feel sorry for the students that never manage to make friends because they are prats," Rose said rather loudly. Malfoy's eyebrows creased and he pointedly stared at the wall. Ward just nodded in agreement. He was boring, but at least he was amiable.

Suddenly the classroom door opened to reveal their Proffessor of Potions.

"In we go," he said, adjusting his square spectacles. The students quickly obliged. The room seemed to be impossibly bright and clean, to Rose. She always pictured the dungeons to be dank, dirty and ill lit: this was mostly because anything requiring things like newt eyes and knives couldn't take place in a bright cheery sort of place in her mind. Rose sat with Albus, and she surreptitiously watched Malfoy sit at the last remaining desk by himself.

The Professor wore robes that were impeccably pressed, and had a very short, meticulously parted haircut. The man could easily pass as one of Grandpa Granger's dental assistants. In a very precise hand 'Professor Cauldwell' was written upon the chalk board.

"As the board reads, I'm Professor Cauldwell." His voice was erudite and precise. "In order to succeed in Potions you must follow the Four P's."

Rose had to stop herself from snorting. Porter McKirnan didn't bother to stagger his laughter.

With a sudden wave of his wand a scroll hanging from wall unfurled to reveal the Four P's: Prepared, Punctual, Precise and Pristine.

"Prepared. I expect you to come to class with all your supplies, a ready mind, and your homework. If I find you lacking in any of those you will lose points and spend the rest of the class sitting outside the door with no wand.

"Punctual. If you come to class late you will be punished. You also need to closely watch the time with your potions. A few seconds boiling too long or not long enough can make the difference between creating a cure or creating a poison.

"Precise. Not paying attention to little details in a Potion's Recipe can make a potion anything from just useless, to something explosive, to something deadly. I expect you all to show a proper amount of respect for you ingredients, and be constantly aware of the volatile ingredients you are working with.

"And Pristine. This classroom, your desks, your potions kits and the cubbyholes where you keep them will remain in the spotless condition you find them in today. I don't want any grime-filled cauldrons, leaking ingredients or sticky vials in here. Keep things clean, or lose points.

"Stick to the Four P's, and you will find this a pleasant atmosphere. Don't, and I guarantee you will not pass, and you will find this course to be most displeasing."

Most of the class had sunk low in their seats looking sullen. Potions didn't sound like it would be much fun. The fact that he mentioned poison and death a few times made Rose wonder why they ever let students practice Potions in the first place.

"Now that we have that out of the way— I always like to start the year by seeing who managed to read about potions before school started, " the Professor said with a dry grin. Al and a few others let out a chorus of low groans. "Let's see who can get the most points."

Rose felt a sudden jolt of alertness as her competitive streak started to flare.

"Who can name one of the ingredients in a boil cure potion?"

Rose remembered this! Porcupine quills! She started to raise her hand when she heard Professor Cauldwell say:

"Gentleman at the back."

"Porcupine quills."

"Well done. Two points to Slytherin, Mr..."

"Scorpius Malfoy."

Rose turned about in her seat and glared. She had known the answer. She knew it! And that little toad had beaten her to it. First he had bested her at chess on the train, then he had left her in a bewildered crying mess and unable to find her common room. He then abandoned her when her foot was stuck. Add in his acerbic tongue giving her a lashing at breakfast, and every fiber of her demanded she beat and humiliate him.

Her hand was quivering in anticipation for the next question.

"All right then. Who can name a use for asphodel?"

Before Cauldwell had finished the question, Rose had thrust her hand into the air.

"Miss Weasley."

Rose felt a flash of irritation that he knew her name just by glancing at her hair.

"Draught of the Living Dead."

"Quite right. Two points to Gryffindor."

"Nice one," whispered Al, giving her a thumbs up, but she had no time for dallying in petty congratulations. Rose turned around in her seat and gave Malfoy a challenging look. He returned it full force.

"Who can tell me how an Ashwinder's eggs should be kept?"

Malfoy's hand was in the air quick as a Snitch.

"Mr Malfoy."

