#linear contour

[syneilesis]

[fic] if only for a moment

if only for a moment

Love and Deepspace | Rafayel (Qi Yu) x Main-Character!Reader | T | 3.6k words | ao3 link (with correct formatting)

Rafayel waits. And waits. And waits.

A/N: Another LaD fic!! This time it's Rafayel. Several elements of this fic are inspired by and loosely based on his story anecdotes and bond story, plus that Deep Sea card line backdrop. So more spoilers in this one, I'm afraid. I think you need to be aware of them in order to follow the flow of the fic. But if not, here's what you need to know: basically Rafayel accepts a visiting professorship at the University of Linkon to reunite with the MC/you. And the prose poetry interspersed are loosely situated in the Deep Sea card lineup setting (you can search in YouTube for the scenes. This one is a brief glimpse of the scene). That princess/knight(??) dynamic is yum yum.

If possible, please read the version on AO3. I formatted the prose poems there as if they're really prose poetry, so I'd appreciate it if you check that out. (Though there isn't too much difference between the formatting here and there, I did make the effort of coding a little 🥺)

Anyhoo, hope you enjoy, and I am sO STOKED FOR THE OFFICIAL RELEASE. rip my wallet 💸����

JUST LOOK AT THIS MAN AND BELIEVE

There’s a type of berry in a distant land that produces a rare shade of ink that matches the color of your eyes. It takes a hundred of them to create the right hue and volume for the art that he wants to make. It comes to him in a dream: endless desert, then fireworks of verdant sparks that coalesce into stem, leaf, and, finally, fruit. Rafayel remembers that land, so much different from the iridescent blue of ocean underwater, and the acrid gold of the barren desert. His mouth filled with the succulent sweetness of the dream, the lingering sandpaper roughness of the berries on his fingers. He already knows the name of the artwork even before he’s begun—Waiting, Missing. The ache in his bones gaining form, an intangible thing taking flesh.

+

Under the ocean surface, time is muted, a deafening thickness that surrounds you with its ambiguity. On land, however, it is linear, and fast, and in a matter of blinks, Rafayel’s visiting professorship nearly wraps up.

He’s only glimpsed you once or twice. Thrice at most. The university is big, but not big enough to warrant a dearth of fateful encounters. The first time he saw you it was at a coffee shop: walking along with your friends outside, your voice mellifluous and festive wafting through the trellis of the café entrance. You were talking about him—well, about Lemuria to be specific, but these days any talk of Lemuria inevitably draws in his name.

He’s committed your schedule to memory, and yet it just seems impossible to capture a moment with you. Even just a brush of shoulders, or of sleeves—an asymptote of contact. Just navigating around your orbit, but never truly meeting.

What would it be like—finally talking to you? You in front of him, face to face? Rafayel imagines the ache of waiting fading into the background until it’s completely gone. He yearns for that feeling, the release of it. A conclusion—or maybe even a beginning.

+

i. take my hand, he told you under the glow of the lustrous moon, the only source of light that contoured the secretive valleys of his face. i want to show your highness something. there was a country, he said, beyond the undulating monochrome of the desert, blanketed by lush trees and shrubberies and flowers that buildings were made in betwixt and around them—a nation of trailing and winding architecture, a marriage of the natural and the manmade. you wanted to ask why he’d planned on taking you there, and the only answer you got was a curt turn of his head and the profile of a masked man layered by shadows and distance. it would have been nice, you thought, if the moon poured light upon his hooded gaze.

+

Eventually he begins to frequent the café. Twice a week at first—he doesn’t want to come off strong right away, of course—and then making his way up until he’s hanging out there more than his own studio. He schedules his visits around your classes, always during the ones when the probability of you dropping by the café is high and he can ‘coincidentally’ be around the same area. It’s gotten to a point that Thomas calls him out on it, and nags at him to focus more on his painting. The next exhibit is immediately after his visiting professorship after all.

“From where I’m standing,” Thomas says, “you’re not painting at all.”

Rafayel ignores him.

Five minutes later, he says, “Not painting is part of the painting process.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, but he leaves him to it.

At the café, Rafayel attracts curious looks. A few attempt to approach him, but he pretends not to see them. They linger around the periphery, like moths to flame.

And then something happens: the entrance door chimes, and you swan into the coffee shop, earphones and denim overall skirt, the kind of rosy-cheeked image Rafayel finds on teen magazines, wide-eyed and earnest. You fall in line and order when it’s your turn, and your eyes sweep across the packed café searching for a vacant seat until they finally land on him.

Rafayel’s heart stumbles.

Up close, the baby fat on your cheeks still gives you the appearance of being younger than you actually look. You turn a polite smile his way, and his heart stutters again—but this time it is taken as a warning.

“Hi,” you say, tentative. Any hint of recognition absent. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

+

ii. you're counting the steps of your inevitable parting. you're at the edge of the desert, far away from your home and its familiar scents, oriented towards a direction that promised a future sad memory, the gentle warmth of his hand, the downward denial of his gaze. this longing that grew out of your bones, aching during cold, aching during heat, aching when he looked at you with such tenderness he had to hide it through the sharp tug of your joined hands, the long strides that opened up a lonely distance. intimacy was dangerous, knowing was dangerous, the bowels of his heart like a solitary flower on a high peak. what would you do to such loneliness?

+

Memory isn't always an infallible thing. The human brain cannot hang on to every moment of your life, though Rafayel wishes it were so. But still—to think that you would forget him, and it hasn’t even been a century. You were like a phantom thief stealing his heart in the night—no recourse, no resolution.

To wait is to be in agony, the burn of yearning locked within the heart. Rafayel has been waiting for a long time, and the only memory scorched in his heart is fire, the blaze and its blinding, all-consuming want.

What would you do to such want?

+

You have a blurry childhood, Rafayel discovers. After the first Wanderer descended on Earth, the incident strummed your memories like a stringed instrument that tired of the same chord, over and over. It had bothered you at first—not being in control of your own memories—but eventually you had learned to live with it.

“Grandma and Caleb—my childhood friend—helped me through the process,” you tell him, stirring your iced mocha with its straw. “I owe them a lot.”

Eyes cast down, but still the melancholy shadows remain in your expression. Rafayel folds his arms on the table, and leans closer.

Around them only a few people occupy the coffee shop at this time. How fortunate for Rafayel to catch you during your break while every other student is trapped in class lectures.

“There’s no use in dwelling upon what's already happened. Even sharks have to give up when their prey escapes. When you remember, it will be all the more joyous, no?”

The smile you give him is crooked, disbelieving.

“If I remember.”

“You’ll remember.” Because there’s no other choice, for you and for him. Rafayel cannot bear being shelved in the history of your smile and happiness. Waiting can only be endurable if there’s an endpoint.

+

In his studio, Rafayel begins his next painting.

+

iii. the berries tasted sweet, with an edge of sourness that clung to the bottom of the tongue. it had the exact shade of your eyes, a detail that rafayel brought up the moment he plucked it from the shrub. raising it to align with your eyes, comparing them with his artist's meticulous gaze. maybe when this is all over, i'll go back here again to extract ink from these berries, and paint a portrait of your highness using these to color your eyes. he never showed you any of his paintings, merely mentioned them in passing, and you constructed a dream of him from the throwaway words that left his covered lips. i'm not used to sitting for so long, you reminded him, and he glanced at you, then at the berry between his fingers. my memory is enough, then handed you the fruit.

+

In the few weeks of meeting with you Rafayel forgets that his visiting professorship is ending soon and he has to give out his last lecture. Thomas had asked him what his topic would be. At that point Rafayel had no answer. But now he has.

“I’ve been hearing you talk about Lemuria every now and then with your friends.” He props his cheek on his hand, tilting his head slightly and giving you a charming smile. “Interested?”

You blink. “How did you know?”

“Oh, I’ve seen you a couple of times here, and I happened to hear your friends chat about my lecture. Your points were almost accurate, I’m in awe.”

“The visiting professor—that’s you?!”

Rafayel pauses, the slosh of his drink nearly spilling on his frozen hand.

“You didn’t know?”

Sheepish, you say, “Honestly, I didn’t make the connection. Is that why plenty of people have been glaring at me as of late?”

