#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.

[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:) 🎄

---

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

---

TAGLIST: @emmaafinchh @iissza

[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.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Ask and ye shall receive 😝

You actually have perfect timing though because I just thought of some new themes and was going to send in more asks soon! So first we have the stories where Chris is Going Through It™️ (to very different degrees across the stories but still). In order of severity of his struggles:

🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲 (LOVING THIS ONE SO HAPPY ITS BEING PUBLISHED!! I’ve been following along the snippets the whole time but it’s so fun to read it all through and see all the parts I missed. And that last part where Eddie finally got to Chris and he’s so out of it!! So engaging I can’t wait to see the full picture of what’s happening!)

🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼 (covids getting to him :( poor kid! All three of his parents are going to help him get through it together! Also covid means we’re approaching Buckley parents’ visit territory! I’m pumped for the angst!)

🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩 (oh boy the probie better not screw up the florist visit! I’m definitely worried it’s gonna go wrong! And I really want to know what Buck’s surprise is!!! This story is so adorable and sweet and funny and I’m really loving it!)

- PCA <3

THIS WORKED GREAT FOR US!

Great theme. So true. Why am I hurting him?

117 for 🌲 (THANK YOU! So glad you're enjoying it!)

---

“I have,” Adriana says. “And, wait… Eddie, you’ve killed people, too. Right?”

Eddie frowns at her. “Yes. In Afghanistan.”

“See, Mom? Eddie and I have killed. Sophia puts things down for a living.”

“Well, I do more than that,” Sophia grumbles. 

“We’ve got a sort of grit I just don’t think you have,” Adriana says. 

Eddie swallows anxiously. He’s not sure challenging her to a game of chicken is the route he’d take. But he got them this far. Maybe it’s time to pass the baton. 

“See, I don’t think any of this was thought out ahead of time,” Adriana says. “And I get that. Hell, do I ever. You’re not playing chess here, Mom. You’re just surviving. Trying to hold your little delusion together. Every decision you make is out of desperation.”

Eddie waits for Helena to reach across the table and strike her. It doesn’t happen. 

“So do it, Mom,” Adriana says. “Let him go or kill him. I don’t think you’ve really thought through what will happen if you choose the latter.”

Their mother locks her jaw. Her eyes flicker between Adriana and Ramon. There’s an incredibly tense moment where Eddie has no idea how this will go. And then enough moments pass, and he realizes Adriana is right. If Helena was serious about murdering their dad, she would have already. She’s right - it’s all been an act to hold her flimsy life together. 

“Three…” Adriana says. “Two…”

Helena opens her mouth, as if she’s about to command Ramon to do it. To stab himself. Sophia flinches. Eddie holds his breath. His mother’s mouth snaps shut. 

“One,” Adriana finishes. 

Helena exhales, defeated.

Adriana turns to their father. “Dad, you can let go of the knife now. You don’t have to listen to her, remember? You can think for yourself.”

Helena starts to cry.

Ramon inhales heavily. His eyes flicker around, conflicted. 

“It’s okay, Dad,” Adriana says. “You can let go.”

Like he’s been resuscitated, Ramon gasps and drops the knife. He stands and takes a few frantic steps backward, bumping into a cabinet and nearly knocking over some crystalware. He looks terrified. He looks small, in a way.

“What’s happening?” He demands. “Helena, what did you do?” 

Eddie looks between them both. His parents. He spent so many years afraid of them. His father especially, but his mother as well. Afraid of their judgement. Their lectures. Their hands. Their punitive attitudes towards his decisions. Their willingness to rip his son from him. And now he’s looking at them and he’s just… Unafraid. Saddened. This is pathetic. This is all so damn pathetic. 

And something in Eddie’s chest just kind of unlocks. Like a stiff joint cracking. 

“Mom,” Eddie says. “Tell him what you did.”

“No, no,” Helena begs. “Please. This doesn’t have to-”

“Tell him!” Eddie snaps. “Tell him what we are.”

