#instar pale

[sixteenseveredhands]

Abbott's Sphinx Moth: this caterpillar has a false eye on its rump; it mimics the features of a vertebrate's eye, and even includes a white reflection spot

The formal name for this species is Sphecodina abbottii.

From Minnesota Seasons:

The caterpillar is up to 3″ (7.5 cm) long. Middle stage (instar) caterpillars are whitish to bluish-green. In place of the horn found on other sphinx caterpillars, there is a raised orange knob on the eighth abdominal segment (A8). Final instar caterpillars come in two color forms. The brown color form has longitudinal streaks of light and dark brown mimicking the color of a woody vine. The green form has on each abdominal segment a large, pale green, saddle-shaped spot on the upper side and a similar smaller spot on each side. The pattern is said to mimic a bunch of unripe grapes. Both forms have a black, raised, eye-like knob on A8 complete with a small white spot mimicking reflected light.

When the caterpillar is pinched or poked, it often squeaks and bites at the attacker.

The fully-developed moth also has a unique appearance -- it has an ash-grey/blue coloration with streaks of pink and black.

Sources & More Info:

Encyclopedia of Life: Sphecodina abbottii

Insect Identification: Abbott's Sphinx Moth

University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee: Saukeville Field Station

Minnesota Seasons: Abbott's Sphinx Moth

University of Minnesota Garden Extension: Abbott's Sphinx

[wtfearth123]

Caterpillars of the last instars of lexia pardalis (common archduke butterflies) are pale green and have many spines radiating from the body. This results in a particularly matching camouflage on leaves.

[jonnysinsectcatalogue]

Banded Tussock Moth Caterpillar - Halysidota tessellaris

Though our new fuzzy friend is called a “Tussock Moth”, it is not actually a true Tussock Moth. Indeed, insect naming isn’t exactly one-to-one, but the nomenclature usually has a logic behind the choice. For this particular specimen, the name tussock comes from the coat of fuzz and fibers that line its body. In all fairness, it does look similar to other Tussock Caterpillars thanks to the fluff and spines (for example, compare it to the White-Marked Tussock Caterpillar), but that being said, this particular Caterpillar is sorted among the Tiger Moths (means it’s closer in relation to our Woolly Bear friends). Not to get into the nitty-gritty, but while both the Banded Tussock and other Tussock Moths belong within the Erebidae family of Moths (it’s a VERY big family), our showcase today belongs to the subfamily Arctiinae (Tiger and Lichen Moths) and the Tussock Moths belong the subfamily Lymantriinae. So yes, it’s the same tree with different branches, and today’s insect is one of the Tiger Moths contrary to what the name would suggest. Since it isn’t a Tussock Moth, the bristles across its body may not be as irritating as one might expect. 

 Now that I know what to look for with this specie, I may allow the next one I find to crawl on my hand to see what, if anything happens. I do still strongly advise caution against handling of spined Caterpillars (unless positively identified) due to the risk of rash or allergic skin reaction. I would also DEFINITELY advise against directly picking them up as those spines (particularly the dark ones behind the head) are there for a reason: a prickly deterrent against birds or rodents! On a more positive note, as a Tiger Moth, you can expect vibrant coloration on both the adult Moth and the fuzzy Caterpillar. The Moths feature pale wings with patterning separated by black lines, thin golden legs and antennae, a bright yellow abdomen, and a yellow thorax with two streaks of blue fur. Most vibrant! The young Caterpillars begin with lovely colors too: starting off a bit pale and gradually acquiring more vibrant colors as they grow from instar to instar. The color ranges from white to yellow and even shades of brown, which sounds very similar to our fluffy Virginian Tiger Moth Caterpillar friends. Maybe it has something to do with their diets, but since the Banded Tussock is a generalist of forest tree leaves, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. 

Pictures were taken on August 26, 2019 in Collingwood with a Samsung Galaxy S4.

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 96: Lucky You

Table of Contents Third Instar, Chapter 27. Go to previous. Go to next. CWs: fictional pharmacology, misgendering and social dysphoria, continued radiation sickness sequelae, minor hygiene and sanitary squick, awkward gender navigation, underweight mention, minor self-injury mention, drug use.

“Funny, how it’s easier to see / the forest for the trees / when winter steals the leaves.” -- Shayfer James, “Godspeed”

'Choly stirred the glass mug with a swizzle stick. His lips pursed ever so slightly as he lifted the stick in intervals, only to continue stirring. He took a moment to readjust the sash of his robe. Left undisturbed, a visible separation had formed in the liquid. Atop a translucent substance floated a dark thin oil, bitingly coppery and leathery. At the bottom settled pale solids and a wad of delicate cotton scraps. Only once he decanted the inch of solution into a shot glass could he even faintly smell the ammonia which had produced this result.

Into a second shot glass, he poured the separated fluid over a coffee filter loaded with a mound of crushed coffee grounds and loose cigarette tobacco. The back of a spoon liberated lingering fluid from the filter's contents. He gathered the filter's edges with one hand, and carefully replaced it on the first shot glass. Then, he poured the increasingly fluorescent milky fluid over the filter for a second pass, and macerated the ashen grounds with the spoon to squeeze out every last drop. The pulpiness and coloration gave the impression he'd idly destroyed a highlighter.

"I know you've only just gotten situated, Mister Carey," Angel said.

He jerked in place and shoved the spoon through the filter, but managed to pull it away without spilling the solids into his concoction.

"Sorry, Sir," it continued. "Erm, hopefully you can find a stopping point? I just heard the plumbers. The initial system flush is complete. They should reopen the baths very soon."

"Bless you and your wonderful timing." Animate and wild-eyed, he repeatedly steadied himself to divide the substance into metered twin-barrel hypodermic doses. As he worked, he told the robot, "A few more minutes and I'm done. Words do not describe how badly I want to head over there."

"I've gathered your sundries, for when you're ready! We should hurry if we can. The lines will likely form quickly."

He tapped his nose and adjusted his glasses with that finger.

"I'll be quick. Quick and precise."

He brushed his fingertips across the five injectables, then reached for paper and pen for a note. The things I requested were for a batch of Daddy-O. I noticed you still store Med-X like we did downstairs. I stored these with them. Halfway through, he became more conscious and deliberate with his penmanship. I would prefer if you didn't sample them. Consider them intermediary for my whipping up what you really asked me for. He folded the note and stood to go stash the syringes in a Slocum's Joe tin with other injectable chems.

It's only fitting, he told himself smirking, to store something crafted with coffee in a coffee tin. He returned the MKX inside Angel. He found Bledsoe front-end with a patient, and waved to get his attention. The medic glanced up at him, and both he and the patient went quiet.

"Not to interrupt." He slipped the note onto Bledsoe's clipboard. "It's nothing urgent. Just thought you'd like proof I'm on task. Stepping out now."

"Music to my ears," Bledsoe told the patient with a chuckle.

On his way out the front door, Angel joined him toting a bulky, haphazard satchel it had fastened around and atop itself. It took all his composure to suppress the skip in his step, lest he dislocate or pull something between there and baths. He and Angel both struggled with the stairs, but the Mister Handy still spotted his descent to the lower level as best it could, since it could still walk itself down in whichever direction required with no loss of vision.

A cane would make this so much easier. Of course, regaining his orthotics would improve his mobility even more than a cane. …Any cane. Even a simple one.

They entered Anchor’s lobby and followed the halls back to the inn’s baths. Just as they were trying to identify those on the repair team, a lightly armored See’s guard arrived. She slouched at them.

“How come you’re already ready to go?” The young woman crossed her arms. “Hall ain’t said a word about reopening the showers.”

“Ha, yes.” A terse, toothless smile pricked at his cheeks, and he adjusted his Fashionable Glasses. She didn’t need to know he’d been sitting around the GCC all morning in his robe in anticipation of this very moment, or that Angel had been acting the part of a police scanner for developments. “I do look dressed like I’m expecting spa treatment, don’t I. Don’t think too much of it, officer. I’ve only needed to bathe going on four months now. I’m sure you understand how anxious I am to make use of the amenities once they’re repaired. You, ah. You’re here. That means something, then, doesn’t it?”

The See’s smacked her gum and cocked her jaw.

“Yeah. I was sent down here to check with the plumbers, if you gotta know.” She craned her head around the corner of the women’s side. “Hey, you interested in letting this old lady and her robot try ‘er out? You gotcha first willing test subjects.”

Various answers replied, some which seemed to know his individual by mere mention of a robotic companion. He stiffened, and pressed his palm against the cool curve of Angel’s chassis. His nerves doubled down into a full plaster smile. Something in his shoulder popped. He smiled harder. The See’s leaned against the doorway and grinned back at him.

“They’re sayin’ you can’t give that pile of scrap metal a bath, too.”

“Oh, Sir, I didn't intend to accompany you into the baths regardless. If that's all right.” It hemmed and fussed over the pack it had bundled, and produced towels and some toiletries for him. “Sir, it's exactly as I planned! I have your dirty laundry ready, Sir, and I'm most eager to head downstairs. I’ll keep my sensors attuned for you, Sir. I’ll come flying the moment you need me!”

She smacked her gum some more and wagged her thumb overhead at both doors.

“Pick a door, Methuselah.”

Angel's sensors flicked between the guard and its owner a few times. He twitched a pitiful, appreciative smile at him.

“Good luck, my friend.”

“Enjoy, Mister Carey!”

Angel pivoted and scampered off.

“Yes,” the guard murmured. “Enjoy, Mister Carey.”

“I promise not to use all the hot water,” he muttered offhand in passing. He continued muttering under his breath as he rushed through the other doorway and picked the closest stall to the door. Drawing the curtain, he exhaled hard as he identified the pungent cutting stink of fresh bleach, but he smiled to himself in gratitude that it didn't seem like it masked whether any sourness or rot lingered. Methuselah… If only she knew-- No, inconsequential. Just let it go and relax.

He disrobed and turned on the water. Without his sunglasses to dampen the chroma, he kept his eyes shut as much as possible. The showerhead burbled for a few seconds before the hiss of its spray steadied. Angel had brought him some things from the GCC’s stockroom, and he knew he’d have to reimburse Bledsoe for them. The moment the water showed signs of warming, he stepped in and let it stream over him. After a while, he adjusted the temperature, erring on the side of slightly too warm. He poured out some Sheldon shampoo[96-1] from the trial size bottle and massaged his scalp into a gentle lather. His eyes shut, and his mind melted into soft focus.

