#Custom Protein Expression

[lyticsolutionsllc]

How to Select a Recombinant Protein Expression Service That Delivers Results

As a molecular biologist tackling complex protein studies, I know firsthand how critical it is to select the right Recombinant Protein Expression Service. A misstep in this decision can waste weeks or even months of precious time, not to mention the financial and academic costs. That’s why I’m sharing my journey—how I made this choice, what lessons I learned, and how I ultimately partnered with Lytic Solutions, LLC, a name I now trust and recommend for fellow researchers.

My Research Needs: A Starting Point

I was working on a project focused on signaling pathways in cancer biology. Specifically, I needed high-quality recombinant proteins for downstream applications like pull-down assays, crystallography, and enzyme kinetics. Because these experiments are unforgiving when it comes to protein purity and activity, I needed a service that could deliver both quality and customization.

Initially, I thought I could handle expression in-house using our lab’s E. coli system. But after repeated issues with solubility and batch-to-batch variability, I knew it was time to outsource to a professional Recombinant Protein Expression Service.

Step 1: Clearly Defining My Criteria

Before contacting any vendors, I sat down and mapped out what I needed. This included:

Expression system compatibility (E. coli, yeast, insect, or mammalian)

Post-translational modification capability

Scale of production (mg to gram quantities)

Purity requirements (>95%)

Turnaround time

IP protection and confidentiality

Customization and support

Having this list helped me filter services that matched my technical requirements. It’s something I recommend every researcher do. It saves time and ensures your vendor conversations are focused.

Step 2: Deep Dive into Reputation and Expertise

I didn’t want just a generic CRO. I needed experts who specialize in Recombinant Protein Expression Service. My initial shortlist included five companies. I read reviews, peer forums, and even dug through acknowledgments in published papers to see who others in the field were using.

That’s when I came across Lytic Solutions, LLC. I noticed their name appeared in a few reputable journal acknowledgments, especially in cancer biology research. That was my first sign they might be a good fit.

Step 3: Reviewing Case Studies and Portfolios

A trustworthy service will be transparent about their past work. When I visited the Lytic Solutions, LLC website, I was impressed with their technical documentation. They showcased case studies involving hard-to-express proteins, complex post-translational modifications, and scalable production for both academia and biotech.

I particularly appreciated their emphasis on collaborative communication, a point that turned out to be a game changer later in my project.

Step 4: Assessing Customization and Support

Some companies offer fixed expression packages, but my project required flexibility—construct design, codon optimization, and affinity tag selection. When I reached out to Lytic Solutions, LLC, they responded within 24 hours with a detailed questionnaire tailored to my project. Then came a Zoom call with their technical director.

This wasn’t a sales pitch—it was a deep dive into my goals, challenges, and deadlines. They even reviewed my existing constructs to advise on optimization, at no extra charge. That level of support was unique compared to other services I contacted.

Step 5: Understanding Cost vs. Value

Let’s be honest: budget matters. But I’ve learned not to make decisions solely based on cost. One provider offered rock-bottom pricing, but they had no mammalian expression capability and minimal QC transparency. Another quoted double the average market rate, offering no apparent added value.

Lytic Solutions, LLC fell right in the middle. Their pricing was transparent and broken down by milestone: gene synthesis, vector construction, expression trials, scale-up, and purification. They also included optional add-ons like endotoxin testing and biophysical characterization.

I appreciated that there were no hidden costs and I could scale the service based on my available funding.

Step 6: Running a Pilot Before Full Commitment

Before committing to a large-scale production, I ran a pilot expression and purification with Lytic Solutions. This is something I strongly recommend: test your provider with a smaller project first.

The pilot included expression in E. coli and HEK293 systems. Not only did they provide detailed SDS-PAGE and Western blot reports, but they also delivered side-by-side activity assay results comparing both systems. That level of transparency gave me full confidence to proceed with the full batch.

Step 7: Post-Delivery Support and Communication

Some services vanish once the job is done. Lytic Solutions didn’t. After delivery, they followed up with usage recommendations, storage tips, and even scheduled a feedback session. When I ran into issues with protein stability at 4°C, they provided buffer modification suggestions and even offered to run a stability test themselves—no charge.

Their communication was stellar throughout. I was assigned a project lead, which made everything more efficient and personal.

Lessons Learned

If you’re seeking the best Recombinant Protein Expression Service, here are my key takeaways:

Define your exact needs – Know your target protein’s requirements before shopping for a vendor.

Research reputations – Look for published work, academic references, and case studies.

Customize, don’t compromise – Choose a partner who adapts to your goals, not a one-size-fits-all service.

Pilot first – Always test with a small-scale run to evaluate quality and communication.

Value support – Post-project assistance can be a lifesaver when something goes wrong in your downstream steps.

Final Thoughts

Choosing the right Recombinant Protein Expression Service has been one of the most impactful decisions in my research career. With the wrong partner, you risk unreliable data and wasted time. With the right one, like I found in Lytic Solutions, LLC, you gain a long-term collaborator who elevates your science.

If you’re ready to take your research to the next level, do your homework, run that pilot, and don’t settle. Trust your instincts—but verify with data and support. That’s what led me to success, and it can do the same for you.

 Original Source: https://lyticsolutions.blogspot.com/2025/06/how-to-achieve-high-purity-with-protein.html

[kxsagi]

I love your works! I wanna make a request for Sae and Rin, please! I hope this is alright. Sae and Rin with a third sibling—but, instead of soccer, this third sibling chose boxing instead.

“𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬”

a/n: thank you so much! reader is a girl boss in this one 🙂‍↕️

(art credits go to karasuao_0101 on x)

being the third itoshi sibling came with expectations: mainly to be born with cleats on your feet and an obsession with kicking things into nets. but somewhere between sae’s cold indifference and rin’s chronic inability to have fun, you realized soccer was not your destiny. you didn’t want to pass or shoot or dribble. you wanted to punch things. preferably people. and that’s how you ended up boxing while your brothers were busy being the emotional support walls of famous football clubs. 

you came home one day with a swollen eye and a busted lip, casually biting into a sandwich like you hadn’t just gone twelve rounds with a girl who looked like she drank protein shakes for breakfast and punched trees for fun. rin glanced at you from the couch, not even blinking. “what happened to your face?” 

you looked up mid-chew. “won the match. with my skull.” 

sae walked in behind him, took one look at your face, sighed like someone who aged ten years instantly. “mom thought you’d be the normal one.” 

“well she shouldn’t have put all her eggs in this genetically repressed basket,” you said, voice muffled by bread. “also, the other girl looks worse. i made her question her life choices and possibly see the light.” 

“she was fourteen,” rin muttered. 

“and yet still taller than me. i had to do what i had to do.” 

training with them was worse. one time you convinced rin to spar, just light work, no face hits, promise. ten seconds in, you body shot him so hard he dropped like a sack of trauma and lay on the mat looking up at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed him. “did you just punch the soul out of me?” 

you knelt beside him, all sweet and innocent. “you dodge emotions so well, rin. i thought your abs could take a little physical pain too.” 

sae, in his older brother way of expressing affection (aka buying you things and still not making eye contact), once gifted you a pair of custom gloves. matte black. embroidered with “itoshi menace.” you were genuinely touched. you’d never received something so cool. you were about to thank him when he casually added, “there’s a GPS tracker in the wrist. you disappear after matches and i don’t trust you.” 

“what am i? a flight risk?” 

“yes.” 

family dinners were a delightful mix of commentary on your footwork, rin mumbling about your form being too open, and you threatening to throw mashed potatoes at anyone who brought up cardio. every time you lifted your fork, it was a flex. not emotionally. physically. your biceps were stronger than their coping mechanisms. 

you weren’t a prodigy. you weren’t a soccer genius. you were the younger sibling with fists of fury, a resting fight face, and the distinct ability to make both your brothers flinch when you raised your hand too fast near them. they didn’t say it, but you knew they feared you more than they’d ever feared a match. which meant, in your books? 

you were absolutely winning. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[brookghaib-blog]

The Weight of Familiar Things

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x reader

Summary: After breaking up in high school, Y/N had never really moved on from the best relationship of her life with Bob after he disappear out of thin air. While working on her shift, Bob reappears the same away he went away.

Word Count: 3,4k

--

The store buzzed softly with the usual low hum of midweek monotony — the steady beep of barcode scanners, the distant whirr of the refrigerator units near the dairy aisle, and the occasional squawk from the ancient intercom that insisted on cutting off half of every announcement.

Y/N stood at the express register, elbows resting on the cool laminate counter as she lazily spun the lid of a half-full bottle of Gatorade she’d stashed behind the till. The clock above the frozen foods section blinked indifferently — 4:07 PM. Still three more hours until she could bolt out of here, rip off the stiff red vest with the faded name tag, and try to salvage enough brainpower for a database systems assignment.

Her shift had been... tolerable. Not slow enough to be bored, but not busy enough to lose herself in the chaos either. Just a constant trickle of shoppers with shopping carts full of existential dread and discount coupons.

“You will not believe what just happened in aisle six,” came the dramatic whisper of Meg, her bestie and co-worker, who appeared from around the shelf like a gossip-hungry ninja.

Y/N straightened up, instantly suspicious. “What now?”

Meg leaned against the counter with all the grace of a wounded goose and sighed deeply, like she was about to recount war crimes. “So, I’m helping Mrs. Kowalski pick out a gluten-free cereal because her nephew has, like, six allergies, and suddenly this dude — I swear to you, hand to my future nutrition degree — this absolute menace shows up and starts harassing everyone in the cereal aisle.”

Y/N blinked. “Wait, like, harassing how?”

Meg rolled her eyes so hard it looked like she might pass out from the effort. “Like ‘hey, girl, are you cereal? Because I wanna eat you for breakfast’ kind of harassing. To Mrs. Kowalski. Who is, like, seventy and barely understands what a protein bar is.”

Y/N nearly snorted out her drink. “No. He did not.”

“He did!” Meg stabbed a finger at the air. “And then when she looked confused and kind of alarmed, he tried to recover by saying she had a ‘youthful aura’ and asked if she believed in reincarnation because he thinks they met in a past life.” Meg paused, raised an eyebrow. “In ancient Egypt. I wish I was making this up.”

Y/N was wheezing now, covering her mouth to avoid attracting customer attention. “Was he on something?”

“I don’t know, but if he was, I want a refund for him because whatever it was clearly failed.” Meg looked genuinely insulted on behalf of humanity. “I told him he had five seconds to get his Tutankhamun-loving ass out of the cereal aisle before I got Jason from produce to ‘escort’ him.”

