#semiopaque

[squishsquishy]

>> momoslimes_

[lichposting]

fantasy rpg ui that looks like paper/a scroll/book>>semiopaque sleek black ui with white text. always.

[rynfinity]

@frances-and-the-moon most of my more recent stuff is done with these, plus a dried up blob of white grumbacher semiopaque watercolor for white highlights.

[b-a-pigeon]

What From the Water Rises #3

In which an eager wizard accidentally participates in cult activities, apologizes to a seemingly indifferent god.

Full text under read more // Read it on Patreon // Read it on Substack

In her years on Isle Ezu, Cayperia had yet to reach the boundaries of its vast potential.

She still met every day with the same awe that had hit her when she arrived and realized what it meant to live without external restrictions on her craft. It was an unrestrained, childlike sort of joy—the eternal amazement that magic might be just as infinite as it had felt when she’d first started learning so many years ago, before she was caged in by regulations.

The oath she’d sworn back then was meaningless here. She could take what still mattered to her—namely, the mandate to only use magic within her range of abilities and to stay in control at all costs—and dispose of the rest. No longer was magic strictly a service she performed for others; she didn’t need to limit herself to practicing only when it helped someone else. Ezu-anvashe, though watchful and particular, was permissive in that regard; she could cast whatever pointless spells she wanted, experimenting for its own sake, without drawing his ire.

So when she overheard a rumor at a meeting of the wizards’ guild about a certain rare species of flower that supposedly facilitated all kinds of magic, she was too excited not to explore as soon as she could.

That enthusiasm held, even when she learned they grew only on the tops of the cliffs a few hours’ walk to the south; even when the next day arrived with a clap of thunder loud enough to startle her out of sleep, signaling the start of a summer storm; even when she stepped outside in her nightgown and confirmed that it was raining sideways, the northern wind blowing stinging drops into her face.

Undeterred, she swung back inside to prepare. First she threw a few supplies into a canvas bag—fruit, waterskin, notebook and pen—and slung it across her body, securing it against her hip. Then she reached into the depths of her wardrobe for the waxed overcoat she hadn’t worn since she lived in Mesaanot. She hated the heavy, stiff feeling of the fabric and the way it reminded her of home. But she needed something thick and waterproof to make her way through the storm, so she pulled it over her head with some difficulty and pushed outside.

As she walked, though she clutched the collar of the coat over her mouth, the water still pounded against the exposed parts of her face and her hairline and dripped down her neck. She hardly noticed the discomfort, preoccupied with daydreaming about her future; she smiled into the rain, humming absently to herself.

Her recent experiments had been closer to art than anything else—petrifying a spindly tree branch straight off the trunk, searing a circle of white sand with a flash of incredible heat to leave behind an uneven, semiopaque chunk of glass. So far, she’d displayed all of her creations in her home as a reminder of her accomplishments. She’d considered trying to pawn them in exchange for something useful, if she ever got bored with collecting them—convincing some idiot Sehmeri ex-noble of their rarity and value. She had heard before that the former aristocrats, now that they could not own more than anyone else, came to treasure unique goods as class signifiers.

Her smile widened at the thought. It would feel only right to manipulate them into making their own lives a little harder; in that sense, she hadn’t abandoned where she’d come from.

Hours went by before the summer storm relented; she continued due south, pushing into the fog, as the rain came to a gradual stop. It must have been late afternoon by the time the clouds began to dissipate, the gray gloom in the air lifting just enough for her to make out the shapes of the cliffs on the horizon.

She’d expected the tops of the cliffs to be rocky, but to her delight, she soon discovered that was not the case. It was all green and vibrant, with low-growing leafy plants and patches of ferns and tall wild grasses, dotted throughout with bright little flowers.

The purple star-shaped ones she’d heard about grew there, in little clusters pushing above the grass. At first, she went right past them, creeping to the edge of the cliffs to look at the ground below. She should’ve expected it—but her stomach still dropped at the sight of the precipitous vertical drop, sloping into scree at its foot before flattening to water level with a narrow strip of pale sand. To the east, there were no beaches at all; the cliffs extended out to the ocean, the waves pounding against their bases continually reshaping them.

