#eau de toilet

[16woodsequ]

Sunday Steve - Day Seven

Things that would be new or unfamiliar to Steve in the 21st century, either due to the time period he grew up in, or his social-economic status and other such factors.

Day Seven: Deodorant

For a long time body odour was not considered a problem for men. It was considered manly, and deodorants and antiperspirants (invented in 1888 and early 1900s respectively) were marketed to women.

Some solutions to body odour before deodorant became more mainstream in 1910s were excessive washing and perfume. To protect clothes women used dress shields (cotton or rubber pads placed in armpit areas). Scented talcum powders were another popular deodorizer.

Men started to be targeted by antiperspirant companies in the 30s, targeting male body odour as negative and unemployable. "In 1938, it was estimated that 60% of women and 20% of men in the United States used a product to control underarm odour" (Link).

Early deodorant formulas had to be suspended in acid. "Formulas of early deodorants damaged clothes and irritated skin" (Link). There were some health concerns in the early 20th century but these died away by the 30s.

Deodorant came in powders. liquid, creams, and eventually sticks, roll-ons, and aerosols.

Powders were "packaged in tins with a perforated lid" and put on with puffs.

The only form of antiperspirants in the 30s was liquid. The liquid was kept in glass jars, with plastic lids (early form used corks).

“Liquid deodorants were either applied to a rag and rubbed in or poured into the palm and splashed on. [...] Men also used cologne to cover up body smells but these were generally very expensive.” (Link)

Liquid deodorants/antiperspirants could be applied with a cloth or sponge. Later forms had an applicator built into the lid.

Above: Applying Check Deodorant with a sponge applicator.

Pastes and creams were the preferred form for early deodorants. They were less irritating, although sometimes greasy, especially in the 1910s before the formula improved.

The first successful antiperspirant cream was created in 1936, but it was less effective than liquid antiperspirant. Even so, it became very popular by 1945 and creams dominated the market.

Early stick deodorants used lipstick bases, so they were much smaller and 'stick' shaped than the typical deodorant shape today. From the recipe (found here) it seems this sticks were similar to today's deodorant sticks, or maybe chapsticks. Evaporation was an issue and the sticks had to be kept in airtight containers.

Sticks began to get bigger, into what we would recognise in the 60s.

1945 Lor-Odo, a deodorant stick, sold for 50 cents.

Roll-ons appeared in 1952 and the first commercially successful roll-on deodorant was created in 1956, so Steve wouldn't know this method. Same with aerosols which came out around the 60s.

As for price, this image gives a good idea for prices of deodorant products in Steve's time.

1937 Hush Cream, Instant Hush Liquid Deodorant, Hush Stick Deodorant and Personal Deodorant Powder for sanitary pads. (Link).

This inflation calculator says 10¢ is $2.14 in today's money and 50¢ is $10.68. For comparison, the cost of a gallon of gas was 10¢, a loaf of bread was 9¢ and toothpaste was 35¢. (Link)

Wrap Up

So would Steve have used some kind of deodorant/antiperspirant? Maybe. He wouldn't have started wearing it until the 30s for sure, but he may have bought it, if he could afford it.

I am not an expert but I feel the cost of deodorant would have been a stretch (especially if we think he was using baking soda for toothpaste as per our last post).

But considering how cleanliness and body odour began to be viewed in the 30s—and considering that Bucky clearly took pride in taking care of his appearance—Steve may have bought deodorant when he could. The possibility grows later into the 30s and 40s.

If he bought deodorant he would likely be used to cream or liquid deodorants, as these were very common.

Perhaps Bucky cared more about deodorant than Steve, and Steve bought some for Bucky as a gift when he could. Or, Steve used it himself periodically to hopefully seem more presentable to employers who might overlook him just on principle.

But it is also possible that Steve didn't bother with deodorant. After all, only 20% of men used it in 1938 and it would stretch his budget.

However, he may have used it on the USO tour. I can see them deciding Captain America needs to smell nice when smoozing with investors.

Either way, the 21st century's approach to zero body odour wouldn't entirely surprise to Steve—since the roots of that were developing in the 30s, but it would still be an adjustment to learn that men almost universally use some form of deodorant nowadays.

Sunday Steve Master Post

[brunchable]

The Stakeout - Day 1 || Steve Rogers × Agent!FReader

Day Two Words: 4.1K Themes/Warnings: Unspoken feelings towards each other. Growing tension. Sexual Attraction. Eventual Smut. Being stuck with each other. Summary: You've been assigned to do a stakeout with Steve for 5 days. Your accommodation: a cramped room with one mattress and a table with two rickety chairs. A/N: This is the tone setter. Steve's POV will always be at the end, and it'll be in 1st person. I don't have a tag list so. . .let me know if you want to be kept updated.