Leave it to Sheldon not to petrify or go rancid with age. I wonder if it's shortcut for anything…

‘Choly knew his work order hadn't called for Daddy-O specifically, and he certainly hadn't expected to start with it of all things, but hell if he wouldn't need it. He’d meant every word of his note. He wished he could have started with simple, straightforward products. Med-X, Mentats, Stimpaks… Yes, that did put a time constraint on it, didn’t it? Sticks would insist that they replenish the Melancholia before they headed out. Realistically, they couldn’t reestablish the Blood Drive before they left, but ideally, they could do so once they returned. They both would rest easier if they could secure more donors than Sticks in the future.

He rinsed his hair. Shampooing a second time, he really put his fingernails into it.

A suggestion twinged in the back of his mind: Why not ask the Clark sisters if they can help source blood?

He flinched as his nails grazed too roughly. Soap stung his scalp and the corners of his squinted eyes.

Once he’d rinsed his hair, and then rinsed his eyes, he unwrapped the bar of soap and grabbed for his washcloth. As he worked at scrubbing himself down, he slowed down a bit, and took especial care with his left arm. He bent down and forward out of the water, to peer at the drain, and hemmed at the visible mess of hair in the floor.

My age is catching up to me. RadAway can only undo so much. His mouth skewed as he continued to slowly rub at his chest. Definitely not the worst thing this tile sees today.

Even if they couldn't convince Bledsoe to let him borrow his phlebotomy equipment, they could still carry on like they had at Lockreed for one more batch if they absolutely had to. Not that Sticks would be thrilled, mind you, but at least Sticks had amassed all the other necessary ingredients.

Am I being selfish, for asking to come along? I'm not really contributing anything to the entourage. I'd just be another mouth to feed, and another head to keep track of. Angel won't allow us to get separated, but even if I would consider it, the only souls at the Lane that I would entrust with Angel's well-being will all be crammed into a royal blue Chryslus Coupe. I should stay behind and help the nursing staff watch the GCC in Bledsoe's absence, shouldn't I? I could even get a head start on those chems.

But no, he reminded himself that Sticks, charismatic as ever, had convinced him he had a lot in common with Bledsoe: his breaks are always more of a shuffling of projects, never fully setting everything down. Even if 'Choly didn't help with the caravan directly, he and Bledsoe both needed to get out of the house and decompress. This would be a vacation for 'Choly, too.

Still, he couldn't shake worrying for Angel's safety. The Fog would be thinner, with less risk of weather complications, but pockets of weak magnetic fields floated all throughout the Hinter. He could only hope that, in a worst case scenario, Haidinger might grant him some degree of extended access to the robotics workstation.

He jerked the dial to cold to jolt distressing thoughts. Breathing heavy, he eventually eased the water back up to lukewarm.

"Buddy!" A man rapped on the stall wall. "You drowning in there or what?"

His larynx snagged.

"Yesyes, I'm quite all right." He cleared his throat when his voice broke. "I'll be right out."

Dejected, he eyed the bottle of conditioner on the stepstool.

Next time. Tomorrow even, perhaps.

He let the water run over his scalp for another minute before relenting for the day. He steadied himself on the wall of the stall while he toweled his hair. He patted himself dry, then wrapped up in the towel and tied the thin cotton robe over that. Slipping his glasses back on, he emerged with his toiletries and shuffled over to squeeze in at the nearest available sink.

The baths had filled up more quickly than he'd expected. Or maybe, he had taken that much longer than he thought. Probably both.

He rationed out the barest smidge of toothpaste onto a handcrafted toothbrush with a reed handle, wet it, and, as he brushed, tried to reassure himself that it had to be brand new.

That batch of Daddy-O, though. He still couldn't believe his Luck, that he could yield any new skills or comprehension from a single sitting with the MKEXCEED Papers, let alone produce an elusive and highly desirable prewar chem on the first try. He hoped the efficacy of the drug could be trusted, but it would do in a pinch.

Skimming the Merrick had gotten him nowhere brainstorming what might interest Bledsoe. Just about anything remotely interesting hit the roadblock of scarcity. Patent precursors only presented half the trouble, at that: so many more constituents would either have long since deteriorated if he could even get his hands on them, or synthesizing them would require sophisticated equipment on par with that of a facility like the Deenwood Compound. A pharmacopeia like the Merrick could provide only so much chemistry data, especially one published at a time when the country hadn't yet suffered from rationing or shortages. The reference text catalogued straightforward monographs using industry-accessible prewar chemical compounds, and nothing more.

The MKX, on the other hand, chronicled history and development for hundreds of compounds, dozens of on- and off-label applications, postwar-inclusive contraindications, and where applicable, means of manufacture. Many chems' entries cross-referenced other sections of the text, as the volume of continuous feed paper had been organized into units based on the chems' properties. It comprised thirteen sections over ten units; while seven of the biggest units referred to the traits of SPECIAL, the largest was of course reserved for the eponymous X family.

I wonder how much I contributed to the selection on cyclomorphine. Following the logic that the chemists that contributed to this text would have excelled in their given specialty, what quality did Deenwood believe I excelled at engineering? Making everyone around me hurt as much as possible?

He still couldn't shake the tactile sensation of trying to skim a fifteen-hundred page text that had been printed double-sided on continuous feed paper and snapped into a binder without perforating the pages. He'd done his best not to waste time right then peeling the feed margin off every single fore-edge… but he'd certainly gotten distracted aweing over the seemingly impossible collation magic of such a mammoth print job.

He expectorated and sighed, continuing to brush. He noted a bit of blood in the sink basin, but RadAway recovery aside, he expected as much after not having had a toothbrush for months.

He rinsed his brush, then his mouth. He gargled, and didn't even notice himself swallow instead of spitting it out. He pocketed his glasses and splashed his face again, then dried off with the edge of the towel at his hip. He glanced up to find anyone who'd noticed his presence was doing everything they could to ignore him. They all faced away from him, even where the bath, showers, and urinals seemed more difficult to use. He still decided to use the facilities before he left.

Thank God they've been keeping up on the toilet paper.

When he reemerged, there were no free sinks. He slouched, but the grievance of his back and shoulder corrected his posture before he could even make his way out the door. Handwashing just wasn't worth everyone else's discomfort causing him discomfort. He promised himself he'd at least wash them before he ate anything.

The See's guard managed a hefty line by the time he squeezed by her. He shook his head to himself in chagrined recognition. Even while relaxing with overdue basic care, he had found himself retracing the day up to that point without even noticing. He forbid himself to resume the thought.

He returned to his room and untied the robe to free the towel. Then, he sat on the end of the bed and towel dried at his hair. A lyrical murmur followed while he trimmed his nails: the pair of clippers Angel had found were a miracle compared to having used the Komàr to peel back the overgrowth for months. As was typical of his winter, the officer's gloves may have steadied his hand, but they had done nothing to prevent his fingertips from looking like he'd been peeling potatoes drunk with a paring knife.

Angel is as resourceful and observant as any of them, even when it isn't operating at its best.

His throat snagged again.

"Don't worry, my friend. We'll get you well."

Soon after, impatient rapping sounded against the door. He shut his robe, towel draped around his neck, and eased open the door. Fresnel stood before him in a mesh blouse and lace skirt, her white embroidered stole doubled around her neck as a cowl. She eyed him, gripping one of Angel's tendrils in one fist and a pair of walnut-sized armillaria in the other.

"What is the meaning of this," she blurted out. "Why are you two separated!"

"Thank you for escorting Angel, but everything is just fine. You knew right where I was, didn't you?"

"Of course, Sir! I hate to have upset the Hierosacristan, but at least I have your laundry mostly finished! There are a few more effects that haven't yet dried. It's not long now." When Fresnel relinquished it, Angel rushed into the room to begin unpacking its satchel on the bed. "I'm always so pleased how effective the Lane's laundry methods are. They've truly innovated in many ways to compensate for their lack of technology!"

"The trouble is you didn't know where it was," Fresnel growled, through a smile. She stepped in and shut the door, then leaned against it with her arms crossed. "You know what a risk that was, to let that Core out of your sight."

He bristled, but did his best to disregard her acuity, instead scrutinizing Angel's fresh laundry with a beaming grin.

"Even if someone were to figure out that Angel has the Core, it has a hidden compartment. And even if you knew how to get inside Angel, you wouldn't find where that is."

"Is that a challenge?"

He cleared his throat.

"Not as such. I take it you came looking for me because Haidinger is ready for us finally."

"I did."

"I'm not going anywhere until I'm dressed. Not making that mistake twice in a week. I don't mind you staying in the room, but I need a few minutes."

"I can wait in the upper level lobby. Don't worry about getting presentable. Be comfortable. We have much to take care of."

"I, yes."

He fumbled an exact response, and she let herself out of the room. The moment the door clicked shut, Angel swept in to commence assisting its owner.

"Do forgive me, Sir. It was my idea that we divide and conquer. I didn't think there might be any cause for alarm."

He slipped on the Vault Suit for simplicity. He couldn't pinpoint why the garment felt off. It wasn't too stiff, and had not shrunken. He dismissed the discomfort: I just got too used to how it felt wearing it four months straight. It probably feels wrong because it's clean now.

"No apologies. I wouldn't have anything clean to wear without your efforts. Nothing happened. Nothing was likely to happen."

Angel handed him one piece of Surgical Leather at a time. The laundry methods the Mister Handy had applied had slipped the fan lacing's preset tension, so they had to work together to readjust the fit both for sizing and stability. He noticed that the straps were mostly tightened one or more notches past how he had initially worn the orthotics, but he did not mention it.

"Funny," Angel eventually commented. "Funny how implausible some things seem to be."

He sat up from brushing out his hair, cataracted eyes wide.

"Angel, what are you talking about."

"I'm sure it's nothing. You know me. I worry about simply everything."

"Please tell me. You can talk to me."

"The Hierosacristan does know how to open my compartment. I can't tell you whether she knows about whatever secret compartment you mentioned--and I imagine that's due to some kind of purposeful programming blind spot--but there's no question that you should probably discount my storage as inscrutable security, especially since I seem to have misplaced my attachments."

His officer's gloves and the dampness of his hair facilitated him pinning up his streaked locks. He managed a loose french twist with only four bobby pins. As he returned his sunglasses to his face, Angel presented him his Pip-Boy. He latched it back on, and held the power button so it could resync with his biometrics. He smiled at his robot.

"You haven't misplaced them. This place disarms its patrons. Even you." He let go of his knees and pushed off to stand. He took the lead on their way out, and patted its chassis. "And I'm not concerned. If she wanted to take something out of you, you would have noticed her removing it from you."

