#crystalware

[junkologistsgoods]

Tupperware Crystal Wave Set of 4 - Lunch n' Dish Bowls with Vented Lids

[chemicalresearchupdates]

Shaping the Future of the Crystalware and Glassware Market

Crystalware and Glassware Market: Definition

Crystalware and glassware refer to a diverse range of elegant and functional products made from glass or crystal materials. These items are used in various settings, including households, restaurants, hotels, and the hospitality industry, for purposes such as serving food and beverages, decoration, and gifting. Crystalware typically denotes high-quality glassware, often embellished with intricate designs or patterns, while glassware encompasses a broader category of glass-based products, including drinking glasses, vases, bowls, and more.

Market Overview and Scope

The crystalware and glassware market is a dynamic segment of the broader consumer goods industry. It encompasses products designed for both functional and aesthetic purposes. The market's scope includes a wide array of glass and crystal items, ranging from simple everyday drinking glasses to ornate crystal chandeliers. These products find their place in various segments, such as tabletop glassware, barware, decorative pieces, and specialty glassware designed for specific beverages like wine or whiskey.

Market Growth

The crystalware and glassware market has witnessed consistent growth over the years, driven by several factors. The increasing trend of dining out, rising disposable incomes, and a growing preference for aesthetically pleasing dining experiences have all contributed to the market's expansion. Additionally, a surge in the demand for premium and customized glassware products for special occasions and events has further boosted market growth. As consumers increasingly seek unique and personalized products, manufacturers have adapted by offering customization options and innovative designs, driving market growth even further.

Market Industry

The crystalware and glassware market industry comprises a wide range of players, from small artisanal crafters to large-scale industrial manufacturers. Production methods vary, with some companies specializing in hand-blown glass or crystal products, emphasizing craftsmanship and uniqueness, while others focus on mass production to meet the demands of a broader consumer base. The industry is also influenced by trends in sustainability, with eco-friendly materials and production processes gaining prominence. Furthermore, the market is subject to global trade dynamics, with international trade playing a significant role in product availability and consumer choices.

Trends in the Market

Several trends are shaping the crystalware and glassware market. Sustainability has become a key focus, with consumers increasingly seeking products made from recycled or environmentally friendly materials. Additionally, minimalist and modern designs are gaining popularity, reflecting a shift towards simplicity and functionality. Customization remains a significant trend, with consumers looking to personalize glassware for special occasions and events. Furthermore, digital platforms and e-commerce have transformed the way consumers shop for crystalware and glassware, offering convenience and a wider selection of products. Finally, collaborations between designers and glassware manufacturers have resulted in unique and innovative collections, catering to diverse consumer preferences.

In conclusion, the crystalware and glassware market is a vibrant and evolving sector within the consumer goods industry, offering a wide range of products that cater to both functional and aesthetic needs. Its growth is driven by changing consumer preferences, sustainability concerns, and the continuous innovation of designs and materials, making it an exciting industry to watch in the coming years.

[nostalgicfun]

So, I've been trying to give my living areas a design-on-the-dime makeover to feel like an actual, authentic 90s/early 2000s house. I've been thinking about replacing the rugs as my rugs are very "Walmart in 2014," but rugs are SO expensive I couldn't justify it.

BUT THEN.

I was at the thrift store the other day and they had this huge bin of rugs for $20 a piece, and they were big rugs, too!

...But they were bound with tape and plastic so they couldn't be unfurled. All I could tell was that they were very thick/nice quality and a burgundy and beige combo, which is exactly what my mom and all family members had in the 90s/00s.

So I asked the thrift store owner if he knew what kind of condition they're in and he said they were immaculate and came from an older couple's estate. Awesome. Cool.

Here's $40. I'm putting two of these bad boys in my car.

So I buy two rugs completely at random with no idea what might be on them. I get them home. I unload them. I unfurl the first one and

IT'S A VEGETABLE RUG?????

I just stood there, floored. On one hand, vegetable rug. On the other hand, vegetable rug.

This is so 90s mom Tuscan kitchen. This is the rug in the dining room of your friend's house where their parents make more money than your parents and you eat spaghetti at their dining room table after swimming in their pool. This is the rug in the dining room of your great aunt's house where no one actually eats in the dining room, it's just for show and there's crystalware on the table at all times.

[itstokkii]

A Week with Turkitty: Day 2

Day 1 | Day 2

‎‧₊˚✧[🇹🇷🇺🇿]✧˚₊‧

Morning came, the sunlight streaming through her lace curtains. She felt something wriggling, light tufts of fur brushing against her knuckles.

She opened her eyes to see a cat sleeping next to her.

"You're supposed to be in the guestroom..." she sighed before getting up to wash up and make breakfast for the both of them.

Turkey awoke to the smell of kielbasa, and made his way to the kitchen to see Uzbekistan preparing the green tea for breakfast.

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?" She asked him, her eyes concentrated on the hot water she was pouring from the kettle to the teapot.

Turkey meowed and closed his eyes satisfactorily.

Every night is a good night when I'm sleeping next to-

"But you can't sleep in my bed." Uzbekistan's voice cut him out of his thoughts.

What?!? Why??

"I know you're a kitty, but I don't want your fur all over my pillows, sheets, and comforters. There's a guestroom over there with a bed as well, why not seize the opportunity?" She placed the teapot carefully on the table, sat down, and turned on the TV.

The news channel was droning on about what the next few years had in store for Uzbekistan's urban landscape, but given that she knew all of that already, she sighed and switched to the sports channel, where a rerun of a soccer game from last night played. As per usual, Turkey was the first to finish his food, while Uzbekistan took her time. They were both engrossed in the soccer game, Turkey more so.

She watched as his pupils dilated and giggled. "Same old Turkey!"

All his frustration and excited yells at the game were now reduced to cute meows. He hated it. She, however, relished in it, snapping a few pictures and videos to send to the group chat.

When it was halftime, she began to clean up the table, placing the dishes in the sink. She quickly changed into her pantsuit and then sat down in front of him.