He releases a frustrated sigh, eyes rolling heavenward.

“In any case, my final lecture is on Friday next week. It’s titled “Memory and Meaning in Lemurian Art”. Why don’t you drop by and listen, and you can tell me what you think afterwards.”

You retrieve your bullet journal to check your schedule. It’s colorful, filled with stickers and doodles that Rafayel finds endearing. Then the excited moue on your face drops into a frown, and Rafayel can foresee the next words that will come out of your downturned lips.

“I’m sorry,” you say guiltily, “but I have a major test that day, and I need to get a high score in order to pass the course.”

Rafayel exhales, long and weary, but ultimately shrugs off the apology. “What a shame, but I forgive you. Just don’t fail your exam or else my magnanimity would be all for nothing.”

+

He calls Thomas that night.

“I’ll disappear for a while once the professorship is over.”

“Hey, wait, what do you me—”

“You’ll be happy to know that this is for my next painting.”

A beat. “Okay … but for how long?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Then he hangs up.

+

He’s trying, he really does. The lecture ends to a resounding applause, and it’s mechanical how he answers the questions posed by the audience. But he’s trying, he’s trying. There’s no specter of you in the sea of faces in the auditorium. You’re at the other end of the university compound, sweating your way through your exam. He genuinely hopes you’d pass, for your sake.

Thomas had booked his flight to another country, where he’ll traverse to a land that he’d visited many times in his dreams and had woken up with a filmy, sweet-sour tang at the roof of his mouth. He’ll leave the morning after the closing dinner party the faculty has prepared for him. There isn’t time to pack much, and no time to tell you goodbye.

Rafayel guesses that it’s only fair: how would you feel waiting for him at that café, the chair across you empty, only the sunlight pooling from the window as your companion?

+

iv. parting, somebody once said, is such a sweet sorrow. much like those berries in that ever-green nation, a lingering sourness remained underneath, the sting of it reminding you every now and then. he was already mourned for even before he left. tell me what it's like—the ocean. he was elusive, untouchable in his grief. you'd heard through whispers, the story of his migration, the drowning before the drying, the unwanted journey. grief brought him to you and grief would steal him away from you, you knew, down to the cells of your body and the hopelessness in your blood. —and yet. and yet you wanted to have a taste of it, anyway.

+

The ever-green land is no longer green, or lush, or alive. Time corroded it into memory, sepia-faded, wizened. Past. The berries he’s searching for don’t grow here anymore. Everything here is empty, barren, helplessly so.

Rafayel hasn’t accounted for such development, but he should have known. Disappointment stings at his chest, and bitterly he turns away and stays at the next town over. At a family-run restaurant situated near the outskirts, he looks over the wide windows, across the highway road, beyond the jagged horizon. The painting won’t be finished, then. Another tragedy, pressed flat next to the forgetting, to the waiting, and his home.

The chef personally serves him his order and, after a shuffle of hesitation, brings up a question.

“Young man, you came from the direction of the old country, yeah?”

Rafayel meets his inquisitive gaze. “Yes, why?”

“It’s been a while since we had someone visiting that place. There’s nothing in there anymore, it’s been that way for years. Why did you go there?”

Rafayel is reluctant to say, but at the guileless set of the older man’s face, he concedes.

“I was looking for berries. The ones native there. They produce a shade that I need for my painting.”

At the mention of the fruit, the chef’s expression lights up. “Oh! I see, I see. You’re in luck, son. We grow them here at the farm. Plenty of those for everyone. How about I give you some? It’s rare meeting someone who still remembers the old country, it’s almost fate. How many did you say you need?”

Fate. Just like the time of your first meeting, as if the universe had gifted you to him. Just like the time of your parting, of your forgetting, of his waiting. Fate as a connection from you to him, red and burning brightly.

He doesn’t want to seem eager, but he knows he’s failed from the way the chef toothily grins at him.

“A hundred or so.”

The chef falters at that, jerking slightly back. But he accepts it with a nod, an avuncular smile making its way across his kind, powdery features.

“That sure is a huge number, but I think we can work something out.”

+

His painting takes a month to complete, inclusive of the time spent making the ink from the acquired berries. Sometimes, Thomas watches him paint, quiet in the background. His stays usually don’t last—a quick flash that Rafayel nearly misses, or deliberately ignores. But during the final stages of the painting process, Thomas hands him the exhibit details.

“I’m just thankful you’re on time for this one.” He sighs, relieved, then leaves.

Alone, Rafayel creates. Brushstroke after careful brushstroke, each varying by pressure and angle. He lets each layer of paint dry before moving onto the next. The berry ink—the color of your eyes—the solely different element of this painting. Center, central. The focal point. The beating heart. The years and years of waiting and longing. The form and the flesh. Alive.

This, too, is an endpoint.

+

v. can i see your face, just this once? your hands grazed his mask like a ghost wanting to touch. rafayel stayed still beneath your desirous fingers, observing, waiting, his own fingers twitching towards his dagger. even in the parting he could not let go of this distance. hopeless, hopeless. your highness would get nothing out of seeing my face. he's wrong, his eyes never left your face, and he's wrong. he didn't stop you from your grasping of his mask, and him—finally—bare and beautiful yet a little sad. you're wrong, you said, tracing his slightly parted lips with a trembling finger, you're wrong. it is everything to me.

+

The gallery is packed. No surprise there. It’s almost boring, in a way. Waiting, Missing hangs at the farthest hall in the floor, special and intimate as it should be. Thomas knows him well; otherwise, Rafayel would have whined at him to hell and back just so he could be granted this demand that is in reality a mandate.

He’s hiding from the throngs of journalists and art critics alike and sequesters himself in a corner that has a clear view of the painting. Loosening his collar and tie, Rafayel breathes and closes his eyes, leans tiredly against the wall. A few more minutes, and he’ll slink out of the building, reputation be damned.

He melts into the shadows whenever somebody passes by. He has neither time nor energy interacting with people today. Watching them through half-mast eyes, Rafayel stays in his secret place and studies with weightless detachment the people looking at the painting.

He’s made a bet with himself about the opinions of his followers and admirers. Who thinks what and why. It makes for great entertainment. The last time, a fresh-faced critic praised Rafayel’s technique as “innovative and a soul-rending reflection of the prodigy’s character.” He had laughed and laughed for hours until he couldn’t breathe any longer.

Another walks by, and before Rafayel retreats further into the corner, he glimpses a familiar gait and a familiar face.

His heartbeat races. He’s never told you that he’s holding an exhibit today. After the professorship Rafayel failed to maintain communication with you, convincing himself that it’s for the best that he protect you from afar that day onwards. It didn’t help that he had to leave as well. At the same time, you never made an effort of reaching out, and Rafayel thought that it was back to square one again, that waiting, that yearning.

But here you are right now, elegantly dressed, like someone gliding out of a dream. Rafayel swallows, his hands shake. You do not have someone else with you, and your eyes are brightly focused on Waiting, Missing, and for a fleeting moment your expression flickers into longing, strange and old and battered and sad, that it compels Rafayel to take a step forward—to you.

“Hey.”

The curious look vanishes; left no traces in your delighted face, as if it wasn’t there in the first place. “Rafayel!” you exclaim. “Long time no see! Congratulations on the exhibit; these are all beautiful.”

Outwardly he smirks, belying the torrential emotions he’s currently going through. He cants his head a little, works his charm on you. “Impressed? No need to hold back your compliments.”

Laughter, prismatic and crystalline. “Yes, yes. Especially this one—Waiting, Missing. What an interesting title. At the center, what paint did you use?”

Ah. Rafayel inhales before answering. “It’s actually ink. I had to make it from a hundred berries. It was a tedious process, but I wouldn’t use anything else. It has to be this, you see.”

“Whoa, no wonder you’d been radio silent all this time. You were creating this masterpiece.”

He hums, afraid that, if he speaks, he’d reveal too much.

“Well …” You throw a playful glance at him. “Shouldn’t we celebrate your success?”

His breath catches. “I—”

Before he manages to finish the sentence, a journalist calls out to him and that summons plenty more, swarming him with no chance of escape. It pushes you out of his peripheral vision, and Rafayel wants to shout your name, but you smile and gesture at him to entertain them first. You mouth, I’ll be back, and wander around other paintings some more.