"Like you said, I'm sure it's nothing."

"It's nothing. I would like another Mentat before we head out, please."

"Sorry to hear your headache is still holding fast." It gave him the tin, and he handed it back after shaking one from it. "At least there is medication that eases them."

"It's more that I anticipate other headaches," he admitted, as he chewed the tablet. "Hopefully Fresnel and Haidinger will be in good spirits."

"We'll have a grand day of it, Sir. No worries!"

He gave it a small smile.

"We'll do our best, anyway."

They rejoined Fresnel in the lobby, where she then escorted them to an employees restricted hallway. Haidinger awaited them there.

“There you are.” He gave them a sour look with outstretched palms. “I have two ground rules. First, the Core.”

“Right, yes.”

‘Choly turned to open up Angel. He stopped mid-action, however. Fresnel opened her side-bag and produced the STAR Core herself. She handed it over to him with somewhat indifferent deference. His gaze shifted to meet Angel’s, and he pressed his lips together.

“And the other?” Fresnel asked, of equal impatience.

Haidinger did not answer her until he’d stored the Core away safely in his own bag.

“It’s eleven now. You must be done before three.”

“Four hours?” ‘Choly blurted out. “Just a scan might--"

“--be plenty,” Fresnel said. She quirked her lips at him. “Come along. We’ll see how much we can accomplish today.”

Haidinger turned away from them and removed one glove. He pressed his hand against a region of the wall, seemingly to feel for a certain panel. Eventually, a section of the wall inset a few inches, becoming a pocket door which rolled inside the wall. He looked over his shoulder to them as he put his glove back on.

“Don’t make me regret trusting you both.”

“Are you not coming with us?” ‘Choly asked.

“I have other matters to attend to. I cannot be absent for hours without someone questioning my whereabouts.”

He nodded vaguely, and turned to follow the Hierosacristan before the door could shut on them.

“He won’t admit it,” she told them with lyric, “but the main reason is, he thinks it’s likely to be boring.”

The narrow corridor quickly took a corner turn. After that point, fluorescent lights illuminated their way. The two squinted. Fresnel tucked her armillaria into her belt. Once ‘Choly’s eyes adjusted, he took in the dense, exposed wiring, conduits, and pipes of the utility corridor’s walls and ceiling. They eventually reached a dim room where a mainframe computer lined the walls.

‘Choly’s jaw dropped as he took it all in. Large-scale computers weren’t all too uncommon, but this one seemed so out of place, all things considered, for it to be so large. He hadn’t expected the maintenance area to share a space with the mainframe, and he certainly hadn’t expected more of the mainframe than a terminal computer.

“Can you see to work?” Fresnel asked him.

He stood before a pair of secondary terminals, pressing the back of his hand against the underside of his nose at the smell of metallic dust.

“Hm? It’s too dark to work by the light, and I don’t think it’s dark enough to work by armillary.”

“Give me a moment.” She vanished down a second corridor.

“I suppose I could get in position, Sir.” Angel walked itself up onto the platform of the robotics workbench, located in the corner directly beside the two terminals. “Oh, it’s going to be just wonderful to get a once-over from you. I dearly appreciate the attention.”

“Of course. You know I’d do just about anything for you.” It’s my fault you’re all banged up in the first place.

The fluorescent hum intensified, and the brightness of the space followed suit soon after. He took a seat and leaned over the arms of the workbench to plug Angel in. Then, he sat back and turned to the terminal and plugged his Pip-Boy keyprong into it.

“See you in a few hours, Angel.”

“Just a quick nap, ha-ha!”

Once the Mister Handy had powered down, he got to work. He started with preliminary diagnostic scans. Tethered to his place, he scanned the space for any tools he would need to fix Angel’s thruster. He quickly got lost in the size of the mainframe. He shook his head of it, and stood to lean over to open Angel’s compartment. He pushed his effects aside to reach the false bottom compartment. His heart stuttered with his hands on the lid. He gently pulled out the officer’s coat, just enough to unfold one end. His eyes widened to feel something stiff in the fabric: not a decoy object, but a STAR Core. He tucked it back inside, and sat back down with an even greater unease.

He told Angel, “I should have brought something to read."

A few minutes later, Fresnel walked back through with a clipboard, engrossed in the walls. ‘Choly presumed she was holding another conversation with the architecture, and left her to her work at first.

“Hierosacristan,” he hesitated. She stopped pacing about. “Would it be all right if we talked?”

“Did you have something in mind?”

“I don’t want to distract you from your studies. If it’s not a good time--"

“--I can make time.” She finished her train of thought and invited discussion with an attentive glance tossed his way. She turned a fresh page and continued. “This sounds important.”

“We haven’t really gotten a chance to talk in private just yet.” His ears rang, to have stumbled into the timing of it. He thought again to how his shower went that morning. “You disclosed something quite personal about yourself before I left Ant Lane in October. I don’t think that anyone would know that about you, without you telling them. I-- I don’t feel convincing. How do you manage it?”

She stopped sketching long enough to process the nature of the conversation he endeavored to have.

“Nonsense,” she snipped, not irate but rather dismissive. “Even if that were true, what does it matter? You know what you are. Atom knows what you are. You sound like you yourself think your identity is some kind of pretense. Some kind of act.”

“Still,” he insisted. “You’re very convincing. I’ve had trouble believing that you’re anything like me. I’m not asking you to prove anything, though, I swear. I do believe you. I suppose… I’m envious that, if you’ve got to be transsexual, your genetics are still extremely in your favor. Forget I said anything. You probably never have to deal with people questioning or misunderstanding you like that. And you probably never deal with feeling gross for how you are.”

For some time, she resumed intently annotating on her clipboard. He sat on his hands to keep from fidgeting with his finger joints. She eventually let out a long rough exhale.

“Why would you think I never struggle with either of those things? Anyone can have those feelings and experiences on occasion, no matter how they are.”

“Well, how do you deal with it, then?”

“I’ve embraced the things that I like best about myself. I’m not around other people long enough for it to really matter whether they understand who I am. It’s gotten easier in the time since I’ve become a hierosacristan. Most Atomites recognize my features and my armor, and know who I am by my status. Still, for how honored I am to be able to wear my travel gear, there are times I like to wear something less high-profile. I needn't wear my devotion to have it. And I needn't wear specific things to justify that I'm a woman.”

“Well said.” He got a bit distant inside himself, folding his hands in his lap with a faint smile. “People like us aren’t anything new, you know. There were a few medical procedures available before the war for things of that nature, but they were costly and not well refined. I’d be surprised if any of that science has developed further since that time. I fear I missed out.���

“This is all because you don’t think it’s possible I’ve pursued medical treatments?” She flustered, and had to sit on the side of a mainframe section. “I’ve had some access to what’s called an Auto-Doc--but it’s dangerous to reach, and I’ve only gone to it three times in my life.”

He picked up his jaw to stare with indignity.

“Bullshit. Auto-Docs couldn’t do that.” When she shrank back at the accusation, he dialed himself back to mere disbelief. “Something that could cure me of my me, I’d risk my life for it! It’s not somewhere only Daughters can go, is it? Or at least, only Atomites?”

“--It is. That’s right.” She stared off at the polished concrete a moment.

She had a reason for guarding a straight answer, one ‘Choly couldn’t guess. He'd become an Atomite in a heartbeat if it meant being able to access such a treatment, but she hadn't meant it. When she found him eyeing her expectantly, trying to parse what she could be avoiding saying, she smiled and patted the clipboard in her lap.

“I’m woman enough to be a Daughter,” she told herself, her enthusiasm swelling gradually as she spoke. “I’m not the only Daughter like myself, either. The Gift seems somewhat genetic, and associated more often with this type of body. Oh, do tell me whether you too can hear the Granite!”

“What, I, no. No, I can’t.” He hemmed. “I’m sure that’s something only women can do.”

Her enthusiasm faded in an instant, and she froze in place. She abruptly stood and excused herself to continue studying in the corridor.

“Thank you for turning the light back on,” he called off after her.

She eventually replied, “De rien.”

Before ‘Choly could get tangled up in the taste of both feet in his mouth, the robotics workbench clicked and hummed. Its arms engaged and lowered. He checked the scan progress on the terminal. Primary data sector integrity looked to have recovered to 96%, but memory integrity still sat at 84%. Several main systems had gone offline due to hardware malfunctions, not programming. He drummed his fingers on the short desktop in thought. He input the commands for the hydraulic arms to cradle Angel’s chassis and lift it up.

“I guess my first order of business is mechanical maintenance after all.” He unplugged his keyprong from the terminal, and stood to collect tools. As he knelt down and got to dismantling the thruster collar with a ratchet wrench, he chuckled to himself. “Ahh, if only it were as easy for a human to swap out body parts as it is to service components on a robot. Everyone would benefit from that, I think.”

Fresnel came back through lost in thought, very clearly listening with her full faculties. Where she’d been distraught in October, now she seemed awed and fascinated. He glanced up at her from where he’d sat down in the floor of the circular workbench, cleaning out all the mud and debris from Angel’s pilot light well and exhaust ports.

“Did you ask if I can hear it because you hear it, Fresnel? What’s it telling you?”

“That’s between me and the Granite,” she uttered aside, as though answering him threatened to interrupt the conversation she held with the building.

“Okay, I can’t leave it alone.” He threw his hands in his lap. “You gave the Sacristan a STAR Core. Where did it come from?”

She smiled at him, though her gaze seemed a mile behind him.

“I couldn't risk the chance you'd show up empty-handed. He told me you mentioned the existence of more. I’ve had people scouting for beached crates, and paying them extra if the crates are retrieved unopened. I have not told him that I’ve done this, or that non-Children are working on retrieving them. I got lucky this morning. My scavvers found a crate. I decided I’d give him one of mine, so that we could keep yours.” She began her return to Earth. “We have to find them first, so that no one else can bring attention to them.”

“You found one of our crate--" He clammed up, recognizing that she not only possessed their car now, but their bargaining chips as well. With a sorry tone, he asked her, “...How is your assessment going? I take it you found the breaker back there.”

“The generator is undamaged. Its model takes fusion cores. Several need replacement, but I only brought one with me.”

“It takes… seven, wasn’t it? I certainly thought it was odd the blueprints didn’t call for a full reactor, for how much power it must take for the mall to operate off-grid. But, I’m no engineer. Maybe it makes more sense to you.”

“How did you know that without seeing the interface?”