Steve Rogers pushed open the door to the small, dimly lit apartment, scanning the room with a soldier's eye. The place was a far cry from what you’re both used to—a single, cramped room with barely enough space to move around. 

You stepped in from behind him, your eyes taking in your temporary home. The first thing that greets you is the unmistakable scent of “eau de mildew” mixed with a hint of something burnt—probably dinner from three tenants ago. The wallpaper is peeling off in a way that makes you wonder if it’s trying to escape, revealing patches of cracked plaster that look like a map of an unknown, crumbling country.

The carpet is a masterpiece of stains, each one telling a story you’re pretty sure you don’t want to know. It’s so worn down that you can almost see the floorboards underneath, which might actually be an improvement.

The lighting is dim, with a single, flickering bulb that casts just enough light to make the shadows in the corners look even more menacing. In the middle of the room sits a mattress that looks like it was dragged out of a dumpster and lost the fight. It’s lumpy in all the wrong places, sagging in a way that suggests it has long given up on supporting anything heavier than a guilty conscience.

The only other furniture consists of two rickety chairs that look like they’re competing to see which one can collapse first. They wobble precariously even when they’re empty, as if they’re just waiting for the right moment to give up entirely.

The kitchen is a museum of outdated appliances, each one looking like it’s plotting against you. The stove has a layer of grease so thick it could probably survive a nuclear blast, and the sink faucet drips with the rhythm of a horror movie soundtrack.

You glance at the bathroom door, which is hanging slightly off its hinges, and decide that whatever’s in there can stay there. The mirror is so cloudy that it’s practically a portal to another dimension, and you’re pretty sure the toilet is older than Captain America.

The windows are streaked with grime, and one is patched with what looks like ancient duct tape. As you take it all in, you can’t help but think that the apartment is less a living space and more a haunted house that’s too tired to actually scare anyone.

“Cozy,” you muttered, trying to inject some humor into the situation. But even you couldn’t hide the discomfort in your voice, “If these walls could talk, they'd probably ask for a lawyer.”

Steve looked at the walls and instinctively covered his mouth, but it wasn’t enough to stifle the chuckle that slipped through—the urge to laugh bubbling up inside him.

The apartment was a disaster, a place so far beyond repair that it almost seemed comical in its neglect. And yet, it wasn’t the state of the place that got to him; it was you. He could already sense the sharp comment forming on your lips. 

Steve had always known you for your back-handed comments—remarkably clever, often brutally honest, and always perfectly timed. You had a knack for finding just the right words to undercut a situation, leaving everyone around you—Tony Stark included—scrambling for a retort. And in moments like these, even in a rundown apartment that could make the bravest Avenger cringe, you managed to make Steve smile, reminding him just why you were the perfect partner.

“It’s not much, but it’s all we’ve got for the next five days.” Steve turned to you, his expression apologetic.

“I've had worse.” You shrugged, tossing your bag onto the table. “At least the cockroaches seem to have packed up and left.”

You had worked together countless times before, but this was different. The close quarters, the extended time alone—usually you have the luxury to be in different rooms.

“I can sleep on the floor. You take the mattress.” Steve said, his eyes drifted to the double-bed size mattress on the floor. 

Your eyebrows shot up. “And have you waking up with a bad back on day one? No way. We can both fit.”

“I don’t mind the floor. Really.” Steve hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. 

“We’re both adults, Steve. It’s just sleeping. We’ll make it work.” You crossed your arms, giving him a determined look. 

He finally relented with a sigh. “Alright, if you say so.”

You spent the next few minutes in silence, each of you slipping into the familiar rhythm of setting up, though the state of the apartment made even the simplest tasks a challenge. The floorboards groaned underfoot with every step, and you had to be careful where you placed your equipment, wary of the spots that felt like they might give way entirely. The walls, pocked with holes and uneven surfaces, made it nearly impossible to secure the cameras properly; more than once, you found yourself muttering under your breath as the adhesive strips refused to stick, sliding down the peeling wallpaper as if in protest.

“Stick, you stupid tape!” you grumbled, pressing the strip back against the wall with more force than necessary, only to watch it slowly peel away once more. The tape seemed to be mocking you at this point, and your frustration was reaching a peak. But at the end, you made it work, as long as the equipment is working—you tell yourself.

The stakeout had reached that inevitable point where the monotony had set in. Hours of staring at surveillance footage had taken its toll, and both you and Steve were in desperate need of a break.

"Alright," you declared, tossing the deck of Uno cards between you. "We need something to keep me from going crazy."

Steve raised an eyebrow, looking at the cards with a mix of skepticism and amusement. "Uno? Seriously?"

"Come on," you teased, sitting cross-legged on the floor and motioning for him to join you. "It’s a classic. Plus, I promise not to go easy on you."

"I’d be disappointed if you did." Steve chuckled as he took a seat across from you, leaning in just slightly as he settled down. 