“Oh my God,” Y/N giggled, leaning over the counter as if it helped her breathe better through the laughter. “You didn’t.”

“I did. Jason threatened to hit him with a bunch of unripe bananas. It was poetic.” Meg smiled smugly, brushing invisible dust off her shoulder like she was a bouncer at a nightclub instead of a student in a grocery vest.

Y/N wiped her eyes. “And this all happened during your gluten-free consultation?”

“Oh, Mrs. Kowalski was living for the drama,” Meg said, lowering her voice. “She literally asked me if she could follow me on Instagram after. Said I had ‘star energy.’ I think I accidentally became her new granddaughter.”

“That’s better than when she told me I look like someone who forgets to eat lunch.”

Meg clutched her chest. “Ouch. Brutal. But also accurate.”

“Rude.” Y/N narrowed her eyes but smiled. “Anyway, are you sure this guy left? I don't want to deal with some reincarnated cereal prophet asking me if I believe in destiny while I'm trying to stock the frozen waffles.”

Meg gestured dramatically toward the front doors. “Gone. Jason banana-walked him out. One of the little kids clapped.”

They both laughed again, louder this time, drawing a suspicious glance from Dan, the thirty-something manager who took his job too seriously and wore khakis like a lifestyle. He always hovered just a little too close to the walkie-talkie strapped to his belt like it was a police badge.

“Act busy,” Y/N hissed.

Meg grabbed a roll of receipt paper and pretended to read the ingredients printed on the cardboard core. “Wow. 100%... pulp.”

Y/N bit her lip to stifle a laugh.

The moment passed, and Meg leaned against the counter again, looking more relaxed. “Hey, you okay today?” she asked quietly, nudging Y/N with her elbow. “You’ve been zoning out between customers like you’re trying to access a hidden file in your brain.”

Y/N sighed. “Just school stuff. I’ve got a network systems quiz tomorrow, and I think I forgot how logic gates work.”

“You’re too smart,” Meg said. “I read a label backward today and got excited that I can still read.”

“I’d trade my brain for your social skills and sense of self-worth.”

“I’d trade my lungs for a nap.” Meg sighed. “And maybe a boyfriend. Or at least someone taller than a bag of dog food.”

Y/N smirked. “You’re setting the bar low, huh?”

“I’m setting the bar realistic,” Meg said. “You ever lifted a 50-pound sack of kibble? That’s some sturdy energy. I want a man who could stop a shopping cart with one hand and still help me study anatomy later, if you know what I mean.”

Y/N made a choking noise. “You’re disgusting.”

Meg grinned. “You love me.”

Y/N shook her head, but she did. She really did. Somehow, amidst their shared suffering at the mercy of impatient customers and barcode scanners, they’d built a friendship that made even the worst shifts manageable.

Just then, the front door sensors gave a low chime as someone new entered the store.

Meg peered over Y/N’s shoulder, then leaned in again. “Oh. Speaking of kibble-worthy men…”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Don’t say it—”

“Tall. Brown hair. Weird posture. Looks like he doesn’t know how to buy cereal either. Wanna bet if he’s gonna ask about reincarnation?”

Y/N followed her gaze toward the cereal aisle.

Y/N squinted toward the cereal aisle as Meg leaned in like a commentator at a fashion show.

“Tall,” Meg whispered. “He’s wearing... what is that? Cargo pants? And—yep, oversize sweater that looks big even on his hands. Tell me that doesn’t scream your exact type.”

Y/N huffed. “You think every man is my type if he’s above six feet and looks like he hasn’t slept in three days.”

“Because those are the men who write poetry about you in the dark,” Meg said, eyes narrowed like a seer. “That guy? He looks like he’s been through something. Like he owns exactly one bowl and stares out the window when it rains.”

Y/N tilted her head again. The man — tall, broad, messy hair that looked like he ran his hand through it too often, faint stubble on his jaw — was crouched in front of the granola. Not really inspecting brands. More like… zoning out. His hand hovered over a box, then pulled back.

And there was something about him. Something familiar.

“I… I think I know him,” Y/N muttered, brow furrowed.

Meg gasped. “Wait. Seriously? You dated someone with main character hair and didn’t tell me?”

“I don’t know if I dated him—! I said he looks familiar. Like I’ve seen him before. But I can’t place it.” Y/N crossed her arms. “Maybe from campus? Or a lab partner from freshman year?”

Meg wiggled her eyebrows. “Lab partner turned life partner, let’s goooo.”

Y/N gave her a look. “Meg, he’s buying cereal.”

“And we sell hope. Don’t kill the vibe.”

The two broke into giggles again, their laughter light in the otherwise empty front end of the store. Dan was thankfully nowhere in sight, probably grilling someone in frozen foods about FIFO rotation again. The store was in its sleepy lull between the after-school snack rush and the post-commute dinner crowd, which meant just enough time for existential dread or flirting, whichever came first.

A few minutes later, the man — still slightly hunched, as if he hadn’t fully adapted to existing in public — approached Y/N’s register with a small wire basket.

She straightened up automatically, scanning him as professionally as she could. The basket only held a few items: a loaf of multigrain bread, two cups of plain Greek yogurt, and a small bundle of bananas. Not even the good kind of snacky grocery run. It looked… survivalist.

Up close, he looked even more out of place. Handsome, definitely, but not polished. Like he had been handsome by accident, without any effort or maintenance. His hoodie had a tear near the left cuff. His knuckles looked bruised.

“Hey,” he said, his voice gravel-soft and low. “Just these.”

Y/N smiled politely, fingers moving to scan the items. “No problem.”

There was a brief, awkward pause.

She glanced up. He was watching her — not in a creepy way, but like he was trying to solve a puzzle. And for some reason, that expression made the back of her neck tingle.

“You look… really familiar,” she said before she could stop herself.

He blinked. Then gave a small, lopsided smile. “Yeah. I was gonna say the same.”

There was another second of hesitation — and then he set the basket down fully, like he was settling into the moment. “Y/N L/N, right?”

She stiffened a little. “Wait—what?”

“I’m Bob,” he said, slow and unsure, almost like it felt foreign coming out of his mouth. “Bob Reynolds. We… used to date. Back in high school.”

A beat passed.

A very long beat.

Then Meg, who had suddenly materialized from behind a gum display, made a noise that sounded like a suppressed sneeze, only it ended in a strangled laugh. She coughed wildly, slapping her own chest like she was choking on an Altoid.

Y/N’s mouth opened, then closed again. Her eyes scanned his face now, digging past the messy hair and sunken tiredness, through the faint stubble and older, more grown-out shape of him. And yes — yes, of course — it was him.

“Holy crap,” she breathed. “Bob. Bob Reynolds. You… you used to have an earing and used to wear those terrible denim jackets.”

Bob cracked a half-smile. “Guilty. I, uh… grew out of one of those.”

“Yeah,” she said, still stunned.

“Figured I’d evolve,” he replied dryly, glancing down at his feet.

Meg was gripping the gum rack now like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

“You were... in my chem class,” Y/N said slowly. “And you used to draw on your notebooks and refuse to dissect frogs.”

“You did the frog for me,” Bob added.

“You looked like you were going to cry,” she shot back with a grin.

“I was very emotionally sensitive about amphibians.”

“I thought you moved away,” she said, still trying to reconcile high school Bob — the quiet, awkward guy who somehow got her attention despite being allergic to school spirit — with the man standing in front of her now.

“I did. For a while. Just got back recently. Kind of laying low.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Didn’t expect to run into anyone I knew. Let alone you.”

Meg, now fully inserted into the conversation, leaned in way too far over the counter. “Y/N was basically queen of the school, by the way. You got the cheerleader valedictorian combo and then ghosted? Savage.”

Bob looked mortified. “I didn’t ghost.”

“She’s kidding,” Y/N said, elbowing Meg. “Mostly.”

“Mostly not,” Meg whispered behind her hand, still grinning.

Bob shifted awkwardly, then finally held out his hand, as if trying to restart everything. “It’s really good to see you, though. You look… the same. Better, actually.”

Y/N took his hand, surprised at how warm it was. Solid. Grounded. “You look…” she hesitated. “Different.”

“Good different or ‘have-you-been-living-in-a-bunker’ different?”

“Depends. How long has that hoodie been alive?”

Bob laughed — a quiet, honest sound. “Long enough to be considered a roommate.”

Meg dramatically fanned herself with a flyer. “I’m going to die right here in aisle one from sexual tension.”

“Go. Stock yogurt.” Y/N hissed through her teeth.

“Yes ma'am.” Meg whispered, backing away with a wink and mouthing call me later like this was a teen drama.

Y/N turned back to Bob, who was trying to smother a grin. She bagged his groceries quickly, handing them over as if she needed her hands busy or else they’d start shaking from the weird flood of emotions creeping up her spine.

“So… you staying around for a while?” she asked.

“Yeah. Trying to figure things out.”

“Well. You know where the bread and yogurt are now.”

Bob took the bag with a nod. “Thanks. For… uh. This. Talking to me.”

She shrugged, softening. “Anytime. I work most afternoons.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

And then he left — walking back out into the spring afternoon like a dream someone half-remembered after waking up. The automatic doors hissed shut behind him.

Meg came sprinting back over like a cartoon character. “Okay. What the hell was that?”

Y/N stared at the door, eyes wide, mind buzzing. “That was Bob. From high school.”

Meg’s jaw dropped. “That’s the Bob? The Bob??”

“I didn’t know he was back.”

Meg stared at her. “Girl. You had a mysterious sad boy phase before it was cool, and you never told me?”

Y/N blinked, mouth slowly turning into a smile. “It’s been a weird day.”

Meg sighed dramatically. “I’m buying you a lottery ticket after shift. Because clearly, the universe is sending you something.”

“Bread and yogurt?”

Meg grinned. “Or closure. Or maybe just the hottest second chance romance I’ve ever seen play out between cereal and a banana threat.”

They both dissolved into laughter again, the kind of laughter that bubbled up from something bigger — something starting.

And in the distance, Bob Reynolds walked home, a little confused, a little nervous.

--

High School Cafeteria, Junior Year

The cafeteria buzzed with the chaotic energy only high school lunch breaks could summon. Trays clattered, someone’s Bluetooth speaker played muffled bass under a hoodie, and the student body fractured into its social tribes: athletes hoarding pizza slices, theater kids rehearsing lines with dramatic fork stabs, and the STEM table arguing over something on a calculator like it was national policy.