When he finally succeeds in shaking the journalists off, he seeks you out and stumbles upon you near the exit, where there’s fewer people to pile on him.

“Excellent,” he says, sidling up beside you. You turn to him and smile, and there’s that lightning-flash of something again. For one unbelievably surreal instant, Rafayel thinks that despite your hazy memories, maybe you’d been waiting for him all this time, too.

And that thought emboldens him, moving closer and closer until your bodies almost touch. An asymptote of contact. But this time, he has mustered the courage to close that unbridgeable gap.

Rafayel offers you his hand. “Let’s get out of here?”

You stare at his hand then at his face, his eyes, and a meaningful moment stretches between you and him. But even before the idea of retracting enters his mind, you grab his hand joyfully, grinning ear to ear. His heart warms, full with everything.

You squeeze his hand, ready to go. “Lead the way, then!”

+

vi. a kiss is a greeting and a goodbye, and rafayel tasted of ferocious tides even if you'd seen them only in dreams. his eyes closed, as though savoring his last moments with you, guarded till the bitter end. would that i could ask you to stay—with me. but he shook his head—a final rejection. maybe in another life. there was nobody to watch you cry, in the after.

+

Rafayel is working on a new painting—a portrait this time. The model squirms on his couch, obvious about the discomfort of posing for too long. He huffs a laugh to himself, hidden by the canvas strategically placed between them.

“I heard that,” you grumble.

“Shush, you’re breaking my concentration.”

“If that already breaks your focus then I pity the rest of the art community.” A beat, then: “Is it done?”

“Patience, my dear muse. You need endure it a little more.”

“Hmph, fine. But after this you’re treating me to an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

“All right, all right.” He shakes his head, fond. “My muse, so demanding.”

Something sweet touches the edge of his tongue, succulent with a hint of tartness. Like longing. Except now, it’s layered with something new and exciting. Something like a new beginning.

In the far distance, the sea murmurs, lit fire by the setting sun.

[wheelie-sick]

Things to research before getting your first custom manual wheelchair

one of the biggest things I can recommend to anyone getting a new custom chair (but especially a first custom chair) is to understand all of the parts of a wheelchair and what they do. I decided to make a guide with wheelchair parts to research and places to look for information to make this process a little bit easier. additional link suggestions are welcome.

General resources:

Permobil - The Wheelchair Handbook

Motion Composites - Preparing for Your Wheelchair Evaluation: Before the Evaluation (Part 1)

Motion Composites - Preparing for Your Wheelchair Evaluation (Part 2)

1. Frame

Motion Composites - Folding vs Rigid Wheelchair Frames: How to Choose

Permobil - Manual wheelchairs: rigid and folding frames. How do you choose?

GTK - Oh what’s in a frame? Comparing Multiple Materials

Motion Composites - Wheelchairs: Carbon Fiber Versus Aluminum

2. Front frame angle

Motion Composites - Understanding the Impact of Rigid Wheelchair Front Frame Angle

Sunrise Medical - Rigid Frame Wheelchairs – Frame Angle and Inset

4. Seat dump

Permobil - Ergonomic Seating and Manual Wheelchairs

Spinlife - Wheelchair Back & Seat Angle

5. Caster size, style, and position

Motion Composites - Front Casters for Manual Wheelchairs Practical Guide

Sunrise Medical - Front Caster Position in Manual Wheelchairs

6. Caster forks

New Mobility - Caster Wheels and Forks

Sunrise Medical - Maneuverability in Manual Wheelchairs - What Fork to use?

New Mobility - Innovations: Emerging Trends in the Wheelchair Market (information about single sided forks)

7. Footplate

Motion Composites - Footrest Options to Support Function and Mobility

When Tania Talks - Active User Wheelchair Footplate Options

8. Calf strap

Spex Seating - Lower Leg Support Considerations in Wheelchair Seating

9. Seat pan

Permobil - Solid Seat Insert for Wheelchair: Taking a Closer Look at Cushion Components

10. Seat cushion

Permobil - What to Look for in Seating & Positioning Products

Permobil - How to Choose a Cushion in Long Term Care

Permobil - Cushion Geometry: Linear and Contoured

Freedom Mobility Center - Wheelchair Seat Cushions: 5 Tips for Choosing the Right One for You

Mobility Basics - Seat Cushion Rigidizer

Motion Composites - Selecting the Right Cushion for Your Wheelchair a Clinicians Guide

Motion Composites - Covering the Basics of Wheelchair and Back Support Covers

11. Seat belts

12. Clothing guards

Sherman Oaks Medical Equipment - Wheelchair Clothes Guards / Side Guards Guide

13. Arm rests

United Spinal Association - Wheelchair Armrests What Do They Really Do?

Spinlife - Wheelchair Arm Rest Choices

Motion Composites - Armrests: Getting the Support you Need

14. Back supports

Motion Composites - Solid vs Upholstery Backs

Mobility Management - How to Choose the Right Back Height for your Client

Freedom Mobility Center - Why a Solid Back is Preferred Over a Sling Back

Mobility Basics - Back Supports

Sunrise Medical - Tips for Selecting Prefabricated Wheelchair Backs

Motion Composites - Covering the Basics of Wheelchair and Back Support Covers

15. Head supports

16. Push handles

Motion Composites - Push Handles: Pushing Around

17. Wheels

Motion Composites - Rolling Along: The Importance of Rear Wheel Selection

Sunrise Medical - Comparing Wheelchair Wheel Spoke Options

Mobility Basics - Manual Wheelchair Wheels

18. Tires

New Mobility - Everything You Need to Know About Selecting the Right Wheelchair Tires

GTK - Solid versus Pneumatic Tyres

Mobility Basics - Manual Wheelchair Wheels

Motion Composites - Tire Selection: Balancing Performance and Maintenance

19. Brakes

Motion Composites - Wheel Locks: Unlocking Safety and Function

20. Push rims/Hand rims

Motion Composites - Getting a Grasp: Understanding the Impact of Hand Rims

DME Hub - Wheelchair Hand Rom Options and Factors to Consider

21. Anti-tip wheels

22. Camber

Motion Composites - Camber - Degrees of Performance

23. Center of Gravity

Motion Composites - Rear Wheel Position 101

[rainbow-banana-slug]

[id: anime-like style black/white linear drawing of person with long straight hair & unicorn/narwhal horn, wear long dress, stand in manual standing wheelchair. manual standing wheelchair is big wheels n visibly attach to person via corset-like thing. end id]

saw cool (pediatric?) manual standing wheelchair thing n try take that concept for draw. that irl chair have big (front-rest?) thing in front of body that support person n allow them stay standing with straps n other positioning supports. idea of this drawn chair is have similar thing under dress support lower body, and visually corset-like thing (but actually more cushiony n similar to highly supportive contoured wheelchair backrests) that attach to chair that support waist part. prob too complicated to work irl but it whatever - wanted add some style n aesthetics n elegance to it because those important too!

standing important for wheelchair users especially those who not get to stand by themself otherwise (full time, nonambulatory, etc) - it help stretch leg muscles n stop them lock in one position n muscle fiber shorten, help blood pressure, pressure relieve, reduce pain n soreness, even help bowel & bladder function, n bone density/prevent/slow bone density loss in legs from not use them. on top of help them reach taller things n be at eye level with other people which also help confidence :)

[whencyclopedia]

Mycenaean Pottery

The pottery of the Mycenaean civilization (1550-1050 BCE), although heavily influenced by the earlier Minoans based on Crete, nevertheless, added new pottery shapes to the existing range and achieved its own distinctive decorative style which was strikingly homogenous across Mycenaean Greece. Mycenaean wares typically display stylized representations of marine and plant life and show a fondness for minimalistic linear designs, a trend which would go on to influence the early pottery of Archaic and Classical Greece from the 9th century BCE.

Minoan Origins

Early wheel-made Mycenaean pottery (1550-1450 BCE) from mainland Greece has been described as 'provincial Cretan' which does convey the fact that although shapes and decorative styles were of Cretan origin, the final decoration was not quite as finely executed as in Minoan centres such as Knossos and Phaistos. However, despite this difference in quality, it is likely that Cretan potters did actually relocate to the mainland. In terms of raw material though, Mycenaean pottery is in fact often superior in quality to Minoan as the majority was made from old Yellow Minyan Clay and fired at higher temperatures than on Crete. The designs themselves were painted using a red to black, lustrous, iron-based clay slip (or 'paint') which had a tendency to become mottled depending on the firing process.