"Good. I wouldn’t want to let you down.” You grinned, shuffling the deck with practiced ease. 

The game started off lighthearted enough, with both of you trading cards and quips in equal measure. But as the game progressed, you couldn’t help but notice Steve’s hand growing increasingly full of cards, while yours remained relatively manageable.

"Got something against me, Y/N?" Steve asked, his tone playful as he drew yet another card from the deck. His hand was practically bursting with a rainbow of colors, and you couldn’t hide your grin.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," you replied innocently, sliding another card onto the pile—a +4. "Just playing the game. Fair and square."

"Another +4? You sure this isn’t personal?" Steve stared at the card, then at you, his eyes narrowing in mock suspicion.

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice, your smile turning teasing. "What if it is, Rogers? Think you can handle me?"

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. "I can handle a lot of things, but you might be more than I bargained for." 

You laughed softly, enjoying the banter. "I’ve been told I’m a handful."

"That’s one way to put it," he muttered, drawing four more cards with an exaggerated sigh. His amount of cards was now so large that he had to hold it in both hands, and you could see the struggle on his face as he tried to keep his composure.

The next round, you drew yet another +4 card, and Steve’s eyes widened in disbelief as you placed it down with a flourish.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," he said, shaking his head, "Are you sure you’re not stacking the deck?"

"I would never," you replied, feigning shock. "It’s just pure luck."

"Pure luck, huh?" Steve shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "If this keeps up, I’m going to need another hand just to hold all these."

You leaned back, giving him a playful look. "You know, Steve, if it’s getting too much for you, you could always forfeit. I wouldn’t judge you. Much."

He met your gaze, a glint of challenge in his eyes. "Oh, I’m not giving up that easily. But if I win, I expect some proper appreciation."

"Appreciation?" you echoed, amused. "What do you have in mind?"

He shrugged, trying to keep a straight face. "Maybe something that shows you really understand what it’s like to lose to me."

You tilted your head, your smile turning sly. "Careful what you wish for, old man. I might just surprise you."

By the time you dropped yet another +4 card, Steve threw his hands up in defeat. "That’s it! I’m calling it—this game is rigged!"

You were laughing so hard that you could barely speak. "It’s not rigged! You’re just—oh man, I can’t even—"

Steve couldn’t help but start laughing too, the ridiculousness of the situation finally breaking through his usual stoic demeanor. 

"I can’t believe I’m losing this badly at Uno," he said, shaking his head with a grin. "To you, of all people."

You leaned back, still chuckling. "Hey, I’m just that good."

He gave you a playful glare, but there was no hiding the smile on his face. "Remind me never to play cards with you again."

"Afraid of losing?" you teased, leaning a bit closer, your voice dipping into something softer, more suggestive.

"Afraid of getting a hand full of +4s," he corrected, still grinning. "You’re ruthless."

You shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eye. "All’s fair in Uno and war, Rogers."

He shook his head, still laughing, as he began gathering up the cards. That’s when he noticed something odd—a few extra +4 cards peeking out from under where you were sitting. His eyes narrowed, as he zeroed in on the cards.

"Wait a minute," Steve said, his voice laced with suspicion as he pointed to the cards. "What’s that?"

Your heart skipped a beat as you quickly tried to shift, but Steve was faster, leaning forward and grabbing the edge of one of the cards sticking out from beneath you. You immediately tried to cover it up, sitting down harder to keep him from seeing the whole stack of +4s you had hidden.

"Nothing!" you blurted out, trying not to laugh as you squirmed to keep the cards hidden. But Steve’s grin only widened as he tugged on the card, the two of you now playfully wrestling over it.

"Nothing, huh?" he teased, managing to pull one of the cards free. "You’ve been cheating this whole time!"

You burst out laughing, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably. "I couldn’t resist! You should’ve seen your face every time I drew a +4!"

Steve wasn’t giving up, though. He leaned in closer, trying to snatch the remaining cards from you. "I knew it! I knew there was no way you could’ve drawn that many +4s!"

Still laughing, you tried to twist away, but Steve was persistent, his hands now playfully wrestling with yours as he tried to pry the cards from your grasp. 

"Alright, alright!" you finally gasped, surrendering the cards as you fell back into a fit of giggles.

Steve held up the extra +4 cards triumphantly, shaking his head with a mix of disbelief and amusement. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

You wiped tears from your eyes, still giggling. "I’m sorry, but it was just too easy. I didn’t think you’d actually fall for it!"

"I’ll get you back for this, you know."

You flashed him a teasing smile. "I’m counting on it, Rogers."

“Yeah, yeah—let's get back to work.”

× × × × 

As night fell, you settled into your positions by the small window that overlooked the building you both were surveilling. Steve had the binoculars up, his posture rigid and focused. You sat beside him, close enough to see the reflection of his serious expression in the glass.