“I’ve read the AEGIS manual.”

“And you have this… manual with you? Where? It wasn’t in your robot.”

“So you did go in its compartment. I will admit, I thought you took the STAR Core from it when you gave the other one to the Sacristan. But no, I don’t think the manual survived the flooding. We were packing everything up when-- Well, when we got washed away.”

“We will endeavor even harder to reclaim the crates, then. You ask if it makes more sense to me, yes. The generator only uses three at a time, and alternates the load to recharge the rest.”

“You said you only brought one. Are you able to get more?”

“I’m not worried. They’re easy enough to find.”

She restlessly reviewed all the notes she’d taken so far. He got everything cleaned out of Angel that he could, replaced its thruster collar, and eased himself up to sit in the office chair.

“Sorry if I overstepped before. It’s no excuse, but I haven’t had the opportunity to talk to someone else about gender issues before.”

“Oh, no, no.” She shook her head with a taut, pursed grimace, and flipped back to the first page to set it all flat. “It’s not that. If half the FC’s have been dead, that means that, all this time, the Lane’s shields have been at half power, and that the building will function even better once I can replace the generator’s dead FCs. But… that’s only if we can get the building repaired in full. It has me still thinking about the Mayor’s announcement earlier today.”

His head picked up, and he shifted from apology to attention.

“I must have missed that while I was in the shower.”

“The Hall must approve all future alterations to the building. Knott said that the plumbing was the last vital asset required to sustain interior living conditions, and that everything else is ‘purely cosmetic.’ I have not yet spoken with the Sacristan how we should proceed, or whether to proceed. I wished to study this space before I talked to him.”

“I understand why I can't, but why can’t you both just… tell Knott about the AEGIS?”

“The fewer non-Atomites know about the workings of this building, the better. I do agree with Haidinger on this much. It matters not, from whose mouth it comes.”

Hydraulic components in the Robotics Workbench clicked as Angel powered back on. It attempted to reignite its pilot, only to clink back down on the lift. 'Choly and Fresnel both turned to it, at the ready to assist as needed. It tried again. Just as 'Choly stood to approach, his heart stuttered. A third series of clicks and hisses yielded a successful thruster flame. He eased back into the chair with relief, and clipped his Pip-Boy keyprong into the terminal to load the results of his tinkering.

"General Atomics International Mister Handy, 2066 model, nickname 'Angel.' Custom order serialization 33013021102113. Good afternoon, Sir."

"Welcome back. I did better repairing your data than I thought. Your hydraulics could use some additional calibration, but you're afloat. I hate to say it, but I can't clean out your condensators today. We're on a strict time table."

"I appreciate any attention my systems can get, especially when you're able to lend your own. I will say, however…" It set itself back onto the workbench and extinguished its flame. "My current fuel tank is almost exhausted. I should preserve what I have until it's absolutely necessary."

"Good thinking, Angel," he praised with hollow reflex, not looking up from the Pip-Boy screen. "We'll locate a refill and top you off next time. Hopefully this will tide you over until later this week."

"I'm confident in your repairs, Mister Carey--and confident that I can better look after you now."

"We have a lot more work to do," he reminded it. He placed a weak hand on it, and gave it just as weak a smile. "I know I have my diagnostics software to help guide us to what needs repairs and tuning, but don't hesitate to compile a list of anything you'd like us to work on for you as well, my friend. You deserve to have the body and programming that you want to have. The best I can give you."

"I'm General Atomics' finest. I would be hard pressed to believe another in my line was constructed and maintained as well as I."

A hesitant "I'll do my best" was the only objection to form.

He glanced over to see Fresnel still stood by, observing him work. She cleared her throat.

"I study all manner of nuclear technologies from before the Great Division, including robots like your Angel." A vague smile warmed in her cheeks. "It's… nice, to see someone regard equipment with the same tenderness as a loved one. I don't often encounter others with any familiarity with nuclear devices, especially not in the Hinter."

"Because of the Fog. Right."

"Technology is human in origin. If it cannot withstand Atom's breath, then its inversion reminds it what it is, sinks it back to nuclear fuel." She sighed, but her smile remained. "This building is… a rarity. I'm having trouble believing I'm standing in a mainframe room well within the range of the Fog, and the computer still works. Angel seems just as special, somehow."

"You… agree, then, that the AEGIS must be repaired?"

She stared at him with resolve.

"Of course. The only way I would ever approve of the Granite bellowing itself apart is if it could… become manifest."

‘Choly scrunched his nose a bit, to stifle a chuckle.

“But we saw it. We all saw it. Some of us remember it. You remember, don’t you? I got the impression you’re one of the few who didn’t forget that day.”

Fresnel’s shoulders sank in resignation. Her eyes shut as her head tilted side to side.

“Another topic he and I disagree on. I held onto my memory, yes. As a Daughter, I cannot disclose what I saw. Anything intended to be known to anyone else, they will recall on their own in time.”

He bristled. I’m going to regret promising Haidinger a copy of my transcript, aren’t I?

“You do understand,” she pressed, “that we cannot tell Mayor Knott about this… AEGIS, as you called it. Her dominion is the people, not the building in which they live, no matter how much she and her kin believe otherwise. It is for Atom’s Children only, to be intimate with this place.”

“You’re not going to try to kill me, too, are you? Fuck-Me-in-the-Mouth, I’m not going to tell, all right…” He huffed and initiated the hydraulics to lower Angel and disengage. “What even is it about this place you’re all excited over. I understand the Granite is special to your lot, but that’s just the Granite.”

Angel crawled out of the robotics workbench, but kept quiet.

“The structure is one of the only examples of architecture that didn’t only use Granite, but was designed for the Granite. We know it is special, but we do not yet know how exactly those before the Great Division could have known this much about how a nuclear Nor’easter would summon sacred borealis.”

Every attempt to ply her for explanations set him back three steps. He pinched at his eye sockets behind his sunglasses.

“Then he hasn’t shared with you what he knows about the architect or caretaker?”

“I know that he knows more than he tells me. Still, something bothers me.”

His head perked, and he leveled his gaze as he turned to her.

“What is it? Everything we discuss back here, stays between us.”

She hesitated to extrapolate for some time. The words fell out with an uncertain tremor.

“There’s… simply too much copper here. I’ve never… seen so much copper. It concerns me… It has to be why he refuses to permit anyone back here. He knows it would do more than concern many Atomites.”

“The copper is why Lockreed deemed it too costly to manufacture other AEGIS structures. There are other sites that use STAR Cores, but as far as I’ve read in Lockreed documents, this is the only AEGIS structure they made. Copper was the first precious metal affected by war rationing. Steel, aluminum, and tin came next.”

Her hesitance melted into a resigned grief. A sad sliver of a smile stitched across her eyes.

“He allowed me back here because he knows I won’t tell anyone, either. And that I would ensure you understand just how crucial it is that you also tell no one.”

He shook his head, too. He didn’t quite follow, but he knew not to question that she’d confided in him something of extreme delicateness.

“I doubt there’s anyone else here with the engineering experience to understand what copper’s even for. I don’t even really grasp most of what I read in the manual.”

Her smile broadened, and the glint in her eye returned.

“I will manage without the manual. For now, I have plenty of information to study. Are you at a stopping point? We should get back to the Concourse soon.”

He mirrored her smile, and unplugged his Pip-Boy so he could stand. He consciously postured his back, and started toward the corridor.

“I think we’ll manage until we’re allowed another visit to the work station, yes. Fresnel?”

“I’m coming.”

“I just wanted to thank you. I know you don’t think I understand, and I probably don’t. But… thank you. For talking with me, and trying to make me understand. I would understand if you had no patience for me.”

“And I needn’t remind that patience is a virtue,” Angel said. “You’re quite virtuous, I would say.”

She chuckled.

“Then you grasp just how much patience is required to contend with your owner?”

“Yes, well. I’m sure you’d be a bit opaque and difficult, too, if you were cryogenically frozen for two centuries, and woke up to the current state of things.”

“You know I was difficult before all that.” Awkward exasperation cracked his voice.

“You’re… prewar?” They stopped when ‘Choly could no longer hear her steps reverberate. “By Atom, it all makes sense.”

“What, exactly, makes sense?”

“Your demeanor matches many Undying I have met. I thought all this time it’s because they transfix you so, and that you emulated them in your speech.”

“I’m sure you don’t know how much I take that as flattery.”

“I don’t compare many to the Undying.” She flashed him a broad smile.

She tossed a fusion cell from one of her pockets onto the floor and cracked it against the polished concrete under her heel. Then, she picked it up and traced along the panels and conduits on the wall until she found the sweet spot. Her fingers tensed to squeeze the battery casing ever so slightly. The mechanisms in the panel disengaged, and the pocket door slid toward them a few inches before it would permit them to exit.

“Why would a shopping mall have doors that unlock when exposed to radiation?” Angel mumbled. “It always strikes me so singularly.”

Fresnel clenched the broken battery in her fist, savoring the success, and took the lead on their way cutting back through Anchor Inn.

“Something fried the circuitry on several hydraulic doors in the Lane,” she explained without her stride skipping a beat. “The only way for them to complete their connection is to expose them to a small burst of concentrated gamma radiation. To use a prewar term… it takes hotwiring.”

“And here I thought the Sacristan’s secret interrogation room was sealed with occult magic,” ‘Choly joked.

“I suppose he might object to repairing everything in the Lane.”

‘Choly sniffed, and scrunched his nose to push up his sunglasses.

“Only the most important parts.”

“Only the most important parts,” Angel and Fresnel echoed in near-unison.

“When do you suppose he’ll let us in there again? I’d like to use the workbench one more time before we leave.”

“Even if it isn’t tomorrow, there is only so much he can do if Atom wishes to whisper open the door for us.”

“I know I don’t need to say it, but be careful.” His breath stuttered a bit. “The last thing anyone in this place needs is to get on Haidinger’s bad side.”

“You needn’t get on mine, either, Monsieur Melancholy.” She turned to face him, gave him a short jerking bow and a sneer, and clicked her heels. “You might find there are more painful things than being branded by Atom’s Light. But I like you. And I like helping you.”

“Well. You do know what you’re doing. I didn’t say it to give you the impression I distrusted you.”

“I get the feeling we trust each other more than either of us thinks. Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon.” Angel gave a royal wave, though she didn’t see it. “Did that go well? I can’t tell if that went well.”

‘Choly continued on to the GCC. He appreciated that the relocation meant he could avoid stairs.