Y/N sat with her usual group at the round table by the window — the so-called “popular kids,” though she hated the term. It felt like something from a teen drama rather than real life. Still, it was true that most of the school knew her name. Not in the mean-girl, tiara-wearing way, but because she was… everywhere. Cheer team captain. AP classes. Friendly with the faculty. Genuinely kind. She was the kind of person who remembered people’s birthdays and always knew which vending machine stocked the good trail mix.

Today, though, she was buzzing with something else entirely. Her eyes kept darting to the cafeteria doors every few seconds, even as her friends gossiped.

“So then,” said Jasmine, twirling a plastic spoon like a wand, “I caught Chloe writing ‘Mrs. Max Danvers’ in her notebook. In gel pen. With hearts.”

“She’s so delusional,” Lexi groaned, picking at her salad. “Max hasn’t liked anyone since eighth grade and that was his dog.”

Y/N laughed but not fully — her mind halfway across the school, willing a very specific someone to walk through those doors.

“Okay, Y/N,” said Jasmine, poking her. “Are you even here? What’s with you today?”

“Huh? Oh—” Y/N flushed slightly, biting into a grape and glancing back at the doors.

Lexi gasped. “Oh my God. She’s waiting for her emo prince, isn’t she?”

Y/N tried to look annoyed, but her smile gave her away. “He’s not emo.”

“He literally wore a shirt with a crow on it yesterday,” Jasmine said. “And headphones inside class.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, just as the doors creaked open with a buzz of late students scanning in.

And then—there he was.

Bob Reynolds stepped into the cafeteria like he didn’t belong to it. Tall, slightly slouched, backpack slung over one shoulder with a broken strap safety-pinned together. His hoodie was faded, his jeans frayed at the edges, and his hair looked like he had woken up five minutes ago — but God, her heart skipped every time she saw him.

He scanned the room once with those deep-set eyes and barely smiled — but Y/N knew the look he saved just for her.

Her entire face lit up like a switch flipped. “I’ll be right back,” she said, practically leaping from her chair.

Jasmine looked like she was watching a royal engagement. “She’s sprinting. We’ve lost her.”

Y/N weaved through tables, ignoring wolf whistles from the football guys and eye-rolls from sophomores, until she reached him. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around his neck.

“Hey, stranger,” she beamed, hugging him tight.

Bob’s expression softened like snow melting off a roof. He caught her waist, pulling her close. “Hey.”

And then she kissed him.

Not a peck. Not a shy hallway kiss. This was the full, smile-into-it, kiss-you-like-I’ve-waited-all-morning kind of kiss.

Someone behind them muttered, “Jesus, get a room,” but neither of them noticed.

“You’re late,” she murmured against his mouth, smiling too hard to be stern.

“Had to stay behind in chem. My sulfur compound exploded. Again.”

She laughed. “You’re really bad at chemistry.”

“I’m not bad at it,” he said, feigning offense. “It’s just hostile toward me.”

“Come sit with us.” She tugged his hand, already pulling him through the maze of tables. “You need to eat something that isn’t vending machine trail mix.”

Bob hesitated, but didn’t resist. “Are you sure?”

“They love you,” she said.

That was… a stretch. But he followed anyway.

Back at the table, Jasmine made a dramatic bow as Y/N returned with Bob in tow. “Ah yes. Our table’s brooding king returns.”

Bob raised a hand in greeting. “Hey.”

Lexi gave him a once-over. “Still refusing to cut that hair, I see.”

“It’s almost finals season. I’m growing it in protest.”

“You protest everything.”

He shrugged. “Someone has to.”

Y/N took her seat and dragged him down next to her. His tray only had a banana and a bottle of water, so she immediately started giving him half her sandwich.

“You’re gonna die of scurvy,” she said, breaking it in half.

“You say that like it’s dramatic,” he replied, but took the sandwich anyway.

The group settled into chatter — mostly about the upcoming dance, rumors about a surprise fire drill, and whether Mr. Thomas was dating the substitute gym teacher. Bob didn’t say much, but he didn’t have to. He sat with an ease he didn’t have his sophomore year, when people whispered “Isn’t that the guy who tagged the music room lockers?”

He was still a mystery — still quiet, still aloof — but Y/N changed how people looked at him. She always touched his arm when she spoke. She brought him into jokes. She looked at him like he mattered.

And that mattered.

As the others got distracted ranking the weirdest school lunch meat ("Turkey, then ham, then the one they call 'mystery cube'"), Y/N turned slightly, her knee brushing his.

“I missed you today,” she said quietly, almost too private for the lunchroom’s roar.

He looked at her — really looked — and his voice dropped. “I missed you too.”

“You okay?” she asked, tilting her head.

Bob nodded. “Just tired. But I’m good now.”

She kissed his cheek. He turned. Their lips met again, slower this time.

From across the table, Jasmine let out a strangled groan. “You guys. Please.”

Lexi fake gagged with her spoon. “You know we can see you, right?”

Y/N leaned back with a huge grin. “You’re just jealous.”

“I’m jealous of the PDA fog you two are putting out,” Lexi said.

Bob smirked. “We’ll tone it down.”

“No, you won’t,” Jasmine sighed. “You’re gonna get married and make out in the produce aisle and we’re all gonna have to pretend we didn’t see it.”

Y/N leaned her head on Bob’s shoulder. “Promise we’ll invite you to the wedding.”

Bob whispered, just for her, “You know I love you, right?”

She turned her head, eyes soft. “Yeah. I love you too.”

And there it was — in the middle of greasy pizza trays, laughing friends, and the smell of old tater tots — a perfect little moment carved out of time.

Two kids in love.

So stupidly, beautifully in love.

[jarofstyles]

Strawberry Sunrise

Helloooo. Welcome to part one of a short series I’m doing. I’ve been dying to do a sporty/ personal trainer sort of thing so I’ve picked this back up after abandoning it for a bit! Please leave feedback if this is something you’d like to see more of on here!

Check out our Patreon for early access to parts 2-3 and 180+ exclusive writings

Warnings- mention of stalking, consent, gym culture, men being creeps, smitten H, anxiety

WC- 3.8k

Harry had always enjoyed the gym.

The burn in his muscles was his release of choice, choosing to express his innermost emotions with working up a sweat as he ran miles on the treadmill, muscles straining as he lifted and knuckles sore as he worked the bag. He’d spend hours working out purely for enjoyment and release in his time off, not only for the burn but from the community surrounding it. That being said, it made a lot of sense that when he got tired early on in the corporate world, he decided to become a personal trainer. A really successful one at that- thankfully, considering his father had been very skeptical at the profession change.

Working at a higher end gym, the facilities always remained spotless. There was a sauna and steam room, an in-ground heated pool and jacuzzi room, lush locker rooms with wooden locker cubbies and provided locks and fluffy white towels, and even held a boxing ring on the bottom floor which he loved to spar in in his free time. It was in a refashioned warehouse, lux looking in a rustic way.

He built his career and clientele over the span of a few years and had gotten into the groove of it fairly quickly. Working with positive reinforcement and meditative breathing before and after each session, people found his presence calming and many trusted him to help get them to their potential- which he proudly did. His routine varied but it always ended the day with a smoothie from the smoothie bar run inside the lobby. Choco PB, Mango Delight, or a Strawberry Sunrise with extra protein were his go tos.

One of his new favorite parts about his job, though, was the new receptionist at the front desk. Y/N.

A complete and utter sweetheart who, for a lack of better words, was a breath of fresh air in the usually gruff, testosterone filled setting. He loved watching her chat, even more watching her politely reject the many customers who tried to get her number. She didn’t seem to have a clue just how alluring she was. Her beaming smile and saccharine little giggle that made his toes curl, he was crushing on her big time. If he wasn’t afraid to risk her feeling comfortable at the work environment by potentially rejecting him, he’d have asked her out already but it was only 4 months in and she was a hit with everyone. He didn’t want to be the reason she left. Most of the other trainers were in relationships or married so she had been safe and had a good relationship with them all as colleagues, though Harry liked to flirt with her lightheartedly. He could tell she got her a little flustered and the arrogant son of a bit in him fucking loved it.

But what he didn’t love, though, was when she hesitantly found him with teary eyes after locking the front door with shaky hands as closing time finished and it was just employees of the gym. Her face was pale, spooked and Harry was not a fan of. Fear didn’t suit her.

“Harry?” Her shaky voice whispered. “I don’t mean to bother you at all, but if- could you wait for me before you leave? There’s… there’s that one guy, one of Liam’s clients? He kept asking me out and he got mad that I really said no and he’s been waiting outside at closing time and I’m just-‘I’m scared and….”’a quiver of her lip made his chest ache while also burning in rage.

Something he hated more than anything was someone who couldn’t take no for an answer, more specifically men who couldn’t let their bruised ego be healed in private, lick their wounds and accept that they’d not gotten what they wanted. Instead they harassed the other person as if the fucking answer would change. But to do it to Y/N? He felt enraged.

“He did what?” His mouth parted in surprise, brows pulling together as his shoulders squared up. Sure enough he could see a car parked right outside the door with the lights off, but someone visibly inside. Y/N parked close to the building and he must have known that. “Fuck, Sweets. M’sorry.” He groaned. “Absolutely not acceptable. M’gonna make sure Liam knows and that he’s dropped as a member here but of course I’ll walk you out. Are you almost done?” His hand reached for her shoulder to give an appreciative squeeze, bare skin meeting his palm. She wore a tank top with the gym’s logo and yoga pants, her name tag taken off already.

“Yeah- I just have to shut down the computers and sweep the front. Is that okay?” Her teeth chewed nervously on her bottom lip. “I’m so sorry to keep you. I know you’ve had a long day and you have one tomorrow too, I just, I have a bad feeling and I’m scared. I wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t give me the creeps even before.”

Harry was vaguely familiar with the dude, mostly because he had snickered at Y/N’s polite attempt to tell him no to a date previously- but now, that wasn’t so funny. “Hey.” His thumb brushed over her skin. “Don’t apologize. I won’t hear it. Of course I’d do this for you, I care. I’d never let anyone be in danger, least of all you. You’re the best receptionist we’ve ever had and I’d be crushed if something happened to you. Everyone would.” Mostly him, though. His crush was real. However now wasn’t the time to deal with that.

“Thank you so much.” She sighed in relief, reaching up to squeeze his wrist. “I’ll only be a minute, okay? Just stand right there.”

And he did. He watched as she shut down the computers and grabbed the little broom to sweep up the little bits around the front desk, thanking Harry when he brought the trash can out from the front desk for her to pour the dust pan into. Her thanks was gracious, grabbing her keys and nervously following behind him as he made his way out first.