The target this time was Elias Novak, a crime boss who had been operating under the radar for years. He wasn’t just any criminal—Novak was careful, methodical, and always seemed to be two steps ahead of the authorities. But the intel they’d received suggested that Novak was planning something big, something that could have far-reaching consequences if they didn’t act quickly.

For weeks now, whispers had been circulating about a major arms deal in the works, with Novak at the center of it. The specifics were still murky—where the weapons were coming from, who they were being sold to—but one thing was clear: if the deal went through, it could unleash chaos. Weapons of that scale and sophistication in the wrong hands could destabilize regions, spark conflicts, or worse.

“Anything?” you asked quietly, not wanting to break his concentration.

“Not yet,” he replied, his voice a low rumble.

You leaned forward slightly, trying to get a better view yourself. Without thinking, you placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder to balance yourself as you leaned in. The sudden contact made Steve freeze for a moment, but he didn’t move, his focus still on the building across the street.

You didn’t notice the slight tension in his body as you peered through the binoculars. The movement brought you even closer, your shoulder brushing against his arm. 

“Let me see,” you murmured, your breath brushing against Steve’s ear as you took the binoculars from him. 

You adjusted the focus, squinting into the lens. “Hm, odd,” you said, your tone slightly disappointed.

You handed the binoculars back to him, but instead of moving away, you stayed where you were, still leaning against him slightly. Steve took the binoculars, his fingers brushing your for a brief moment, sending a spark of electricity through you.

You stayed like that for a few minutes, pretending to be absorbed in the task at hand. Finally, you realized how close you were and pulled back, clearing your throat awkwardly.

“Sorry,” you said, your cheeks slightly flushed. “Didn’t mean to crowd you.”

Steve shook his head quickly. “No, it’s fine. We’ve got to stay close to keep an eye on things.”

You nodded, but the moment of closeness had left you slightly off-balance. You resumed your watch, but both of you were acutely aware of the other’s presence.

Eventually, you decided to call it a night. You changed into your sleepwear first, turning your back to Steve for some semblance of privacy in the open room. When you turned around, you found him already settled on one side of the mattress, his broad frame taking up more space than he probably intended.

You slid in beside him, the mattress dipping under your weight. The proximity was inevitable, and you both tried to ignore it, lying stiffly side by side, your shoulders almost touching.

“Goodnight,” you said softly, staring up at the ceiling, trying to make yourself relax.

“Goodnight,” Steve replied, his voice equally tense. Minutes ticked by, and neither of you could sleep. 

Finally, you sighed, breaking the quiet. “This is going to be a long five days, isn’t it?”

Steve chuckled softly, a low, warm sound that made your chest tighten. “Yeah, it might be.”

You smiled, turning your head slightly to look at him. In the dim light, you could see the outline of his face, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, just like yours had been moments before.

“We’ll get through it,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

Steve turned his head to meet your gaze, his expression softening. “Always do.”

There’s a pause, and you decide to lighten the mood a little more. You grin mischievously, knowing it’s a little ridiculous but hoping it’ll ease the tension. 

“Just watch out for bed bugs, Rogers. I’ve heard they love big, strong super soldiers.”

He laughs, and it’s a genuine sound that makes your own smile widen. “Good to know. Guess I’ll have to keep the shield close, then.”

“Might want to sleep with one eye open,” you tease.

“I think I can manage that,” he says, his voice lighter now, more relaxed. You can tell that your little joke did its job, easing some of the tension between you. It’s a small victory, but it feels good.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he says, a smile still tugging at his lips.

“Goodnight, Steve,” you replied, and you can hear the warmth in his voice this time.

As sleep finally began to take hold, your last conscious thought was of Steve beside you—so close, yet still feeling so far away.

The mission had barely begun, but the real challenge, you realized, would be surviving the next five days without giving away the feelings you had tried so hard to keep hidden.

STEVE’S POV

The room is silent, except for the faint hum of traffic outside and the occasional creak of the old wooden floor. I keep my eyes fixed on the building across the street, trying to ignore the cramped space around me. We’ve been here for hours now, watching, waiting, but so far, nothing’s happened. Just another quiet night in the city.

I lift the binoculars again, scanning the windows across the way. Everything looks normal—too normal. The target hasn’t made a move yet, but I know better than to let my guard down. That’s when things go wrong.

Beside me, Y/N is sitting quietly, her presence a constant distraction. I’ve been trying to focus on the mission, but it’s hard when she’s this close. It’s not that I don’t trust her—hell, I trust her with my life—but there’s something about being alone with her, in this small space, that’s got my nerves on edge.

“Anything?” she asks, her voice soft, not wanting to disturb my concentration. I can hear the hint of curiosity, maybe even concern, in her tone. She’s as invested in this as I am, which only makes this harder.