The Minoan love of flowing shapes and vibrant representations of animal, sea and plant life as expressed in their Marine and Floral styles was continued by the Mycenaeans with octopuses and nautiluses remaining particularly popular. Designs also continued to fill all of the decorative surface and follow the contours of the vessel. Gradually though, representations became more stylistic and more symmetrical with not all of the decorative space filled, leaving significant blanks, something rarely seen in Minoan pottery. Depictions of plants such as lilies, palms and ivy became more monumental, evolving into commonly employed motifs that were reserved principally for large jars.

From 1450 BCE the Mycenaean expansion overseas resulted in the taking over of the Cretan palaces and Mycenaean pottery began to dominate production across Greece and the Aegean islands. Indeed, pottery is the most important indicator we have of the political domination of the Mycenaeans across the Aegean. Decoration may be divided into two broad groups: the Pictorial style and the Pattern style. The former was influenced by contemporary fresco design and sought to represent scenes of daily life and the latter employed decorative scales, chevrons, and sea-life. Designs steadily became even bolder and more stylized, often with only a single motif design on each side of the vessel and an increase in the space left blank. Perhaps the most celebrated example of this minimalist style is the Ephyrean goblet, a stemmed, two-handled cup from Mycenae which is decorated with a single large rosette on each face. Plain, bold horizontal lines and whorls continue to be very popular forms of decoration and are usually well-chosen to complement the shape of the vessel.

Continue reading...

[dizzyisdizzy]

Hello i need tips for getting better at art and well your art is great...soo uhm...please :'>

i hope you understand that this is a really broad question, but I'll write a few general concepts that I think about. If you have something more specific you wanna know I can give more helpful answers.

Words are pretty important in learning. One part is knowing color theory/proportions/whatnot. The other is actively applying that in the art you create and see. If can describe the particulars of your enjoyment ("I like the sharp and simple shapes", "I like the bold lines and how often the line weight shifts to show off the contours") it's sooo much easier to give yourself some direction and make meaningful progress.

Don't get attached to your process . Too often I'd never touch the mannequin or lineart once I got to the next 'step'. I isolated those parts from each other so I can be organized and clean. But to make something 'fun' and 'spontaneous' you gotta let those parts weave in and out of each other and avoid linearity. Nowadays I'm still adjusting proportions and shapes in the later stages. My layers are a mess, but the vibes are much better. It's also very much why I love thick lineart.....

If you want something to prioritize, gesture drawings are always a good bet. You learn a lot on how to capture the energy of a pose or character (using line of action, shapes, etc) which is very appealing and can overcome faults in proportions, anatomy, etc.

And have your own blorbo you want only the best for ofc ofc.

[anachilles]

pretty, like a doll (nsfw)

summary: buck x bucky, 2.4k ( fluff/feelings + smut and includes consensual somnophilia )

Gale wakes slowly at first. The first thing he’s aware of is the sound of rain hammering relentlessly against the bedroom window. In a momentary, sleep-dumb daze, his brow creases. The sky above him in the meadow had been such a clear and cloudless blue, now all he can see in the darkness is off-white and popcorn-textured. It hadn’t been raining there. His breath is still coming in shorter, heavier gasps than normal, and a jolt of pressure from below his waist sends him fully hurtling back into the realm of reality all at once. Not just rain, or the thunder accompanying it. Bombs. He’s in London. In the middle of a war. John’s between his legs.

-> read on AO3 <-

(or under the cut)

There’s nothing quite like Wyoming in the summer.

The thought passes through Gale’s head idly, before floating away again just as quickly on the welcome breeze as it passed over his skin, giving him just a moment’s reprieve from the baking sun as it warmed him where he lay. He daren’t not open his eyes against the sun, bright as it was and given that it appeared he’d forgotten his sunglasses, but even so he feels the sensation of the breeze shaking the grass that brackets the lines and contours of his body where it depresses the earth. His legs tickle a little as the grass catches the bare skin left exposed by his shorts, poking the downy blond hair and sending shivers up Gale’s spine.

He should move, shift himself maybe against the feeling, but he’s just so comfortable. It feels like the days-long adventures he’d take himself off on during summer vacation, because it felt safer than being at home a lot of the time. It feels like a cool, crisp sip of water on a hot day, fisted up into his mouth from the crystal clear brook no more than an hour’s hike from his hometown. It feels like a burst of sweetness on his tongue from the berries he’d forage closer to the afternoon, his boy scout knowledge coming in handy in terms of figuring out how to be sure of their viability and not accidentally poisoning himself.

Gale’s breath escapes his lungs in a long, luxurious exhale.

He feels warm. He feels safe. He feels lax and boneless and suffused with pleasure in all the nostalgia and simultaneously shielded; like anything darker lurking beneath the surface is being held firmly at bay somewhere far, far away from him.

He’s not sure whether he remains there for seconds, minutes, hours, days, when suddenly he finds himself submerged and cast adrift. Time is linear, time is important, Gale’s life is ruled by time and the ticking hands of the clock, ‘Buck, fighters at 2 o’clock!’, yet here he feels none of that burden. Flat on his back still, his body is held up by the water as it sloshes him to and fro in the current. Somewhere off in the distance of his consciousness, beneath the pleasureful fog, he wonders when he had thought to move? He didn’t remember deciding to go for a swim.

He’s floating, but not quite altogether successfully as the current grows stronger, yet he has no will to fight against it; no will to flip off his back and try to swim for shore. He’s gasping for breath as the water rushes up over his face and he swallows mouthful after mouthful, but for some reason there’s no panic. No fear, no pain, and no rush of adrenaline to fight against the embrace of whatever comes next, as he may have expected there to be. If this was what death was meant to feel like in the moment where it became inevitable, he’d readily take that if there was truly no other hope for him.

It felt like the sun that had been beating down mercilessly overhead had suddenly been plucked from the sky and beamed inside his body. With each staccato, growingly breathless gasp the searing warmth within him grew and grew, hotter and hotter as the crawling heat spread out from his abdomen into every nerve ending of his body, pulsing like a pressure under his skin, until…

Gale wakes slowly at first.

The first thing he’s aware of is the sound of rain hammering relentlessly against the bedroom window. In a momentary, sleep-dumb haze, his brow creases. The sky above him in the meadow had been such a clear and cloudless blue, all he can see in the darkness is off-white and popcorn-textured.

It hadn’t been raining there.

His breath is still coming in shorter, heavier gasps than normal, and a jolt of pressure from below his waist sends him now fully hurtling back into the realm of reality all at once.

Not just rain, or the thunder accompanying it. Bombs.

He’s in London. In the middle of a war.

John’s between his legs.

Suddenly realising that Gale was awake, John pulls off him, smiling lazily as he hooks a hand under Gale’s thigh and pushes it further up out of the way; holds it there.

“...and so, the dashing prince awoke Sleeping Beauty with a true love’s kiss…” he teases, pressing his lips to the tender underside of that thigh. Then another a little further inward. And then another dangerously close to the crease, to where Gale’s cock is standing swollen, red, and slick with wetness from whatever attentions had clearly been lavished on it, completely unaware to him. Where John’s saliva ended and his own precome began, Gale wasn’t quite sure. Either way, the mixture of both and the state he was in made it evident he’d been at this for a decent amount of time.

The brush of John’s moustache against the sensitive little strip of skin sends a bolt of electricity up Gale’s spine, a whimper slipping out of his throat as struggles up onto his elbows. Smug and clearly self-satisfied, John meets him there, pulling himself up so he’s hovering over him. He pointedly dodges Gale’s lips just as they mindlessly move to meet his own, latching instead onto the underside of his jaw, his hand moving to hold his head in place through his ministrations.

Gale briefly wonders how long he’s been out for. He’d ridden John to completion in this very same darkness before giving into sleep, so it can’t have been too long, but he isn’t sure. He still feels a little both sleep and fuck-drunk.