"I have to go back to work really quickly since I forgot my purse. I’m bringing you with me because as a cat you’re quite helple-Ahaha! What are you doing? Stop!" Uzbekistan burst into giggles and mustered her remaining strength to look at the criminal sitting on her lap. Turkey was too busy kneading tiny biscuits into her thigh to listen.

"Cut that out! Please! No!" She pulled him off of her in between her laughs. "Look, I'll add another rule. You can't touch me. I mean, gentle touching is fine, but whatever you were doing just now? Don't do that."

She brought out the cat carrier, placing it on the floor with a resounding clang. The orange cat pulled at her leg, hissing at the cage.

There’s no way you’re stuffing me in that!

Uzbekistan sighed. “Look, I know it’s cramped and cold. But I honestly can’t think of a better idea to carry you around safely—Wait! I think I have an idea. I’ll be back.” She ran into her bedroom.

In the meantime, Turkey pranced around back and forth before spotting the cabinet from the corner of his eye. She was right about there being all sorts of precious wares…crystalware…and a commemoration plate of Misha the Bear from the 1980 Olympics that he had boycotted. The other Turkics would talk about it from time to time, and he’d be completely lost. He had tried to ask them about it once.

“Oh right, I forgot,” Turkmenistan sighed, “You missed out. On like, a lot. So much time and effort and meticulous planning…”

“Hey, it’s no big deal, Turkey! You can still watch the recorded footage on Youtube! ‘Course, it won’t be the same, but you’ll still feel a sliver of what we had felt.” Kyrgyzstan patted him on the back.

…Yeah, they probably had a grudge.

On one shelf, he’d found a bunch of old black-and-white photographs of what seemed like her, her siblings, and of others. In one of them, she was in a kitchen with Ukraine, both of them laughing and folding varenyky together. Another was a family photo, with Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and Kyrgyzstan standing up, and Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan sitting down on chairs. Kyrgyzstan had a hand resting on the top of Kazakhstan’s chair, while Turkmenistan placed a hand on Uzbekistan’s shoulder. 

There was also a photocopied painting of her from her time as the Bukharan Khanate. The artist was quite talented, capturing her regal look, the many decorations and jewelry that accessorized her clothing, down to the embroidery. But he had to admit, nothing compared to seeing her like that in real life all those years ago, when she was still a stickler for rules, but was energetic and had more light in her eyes. Nargiza insisted the change was because she had “matured into an adult,” though he felt there was more to it than that.

“I was pretty back then, too, wasn’t I?” Uzbekistan chuckled as she came out of the room with a designer tote bag.

“Here. I hope this will feel more comfortable and if not, it’s at least a disguise since I’m actually not allowed to bring animals inside the office.” 

Turkey hopped into the bag. His tiny cat legs brushed against her other supplies: her makeup pouch, a portable phone charger, a few snacks, and her wallet.

“Careful, by the way. This is designer.” Nargiza put on her heels, grabbed her bag, and got in her car.

‎‧₊˚✧[🇹🇷🇺🇿]✧˚₊‧

“Hello, Miss.”

“Hello.” She gave her assistant a gentle nod.

“I thought you were on break?”

“Well, yes, but I forgot my clutch purse on my desk. I came here to retrieve i—what’s wrong.”

Her assistant shifted his weight on one foot to the other. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but notice, but…there’s something in your bag. It’s quite furry.” 

If Turkey could sweat, he would right now. 

“A-ah! Well-! That’s my—”

“It actually looks like a cat. Miss Uzbekistan, did you bring a ca—”

“Shh! Yes, I did. A…friend dropped it over at my house to take care of. I couldn’t just leave it at home.”

“...Can I take a couple pictures?” Her assistant slowly held up his phone.

“Who are you going to show it to?”

“Oh, just my family at home. You know how my daughter loves cats…”

“Sure. Just don’t disturb the cat.”

‎‧₊˚✧[🇹🇷🇺🇿]✧˚₊‧

Turkey was groaning for the past five minutes ever since they had left her office. 

Come on…Think about my dignity! My pride as a man! To be taken photos of and shown to little girls…This isn’t right!

Uzbekistan sighed. “He’s a responsible guy, hence why I chose him as my assistant. Your photos are safe.”

YOU CHOSE A GUY TO ASSIST YOU AT WORK???

“Please be quiet. My stomach is rumbling…How about some lavash?

Turkey cocked his head to the side.

We’re having…bread for lunch…?

“Lavash…you know, like kebab?”

Oh.

Turkey sat on the table and snacked on a mini lavash Uzbekistan had the vendor make for him, while she munched on a larger one fit for a human’s stomach, petting him with her clean hand. Turkey still couldn’t get over how clear everyone’s voices were in the mall, overlapping each other like newspaper clippings.

“So, what do you think?”

Turkey meowed, his eyes dilating.

“Ahaha! So cute…your eyes are getting bigger! So you do like it, hmm?” She scratched behind his ears and below his neck.

God, this is embarrassing…But it feels so good…

He leaned into her touch, and at this point Uzbekistan laughed louder, placing a hand on her mouth so as to muffle them.

“We still need to go grocery shopping for your tuna,” she said as she wiped his mouth with a napkin before placing him in her bag. 

She hauled 8 cans of tuna, along with her already heavy tote bag thanks to a certain orange cat, back to her car.

“Who knew tuna was so expensive these days?”

If Turkey could speak, he would have probably reminded her of her economy and the fact that she was a landlocked country where the only tuna she'd be getting are imported. But he had a feeling she knew that already.

The ride home was mainly silent, occasionally interrupted by Uzbekistan awkwardly trying to make small talk with a cat, who could only respond in meows and chirps she was unable to understand.

“Ah, what a long day…” Uzbekistan kicked off her shoes and flopped on her couch. 

“But I can't relax yet. I need to give you a bath.” 

G-give me a bath?! Turkey's face scrunched up. Don't you know cats clean themselves?

“Usually, I don't really wash cats that often since they can clean themselves well. But you…I don't know when you'll turn back. Just in case, I'm going to give you a bath so that your hygiene doesn't end up compromised. Now!”

She scooped him up and carried him into the bathroom, Turkey yowling the whole way there.

I hate this…

Turkey was sitting in a small plastic tub of water as Uzbekistan cleaned him up with pet shampoo she had secretly bought at the store earlier.