“Not yet,” I reply, keeping my voice low. The tension between us is thick—to me at least, and I’m not sure how much longer I can pretend it’s just the stress of the mission.

All of a sudden, she leans in closer, placing a hand on my shoulder to steady herself as she peers over at the building. The contact is so casual, so innocent, but it sends chills through me. My muscles tense, and I have to remind myself to keep still, to act like this is nothing.

She’s close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body, smell the faint scent of her shampoo. Her shoulder brushes against my arm as she takes the binoculars from me, and I swear, my heart skips a beat. I’m a soldier, trained to handle high-pressure situations, but this—being this close to her—is more than I bargained for.

“Let me see,” she murmurs, her breath brushing against my ear as she adjusts the focus. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickens. I’m supposed to be watching the target, not getting distracted by the woman beside me.

She spends a few moments peering through the binoculars, her face so close to mine that I can feel the heat radiating from her skin. My mind races, trying to think of anything but how it would feel to close that small distance between us. How it would feel to—

Stop it, Rogers. Focus.

She finally pulls back, handing the binoculars back to me. “hmm, odd,” she says, disappointment lacing her voice.

I nod, taking the binoculars from her, our fingers brushing for just a moment. It’s like a spark of electricity, and I have to force myself to keep my expression neutral. I can’t let her see what she’s doing to me.

She doesn’t move away, though. Instead, she stays close, leaning against me slightly as we continue to watch the building. Every second feels like an eternity. The heat of her body, the soft sound of her breathing—it’s all too much, but I can’t bring myself to step away. I’m not sure if I want to.

Minutes pass, and the tension between us only grows thicker. I’m hyper-aware of every inch of space between us—or the lack of it. My mind keeps drifting, imagining what it would be like if I just turned my head a little, if I just—

She pulls back suddenly, clearing her throat. “Sorry,” she says, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Didn’t mean to crowd you.”

I shake my head quickly, trying to sound like everything’s fine. “No, it’s fine. We’ve got to stay close to keep an eye on things.”

She nods, but the awkwardness lingers. I can feel it in the air. We resume our watch, but it’s like there’s a wall between us now, a wall built by unspoken words and feelings I’m not ready to admit.

Finally, after what feels like hours, we decide to call it a night. Y/N changes into her sleepwear first, giving me a bit of space. I keep my back turned, focusing on the mission, the window, anything but her. But no matter how hard I try, my mind keeps drifting, slipping into dangerous territory.

I hear the soft rustle of fabric as she pulls off her shirt, and my imagination runs wild before I can stop it. Images flash through my mind—her skin, smooth and soft under the dim light, the way her hair might fall over her shoulders as she changes, the subtle curve of her waist as she slips into something more comfortable.

Damn it, Steve. Stop.

I clench my fists, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand. This isn’t the time for those kinds of thoughts. She trusts me, and I owe it to her—and to myself—to stay professional. But it’s hard, harder than I ever thought it would be, and the guilt gnaws at me.

I’m supposed to be better than this. Stronger. I’ve faced down enemies that would make most men run in fear, but here I am, struggling to keep my mind from wandering to places it shouldn’t.

The sound of her footsteps breaks through the haze of my thoughts, and I snap back to reality. I settle onto one side of the mattress, trying to take up as little space as possible. But when she slides in beside me, the mattress dips, and suddenly, she’s right there, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body through the thin sheets.

I stare up at the ceiling, every muscle in my body tense. This is going to be impossible.

“Goodnight,” she says softly, her voice breaking the heavy silence.

“Goodnight,” I reply, my voice tighter than I intended.

I can hear her breathing beside me, steady and soft, and I know she’s not asleep either. The tension between us is unbearable, a constant reminder of everything I’m trying to ignore, everything I can’t afford to feel right now.

She sighs, and I hear the frustration in her voice. “This is going to be a long five days, isn’t it?”

I can’t help but chuckle, a low, warm sound that surprises even me. “Yeah, it might be.”

She turns her head to look at me, and I do the same. In the dim light, I can see her eyes, the soft curve of her lips as she smiles. It’s a small moment of comfort, a brief reprieve from the tension that’s been building between us.

“We’ll get through it,” she says, and I can hear the determination in her voice.

I nod, “Always do.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then she adds with a mischievous grin, “Just watch out for bed bugs, Rogers. I’ve heard they love big, strong super soldiers.”

I can’t help but laugh, the tension easing just a bit. “Good to know. Guess I’ll have to keep the shield close, then.”

She chuckles softly, and it’s that laugh—the one that always catches me off guard. It’s light, pure, and it cuts through all the heaviness like a breath of fresh air. I could listen to that sound for hours, and never get tired of it.

“Might want to sleep with one eye open.” she adds, still teasing.

“I think I can manage that,” I reply, still smiling.