“I’d like it if you kept my prewar status between us in the future, if you could.”

“You disclose it for shock value all the time, Sir. I figured it was fair game. Did I upset you?”

“No, no. And I don’t think she took it the wrong way. I just have a feeling there are some who will.”

“...Like Mister Jared.”

“Yes, like Mister Jared.”

“M-- Melancholy!” Bledsoe spotted them from his desk in the back corner, and scrambled to rush over to them. He quietened his tone, and shielded onward glances with one hand to the side of his face. “Melancholy, you’ve got to help me.”

“Did something happen while I was out?”

“I took a dose of that Daddy-O you left for me. Now, two of my patients won’t speak to me.” Anxious and gnashing apart the filter of his cigarette, he snatched ‘Choly by both wrists. “You’ve got to fix this. Make me some DayTripper. I’m begging you.”

“Unhand him, Mister Bledsoe.”

‘Choly squirmed. Static prickled in his ears.

“I. I can’t.”

“You have to! This is your fault.” Bledsoe dragged him further into the Clinic, and he could hardly keep up with his gait.

“What! How is it my fault! Have you never taken that stuff before?” ‘Choly remembered to keep his voice down. The moment they were in the back end, Bledsoe turned him loose. ‘Choly shut the door once Angel had joined them. “Have you never taken that stuff before? Why would you take it when you had social obligations!”

“Don’t lecture me, you prick. Not when I think I’ve fucked up this bad. I don’t need this from you on top of getting heat from my patients.” He lit up a fresh cigarette, and began to pace the narrow hall while he finished off the previous one to discard it. “Just tell me what you need in order to make it. I won’t let Sticks be in charge of the price tag, but I’ll let you.”

“I mean to say I literally can’t make DayTripper.”

Liam erupted with a scoff, and vanished into the dining room.

“Yet you can magically make one of the rarest prewar chems out of, let me get this straight--a typewriter ribbon, cigarettes, and coffee.” He heard the snap of a pull tab can. “What, do you need seven rare colors of sewing thread, the piss of an extinct animal, and a photograph of your mother?”

“Low humor, to jeer about one’s mother,” Angel muttered.

Despite how small he felt to be on the receiving end, ‘Choly still stood as straight and firm as he could in the doorway.

“A degree in Quantum Chemistry. I don’t have one.”

“--A what. You made that up just now.”

“I wish I had. It’s too bad I haven’t got any MREs left.”

Bledsoe massaged his nose bridge with his smoking hand, and gesticulated with his Vim.

“I haven’t heard of any Emery chem. Talk some sense, man. Just fix this. You’re some kind of a walking chem encyclopedia. I’ll take any chem you think would help.”

‘Choly squinted through Bledsoe’s meltdown. Eventually, a sliver of a smirk quirked one corner of his mouth before vanishing altogether. He took a seat at the laminated table, and motioned for Bledsoe to join him. Bledsoe preferred to remain standing, so he could pace.

“Now, you meant it when you promised you’d handle ingredient procurement for me.”

“Whatever you need, Sticks and I can probably scrape together just about anything.”

‘Choly folded his hands on the tabletop.

“You’ll let me borrow your phlebotomy equipment. Before we leave.”

“Done. I can already feel you bleeding me dry.”

“And does the area grow Tarberry?”

“Is that all?”

‘Choly gestured for Bledsoe to hand him the Steno and pen from the counter where he’d been working that morning, and he got to writing with a playful murmur.

“Oh, this grocery list comes second nature. Mind you, I told you where the Daddy-O was, but I did not tell you to use any of it. If you can get me the brand name, I might be persuaded to share.”

“You’re supposed to be making me chems!”

“The Mentats and Melancholia are medically necessary. What I make with this list will be… occupationally necessary.”

“Occupationally--"

“--I relied on several chems for my tenure in the US Army. Either you will help me function at the capacity you’re demanding of me, or you and Sticks will have nothing of interest to show for it. You and I, we’re intelligent men. But, we’re no quantum chemists.”

‘Choly met gazes with him. Bledsoe soured first, and took another drink of his Vim.

“What I’m hearing is you promised me you could do something, when you can’t. Can you do this or not? And how the hell did you make the Daddy-O, if it’s so wicked beyond you?”

‘Choly marinated on a way to explain his morning succinctly, relishing the ability to bend the medic’s arm a bit. He drummed at the table a bit in thought.

When he had browsed the MKEXCEED Papers for ideas, he had started with an arbitrary flip to Unit VII: Luck-Adjacent Chems. Only DayTripper had come to mind at the time, as far as chems he knew and that he might find in this unit. Drugstores commonly displayed the chem for sale alongside No-Gesta, with the tandem slogan ‘Get Lucky, with None of the Headache.’[96-2] Its entry in the MKX only listed the standard synthesis via precursor, and synthesis via a shorthand formula.

Now, the MKX seemed to posit two avenues to increase postwar accessibility to the chemistry for its encyclopedic pharmacology. Since Deenwood had allegedly compiled and revised this data for nearly two centuries, they had hit similar obstructions in their studies as he had with the Merrick Pharmacopeia. The primary proposed method substituted the scarce compounds. Through reverse analysis, the authors had deduced everyday sources for otherwise inaccessible compounds. He had not yet determined the means to decipher the instructions provided in the other method.

If it weren’t some manner of pharmacological shorthand, it had to be a cipher. It more resembled the unruly marriage of advanced mathematics and sentence diagrams than it did any chemistry he knew, and it nearly read as alchemical. Why did the formula lines curl and intersect in places? He regretted never learning calculus, but also supposed it wouldn’t have helped him with this regardless.

Still, it had given him such a headache just trying to scan it for any command of methodology that he’d justified taking Mentats that morning. The lights hadn’t been bothering him with the sunglasses, but these formulas? He dreaded what it would take to inevitably cook up √X-Cell for Sticks when the need arose.

But here, Bledsoe’s predicament provided him the perfect opportunity to study quantum chemistry and understand what it stood to represent. Just having access to the MKX method of shortcut constituents like he’d pulled with the Daddy-O had been huge, sure, but Sticks wasn’t the only one of them compelled to procure these bizarre recently declassified substances. He and Sticks had a deal, and he intended to make good on it to the best of his abilities… and hell, if it wouldn’t provide him a satisfyingly maddening challenge to boot.

“My laundry list there is no substitute for any PhD, but using the chems it'll craft for study is the next closest thing.” He smiled a little too wide. “You’ll find I’m capable of anything, given the right chem.”

Bledsoe draped himself down on the table, eyes desperate with interest.

“And me? Chopped liver?”

“You're asking if you could make a chemist out of you? We'll see. I have the feeling we both stand to learn a great deal from one another. Don't worry. You'll come back from our vacation in fantastic shape.”

"When we get back?" Any begging that lingered in Bledsoe's voice deflated. "We don't leave for days… Ohh, I can't wait to leave!"

"Maybe next time, you'll listen to me when I say look, don't touch."

Go to Next »»»

_______________________________

[96-1] Sheldon shampoo. Analogous to Breck shampoo, one of the oldest commercial shampoo products. Originally formulated in Springfield, Massachusetts. It saw its height of popularity between the 30s and 60s. Models called the Breck Girls posed for the brand's iconic ads, known for their soft, stylized portraitures. Their first artist was C.G. Sheldon.

[96-2] No-Gesta and DayTripper. Referencing this Walden Drugs of Concord pic I did back in 2020.

[actualcoolbugfacts]

✨cool bug facts's✨

Macroglossum stellatarum, or the Bee moth/hummingbird hawk-moth! (Bee moth is their European name.)

They have the eye of Sauron. 👁

The anatomy of these cozening insects!!!

Immediately noticeable, they look like hummingbirds, and have fooled several people into thinking they are hummingbirds. This is actually because they evolved in an environment similar to that where the hummingbird evolved from, and they are actually unrelated. This is called homoplasy, or convergent evolution. Uncommon for a moth, they don't have any sexual dimorphism in their antennae. While the abdomen fluff on most moths is flat, theirs puffs out, giving the appearance of tail feathers. Most species, if not all species, are smaller than the smallest species of hummingbird, the bee hummingbird. Similar to hummingbirds, they can fly backwards. They are one of the few moth species able to do so. Their larvae are called hornworms because they have a little horn on their rump. This horn is perfectly safe to touch despite its coloring, which is usually a purplish red, but will turn blue with an orange tip when they reach the last instar. The eggs are a pale green color, as to match up with the buds of the Galium plant. The larvae are born yellow, and as they get older (usually) turn green, as to blend in with their surroundings, which would typically be the Galium plant. If their surroundings aren't green, though, they might take on a different color. The larvae in some species also have these dots throughout their whole body that look like eyes, and when you reach the bump at the top of their head the pattern inside the dot is really tiny and it makes them look ravenous. They on average produce 2 broods per year, but in warmer climates may be able to produce up to 4 broods. Most of their senses are very weak, and they almost exclusively rely on their enhanced eyesight, as they are able to detect even the slightest movement and easily recognize things like plants and colors. They can flap their wings 80 beats per second on average, whereas most species of hummingbirds can only flap their wings at 53 beats per second. The only hummingbird that can match their speed is the amethyst wood-star hummingbird, which has the world record for the fastest wing-beating out of any hummingbird species. And it should be noted that the amethyst wood-star can only flap their wings at 80 beats per second, 80 beats per second for the hummingbird hawk-moth is just what the majority are able to, with many species having much faster wing-flapping speeds. Like hummingbirds, they make an audible humming noise when they fly. Their wingspan is around 40 to 45 millimeters (1.6 to 1.8 inches). They still fly around in extremally high temperatures where their thorax's temperature may get as high as 45℃ (113℉), this is the highest temperature that any other moth species can withstand, and is near the limit for when other insects muscles stop working. The larvae move to the ground to pupate, usually to the base of their host plant or on dead leaves. Their pupae are a pale brownish color as to blend in with the ground. They evolved to have colors that their predators can't see, rendering them practically invisible to these predators. They are presumed to be able to fly at 5.3 meters per second, or 19.3 kilometers per hour (12 mph), based on the speeds of other moths in their genus. Their proboscis is as long as their body is, hence why they keep it curled up.

Diet.

The use their proboscis to drink the nectar from flowers. They prefer longer flowers, such as honeysuckles, jasmine, buddleia (sometimes called butterfly bush.), primula, pansies, lilacs, verveine, echium, phlox, stachys, the flowers off of tobacco plants, and red valerians (Red valerians are sometimes called kiss-me-quicks). The larvae eat the leaves off of honeysuckles, hawthorns, epilobium, chickweeds, centranthus, other species of the bedstraw family (such as coffea, which is the plant that produces coffee), tomato plants, and some species' larvae eat tobacco leaves. The fact that the larvae might eat their crops makes some farmers consider them to be a pest.