She backed away, but kept her gaze on the distant cliffs. They were breathtaking in their beauty, dark stone topped with vibrant green, cut imperfectly by the roiling waters. The texture of the volcanic rock—layered, rough, ridged—reminded her of the bark of those tough evergreens that grew throughout inland Mesaanot. She’d spent so many hours gathering their needles for her master—

Cayperia shook off the thought; she hadn’t come all this way to dwell on the past, and there was work to do here.

Careful to disturb as little of the plants as she could, she gathered one or two flowers from each cluster and left the rest alone. The impulse to gather as many as she could carry was a mere whisper; Isle Ezu had all but silenced the need to hoard.

It was when she was pulling up her last flower, already back to dreaming of what she’d do with it, that she noticed quiet footsteps approaching.

Her body flooded with fear, her fingers seizing the plant too roughly as her every muscle tensed—but her mind caught up with her body’s reactions and reminded her of where she was.

This was not, of course, an enemy who had snuck past her wards. Nobody had found her, alone and vulnerable, maintaining the protective spells at the border; she was not in Mesaanot, and she had no enemies, no border to jealously protect. This person had the same right to be here as she did, and there was no reason to assume the worst.

So she took a deep breath and straightened, turning toward the stranger with a tight smile.

This person must have been a newcomer to the island, because they still wore unaltered clothing from Mesaanot. Their hooded beige overcoat was embroidered at the hems with bright reds and purples, the shapes symbolizing their village of origin, which Cayperia did not recognize. The garment was masculine in style, falling to the knees rather than mid-thigh; when they pushed back their hood, though, Cayperia noticed symmetrical rows of gold rings lining each nostril, like the ones women wore.

They came to a stop, leaning slightly on the walking stick clutched in one hand; when they smiled back, the wrinkles at the corners of their dark eyes scrunched up in a way she found rather charming.

“I take it you’re a magic user?” they asked, gesturing with their chin toward her hand.

Cayperia loosened her grip on the flower she’d so carelessly ripped from the ground. “I am! Are you?”

“Of course.” They tilted their head to the side, searching her face. “I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you new?”

“Not to the island, but I don’t often come this far south.” It wasn’t far at all—she’d spent countless days wandering much longer distances for the sake of exploration—but she had assumed the cliffs barren, and hadn’t interrogated that assumption because of her slight fear of heights. “I came here to forage. I just found out about these flowers—do you know about them?”

Their smile widened. “I do. They’re what I came here for, in fact.” They lowered themself to a slow squat and clutched a handful of the same purple blooms, then pulled them up, shoving them dirt and all into a pouch tied around their hips. “We were hoping to use them during our gathering tonight. Perhaps not, if it starts raining again—but Anvashe might bless us with clear skies.”

“Oh—yes, hopefully,” Cayperia said, unsure what else to offer. The notion of a gathering of people practicing magic together piqued her interest, but it didn’t quite seem like she was invited. She was always excited at the chance to meet another wizard, to discuss their shared craft, but this person seemed less enthusiastic about her.

“You should come,” they said. Apparently satisfied, they stood and tied their bag shut.

That perked her up again. “Yes, of course—but to what, exactly?”

“Our gathering,” they repeated, as if they expected this to mean something to her. Without elaboration, they turned away and headed toward the edge of the cliffs.

She had not yet decided whether she was curious enough to tag along when they glanced back over their shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “We’re not meeting until sunset,” they said, “but I do need to prepare first. You’re welcome to join me.”

Cayperia hesitated a moment. “What’s your name?”

“Quilla.”

“I’m Cayperia.”

“Good to meet you, Cayperia.” Quilla gave her a slight smile, then turned and continued for the cliff’s edge. There, they pushed aside an overgrown bush to reveal a narrow switchback cutting across the cliffside.

She stared in muted horror at how treacherous it looked—but Quilla stepped around the bush to the top of the path and started down, and she hurried to catch up.

“How long have you been here, Cayperia?” they asked without looking back, continuing at a brisk pace with the help of their walking stick. “You said you’re not new.”

Cayperia, shuffling down the steep path, tired after all those hours pushing against the wind, had to catch her breath before answering. “Around two years.”

“And have you noticed, too, how Ezu’s magic is so much easier to channel than what we had in Mesaanot?”

