#moth’s wings are segmented i believe

[zprite-x]

Yeah sure ill post this stupid lineart test doodle

[fungal-wasted]

Resting Grounds

Disclaimer: I am not an expert on architecture I am simply pointing out what I can see for the purpose of speculating or art references. Also, some talks about graveyards and methods of burial, so read with caution if the topic is sensitive at the moment. I send my best wishes.

Let's continue with a small yet important area: The Resting Grounds. This area is known for being the place of rest for deceased bugs of Hallownest, and home of the moths. Here we will see what elements stand out to this area and what we can infer from them.

First of all I wanted to show images of the entrance from the tram, the City of Tears and the Stag Station, which are some of the more... traditional ways to reach this areas for those who don't want to find out if they have fall damage.

Here we can see the average elements we expect we associate with Hallownest's architecture, followed by a big gate under a curved arc with a spike on top. The gate was left semi open.

The stag station shares a lot on common with others, except for two elements: those hanging pieces that seem to end on a bell, and the walls with masks carved. Those two elements are present all throughout this area and are unique to it.

This is the sign shown from the bottom entrance, connected to the City of Tears. The sign shows.... those "A" shaped icons (*sigh*), below the essence symbol. Surrounding the area are a few short pillars with a spiral segmentation.

Here we can get a glimpse into the vertical room that serves as a hub. The locked door at the top shows a round shape, reminiscent of the essence particles (which are in turn based on dreamcatchers, an object made by the Ojibwe culture). One can see this imagery present on the room where you pick up Dreamshield, whispering roots and the sign shown above.

(Ironically, dreamcatchers are associated with arthropods, except not moths, but spiders. I fully recommend reading more on their origin from Ojibwe or other Native American sources though, to be mindful of how we use symbols.)

Moving back: The other elements that stand out from this image are that the fences here are not shaped after the Pale King, but the Radiance. The biggest giveaways are the three pointed "crown" at the top, the curves that could represent her wings and the bottom vertical lines, resembling her lower body. Besides this, ledges are not decorated with Hallownest's usual symbols, but with masks.

I'm inclined to believe this is the main cavern designated for tombs, where most bugs would expect to leave their remains. If you look closer, you can see I've pointed to 5 different designs for tombstones. Most of them are quite simple, likely just displaying the name of the bug/family buried in a place. Maybe some could afford some other kind of sculpture above their graves, or it is given to members of a guild (which is the case in real life, actually). Below Xero's arena we can see what could be niches. They are a method of above-ground entombment which as far as I know, tend to be used for less time than underground burials.

This screenshot is very interesting because it shows the monument to the Dreamers, but behind it we see a pair of... horn-like structure, which we see when we enter the Dream Realm in the context of destroying the Dreamers or fighting the Radiance. This room also has bigger structure seen in the far background, but I would not be able to discern whether they are meant to be homes for any inhabitants nearby, or mausoleums.

This is a photo of the crypts, which remain overall neglected, housing belflies, some sources of geo and priced objects. Entombed husks also roam the area, which prove two things: a) bugs' bodies were wrapped to be preserved, and b) yes the infection can make long dead bugs active again. Now, I would... speculate a few possible reasons for the crypts being what they are. First one is that it is simply an older part of the Resting Grounds and is reflective of past traditions, and the second is that this is a common burial zone, which would be where the remains of long dead bugs would end up on. As far as I know... this is a practice some places have to be able to clear space for other families, often done close to a century after death. Any possibility is fine.

I also discussed with a mutual about the possibility of preserving the bodies being related to their tie to dreams because of their spirits, which could be supported by Markoth or Galien emerging from their bodies, but that's as much as we could say.

Finally: this is an area hidden in the Spirit's Glade, showing the only monuments that directly portray moths in the entire map. This area is hidden behind a calm waterfall that provides water for the Resting Grounds. As you can see, each statue differs in size but have the same shape overall. The item collected here is a King's Idol.

I hope this was helpful! If you have anything else to add feel free to do so

Other posts that you may be interested in:

Forgotten Cossroads

The Snail Shaman's Mounds

[jonnysinsectcatalogue]

White Miller Caddisfly - Nectopsyche sp.

Following up from last week’s post, I’m not finished with the order Trichoptera yet, not when there’s more unusual insects to examine. Compared to the Giant Casemaker from last week, this specimen is much smaller and far more pale. However, just like the Giant Casemaker, this insect could easily be mistaken for a Moth since it’s found flying at night by being drawn to lights. If only it could get to the lights of cottage country that are on the other side of the glass window. We truly don’t know why insects are so attracted to bright light, but there are many theories to consider such as light acting as a guidance mechanism, lights emanate warmth, insects gathered near light may make a convenient food source (and may mistaken UV light itself as other objects), and some insects are drawn to flashing lights due to mate potential. Fireflies - such as genus Photuris -  are experts at using light to their advantage, but a small flashing lightbulb is entirely overshadowed by a lamp, but I digress. With this lithe insect exposed in the light, it’s clear to see that with tent-shaped wings and slight differences, this is not a Moth. And by golly, what long antennae it has!! Those extended, filiform antennae look like they’re at least twice the length of the Caddisfly’s body!! 