Behavior.

The females will lay up to 200 eggs each on an individual Galium. The reasoning for this is so that the larvae will have an easy meal when they first hatch, and won't have to share it with their siblings. The reason they prefer longer flowers is because they know they'll have less competition from other nectar-eating animals, as only species with long proboscis' can drink the nectar from these flowers. They can remember where particularly nectar-filled flowers are and tend to return to them everyday. While they usually only fly during warm days when the sun is out, they have been spotted flying on rainy days. After collecting their nectar, they return to the same spot everyday to rest. When a male and a female spot each other, they begin to chase after each other, in what is essentially a game of tag, where they switch back and forth between chasing after the other and running away from the other, until eventually one catches up to the other and they mate.

Habitat.

They usually only stick around for the warmer parts of the year, but they are found all year round throughout Portugal all the way to Japan (by 'Portugal to Japan' I mean that the zones it inhabits all year round literally form a line that goes from Portugal to Japan). They are found throughout Europe, Asia, and Africa. They have occasionally been found in the United States, usually around Texas, California, and Utah. Because the Australians don't need to see them, I guess. They prefer the heat and will usually live in tropical areas, but some species are found in much colder environments such as Alaska. They prefer to live where there are lots of flowers, such as woodland edges and gardens, but may also live in coastal and suburban areas.

They usually overwinter (hibernate) in between the cracks in trees, rocks, and even buildings.

Cool facts's that didn't fit into these categories.

Not only are they called bee moths there, but they aren't even considered to be hawk moths in Europe. Hummingbird moths are a different species from hummingbird hawk-moths, with the main difference being that hummingbird moths aren't as large due to the fact that they are sphinx moths rather than hawk-moths. They are a part of the same family, however. The only reason that they're in the Sphingidae family is because their larvae were thought to look like sphinxes.

[shrelp]

this is not my tomb. it is too cluttered with things that i find familiar

and unfamiliar.

it is not my grave and these are not my things. they will not help me.

except for a few which i can recognize;

i am an instar waiting for the soil around me to warm, for a spring that never comes.

all around me are fragments of my chrysalis

that failed to form correctly, to protect me,

pierced and cast aside before maturation as focus never failed to shift

from one failure to another, expecting something different.

and yet none could bear my likeness

instead all these things glow faintly in the pale moonlight of sadness –

a graveyard of dead limbs that have since fallen under the weight each snowfall.

they give so easily.

each snowfall earlier before my limbs shed their leaves and before i could prepare myself for the cold.

this place is like the rings of a tree that had trouble growing

and each possession is a ring.

and i would like to grow out of this tree,

i would like to shed it all and move someplace else, as always.

please tell me my spring will come. please tell me the winter will not come early and i will have time to dry myself in the sun. please tell me i will find a grave that is mine. and i will be shown things that are familiar to me.

[trustholidays]

Harlequin bug pinbox

The literal "sucking-to-death" of the host plant results in wilting, browning, and eventual death. The harlequin bug feeds on its host plant by sucking the plant's juices. In the absence of these favorite hosts, tomato, potato, eggplant, okra, bean, asparagus, beet, weeds, fruit trees and field crops may be eaten. Plants commonly attacked by the harlequin bug include such crucifers as horseradish, cabbage, cauliflower, collards, mustard, Brussels sprouts, turnip, kohlrabi and radish. Photograph by James Castner, University of Florida. Adult harlequin bug, Murgantia histrionica (Hahn). At rest, the front pair of wings overlap and the insect's back appears to be marked with a distinct X.įigure 4. Photograph by James Castner, University of Florida.Īdults: The adults are gaudy red-and-black-spotted stink bugs about 9.5 mm long, with flat, shield-shaped bodies. Nymph of the harlequin bug, Murgantia histrionica (Hahn). The abdomen coloration progresses similarly to that of the thorax, getting showier with each progressive molt.įigure 3. The thorax ranges from pale orange in first instars to a final pattern of scarlet, white, yellow and black in the fifth or sixth instars. Antennae of first instars are colorless and darken to black with each progressive molt. The head coloration of the nymphs ranges from pale orange (in first instar), darker (in second to fourth) to black (in fifth instar). Nymphs: There are five or six nymphal instars that feed and grow for four to nine weeks before they are capable of mating. Photograph by Lyle Buss, University of Florida. Eggs and nymphs of the harlequin bug, Murgantia histrionica (Hahn). Photograph by James Castner, University of Florida.įigure 2. Eggs of the harlequin bug, Murgantia histrionica (Hahn). The eggs hatch in four to 29 days, the time varying with the temperature.įigure 1. Each egg is marked by two broad black hoops and a black spot. Approximately 12 eggs are laid together in one batch, usually on the underside of the leaves of the host plant. Harlequin bugs pass the winter as adults (commonly referred to as stink bugs) and true hibernation is doubtful.Įggs: Eggs of the harlequin bug resemble tiny white kegs standing on end in a double row ( Figure 1). The life cycle consists of three stages: egg, nymph and adult. It first spread over the southern United States from Mexico shortly after the Civil War.Ī generation of the harlequin bug requires 50 to 80 days. This insect is rarely found north of Colorado and Pennsylvania. The harlequin bug is a southern insect ranging from the Atlantic to the Pacific coasts. The harlequin bug injures the host plants by sucking the sap of the plants, causing the plants to wilt, brown and die. This pest has the ability to destroy the entire crop where it is not controlled. The harlequin bug is an important insect pest of cabbage and related crops in the southern half of the United States. Scientific name: Murgantia histrionica (Hahn) (Insecta: Hemiptera: Pentatomidae) Introduction - Distribution - Life Cycle and Description - Hosts - Damage - Management - Selected References Introduction (Back to Top)

[petculiars]

Monarch Butterfly Stages

New Post has been published on https://www.petculiars.com/monarch-butterfly-stages/

Monarch Butterfly Stages

The monarch butterfly is a flying insect from the Nymphalidae family. It is characterized by the colorful patterns of its wings, distinguishing orange and black tones.

Geographically, they are found from southern Canada, through the United States and Central America, to South America. It is a species with a very long life span, it can live up to nine months, unlike most butterflies, which have a 24-day life cycle.

They are known all over the world for the majestic migratory show they offer. Danaus plexippus species participate in a massive and extensive migration process. This happens when temperatures drop in their natural habitat, so they try to hibernate in warmer places.

There are two simultaneous migration processes, in the East and West. In addition to monarch butterflies migrating to other latitudes, there are populations of this species that do not migrate. They are located in southern Florida, all over Mexico, Central America, and North and South America.

Aposematism

Both larval and adult butterfly forms protect themselves from predators using the bright colors of their wings. In this way, they warn their attackers about the problems they would face if they attacked.

These insects have quite an unpleasant taste and are poisonous. This is attributed to the presence of cardenolide aglycone in their bodies. This substance enters the body when the caterpillar eats the milk plant because it contains cardiac glycosides, a very toxic compound.

After the caterpillar evolves into a butterfly, these toxins spread to different parts of the body. It is concentrated in its wings in large proportions because this part of the body is preferred by birds.

When they are attacked, the unpleasant taste is likely to drive the predator away and prevents it from ingesting the rest of the body.

The monarch’s life cycle

Eggs

Eggs are the product of mating between males and females. They are deposited by the female on the underside of a young algae leaf.

Eggs are light green or cream-colored and their shape may be conical or oval. Their size is approximately 1,2 × 0,9 mm. They weigh less than 0,5 mg and have several longitudinal ridges.

You might also like my articles on the life cycle of mealworms and praying mantises, and the anatomy of crickets.

As monarch butterflies age, their eggs become smaller. The development of the egg takes between 3 and 8 days, hatching in the form of larvae or caterpillars.

Larva

The development of the larva is divided into five stages of growth. Once each stage is finished, a mole appears. Each caterpillar will be larger than the one before it because it eats and stores energy in the form of nutrients and fats. It will be used during the pupal stage.

First Instar

The first caterpillar to hatch is translucent and pale green. It has no tentacles or staining strips.

It eats the remaining shell of the eggs, as well as it begins to ingest small parts of the milk leaf. Doing so, it moves in a circular motion, preventing the flow of latex from catching it.

They remain in this stage for about 3 days.

Second Instar

At this stage, the larvae develop a pattern of transverse bands of white, black, and yellow colors. It is no longer translucent. Black tentacles begin to grow on his body, one pair appearing on the chest and another pair on the abdominal area.

As in the previous stage, it remains in this state for about 1 to 3 days.

Third larval stage

In this third stage, the caterpillar has different bands, and the back tentacles are elongated. The ends of the chest are differentiated into two. A smaller pair of legs near the head and two larger pairs behind the anterior ones appear.

At this point, the larva begins to eat along the entire edge of the leaf.

Depending on the temperature, the larva stays in this stage for about 3 days.

Fourth Instar

The caterpillar reaches about 13 to 15 mm in length during this stage. On the milk leaf, the caterpillar develops white spots, close to the its back.

It stays in this stage from 1 to 3 days.

Fifth Instar

The bandage pattern is much more complete at this larval stage, as it includes white spots on the tips. It has two small anterior limbs, very close to the head. In this last phase, the caterpillar culminates in growth, measuring between 5 and 8 mm wide and 25 to 45 mm long.

The larva can chew the petiole of the algae leaves, stopping the latex. Before they become pupa, larvae should consume algae to increase their mass.

Toward the end of this phase, the caterpillar stops eating and looks for a place to pupate. At this time, it is strongly adhered to a horizontal surface, using a silk pad.

Then it hangs from the hind limbs, upside down. Later it becomes a chrysalis.

Chrysalis

The chrysalis is opaque and bluish-green, with a few small dots in golden tones. At typical summer temperatures, it can mature between 8 and 15 days. The cuticle becomes translucent, making the black wings of the animal visible.

At this stage, the caterpillar rotates the silk tampon, then hangs upside down, resembling a “J”. Later he loses his skin, being wrapped in an articulated exoskeleton.

Adult

An adult monarch butterfly appears after about two weeks in the form of a seizure. Once it’s out, it hangs upside down to let its wings dry. After this, the various fluids run into the wings, which expand and stiffen.