It seemed that the man hadn’t expected Harry to still be there, as he had parked further back in the lot. The look of surprise made Harry irritated as he directly went to the car, knocking on the window. The man hesitantly rolled it down a little bit, Harry’s arm braced on the hood as he leaned down to speak to him.

“Absolutely unacceptable.” He said straight. “She said no. Dunno what or how that translates to ‘wait for her after work to crowd and stalk her like a creep’, but let me spell it out for you.” His voice dropped lower. “You’re going to stay away from her. She isn’t available, not for you. You’re going to listen when women tell you no, and leave it fucking be. Know she’s a pretty thing but that doesn’t give you the right to follow her around.”

“What are you? Her boyfriend?” The man sneered, making Harry’s jaw clench. Was he dense? Truly?

“S’not your business who I am to her. All you need to know is that she isn’t on the market, stalking is unattractive and if you don’t leave her the fuck alone, I swear to you that there will be consequences. I’d suggest finding another gym, mate.” He patted the top of his car before pulling back, finding Y/N standing by the glass doors, wringing her hands. The look of relief on her face as Harry approached and the guy’s car peeled out of the lot made his anger worth every bit.

“Told ‘em off.” Adjusting the bag on his shoulder, he walked with her to her car and made sure she got her bag in. “Hey- let me follow you home, yeah? I’ll give you my number and you can text me if he bugs you again but I’d feel better knowing you got in safe and he isn’t out there waiting for you somewhere else.” He wouldn’t put it past an idiot like that.

“Normally I’d try to tell you no, but I can’t tell you how much that would mean to me.” Her body sagged in relief as she took him by surprise, taking him in for a hug. “Thank you so much. I was so scared he’d try to take me or something, I watch too much Criminal Minds or something but.” She shrugged, pulling back far too soon. It had taken him by surprise and he hadn’t had nearly enough time to appreciate her sweet smelling, warm body against his own.

“Anytime, Y/N. Seriously. Your safety is important to me.” More than she’s known. “Let’s get going, yeah? Know you had an emotional day.”

—-

Harry had driven her home, smiling and beeping once she had gotten inside her apartment building but waiting to drive off before he had gotten her little text of ‘ inside!!! :-)’

He spent the rest of the night trying to work away his anger, cooking a quick meal before heading off to bed. Y/N was too good for shit like that. He’d shot a text to Liam letting him know he told his client to fuck off and he’d help find another but was assured that it was a good loss anyways, which only helped ease him. The girl wouldn’t have to deal with it again.

He just hoped she would be okay.

—-

The next morning he was greeted by her smiling face, melting off the apprehension he had felt all morning. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail with two loose tendrils around her face, looking as cute as ever as she waved at him.

“Hi, Harry!” She chirped. “I’ve got a smoothie with your name on it when you’re ready for it later. Thank you again for helping me last night.” His membership card was quickly scanned and handed back. Her smile was infectious, making his own rise on the corner of his lips.

“Yeah? I’m glad to have helped. I’m here for anything y’need, Sweets.” If only she knew how far that could go for her. Maybe it was better she didn’t. He was really into her but he was hyper aware of how it could come off now, so he would proceed with caution. “I’ll hold you to the smoothie when m’on my lunch.”

For the first time in quite a while, Harry had a hard time concentrating on his sessions. Of course he poured himself into it as much as he could, but he couldn’t stop thinking about last night. How shaken up Y/N had been and how she had been so appreciative. He couldn’t help it, because he’d already had a crush on her and the fact that she trusted him enough to come to him for help made him really happy. He was also still mad that the man had crossed such big boundary and genuinely scared the hell out of probably the sweetest girl anyone’s met.

Being in his own head also explained why said girl scared the shit out of him, making him jump as he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. Jumping from the stool, he turned to a wide eyed Y/N and tore the earbuds out of his ears with a very, very embarrassing yelp. “Shit! Y/N, you scared me.”

As if it wasn’t obvious.

“I’m so sorry!” She peeped, hand over her mouth. “I said your name and I didn’t see you had in your earbuds. I’m so sorry.” Her babbling was very cute, but he didn’t want her to feel bad.

“It’s okay- just made me jump.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Shit, it’s my fault for sitting here with them on at work. You did nothing wrong.” His palm squeezed, making her shoulders relax just a bit. Thank god. There was no effort to remove it as he continued on, and no effort to step away from him. “Y’said something about a smoothie, yeah?”

His grin was probably a bit too big in regards to a smoothie but he hoped like hell that she would join him at the little tables they had set up. They were in the reception area, a bit public for his taste but considering what had happened last night he figured that was a better option than the break room. It was a delicate thing and he needed to go about it carefully. He really, really didn’t want to muck it up because his dick got ahead of his brain.

Although, she did look spectacular today, if he could say that.

“Yes! I was going to grab one too. What kind would you like?” One of the duties of the front desk people was to man the smoothie bar when needed. It wasn’t super demanding and the recipes were written out in a binder-

Harry would know because he’s had to do it before too- but she seemed to enjoy making them the times she’s done his. “I’m going for the Strawberry Sunrise and some energy boost.” Her hand squeezed his wrist before it was removed and she glided behind the bar, ponytail swaying as she did so.

“S’a good choice. Simple and effective.” He nodded in approval. “Think M’gonna go for… the chocolate peanut butter, if that’s alright?” His fingers drummed on the surface of the counter, slightly nervous habits showing when she was around. It was difficult to think. Even if he was this charming, charismatic, outgoing guy- he still got a bit flustered when talking to a pretty girl who was suspiciously angelic in looks and in appearance.

“Of course it’s okay.” Her laugh echoed in his ears. “I told you, it’s my way of saying thank you. Now sit and look pretty while I finish these.”

Harry was glad her back was turned because his face was most definitely flushed. Did she call him pretty? It seemed so. The man definitely didn’t go to the gym looking like a slob, but he had much better days outside of it. He liked to play around in fashion and the gym left little to experiment with unless he was okay with a sweat stain or ruining it. That’s why he wore cuter bandanas around his neck, or his stack of fabric bracelets that were meant to fall off. They were made of string and easily replaceable but they added color to his otherwise bland outfits he wore to keep from ruining his good outfits.

Apparently the last thing she had said was enough to keep him on his head until she finished, the large orange and white striped cup placed in front of him. “They’ve got to get rid of the styrofoam cups and do paper.”

Y/N sighed, looking at her own with a little frown. “I’ve suggested it but manager said we got to go through these before he’s gonna reorder. It’s only a few cents cheaper too, I was snooping on the order form.” She grumbled, making Harry smile. Y/N was known for her environmentalist tendencies and it only added to why he liked her. “Or, do like… have a bottle washing station and let us sell reusable cups with the gym logo and people can use those! Anything but these.” Leaning in closer to him, he caught her perfume as she let him in on a ‘secret’. “Plus, I fucking hate the sound of styrofoam. It makes my skin crawl. ASMR gone wrong.”

Harry swore he fell in love w little bit when she pulled back, laughing along with him as he nodded. She was fucking adorable and his hands itched to grab hold of that ponytail and keep her head still so he could kiss all over her face. Could you get cuteness aggression over another human?

“S’a great idea, actually.” He nodded, taking a sip with a hum. Y/N did the best smoothies. Shakes? He never was sure what to call them. “And you’re right. Styrofoam is awful for the environment and ears. I usually bring my water bottles every day but the amount of plastics we see here… S’a shame.”

“Exactly!” She slapped her hand on the counter. “It would only cost a little more to be more efficient. Do more water fountains so they don’t have to bring those plastic water bottles. Those are also on my hit list, when people crinkle those bottles…” her nose wrinkled in distaste, grabbing her cup and going around the counter. “Where did you want to sit, by the way?”

Harry’s heart grew three sizes, he thinks, when she was the one to initiate their time together. He’s been mulling it around in his mind, how to ask her to sit with him but apparently they were on the same page. “F’you want to sit out here we can, or we can go to the employee lounge. It’s your choice.”

“Do you mind if we go to the lounge? I had to talk to you about something, if you don’t mind.” It was then he could see her shifting nervously on her feet, cluing him in to something else. Was the guy still bothering her?

“Course we can. Lead the way.” He extended his hand, letting her lead as he tried to figure it out. Y/N was a somewhat nervous person by nature and he knew from watching her pick at her nails or bounce her leg, twirling her hair or rearranging pens often, but he didn’t like the idea of her nervous around him.

So when they sat down at one of the smaller tables in the empty lounge, he let his concerns be known. “Are you okay? You seem a little nervous.” He bumped his knee with hers, bringing the smoothie up to his mouth for a sip as he studied her face.

“Yeah! Yeah I just…” there was a pause, her nails dragging down the cup to make a pattern. “I couldn’t sleep very well last night. I felt really safe with you and I’m really grateful for your help- you’ve no idea. I was scared if end up in a ditch by the time anyone came in this morning but….”’her teeth worried her bottom lip. “I don’t want to have to rely on anyone else. You’re not always going to be here. And I know- I know the people here are very strong and bigger than me, most of them anyways- but I need a way to protect myself.” She took a big breath before the words rushed out. “Do you think you could help me with self defense? Even just a little bit, I can pay you or clean your house or something I just really….” Her frazzled expression broke his heart. “I don’t want to feel helpless again.”

He wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. That he would stay every night and walk her to his car, that he would take care of her but the truth remained that he couldn’t always guarantee that for her. Sometimes he had to leave early, sometimes he had to stay later than her and it was just not possible. What she asked was absolutely the right thing, but he hated that she felt helpless.

“Y/N.” He crooned. “Of course I will. It’s not even a question, I’d be more than willing to help you out.” She must really not know his crush on her if she couldn’t see how he was mentally tripping over himself at the idea of spending time with her. It would be a double win. She could help herself and he could spend time with her alone. “I want to say M’really fucking sorry that men are shit and that you even have to worry. If I’m here when you’re getting off of work, which I usually am, I’m more than happy to walk you to your car, but I understand.

I hate that you feel helpless. You’re a lot stronger than y’give yourself credit for.” His hand reached for the one laying on the table top, holding it a lot more confidently than he felt. She squeezed it back, though, so a win was a win! “We’ll have t’do it after hours, though, if that’s alright? Just stay a bit longer after work. My days are really full right now and I know you’re working most days here so it’ll have to be a weird schedule but you don’t need to pay me a cent. Let me do this for you for my own peace of mind, yeah?” His eyes searched her face, like he was trying to find an answer for a question he didn’t know. “Was worried out of my head last night about you.”’