It’s hard to believe that they could be so long in adulthood, but even the Caddisfly larvae in this family have long antennae. The family in question is Leptoceridae - Long-Horned Caddisflies. You may have seen another specie with long antenna on the blog earlier...one with longer wings and larger palps. I speak of the Black Dancer Caddisfly, where the antennae (however long) look more proportional to the insect’s size. As for this Nectopsyche Caddisfly, why would it have such long antennae? The extreme length isn’t exactly practical, but if the antennae are able to grow to such a length, there must be a reason for it. They would probably help gather information from a longer distance, and give the Caddisfly a second more to fly away if necessary. The antennae not exactly feelers, but if they’re sensitive and flexible enough, the amount of information they could map out would be substantial. They may also help in finding mates, especially if they fly at night and visibility is poor. Having antennae touch sounds like an amusing way to meet someone, and maybe that’s what it’s all about. On that note, since antennae segments are likely to be lost in interactions with predators, maybe having longer antennae is seen as a marker of a more beneficial mate? With a structure so long and delicate, it would be tough to take care of. I’m still wrapping my brain around how they fly forwards and land without tripping on their antennae. 

Pictures were taken on June 25, 2022 in Muskoka with a Google Pixel 4.

[boogisstuff]

Mothman Quirk au

Izuku has a disaster-attractive quirk. That is to say he’s drawn to potential disasters. 

Can cause others to see visions related to an upcoming catastrophe, but cannot see him himself. Because his targets don’t typically have an inherent tolerance for seeing the future, their mind breaks it into flashes, or sometimes parts of a vision, so their mind can safely process it. 

He himself is drawn to what  can only be described as the kinetic energy of a tragedy. Bigger the event, the stronger the pull, but once the event has occurred, or rather once it’s reached its climax, the pull is gone. Gravitates towards the scene of disaster. 

He’s learned he can't stop what’s going to happen- he’s tried talking to heroes, to anyone, but they just think he’s crazy and try to lock him up. Before he can convince them otherwise he’ll get another pull, one he can’t answer, and lose his head and his chance of persuading them- he can, however, minimize damage. 

If he can warn someone else. Get someone without a rap to believe him and warn others. Unfortunately if he sticks with the same person too long, people either get suspicious or his ally suffers the mental toll of being exposed to repeated tragedies on an intimate level.

Others aren’t built to process glimpses into the future? Neither’s Izuku. He’s built to deliver visions and chase the subject of said visions. With four solid wings; the lower pair equipped with bioluminescent markings that hypnotize his target to deliver visions, and the upper pair better suited for gliding/flying. Into disasters of course. Most of his body’s coated in a peach fuzz, and the heavier patches have a light dust that serves to protect him from most of the situations his quirk pulls him into. Overall his mutations give him a somewhat moth-like look. Hence his future moniker as a local crypt; the mothman. Despite being small even for a child of his age.

Too big to efficiently fly. Wings are good for bursts of speed, off the ground, and change directions. Not drawn out flights.

Otherwise gliding.

The wings started like birds, at first, with the bones and how they folded. Instead of feathers, though, there were segments, like a moth. Six in total; three pairs.

*Lil Izu wondered about years of horrific car crashes. It happens. Midoriya die. Live Dagoba Beach. See the moon.

Izuku had the disaster scene, the pull. But not the wings, the visions, the understanding and how to warn people. That's why Moma died. Like a moth to flame, she let her son unwittingly guide them to what would be one of the ugglest tragic accidents in years, when a villain-hero fight rolled a bus through a market.

12 passengers, pluss seven padesterens died. Midoriya Inko among them.

“I am attracted to grave catrastifies and the occasional heat lamp.”

Like crying, pressure built around his eyes, something took his hand and whispered to follow.

Just the eyes then. A tragitie. He'd feel tingling in his back if it was a disaster (one pair problem) or in his wings if it was  a catastifie (four wing problem).

Dropping whatever he was doing, already forgotten, the boy followed the pull obediently.

For once, a mini mothman was actually minding his own business. Sleeping in the middle of the day, as you do. Tucked away in his little hiddie hole, deep in the trash hills of dagobah beach. Alone. Secure. Safe.

That is, until his home came crashing down around him.

Awaking with a scream, he braced himself. Tried to comprehend what was happening.

Something was over him. Sheltering him from the worst of it. Soft. Sofa?

*Flash back to the crash*

"Hold on!"

Voice snapped him out if it. Snapping his head to the side. A disembodied head(?) Smiled at him, then disappeared into the refrigerator that used to be (and still is) his shelter’s main support.

Still cocooned in his torn, ratty blanket.

Thankfully it covered his wings. He recognized the no longer-disembodied head as the winner of UA's theirs year Sports Festival.

He tied the cloth tighter around himself like a toga.

They, All Might and Mirio, were taken aback by his appearance. He knew what they saw. 

Gritty black eyes.

Bony body, sharp angles, clashing with soft baby cheeks.

He didn't have a hairline. The peach fuzz just gradually grew to velvet, to thicker curls- matted and all-over.

And Izuku practically screened awkward.

Wait until they see the soft, light peach fuzz turn dark in the shadows.

Then he'd be a freak too. Awkward, freaky, crypt.

Sorry about that my boy, we didn't expect anyone else to be out here. Why are you out here?

The moment it visibly clicked, his ratty attire, skinny frame, house of trash, Izuku was out.

Reached up, gripped a broken bicycle frame, heaved himself up, and flipped into the pile.

With only mild guilt, he hopped on and off a large, loose, chick of junk, sending in careening down on the pair.

[For reasons, Azawa hunts, and catches, the moth boy, as he’d been reported using his quirk on random passerbiers. He’d show them discombobulated flashes of overwhelming, sometimes horrible, visions]

Please! He begged.

I have to show them you have to let me show them. They're all going to die!

Who? What's going to happen?

The hero was concerned. As he should be. The “Mothman” had an excellent reputation.

And a lack of patience, at the moment.

Erase canceled quirks, but even Izuku didn't know for certain that the visions were.

Restraints loosened, he managed to hit his 'wings' enough to smack them together.

A cloud of powder flew off, a small duct obstruction.

A blink took only a tenth of a second.

Plenty of time for his quirk to activate. Tenth of a second later, when the tired man opened his eyes he forgot to activate his quirk. 