“I haven’t,” Cayperia murmured. She had, of course, abandoned Aameja when she left their domain—but she struggled to repress the ingrained desire to defend her old god, her old magic. As if the gods cared for mortals’ words. “It’s—it’s hard to say, I suppose. I didn’t have the opportunity to practice much outside of work when I lived there.”

Quilla hummed a quiet note. “You were a professional? Artificing, military, or something else?”

“Military.”

“Sorry to hear that,” they said, shooting a sympathetic frown over their shoulder. “I, at least, had an artificing career that allowed me some independence—but no, nothing in Mesaanot could compare to what Ezu-anvashe’s magic provides us here.”

“Is that so?” Fascinated though she was, their logic was starting to sound backwards; the magic that forged the god of the sea was not his. Gods could claim their domains, the humans in them—but the force that had created them all was not something to be owned.

“It flows almost like water. It has this way of moving through its conduit without effort, like there’s no barrier between it and yourself.”

Cayperia awaited elaboration, but got nothing. Using magic had never before struck her as something requiring effort; it was skilled work, certainly, but it happened through the same processes everywhere and only became easier through practice—or at least, that’s what she’d been taught.

Was the magic on Isle Ezu somehow more accessible? Was this part of the reason why she felt so free here, her capabilities so infinite? 

The majority of their walk proceeded from there in silence; Quilla said little else, and Cayperia needed to preserve all her breath to keep pace as the two rushed down the winding path. At the bottom, it angled towards the waves, bringing them to a narrow strip of sand between the piles of rocky debris and the water.

Cayperia glanced nervously around, looking from the rocks fallen from the cliffside to the nearby ocean, unable to avoid thinking of how easy it would be to disappear from this place. But Quilla turned to face her, and she was distracted from thoughts of being crushed under rockfall or swept away by the tide.

“Twice every moon cycle,” they said, “we meet here to practice our magic, to give our thanks for it.” They began to walk toward her—no, past her, to a crevice in the rocky wall of the cliff. Cayperia followed as they slipped inside, squinting into the shadows. In the low light, she could just make out Quilla pulling aside what appeared to be a curtain of dried reeds from a wooden frame covered in canvas. A storage shelf, she guessed, sheltered from the elements.

“I probably don’t need to tell you how Isle Ezu has enriched all of our lives.” They reached into the depths of the shelf and began gathering something in their arms; when they reemerged, she realized it was firewood. “The existence of this place has altered the way we, as humans, can engage with magic—for the better.”

“I agree,” Cayperia said, brightening at the opportunity to share her thoughts with someone who understood. “I’d never imagined that being a wizard could feel so… so freeing. Practicing magic here truly has changed my life.”

“Ezu-anvashe changed your life,” Quilla said, tossing down her burden. Whether that was a correction or an elaboration, Cayperia did not know, and they returned to their hidden stockpile of wood before she could question them. When they dropped the next armful onto the ground, they brushed past Cayperia for the slope near the bottom of the cliff.

Undeterred, she hurried to catch up. “What kind of magic do you do?”

“All kinds,” Quilla said, picking up a rock the size of their palm and squinting down at it. Then, after a brief pause: “Not artificing, anymore.”

“And the rest of your friends—?”

“Why don’t you ask them?” Quilla looked up at her with a slight, warm smile, eyes crinkling in that charming way again. “They’ll be here to talk about exactly this as soon as the sun sets.”

They motioned toward the west, and Cayperia spun around to see the sun dropping to the water; she hadn’t paid attention to the passage of time. It had been her intention to return home before the sun set; though she could light her way back with magic, it was still harder to see where she was going in the darkness.

No matter. She was already late enough that she was bound to travel some of the journey in the dark, so leaving now would hardly make a difference.

Quilla went around her and dropped a few rocks from their arms into the sand, beginning to arrange them in a line. Cayperia joined in without being quite sure what she was doing; this didn’t align with any kind of magic she had ever performed before. It was not until Quilla began to shape the stones in a circle that Cayperia understood they were marking the edge of a bonfire.

“Any minute now,” Quilla murmured, squinting at the path snaking up the cliffside.

The sky took on a pink-orange tinge while she helped Quilla dig a hole in the sand and collect twigs and dead leaves for tinder from further up the path. Soon enough, she caught sight of the first few visitors winding down toward them, moving together slowly; even once they arrived, they all kept to themselves. Cayperia hovered near the bonfire and Quilla, now too preoccupied with sorting and measuring the various herbs and flowers pulled from their bag to pay her much mind.