Any coherent thought he may be tempted to have however vanishes as John catches that one little spot in the hinge of his jaw he knows too goddamn well at this point. It punches a groan from Gale’s mouth that he wasn’t even aware had dropped open, pulling in breaths as his body writhed against the broad expanse of John’s own, rising and falling to the rhythm of his mouth sucking his neck, trying to get as close as he possibly could, get some friction. He feels untethered, but again, not unsafely so.

“J-John…” Gale stammers out breathily with what he can scramble together of his consciousness, his fingers sliding up John’s neck to hook into the dark curls, messy and unkempt with the exertion of their activities, that adorned the crown of his head. John doesn’t respond, but his free hand follows Gale’s, covering it with his own, clenches his fingers slightly in silent encouragement to grip his hair tighter. John’s own breath catches when he obliges.

“John…” Gale attempts again, swallowing hard and trying to mould his tone into something firmer. Again, John doesn’t respond, continuing on with his work but this time rolling his hips so that his own growing erection rubs against Gale’s. The sensation jolts in his belly, hard, and with a hiss he tightens his grip on John’s hair further and yanks his head back so that he’s forced to meet his eye.

There’s nothing to dispel the loaded, momentary silence between them but the distant ‘boom, boom, boom’ of bombs being dropped around them, but not here. Their uniforms, Gale’s folded up neatly on the small wicker chair in the corner of the hotel room, and John’s dotted haphazardly on the floor in the corner, were gazing at them with a jointly menacing, foreboding stare, one they both opt to ignore. Maybe it should unsettle them more, doing this in here when that’s going on out there, but it doesn’t. Not enough to sacrifice yet another piece of themselves for this war.

There’s still black-out orders so the room sits in darkness, but the moon is natural and indomitable and it’s lighting up John’s face in a distinct sort of way that makes him look so as well. With eyes heavy-lidded and pupils blown wide, he looks raw and open and so damn beautiful, untameable despite how he responds to the direction of Gale’s hand. Maybe not so untameable, then.

A third time. “John-” He’s about to speak, but John kisses the question from his mouth, his nose bending and pressing into Gale’s cheekbone with the force of it. He pulls away quickly though, but doesn’t go far, Gale still able to feel the ghost of his breath on his face.

Now that he’s actually given the opportunity to speak, though, getting the words out of his throat is like trying to pull something out of quicksand. “What’s all this about, hm?” he somehow manages, despite.

John just shrugs, that lazy smile still playing on the corners of his now slightly puffy lips. “You’re just so fuckin’ beautiful, Buck, y’know that?” he rasps out, dipping down to once again clamp their lips together, searing and binding all at the same time, like he’s unable to help himself. Caught in his current now, Gale’s helpless but to follow him. “Just lying there all pretty…” he continues in between kisses, “...like a doll; God knows you’re as pretty as one. My doll, aren’t you?”

His voice is deep and rumbling, exposing in its sincerity, and each word strikes a pleasurable blow to Gale’s already crumbling composure, the meaning behind them keying him up, and up, each kiss and each touch pinging through his nervous system right down to core. Yes, your doll. Always. Each stroke, each caress, pulse uncomfortably there, and when John nips at his bottom lip his breath hitches, another bead of precome dribbling out of his tired head. He moans into John’s mouth, then yanks him back just enough to implore him.

“Now if you don’t finish what you started…”

John’s head tilts, and levels Gale with a shit-eating expression. “Now is that any way to ask for what you want? What do you say?”

They say Major Cleven has the patience of a saint, anyone who wakes up every morning and chooses to put up with Major Egan’s specific brand of nonsense day-in day-out for years of their lives has to have, apparently. Major Egan would beg to differ, as would anyone on the receiving end of the look he’s giving him right now.

Even so, Gale’s a smart man. Isn’t too proud to do what needs to be done to get to the outcome he wants in the quickest way possible.

Taking John’s chin in his hand, he almost speaks the words right into his lips, his tone impressively clear for someone who looked halfway to fucked out already.

“Please, John,” and oh God did John’s actual name sound so sweet coming out of Gale’s mouth. Just as a little retaliatory jab at John’s own pleasure, he adds, “Help me. I need you, your mouth…” his eyes drifting down to stare at John’s lips.

Absolutely nothing else on earth needing to be said, John withdraws with a hurried, suddenly stoked impatience of his own. He indulges a little, kissing down the length of Gale’s body, tongue lingering an extra half beat where sweat had started to cool in the valleys of his chest and abdomen, panting a little as his nose nudged first into the light, dusty covering of hair on his chest, and then in the thicker dirty blond thatch just south of his pubic bone. He inhales deep, the lightest brush of John’s breath, the tip of his nose, sending Gale gasping already he’s so over-sensitive as it is.

Then, steeling himself against his own desire, with all the delicacy of a starving man he sinks his mouth back onto Gale’s twitching, now weeping cock, the sound obscene as John seemingly picks back up right where he’d left off when Gale had so inconveniently interrupted him by waking up.

Now, out of the dreamlike state he’d been in before and feeling the full force of every single drag of John’s tongue up and down his shaft, every lick he seemed to savour over the curve of his tip before sucking it pointedly between his lips and letting the tip of his tongue tease the slit, Gale’s body feels pulled this way and that, rising up, and up as the pressure built, threatened to crest. Squirming with the pleasure and stimulation he’d have no hope of escaping from, John’s fingers white-knuckle gripping the curve of Gale’s waist so hard he was sure he’d have marks tomorrow, his breath escapes him in a litany of gasps and bitten-back moans. Needing purchase somewhere, anywhere, Gale’s fingers once more find the back of John’s head.

He’d been rock hard since he’d been pulled from sleep, which has only been fuelled in the time since, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long. But even with that, John still seems determined to wring the orgasm out of him, to give Gale what he wants, deliver him his pleasure now, now, now, servicing him thoroughly, skilfully, dutifully. He briefly wonders how the hell he’d managed to sleep at all through this the first time around.

“Let go, Buck,” John orders softly, the command a little hoarse emitting from his growingly wrecked throat, before sinking back down with an extra pointed suck. “C’mon, baby, you can do it… I know you can come for me, just let go…” With another, he constricts around Gale’s cock, letting his teeth deliberately, but ever so lightly, graze the veined underside of his shaft.

In a one-two punch of the encouragement and the physical sensations, Gale’s shoved to the precipice as his desire crescendos, and he comes down John’s throat with a sudden, strangled groan.

After nursing him through the aftershocks, and with another, decidedly less charged, kiss to the crease of his thigh, John joins him up by the headboard where Gale lies flushed and still gasping a little to catch his breath. He places a hand to Gale’s chest, palm flat against the left breast side, and Gale wordlessly brings his own hand up and curls it around John’s.

The silence is comfortable as they both soak a little in the afterglow. But before long, it’s clear John seems to want to say something, and, not being like him to deny himself the indulgence of doing so, he quickly gives in.

“So…” he smirks. Though his movements are tired, Gale turns to look at him.

“Sweet dreams?”

[seat-safety-switch]

Even in this topsy-turvy, messed-up future hellworld in which we reside, there are still small joys. One of those joys is trying to mail incredibly awkward things using the postal system. Super-dense objects. Very long objects. Oddly shaped boxes that take you an hour to assemble, and which can’t safely be stacked on or next to anything. These are the things that keep posties on their toes, and more importantly, employed.

Think about it: if all the boxes were consistent, linear, standard, they’d be efficient. The MBAs would get to grinding down the margins with their spreadsheets, even more than they already do. And then robots would take over. Suddenly, your friendly neighbourhood postal delivery agent would no longer give a happy parp-parp of the horn when your broken-down late-1970s domestic American shitbox is stranded in the middle of the street. A robot would just swerve around it, the unblinking eyes scanning the road ahead for opportunities in which to provide optimum delivery saturation.

When you throw anything complicated in there, say, a box that is shaped like a giant hook? Those robots are gonna get fucked up. They’ll just sit there, developing their own form of object-recognition depression, unable to comprehend the contours of your perversion. And then they’ll probably catch on fire or something, because their heatsinks were simply not designed to handle this level of inefficient thought load in their positronic sensorium matrices. For cost reduction, you see. Then a human being will have to fix the robot, and it will give that human being a job, angering the monsters who dwell above her or him in the org chart.