Taken by the lights. Trapped in horrific, incomplete visions.

"What did you see?" Izuku hissed. "Tell me?"

Azawa -Eraserheads name was Azawa- snapped out of it, blocking his face and jumping back.

Seeing he wasn't about to get any answers, Izuku turned to the crowd.

"Don't look!"

No one listened to the hero. They knew Mothman. No one wanted to die.

The thing is, Izuku wasn't a combat fighter. He was small, scrawny; worked best for gliding. That wasn't to say he was weak, just made for endurance rather than strength. Endurance and speed.

Actually, he was pretty fragile. Soft skin, no protection, light bones.

But how, you ask, can a vigilante not be able to fight?

Normally he didn't. Honestly he tended to be more of an Oman, warn of oncoming events. When he stumbled on a bad guy, he'd flash his wings, eyes, and overwhelm their brain with psychic waves.

All with the elements of surprise and cover of darkness.

Here he had neither.

[horsesarecreatures]

Book review - The Island of Missing Trees by Elif Shafak

This book is the story of Cyprus, revealed by a fig tree as she tells the life of her rescuer, a botanist named Kostas, who is a Greek Cypriot, and his lover/eventual wife Defne, an artist, archeologist, and Turkish Cypriot. Without being pedantic, the book unravels the recent history of the island and how it was divided during the civil war where thousands on both sides were killed. To this day it is still divided, though tensions have lessened to an extent. 

The books starts off in England, focusing on Kostas’ and Dephne’s daughter Ada, who is struggling with the death of her mother. She knows her parents are from Cyprus, but knows nothing of their love story or the suffering they went through while there. The fig tree, which is also from Cyprus and knew Kostas and Dephne years ago from when they met secretly at a tavern called The Happy Fig with the permission of it’s owners Yusuf and Yiorgos, narrates their part of the story. Kostas and Dephne got separated during the war, and how they eventually united 25 years later and why Dephne passed away is a mystery that is revealed more and more as the book goes on.

The book, which is dedicated “to immigrants and exiles everywhere, the uprooted, the re-rooted, the rootless..” is not just about history, but also eco-consciousness, interconnectedness, and generational trauma. The story itself is compelling, but what especially stood out to me are some of the beautiful quotes, which are as follows:

“So I guess it is in my genes, this melancholy I can never quite shake off. Carved with an invisible knife into my arborescent skin.“

...

“People assume it's a matter of personality, the difference between optimists and pessimists. But I believe it all comes down to an inability to forget.”

...

“Because in real life, unlike in history books, stories come to us not in their entirety but in bits and pieces, broken segments and partial echoes, a full sentence here, a fragment there, a clue hidden in between. in life, unlike in books, we have to weave our stories out of threads as fine as the gossamer veins that run through a butterfly's wings.“

...

“Humans are strange... full of contradictions. It’s as if they need to hate and exclude as much as they need to love and embrace. Their hearts close tightly, then open at full stretch, only to clench again, like and undecided fist.

Humans find mice and rats nasty, but hamsters and gerbils sweet. Doves signify world peace, whereas pigeons are nothing more than carriers of urban filth. They proclaim piglets charming, wild boars barely tolerable. Nutcrackers they admire, even as they avoid their noisy cousins, the crows. Dogs evoke in them a sense of fuzzy warmth, while wolves conjure up tales of horror. Butterflies they look on with favor, moths not at all. They have a soft spot for ladybirds, and yet if they were to see a soldier beetle, they would crush it on sight. Honeybees are favored in stark contrast to wasps. Although horseshoe crabs are considered delightful, it’s a different story when it comes to their distant relatives, spider... I have tried to find logic in all this, but I have come to the conclusion that there is none.”

It’s a bittersweet book with lots of sad moments but also lots of hope. I enjoyed the unique narrator of the fig tree, who at the end is revealed to be not just one being but two. 

[almightyhamslice]

Ok actually though since I’m on an insektors kick rn I’m gonna do some species headcanons rq since idk if they’re actually set in stone? Well, if they are feel free to correct me lol. 

soooo starting with the Verigreens: - Fulgor is a fire ant. Apparently the wiki says he’s a walking stick, but I don’t believe that for a second. He’s ant-shaped and fiery!! -Alex is a mission blue butterfly. -Pyro is an imperial moth. I know he really ought to be a butterfly, but I think moth fits better because of his antennae-- they look more voluminous, like a moth’s. (also I really couldn’t find any butterflies that looked that much like him...) -Daltonio is a green bottle fly. -Magus is a walking stick I think? I’m going to say he’s a pink winged walking stick, because most walking sticks don’t really have wings, and a lot of the ones that do have very flashy patterns on them. The pink winged variety are just all one color. 

As for the Kruds: -Queen Bakrakra is DEFINITELY a ghost mantis. No question about it, the head shape and color line up perfectly! -Prince Maximillian could either be a ghost mantis OR a Carolina mantis... I’m not really sure, I don’t think his head shape is nearly as distinctive as Bakrakra’s... Maybe he’s a hybrid then? -Krabo is a smokey brown cockroach.  -Teknocratus is a maize weevil. I know they’re not really blue, but they are pretty shiny and colorful... and covered in spots. -Lukanus is a stag beetle (go figure, it’s literally in his name LOL)... I’m not sure exactly which one so I’ll go ahead & say he’s a hybrid. There’s TONS of stag beetles but I can’t think of any that are black with gold horns. -Kretinus is a granary weevil. It’s amazing how close in species he and Teknocratus are, they’re nothing alike lol! -Krabouic and Kaboche are green-head ants. They’re not exactly green, but the actual ants are mostly black with green iridescence anyways. They’re also really spikey, much like Kaboche and Krabouic’s armor! -I actually have no idea what Kopius is. Any pointers lol?? Maybe he’s a scarab beetle? that’s probably not right....... -Erik and the Methane brothers (I actually forgot what their names were! also do they have different names in the NA dub?) are all rhinoceros beetles, with Erik being a coconut rhinoceros beetle specifically (his armor texture reminds me of their shells).