Quilla’s friends showed up in groups of twos and threes, milling about the beach, and Cayperia was more fascinated with each arrival. Many of them obscured their faces; some covered their noses and mouths with strips of patterned fabric, others wore wooden masks, and a couple hid under giant hoods that shadowed their features in the fading light.

There was a sharp anticipation in the air—excitement mingling with a distinct sense of purpose. It was like the feeling before the wizards’ guild meetings, everyone practically trembling with impatience to share and ask questions, but a hundred times more intense.

Intimidated as she was, Cayperia kept trying to offer Quilla help with her herbs and the rune they were drawing piece by piece in the sand, to ask for more details about the gathering, but they brushed her off, too busy to speak.

She didn’t really need them to provide clarification, anyway; the truth dawned on her as people continued to arrive.

This was a cult.

She should’ve recognized it sooner, but she was so enamored with talking to Quilla, with the idea of finding people with wholly different ways of looking at magic, that she hadn’t been diligent enough. She’d followed Quilla right into a gathering of—she assumed—the cult of Ezu-anvashe.

It didn’t matter if she joined them; all of the ingrained allegiance to Aameja had proven irrelevant as soon as she left their domain for Ezu’s, after all. But the thought struck her with an annoying stab of guilt, anyway. She wasn’t supposed to be here—she wouldn’t have come here at all, if it had occurred to her to ask Quilla what exactly their gathering entailed.

But she was here, so she may as well participate; cultists though they were, these wizards may still have something interesting to say about magic.

As the thought came to her, Quilla finished their rune in the sand and lit the fire with one dramatic flare. When it died down, they threw handfuls of herbs into it; the flames sputtered and danced on contact, releasing acrid smells and furls of dark smoke.

Cayperia, dizzied by the scent, backed away from them and took a seat on one of the logs someone had set nearby to stare into the fire. The others came to circle around, too, squatting on the sand or perching on driftwood or large rocks; someone threw a wide iron pot into the edge of the flames, while a few others opened up glass jars of green-speckled liquid to pour inside.

Cayperia watched in silence as Quilla hurried over, throwing their own herbs into the liquid in careless handfuls and stirring it with a carved wooden spoon.

It wasn’t long before they announced the tea was ready, and a stranger in a fierce-looking animal mask stepped forward with a ladle, filling little clay cups and thrusting them toward the crowd. Someone, catching sight of Cayperia from the corner of their eye, carried one over to her, and smiled too widely as they handed it off. “Enjoy,” the stranger cooed, and vanished.

Cayperia knew exactly what kinds of drinks were served at these events—and that whatever cocktail of herbs they’d used would render her slower, more suggestible.

She drank it, anyway, tipping back the cup to take all of it in one gulp. A nauseatingly bitter taste shone through their attempts to mask it, overwhelming the flavors of spice and sugar, and she barely resisted the urge to gag. It burned its way down her throat, warmed her from the inside out—an itchy and feverish sort of warmth.

The cultists murmured and laughed around her, and the occasional tingle against her skin told her magic was happening somewhere. She wanted to join them—but their conversations were all in small groups, in whispers, with no apparent invitation for anyone else to step in. Quilla was occupied, running around to greet people and ask questions. So she sat, eyes riveted to the flames.

At some point, another person squatted next to her; she failed to notice until they leaned in and whispered, “What’s your name?”

“Cayperia,” she said, surprised by how quiet her voice sounded. She cleared her throat, tried again, still watching the flames. “Cayperia.”

The stranger recoiled, frowning. “Is that your given name?”

Cayperia turned to stare at them in helpless conclusion. What else would it be? She couldn’t find the words to ask, and her attention was soon pulled elsewhere.

The heat from the tea reared up in her again, prickling up her skin—and something about the way she processed the sensation, through layers of confusion and distance, twisted her stomach with dread. Whatever she’d consumed may have been stronger than she anticipated.

Before long, that fear proved true. It started as a change in her vision—a doubling, a blurring. And then the movement of everyone around her seemed to slow, and the whole world slowed with it. The sounds of voices, the motion of the bonfire, the rhythms of her own heart and breathing.