Ramon looks at Eddie. Then he turns to Adriana. And the look on his face is one of pure horror. Rejection. 

Well. 

That’s okay. 

Eddie thinks he wants to reject this circus first. 

🍂

“Okay,” Buck says, putting in the address to the nearest motel in his phone map. “Repeat the plan.”

“We go to the motel. We sleep a few hours. You order me a bunch of pizza and drinks before you leave. You go get Dad, and I don’t open the door for anybody unless I physically see him.”

“Right,” Buck confirms as he pulls out of the parking lot. “I’ll leave you with Bobby and Maddie’s phone numbers. If there’s an emergency, either of them would come for you. Or-or they’d send Chimney.”

“Okay.”

“I hate even thinking about leaving you alone, but I can’t take you with me.”

“I know, Buck. It’s okay.”

“You’re sure?” Buck asks.

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “I haven’t… Uh, I haven’t felt like I could be alone for real in a while.”

---

72 for 🔼 (Well it's not alll gonna be angst... is all I can say...)

---

It goes on that way for weeks. Calls and online games mostly, but twice a week, Buck and Eddie are over in the yard, either doing garden chores, or directing Chris with his. Sometimes, when the weather is right, Shannon will lay a blanket on the opposite side of the yard and sit out there with them. Jane will sit up on the blanket, some brightly colored toy in her hand, watching them work intently and babbling little baby sounds. Eddie gets to talk to her. Gets to answer back like they’re having a conversation. 

For those weeks, Chris seems happy. Shannon seems happy. Jane, well… She’s a baby. Her mood changes with the hour. But she seems good, too. Great, even. Eddie just can’t wait to hold her again. 

“You’re in a better mood lately,” Buck observes one afternoon, driving home from gardening.

“I miss the kids,” Eddie says. “It’s just good to be with them, in whatever way we can be.”

Buck nods, smiles softly. “Yeah. You’re different after you see them. I… I love having you all the time, but I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

Eddie exhales heavily. “Me too.”

Buck smiles again, but there’s a sad look in his eye. 

“What is it?” Eddie asks. 

“Nothin’,” Buck clearly lies.

“No, really,” Eddie presses. “What’s up?”

“I’ll just miss not being with you every day,” Buck says. “Even if I know it’s for the best.”

Eddie takes a deep breath. 

“If you think I’m letting you go, Buck… You’re crazy.”

Buck scrunches his lips to the side for a second, blushing. 

“I’d hope not,” he mumbles. 

“Definitely not,” Eddie confirms. “And, it’s not just… I mean, you’re there every time, too. You’re family, okay? I take that seriously.”

That kind of leaves Buck speechless for a second. Eddie knows he takes it seriously, too. 

v.

The last time Eddie came home - really came home, after being far away - it hadn’t exactly been his choice. He was shot out of the sky and littered with bullets and nearly died. Shannon nearly lost him. He didn’t come home. He was sent home. Not his choice. Shannon always wondered, would he have reenlisted? Would it just have kept happening, if it had been left up to him? If he hadn’t been medically discharged, when would she have snapped? What would have happened? Would she have divorced the empty side of their bed?

She doesn’t know. That’s not the point. The point is, today, after another prolonged absence - albeit not his choice or fault, and much preferable to Afghanistan - Eddie comes home as soon as he possibly can. Restrictions are lowered. Eddie takes a test. And the moment it’s clear, he’s on his way. No hesitations. No excuses. He’s just coming home. 

Shannon tells Chris. He whoops with excitement. 

“You’re sure?” He asks, giddy. 

“I’m sure,” she promises. “He’s ten minutes away, sweetie.”

Her son is so happy he starts to cry. 

---

96 for 🪩 (THANK YOU!)

---

It doesn’t quite go that way. 

Eddie wakes up to Christopher shouting. 

“NO!” 