Y/N seemed to visibly relax, a smile growing on her soft little lips and her entire energy moving to a warmer one. What he didn’t expect, though, was for her to throw herself into his lap for a big hug. Y/N had always been touchy, but he never thought he’d end up with a lap full of the prettiest girl he’d ever seen whispering her thanks as her face tucked into his neck.

God, he hoped he smelled decent.

His arm wrapped around her as he clumsily put his drink down in surprise, stroking her back as she squeezed him tight- and it was like a dream. Soft body against his own and engulfed in her scent? He was happy if she never moved from here. Unfortunately she did, peeling herself up and her beaming smile making him melt. “Thank you, thank you so fucking much. You can have anything you want in return. You don’t have to think of it kow but… I trust you the most here.” She admitted, clamoring back into her seat. “You’re the coolest, H. Thank you again. When can we start?”

Harry knew he was in trouble when he wanted to cancel the rest of his day and offer it to her. She’d sent him through a wind tunnel of wild thoughts and his body was still reeling from having her so close, but he had to try and hold it together.

“Why don’t we start tomorrow?” He offered. “But be prepared to work up a sweat.”

[writeriguess]

Hey there! I request the following: kiri having several crocs but lowkey being a bit ashamed of them, but then he sees you having pink glittery crocs and you bond over them, fluffiness  thank you!

Crocs and Confessions

Eijiro Kirishima had a secret.

Not the kind that was dark or dangerous—no, it was far more embarrassing than that. He owned multiple pairs of Crocs. Bright red, classic black, even a pair of limited-edition ones covered in tiny little shark prints. They were comfortable, practical, and great for slipping on when he needed to run outside quickly. But there was just one problem—he wasn’t sure if they were, well…manly enough. He never wore them outside the safety of his dorm room, and he sure as hell didn’t tell anyone about them.

That was until he saw you.

You walked into the common area like it was just any other day, but Kirishima’s eyes immediately dropped to your feet. There they were—bright pink Crocs, speckled with glitter, and decorated with little charms. One was a tiny All Might, another was a cute little dinosaur, and the rest were a mix of sparkles and hearts.

He nearly choked on his protein shake.

You caught his gaze and tilted your head. "Something wrong?"

Kirishima scrambled for words. "Uh—your Crocs! They're…uh…"

Your eyes lit up. "Aren't they awesome?! They’re the comfiest things ever! And look—" You lifted your foot slightly, pointing at the charms. "I customize them all the time! My favorite is this little heart with wings. Cute, right?"

Kirishima felt his face heat up. Here you were, wearing the loudest, most unapologetically fun pair of shoes he’d ever seen, and you were completely confident about it.

"Yeah, they’re… really cool," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

You grinned. "Do you have Crocs? You seem like someone who’d appreciate comfy shoes."

Kirishima hesitated. Should he admit it? Should he risk it?

"Uh…yeah, I have a few pairs…" he mumbled, voice trailing off.

Your eyes widened with delight. "Wait—really?! What color?"

He glanced around, making sure no one else was listening, then leaned in as if sharing a classified secret. "I have red ones, black ones…and, uh, some with sharks on them."

Your excitement was contagious. "No way! The shark ones sound sick! Why don’t you wear them?"

He scratched his cheek, looking away. "I dunno… I just thought they weren’t, y’know…manly enough."

You gasped dramatically. "Kirishima! Crocs have no gender! They’re just little rubber clouds for your feet!"

That made him chuckle, and suddenly, his embarrassment felt a little silly.

You leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, "We should totally have a Crocs day. Show them off, decorate them, make it a whole thing."

Kirishima looked at you, at the way your eyes sparkled with excitement, and he couldn’t help but smile. "Y’know what? That sounds really awesome."

And just like that, his little secret didn’t seem so embarrassing anymore.

Later that evening, as Kirishima sat in his dorm, he found himself staring at his collection of Crocs. He picked up his shark-print ones, running a thumb over the soft material. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to wear them around more often. Maybe—just maybe—he could embrace the joy they brought him.

The next day, when he walked into the common room, he hesitated for only a second before stepping in, shark Crocs and all.

Your eyes immediately found his feet, and you beamed. "YES! They look amazing!"

A few classmates turned their heads, curiosity flickering in their expressions, but Kirishima just laughed, standing a little taller. "Yeah? They’re kinda cool, huh?"

"Absolutely! And now we match in our Crocs confidence!"

You both shared a grin, and for the first time, Kirishima felt completely at ease about his footwear choices. Because if you—someone he admired—could wear them proudly, then so could he.

And just like that, the great Crocs revolution of Class 1-A had begun.

[sas-afras]

cait is the one character i actually approve of for the “vicious career fighter who is also waifishly slender” trope (cough cough shadowheart cough)

cait isn’t supposed to be an effective fighter because she’s brawny. she wins because she’s injecting so much turbometh before every match that she can’t feel pain, and she’s completely fuckin brutal!! girl isn’t fighting for fame or glory, she’s fighting for her DINNER. she isn’t in the position to drink protein shakes and work her quads! she looks like shit!

the real shame is the limitation of the vanilla customization settings, where “emaciated feral meth addict” and “slender well fed supermodel” are expressed by the same body type

[literaryvein-reblogs]

More Art-Related Vocabulary

Abstract Expressionist: An artistic movement of the mid-20th century emphasizing an artist’s freedom to express attitudes and emotions, usually through nonrealistic means.

Age of Exploration (also, Age of Discovery): From the early 15th century to the early 17th century, European ships traveled around the world in search of new trading routes, lands, and partners to supply an ever-growing European market.

Albumen silver print: A photograph made using a process that was prevalent until the 1890s. The paper is coated with albumen (egg whites), and the image is created using a solution of silver salts.

Brayer: A hand roller used for applying ink to relief printing blocks or occasionally for the direct application of paint or ink to a surface.

Caricature: A representation in either literature or visual art that includes a ridiculous distortion or exaggeration of body parts or physical characteristics to create a comic or gross imitation.

Ceramics: Vessels of clay made by using a variety of shaping techniques and then hardening or firing the clay with heat at a high temperature.

Chasing: A term encompassing two processes in metalworking: (a) modeling decorative patterns on a hand-shaped sheet-metal surface using punches applied to the front, and (b) finishing and refining a cast sculpture.

Classical: Describes a prime example of quality or “ideal” beauty. It often refers to the culture, art, literature, or ideals of the ancient Greek or Roman world, especially that of Greece in the 4th and 5th centuries B.C.

Collage: An art form and technique in which pre-existing materials or objects are arranged and attached as part of a two-dimensional surface.

Color palette: (a) A set of colors that makes up an image or animation, and (b) the group of colors available to be used to create an image.

Composition: The process of arranging artistic elements into specific relationships to create an art object.

Daguerreotype: An early method of photography produced on a silver plate or a silver-covered copper plate made sensitive to light.

Exoticism: Fascination with and exploration and representation of unfamiliar cultures and customs through the lens of a European way of thinking, especially in the 19th century.

Expressionism: A style of art inspired by an artist’s subjective feelings rather than objective or realistic depictions based on observation. Expressionism as a movement is mainly associated with early 20th century German artists interested in exploring the spiritual and emotional aspects of human existence.

Gelatin silver print: A photograph made through a chemical process in which a negative is printed on a surface coated with an emulsion of gelatin (an animal protein) containing light-sensitive silver salts.

Illuminated manuscript: Comes from the Latin words illuminare (to throw light upon, lighten, or brighten), manus (hand), and scriptus from the verb scribere (to write). A handwritten book, usually made from specially prepared animal skins, in which richly colored and sometimes gilded decorations, such as borders and illustrations, accompany the text.

Illuminator: A craftsman or artist who specializes in the art of painting and adorning manuscripts with decorations.

Impressionist: Referring to the style or theories of Impressionism, a theory or practice in painting in which objects are depicted by applying dabs or strokes of primary unmixed colors in order to evoke reflected light. Impressionism was developed by French painters in the late 19th century.

Inking plate: A flat surface used for rolling ink out in preparation for applying ink to a plate or block.

Inscription: A historical, religious, or other kind of record that is cut, impressed, painted, or written on stone, brick, metal, or other hard surface.

Source Art Vocabulary pt. 1

More: Word Lists

[marvelshifter111]

𝑬ᴠ𝒆𝘳𝗒𝙙𝐚𝗒 𝐥𝙞𝘧𝒆 𝙞𝘯 𝑢𝘯𝙞ᴠ𝒆𝘳𝙨𝒆 𝟣9𝟴 – 𝙢𝗒 𝙨𝘱𝙞𝙙𝒆𝘳-ᴠ𝒆𝘳𝙨𝒆 𝘿𝘙

𝘍𝑜𝑜𝙙 & 𝙨𝑢𝘱𝘱𝐥𝒆𝙢𝒆𝘯𝘵𝙨

With pollution levels rising and natural food sources dwindling, people don’t eat the way they used to.

• 𝘕𝑢𝘵𝘳𝙞𝒆𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝐚𝘱𝙨𝑢𝐥𝒆𝙨 & 𝙨𝙢𝑜𝑜𝘵𝙝𝙞𝒆𝙨 – Instead of cooking, most people rely on pre-packaged liquid meals. The most popular brand is Nutrino Lab, which sells brightly colored bottles of protein-rich smoothies, meal bars, and even chewable tablets that contain a full day’s nutrition.

• 𝙎𝑢𝘱𝘱𝐥𝒆𝙢𝒆𝘯𝘵 𝙞𝘯𝙝𝐚𝐥𝒆𝘳𝙨 – Medicine, vitamins, and even stimulants are commonly taken through sleek, e-cigarette-style capsules. Since pollution and artificial living conditions have weakened immune systems, many rely on daily inhalers for essential nutrients, oxygen boosters, or even sleep regulators.

𝘊𝗒𝗯𝒆𝘳𝘯𝒆𝘵𝙞𝘤𝙨

𝘊𝗒𝗯𝒆𝘳𝘯𝒆𝘵𝙞𝘤𝙨 are as common as tattoos - an expression of wealth, necessity, or survival.

• 𝘛𝙝𝒆 𝘸𝒆𝐚𝐥𝘵𝙝 𝙙𝙞ᴠ𝙞𝙙𝒆:

The rich have internal implants - neural enhancers, bio-trackers, muscle augments, or even direct 𝐀𝙄 interfaces.

The poor, on the other hand, rely on external wearables - cybernetic gloves to enhance grip strength, earpieces that translate languages in real time, 𝙃𝑈𝘿 lenses for augmented reality overlays.