For a moment, she was convinced that everything would keep slowing until it stopped.

It didn’t. Time leveled out, still incomprehensibly sluggish, but at least consistent in its pace. She screwed her eyes shut, wondering if she would feel like this forever; she wasn’t sure she could stand living for an eternity at half-speed.

A hand clasped her upper arm, the sensation of pressure echoing on itself until they couldn’t tell how hard or soft the touch was. 

“Are you ready?” a voice asked in her ear, stuttering, doubling up on itself.

“For…?” She could not finish the question; she couldn’t tell if the word had even come out, and if it had, if she was yelling or whispering. The beach was dark except for the fire, which was so bright it overpowered everything else. She could see nothing but dancing flame, edges framed in shimmering colors, upward licks leaving behind faint echoes so that the top was all surrounded with thorns.

“Can you help them, Quilla?” the voice said. Cayperia perked up; where was Quilla? She hadn’t seen her new friend in so long.

“She’s fine. I told her we’d use magic here—just give her a minute.”

That might’ve been anyone’s voice, but Cayperia looked eagerly towards the source and found Quilla there. They looked so different now; the flame’s illumination highlighted the lines in their face, their eyes shadowed under their hooded brow, and Cayperia got the sense that there was something hidden there, like if she could read the meaning in those patterns dancing across their skin—

“Up, Cayperia,” Quilla said, seizing their other arm. They and the stranger holding Cayperia’s other arm hoisted her to her feet; her body tensed as soon as she stood, terrified she would collapse if her muscles failed. It wouldn’t have mattered, anyway; they still held her upright.

“You’re going to do your magic now,” Quilla whispered in her ear. “Like we said, remember? It’s for Ezu-anvashe. Everyone is watching you.”

Was that right?

She gave a weak nod, and the two supporting her let go.

She fell to her knees, close enough to the fire now that its heat joined the heat under her skin and amplified it a thousand times. With her fingers, she started drawing in the sand—preparing a magic circle, acting on pure instinct. She shaped runes without trying, combining them at their edges, unable to see her work and relying on muscle memory. It was not until she was almost done that she realized her own intentions: she was making a piece of art to leave behind, a round of clouded glass.

Satisfied with what she had to offer to Quilla—and to everyone else, and their patron god, but mostly Quilla—she ran her thumb back to where the circle began, completing the line, activating the spell.

For a moment, she could’ve sworn she knew what Quilla meant about Ezu’s magic. Something washed over her with the exact intensity of waves crashing on the shore, then concentrated all at once in her fingertips—

The bonfire erupted, flaring up into a wall of flame.

Cayperia could only stare, her distant awareness—of searing heat, of the sounds of people stumbling away and crying out, of her vision overtaken by fire—buried under fear.

She’d tried magic far too strong for her—and in far too fragile a state. The cultists were throwing sand and water onto the fire, which seemed to shrink back down, but still Cayperia couldn’t breathe from the terror.

It was uncontrolled magic like this that almost ended the world centuries ago—magic beyond human reason or understanding, magic humans could not wield—magic performed improperly, unsafely, without care—

Even Ezu-anvashe could not be this lenient.

The feeling of impending death struck her again—and this time, all she could do was run away.

She ran as fast as she could on the sand, her legs burning from the effort but still pushing on; how long she went, or in what direction, was a mystery to her.

The end of the beach—where the coast curved away to a narrow strip of rocky debris and then vanished, the cliffsides rearing up against the water—took her by surprise, and she came to a halt so abruptly that she pitched forward and collapsed face first to the ground. 

If she had more awareness of her body, she would’ve instantly regretted it. Now, she was numb, and lay with her cheek pressed to the ground, one eye open to watch the waves.

Everything had retained its shimmering quality, the water leaving behind shifting iridescent tracks across the shore.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. Some sand got in her mouth in the process, so she raised up to her elbows, spat, and tried again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I didn’t mean to do that.”

Ezu did not respond. He could have, if he wanted to; she’d heard stories, though they differed enough to cast doubt on at least some of them, about people hearing his voice in the ocean or in their heads or in the mouths of others. He’d certainly conveyed his will to the first settlers on the island one way or another.

There were patterns of light in the dark water, glowing through the bubbling foam, streaking through the waves. Was there some message there?