This is a rather alarming way to be woken. Eddie, startled, nearly rolls out of bed and hops to his feet to run to him, before he remembers his foot. 

“I got it,” Buck mumbles, climbing out of bed with a yawn.

The whole point of today was for Buck to sleep in and take it easy, but what can they do? A shout like that requires some haste. Eddie can’t currently be hasty. Eddie lags behind as Buck hurries out of the room, in search of Christopher. He finds them in the bathroom. Buck’s broad frame blocks Eddie’s view inside the doorway. 

“This is horrible! Prom is ruined!” Chris complains.

“No,” Buck says gently. “No, it’s not that bad. Really!”

“What is it?” Eddie asks. “What’s going on?”

“My life is over!” Chris bemoans.

Buck sighs and steps aside, letting Eddie into the bathroom. 

“Look,” Chris points to his forehead. His forehead, where, smack in the middle, there is a massive, red zit. “It’s horrible.” 

“Oh, wow,” Eddie says dumbly.

Buck nudges him.

Christopher’s face crumples even further. 

“I mean!” Eddie leaps to fix his statement. “I mean, it’s not that bad. Wow, your reaction was… Big, because the zit is not.” 

“Oh, great save,” Buck mutters.

“You’re lying!” Chris practically whines. “It’s horrible!”

Eddie sighs. He fucked this one up.

“Okay, you know what? It’s not great.” He admits. “But prom isn’t ruined. We can fix this.” 

“Can we?” Chris asks. “Because they don’t just disappear!” 

“No. No, they don’t,” Eddie agrees. 

“But we can hide it!” Buck interjects. 

“Hide it?” Chris asks.

“Yeah!” Buck nods enthusiastically. “Yep. We can, uh… Today we can work on getting the redness down, and tomorrow we can use some makeup.”

“Makeup?” Chris asks. “I can’t do makeup! I don’t know how!”

“Well…” Eddie winces. “You must have friends that do. Ainslee does, right?”

“What?” Chris demands. “She can’t see this! She can’t know!”

“Eddie, how did you ever get a girl to take you seriously?” Buck chides. “No, Chris. Don’t worry. We’ll look it up on YouTube.”

To his question, Eddie has no idea. Realizing he’s gay was incredibly liberating, in that he never has to think about that again. And, on top of that, Buck is pretty easy to be around. No stress. No pressure. 

“YouTube,” Chris sighs. “Right. Okay. Buck, you’ll help me?”

“Of course,” Buck nods. 

“I can help, too!” Eddie insists. 

[punk-chicken-radio]

I Think I Need New Glasses…..

…..I mean, I did get a new set of bins fairly recently but I’m finding the frames a little heavy…..I can see fine, which is always a plus…..but they’re ridging my bridge…..also I think the cats are looking at me kinda funny…..and I don’t want to freak them out too much…..gotta keep them on side so they don’t murder me when I’m sleeping…..

…..besides, changing specs again could be expensive…..and as usual January finds me almost out of cash……@loveaxiomatic tells me that she’s found a cheaper solution for reading and stuff……not sure how that’ll work for diving though?…..

…..I think I’ll stick with what I’ve got…..too much of a faff having another eye test and trying on different styles…..plus the optician keeps trying to get me to use contact lenses…..but no…..not sticking things in my eyes for no one…..besides…..

…..you know what’s coming up next?…..no, not songs about eyewear(should have had my glasses on when checking the doable playlist list)…..it’s songs about things made of glass…..smashing!

Crystalware Kisses 😘

love(shut it)axiomatic

The Old(no change)Smelly

[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...

[aspergillosis]

Looking around at all the boat photos around and finally really understanding what they mean to my parents. I didn't really think of this element to it but my sailing is allowing me to really understand my own family a lot better. Sitting in the dining room looking at all our crystalware and finally, finally understanding fully how we wound up with all of it. Lol my family has better taste + stuff than my current owner.

[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

[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.