"Frozen."

"Two points to Slytherin. Next question: What potion can fluxweed- Miss Weasley."

"Polyjuice Potion, sir."

"Yes. Two points," said Cauldwell, looking between Rose and Malfoy over his glasses. Most of the students were giving similar wary glances. Al looked around embarrassed.

"The potion that persuades the drinker that the giver is his or her best friend-"

"Gregory's Unctuous Unction!" called out Malfoy, fixing a determined stare at Rose.

"Two points. The most powerful truth-serum-"

"Veritaserum!" Rose practically shouted, not looking at Cauldwell, but turned about so she could properly glower at Malfoy.

"Two points. Another name for aconite-"

"WOLFSBANE!" The two cried in unison. Rose was breathing hard, and Malfoy's blonde hair looked a bit unkempt.

"Two points each. That was a very impressive demonstration," said Professor Cauldwell, giving a shake of his head. "I guess we can tell who did their reading this summer. Perhaps you lot should adopt Weasley and Malfoy's study habits?"

The same brunette girl from her dormitory laughed and whispered so the whole class could hear, "definitely don't want to adopt her grooming habits."

A few of them laughed. Al sat up and grabbed his wand tightly, but Rose sank a bit in her seat and gently nudged him with her elbow.

"Let's get started then," Cauldwell said rather loudly, pointedly ignoring the girl's comment. "Everyone please turn to the first page of their text books."

Rose had already read the first chapter and it was all theory. As much as she wanted to pay attention, she decided to read the letter from her parents instead. She skipped Mum's again and read Dad's.

Dear Rosie,

Here's a new WWW product I've been working on with George for a while. I figured I'd save Albus' owl the trouble of flying back and forth with your mail, and save you the trouble of finding a willing owl.

You can write your reply on the paper, and I'll receive it on another parchment. You can even make it private so your Mum won't know what trouble you get up to. We got the idea when we saw Grandpa Granger's compewtor. Instructions are on the back!

Write and tell us what house you're in! Not that I care which one it is.

Love,

Dad

PS. Don't tell Hugo you can't wrestle a ghost into coming home with you. Watching your Mum's head spin as she explains the concept of ghosts to him is much too fun.

"So, given what we just learned, the ingredient most likely to be used in a Babbling Beverage would be-?"

"Celandine," Rose offered half-heartedly, not looking up from her parchment.

Rose flipped the letter over.

Weasley Wizard Wheezes Wordsmith

Instructions:

When ready to write a reply write 'new letter.'

To send a letter just tap the paper with your wand once and say 'send.'

To make the letter viewable to only certain people, just write 'private letter to:' then list the names.

All the letters will be saved within the parchment. To find a letter just hold your wand to the parchment and clearly picture the letters you want to read and they will appear.

She was relieved when she heard the bell. Looking around she saw everyone putting their kits in cubby holes, many of them vying to house their kits next to each other: Rose thought it bit stupid, as they would barely be using the things. Head held high, she went to the end where the least amount of people were and placed hers at the second to last, not bothering to see who she was next to.

Charms was next on their schedule. On the other side of the cubbies Al was contently chatting with the other Gryffindor boys. She knew the other boys didn't really want her to hang around, so she went on without them. Students were still filing out of Flitwick's room when she arrived.

"Come in, Miss Weasley, come in," the Professor merrily piped. "You're not the first to briskly arrive."

Malfoy was already sitting in a chair towards the front. Rose sat on the opposite end of the row.

"Professor? Do you know any charms for heartburn?" Malfoy asked.

"Well yes. There are a few good ones, though I think they might be a bit advanced for a first year."

"What about charms for headaches?" Rose asked.

"Yes, there are. Do you two need to go to the infirmary?"

"No," they answered in unison. Malfoy glared at her as if she were impertinent for speaking at the same time as him.

Rose got out her Weasley Wizard Wordsmith, along with a quill.

Dear everyone,

I'm a Gryffindor! Everything is great.

Will properly write soon!

With Love,

Rose

PS. Know any good spells for a pain in the arse?