“It was an accident,” she said, as if she hadn’t been clear. “I’ll never do this again. Please. From now on, I will use the magic I am able to contain. I won’t lose control.”

She wasn’t sure why she kept pleading; she hadn’t yet been struck down, so it was fair to assume she’d gotten away with her crime.

Her oath had been broken, though; she had made it to another god, but she’d made it for the sake of everything and everyone, humanity and the gods alike. She’d promised to use only what magic she could control. All she could think about was the potential of shattering the world, of upsetting the balance of things on such a fundamental level that everything fell to ruin.

“Forgive me,” she said, rolling onto her side, pulling her knees to her chest, staring at the water. Maybe Anvashe didn’t care—maybe he wasn’t listening—but if he did, if he was, she had to make sure he knew. “I won’t do it again.” 

The water lapped against the beach with the same steady rhythm, and did not reply.

[poshyali]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Mid-Century Converted Tortoise Shell Button Earrings.

[bungerc0re]

and it's not even a good color. i could cope if you had to bleed everytime you got off because at least that's aesthetically pleasing but no it's semiopaque goo. ooze. because fuck you

the goop is fucked up. you can't even escape it yonically

[styleslipsense]

Sparkle from day till night with our Glitz & Glam 20th Anniversary Collection. Featuring waterproof, smudge-proof, budge-proof LipSense® and ShadowSense® shades and a glistening Gloss. ⭐️NEW Metallic Plum LipSense- A rich, deep berry with a metallic and glittering finish. ⭐️NEW Golden Orchid LipSense- A delicate pink shade with bold golden pearl and shimmer. ⭐️NEW Ultra Gold Glitter Gloss – A high-shine with bold gold glitter with a semi-opaque gold finish. ⭐️NEW Lapis Glitter ShadowSense- A deep blue shade with cobalt and teal glitter. ⭐️NEW Platinum Glitter ShadowSense- A silver shade with beautiful multicolored glitter. . . . . . #NEW #MetallicPlum #LipSense #deepberry #metallic #glittering #finish #GoldenOrchid #pink #goldenpearl #shimmer #regina #lipsensedistributor #canada #senegenceCanada #UltraGoldGlitterGloss #bold #goldglitter #semiopaque #goldfinish #LapisGlitter #ShadowSense #deepblue #tealglitter #PlatinumGlitter #silver #multicoloredglitter #glitzandglam (at Regina, Saskatchewan) https://www.instagram.com/p/BwkVlcWHhuK/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=st9boaay8gem

[nevver]

Semiopaque, Ellie MacGarry

[dr-transparents]

I heard you making Q&A? also congrats on 1500+ followers!

here is some questions it's fine if you don't answer them all

when did you start making transparent and why?

how did you learn to make transparents?

is there some memorable thing on this blog that you still thinking till this day?

which is the hardest transparent that you ever made?

that's all my questions sorry if it's too much and a high five to all the mods here, thank you!

OKAY my browser accidentally closed this window without saving so shortened answers:

2020 and because one kin edit blog had a limited set of transparents and then because I needed transparents for my own edits. I got bored of regular editing but transparenting stayed and now I mod here and have another blog for transparents for a different fandom.

Self-taught, used various different tools in GIMP before sticking to ones that I found that work the best.

Shitty memory, so not really, no.

Two from Magia Record:

The first was hard because I used waifu2x *before* transparenting rather than after, so the image was really fucking big and that sucks. And also the edges didn’t want to tint themselves well. Fuck.

The second, I had to redraw a bunch of things because her legs and skirt were kinda covered by a semiopaque label thing.

-doc Firanka

[benjiedrawings]

Baking helps with stress. More lies at 9

I had a experience with baking that basically went with me being stressed about the whole brownie recipe and I thought about Farah the whole time so. Here's her going through the same thing I did. I experimented with some different lighting using markers, watercolors and semiopaque gel pens and I think it can be improved but I'm happy with the results so far!

[poppoeming]

October 12: puppy chow

I felt delicate—a semiopaque snarly tangle. I preferred heaviness, not exactly human: silent shore made giddy by the moon. I was puppy chow, hamburger, food that talks. I didn’t like that. Once it got dark, I was not exactly human.

Source material remixed from: Harris, Charlaine. Living Dead in Dallas. Ace Books, 2002, p. 180.