“Let's get your little paws…” She hummed to herself, gently scrubbing and kneading them. 

Turkey felt conflicted about being treated like a baby(even if he was being taken care of by a pretty lady), taking his inner turmoil out on the water as he swiped his paws back and forth against the shower head.

“Ahah!! Stop! You're getting water all over me! Sadik, please! Ah!” She squeaked and laughed, attempting to shield the oncoming water with an arm.

Sadik looked at Nargiza, whose face had burst into red from laughter, the colors collecting most at her cheeks. Her other arm was clutching her stomach out of pain.

“Haha! Look at-snrk-look at you! It's like you stuck a fork into an outlet or something!”

Turkey bat the water against her with more force.

He had seen her appearances on TV, and her laugh was elegant and ladylike. A hand covering her mouth as she laughed, with the “ohoho” kind of laugh you'd see young ladies do in period dramas.

But after looking at her again as the water sprayed on her, as she laughed so hard she was beginning to snort and tears were coming out of her eyes, her mascara ruined, his heart blossomed with a certain adoration. 

He was looking at her real laugh, not the suppressed one.

After a short moment of more laughter, she managed to whip out her phone from her back pocket in time to take pictures of Turkey's wet sponge form.

No doubt she'll send this to the group chat…

“W-wait, let me just…” she manipulated his fur into little spikes, and with shaky hands, took more photos.

Uzbekistan snapped to her senses, trying to calm herself down. After taking a deep breath, she grabbed a towel and began to dry him off. 

“Ah…I-I couldn't help myself. If it makes you feel better…you look adorable….in an ugly way…?”

Turkey meowed with a hint of irritation, hoping the point gets through. It's all he could answer, since he wouldn't be able to magically speak to her and tell her how it was completely fine because of how adorable and pretty she looked as she laughed her ass off.

She looked at him and his slight frown. “I'm sorry, Turkey. I should make it up to you. How about some sardines as a treat? Lithuania brought me some all the way from Vilnius.” 

He meowed, as if he was considering the offer.

“And…and you get to sleep with me tonight.” 

At that, he stood up on his hind legs and raised his front paws, now very satisfied with the offer.

It took everything in Uzbekistan to not squeal as she gave him upsies, pulling him to her chest and carrying him to her room, where the blow dryer was…

…To which she laughed once again as Turkey's fur puffed up under the blast of the dryer.

However, she cuddled him in her sleep, and he couldn't be upset about that.

As she snored away, Sadik in her arms, Nargiza's phone was blowing up with the other Turkics replying to the photos she had taken of him.

Turkmenistan: ahaha! he seems to be doing well under your care! sending him my love ❤️

🇰🇿kazakhstan🇰🇿: oh my gosh…sister please don't be so cruel think about his feelings 😭

skibidisigmaohio123: we got unc getting a cat bath before gta 6 😂😂😩🗣️

kyrgyzstan: society is healing

‎‧₊˚✧[🇹🇷🇺🇿]✧˚₊‧

[keelywolfe]

With Tongue (short)

Crowley and Aziraphale discuss the angel's most recent assignment during 'The Arrangement.' This does not go in the direction Crowley expects.

~~*~~

"So how did it go?" Crowley asked idly. Not that he was particularly interested in the details, basic temptation and all. If there'd been any issues, he had no doubt Aziraphale would have brought it up before the waiter even arrived with the menu. But it was good to keep the angel talking during dinner, he was wont to become a little too absorbed with whatever was on his plate and ignore his dining companion a tad too much for Crowley's tastes.

Aziraphale dabbed at his mouth with a napkin before he answered, lest any cake crumbs escape. "It was actually terribly easy."

"Eh, usually is,” Crowley drawled. He idly tipped his wine glass up on the rim of its base, rolling it across the tablecloth like a crystal wheel. “A nudge here, a wile there, most of them fall pretty quick."

"Hmm,” Aziraphale took another bite of cake, some unholy concoction piled high with white cream. Crowley was making a sincere attempt at not showing he was deeply invested in watching each bite disappear between the angel’s lips, with limited success. “Honestly, he was rather demanding about it."

"Demanding?” That made him frown. The humans he was sent after were usually readily susceptible to the mildest of suggestions; certainly the tasks he offered to Aziraphale were on the low end of the difficulty scale. “Really? How so?"

Aziraphale hummed around his fork, though whether that was in agreement or appreciation, Crowley couldn’t tell. He dabbed at his mouth again, wiping away a tiny, distracting smear of cream from his upper lip. "Mm, yes, and entirely too much tongue about it as well."

His focus on the angel’s lips was broken as his thoughts came to a screeching halt and the only thing that kept his wine glass from topping over to spill a lovely Cabernet across the white tablecloth as the sudden convulsive clench of his fingers. "....wha...tongue??"

"Well, yes, of course,” Aziraphale frowned at him in mild disapproval, “however do you kiss them?"

"K--kckkkc---ki--" The word caught in his throat, lodging in there like a bit of cheese or undigested potato. He managed to raise his glass to his mouth without slopping the lot of it down the front of his shirt and gulped it down, wheezing as half of it chose to be defiant and traveled down the wrong pipe.

Aziraphale’s frown deepened into concern, enough that he actually set his fork down. "Gracious, are you all right? I know you were a serpent, but you might want to save swallowing things whole to food rather than wine glasses."

"I don't—” Crowley rasped, trying to get past the betrayal of his corporation’s vocal cords when he needed them the most. He managed to splutter out, loud enough for the nearby tables to cast them a variety of askance looks, “You kissed him??"

"Of course I did.” It should be impossible for those words to sound so prim coming from an angel, from his angel, who now that Crowley didn’t seem to be able to choke to discorporation, was returning to his cake with polite enthusiasm, his napkin back in full force before he added, “He was quite agreeable afterward. And I won't have you say I'm not trying my best to keep to the standards of our arrangement."

"Angel!?" Too loud and the pitch of that single word was high enough to send a tremble through the crystalware in the entire room.

Aziraphale was frowning again. "Dear me, are you quite well? You're very red, Crowley, here, let me get you a glass of water."