"Send!" Rose said a bit louder than necessary.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[conniemayfowler]

A PRAYER FOR MOTHER EARTH

MARCH 28, 2017

I originally penned these words as the Afterword for A MILLION FRAGILE BONES. Ultimately, my publisher Joan Leggitt and I took it out of the book because we didn't feel it was the right fit. However, in light of the Trump Administration's decision to prevent the Environmental Protection Agency from enforcing climate change regulations, I feel strongly it is time to publish the piece.

Here it is in its entirety.

This abiding truth is as simple as it is profound: All living creatures are threads in a single tapestry of life. The loss of one species, the anguished deaths of 1,000 dolphins, the slow-oil-agony demise of 800,000 birds affects the entire planet, perhaps even the cosmos. As John Muir said, “When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world.” We are enlarged, made better, by a healthy and vibrant Earth. We are not detached beings, divorced from our planet, only operating on the surface as if we’re bullet trains impelled by magnetic force, hovering above but never touching the tracks. We are of the Earth and of the sky. On this, our only home, we share DNA with every living organism. The worm and the butterfly. The gnat and the loon. The wolf and the crab. The whale and the ant. We are, individually and collectively, part of every molecule in our universe for every living creature is, at its essential self, stardust. One glance at the Periodic Table of Elements is a view into the building blocks that sustain and drive the complex lives of stars and every life form on our planet, including humans. Nitrogen or calcium, iron or carbon, chromium or nickel: these elements and more are created at the end of a star’s life when the energy producing nuclear reactions in the star’s heart cease, resulting in gravitational collapse. Perhaps this is the source of our origin story, the leitmotif of sacrifice: We are all sparkling moments of rebirth. But we are also astonishingly effective purveyors of death. We destroy a species, an ecosystem, a pod of dolphins caring for its young, a turtle completing her journey, a rare and mighty collective of whales that have a song like no one else in its genus, and we have effectively driven arrows into the very essence of our humanity. We have diminished our home, the thing that gives us joy, sustenance, life, an inkling of the holy. I have a friend whose hobby is deep-sea diving. She told me she stopped eating fish after she had several dynamic encounters with grouper. She claimed they are very curious, intelligent fish that often swim right up to her and seem to study her. She began making faces at them and the fish made faces back. She said she could no longer eat them because they are sentient beings, animals of intelligence with a range of emotions. Hers is not an act of anthropomorphism but of acute observation and interaction with her known world. If she’d never had those encounters, if she’d never paused long enough to notice what the fish were doing and to risk an interaction, she would have never been moved, changed. She would have continued to exist in an echo chamber of limited experiences. I have no idea how people harm animals, or clear-cut forests, or shear off mountaintops, or through greed-fueled negligence destroy rivers and oceans. In order for humans to slaughter sharks for shark fin soup (they cut off the shark’s dorsal, pectoral, and caudal fins, leaving the shark unable to swim, sentencing the animal to a prolonged, horrendous death), I believe they must enter a mindset similar to that of combatants: dehumanize your opponent. But in this case, since the opponent is a non-human animal, I suppose the process would more accurately be labeled de-recognizing. By de-recognizing another living being’s value, it’s easier to kill it. How else could one inflict such cruelty? And what madness causes men to think rhino tusk powder will make them more virile? Perhaps it is the same madness that prompts wealthy American men to travel to Africa and “trophy hunt” (a de-recognizing phrase—the animal is reduced to the status of object—for a killing ritual in which all the cards are stacked in favor of the man with the bait and gun). Somehow, cruelty inspires in these wealthy hunters, some of whom shoot the animals from the sniper-esque advantage of helicopters—a fetish-centered belief in the glory of their phalluses. They de-recognize the world in order to kill it, and for them killing translates into power, control, sex. I am no