In the adult stage, the monarch can extend and retract its wings, allowing it to fly. Their diet includes a wide variety of nectar plants.

Reproduction

Adults are considered mature four to five days after they reach adulthood. Males and females can mate several times. If they hibernate, mating takes place in the spring, before they migrate.

This species has a private courtship. First, there is an aerial phase, in which the male closely follows the female in the heat. At the end of this type of dance the male pushes it and throws it hard to the ground.

There is copulation, in which the male transfers its spermatophore to the female monarch butterfly. Along with its reproductive purpose, spermatophore also provides nutrients, which help the female lay eggs.

The development of the egg and the stage of the larvae depends on the temperature of the environment, lasting about two weeks. At the end of all stages, the caterpillar appears between 9 and 15 days later as an adult butterfly.

Michoacan, the place of destination to find this type of butterfly, is a legally protected sanctuary and one of the most popular tourist attractions in Mexico. Thousands and thousands of people come every year to witness this miracle of nature. Once at their destination, the butterflies cover the entire area, creating a huge black-orange carpet. It is a breathtaking sight, but human greed threatens to destroy this unique landscape in the world. Last November alone, illegal deforestation in the area resulted in the loss of nine hectares of forest.

And here, in the secular forest of Michoacan, there are more than 130 species of birds, 56 species of mammals, and several hundred species of unique plants, all of which together form a unique biosphere.

[chaptersofnow]

Last day of oc pride month!!

Hope everyone had a good month <33

[goatpaste]

epic gamer moments of me slowly showing everone i literally have 300+ ocs over the course of two months

[anamneticprescience]

Меланхолия: Первая Часть

Ay, in the very temple of Delight Veil'd Melancholy has [his] sovran shrine, Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine.            -John Keats, “Ode on Melancholy”

A pupa frozen in a steel cocoon; Eclosion finds him wriggling, barely thawed. Unsteady nymph, how fearfully and soon He learns this hecatombic world is God In utter absence – poisoned, burning, dread, As atrophied as he. What little trace Remains of human virtue pales beside The better Angels of machines; instead Of striving to achieve their measured grace, He strives at any cost to quiet his mind.

Security is survival’s ecdysis; Regret and fear are stark exuviae Reminding him that callow cowardice Will never molt to moral arête. The ethic of the insect comes to him In epiphanic chemical taboo: Entomophages must desist or die, For, in his nascent seity, these grim, Apocalyptic barrens seem renewed – A place to spread venated wings and fly.

And fly he does, though slowly, from the haze Of two lost centuries; from the ebon flame Of toska; from the soporific daze Of poppy tears; from the lingering shame Of torch-songs sung on phantom tymbals, Toward a wasteland occupied by friends And feral lovers, rife with mystery. Before he lands, he must first comprehend His waking dreams and their erstwhile symbols. No instar may precede its history.

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[magioffire]

@blxiddiau

The air within the tavern was stale, and sour, as if Valeriu swinging open the door and entering was the first fresh air that entered the establishment since it opened that morning. As if its customers were not transient beings, but spirits inherently connected to the very splintered floorboards and smoke stained walls -- like some kind of tavern dryads. The large, singular room that encompassed almost the entirety of the tavern went dead silent, save for the sound of a coin rolling and turning upon a table, before coming to a stop with a few metallic clicks.

 A dozen eyes were upon him at once, but none of which was the one he actually sought. Valeriu’s gaze narrowed in a group of armed Ljosalfar mercenaries, their Brigandine bearing the sigil of the pale butterfly of Alfheim. He sighed -- if anyone would know the one he sought, it would be them, unfortunately. 

Slowly, the sounds of conversation picked up again, and people drew their attention away from the intruder - but not without first making sure Valeriu knew he was very much unwelcome within these parts of the Borderlands. He approached the table where the Seelie mercaneries sat. 

“Looks like someone is a long way from their tower.” Someone said, but Vali couldn’t quite place who among this crowd of unfriendly faces seated at the table. 

“Excuse me, I have a few questions --” Before Valeriu could even finish his statement, a shrill chorus of malicious, drunk laughter filled his ears.

“Oh, yeah? The Dokkalfar fat-cat got questions, so lets all drop everything and give him our full, undivided attention, lads!” One spoke out first, a young fae, surely hadn’t been out of their final instar for more than a few decades, and with a lot to prove to their older cohorts. 

“If you’re looking to find where the nearest upscale brothel is, you aren’t going to find one around here.” Another quipped, a sullen, grizzled Seelie. She glared straight at Valeriu, while many of the others only cast sideways glances. 

“Yeah, isn’t it obvious? You’re not welcome here! Go get fucked elsewhere, Sidhe trash!” The same young voice from before, obviously these mercenaries all acted as a singular group -- a hivemind. So, who was the queen or king bee then? 

He ignored the juvenile comments, spurred on by intoxicated confidence, and instead caught the eyes of a large, masculine Seelie, a huge warhammer hooked over his back, almost dragging against the ground as he sat upon a stool that seemed to barely support his massive musculature. Rarely did alfar get so big, so Valeriu could only assume that the biggest would be the leader of this little troupe of miscreants. All alfar were the same in one respect at their core - they only responded to one thing, power. 

“If you’re quite done,” Vali started, ignoring how one of the mercenaries quietly mocked Valeriu’s cadence and way of speech to another beside them -- an exaggerated mockery of a nobleman -- snickering to themselves. “I am looking for someone, a beastman, a mercenary like you. He goes by the name of Blaidd.”

“Don’t compare us to that overgrown dog.” The feminine Seelie sneered under her breath and took a big glug of her drink, slamming the tankard down on the table. “He’s not a merc and he knows it, he knows he’s just some pretender, some jumped up vigilantee. Whats a merc without a crew? That’s why he isn't here, fat-cat. Only mercs with actual salt to their name congregate here.”

“Yeah, there’s a reason he hangs out at those old ruins, howling at the moon and shit--!” The young one blurted out, and then cut themself off, as if realizing their mistake.

“Will you two shut the fuck up?” The massive Seelie barked, and then turned to Valeriu again, glowering. “Yeah, shes right, he’s not here. He knows he doesn’t belong, unlike you, obviously. Why do you want to know, anyway?”

Valeriu shrugged. “Private business,” It didn’t matter now. They already basically told Valeriu everything he needed to know without even him even having to try. Though...”Why ruins? There’s plenty of other taverns in the Borderlands.” Vali questioned. 

The big Ljosalfar shrugged even harder, perhaps because of his wide shoulders, gave him the impression of being much more expressive than he actually was. “Beats me. Because he’s a freak, and ruins are where freaks go when society decides it doesn’t want them?” He threw up his hand dismissively. “I don’t claim to understand the ways of fuckin’ beastmen, chimera, whatever you wanna call the mutants.”

There was a murmur of agreement among the mercenary company. Obviously, the distrust of beastmen was not exclusive to just Dokkalfar. 

“You wanna hire him?” The big Seelie asked Vali.

“Maybe I do.” Vali replied.

He scoffed. “Good luck with that. Word on the street is that he’s not accepting jobs like he used to. Hasn’t for a bit. Because the majority of the jobs usually include kicking Dokkalfar and chimera ass back to where they came from. Keeping shits like you where they belong,” 

There’s a whoop of approval from one of the mercenaries, and then a long, drunken ‘yeaaah.’ He then added: “Maybe he thinks himself above all that. Whatever. Even freaks gotta eat, and if he wants to starve while we get all the good jobs, fine by me.”

Indeed, morality decidedly did not put food in one’s stomach or a roof over one’s head, most times. But Valeriu figured it was more complicated than just that, it always was. Good thing Valeriu could be very convincing. He could tell that this group’s usefulness, and their continued tolerance of his presence, was growing thin. Without so much as a goodbye or a thank you for the reluctant information given, the Archmage turned on his heel and walked out of the tavern. 

“You’re fuckin’ welcome!” Came the voice of the young Ljosalfar after him.  Valeriu could have sworn he heard: “I hope that wolf man eats the fat-cat.”

---

 A gossamer thin sheet of fog sunk low to the ground among these ruins, the ghostly remains of a particularly wet, hot day. The dewy earth squelched under his leather boots, the ground here was partly sunken, lumpy and worm-eaten. The remains of ancient Dokkalfar civilization lay in broken pieces all around him, slowly sinking into the wet, mossy hinterlands.  

It was an odd place for anyone to take refuge, but especially a beastman. Maybe he chose this spot because the inherent superstition of the alfar locals kept them away? Either way, Valeriu was not deterred by the tales of the Bánánach that stalked these lands, clinging to the memory of defeat, to suffering, to their earthly pain, and instead pressed on deeper into the ruins. 

He knew these particular set of ruins to be an old Dokkalfarian fort, that provided a pit-stop for Unseelie Gentry and soldiers to pass freely between the Sidhe and the Borderlands -- one of many dotted around. All shadowy skeletons of their former selves. Generations ago, the chimera, humans, and the Ljsoalfar together sacked these outposts, and every other Dokkalfar city or settlement along the Borderlands and beyond. Driving them back into the Sidhe, deep into the primordial cradle of their ancestors. Vestiges of their former glory.  It was almost ironic, that Valeriu would have to meet with the warrior here. 

The smell of dry smoke cut against the dampness of the world around him, the familiar scent of burning leaves and dead-wood -- a campfire. He felt himself drawn to the heat, and once the bright red smear of flame came into sight, he immediately approached without a second thought, and crouched down in front of the flame. 

He didn’t spot, nor smell, nor sense Blaidd, only the slightest impression that he had been here. This looked to be a makeshift, but well put together, camp. Valeriu settled, and waited. He listened to the distant chirping of crickets, the occasional call of a night lark or an owl upon the wind, or the whistling of the wind through the budding spring trees, or howling past the columns of marble and stone. 

One might assume they were alone, but even where his senses failed him, Valeriu couldn’t help but feel like the one he sought was simply just out of reach. His assumption would be confirmed when Valeriu suddenly heard the sound of approaching footsteps  on the wet ground, and a large silhouette crept from the shadows. Upon first glance, Blaidd looked exactly as described, exactly as Vali imagined -- imposing, stoic. With the head of a wolf and the body of a man.

 Now that he could view the warrior in person, Valeriu realized Blaidd’s facial features were much more than just a wolf’s head imposed onto a humanoid body, it was more ..seamless, he possessed expressive traits that no wolf would possess, and Valeriu could see a glint of something in his eyes -- was it suspicion? Anger or disgust at the prospect of a fae within his camp? Curiousity? Valeriu couldn’t tell, he couldn’t read him all that well, and that concerned him. Vali uncurled his legs, standing before the flame. He craned his neck back to look the warrior straight in the eye, shadows falling over the sharp edges of his face.