He started to rise and Crowley snapped out, "Why, so you can stick your tongue down the waiter's throat?"

"Tch, you're being silly,” Aziraphale sighed, “I would do no such thing. The water is free."

"ANGEL!!?!” This time every wine bottle in the dining room shimmied an inch to the right. The other patrons were focused intently on their dinners and not at all sneaking glances to the veritable gossipy show unfolding before them.

Aziraphale sat back down with a sigh. There was the faintest pull of a smirk at the corners of his mouth. "Do you know, you're quite gullible at times, my dear."

"…gullible,” Crowley repeated. Was this how humans felt right before insanity struck? He suspected it might be, wondered if Hell allowed for time off due to unexpected mental health crisis and what form he’d need.

"Mm, yes,” Aziraphale picked up his fork again and took a rather unseemly large bite of cake that left a smear of cream on his upper lip that he licked away, a pink flicker of tongue heralding the arrival of his napkin. “Also, I have a blessing to do next week in Bristol, I believe it's your turn."

"Gullible. Bristol. Tongues." Obviously his mind had broken, Crowley decided, and his reset button was currently out of reach.

"Hm, I do believe I'll get you that water, after all,” Aziraphale decided. “Don't wander off, who knows what might happen if you start babbling about tongues to a human all willy nilly. Ta!"

Crowley watched the angel make his way to the service table, leaning in what Crowley thought was entirely too close to the young man in his quest for water. Revenge, he decided abruptly. He was a demon being taunted by a reckless, impudent angel and this would not stand. There would have to be revenge for this and he’d begin planning quite soon.

Right after he watched Aziraphale finish his cake.

-finis

[veilkeeper]

Kira the Cat: Come to pay your respects to the real lady of the house, I see. What a clever creature you are! It's your lucky day. I am receiving compliments at this time, and you are most welcome to make an offering. Roz: Your paws are fit to overturn only the daintiest crystalware. Kira the Cat: Sometimes a lady has to make her presence known - delicately, of course.

man this game knows how to write cats.

[liam-twatter]

welcome to Monaco, the most boring Gp. Yes it's the hardest circuit (because of walls etc, but crashes shouldn't be fun) as an elephant driving in a crystalware (that's why overrated Hamilton took 9 years for a pole driving fast cars). At least it should be a weekend without pathetic Vettel, but will they stop using Senna to get attention / money? If you've been there you should know, low quality fashion shows, terrible food, and overpriced (hey but it's from Le Café de Paris! ...f*ck off), old women sucking millionaire d*cks on yachts, no wonder the unhappy princess tried many times to escape. I knew one of them "blue blood" hypocrites, used to say she would've married a poor worker, but oh how unlucky she only found a poor non-worker from Montecarlo... Obviously the media go : "never disappoints", "heartache"... wtf...

[ask-lord-morgarath]

With The Refinement Of A Sommelier

Greetings, imbeciles! As evidenced by my most recent poll on the Tumblr realm, it is clear that you plebians struggle with the concept of midnight snacking. No doubt you're unacquainted with the concept of the necessary etiquette, but I, Lord Morgarath of the Mountains of Rain and Night, shall condescend to enlighten you nonetheless.

Understand that the act of midnight snacking is reserved for the true connoisseur. The hour must be past the common man's bedtime but not too late to risk disturbing your beauty sleep. Midnight is the hour of choice, a time when the world sleeps and only the elite partake in this decadent ritual.

First, you must select the appropriate provisions. None of your lowly, processed garbage shall suffice. The unwashed masses may settle for leftovers or mundane snacks, but for those with discerning palates like myself, only the best will suffice. Seek out the finest of delicacies - artisanal cheeses, exotic fruits, or gourmet chocolates. 

A proper midnight snack is incomplete without a suitable beverage. Opt for a rare vintage wine or a glass of sparkling water. The commoners may resort to soft drinks, but one must be above such vulgarity.

The presentation of your chosen snacks is of utmost importance. Delicately arrange your victuals on a silver platter. Use fine china and crystalware, not those ghastly plastic utensils you peasants seem to favor. And be certain to do so quietly; the clinking of cutlery should not wake the inferior beings in your household.

When the hour is right and the setting impeccable, savor each bite and sip with the refinement of a sommelier. Chew slowly, allowing the flavors to dance on your palate. Never, I repeat, never give way to mindless gulping or messy swigging. Do not gorge yourself like a swine at a trough. The snacking savant gratifies in small, delectable bites. 

Finally, do not leave a trace of your satiation for the servants to discover in the morning. Dispose of the evidence with the utmost discretion and return to your slumber. Now, off with you, and may your attempts at this indulgence be less pitiful than I imagine them to be. Good night, peasants.

[merrock]

event: The Royal Gala

location: Pine Grove Gardens

date & time: January 20, 2024, 4PM EST

ooc duration: January 18-24, 2024

Welcome, one and all, to the Royal Gala! Held at the Pine Grove Gardens in the countryside of Merrock, guests should arrive on January 20th between three and four PM EST to have their formal portrait taken in the rose garden (built in a beautiful greenhouse) before the event begins.

Ushered inside, you will find that the mansion at Pine Grove Gardens has been decked out for royalty -- richly colored drapes in every window, fine crystalware for dinner and drinks, a live band in the ball room for dancing, sparkling chandeliers light the way. Dinner is served in the dining hall, catered by the fine folks at Overlook, with drinks found at the bar in the lounge all evening.

Feel free to explore the Pine Grove Garden Mansion, but please be respectful: this building is rich with the history of Merrock. The historical society has put a lot of work into keeping the place pristine, and money raised this evening will go back into their efforts to preserve and further study the history of Merrock.

Remember: the dress code for the event is formal. Those choosing to wear dresses should stick with long dresses and ball gowns, and those slipping into suits and ties should keep them as formal as possible. Deck yourself our in jewels, crowns, carry a sceptre, do what you need to do to feel and look extravagant.

Treat yourself like royalty this evening, Merrockites.