• 𝘊𝑜𝙢𝙢𝑜𝘯 𝘤𝗒𝗯𝒆𝘳𝘯𝒆𝘵𝙞𝘤𝙨:

𝑂𝘱𝘵𝙞𝘤 𝙢𝑜𝙙𝙨 – 𝘤𝗒𝗯𝒆𝘳𝘯𝒆𝘵𝙞𝘤 eyes with features like night vision, zoom capabilities, or built-in AR interfaces.

𝘕𝒆𝑢𝘳𝐚𝐥 𝘫𝐚𝘤𝗄𝙨 – Small ports on the head or neck that let people interface with computers, vehicles, or weapons.

𝙎𝗒𝘯𝘵𝙝𝒆𝘵𝙞𝘤 𝐥𝙞𝙢𝗯𝙨 – 𝘤𝗒𝗯𝒆𝘳𝘯𝒆𝘵𝙞𝘤 arms or legs with enhanced strength, flexibility, or hidden weapons.

𝘙𝒆𝘧𝐥𝒆𝘹 𝗯𝑜𝑜𝙨𝘵𝒆𝘳𝙨 – Spinal implants that enhance reaction time, popular among fighters and racers.

𝙎𝗄𝙞𝘯 𝘸𝒆𝐚ᴠ𝒆 – Subdermal plating that makes skin resistant to small arms fire and blades, though it still feels mostly organic.

𝐀𝑢𝙙𝙞𝑜 𝘵𝑢𝘯𝒆𝘳𝙨 – Enhanced hearing that can filter background noise, detect specific frequencies, or amplify sound.

𝗕𝙞𝑜-𝙞𝘯𝘵𝒆𝘳𝘧𝐚𝘤𝒆 𝘤𝙝𝙞𝘱𝙨 – Allow users to remotely control drones, vehicles, or personal tech with their thoughts.

𝐀𝘵𝙢𝑜𝙨𝘱𝙝𝒆𝘳𝙞𝘤 𝐥𝑢𝘯𝑔𝙨 – 𝘤𝗒𝗯𝒆𝘳𝘯𝒆𝘵𝙞𝘤 lungs that filter toxins, useful in polluted areas.

𝑬𝘯𝘵𝒆𝘳𝘵𝐚𝙞𝘯𝙢𝒆𝘯𝘵 & 𝙨𝑜𝘤𝙞𝐚𝐥 𝘵𝘳𝒆𝘯𝙙𝙨

Life isn’t just about survival—people find ways to distract themselves.

• 𝙎𝘵𝘳𝒆𝒆𝘵 𝘳𝐚𝘤𝙞𝘯𝑔 & 𝙞𝐥𝐥𝒆𝑔𝐚𝐥 𝙙𝘳𝑜𝘯𝒆 𝘧𝙞𝑔𝙝𝘵𝙨 – Not everything is corporate-controlled. In the underground scene, illegal hover-bike races are a huge deal, while back alleys are filled with people gambling on drone fights - custom-built 𝐀𝙄 robots battling for entertainment.

• 𝘊𝗒𝗯𝒆𝘳𝘱𝑢𝘯𝗄 𝙨𝘵𝘳𝒆𝒆𝘵 𝘧𝐚𝙨𝙝𝙞𝑜𝘯 – Neon trench coats, sleek bodysuits with embedded LED strips, chrome jewelry that doubles as tech interfaces - fashion is a mix of utility and aesthetics. Some even have clothing that changes color or texture with a tap of their wrist.

𝘛𝙝𝒆 𝘊𝙞𝘵𝗒𝙨𝘤𝐚𝘱𝒆 & ���𝘳𝐚𝘯𝙨𝘱𝑜𝘳𝘵𝐚𝘵𝙞𝑜𝘯

• 𝘍𝐥𝗒𝙞𝘯𝑔 𝘤𝐚𝘳𝙨 & 𝙢𝐚𝑔-𝘳𝐚𝙞𝐥𝙨 – The rich float above in sleek hover-cars while the working class relies on high-speed magnetic trains or rideshare drones - tiny 𝐀𝙄-piloted pods that weave through the city.

• 𝐀𝙄 𝐚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙨𝘵𝐚𝘯𝘵𝙨 – 𝐀𝙄 isn’t fully independent, but it’s everywhere - smart home assistants, customer service bots, and floating holograms that follow you, advertising the latest upgrades.

• 𝑈𝘯𝙙𝒆𝘳𝑔𝘳𝑜𝑢𝘯𝙙 ᴠ𝙨. 𝘤𝑜𝘳𝘱𝑜𝘳𝐚𝘵𝒆 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝘵𝘳𝙞𝘤𝘵𝙨 – The upper levels of the city are sleek and well-maintained, owned by mega-corporations like Hexa, while down below, the streets are more chaotic, filled with graffiti-covered neon signs, smog-choked alleyways, and people hustling to get by.

[smudgingpumpkins]

Yule

The Winter Solstice

When is Yule?

Being one of the oldest winter celebrations in the world, it occurs on the day of the winter solstice, which falls on December 21st, 2024. Other times it will fall on the 22nd or 23rd.

What does Yule mean?

"Yule" is a celebration of the darkest day or longest night of the year, where one awaits the return of the sun. It is a liminal period; a time of reflection and introspection, and a time of expressing gratitude.

Who does Yule celebrate?

One might worship sun or wintertime gods and goddesses. This includes "Old Mother Winter" (Frau Holle), Germanic Goddess of winter, death, and regeneration; Frigga, Norse Goddess of love, marriage, and motherhood (who sacralized mistletoe); Cailleach, Greek Goddess of cold and wind; Skadi, Norse Goddess of winter, mountains, and skiing; and Demeter, Greek Goddess of agriculture who refused to let anything grow in the winter season.

YULE TRADITIONS

Utilize gemstones that will cleanse and renew your sacred space for the upcoming year, such as selenite, black tourmaline, tanzanite, amethyst, and clear quartz.

Work with wintery spices and flowers that promote healing and longevity, like cinnamon, cloves, ivy, saffron, and poinsettias. These are traditional "holiday cheer" flora that can be used, gifted, and appreciated regardless of religion/spirituality. Spices like cinnamon and cloves are also antioxidants/analgesics that help fight off pain and infections - so load up your hot cocoa!

Enjoy the comfort of warm, hearty foods to prepare for dark and cold days, like porridges, root vegetable stews, and bread. If you eat meat, enjoy smoked salmon, ham, or duck as a good source of protein and warmth.

Decorate and dress yourself in elegant greens, whites, silver, and gold.

Incorporate animal imagery (e.g., figurines, photographs, drawings, et cetera) of goats and boars - traditional animals of sacrifice - and reindeer and cats, clever animals associated with magic, with the latter representing punishment and reward.

YULE ACTIVITIES

Sip on a hot drink. Peppermint tea, hot cocoa, warm cider, spiced chocolate, anything you desire!

Take a ritual bath. Add mint leaves, citrus peels, a dash of cinnamon, a bit of balsam essential oil, and powdered milk to your bath.

Burn candles. Objects aflame represent gratitude for the sun and its warmth, so relax underneath the candlelight.

Decorate an evergreen tree. Traditionally a pagan custom, adorn a real or artificial tree with soft lights, pinecones, candles, fruits, and other ornaments.

Decorate and burn a yule log. Make the yule log(s) 12 days before, and burn it for 12 days starting on the evening of the solstice. Carve in runes and adorn it with mistletoe and holly!

Wassail. Drink from a wassail bowl or cup, dance around, carol, and merry-make! Traditionally performed in an orchard with a large gathering, you are free to just simply enjoy yourself and perform wherever you see fit. This is usually done on the final night of Yule.

Give gifts. Preferably handmade or locally made . . . or at least a meaningful purchase . . . exchange gifts with your loved ones.

Make a Yule altar. Center it with a yule log (before the burning) and icons of a yuletide god/goddess of your choice. Decorate around with candles, holly, mistletoe, poinsettias, dried fruits, and green and silver decor.

Get creative with recipes! Carlota Santos, who is the author of Magika, has a recipe for a chocolaty sponge cake. Here is the recipe down below!

[lyticsolutionsllc]

Learn effective strategies to optimize custom protein expression, enhance yield, and improve research efficiency. Discover key techniques, vector choices, host systems, and purification methods to streamline your workflow and achieve reliable, high-quality protein production for your scientific studies. Get more information: https://lyticsolutions.com/expression-optimization.html

[sparklingmineraltequila]

American Wasteland

Note: Part three. I realised I never specified an exact timeframe so I'm clarifying that this is the last few year/months of him being undercover, about '94 Rust. I'm an ao3 girl so I'm figuring out how to lay fics out on Tumblr. Deeply appreciate everyone who's reading

Warnings: Drugs, drinking, swearing, smut insinuations and references to past violence but it is a True Detective fic, so

'Do you think we can ever truly talk about God?' Cassandra pipes up, as she's smearing herself in her pre-work lather of coco butter. When the sheen of the grease hits the light, it emphasises the taught expanse of her stomach and the tendons in her calfs. An amalgamation of divinity and delicate mortality; the pathetic fragility of the flesh, blood, skin and bones all knotted together, craving cosmic importance. 'Our soul, if there even exists such a thing,' Rust thinks, 'is just a ghost in a machine.'

Rust glances over to where she is standing in a matching lace, navy set, leg elegantly poised on the counter as she continues smoothing the ointment onto herself. He's lying on the mattress, still fully clothed, as he pinches his cigarette and stares back up to the ceiling. The events of the past few days, a visit to a meth lab in Galveston with Ginger followed by a drug and booze binge, have fucked his cognitive workings into a scramble of old memories and new sounds: the smell of gunpowder on his biker jacket, Cassandra's absent minded humming of an old Willie Nelson song, the brown sludge in his nail beds from when he was draining his Harley's oil, the black grease mixing with the residue of the red, Texan dust. He wills himself to give her a semi-coherent answer,

'I don't believe there's anyone there to talk to,' he drawls.

'I said about, not to.'

'What's your point, Cass? I ain't got the fuckin' will, tonight.' Rust thinks he can feel the chemical reactions behind his eyes; his enzymes breaking down proteins, the Speed throbbing through his neurotransmitters.

She rolls her eyes at him as she swaps leg, 'Chill out, I'm only wondering what you think. You know I value your opinion.'

He stiffens at that. 'Don't do this, baby,' he thinks 'It ain't worth whatever you think it is.' She's been doing this more often, letting that docility seep through the crevices of her impassible constitution. She hates herself for it, he can hear it in the acerbic tinge of her words, when she says shit like that to him. Sometimes, when he really concentrates at the expression in those dark pools of her eyes, he knows she believes she has deserved every horrific thing that has ever happened to her.