Her laughter fades into a comfortable silence, and for a moment, the weight of everything feels a little lighter. It’s a small joke, a silly one, but it’s enough to make the space between us feel less heavy, more manageable.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” I say again, this time with a little more warmth.

“Goodnight, Steve,” she replies, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

We both settle back, and though the tension isn’t completely gone, it feels like we’ve taken a small step toward something better. Maybe these five days won’t be as long as it seems.

[princessmadafu]

I bet we're all thinking the same thing, aren't we?

The pair of them bang on about the importance of good mental health while abusing their own families.

It's pretty well understood these days that stress and anxiety impact on one's physical health and well-being.

And boy, do that pair cause stress and anxiety!

Prince Philip (deceased), Queen Elizabeth (deceased), King Charles (ill), Catherine (ill), Mr Markle (ill for a long time)...

Probably could include on the list several ex-employees and staff as well, who decided the job wasn't worth the stress and anxiety and pressure.

This is not coincidence.

No amount of anxiety-relieving finger-tapping will work when you're inhaling her exudence; her personal and particular eau de parfum, Essence of Toxicity. Comes in an odd-shaped bottle that fits inside a toilet roll. You know the dress I mean! Sprays everywhere, every time she flushes down the brown.

Anyway, what I meant to say was, I join all of you in praying for the full recovery of King Charles and Catherine, and strength also to Camilla, William and the children.

[stridersdiner]

Bergamot. Oak. Linen.

Three scent profiles that never meant much to you before he did.

Bergamot.

Eau Pour Le Jeune Homme, Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier. Top: Orange, bergamot. Middle: Nutmeg, coriander. Base: Sandalwood.

Like lazing across from each other at the dinner table. Steam billowing over mugs of earl gray tea, cookies that one of the nice old women in town had shoved into your hands just earlier that day stacked haphazardly on a plate between the two of you. Clear vase of purple catmint, yellow coneflowers, and whorled milkweed sitting at the end of the table runner to your left.

His chuckle turns into a snort as he scribbles onto a sticky note, peeling it back and slapping it down next to your mug as he turns his attention back to his phone. He's been doing this the entire time you two settled down at the table. You regret influencing his Instagram algorithm. Messy blue ink sprawls out the yellow piece of paper.

betray, belittle, boytoy

Oak.

Gentleman Reserve Privée, Givenchy. Top: Bergamot. Middle: Chestnut. Base: Whiskey, amber.

Like special occasions. You sit on the bed, watching him rubber band between the bathroom and the bedroom to get ready to leave. You've been ready for at least ten minutes, but he insists on looking his best for this party your parents were throwing, and that meant rummaging through his fancy fragrances. He's never overbearing with it- always just enough cling to him and his clothes. Neck, inner elbows, wrists- always, like clockwork.

He has no idea what the fancy words on the bottles mean, but he does know that he doesn't want to smell like anything resembling 'toilet', so eau de parfum is the next best thing. You can catch wafts of it lingering in the air as he moves, before he finally stands proudly before you, hands on his hips, and a proud wide-toothed smile on his face.

"Y'ready?"

Linen.

Lin Blanc, Jeanne en Provence. Top: White flowers, pear. Middle: Lavender, cotton. Base: Vanilla, white woods.

Like freshly dried sheets. He dedicates Sunday to laundry day. The washer and dryer in the house are still pretty new and practically pristine, but he will always air out and pin up the bedsheets and pillowcases on the clothesline like Ma did when he was younger. It makes him feel better to shake them out and flatten them out against the line outside in the backyard- nostalgic, really.

Sometimes he lays down in the grass beneath them after a few hours. He stares up at the bright blue sky. Sheets dance along the cool breeze, like the fluttering fabric of a waltz. You watch curiously through the window the first few times, and eventually, you convince yourself to go outside and lay next to him.

And he welcomes you happily.

"That cloud looks like a cow."

Bonus.

The Most Wanted, Azzaro. Top: Cardamom. Middle: Toffee. Base: Amberwood.

He pulled the bottle out of the box and buried it in his sock drawer in the walk-in closet. You're half sure he got it just because it looks like a revolver cylinder. You've test-sprayed it on your wrist before- sickly sweet caramel, strangely spiced- and you scrunched your nose at it. He laughed from the doorway.

It was supposed to "settle," he had said. Whatever that means. It had been maybe a month since he hid it away, so imagine your surprise when he finally pulls the bottle out. You cringe a little as you recall the scent while he mists it onto the collar of his button down, watching the fragrance just hook onto the fabric. He chuckles at your expression as he affixes one of his watches to his wrist. You take a half step back as he comes towards you, but the smell isn't nearly half as bad nor domineering as it first was- suddenly subtly sweet and tangy. He simpered as your expression mellowed.

"Better now, ain't it?"