IMPORTANT INFORMATION TO KEEP IN MIND:

threads may be started any time between January 18th and 24th; they may be continued as long as you would like after, as long as they were started within that time frame.

you do not need to pause/drop existing threads. if you choose to, please communicate this with your writing partners!

when creating open starters, remember our rule about only posting one per day -- this goes by player, not character. space them out so everyone has the chance to get replies. (and please reply to existing starters before creating your own.)

if you participate in the thread roulette (located in the ooc), do so fairly. failure to do so will result in your comment being deleted from the game.

when posting plot calls in the ooc in general, be sure you are also commenting on other plot calls, and/or reaching out to those people. ignoring others while expecting them to come to you is not the vibe!

all outfits should be posted to #merrockfashion and will be queued to post on the event day! the queue will be randomized, so don't fret if you see things go up out of order.

additionally, social media posts can be shared to #merrocksocial and will be reblogged to the Times after they are posted.

[dersetwins]

au where rose is the china doll that's kept on the top cabinet shelf with all of grandmother's crystalware. dave is a tin soldier with a broken bayonet that fell under the bed years ago, gathering dust

[yamariiii]

NEW MUSIK OUT SOON

uploading my nu mixtape rudimentary spells to streaming rn, struggling with album cover still haha

the tape has 9 tracks and runs for 24 minutes, no features, all songs self produced and self mastered.

rudimentary spells will be dropped everywhere at the same day

stay tuned for musiks

https://soundcloud.com/yamariiii

https://crystalcorps.bandcamp.com

final:

[princessnotfound]

😢

George doesn't hear the door crack open. Mirrors are like vacuums, in that way. There isn't a sound that passes through bitter glass because it is too fragile even for the breath of a butterfly. They are lost within a dimension of crystalware that they have traversed one too many times, yet a pathway to freedom does not present itself; it rarely does. Glass talons are sharp enough to pin the steel shell of their mind to the ground with ease and George finds themself, once again, lost.

It's a common occurrence. So much so that they wonder why they still keep the thing in their room when it only seeks to cause them harm. Draws their conscience into a transparent maze until reality no longer exists around them, even if they finally acknowledge movement behind them. In the reflection, they spot Tubbo. Slipping through the gap of the door wordlessly. They see her, but they don't quite notice her. Not yet. Every dreadful step that inches closer to them is not quite registered. Their eyes are locked onto their Doppelgänger in the mirror, body tensed by something twisted. George's face may not contort into an expression of horror, but the air around them shifts with discomfort.

Image is a funny thing. His mirror shows him nothing more, nothing less than what he confidently flaunts every day, yet something seems awfully wrong. Something sickening churns in his stomach until the acid eats away at his being, because this isn't right. It isn't good enough. They can't tell if it is water or acid that gathers in the corners of their eyes. Black streaks carve into their flesh when they track down their cheeks, but they are too far gone to tell whether it is mascara or rotten ichor.

Tubbo is finally close enough to acknowledge. His presence startles them and they bring the balls of their palms to scoop dripping ink into their hands, smearing blackened tears over their skin. The evidence is so poorly hidden it is mocked in the mirror. George cannot quite find it in themself to make an excuse when they turn to face null; the silence settles in a melancholy heap between them.

[queerenginseer]

So this sent me down a whole rabbit hole. Growing up as a part of a migrant Italian family, every single household had one of these Cristalleria display cabinets that contained all sorts of holy relics. Crystalware that was too good for us to use and even fondant sculptures from my parent's wedding that were preserved in their own personal mausoleum. Mum passed last year and had barely even touched a number of items she had hoarded throughout her life. Definitely don't want to make the same mistake. Drink from the glass and if it shatters go get another from the shelf.

A brief moment of rationality from the bird place.

[kyywritess]

CHAPTER 6: KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER

pairing: aged up!katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

summary: After six intense years in Japan, YN LN has firmly established herself as a renowned gym owner. She's known by many pros for her charm, strength, and boxing abilities. She has a strong support system and amazing friends... her life in Japan was everything she dreamed it would be.

But everything changes one fateful night when a mysterious package appears on her doorstep. No note, no return address—just a plain box wrapped with a single pearly pink ribbon. As she unravels the contents of the box, she’s drawn into a dark, twisted mystery that seems to reach deep into her own past—a past she thought she had buried when she left her old life behind.

wc: 2k

warning: Sexual concepts

an: A little flash back and filler chapter to prepare for the next chapters..! Also merry christmas to everyone who celebrates:) 🎄

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FLASH BACK

“You know those things will kill you, right?”

James, seated in the driver’s side of the sleek black SUV, leaned his head out of the window, his sharp eyes narrowing as he caught sight of you puffing on a cigarette.

“I hope they do, honestly.” Your voice was dry, laced with equal parts sarcasm and resignation.

Tonight, you were meeting Anthony Moretti at an upscale, five-star restaurant. The past few months had been a whirlwind of undercover work, and the plan had gone far too smoothly—so much so that Moretti was falling hard.

You’d spent hours getting ready for this dinner, reluctantly submitting to a makeover that left you feeling anything but yourself.

“I smell like I bathed in my grandmother’s perfume,” you muttered, scrunching your nose as the overpowering floral scent lingered, burning your nostrils.

Leaning against the hood of the car, your eyes scanned the street, catching movement in the shadows across the way.

“That’s my signal,” you said, tossing the cigarette to the ground and grinding it beneath the white heel of your shoe. Straightening, you glanced at James and flashed a thumbs-up. “How do I look?”

He smirked, giving you a once-over. “Good enough. Now go.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned and began your trek toward the restaurant’s glowing entrance. It was an unassuming building from the outside, draped in dim fairy lights that gave it the appearance of a quaint little diner. But stepping inside told a different story. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and rows of expensive liquor bottles sparkled under the warm light.

A hand gently touched the small of your back, making you pause.

“Lily.”

Turning, you met the familiar gaze of Anthony Moretti. His dark eyes lit up as his lips curled into a charming smile.

“Anthony,” you greeted, mirroring his expression.

His gaze lingered, unabashed as he took in every detail of your appearance. “You look stunning.”

You were no stranger to his compliments—small remarks about your looks, your presence, the way you seemed to complete him. Usually, they went in one ear and out the other. But tonight, his stare burned a little too long, his words carrying a weight that sent heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Shall we?” he asked, extending his hand.