[thisisnthappiness]

Semiopaque, Ellie MacGarry

[quentinperot]

#translucent #semiopaque #pink #lowkey #flowers #macro #dark #light #ray #sun #hashtagwhore (à Ny, Luxembourg, Belgium)

[adz]

i had a lot of indescribably bad experiences at my somerville apartment. ive posted about the worst but the second worst was probably accidentally knocking over the cup in which my and my roommates’ toothbrushes were kept and watching about a third of a cup of semiopaque brown liquid come out

[burkedecorshop]

The noncorrosive, semiopaque substance that is mainly fused by the heat of the volcanic eruptions or the lighting strikes is what the glass is. Around 5000 BC when the Phoenician merchants while they were feeding on the beach could find no stones on which they would be placing their cooking pots, glass was accidentally discovered by humans. Carried by their ship as cargo, they set them on blocks of soda. The heat of the fire mixed with sand is how the blocks of soda were melted and were turned into molten glass. The recipe included here is that of the sand, heat, and soda ash is what the intentional glass making process usually involves leading to the evolution of Bubble Glass for home decorations.

[lastpic21]

LIGHT SHINES IN DARKNESS

On the twelfth day after birth, the first major change becomes visible in one of the puppies. Kairos, Anka’s second male, begins to open his eyes. This signals the start of the transitional period of development, a week when many of the pup’s sensory capacities begin to function. Contrary to what you might expect, this is no small accomplishment. A puppy’s eyes do not open all at once. Instead, this is a gradual process that may take well over twenty-four hours to complete. At first, his eyes seem like dark little slits, begging to be pried open. Then, slowly, as if he is waking from a deep sleep, they become more visible, their grayish-blue, semiopaque color giving them an unworldly appearance. It is only after about five weeks that they will become clear and distinctive, reaching their adult coloration.

By the fifteenth day, all of the puppies in the litter have their eyes wide open, and a parallel increase in activity occurs. They crawl around the nest and continually bump into one another. Despite the fact that their eyes are open, the pups still do not see very well. Shining a penlight into Kairos’s left eye causes the pupil to contract; quick gestures in front of him, however, evoke no reaction, and a sudden movement directly toward him does not make him blink. It is not until about twenty-eight days that a pup is able to begin clearly distinguishing forms, though occasionally we have seen puppies become startled by quick, threatening movements as early as the seventeenth day, apparently due to the darting of shadows. Thus, during this time we take care not to make sudden moves that could frighten the pups.

The process of eye opening is symbolic of everything that happens during this stage—a steady, gradual transformation. It is the first clear sign of the passage from the insulated newborn stage to the fully social existence of an adult. This is why we call this period transitional. It is a week of dramatic change. By the end of this stage, the pups will have received, albeit at an immature level, all the basic tools of life: sight, hearing, walking, the ability to eliminate by themselves,chewing, and a more refined sense of smell. Because of this, the pups will become much more sensitive to their environment than they were before.

For example, during the neonatal period, puppies have no sense of place. If you remove one and put him in a different room, alone, at the same temperature as the nest and on a comfortable surface, the pup will show no sign of distress, provided he is not hungry. Now, however, since Anka’s puppies are becoming aware of one another and of their nest, when we repeat this same experiment with Kipper, we see a marked change. After poking his head around for several moments, he suddenly begins to whimper and show signs of distress. The whimper then turns into a wail. Clearly he has no taste for being alone!

Once their eyes are fully open, the puppies begin investigating the small world of the nest. Looking at them now, we see that they are trying out life for the first time. They start to crawl backward as well as forward, and quickly move on to the first clumsy attempts at walking. This reflects the basic pattern of a puppy’s becoming aware of himself and his surroundings.At the daily weighing session on the sixteenth day, Oka and Sunny are the first to try walking. As they attempt to stand on the scale, they shake the platform precariously and are unable to maintain their balance. This, however, is just the beginning. Their efforts continue when they are returned to the nest. Standing up ever so tentatively, wobbling from side to side, Sunny finally takes two brave steps forward only to flop over onto a sleeping Kipper, creating a very cranky outburst. Quickly crawling backward, Sunny barks indignantly in a comically high pitchand tries to stand once again. Meanwhile, Oka is a little less adventurous. She simply attempts to remain standing without falling over. Lacking the confidence to actually try walking, she finally crouches back down, crawls over to the other pups, and falls asleep. Throughout all this, Anka looks on from outside the nest with what seems to be mild amusement.