Babes that wanted to be tagged:

@mockerycrow @kivino

[handfuloftime]

The ball aboard Erebus and Terror on June 1st, 1841, as described in Robert McCormick's memoir, Voyages of Discovery in the Arctic and Antarctic Seas, and Round the World (1884):

The "Erebus" and "Terror" Bali,. — We have been favoured by a fine evening for our ball, which commenced at eight p.m., on Tuesday, the 1st of June. The approach to the ships was through a canvas-covered way, forming an arcade, lined with flags intermingled with branches of the "wattle," in its full yellow bloom, and other plants, the whole supported on a bridge of boats, and of sufficient breadth for two persons to walk abreast along it. A lamp-post was placed on each side of the entrance, so ornamented with native plants, as to resemble the mouth of a grotto, between which and the road through the paddock Sir John Franklin had got constructed a branch road, to enable the carriages to pass down the hill to the very entrance of this tunnel-like approach to the ball-room, which was formed by the upper deck of the Erebus, the innermost ship, whilst the Terror, outside of us, secured head and stern, with a bridge connecting the gangway, was allotted for the supper-table.

Our ball-room was covered in by a canvas awning, lined throughout with flags, and decorated with the various native plants, branches of the beautiful orange-yellow wattle, ferns, &c. The band of the 51st Regiment occupied an orchestra, covered with dark cloth rising to some feet above the deck, and ornamented with shrubs and flowers, in front of which was suspended a portrait of our Queen, encircled in a garland of flowers. Just abaft the main-mast rose a second orchestra, for the Hobart Town quadrille band, in the midst of a labyrinth of foliage. The capstan, also, supported a pile of Flora's productions, and in the centre of the flags, forming a screen between the forecastle and the waist (where lemonade was served as a refreshment to the dancers) was a floral device, representing the letters "V.R." The tops of the sky-lights were converted into ottomans covered with flags, and benches covered with scarlet cloth were ranged all round the sides of the ship, as seats for those not engaged in the dance. The whole was brilliantly lighted up by chandeliers obtained from the shore, and with lamps placed at intervals around the sides, the effect of which was very much heightened from the approach by the tunnel having been barely lighted sufficiently to enable the guests to find their way, so that, after wending along a gloomy, narrow passage for some sixty or seventy yards, a flood of light all at once burst upon them on stepping from the gangway upon the quarter-deck, and here the captains and officers were standing to receive their guests.

Captain Ross's cabin and the gun-room of the Erebus were assigned as dressing-rooms for the ladies, and were supplied with mirrors and most of the etceteras of a lady's toilet, down to hair-pins, eau-de-Cologne, and other perfumes. The descent to the lower deck was by the main hatchway, the steps covered with red baize, having a circular awning of flags decorated with flowers of the wattle, and rosettes made of bunting by the sailors. The ring-bolts had been removed from the decks, and everything that could possibly leave more space.

The governor, Sir John Franklin, and his suite arrived soon after eight p.m., and by nine o'clock the deck presented a very gay and animated scene, upwards of 300 guests must have been present during the evening. Each officer being a steward, and having the option of inviting ten personal friends, was well able to secure attention to all, and the more especially as each had a station assigned him in charge of a division at the supper-table for which lots had been drawn, as the most equitable plan to avoid all partiality. I was very fortunate in this lottery, for, had the choice been offered me, I should most unhesitatingly have selected the one which fell to my lot. It was the small table over the gun-room companion, just abaft the main-mast, with the capstan immediately behind me ; a snug, isolated berth, with just sufficient room to accommodate my own little party of seven, consisting of my friend Mr. Gregson, Mrs. Gregson, and Miss Gregson, Dr. Clark, the Inspector-General of Hospitals, Mr. Crombie, the lawyer, and two other friends of theirs. Supper was served at eleven p.m., and after some squeezing and pressure in the passage, through the narrow gangway between the Erebus and Terror, all found their seats at the table, the governor and his suite, with the two captains, occupying the after-part of the quarter-deck table, which was terminated by a small table athwart-ships for that purpose.

As usual on such occasions many toasts were drunk, and speeches perpetrated, accompanied by loud cheering and emptying of wine-glasses. McMurdo, the senior lieutenant of the Terror, with whom rested the arrangement of the supper-table, had, with his customary good taste, left nothing to be desired in its decoration, and certainly threw us in the into the shade, the difference being just in the same degree as existed in the minds of the two senior lieutenants themselves, with whom these preparations rested. The sides were lined with black and scarlet cloth, having candles placed at intervals backed by mirrors, for which purpose the looking-glasses intended as presents to the natives of any lands we might visit were taken from their frames, small bouquets were attached to these, and the effect was very pleasing. The chandeliers were tastefully formed of bright steel bayonets, which had a far more ship-shape appearance than our hired commonplace glass ones from the shore. The productions of Flora were most tastefully arranged in small bouquets variously grouped. The supper-tables bore on them poultry, dressed in various ways, pies, pastries, cakes, and jellies, with fruits; of wines, port, sherry, and hock, and an abundance of champagne. On returning to the ball-room dancing continued until daylight. My friends the Gregsons, who had arrived at nine p.m., I escorted to their carriage at the paddock at four a.m. The whole affair passed off well, every one seemed highly gratified with their entertainment, and even the elements were propitious, as our guests had a fine evening for their arrival, and a morning not less so for their departure.