You hesitated for only a moment before placing your hand in his, allowing him to guide you to a private table tucked in the back of the restaurant.

The table was a picture of elegance—pristine white linen, flickering candlelight, and fine crystalware arranged with precision.

Your eyes drifted around the room, catching on an old bookshelf mounted high on the wall. One particular book stood out—a fictional tale of a mafia war intertwined with a doomed love story. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

Anthony noticed your wandering gaze. “Do you like to read?” he asked, his voice soft as his eyes followed yours.

“When I have the time,” you replied, a hint of longing slipping into your tone.

“I have a library at home. You should come see it sometime.”

The invitation caught you off guard, though you quickly composed yourself. This could be your chance to gather the intel you’d been after for months.

“I’d like that,” you said with a smile.

The next two hours passed in a blur of easy conversation and genuine laughter. You hated how natural it felt, how disarmingly charming Moretti could be. He was a gentleman through and through, a stark contrast to the ruthless criminal you knew him to be.

Walking out of the restaurant, he turned to face you, his earlier offer still hanging in the air.

“It’s late,” he said, “but my library’s always open. Or, if you’d prefer, I can take you home.”

You hesitated, glancing back at the car where James was undoubtedly watching from the shadows. He was going to kill you for this decision.

Reaching for Anthony’s hand, you smiled. “Let’s go see that library.”

Pulling up to his home, your breath hitched. The sprawling white mansion loomed before you, surrounded by a pristine iron gate and an expansive yard where two large guard dogs prowled.

“Your house is beautiful,” you said, unable to hide your awe.

“I bought it hoping to start a family someday,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “It gets lonely here. Mostly just a few friends stopping by—it’s just me most of the time.”

The mention of a family made something twist in your stomach. You reminded yourself of the reality: the drugs, the murders, the chaos Moretti orchestrated with a simple word. Whatever innocence he portrayed, you couldn’t let yourself believe it.

Inside, the house smelled of sweet musk, warm and inviting, much like its owner.

“This way,” Anthony said, leading you toward the kitchen. He pulled two whiskey glasses from a sleek cabinet and poured the amber liquid with practiced ease.

“What makes you think I like whiskey?” you teased, leaning against the counter.

He chuckled. “You don’t strike me as a wine or cocktail kind of woman. And I remember what you ordered the night we met.”

So he paid attention.

Following him into another part of the house, you couldn’t help but notice how bare the walls were—no photos, no personal touches, just sparse decor.

“I don’t let just anyone in here,” he said as he opened a grand wooden door. “Feel special.”

Stepping inside, your breath caught. The library was breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, packed with thousands of books. A cozy reading nook sat at the center, complete with plush leather chairs and a soft throw.

“This…” You turned to him, eyes wide. “This is incredible.”

Anthony chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen anyone get so excited over a few books.”

“A few books? This is a lifetime’s worth!”

You couldn’t help yourself, running your fingers along the spines of the books, reading the titles as though committing each one to memory.

As you immersed yourself in the collection, Anthony moved closer, his gaze never leaving you.

“I find it endearing,” he murmured, “how you appreciate the little things.”

You didn’t respond, too captivated by the room. Picking up a book, you flipped it over to read the summary, only for him to step in behind you, his presence magnetic.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Your stomach dropped. This wasn’t how the mission was supposed to go, but the line between duty and deception had blurred long ago.

“Yes,” you whispered, the word tasting like betrayal.

Anthony’s lips crashed against yours, hungry and demanding, his hands finding their way to your waist. You barely had time to think as he lifted you onto the edge of the desk, his movements urgent and deliberate.

This was about trust, you reminded yourself. About getting closer. About completing the mission.

But as his lips trailed down your neck, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were losing control—of him, of the situation, and of yourself.

PRESENT 

You remember that night as if it were yesterday—the sweet musk of his cologne still lingering in your senses, the hundreds of missed calls from James flashing relentlessly on your phone.

You had left Anthony’s house that night with a walk of shame etched into your every step. Telling him you’d call an Uber was a lie; James had been waiting for you all along, parked just outside the gates, his jaw clenched tight the moment you disappeared inside.

At the time, gaining Anthony’s trust was paramount. It was the centerpiece of the entire operation, the linchpin that everything depended on. So, you did what you had to do. Even if it meant betraying yourself, hurting others, and bracing for the therapy bills that would inevitably follow.

James was on the verge of murder that night. The sight of you descending those marble steps, heels dangling in your hand, mascara streaked down your cheeks, and an expression that revealed more than you intended—it made his blood run cold. And he wasn’t sure if he was angrier at you or at Moretti.

“It’s part of the plan,” you had told him, over and over. But he knew better. He knew you. He knew that night haunted you. That every time someone tried to get close, to reach the parts of you long buried, you would retreat into the walls you’d carefully built. Hide away until the risk of feeling something—anything—disappeared again.

Now, staring up at your ceiling, the weight of it all pressed down on you like a suffocating fog. You had chosen to stay in your own home tonight, weary of the endless games, waiting for Anthony Moretti to find you.

And yet, a part of you wanted him to find you. The faster this was over, the faster you could return to something resembling normalcy. The faster you could see your family again.

The thought of your family brought your gaze to the little black box hidden under your bed. A box filled with the fragments of a life you missed so deeply. You only ever opened it on holidays, birthdays, or nights like this—when the ache to speak to them was too much to bear.

Inside were hundreds of handwritten letters to your mom and dad. Letters you could never send, for fear it would all come crumbling down. The ink was smeared in places, marred by tear stains and trembling hands.

You never had the heart to throw them away. You kept them instead, tucked safely under your bed, clinging to the hope that one day they might read the words you couldn’t say in person.

Tonight felt like one of those nights. With a heavy sigh, you reached for a fresh piece of paper and a pen. Settling down at the desk, you began to write, pouring everything you had into the letter—just as you always did.