Of course, it may destroy a robot, but it still frustrates the postal system trying to deal with you shipping an entire arcade cabinet through the mail with just a bunch of Stan Rogers stamps glued to its outside. And when you make an officer of the post angry enough, they’re not going to deliver your shit with a smile. In fact, as soon as you become known as That Person down at the local sorting depot, you’ll be lucky to get anything in the mail without a good stomping or two delivered to it. That’s called the personal touch, and it’s what separates us from the eerily lifelike androids which have infiltrated all levels of our government.

[baravaggio]

During the period when the Dying Slave must have been done, and during the ensuing decade or so, Michelangelo frequently drew the human figure almost or even entirely without contours, resorting only to shading in leadpoint to indicate the beautiful swelling and subsidence of this ocean of turbulent physical life. Here, throughout the back and left arm, in the belly and the brilliantly rendered flank, this kind of pulsation reaches a completely new peak of plastic intensity.

The Dying Slave is, of course, not dying but simply overpowered by the bonds against which he plucks idly. It is as if he were drowsy, overcome by the stupefying effects of a potion. His tall figure seems ready to collapse, or rather to sink slowly downward [...] The knees move together much like those of the Santo Spirito Crucifix; the head falls over like the Christ of the Rome Pietà; the soft abdomen, buttocks, and thighs recall the Bacchus; the left arm is lifted like that of one of the last nudes on the Sistine Ceiling. But at the very least the surfaces, as we see them finished everywhere save for portions of the back and the hair, show all the fluidity of Michelangelo’s mature style. Nowhere do the lines cut into the mass as they do in all the finished early sculpture. Line and mass have fused. And if here and there, as the detail of the right hand and the treatment of the nipple, some vestiges of the earlier linear manner persist, they are swept in the flood-tide of moving surfaces through the arms and legs.

— Michelangelo: The Complete Sculpture by Frederick Hartt (p.152-54)

[moonlitmistyforest]

Childe Hassam - Promenade, New York, 1895 oil on canvas, 25.4 x 35.6 cm Private collection

In the picture we can see an elegant lady walking on a gray and noisy winter day. All contours are softened, the details are minimized, the more linear, short brushstrokes evoke the atmosphere of snowy and icy winter weather. The figures and buildings in the background appear to be mere silhouettes under the hazy, atmospheric sky. The cool blue-black tones and muted purple form a dynamic contrast with the white pigments of the snow-covered sidewalks depicted with bright brush strokes. The expressive use of paint further helps to express the feeling of active movement, which is an important element of almost all of Hassam's works depicting urban life.

[bwhitex]

The Compassionate Approach to Confronting Anguish: Through Lived Experiences

In the vast expanse of human emotions, anguish can often feel like an insurmountable peak, casting long shadows over our inner landscape. Brené Brown, in her profound work "Atlas of the heart," charts these territories of the heart with an understanding hand, reminding us that in the depth of our vulnerability lies a connection to a universal human experience (Brown, 2021). By adopting a compassionate and methodical approach, one can not only withstand the heavy winds of anguish but also navigate through them, reaching towards a place of balance and inner peace.

The following discourse is a heartfelt synthesis of personal struggle interwoven with the fabric of collective psychological wisdom. It is a guide, a series of steps shaped by the understanding that the journey through anguish is not a path walked alone, but a shared voyage towards the light of healing and self-discovery.

As we begin, imagine a heart heavy with sorrow, yet in the act of recognizing this pain, there's a subtle lift. He knew that to identify the ache was to commence his journey towards healing. There was strength in his silent admission, a seed of self-awareness taking root. Embracing his emotional truth, he was not confessing defeat, but rather declaring his resolve to seek joy once again.

Giving voice to his emotions, he found solace. Words, once captive, now flowed freely, lightening his burden. His stories, shared with others, became a beacon of hope, a shared language of tears and laughter. Through the arts, he painted his journey, each stroke a testament to his resilience, a palette of pain and healing mingled on canvas.

Reaching out for support, he was met with outstretched hands and hearts. The courage to seek help was the courage to grow; it was an affirmation of his worth. In the company of others, each with their own story of struggle, he found a tapestry of shared human resilience. A therapist's guidance became his map through the terrain of self-doubt, each session a step towards understanding.

He practiced self-care as if tending to a sacred garden. The daily rituals of nurturing his body and spirit became the roots from which his strength could flourish. Exercise became his silent mantra, each step a beat in the rhythm of recovery. His home, a sanctuary, reflected the tranquility he yearned to reclaim within himself.

Facing his problems, he realized they were but puzzles to be solved. Each small victory was a piece placed, a picture of progress taking form. His energy was precious, so he invested it wisely, focusing on challenges that yielded growth. Each obstacle was a lesson, a question posed by life, and in seeking answers, he found wisdom.

Boundaries became his shields, lovingly crafted and fiercely defended. They were the expressions of his self-worth, the contours of his healing space. Through clear communication, he taught others how to respect his needs, nurturing relationships that respected his journey. Time and energy, once so freely given, were now treasured resources, dedicated to his well-being.

Lastly, he gave himself the gift of time. Understanding that healing was not to be rushed, he embraced patience as his companion. On harder days, he reminded himself that growth is not linear, that each moment of sorrow was intertwined with the potential for joy. Time was not an enemy but an ally, the canvas upon which his story of healing would unfold.

In the end, each of these steps formed a mosaic of self-compassion and resilience. Through acknowledgment, expression, support, self-care, problem-solving, boundary setting, and patience, he crafted a vessel sturdy enough to sail the turbulent seas of anguish, bound for the shores of peace and self-renewal. This journey, unique to each yet universal in its essence, stands as a testament to the indomitable human spirit, ever capable of navigating the storm and finding its way back home.

Brown, B. (2021). Atlas of the Heart: Mapping Meaningful Connection and the Language of Human Experience. Random House.

[bubbloquacious]

3, 20 from math asks?

From the End of year math asks.

3; What math concept did you struggle the hardest with this year?

Linear optimization 😭😭 I can't seem to get the simplex method to stick, and I need to in order to turn in some exercises haha. If anyone wants to explain it to me at length I would be all ears, this is a cry for help.

20; Have you discovered any cool LaTeX tricks this year?

I figured out how to get a nice よ into TeX as a symbol for the Yoneda embedding! :)

\font\maljapanese=dmjhira at 2.5ex \newcommand{\yo}{{\textrm{\maljapanese\char"0H}}}

Also on this StackExhange post I found a way to make underlined text be interrupted by descenders.

\usepackage[outline]{contour} \usepackage{ulem} \normalem % use classical emph

\newcommand \myul[4]{% \begingroup% \renewcommand \ULdepth {#1}% \renewcommand \ULthickness {#2}% \contourlength{#3}% \uline{\phantom{#4}}\llap{\contour{white}{#4}}% \endgroup% }

\newcommand{\iul}[1]{\myul{1.75pt}{0.5pt}{1pt}{#1}}

Now all I have to do is figure out how to put a monospace font in a Tumblr post lol

[mariacallous]

For all their unquestionable importance, the Holocaust and the founding of the State of Israel now loom so large in modern Jewish history that we have mostly lost sight of the fact that they are only part of—and indeed reactions to—the central event of that history: emancipation. In this book, David Sorkin seeks to reorient Jewish history by offering the first comprehensive account in any language of the process by which Jews became citizens with civil and political rights in the modern world. Ranging from the mid-sixteenth century to the beginning of the twenty-first, Jewish Emancipation tells the ongoing story of how Jews have gained, kept, lost, and recovered rights in Europe, North Africa, the Middle East, the United States, and Israel.

Emancipation, Sorkin shows, was not a one-time or linear event that began with the Enlightenment or French Revolution and culminated with Jews’ acquisition of rights in Central Europe in 1867–71 or Russia in 1917. Rather, emancipation was and is a complex, multidirectional, and ambiguous process characterized by deflections and reversals, defeats and successes, triumphs and tragedies. For example, American Jews mobilized twice for emancipation: in the nineteenth century for political rights, and in the twentieth for lost civil rights. Similarly, Israel itself has struggled from the start to institute equality among its heterogeneous citizens.

By telling the story of this foundational but neglected event, Jewish Emancipation reveals the lost contours of Jewish history over the past half millennium.