I figured I’d put this list together because I actually want to work on a few fan characters for once... and I’m trying to determine the species I want them all to be. The new characters will be a ladybug, a stinkbug, a mayfly, and a spider... I’m not sure which type of spider but I’m sure I’ll figure something out.

EDIT: I’ve done some thinking and Krabouic and Kaboche are probably actually SHIELD BUGS or SQUASH BUGS which are related to stinkbugs... I say this bc their body shapes are kind of similar to the bugs irl and they look like they don’t have thoraxes, which is reminiscent of shield bugs because they also look like they only have 2 body segments. Plus, it’s kind of punny... of course the soldier bugs are shield bugs! actually there’s another stink bug relative called a soldier bug, but those are light brown so I don’t think they’d work.

[yakaashistudio]

VIDEO ART - Artist research

Stan Brankhage

- Mothlight

Upon first viewing, one experiences a fast paced sequence of split second images of what appear to be scanned textures of things such as leaves, twigs, dirt and moth wings. Brakhage created ‘Mothlight’ by physically sticking these textures onto a strip of translucent camera film and running the film through a projector - the textures are then magnified and played at a rate that is a slideshow projection of the collected materials. I was intrigued by the way Brakhage has used real elements of a moth’s world (materials from nature) and the moth itself to create a journey depicting what a moth would see between birth and death (the flooding light on the screen is akin to a moth coming to light)

- Dante’s Quartet

Once more in this film Brakhage can be seen physically altering the film roll by scratching into and painting over it. The eerily altered imagery is played at a rate of 24 images per second (24fps) additionally the didgeridoo audio that was added connotes to focus and meditation - a sound that can be used to enhance or in this case contradict the mood of the piece of film.

Laura Prouvost

- it, heat, hit (2010)

Prouvost’s whispery narrated film sequences usually evoke feelings of confused cautiousness as they tackle darker more worrying topics underneath a veil of abstract clay formations and footage. The style of her stop motion clay segments are reminiscent of Jack Stauber’s clay characters that play on the uncanny valley.

- Wantee excerpt (2013)

Her soft whispering pulls the viewer in to engage in the visuals, only to startle them with a sudden increase in pace or volume of the footage. Additionally, Prouvost’s combination of lyrics with connoted imagery (e.g. ‘the water was so cold’ + footage of a snowy landscape) allows the viewer to make connections between the sound and image in their minds. The synchronicity between the dripping sounds and clip is flashing up on screen flashing up creates an organic sense of rhythm.

Provost’s unnerving use of stop frame clay animation is similar to the work of Jack Stauber, an independent video artist and musician that has inspired me a lot in both art and music.

Jack Stauber 

- library (2020) 

Stauber’s combination of human actors’ bodies with stylised clay heads makes for unnerving scenes with non cohesive motions. The way in which the clay of the faces appears to twitch and shift during animation while the bodies move smoothly and naturally strikes the viewer by appealing to the uncanny valley (when something appears somewhat human, but not quite human enough to be genuine). This creates a deeply unsettling yet familiar connection to the characters in his videos.

- Cooking with Abigail (2019)

The layering of various images and footage to create realised scenes is something Stauber achieves in a manner like no other. In ‘Cooking with Abigail’ the kitchen scene is comprised of a cartoon-style background illustration, a series of overlaid patterns and occasional superimposed footage of hands, a human actor performing the body motions and his statement clay head. The way in which he is able to make this varying types of footage and images blend together in a sensical way makes his style incredibly unique.

Roger Beebe

- Strip Mall Trilogy

I was particularly interested in part 2 of the Strip Mall trilogy because of the shift in tone between the photos taken throughout the daytime and the photos taken into the night. The shift in the lighting and colouring of the photos along with the slowing of the rate of photos and tempo of the audio. This gradual change adjusts the viewer into the ambience of the night much like the daytime naturally progresses into night.

The overlapping sounds of bustling footsteps, automated voices and traffic creates an anxious atmosphere in the first part of SMT. The reason behind this, I believe is to recreate the feelings of stress and disorientation one experiences when walking through a crowded strip mall.

Connection to:

James Richards: sound and image > using audio to repurpose or enhance the image or disorientate the viewer by contradicting the visuals.

In my final video experimentation I want to focus on the way in which the audio and visuals will interact as this is something I haven’t considered a lot so far. I am inspired by Richards’ theory surrounding the use of sound and image as the sounds can be paired with specifically contrasting visuals to create a sense of disorientation that borders on surrealism. My take on this will link to my theme of cabin fever by combining footage of spacious outdoor scenes with the dense sounds I have recorded inside my room such as the droning extractor fan and dripping taps.

Christian Marclay

- Video Quartet excerpt #1

Using other media to create something original: Marclay had a team of researchers collect footage of music and instrument performances from all time periods and areas of media and combined them to create an original piece of music and a spectacle. The end result was transformative in nature and proved that you can use other’s footage and media in a way that makes it a new piece of art.

- 48 War Movies (Venice Art Biennale 2019)

Marclay edited 48 war films together and played them all at once, but only showing the outermost boarders of each video, playing the visuals and audio over one another to create a cacophony of movement, dialogue and explosions. The purpose of this undeniably unpleasant experience for the viewer was to use the media’s portrayal of the war to imitate the actual feeling of being at war. I found the way I which it was almost impossible to decipher what the video piece was before the explanation intriguing as it left a lot of room for creative interpretation.