The seed of example has been planted. The following day, all of the pups except Yola are beginning to give walking a try, basically following the same pattern. Together, they are like a group of youngsters learning how to ride bicycles for the first time. They have little coordination and make numerous false starts, but their proficiency improves daily. By the end of a week they will be able to walk around the nest without much trouble at all.

About this time we notice something else: the puppies are beginning to sniff around the nest. The refinement of the sense of smell that has been occurring since birth stimulates their curiosity, and they are soon snuffling one another, the newspapers, and Anka. If we pick them up and hold them close to our faces, they sniff and try to suckle the skin, awkwardly probing our cheeks. To reinforce this contact, we put an old cotton sock or unwashed cotton T-shirt into the nest so that the pups will be continuously exposed to human scent as they grow.

Given the fact that the olfactory area of adult dogs is fourteen times larger than a human’s and that their overall ability to smell is estimated conservatively at one hundred times more sensitive, we can begin to realize the role scent plays in a dog’s understanding of the world. While we depend more on our eyes for information, dogs rely on their noses, learning much about their environment from the currents of air that pass their way.

Connected with this rise in inquisitiveness is the emergence of the upper canine teeth, which can be felt around the eighteenth and nineteenth days. Not only does this development set the stage for a transition to more solid foods, but it is likely that the pressure of the incoming teeth prompts puppies to begin exploring one another. As Sunny’s upper teeth start to emerge on the nineteenth day, he begins to chew and suck on the other puppies’ ears, paws, and muzzles. This happens in slow motion and is accompanied by the first signs of tail wagging. Like a chain reaction, the other pups begin to reciprocate. Thus the first real sessions of play begin.

Hearing is the last sensory faculty to develop, with the ears opening at about twenty days. Beginning with the seventeenth day, we check for this by periodically clapping our hands over each pup’s head. The noise elicits no response until the twentieth day. Then Oka and Kipper both react to it, especially Oka, who yips a little and starts moving backward—an understandable expression of alarm. She recovers quickly, however, taking several steps forward with an inquisitive look on her face as she mutters under her breath.

When testing to see if they can hear, we are careful not to clap too loudly, because what the pups experience for the first time can leave a strong fear imprint. Emerging from a silent world into one of sound should happen as naturally as possible to allow the pups to adjust without excessive trauma.

The type of mild-stress handling that we expose the puppies to during this week follows the same principle. Our purpose is to stimulate the puppy, not traumatize him. We find two exercises especially beneficial. In the first, an elevation exercise, we hold the pup in midair until he begins to squirm and protest. We then draw him close and stroke him gently to allow him to settle down. In the second, a dominance exercise, we place the pup on a soft surface, roll him onto his back, and hold him there for ten to fifteen seconds. Once the pup begins to struggle and squeal (and most do!), we turn him upright again and stroke him gently. After a week of this, the puppies associate gentle petting with the end ofstress. It also helps dispose the pups to human presence and handling, which we will increase in the upcoming weeks.

One final observation: during the transitional period we begin a weekly grooming session that teaches the puppies how to be handled and touched—ears are cleaned, nails clipped, and the fur lightly brushed. At first, the novelty of the handling causes some minor protestations from the pups, but after a few sessions they come to enjoy it. We continue this practice at least once a week until the puppies are placed in their new homes. As you can imagine, this type of handling can make all the difference in your early attempts to pick up and groom your puppy.

In this week of transition the newborns become more recognizably puppies both in the way they look and in how they act. They now stand poised for the move into social existence. Yet this phase is transitional not only for the pups but for Anka, whose behavior reflects a change of role. Before, she was in the nest continuously, jealously guarding and caring for her whelps; now she modifies her vigilance by spending time outside the nest, resting while her pups are asleep. She also wants to play. In the first two weeks, even the sight of her much-loved tennis ball could not coax her away from the pups; at this point, a little bored, she eagerly jumps up at the gate to greet her guardian, trying to get him to play and take her for a walk. She has no worry about leaving her pups briefly. This is the beginning of her natural disengagement from them, which will continue for the next several weeks until they are on their own.