 “I am sorry to intrude upon your space,” Vali said. If they were being technical, these ruins belonged to Vali’s people. But they weren’t being technical,, and nowadays the idea of reclaiming these old ruins just seemed like a quaint idea, with no real substance. 

“You are Blaidd. I have been seeking you out for some time. You are not easy to find.” Vali’s luck began and ended with those loud mouthed mercenaries. Without their flapping lips, Valeriu would still be out here in a few days time, wondering about, searching fruitlessly until the spring deluge forced him back to the nearest city . “My name is Valeriu Khorshid, Archmage of Amorium,” He bowed his head slightly. He figured that he might as well just be straight up. “And I would like to hire you for a specific job. You’ll humor me, and at least hear what I have to offer, yes?”

[jonnysinsectcatalogue]

Monarch Butterfly Caterpillar - Danaus plexippus

If the showcase earlier this year of the adults is anything to go by, there were quite a few of the hungry milkweed-eating wrigglers to be found in the yard this year first. This post highlights several stages of development as the Caterpillars here go from instar to instar with each molt. They begin life as small eggs left on milkweed from the adults that have returned from the south, following the winter migration. Given how their lifespans are, the adults that return to Ontario in the warmer months to lay their eggs are descendants of those who left before winter. The hatchlings that emerge from the eggs are pale and bereft the iconic markings that larger Monarch Caterpillars have. They do however, gain those markings after molting to their 2nd instar alongside the filaments near the front and behind their body. When not feasting on their host plant, they’ll hide away to avoid danger and the intense summer, as can be seen with the individual in Pictures 1-3. Goodness, how tiny it is. As it eats, it will grow MUCH bigger, from smaller than my nail, to longer than my thumb. After molting, the Caterpillar reaches instar 3 and then instar 4. The individual in Pictures 4-6 falls into one of those stages, but size might not be the best way to tell without anything as a scale. 

While size is the biggest factor here (larger the Caterpillar, the more it has grown), the Caterpillar is probably in instar 4 if he consider the length of those sensory filaments. In instar 3, the filaments tend to be shortened; grown much from earlier, but not yet stringy and floppy in appearance. Nearly at full size, these Caterpillars still have a lot of work to do and leaves to eat. As it eats, it grows on the inside, becoming larger until it outgrows its old exoskeleton and necessitating a molt. Though a Caterpillar is soft-bodied, it’s still an insect, and thusly surrounded in a sturdy exoskeleton that protects it, and when outgrown, is shed. Now at giant size, we have the individual in Pictures 7-10; Instar 5 and the last stage of development before the Chrysalis. How much they’ve grown from smaller than a droplet on a leaf, to a patterned, large Caterpillar, and the process usually takes 10-20 days depending on the Caterpillar. And of course, after the Chrysalis molt and a few days of transformation, the regal orange Monarch Butterfly emerges in glory! I could probably make a better timeline of observations if I took a few inside and handled them in a controlled environment, but as always, I like to leave them be (as much as I can) and allow the insect photography to be kept as natural as possible. See you next year little Caterpillars

Pictures were taken on June 26, 27 & July 10, 2021 and July 9, 2022 with a Google Pixel 4. Happy First day of Winter!

[buglife]

How about festivals and celebrations? Not only the regal, noble type, but the ones of common bugs too.

Here are a couple I figured out with a quick overview. I may expand on these later with illustrations or more depth depending on time and interest.

PART 1 - Pre-Infection Holidays

The Cast Off Festival: Something akin to a new years resolution. Once a year the citizens of Hallownest make an effigy of something they want to ‘cast off’ of themselves so they can improve. Example, they may make a figurine that represents self laziness or something that represents a nasty temper. Some folks may make tokens or figurines to sell that people can purchase if they cannot or don’t want to make their own. Celebrations include food and rituals indicative of purifying yourself to allow the new you to get a foothold over the old. Everyone gets together at the end of the celebration to throw said effigies into a communal fire and let the wind carry the ashes away. Just like how the Pale King cast off his previous form of a Wyrm to walk among the people and lead them to a much better existence, so too would common bugs follow that example to better themselves as well. Bugs may just have one effigy and some may have a whole box of them, the point is to give yourself a fresh new start and leave your old baggage holding you back as mere ashes. In general, it’s a very happy celebration in that you have a new chance to make the changes you want and if you have to do the same thing again next year, that’s okay. It takes time to change. The important part is that you recognize something about yourself that does need improvement and make a promise to work on it. 

Feast of Fellowship: It’s not far fetched to imagine that even after granted Sapience, some bugs that were regularly preyed upon may have lingering instincts that may make interacting with carnivorous citizens a big nerve wracking. To counter act this, there is a yearly feast where folks are encouraged to share company and food with each other to not only celebrate the bounty from the harvest, but also the fact that many different kinds of bugs worked together to produce it. Spiders, Millipedes, Flies, Moths, ect ect, can all have a feast together and enjoy each other’s company. Takes place after the biggest harvest of the year so there is an abundance of food to go around that can be eaten up fresh before they must be preserved. Entire villages would just have one communal feast where everyone can share and enjoy. In big cities, usually these are more private with friends and colleagues being invited but I wouldn’t put it past a crown funded feast for everyone in the Capital. Citizens that are happy after all, are less likely to cause any trouble when they are busy sleeping off the biggest meal of the year. Lol.

Life Festival: A celebration for those wanting to be parents, those that have children, and those that have parents they love. It’s a day of fond wishes and hopes to be able to have healthy young. Different species have children in different ways, but it all comes down to the same thing, the want to reproduce. The day is spent lighting candles and leaving little offerings in the hopes to become gravid if trying to be. It is also a day for current parents to honor their offspring and be grateful to be blessed with them. Some take this day to grieve and honor any lost children and thank them for being there, even if it was for a short amount of time. Parents to be take the nights to be ‘extra sure’ their wishes will stick, if you know what I mean ;3. It can be rather bittersweet but it is important to many people. Children, however, take the day to honor the parents that gave them life, and there’s usually gift exchanges between parents and children. In general, it’s a celebration of life given and the gratitude of it all. 

Birthdays are dependent on species and specific culture. Some celebrate when the egg actually hatches as a birthday. Some celebrate the day they emerge from their pupa an instar molt as the ‘birthday’. Still, there would be some sort of celebration where a child gets a celebration to mark another year of life. Complete with sweets and presents. It’s a big deal, as bugs before rarely made it past the nymph stage of life. It certainly is something to celebrate. 

Celebration of Flight: For flying species, where the young take their first ritual flight to mark an important moment of their development. Non flying bugs are present as well and participate by offering support to their friends and family taking their first flight without any help. 

Celebration of Weaving: For Spiders to show off their very first silk weavings and crafts and getting the praise they deserve. Primarily a Deepnest holiday. 

Celebration of ____: If a species is known for a thing, you better believe they are going to have a cellebration around it! Digging, rolling, fighting, spitting, climbing, ect ect. There’s so many different kinds of bugs!

Mate Day: Bring your mate offerings so they don’t get cranky and try to bite anyone. Especially you. You better make them feel like the most special bug in existence. 

King/Queen’s Day: Two days at different times of the year to celebrate the King and his lovely tree wife. Queen’s day is in ‘Spring’, and King’s day is ‘Winter’. Think of ‘Captain Picard Day’ in the TNG for the idea. Kids make little dolls and pictures and costumes and run around while parents buy them little King/Queen shaped sweets and participate in events run by the crown. Tours of the Palace take place in order to bring more transparency to the public. Both days would involve charity work depending on the ruler’s taste. Example, the Queen might sponsor a beatification effort by planting flowers and bushes around the kingdom and the King may just ask for groups to go around and clean up litter. Citizen bugs outside the Capital/major cities still would have their own home celebrations, perhaps just saying prayers of thanks or just cleaning around their village. Dolls and plushies are typically sold a lot and it’s not uncommon for children to have at least one doll of either the King, Queen, or both. There is a lottery where any citizen can participate, where winners may go before the Royals without having to fight through normal court to request some sort of help for either themselves or another organization. Royalty and Nobility have a separate feast afterwards, where there is a lot of ass kissing and the monarchs just want to eat their din dins and go the hell to bed please.

Day of Spirits: A day to honor and remember the dead. Offerings are set out for deceased loved ones and graves/memorials are carefully cleaned and put to order. It’s a time to remember those you love that are gone and give them honor by showing that you are continuing to live and remember them. There are usually parties where representations are included so the spirits of those gone are invited to participate in said party. It’s a day for laughter and love, not for grief. It’s said on this day the veil between the living and dead and thin, so you can directly tell your gone loved ones whatever you like and they have the greatest chance of hearing it. 

Honey Festival: All things Honey. The Hive makes SO MUCH GEO during a week long Festival. They may not be part of the Kingdom but boy howdy, does everyone love honey and wax products. 

Remembrance Days: Days to remember any well known person, such as visionaries, inventors, people who generally did a lot of good, and others. Bugs that did a lot of good for bugkind are remembered and honored in their own little celebrations. Usually it means that government offices shut down to give their workers a much needed break. 

OF COURSE: There doesn’t need to be a reason for a celebration. Dances and ‘Ho Down’ style celebrations can spring up for any reason. Some villages have their own little celebration days and all it takes is one person setting up some music and drinks and you got a party.  For moral, it’s common for there to be at least one celebration every ‘month/moon/cycle’ to keep up spirits and have at least a bit of time to relax. 

[mutant-distraction]

This Spicebush Swallowtail caterpillar looks just like a snake cartoon character! 😄

The spicebush swallowtail is a common black swallowtail butterfly found throughout North America. In its early larva stage, the larva has a dark brown appearance to resemble bird droppings, which serves as camouflage from predators. During its fifth instar, the full grown larva is up to 5.5 cm (2.17 in) long and almost ready to pupate. It turns a yellow-green color with a pale yellow lateral line edged beneath with a fine black line. On its thorax is a pair of large black dots with a white highlight or "false reflection" creating the illusion of eyespots. These distinct features make the caterpillar appear like common green snakes, thus fending off predators, specifically birds.

📷 Jay Cossey

(Photographer's portfolio in comment)

[steevejr]

my very lovely giant asian mantis, Opal!! look what a pretty bright green he is. pls check out his pink eyes and pink accent on his neck