[curiositys-cat]

Mothwing dreams, of course. Every cat does. But Mothwing is a healer, not a prophet.

There’s something comfortable in knowing what lay on the other side of sleep. For the other medicine cats, she thinks as she lays down to sleep, closed eyes might mean awakening in a dream-battle, fur torn and eyes wide with revelation of a truth too mystifying to grasp until blood has been spilt. Mothwing does not know what tomorrow will bring, but she doesn’t waste her time trying to figure it out. She doesn’t dream like that.

Except, that is, for the silver-blue cat and the flooded plains.

Young, just barely a medicine cat, and buried by the weight of what that meant, Mothwing opened her eyes to a sky beneath her feet.

She gave a cry and jumped back, but the sky moved with her-- and she realized, feeling the water round her paws, that what she was walking on was merely reflection. It was just a pool, the sand under her feet not unlike the island camp of the old forest. That she recognized. The rest, though...as she lifted her gaze, the world expanded beyond any horizon she had ever seen.

It was sand and salt and water, as far as the eye could see, the nothing of the landscape gaping eternally distant. This place was endless, empty, and glimmering with the reflection of the orange sky.

Sunset, and the salt flats seemed to glow.

“How strange,” Mothwing murmured to herself. She stepped forward carefully, unsure of what to do.

“But beautiful, I think.”

Mothwing whipped around-- there had been no one behind her only a moment ago, but now there stood a silver-blue cat, her muzzle frosted with age but her eyes sharp as glass. Her figure looked blurred, as if Mothwing’s vision was double or triple, multiple versions of the other cat overlapping and blurring at the edge.

“I haven’t seen you before,” Mothwing murmured. “Dreams are such odd things. Places I’ve never been, cats I’ve never met-- and so different from what I know...”

“Pleased to meet you as well,” the other cat said. “I’m as surprised to find myself here as you.”

Mothwing purred at the idea. “Hope you didn’t go too far out of your way,” she said, slightly mockingly.

“I don’t believe that’s how it works. You called me here.”

“Did I? Well, you can come with me now, or you can--” she gave a wave of her tail. “--Disappear, I suppose.”

“Excuse me?” The affront in the stranger’s tone brought Mothwing up short.

“You know. I’ll stop thinking about you, and you’ll disappear. That’s how dreams work-- no offense to you,” Mothwing explained.

The dream cat laid her ears flat. “I did not come here to be talked to like some passing kit's fantasy.”

Mothwing was cautious about putting her paws near any water she didn’t know, but hey-- it was a dream. She could do whatever she wanted. “And once I wake up, you’ll never have been here at all.” She padded forward in a random direction. Might as well explore.

“You’re terribly comfortable in the water,” the other cat remarked. “You must be a Riverclan cat.”

“Of course I am,” Mothwing called, not bothering to look over her shoulder. “And you must be part rock --you’re awfully comfortable just sitting there.”

“Riverclan always has been arrogant.”

The barb pricked, but not so much as her choice of words. “Always?” Mothwing asked.

“Sunningrocks bore enough blood to show that,” the stranger said.

“Sunningrocks,” Mothwing sighed. “I miss the old forest.”

“And Highrocks. I remember how the Moonstone used to shine...like a thousand stars all swirling around a cave, like all the echoes of the past playing themselves through in light.”

“I remember moonlight. Nothing like that, though. Just a pretty rock.”

It was so freeing to be able to just say it like that. Normally she had to keep so quiet, remain so firm in reminding her clanmates that she was the medicine cat that they needed her to be.

“Ah,” the stranger said. “You’re the non-believer.”

Mothwing paused, looking back, and realized that the pair of them hadn’t moved at all. In the salt flats there was no direction, no time-- only a burnt sky and a pair of sharp eyes staring back at her.

“What do you mean ‘the’ non-believer?” Mothwing asked. For a dream, this cat seemed awfully realistic-- and awfully knowledgeable. But then, anything that Mothwing knew, a dream would know as well. It still didn’t explain how her tone had wriggled under Mothwing’s skin and lingered there, uncomfortable and hard.

“We talk about you sometimes,” the cat murmured. “the medicine cat who cannot dream. Around whom the river flows but the current never takes.” She traced a path with her paw in the water, breaking ripples through the clouds. “You’re a phenomenon.”

“Next thing you’re going to tell me is that you’re from Starclan,” Mothwing muttered. “And you’re here to reveal the next great quest to me, some prophecy about fire and darkness and doom-- well I’m not having it.”

With one turn of the tail she went from standing to bounding, racing across the flat and sending a spray of water-and-sky behind her flurried paws. Her pelt was getting soaked and her paw-pads grated on the rough sand below. She felt raw. She wouldn’t face this, wouldn’t face the hope and the inevitable betrayal, the pain of separation when she awoke and had to face reality again. She would not face death, and she would not face a dream; none of it meant anything, and it hurt too much to try and see anything more.

“Where are you running to?” The stranger asked. She walked beside Mothwing, blue paws slipping into an easy gait. No matter how fast Mothwing ran she couldn’t break away. She forced her legs faster, and still the stranger kept up effortlessly.

Lungs burning, chest heaving, Mothflight finally came to a halt.

“What do you want?” She gasped. “What could you possibly want from me?”

“I don’t want anything,” the stranger meowed. “As I said, I didn’t choose to come here. It was chosen for me-- whether by you or by Starclan, it doesn’t matter which.”

“Who are you, then? What are you doing here?” Mothwing couldn’t get her hackles to lay flat.

“You won’t believe me no matter what I say. But I think I know why I was sent here.” The cat nodded at a spot on the ground, as if asking Mothwing to sit. Seeing Mothwing’s reluctance, the stranger swept a paw across the spot and the water retreated from it like the beads of rain off a beaver’s pelt. The pair settled in the new spot, Mothwing assiduously avoiding the other’s eyes.