longer naïve. I understand death is integral, even necessary, to life . . . sparkling moments of rebirth. And that people create religions. And that people fear death. You must sacrifice that goat, that child, that man, that woman in order to appease the gods. Believe this man is the Son of God and you will never truly die. If you live by the Prophet’s rules, you will be given a harem of virgins in heaven (what, I wonder, do the women get?). These are all stories humankind has created in order to make peace with the inevitable black door of death. But they also prevent us from rationally dealing with the science of nature. Life begets death, death begets life. But nature offers balance in the life-death tango. A cyclone spawns off the coast of Africa and eventually makes its way to the American plains where it drops enough water to relieve drought and water crops. When humankind decides to play god, chaos ensues: global climate change, rising sea levels, acid rain, extinct species, cancer epidemics, marginalized nutritional values in our food, and an entire ocean and its inhabitants poisoned. We are living in a time where there is increasing awareness that natural disasters are also social disasters. In an essay titled, “There is No Such Thing as a Natural Disaster,” anthropologist and geographer Neil Smith writes in reference to Hurricane Katrina, “In every phase and aspect of a disaster–causes, vulnerability, preparedness, results and response, and reconstruction–the contours of disaster and the difference between who lives and who dies is to a greater or lesser extent a social calculus.” The same holds true for manmade disasters. The Gulf ecosystem and the people who depend on its health and abundance for their well-being were already stressed due to a panoply of human factors, the most pressing of which were agricultural pollutants, the megalopolis called Atlanta and their mushrooming drinking water supply needs, and the fact that everything runs downstream. As an Alligator Point neighbor once said to me, “Every time someone flushes a toilet in Atlanta, the Gulf dies a little.” Fertilizers and pesticides have affected the Gulf basin since their introduction post World War II. Indeed, one of the enduring legacies of a war that was technologically advanced for its era is the develop[L1]  and reliance on chemicals which, while killing pests, also destroy waterways and human health. In order to meet its ever-growing need for fresh drinking water, Atlanta relentlessly draws down the Flint, Chattahoochee, and Apalachicola watershed. This system, when working properly (read: not manipulated by humankind), creates the salinity balance necessary for thriving oyster beds. The proper flow of freshwater provides nutrients to the oysters without which they succumb to illness and predation. But Atlanta, because of its increasing population, has been manipulating the flow for years. As a result, when natural or manmade disasters hit the Gulf region, the oyster beds have an increasingly more difficult time bouncing back. This was the situation when the BP oil spill occurred. The oyster fields were already embattled. So, too, were the people who have for generations made their living off harvesting oysters. This is how a manmade disaster becomes a social disaster: Take away someone’s ability to make a living, especially when the livelihood is intractably tied to a cultural way of life, and everything falls apart—the individual and the community. During the hundreds of hours spent researching material for this book, I discovered a secret. It’s a secret that is beginning to slowly emerge from the shadows in large part because of the Internet. Now what was once a nearly impossible task becomes a matter of keystrokes. I have at my disposal studies, plans, reports, maps, and diagrams detailing vast fields of disposed weaponry piled in watery trash heaps in the Gulf of Mexico. After World War II, without making any ado about it, the military began using the Gulf as a garbage dump for all manner of ordnance. A 2015 article published by Texas A & M University asserts, “The ordinance includes land mines, ocean mines, torpedoes, aerial bombs and several types of chemical weapons . . . . The chemical weapons may have leaked over the decades and could pose a significant environmental problem. The military began dumping the unexploded bombs from 1946 to 1970, when the practice was banned.” And the U.S. Army sent three soldiers to my shack who were charged with digging up non-existent ordnance in my yard and all the while chemical weapons were and are, in all probability, leaking into the Gulf, mixing with petroleum and dispersant, and nothing is being done to address the situation. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. Do we not understand that we get one chance to save this planet? And that saving our planet is the very definition of redemption? After experiencing the manmade destruction of my sacred place, I’ve come to understand there are people who apparently don’t possess an empathy gene and, as such, are capable of inflicting massive harm. But ignorance, apathy, and greed are just as dangerous and just as much in play. Glaciers are becoming their own rivers. Extreme weather is rampant. Species are disappearing at a rate that is up to 10,000 times greater than what would happen if humans did not exist. We are creating a period of extinction, what biologists call the sixth great extinction, and it is being primarily propelled by our addiction to fossil fuels. Gas is under three dollars a gallon, prompting a boom in truck sales. What’s next, the return of the dinosaur-sized, hydrocarbon spewing Hummer? The Florida legislature is on the precipice of opening up the entire state to fracking. This is more evidence we have elected people who are insane. Florida is essentially a thin crust of limestone veiling and protecting our lifeblood, the Florida Aquifer. The aquifer is the source of our drinking water and feeds our natural abundance. The aquifer is interconnected. You dump poisons in the north and they will circulate throughout the system. Fracking would bust through the limestone, contaminating the totality of the water table. In a First Amendment-wreaking edict, officials banned Florida Department of Environmental Protection employees from using the phrases “climate change” or “global warming.” Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil, but the facts on the ground don’t change. I am reminded ever more of the Cree prophecy, “When the last tree is cut down, the last fish eaten, and the last stream poisoned, you will realize you cannot eat money.” Prior to drilling underwater wells, energy companies conduct studies to pinpoint oil deposits below the ocean floor using sonic cannons. According to Time Magazine, the cannons “emit sound waves louder than a jet engine every ten seconds for weeks at a time.” Common sense and science tells us this is detrimental to marine life. We are stressing our environment—air, water, flora, fauna—to the breaking point. Sometimes I wonder if the rich and powerful won’t be sated until everything is gone: all the sweet water, all the animals, all the good air, all of us . . . you cannot eat money. According to the excellent 2014 documentary on the Gulf oil disaster, The Great Invisible, in the past decade 111 energy bills have been proposed in Congress and only five have become law. Those five contained subsidies for nuclear and fossil fuel energy sources. The 106 bills that did not survive all contained alternative energy provisions. Fact and metaphor: Fossil fuels are hydrocarbons formed from the remains of dead animals and plants that died millions of years ago. Their transformation from corpse to the earth’s hidden blood also took millions of years. Fossil fuels—dead animals and plants that underwent transmogrification—are not renewable. Nearly every aspect of our modern life is fueled with their blood, with the fragile bones of death. As far as I can tell, wind and solar power do not intersect with any blood, ancient or otherwise. And I suspect the same will hold true for marvelous energy sources not yet invented. Life fueled on the remains of a million (and far more) fragile bones is not only unsustainable, it’s killing us. Must we do everything in our power to embrace clean, renewable energy? Resoundingly, yes. What other choice do we have? Our fossil fuel addiction is a form of slow suicide. And with each tick of the clock, our demise speeds up. Tick, tick, tick: closer to the brink. Whoosh. We cannot risk trying to perform CPR on a cadaver. My poor mother tried. It didn’t work. It never does. In Mary Oliver’s poem “Wild Geese,” she writes: You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Let us all, with infinite devotion, love this good earth. Let us understand with greater intimacy the meaning of “home.” Let us love with ever expanding intention and purpose, placing greater faith in nature and science. Let us view our planet and all its moving parts—stars, galaxies, winding rivers—with a shaman’s fierce gaze, a scientist’s deep knowledge, and a child’s open heart. Yes. Let us love enough and more than enough. Now. Today. Forever.