[minadevivarma]

CSIR NET Mathematical Science Syllabus: A Detailed Overview 

The CSIR NET Mathematical Science syllabus is designed to test the mathematical knowledge and problem-solving skills of candidates aspiring for Junior Research Fellowship (JRF) and Lectureship in mathematical sciences. This syllabus can be divided into three main segments: Analysis, Algebra, and Linear Algebra. In addition, there are extra topics such as Ordinary and Partial Differential Equations, Numerical Analysis, and Topology. All these topics can be further explained in detail so that candidates can get a proper schedule for preparation: 

1. Analysis 

The real and complex analysis are included in this part. Sequences and series, convergence, continuity, differentiability, and even more Rieman integration, functions of several variables, and complex functions are covered in this part. Candidates should know contour integration, Cauchy's theorem, and residue calculus apart from the many solved advanced mathematical problems. 

2. Algebra 

Algebra covers the subjects of linear and abstract algebra. Group theory, ring theory, field theory, vector spaces, and modules are some of the key topics. Eigenvalues and eigenvectors, Cayley-Hamilton theorem, and canonical forms all fall under the scope. Being competent in algebra is crucial as it serves as the basis for several more advanced areas of study. 

3. Linear Algebra 

This area is critical in linear algebra and includes matrices, determinants, systems of linear equations, and diagonalization. Candidates should know the spectral theorem, inner product spaces, and bilinear and quadratic forms. In this section, both theoretical knowledge and practical problem-solving abilities are tested. 

4. Ordinary and Partial Differential Equations (ODEs and PDEs) 

This section focuses on the formation and solutions of ODEs and PDEs, including first-order equations, higher-order linear differential equations, and boundary value problems. Methods like separation of variables, Fourier and Laplace transforms, and characteristics for solving PDEs are important. 

5. Numerical Analysis 

Numerical Analysis involves topics such as numerical solutions of equations, interpolation, numerical integration, and finite differences. Candidates should be familiar with numerical methods for solving linear and nonlinear equations, as well as error analysis. 

6. Topology 

Topology tests the understanding of basic concepts like open and closed sets, compactness, connectedness, and metric spaces. The section also includes continuous functions and homeomorphisms. Topology is essential for understanding advanced mathematical structures. 

Exam Pattern 

The CSIR NET Mathematical Science paper is divided into three parts: 

Part A: General Aptitude questions. 

Part B: Subject-specific questions of a basic level. 

Part C: Advanced-level subject questions requiring detailed reasoning and problem-solving. 

Preparation Tips 

Focus on understanding fundamental concepts before moving to advanced topics. 

Solve previous years' question papers to identify important topics and patterns. 

Use standard reference books like Rudin’s Principles of Mathematical Analysis and Herstein’s Topics in Algebra. 

Regularly practice numerical problems and theoretical proofs. 

The CSIR NET Mathematical Science syllabus is vast but manageable with a well-planned strategy. Understanding the syllabus and focusing on high-weightage topics can significantly boost a candidate’s chances of success. 

[whencyclopedia]

Jade in Ancient China

Jade (nephrite) was regarded as the most precious stone in ancient China, and it symbolised purity and moral integrity. Prized for its durability and magical qualities, the stone was laboriously carved and polished into all manner of objects from jewellery to desk ornaments. Jade was especially used for ritual objects such as the bi disc and zong (cong) tubes, both of which are of unknown function.

Mining & Working

Jade, in the case of China, refers to the mineral nephrite, the hardest and rarest hard stone. There is another mineral with that name, jadeite, but this was unknown to the Chinese prior to the 18th century CE when it was imported from Burma. Nephrite comes in various shades of green and other colours depending on the percentage of iron content in the stone and other trace elements. The principal source was in the Xinjiang region but it is likely others sources, once exhausted, have disappeared from the historical record. The Khotan region of Central Asia is another known source of the stone in antiquity. Jade was first used from c. 6000 BCE and green long remained the preferred colour, but during the 5th and 4th century BCE there was a fashion for white jade with a brown tinge and again in the 1st century BCE when a pure white jade became available from central Asia following expansion under the Han Dynasty (206 BCE - 220 CE).

Excavated from mountains and picked up in riverbeds - and so known as 'the essence of heaven and earth', the stones could not be cut by a metal knife, and so they were shaped using a cord and sand acting as an abrasive before being more precisely carved using a drill and then polished. Jade is a hard stone and working it with primitive tools would have required a great deal of time and effort, which, of course, only added to its value. Early pieces have engraved linear designs, but over the centuries a more sophisticated appearance was achieved by carving the jade so that the object had many contours, niches, and points which were highly polished.

Continue reading...

[nichromepackagingmachine]

Packaging Gels Well with Nichrome

Complications can be considered commonplace in the pharmaceutical packaging industry. Pharmaceutical compounds are gen    erally immensely sensitive to temperature changes and exposure to the elements like light or air. Without safe and effective packaging, medicines can be rendered completely useless or even toxic. In the case of medicinal products, another vital element of the packaging is the provision of important medicinal information to consumers.

According to several market reports, the pharmaceutical packaging industry is projected to grow at a Compounded Annual Growth Rate (CAGR) of 7.4% between 2022 and 2031 – reaching an estimated size of $178.8 billion by 2031.

Factors that are spurring the growth of the pharmaceutical packaging market include an increasing preference for single-dose packaging, an increase in drug development across the board, and the growth of pharmaceutical e-commerce platforms.

Some of the major challenges for the pharmaceutical packaging industry are:

●    Handling and transportation

●    Preservation of medicinal properties

●    Providing statutory information on the packaging

●    Adhering to international standards

●    Preventing counterfeit products

Important considerations for Gel Packaging

Gel packaging includes the packaging of viscous products such as toothpaste, facial creams, skin creams, ointment, silica gel, and lotions.

The most crucial aspect of gel packaging is the containment and protection of the gel from all possible contamination. Gel packaging needs to be leakage-proof and resistant to tears, snags, and piercings.

Gel packaging is generally lined with a film to ensure that the gel is contained in addition to ensuring packaging integrity by the creation of a barrier between the packaging material and the product. Foodstuffs and similar consumable gels need to be packed with care to ensure the anti-microbial properties of the packaging materials.

Flexible packaging in formats like sachets, tubes, and pouches is generally used for gels and related viscous products – with added protection from rough handling provided by the use of outer packaging like boxes. Flexible packaging for gels is preferred because of its ‘squeezability’ – the gels can be easily dispensed from the packet by squeezing, thereby maximizing the amount of usable product, offering great value for money for consumers, and leading to less wastage of the product.

Gels come under viscous products and are hence suitable for the full range of packaging types. Whether they are packed using a shampoo filling machine, ointment tube filling machine, ointment filling machines, toothpaste tube filling machine, or plastic tube filling machine – and packed in bottles, tubes, sachets, or pouches – gels need to be well-protected and easily dispensable by consumers.

Nichrome’s Gel Packaging solutions

Nichrome possesses a plethora of gel packaging solutions – including a range of HFFS packaging machines with cutting-edge, linear technology from Europe. Nichrome’s HFFS series is versatile and is designed for the packaging of a wide range of powders, grains, snacks, liquids and viscous products like gels with the use of different fillers. This series also brings with it a variety of pouch formats with more attractive pouch aesthetics.

Nichrome’s HFFS machines are PLC based and have touch screen interfaces. Their compact and versatile design allows for both single and perforated single and perforated chains of pouches while keeping the changeovers quick and easy. Duplex models configured for higher outputs are also available.

Nichrome’s HFFS Gel Packaging Machines

1.   T-110: This is a versatile machine that can be used for a number of packaging applications such as powders, granular products, viscous products or gels and free-flowing liquids.

The wide range of pouch formats that this machine can pack includes 3 side seal, 4 side seal, 4 side seal with V notch, Contour pack, Stand-up pack, Stand-up with zipper, Twin, Spout, Euro slot, and Handle formats.