“In life I was many things. I was smart. I was compassionate when I could afford to be, and knew that to survive, the right choice was often a hard one.” The cat sighed, casting her eyes over the water. “And I made mistakes. But that is what it means to live, I think. I’ve heard that you’ve learned that as well.”

Mothflight grimaced. “I do my best.”

“I’m sure you do. But mistakes are not what we have in common, or I would be walking in the dreams of every cat from here to Highstones. But I believe that I am here because of more than simple similarity.” She dipped her head. “You are the non-believer, and I am the leader who lost faith. I know how it hurts to feel yourself wandering blind while the rest seem to have stars lighting their paths.”

“A leader--” and the blue-gray fur-- “Bluestar,” she breathed.

“It doesn’t matter to you, does it? If I am all that you say-- or perhaps better to say none of it. Born out of an idle mind, my name is nothing to you. But you can learn from my story.”

“I know your story.”

“Really,” Bluestar drawled. “Then I suppose I’ll go.” She turned and padded towards the sun.

“Wait!” Mothwing called. She hadn’t thought the action through, but it felt right. This place, this dream-- it was something.

“So now you want to hear what I have to say?” Bluestar asked. “Very well.” She sat once more and looked Mothwing in the eye. “I used to believe in Starclan like I believed in the stars themselves, like if I looked hard enough at the night it would crack like an egg and all the secrets of the past would spill across my lips.” Mothwing glanced upwards out of habit. “It was who I was as a warrior. When I fought it was to win; when I slept it was to dream.”

Mothwing couldn’t help but snort.

“Young cats are so impatient.”

“Aren’t they just?” Mothwing returned. “It gets things done.” She shook her head. “I never had all that, and if you knew me at all you’d know that. I came from nothing. Like recognizes like. I always knew the night was nothing but darkness.” She huffed, drawing her tail closer to her body. It wrapped like a shield around her paws.

Bluestar reached up into the sky and leapt, her powerful back legs flexing as she almost flew through the air. When she landed, she held something between her paws.

Tears pricked at the corners of Mothflight’s eyes when she saw what it was: an injured moth, flapping weakly against the ground with its good wing, the other a ribbon of laceration.

“Why would you do that?” Mothwing whirled to face Bluestar, claws digging into the soft sand. “Look at it! It’s can’t even fly now-- it’s going to drown!”

Bluestar dipped her nose to the sand and blinked slowly.

“Don’t touch it!” Mothwing cried. “Haven’t you hurt her enough?”

Bluestar lifted her head to reveal the moth’s other wing in her jaws. Tail lashing, Mothwing lashed to bat it out of Bluestar’s mouth. “Why are you being so cruel?”

Silent, Bluestar let the wing fall to the ground. Beside it, the now wingless moth was crawling along the dirt. As Mothwing watched, its segmented body grew longer and larger. Her eyes widened as the moth’s legs turned to talons and feathers sprouted out of its broken wings. Long legs and a sharp beak stared back up at her before it set to flight.

“The stars failed me as well. And it hurt,” Bluestar said. “Though I feel clear now, my last life was one guided only by fear. I feared betrayal, I feared death, and I feared the cold, harsh judgement of a Starclan that found me wanting. As my eyes became clouded by my mind, I lost sight of the stars.”

“You had been abandoned,” Mothwing murmured. The things she had seen today…”But I always knew better. I was taught to ask questions and wonder in ways that do not allow for belief like that-- I had nothing to lose.” She let out a bitter bark of laughter. “I’m simply alone. I always have been.”

Bluestar’s eyes cut like claws in her pelt. “Have you learned nothing?” She snapped, cool as ice.

Mothwing shrunk against her words, and Bluestar’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I am too harsh. It has been a while since I have taught anyone. You love your clan. You love your kin, your friends, and you serve them as best you can, do you not?”

Mothwing shrugged, uncomfortable under her gaze. “As you said, I do the best I can. Not everyone would assume that’s any good, though.”

“And you would follow your brother to the end of the world because you feel he is the only thing tying you to it.”

“So?” Mothwing shot back. “Is that so wrong?”

“I too loved someone as kin-- and Fireheart, --star, now, I would have followed until the sun fell down, because he was all that seemed real to me in the end. He was the anchor around which the world seemed to spin. Is that how it is for you?”

Mothwing swallowed, nodded. Love hurt, but it was meant to. It was all she had.

“I understand. I am not here to say that you need to abandon your kin, your beliefs, and follow the paths of those who have come before,” Bluestar started. “I am here to tell you cannot heal without finding faith-- and yes,” Bluestar said, cutting Mothwing off before she had a chance to protest. “I know it is exactly faith that you lack. But there are more things to believe in than Starclan.”

“I don’t understand. The only things that need to be believed in are the things you cannot see-- and what else is there invisible other than Starclan?”

“You are so young, but your mind is inflexible,” Bluestar said. “Your brother pressed your budding faith too far and snapped its brittle stalk in two.”

“I never believed--”

“Not in Starclan,” Bluestar hissed. “But the clan itself. You must have faith as a medicine cat that your skills are good and that your patients will make it through the night; you must have faith as a friend that you will not be betrayed and that your words are heard; and you must have faith as a member of a clan, as an adherent to the warrior code, that your clan will endure-- no matter the winter, no matter the plague-- the clans will survive on faith alone until they have something else to fill their bellies.”

Bluestar looked at Mothwing with a compassion that Mothwing had not seen before. “You do not need to be what they expect; but you must be what they need.” The moth-bird circled overhead. “You need not hold Starclan in your heart, but you must-- you must have faith. You do not have to be that claw-caught moth, but for the good of those you love, you must find a way to fly.”