--Connie May Fowler

 Cozumel, Mexico

[raindrop-stimmies]

Tusked grouper (dredge) stimboard!

🦷❤️🦷

❤️🐖❤️

🦷❤️🦷

[ms-scarletwings]

Every Dredge Aberration (2024), Part 3

Tusked Grouper

Encyclopedia #116

Aberrant form of black grouper

Description:

Pig-like tusks protrude from the mouth of this ravenous brute. With no eyes to speak of, it attacks indiscriminately.

Comment: Is it my leaping to association, or does there seem to be a peculiarly common theme of the Marrows aberrations and the loss (or hypertrophy) of their eyes?

How to catch: Being night-swimmers, there lies a small, but manageable risk in fishing for grouper in The Marrows. They dwell in the shallows, and will take to rod and net alike.

Voltaic Grouper

Encyclopedia #117

Aberrant form of black grouper

Description:

An unknown green energy arcs and crackles over this fish's scales. It thrashes ceaselessly, even hours after being pulled from the water.

Comment: Now THIS is an interesting fish, both in look and in the possibilities. To butcher this one feels like a waste. I would adore to explore captive sea lanterns and dark apparatus powered by these energies.

How to catch: ^^^

Shard Ray

Encyclopedia #118

Aberrant form of stingray

Description:

The stone skin of this ray is moulded around a black crystal shard. The rock fragments articulate and grind together.

Comment: Notably the first, although far from the last case where we will witness the transmutation from biology to something that should, by all logic, be inorganic and still. Keep this specimen in the when we move onto the Gale Cliffs section of the encyclopedia. If there was any fortune for the ray in this turn of events, it would be in the fact that its kind were already bottom-dwellers. Most curious here is the semblance between those black crystals and the igneous basalt pillars that are so ever-present across the sea.

How to catch: Marrow stingrays are available to cast for at any time of day or night. True to nature, they prefer the shallow ends. Be on the lookout for this oddity in the early game, as they can fetch a decent sum going towards ship upgrades.

Sallow Sailfish

Encyclopedia #119

Aberrant form of sailfish

Description:

A sickly, pallid color coats the scales of this normally sleek and shiny fish. Clouded eyes belie the disease spreading underneath.

Comment: "Sallow" describes the yellowed complexion of a very unwell person, most literally in one showing the telltale signs of jaundice. My nostrils themselves cringe to brainstorm of the malodor that accompanies this snag.

How to catch: Like all sailfish, they feed diurnally in the deeper, oceanic biome around The Marrows. A suitable rod or trawl net will be needed to start pursuing this awful sight.

Hooked Sailfish

Encyclopedia #120

Aberrant form of sailfish

Description:

Spindles of bone protrude from discolored muscle. A hooked bill curves inward - a lure for something greater.

Comment: With a description like that, it makes the fact that this fish cannot actually be used as some manner of bait or ultimate hook to use against a true monster sound like a missed opportunity. Half of me wants to mock it for its ridiculous little shrunken expression, but my other half can't help but compliment the concept and chosen colors of its body.

How to catch: ^^^

Bloodskin Shark

Encyclopedia #121

Aberrant form of Bronze Whaler

Description:

Tendons and sinews stretch over the fins of this bloodied predator. Powerful jaws are clad in exposed muscle.

Comment: Reminder that another term for this individual when it was healthy was the copper shark. Poetically, I can vividly imagine the taste and smell of copper reeking from this savage demon. With no regret I can say I actually prefer this specimen over the more popular reef shark variant. A sucker for crimson and reds, I'll stay predictable to the end.

How to catch: Only bother once you have access to equipment that can handle casting after oceanic dwellers. Searching outward from the Marrows coastlines should find a harvesting spot of shark in no time. These may be hauled or trawled under the daytime sun.

Cleft Mouth Shark

Encyclopedia #122

Aberrant form of Blacktip reef shark

Description:

A large body bisected by an enormous, grinning maw. Teeth stretch down forever into the blackness of its large gullet.

Comment: The last, and maybe most remembered of The Marrow's warped fish.

Seriously, I stumbled into a bounty of fanart specifically about this jacked up, faceless shark. I belove it the same. Already we have seen two frequented themes in the aberrant line- beings transformed wholly for the purpose of creating and carrying eldritch life, and as so iconized by the above fella, those who instead now only live to consume other life. Early sailors keep their fingers crossed for one of these valuable brutes.

How to catch: Early investment into researching heavier fishing equipment and careful timing will be the friend of those hunting after this abomination. Not for the faint among those just starting out, as black tip reef sharks only appear at night in oceanic water. This means being farther away from the starting port and fishing in the thick of the fog. Keep wary that you don't pull up your catch only to lose it overboard in a collision with a tricky rock, or an assault from the night angler. Can be trawl netted.