To Mom and Dad 

Hi, it's me again. I've been sitting here for the past few hours, thinking about you both, and my heart feels a little heavier than usual. I miss you both so much. Life keeps moving, as it always does, but there’s something about being away from you that makes the days feel incomplete. I miss the sound of your voices, the way you always seem to know exactly what to say when I need guidance, and the simple comfort of knowing you're just a hug away. 

I need to tell you something but promise you wont freak out. I'm going undercover again, but not as a hero. Anthony Moretti is back, and he's after me. I know after everything that happened, this isn't what you want to hear and I wish so badly I could come clean about everything and tell you right to your face. I know you guys would know what to say, how to coax me through this. But I promise I'll make it out alive this time. I'll take down Moretti and I'll come home. 

Before I go though, I do have something to ask mom… dad stop reading if you're reading this. 

Mom, before I left we never really had boy conversations. I was never boy crazy in high school, so I never asked for help before. But I'm asking for help now. Remember when I told you about Bakugo? The most self centered, mean, and harsh person i've ever met. Yeah well turns out he's none of those things at all. He's sweet, and he cares about his friends more than any other person I have ever met. He asked me to be his date to a hero gala. And I said yes- and I think I like him. But I'm scared. 

What if he hates me forever when he finds out my secret. What if he can't look me in the eyes after he finds out everything I have done. Will he hate me? I hope he doesn't because I dont think Ive ever felt like this for anyone. And I'm scared because what if he doesn't hate me. What if he is sweet and understanding, how can I let him into my life without being scared? I need your guidance mom, more than ever. 

Okay dad you can come back… 

I hope to see you both soon, to sit together and catch up on everything we’ve missed. Until then, please take care of yourselves, and know that I’m thinking of you every single day.

I love you both more than words can say.

With all my heart, YN

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TAGLIST: @emmaafinchh @iissza

[itstokkii]

A Week with Turkitty: Day 1

what if turkey became a cat for a short time and had to live with uzbekistan? this is the result of that idea. it's multi chaptered, so this is the first one.

Day 1 | Day 2

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It's a wonderful day in the Yusufqizi residence. 

The arrival of fall meant no more sweltering hot days and portable fans. No longer did Nargiza have to keep her air conditioning on blast and then brace herself when looking at the electric bill at the end of the month. She didn't have to experience the pain of sweat stains. It was one of the best seasons, in her opinion—warm weather with the occasional breeze. She had also prepared her wardrobe a week earlier, and was excited for all the new outfits she could try out. And the best part? She was able to secure a whole week off to herself. 

She was sitting on the tapchan with a table full of jam, fruit, and chocolates, enjoying the wind combing itself through her dark brown locks. It was nice and quiet and incredibly peaceful. Nargiza took a deep breath, taking in the smell of the plants in her garden.

What should I do? She thought. Maybe visit Erbolat again? I should remind him to bring out his warmer clothes, otherwise he'll catch a cold...If I was smarter, perhaps I would've bought a ticket to see Korea...He always likes showing me around, and I'd love more photoshoots in hanbok...Hmm... Or maybe I should sleep in everyday and indulge myself in my favorite hobbies, like baking or knitting something... or perhaps finding a new song to play on the piano...? No, I can't be lazy and sleep in!

Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by a loud banging noise, and a call notification by...Azerbaijan?

"I'll be there in just a moment!" She yelled out to whomever was behind the door, and answered her former colleague's call.

"Hello...?"

"Open up." She could hear his voice behind the door.

"What? Azerbaijan, why are you in front of my house?! Is this about that thing with Rus-"

He sighed on the other end of the phone. "Nargiza, just open the door." With that, he hung up. 

She scoffed. What was that rascal doing here? She opened the door to see not only Azerbaijan standing there, but North Cyprus was with him as well, playing some game on his phone. Next to them was a... cat carrier? 

Nargiza smiled and turned to North Cyprus. 

"Hello, North Cyprus! How was the route? What are you doing here? Do I need to talk to Azerbaijan about it? Are you tired? Do you need some rest? My, don't tell me you only came here in a T-shirt? Did you bring a jacket? I can lend you one of Erbola-"

North Cyprus sighed and smiled back at her. "I'm fine, Auntie. I'm not a baby. Besides, it's not even that cold anyway."

She giggled and pinched his cheek affectionately, to which he scrunched his face. 

"Come inside! It's cold out. You're just in luck, I have some tea and treats over on the tapchan, so whatever this is—” she gestured at the both of them with a hand, “we can sort out here." She opened the gate wide enough for both of them to enter her house.

"Have some tea." Uzbekistan poured her two unexpected guests a cup of green tea, carefully placing it in front of them. "Oh, and help yourself to any of these snacks." 

Azerbaijan carefully sipped the tea, while North Cyprus stared at it, hoping for it to cool soon. He grabbed a toffee from the pile on the crystalware, minding the light blanket Uzbekistan threw over him, insisting he "needed to stay warm" and "she doesn't know what Turkey's doing, but she'll have a talk with him so North Cyprus's needs are met."

"What about me, Nargiz? You aren't worried about me catching a cold?"

"The Caucasus is a mountainous region, Rostem. You're fine."

"Aw...."

Now, over tea and treats, they could focus on the elephant in the room...or, rather, cat.

"Now would any of you explain to me why you made the 4 hour plane flight all the way from Turkey to here, with a cat in tow?" North Cyprus was the first to speak. 

"You're going to laugh at us."

"I'll believe it. I've seen enough in my time."

Azerbaijan looked at Uzbekistan. "Alright, but however you're gonna react, keep in mind that we're being completely serious."

He patted the cat carrier lightly.

"The cat in here...is Turkey."

She stared at the both of them, both of them feeling a menacing aura emit from her. 

North Cyprus sighed. "Look, we've already told you we're not joking. I didn't wanna sit in a 4 hour flight and have my butt fall asleep on the way to mess with you. I could be playing FIFA right now, actually..."

Uzbekistan felt uneasy. This couldn't possibly be true! But they were being dead serious… She bit her lip. 

"Fine, then. Let him out."

North Cyprus opened the latch, and out came a orangey-tan cat that leaped onto Uzbekistan's lap. So it was him after all.

"But how? And why me? You both are closer in proximity to him than I am."