The bird called a keen, high and clear, and the salt flats were gone.

The smell of forest lingered long after Mothwing had woken and shaken the sleep from her limbs. If she had taken to gather herbs particularly early or stayed out particularly long, no one had said so.

[techcrunchappcom]

New Post has been published on https://techcrunchapp.com/behind-woodwards-september-surprise-white-house-aides-sawa-train-wreck-coming-then-jumped-aboard-yahoo-news/

Behind Woodward’s September surprise: White House aides saw a train wreck coming, then jumped aboard - Yahoo News

He offered lengthy meetings in the Oval Office and made phone calls at night from the White House — delivering Bob Woodward an unprecedented nine hours of access across 18 interviews.

Aides spent months fretting about President Donald Trump opening up to the famous Watergate journalist, fearing the consequences all the way through Wednesday’s bombshell revelations.

Trump bulldozed through them all, believing he could charm the man who helped take down a president and chronicled half a dozen administrations over the past half-century.

Now, Trump’s impulse may cost him as the interview transcripts and recordings are released this week, just under just eight weeks from Election Day and as some Americans start receiving mail-in ballots. The revelations in “Rage” have sent the Trump White House scrambling, with aides blaming one another for the predictable fallout from injecting even more chaos into an already challenging reelection race.

“You don’t talk the president out of things,” one White House official said Wednesday, one of 10 current and former White House officials who described the circumstances leading up to the latest book.

The interviews revealed that Trump was not candid with the public about the dangers of Covid-19, with the president telling Woodward he was “playing it down” even though it was possibly five times “more deadly” than the flu. “I still like playing it down, because I don’t want to create a panic,” Trump said in one audio clip released Wednesday.

As the White House and Trump campaign sought to tell a different story this fall about their handling of coronavirus, the book’s release is renewing attention on the president’s early missteps in a crisis that continues to disrupt hundreds of millions of American lives. The book’s rollout will continue this weekend as Woodward sits for a “60 Minutes” interview ahead of its wide release on Sept. 15. CBS said Wednesday the segment will also feature audio recordings of the president’s interviews.

In 2018, White House aides shielded Trump from an interview for his book “Fear” because they didn’t want to give the author more ammunition than he already had. The book was withering — portraying the Trump administration suffering a “nervous breakdown” with anecdotes from current and former aides inside and outside the administration.

Trump learned about the book late in the process and called Woodward in frustration. “It’s really too bad, because nobody told me about it, and I would have loved to have spoken to you,” he said in audio released by The Washington Post at the time.

He made clear to aides that he would participate in the next book, convinced that he could charm and cajole a veteran Washington journalist into seeing his point of view.

At least two sit-downs with the president occurred in the Oval Office — and far more frequently, Trump would call Woodward directly at night with the White House call log as a record. (The log records the time and length of the president’s calls but not the content, one aide said.)

Trump also urged his senior staff members to grant Woodward access and time, allowing him to interview several top aides, including senior adviser Jared Kushner, national security adviser Robert O’Brien, deputy national security adviser Matthew Pottinger and former chief of staff Mick Mulvaney, among others. Often Trump would urge aides to call Woodward directly during the reporting process and kept asking West Wing aides when the book would come out.

Throughout the process, several top aides raised concerns among themselves about the access and where it would lead. And they worried about the president’s tendency to overshare his ideas in often blunt language. But aides also resigned themselves to the months-long process of Woodward interviews and calls, knowing the president was interested himself.

“Sometimes the president does a nontraditional thing, and you get a surprising result,” said one senior administration official. “But I don’t think any of us recommended doing it.”

On Wednesday, Trump called the book “another political hit job” — despite the recordings of the president’s own words. And he defended the way he downplayed the virus early on by saying that “you cannot show a sense of panic or you’re going to have bigger problems that you ever had before. Please.”

When asked why the president would sit down with Woodward for 18 interviews when his first book was so critical, White House press secretary Kayleigh McEnany said it was because Trump was the “the most transparent president in history.”

McEnany spent most of a press briefing on Wednesday answering questions about the excerpts of the book, contradicting the president’s own words released in audio recordings. “The president never downplayed the virus. Once again, the president expressed calm,” she said in trying to explain the gap between the president’s public versus private comments on the virus.

Democrats pounced on the revelations, believing they demonstrated why Trump did not deserve reelection this fall. “It was a life and death betrayal of the American people,” former Vice President Joe Biden told reporters Wednesday ahead of an event in Warren, Mich. “He knew and purposely played it down. Worse, he lied to the American people.”

“The president’s own words spell out the devastating truth: Trump was fully aware of the catastrophic nature of the coronavirus but hid the facts and refused to take the threat seriously, leaving our entire country exposed and unprepared,” Democratic House Speaker Nancy Pelosi said.

In response to the book’s revelations, White House aides quickly started blame one another. Newer White House staffers tried to pin the decision to help Woodward on previous offices or particular aides, even though the president himself made the call to work with the author.

The interviews took place over a few iterations of the White House staff, including during the tenures of acting chief of staff Mick Mulvaney and current chief of staff Mark Meadows, with Woodward reporting through most of the summer. His first meeting with Trump occurred in early February at the White House.

As distressing as several White House aides found the excerpts, they spent part of the day just trying to track down a copy of the book. The White House struggled to respond to audio of the president’s interviews, as well as on-the-record quotes from Kushner — evidence that forced them to argue that, at best, some of the remarks deserved more context.

The access does not seem to have brightened Woodward’s view of the president. The author bluntly concludes his book with the assessment that “Trump is the wrong man for the job.”