'I ain't really got an opinion on this matter, yet,' he says through an exhale of smoke, 'Why don't you tell me yours?'

'I know why, like, logistically we talk about God in modern languages, that's self explanatory. But it feels wrong, like we're corrupting the actual concept of a god.'

Rust doesn't look at her but says, 'Go on.'

'I think speaking about God in a dead language preserves him. Dead languages are frozen in time: absolute. They don't allow the transmutation or fucking corruption that modern languages do which are always evolving with dialects and younger generations,' she pauses, slipping her leg down from the counter as she slides her loose Budweiser t-shirt over her body, much to Rust's dismay. She continues,

'Also, on a more personal, aesthetic note, I think worship sounds a lot more metal in a language that isn't the one I use to order at fuckin' Waffle House.'

Rust snorts at that. He hears the slight smile in her voice as she replies,

'I know it sounds dumb when I condense it like that but that's literally my entire point. Worship is so often so dependent on the words we use and we venerate God in the same language that the televangelists or politicians use to con people on TV, the one that the girls at work use to sweet talk a customer into a lap dance? Seems fucked and incoherent to me.'

'I'm sure you can do that shit in a dead language too.'

'Nah, they existed before us. Whatever we try to imbue them with means fuckall, they don't participate in the reality of our information anymore.'

That gets him to sit up, the conversation staring to sober him up, 'Reality of information, huh? You've been stealing my books again, Cass?' a trace of a smirk on his lips. She huffs at him, stood in the middle of trailer,

'You were gone for three days and class is off for Spring Break, what the hell else was I supposed to do?'

'Buy some decent nightwear?' he remarks dryly. The reference to another one of her seduction tactics gets a mischievous smile from Cassandra . The past couple of weeks, she has been going to bed in some very short and, sometimes, very sheer nightdresses. Despite having made the chivalrous choice of sleeping on the floor of the trailer, chivalry being a virtue Rust is largely unacquainted with these days, his isn't unaffected by the sight of her sprawled out, almost beside him. Especially, when the nightdress naturally rides up during the night; a factor that has forced him to take too many a late night smokes outside.

'Nah, not when I know you enjoy it so much.'

'Cassandra,' Rust warns.

'Shit, full name?' she teases, 'You know, you're the only person who I let call me Cass.' She walks towards him, crawling onto the mattress and lying down next to him to look up at the ceiling. Rust doesn't move, not a goddamn inch. 'She'll know,' he thinks, 'Fuck, she probably already does.' Girls like Cassandra, girls too sexy and too tough for their age, always know. They have to. Growing up in a trailers, apartments and halfway houses, knowing that their tips which become their meals are based on how long they'll allow a drunk patron to stare at their tits or pat their asses as they serve them. They can smell male attraction from a mile off, tongues running over canines in mouths addled with whiskey and cigarettes. Oh yeah, they can tell and they know exactly how to play that game.

Rust wonders if he should feel some resentment towards her for it. He doesn't.

'Oh yeah?' he mutters, unimpressed.

'Yeah.'

'Lucky me.'

'You are. You know how many of your brothers would kill to give me a nickname?'

'Sounds to me like they already do,' his tone being harsher than he intended.

She goes silent and Rust hates himself more now than he did the other day, when he smashed a meth cook's head into a sink 14 times for screwing the Iron Crusaders' supply. The fragments of teeth and filaments of saliva mixed with blood that were left in the sink have nothing on the current look in Cassandra's eye.

'Don't be an asshole, Crash. You know I don't enjoy any of it,' her voice hoarse.

For the first time this evening, he looks her in the eye. 'I know,' tone steady but with a trace of true acknowledgment. Cassandra picks up on it, nodding her head. In these two innocuous actions, both have apologised and are forgiven. She stands up and grabs her duffel bag,

'You gonna swing by, tonight?'

He fucking wants to. Badly. He'd stomach the neon lights fucking with his Synesthesia, the lurid couches and the other Crusaders betting on how well each girl would 'take it'. He'd endure the fucking mire just to have Cassandra looking at him when she's on stage, the lights making her white smile a cool lilac.

'Nah. Can't tonight. Something at the clubhouse.'

'Oh, ok.'

'Poor kid. Like a kicked puppy,' he thinks. For the second time tonight, he can't stand that look in her eyes. He offers,

'You want a ride to work, baby? I'm headed in that direction, anyway.'

Something shifts slightly in her eye. The ball is back in her court. She savours it, rolls it over her tongue as victory coats it in something sweet and tart. Never one to show mercy, Cassandra toys with him,

'You'd give me a ride even if you weren't headed anywhere.'

Rust scoffs, fixing her with a look of chagrin; gleam of affection ,almost, trepidation in his eyes,

'I know, baby. I know.'

[blackhistorystoryteller]

Title: "Exploring African Hunting Culture: Traditions, Challenges, and Conservation

Introduction:

African hunting culture is a rich and diverse tapestry that weaves through the continent's history, ecology, and societies. Rooted in centuries-old traditions, it encompasses a wide range of practices, from subsistence hunting for survival to trophy hunting as a sport. This article delves into the multifaceted world of African hunting culture, highlighting its cultural significance, the challenges it faces, and the ongoing efforts for conservation.

A Rich Tapestry of Traditions:

Africa is home to a vast array of ethnic groups, each with its own unique hunting traditions. These practices are deeply intertwined with local customs, beliefs, and spirituality. For many indigenous communities, hunting is not just a means of acquiring food but a vital cultural expression. The use of traditional hunting tools and techniques, like spears, bows, and traps, continues to be an essential part of their heritage.

Subsistence Hunting:

Subsistence hunting is a common practice across the African continent. In rural areas, where access to commercial sources of food may be limited, hunting provides a vital source of protein and sustenance. Communities rely on their knowledge of the land and wildlife to harvest game responsibly, ensuring the sustainability of their resources. This balance between nature and necessity underscores the importance of respecting wildlife for survival.

Trophy Hunting:

Trophy hunting, a more controversial aspect of African hunting culture, involves the pursuit and killing of animals for sport and the collection of trophies, such as horns or skins. While it can generate revenue for local communities and conservation efforts, it has also faced criticism for ethical and conservation reasons. Many African countries have implemented strict regulations to manage and monitor trophy hunting to mitigate negative impacts on wildlife populations.

Conservation Challenges:

African wildlife has faced significant challenges due to habitat loss, poaching, and the illegal wildlife trade. The intricate relationship between hunting culture and conservation is evident in the struggle to protect endangered species while acknowledging the cultural importance of hunting. Conservation organizations work tirelessly to strike a balance by implementing measures to protect threatened species and their habitats.

Modern Influences:

In the modern era, African hunting culture has been influenced by global forces. Tourism, including wildlife safaris, has become a booming industry, providing alternatives to traditional hunting practices and contributing to conservation efforts. Additionally, changing perceptions of hunting, both locally and globally, have prompted a reevaluation of hunting practices and their impact on ecosystems.

Conservation Efforts:

Across the continent, initiatives to conserve African wildlife are gaining momentum. National parks, reserves, and private conservancies play a crucial role in safeguarding habitats and species. Anti-poaching efforts, community-based conservation programs, and responsible hunting practices have emerged as essential strategies to ensure the sustainability of African ecosystems.

African hunting culture is a multifaceted and evolving aspect of the continent's heritage. While it carries deep cultural significance and provides for many communities, it also faces challenges related to conservation and ethical considerations. Striking a balance between cultural preservation, sustainability, and responsible hunting practices is an ongoing process, guided by a commitment to protect Africa's remarkable biodiversity for generations to come.

Hunting practices among African tribes vary widely depending on the specific region, culture, and available resources. Traditional hunting methods are often passed down through generations and are adapted to the local environment and the animals being pursued. Here are some common hunting techniques employed by various African tribes:

1. **Spear Hunting:** Spear hunting is one of the oldest and most widespread hunting methods in Africa. Tribes such as the Maasai in East Africa are known for their skill in using spears to hunt animals like lions and giraffes. This method requires getting close to the prey and using a well-aimed throw or thrust to kill it.

2. **Bow and Arrow:** The use of bows and arrows is prevalent among many African tribes. The San people, for example, are known for their exceptional tracking skills and proficiency in hunting with poisoned arrows. This method allows hunters to maintain some distance from their prey.

3. **Traps and Snares:** Various tribes set up traps and snares to catch small to medium-sized game. These can be constructed from natural materials like branches, vines, and ropes. When an animal triggers the trap, it captures the prey.

4. **Pitfalls:** Some tribes dig pits and cover them with branches and leaves to create pitfalls for animals. Once an animal falls into the pit, it becomes trapped and can be killed by the hunters.

5. **Hunting Dogs:** In some regions, like the central African rainforests, tribes use hunting dogs to track and corner prey. The hunters then finish the job using spears or other weapons.

6. **Blow Darts:** Certain tribes, like the Pygmies in Central Africa, use blow darts with poison-tipped tips to silently kill small game and birds.

7. **Net Hunting:** Nets are used by several tribes to encircle and capture birds, small mammals, and even fish in rivers and lakes. The nets can be set up in a variety of ways to suit the hunting environment.

8. **Hunting with Falcons and Other Birds of Prey:** In some North African and Middle Eastern regions, including parts of Morocco, hunting with trained falcons and other birds of prey is a long-standing tradition, though not exclusive to Africa.

9. **Cultural and Spiritual Practices:** For many African tribes, hunting is not just about acquiring food but is deeply intertwined with cultural and spiritual beliefs. Rituals and ceremonies often accompany hunting expeditions to seek blessings or guidance from ancestors or spirits.

It's important to note that as African societies have modernized, some traditional hunting practices have given way to more contemporary methods and conservation efforts. Many African countries have implemented wildlife protection laws and sustainable hunting practices to ensure the survival of their native fauna and the preservation of their cultural heritage.

[princelylove]

Narancia whines when he can’t be by your side. He’s your guy- your man! It totally blows to have to go on jobs where he can’t see you, but he’s held to a certain standard in passione. He can’t slack just because there’s a bombshell in his life- whether you’d agree that you’re actually in his life or not is debatable. To you, he’s just some kid that keeps showing up on your shifts at Libeccio. 

And God you hate that job. There isn’t a moment of peace in there. There’s this group of men- You might have noted that some are actually late teenagers, young adults max- that practically rent the place out, tourists pile in all throughout the summer and don’t treat you like a person, sometimes people come in who don’t even speak italian- it just sucks. What’s worse is you’re actually waiting tables today instead of hiding in the kitchen. Your boss insisted- Bucciarati’s “sons” are here, whoever that is, so you have to put on that pretty smile of yours and go humor god knows who.