Specifications:

Volume: Simplex: 1 – 60 cc

              Duplex: 1 – 20 cc

Rated output: Simplex: 110 packs/min

                        Duplex: 220 packs/min

Pack Size range:

Simplex:

Min pack size (WxL) mm: (30×30) x 1 mm

Max pack size (WxL) mm: (110×130) x 1 mm

Duplex:

Min pack size (WxL) mm: (30×30) x 2 mm

Max pack size (WxL) mm: (65×130) x 2 mm

2.   T-140: This is another versatile machine in Nichrome’s range of HFFS machines that can pack a variety of products including powders, granular products, viscous products or gels and free-flowing liquids.

This machine can pack in a broad range of pouch formats such as the 3 side seal, 4 side seal, 4 side seal with V notch, Contour pack, Stand-up pack, Stand-up with zipper, Twin, Spout, Euro slot and Handle formats.

Specifications:

Volume: Simplex: 5 – 250 cc

              Duplex: 5 – 90 cc

Rated output: Simplex: 100 packs/min

                       Duplex: 200 packs/min

Pack Size range:

Simplex:

Min pack size (WxL) mm: (70×100) x 1 mm

Max pack size (WxL) mm: (140×200) x 1 mm

Duplex:

Min pack size (WxL) mm: (50×100) x 2 mm

Max pack size (WxL) mm: (70×200) x 2 mm

3.   T-170: The last but not the least machine in Nichrome’s T Series of HFFS machines is the T-170. Like the other machines in the series, this machine can pack a diverse variety of products that include powders, granular products, viscous products or gels and free-flowing liquids.

It can pack in an array of packaging formats including 3 side seal, 4 side seal, 4 side seal with V notch, Contour pack, Stand-up pack, Stand-up with zipper, Twin, Spout, Euro slot and Handle formats.

Specifications:

Volume: Simplex: 90 – 1000 cc

Rated output: Simplex: 45 packs/min

Pack Size range:

Simplex:

Min pack size (WxL) mm: (80×130) x 1 mm

Max pack size (WxL) mm: (170×270) x 1 mm

Tailored Packaging Solutions for Specific Gel Filling Machines in Bangladesh

Shampoo

Key Challenges:

Maintaining the viscosity of the shampoo during packaging

Preventing contamination and leakage

Providing user-friendly dispensing solutions

Nichrome Solution:

Nichrome’s HFFS packaging machines ensure airtight sealing to maintain the shampoo’s quality and provide a variety of pouch formats for consumer convenience.

Lotion

Key Challenges:

Preserving the lotion’s texture and properties

Offering aesthetic and travel-friendly packaging

Nichrome Solution:

Nichrome’s versatile machines deliver customized formats like stand-up pouches with zippers, ensuring secure and attractive packaging.

Hair Gel

Key Challenges:

Preventing product drying and leakage

Offering precision in portioning

Nichrome Solution:

Nichrome’s gel filling machines in Bangladesh provide sachets or spout pouches for controlled dispensing and airtight packaging to prevent contamination.

Ointment

Key Challenges:

Maintaining sterility and avoiding contamination

Ensuring precise portion control for medical use

Nichrome Solution:

Nichrome’s advanced ointment filling machine called the HFFS machines delivers sterile, tamper-proof packaging solutions in various formats like tubes or small sachets.

Liquid Soap

Key Challenges:

Preventing spillage during transport

Offering sustainable and refill-friendly packaging

Nichrome Solution:

Nichrome’s packaging machines produce stand-up spout pouches, which are ideal for liquid soaps, ensuring easy usage and minimal wastage.

Toothpaste

Key Challenges:

Retaining the product’s consistency

Providing durable packaging for long-term storage

Nichrome Solution:

Nichrome’s machines create laminated, leakage-proof tubes or pouches to maintain toothpaste quality over time.

Hair Wax

Key Challenges:

Preventing product melting or deformation

Providing compact and durable packaging

Nichrome Solution:

Nichrome’s flexible solutions ensure compact and robust packaging for hair wax in various formats like small jars or sachets.

Conclusion

Get connected with Nichrome for your requirements in ointment filling machine – particularly if you’re on the lookout for a reliable packaging machine supplier in Bangladesh. Nichrome has a legacy of supplying more than 200 packaging machines to producers in Bangladesh and brings a track record of over four decades as a leading packaging machine supplier in Bangladesh. Nichrome has invested in strong collaborations with global players in the pharmaceutical packaging machines industry for the provision of the latest-gen technology to Bangladeshi pharmaceutical companies. Nichrome’s offerings in the pharmaceutical packaging industry come with features like low contamination rates, tamper-proof designs, sterile processing and the promise of hygiene and safety.

Whether you are considering a filling and packaging machine, silica gel packing machine, ointment tube filling machine, shampoo filling machine, or a liquid filling machine in Bangladesh – Nichrome has the right offering for your specific application. Among non-food packaging, As a top packaging machine supplier in Bangladesh, Nichrome also offers solutions like blister packaging machines, liquid filling sealing machines, pharma liquid filling machines, and pouch packing machines for a wide range of industries. Visit bangladesh.nichrome.com for further information!

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Your Guide to Choosing a Curved Chair Lift for Stairs

For individuals with mobility concerns, navigating stairs can transform into a significant challenge, evoking a sense of trepidation and uncertainty. Each step becomes a formidable obstacle, and the very structure that is typically taken for granted can feel insurmountable. The physical effort required, coupled with the fear of losing balance or falling, can make this everyday task appear daunting and overwhelming. While accessibility solutions have come a long way, nothing matches the convenience and sophistication of a curved chair lift for stairs. These lifts offer functionality and style and are the perfect solution for those with uniquely designed staircases. Whether you're searching for a curved stair lift for sale to add comfort to your home or regain independence, these innovative devices promise a seamless experience and a renewed sense of freedom.

Why Invest in a Curved Chair Lift for Stairs?

A curved chair lift isn’t just another mobility aid—it’s a transformative upgrade for your home. These lifts are designed to follow your staircase's contours, ensuring a snug and precise fit. Unlike straight stairlifts, which only accommodate linear staircases, curved lifts are ideal for staircases with landings, spirals, or intricate designs. The ability to customize the lift to your staircase makes it a premium choice for homes with architectural flair.

Beyond their tailored design, curved chair lifts provide unparalleled safety. Equipped with sturdy seat belts, non-slip footrests, and smooth rail systems, they ensure that every ride is secure and comfortable. Moreover, their quiet operation and sleek aesthetics blend seamlessly into any home decor, eliminating the feeling of an intrusive medical device.

Curved Stair Lift for Sale: The Smart Choice for Accessibility

Quality and customization are paramount when looking for a curved stair lift for sale. Modern curved stair lifts boast advanced technology, such as battery-powered operation, ensuring functionality even during power outages. With features like ergonomic controls and swivel seats, users can enjoy ease of use and enhanced safety. Additionally, they are available in various styles and finishes, allowing you to select one that completes your home’s interior.

Purchasing a stair lift is more than just a mobility aid—it’s a long-term investment in comfort and peace of mind. Leading brands often provide warranties, excellent after-sales service, and professional installation, ensuring a hassle-free experience from start to finish.

Tips for Choosing the Right Curved Chair Lift

Assess Your Staircase: Every staircase is unique, and the right lift should fit perfectly. Professional stair assessments ensure accurate measurements and a custom-fit product.

Prioritize Comfort: Look for padded seats, adjustable armrests, and controls that suit your physical needs.

Check for Safety Features: Key features like sensors to detect obstacles, seat belts, and automatic braking systems enhance your safety.

Consider Your Budget: While curved lifts are an investment, many suppliers offer financing options or refurbished models to suit different budgets.

Research Reviews: Customer reviews can provide valuable insights into a brand’s reliability and product quality.

Enhancing Daily Life with a Curved Stair Lift

Installing a curved chair lift for stairs isn’t just about convenience; it’s about reclaiming independence. Moving freely between floors without fear or discomfort can significantly improve your quality of life. Moreover, these lifts can increase the value of your home, making them an excellent choice for long-term planning.

Conclusion

A curved chair lift for stairs is more than a luxury—it's necessary for individuals seeking safe and reliable mobility solutions. For those searching for a curved stair lift for sale, investing in this innovative device can transform daily living and restore confidence in navigating multi-level homes. Whether you’re looking to future-proof your residence or enhance the quality of life for a loved one, a curved chair lift is the ideal blend of practicality and style.