Trump’s decision to cooperate was seen as partly based on his respect for the Watergate reporter as an institution, the officials said, a rite of passage ritual numerous other presidents have gone through. They compared it to his 1980s cultural mindset that put special value on Time magazine covers and The New York Times.

“Trump loves brands, and Woodward has been the gold standard for 50 years of investigative journalism around the presidency, so it’s the same reason why he likes the Gray Lady, he likes The New York Times. It’s the paper of record traditionally in his hometown, so even though both excoriate him, he’s attracted to them the way a low-IQ small moth would be to a flame,” said Anthony Scaramucci, who briefly served as White House communications director under Trump. “Trump is always convinced that if he talks to the person, he is going to elucidate and enlighten that person and get them to like him.”

Trump thought he could curry favor and shape the coverage similar to the way he did in New York City in the 1980s and ’90s with the tabloids, one Republican close to the White House said, but “it’s different when you control the nuclear codes and when you are the most powerful man in the world. The stakes are higher.”

Republican Sen. Lindsey Graham also helped to persuade Trump to participate in the book and told him that President George W. Bush once cooperated with a Woodward book and it turned out far better as a result, one White House aide said. Graham did not return a call for comment.

Bush’s longtime strategist Karl Rove remembered it differently, however. “Every president does a Bob Woodward book and gives him plenty of interviews and then later comes to regret it, and this is probably one of those instances,” he told Fox News on Wednesday.

The desire to speak to Woodward reminded some aides of Trump’s insistence that he could also sit down with special counsel Robert Mueller. In that case, Trump’s lawyers feared the president would say something untrue under oath, and they managed to negotiate supplying only written answers to Mueller’s questions.

Still, the level of access stunned many political communications professionals. Jennifer Palmieri, White House communications director under President Barack Obama, called it “bonkers” and “hubris.”

Before Palmieri’s tenure, the Obama administration gave what was then considered significant access to Woodward for his 2010 book on Afghanistan. That included a sit-down interview for just over an hour.

One White House aide tried to wave it off as yet another damning Trump book in an already crowded field, one that wouldn’t add much to what’s already known.

“Everyone has a book,” a second senior administration said with a shrug.

Daniel Lippman contributed to this report.

[mothra-against-all]

Part 28: II) Not-Baragon

January, 2020

In a triangular formation, the three new monsters watch motionlessly. Standing to Solomon’s left is a bipedal, arm-less beast. Its head resembles the skull of elephant, complete with long tusks. The entirety of its body is a pale brown color; the front of its chest looks to have its bone structure on the outside of the skin, the whiteness of the sternum contrasting the rest of the body’s dirty hue. Looking to the right, Solomon is greeted by a creature with a long segmented body, a white back, and green underbelly. Lacking rear limbs, it slithers on its stomach like a snake, but unlike a snake it does have forelimbs, two short appendages each with two long sharp claws. Its eyes appear as simple glowing green spheres behind an elongated upper jaw. Kiryu--her back to Solomon--faces the third creature head on. A vibrant purple, the quadrupedal monster has a spiny shell over its body. It has an incredibly long neck sticking straight up at near right angle from the body. Its head has a sharp beak, but even more oddly, it is turned completely backwards, facing away from Kiryu and Solomon.

The third Mosura teleports in again, floating above the MUTO and mech.

“I guess I should introduce you to our newest creations,” it says, “Kiryu--that is the name of that new husk of body, yes? You wouldn’t recognize him anymore, but believe it or not the monster you’re looking at was once Varan. Solomon, you won’t remember the monster on your left, but I’m sure Kiryu recalls when Ghidorah’s mutant Gojira devoured a Baragon in front of Gamera’s eyes. We were able to salvage some of those remains from SpaceGodzilla’s stomach before you broke through his crystal wall. As for the beast on the right, it was once one of the Destoroyah colonies. The one Battra fought in Paris I believe. Hedorah was what the humans called it? So difficult to truly destroy all of those little copepods isn’t it?”

Solomon face contorts, “Why?”

The moth sighs, “it pains me to admit, but your little gang was proving difficult to manage. Using already existing lifeforms as a base makes the process easier, or so I’ve been told. This was our backup plan, of course we would have preferred to create new MUTOs from scratch, but you defeated all of those too quickly. Red needs more time to perfect his designs, these new mutants will give us that time by removing you from the equation.”

Kiryu twists her head around and fires an electrical bolt into the sky, but the insect is already gone, teleported away to let the mutant Varan, Baragon and Hedorah deal with them.

The mutated Baragon makes the first move. It rears back and then charges forward, head low and tusks forward. Its head--enormous compared to the rest of the body--seems like it would set the beast off balance, but it apparently has no such trouble. It smashes into Solomon full force. The bat-like MUTO grabs onto the attacker, wrapping his wings around monster and pushing back. Both creatures dig in and push with all of their strength, trying to knock the other over. Solomon has an advantage as the only of the two with arms, but in grappling with Baragon’s head he’s gotten himself caught between the two long tusks extending from its skull, which makes maneuvering impossible.

Kiryu, wanting to help Solomon but also making sure to keep an eye on the mutant Varan, waits as the two monsters wrestle. The twisting of their bodies turns Solomon’s back away from Kiryu’s, and gives her an opportunity to swing her tail under Baragon’s legs.

The elephant headed monster falls to the ground, Solomon on top of it. It begins thrashing its head wildly, throwing him left and right. Solomon grasps the tusks so he isn’t shaken off, then pushes outwards with all of his strength. He hears faint cracking and eventually, one of the tusks gives way, snapping off.

Using his new freedom of movement, Solomon flips the mutant onto its back, where the huge skull and exposed ribs don’t provide improvised armor. Suddenly he feels searing heat burning the feathers off of his back as a missile strikes just below his left shoulder.

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