When you go over to take that table’s order, you can feel the migraine coming on. The guy with the- GUN? Ohh, you’re absolutely never getting used to the mafiosi that live around here. The guy with the hat is asking those “what if” questions again. Part of you wants to correct him, vegetarians can use leather, they just don’t eat meat, you can get protein from soy, there’s also different types of shoes than leather, but you don’t really have the time. You just take orders, give it to the kitchen, hover over your tables a bit, and leave. It looks like blondie’s ripping into him today, but the other one’s quiet. Weird. He’s normally such a talker. 

Whatever. You come over and do your normal song and dance. The blond guy, Panna, you’d wager, does most of the talking and ordering normally, but it looks like the little one wants to talk to you today- and over him.

“What’s your name?” He practically trips over himself to ask. Pannacotta makes the most disgusted face you’ve ever seen. 

“Narancia, you did fucking not just interrupt me to pry. I am so sorry. He’s a bit behind, please ignore him.” You can’t see under the table, but you should know Narancia’s getting stepped on under there. 

You just tap the little nametag on your apron in response. You’re used to humoring nosy customers, and the name on your tag isn’t even yours. You repeat your question, tapping your little memo pad with your pen.

“Oh, uh. The usual. So anyway, my name is Narancia. It’s nice to meet you. You’re really pretty.” 

You’re not really sure how to take that, considering this is absolutely not the first time you've met. Blondie just smacked Narancia on the back of his head, and is profusely apologizing on Narancia’s behalf. Should you be insulted? Should you be flattered? He’s been eyeing you since he walked in, but you figured he just has a staring problem or something. 

You suck it up and stop yourself from expressing how much you don’t want to hear that from a customer. After you get what you need, you excuse yourself and remind them to call for you if they need something. Or someone else. Preferably someone else, you little weirdo…

Narancia is in such a good mood after that. You actually spoke to him! He’s practically beaming, and the table is relatively quiet for the rest of their stay, minus the chiding. When you come to give them the receipt that they get to take home, he’s all jittery. He takes it right out of your hand despite Mr Tiger Pants paying. 

And when he gets home, he pins it on his little corkboard of all the receipts you’ve ever given him. In front of it lives a pen you used to use when you first got this job, in a cup you gave him, and a couple of your hairs he found on the floor near the kitchen door. He’s assuming it’s your hair, anyway… 

[therealnightcity]

🧨🔪 💎🪨 >> 4 asks, 4 ocs, i let the choice <33 (just want to read your answers about them all bc i love them !)

Character asks for @gloryride ☺️💕💕

Hiro--

🧨: How do they get themself out of a bad mood?

"Depends on what kind of bad mood it is. Sometimes people make it better but sometimes they make it worse. If I need noise, I go out to a club and have a drink, go dancing. Anything to just take my mind off shit. Go home with someone if I need even more of a distraction. Sometimes I just need to be alone, and I have a quiet night at home. I'll order greasy Chinese takeout, and binge watch Watson Whore, or something mindless, and cuddle with the cats. If I need something physical, I'll go to Vik's and spar with the heavy bag for a couple hours. He knows to give me space, and I'm too tired to be in a bad mood after."

Ares--

🪨: What does their daily schedule look like?

"Well I would sleep in if I could, but the dogs usually get me up before that, and I feed them first, and make coffee. After that, we go for a walk before work, and I grab something small for breakfast--a protein bar maybe, or some toast, before getting dressed and heading to the workshop. I try to figure out what projects I have for the day, if there's anything that's urgent or a customer who's paying more for a rush order. I work until 1 or two, and then it's time for another walk and a late lunch, and a bit of throwing a ball around to tire the babies out. Luna is fine, but Jiji starts getting fussy if he doesn't get time to run. After that, it's a couple more hours of work, before I'm done for the day (unless I'm trying to finish something first). Nighttime is dinner for all of us, and maybe a book in bed, or practicing guitar. The shop is closed on weekends, and sometimes I'll drive into the city to pick up supplies, or drive further out and find a place to hike, or that the dogs can swim, or visit Dakota or my cousin. I never run out of things to do, that's for sure."

Avi--

💎: What wrongs have been done to them that they haven't forgiven. Why not?

I don't consider myself to be a forgiving person, and I certainly don't forget. I could say that I still haven't forgiven my parents, or my family, but they aren't worth acknowledging. I don't forgive Arasaka for taking parts of my memory. I cannot get that back, nor can they possibly be forgiven for using me. I was a guard dog on a chain to them, that they could discard when it suited them, and I will spend the rest of my life making them regret it.

Ily--

🔪: Generally, how do they express their anger?

Trust me, you'd know.

It takes effort to get under my skin, and it'll hurt you more than me. Sure you could try, but why risk it? Anger is a blunt, graceless tool and I prefer to operate independently of it, more in control of my emotions than one would think. There's the opinion that Scavengers are nothing more than impulsive criminals, and while that's certainly true on an individual basis, I'm sure you'll find me much more...accomodating.

[dietandexerciseroutine]

Wellness Reimagined: Crafting Your Ideal Diet and Exercise Plan

In the fast-paced world we navigate, the pursuit of wellness has transcended mere fitness routines and dieting trends. "Wellness Reimagined" beckons us to embark on a transformative journey—customizing our approach to health through a meticulously crafted diet and exercise plan that not only meets physical objectives but also nurtures a profound sense of well-being.

Designing Your Plate: A Culinary Canvas for Well-Being

The concept of "Wellness Reimagined" begins with a mindful approach to nourishment. Crafting your ideal diet involves treating your plate as a canvas, painting it with a diverse palette of nutrient-dense foods. This isn't about strict dietary restrictions but rather a celebration of flavors that resonate with your body's needs.

Consider the incorporation of a vibrant array of fruits, vegetables, lean proteins, and whole grains. This ensures a symphony of nutrients, catering to your body's requirements for optimal functioning. The emphasis is on enjoying the culinary experience, fostering a positive relationship with food that transcends the constraints of traditional diets.

Personalized Fitness: Tailoring Movement to Your Soul's Rhythm

The ideal exercise plan under the banner of "Wellness Reimagined" is a personal journey of self-expression and discovery. It goes beyond the monotonous repetitions of a routine and seeks activities that resonate with your passions and goals. Whether it's dancing to your favorite tunes, hiking amidst nature, or practicing yoga at sunrise, exercise becomes an avenue for personal expression.

Craft a diverse exercise routine that includes elements of cardiovascular fitness, strength training, and flexibility exercises. The key is to engage in activities that not only promote physical well-being but also ignite a sense of joy and fulfillment.

In doing so, Stay Active exercise evolves from a chore to a holistic practice that enhances both body and spirit.

Mindful Living: Elevating Daily Practices to Art

"Wellness Reimagined" is anchored in the philosophy of mindfulness—a conscious approach to living that extends to every facet of your day. From savoring each bite during meals to embracing mindful movement in your exercise routine, this approach cultivates an awareness that transcends the physical.

Integrate mindfulness practices into your daily routine, such as mindful eating, meditation, or yoga. These practices not only contribute to stress reduction but also foster a deeper connection with your body and the choices you make. In the canvas of your daily life, mindfulness becomes the brushstroke that adds depth and meaning to each moment.

Setting Sail for Realistic Goals: Navigating the Journey with Purpose

Crafting your ideal diet and exercise plan is a dynamic process, marked by realistic goal-setting and an acknowledgment of progress. Break down larger aspirations into manageable steps, celebrating achievements along the way. "Wellness Reimagined" is not a destination but a continuous journey, and the milestones you achieve become the compass guiding you forward.

As you navigate this transformative journey, remain adaptable to changes in your needs and preferences. Your ideal plan is an ever-evolving reflection of your unique self. By embracing "Wellness Reimagined," you aren't just sculpting a diet and exercise routine—you're crafting a lifestyle that nourishes your body, invigorates your spirit, and paints a canvas of well-being and fulfillment.

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Why Our Clients Keep Coming Back – Stories That Inspire

At Lyra Salon, we believe beauty is more than just skin deep—it’s a transformative journey that touches the soul, boosts confidence, and enhances self-expression. Over the past decade, we've been privileged to serve thousands of clients across Kerala, becoming not just a beauty destination, but a trusted part of their personal care routine. So, what makes our clients come back time and again?

Here are real stories that showcase why Lyra Salon is more than a place—it’s an experience.

🌟 The Power of Personalization

Jesna Thasbeer, a long-time client at our salon in Thrissur, shares:

"Very nice experience and also affordable rate. I’m very much satisfied with the service."

At Lyra, every client receives a customized consultation, ensuring that their hair, skin, and wellness needs are addressed with the right treatments and techniques. This attention to detail is what keeps clients like Jesna coming back.

💇‍♂️ Consistency in Excellence

Stalin Stalin, a frequent visitor to our Famous beauty parlour in Thrissur, puts it best:

“The staff at Lyra Salon are highly skilled and professional. They know exactly what you need.”

Whether you're getting a quick haircut, a full-body spa, or advanced skin therapy, our expert staff ensure the highest quality service every single time. That consistency is what builds trust and loyalty.

💆‍♀️ More Than Just Beauty—It’s Rejuvenation

Arjun M Mohan explains what keeps him loyal:

“Lyra Salon delivers premium services that are worth every penny! Highly recommend it.”

We offer a sanctuary where clients can relax, unwind, and leave the stresses behind. From hair botox to full body spas, our treatments offer physical refreshment and emotional recharge.

🧴 Best Products, Best Results

We use premium-grade products and advanced techniques, whether you're opting for a keratin treatment, protein rejuvenation, or microdermabrasion. Our salon is constantly innovating to provide cutting-edge services that are both safe and effective.

🏆 Locations That Feel Like Home

With branches in Kochi, Angamaly, Thrissur, Guruvayur, Calicut, Manjeri, Perumpilavu, and Moonnupeedika, Lyra Salon has become an accessible luxury for thousands. Each salon reflects the same warm, welcoming ambiance that our clients adore.

💬 More Client Love

Swetha John says:

“The attention to detail here is unmatched. Truly the best quality service I’ve ever experienced.”

And Anagha Reghu adds:

“The ambiance and service quality at Lyra Salon make it my favorite salon ever.”

📞 Experience the Lyra Difference

We don’t just offer beauty treatments—we build relationships, create memories, and inspire transformations.

📍 Visit your nearest Lyra Salon 📞 Call: +91 90615 04777 🕘 Mon - Sun | 9:30 AM – 8:00 PM 🌐 Instagram | Facebook | LinkedIn | YouTube