Azerbaijan sipped his tea. "Honestly, we have no idea. His assistant called us in a hurry and told us what had happened. It was a "poof!" and he turned into a cat. Right in front of his eyes."

"As for why we can't take care of Uncle," North Cyprus added, "We're both pretty busy with work. We already asked your siblings if they were available, but they all seem pretty swamped with work too. You're the only one out of all of us who's taking a break. It made the most sense."

She sipped her tea and closed her eyes, hoping to retain some composure and calm down over this whole situation. She glanced at the cat in her lap, who at this point folded himself into a medium-sized loaf. It took everything in her not to squeal or spin him around or fawn at his adorableness. 

He may be a cat, but he was still Turkey. Anything she did, he'd never let her live down.

"And I take care of him for..."

"For now, about a week. We're working with his assistant and others to figure out what happened and how to stop it. If you need any help, just call us."

"I will, thank you. As...inconveniencing as this is, I'll try my best to take care of him. Do whatever you need to do to get him back to normal as quickly as possible."

 Azerbaijan gave her a plastic bag. In it was a change of clothes.

"This is for when he turns back to normal. And if you need us, just call."

With that, he stood up from the tapchan, with North Cyprus following suit.

"Behave around her, old man!" North Cyprus yelled. Turkey meowed back in retaliation. Cat in arms, she saw them to her main gate as they left. Once the door slammed, her attention went back to Turkey.

"Now, it was a 4-hour flight. You must be hungry. Conveniently, I have some chicken shashlik left over from yesterday evening. And some vegetables from the garden..." 

After running around back and forth from the kitchen, garden, and living room, she set a small plate of shashlik on the floor, and the orange cat devoured through it quickly.

"Slow down! Think about your digestion!" She warned him. He turned to look at her with a smug smile plastered on his face.

"Oh, don't look at me like that! So what if I don't want you to die? You'd be leaving your poor dear nephew behind, and what then?" She scoffed and focused on folding the chuchvara she was cooking for herself.

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"I'm pregnant...with your child."

Uzbekistan gasped at the drama's plot twist as she absentmindedly stroked Turkey's fur with one hand and sipped on black tea with the other.

Turkey meowed.

"What? You know how this drama ends?"

He nodded.

"Well, thank goodness you're a cat," She shovels a spoonful of chuchvara into her mouth. "You wouldn't be able to spoil it anyway!"

Turkey let out an angry meow and sunk his claws into her pants.

"Ah!" She carefully put her spoon down and turned her body towards him, drama out of her mind.

"Do you know what you could've done? You could've burned me! Look!"

She grabbed him and held him up to show him her food on the dinner table, using his paw to point at various things.

"See? There's my soup here, and my tea there! What would have happened if I burned myself, hmm? Naughty cat!" 

Uzbekistan carefully set him down again, and turned back to eating her soup. It felt uncomfortably quiet. She snuck glances at him occasionally as she ate, and was slowly beginning to feel guilty for scolding him earlier.

She gently reached out to him, lightly brushing her hand over the top of his fur, before suddenly grabbing him and rocking him back and forth.

Ah! Why am I like this? I always forgive and never forget!

"I'm sorry for scolding you earlier! I didn't mean to hurt you! I just wanted to let you know how dangerous it was to stick your claw into my leg!"

...So this is what Kazakhstan talks about...the overbearing sister that yells at you for doing something stupid and then crying about being too harsh not a minute later…

Turkey let out a meow that, to Uzbekistan, felt like one of remorse.

Her rocking slowed to a stop as she realized this wasn't just any cat. This was Turkey of all people.

She cleared her throat and stiffly placed him down.

Ehehe...I'm starting to like this arrangement...

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She yawned as she completed washing the very last dish of the day. In the meantime, Turkey was enjoying a tuna snack Uzbekistan had on her shelf. "It was just in case I brought a cat over," she insisted.

She didn't think it would've been him eating the treats.

Uzbekistan dried her hands with a towel and crouched next to Turkey. The house was quiet, and she could hear crickets chirping outside and the gentle rustling of plants.

"Well, Turkey, since you'll be under my care and my household for the whole week, you must obey a simple rule."

He whined in protest.

"How else will I maintain order and calm in my house? It's just one rule. You may not touch any of my important objects. This includes glassware, makeup, documents, my phone and laptop, and this cabinet full of crystalware and other memorabilia I have collected from the Soviet Era." Her fingertips brushed a large wooden cabinet of all kinds of glass.

One rule, huh....? He could live with that.

Uzbekistan yawned, the type you'd hear from a princess. You could hear the sleep in her voice. "As it's getting late, I'll be going to bed. You can sleep in the guestroom, with all the cushions and pillows you need. I'll shop for tuna tomorrow."

What?! I'll be sleeping there? I thought I was sleeping with you!

Turkey glared at the guestroom and hissed.

"Are you worried about the guestroom? It has a bed, just like mine. There's a shelf full of bedding and pillows. If you're worried about evil spirits, don't be. This place has been perfectly rid of anything like that. Any more concerns?"

Turkey meowed, and…rolled his eyes? Was that even possible? Fine. I’ll stay in the guestroom.

Well, goodnight, Turkey." Uzbekistan smiled at him, scratched behind his ears(with a shaky hand), and closed her bedroom door. 

Finally alone, she ran to her bed and screamed into a pillow, rolling around from one side of the bed to another.

"My goodness..! This is so weird, how will I be able to handle this for a week?" She spoke to herself. "This is real. It's all real. I just spent a day with my....with Turkey as a cat!"

She didn’t know Turkey was right behind the door, the same feelings and thoughts racing through his mind.

God, I've actually spent the whole day at her house...and it'll be like this the whole week! Finally! But the one time I get to stay at her house overnight instead of going back to my hotel room...I'm a cat.

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*Erbolat: Kazakhstan's name, gifted to him by peonycats!!

*Rostem: Azerbaijan's name, also gifted to him by peonycats!

wiaow... the one time turkey gets to spend a night at uzb's house...but it's not quite the way he thought it would happen....

how will he survive a week? more importantly, will uzbekistan go crazy from having to take care of....someone she cares about...in cat form?

find out in the next chapter!