The Erebus and Terror Ball will doubtless long be remembered by the Tasmanians as a memorable event in the history of their very beautiful island; and most assuredly the boundless hospitality which every member of the expedition received at their hands will be as long remembered on their part as a no less interesting epoch in their own wandering lives.

[sisitrip]

"Reclamation"

I had a need to break from editing my first multi-chapter and this helped me escape the heat, unnecessary trips to stand in front of the refrigerator and the doubts. So I put this mess together because I was thinking what it must've been like to go home together after a night of Ian dancing in the club. That time was layered in complex issues that were hard to navigate. But, I keep hoping in all that mess, they had these moments where everything hard went away, at least for a little while.

-----------------------------

The plink of the dripping water is the only sound in the bathroom, breaking the quiet between them. It’s the gray time before morning and they’re back home after a long night of Ian being pawed and Mickey struggling to watch it.   

This routine of theirs is Ian’s favorite part of the night. When it’s just them awake in the sleeping house. It’s cocoon-like and he’s come to need it. They both do. It repairs them, this simple act of reclamation.

Ian sits on the closed lid of the toilet, patience running low as he bounces a straddling Mickey on his knees. 

“If you don’t stop shaking me, you’re going to get a finger in the eye,” Mickey says, carefully wiping the wet washcloth under Ian’s lash line. “Sleepy, yet?” 

Ian considers lying, but his agitated knees tell the truth. 

“Nope.” He pulls Mickey closer. “But, I don’t want to sleep anyway.” 

Mickey puffs warm air against his face as he snorts and starts cleaning the kohl from his other eye. 

“What do you wanna do then?” 

“Fuck you ragged,” he says quickly. “You haven’t let me touch you all night.”

“Excuse me if I don’t want my ass pounded to hamburger while smelling Fabuloso and eau de old man balls.” 

Ian barks a soft laugh. The bathrooms were rank. 

“Listen, Lip’s out for the night,” he whispers, commandeering handfuls of Mickey’s ass. “We can have his room and you can make those little squeaks I like when it goes too deep.” 

Mickey’s bright flush tickles the hell out of him. He still loves that. Mickey’s shyness about his body’s responses is adorable. 

Finished, Mickey throws the ruined washcloth in the sink. 

“I fucking squeak because your heavy ass pushes all the air out of my body,” Mickey murmurs, giving him a soft kiss. 

“You mean the air out of your butt, queef-queen.” 

They laugh through their kisses, huffing air into each other's mouths, honeyed connection easy and sweet. With that effortless link back in place, the buzzing along Ian’s cock flares, reminding him that he can’t get away from it unless he fucks Mickey into two orgasms and a handjob. He tries not to think about how this growing need is becoming harder to handle. 

“Tell me something. Why the eyeliner shit?” Mickey murmurs, pulling back to smooth Ian’s eyebrows.

“It’s like the shorts and the feather boas. Armor. They can’t touch the real me when I have that stuff on.” He runs his hands up and down Mickey’s back. “When I’m here, with you? You get just Ian.” 

“I like Just Ian. Maybe you can be Just Ian all the time.” Mickey nuzzles his cheek. “Quit that dancing shit.”

“So you can have two bitches waiting for you at home?” 

The light teasing he’d intended fails spectacularly on his bitterness. It surprises him how much he resents her despite Mickey making no moves to go home. Still, she was a pulsing wound between them and he can’t forget she exists like Mickey can. 

Mickey sighs and sags against him, burying his face in Ian’s shoulder. 

“This again? I told you. I’m not going back.” 

“And we’re not going forward,” he gripes, nipping at Mickey’s ear. 

“Don’t know what the fuck you want. I’m here.” Mickey pulls back, pleading expression softening his eyes to tender blue. “I’m here.”

He considers Mickey. Considers the nights Mickey spills his feelings in the dark safety of their bed, only to pay for that vulnerability when Ian lashes out then asks for more. Always more. 

Worse still, Ian knows in his gut that this power he has over Mickey is based on the fear that he’ll disappear again. He hates having that power because he wants Mickey’s freely given time and love and trust and he only has two of those things. The one thing lacking is symbolized by Mickey’s need to touch him at all times when they sleep. He was the architect for that Ian-shaped trauma. Thus, is his sickening power.

Guilt makes him back off. 

“Come on. Bed.” He pecks Mickey’s mouth, chin, nose and forehead, melting his harried look away. 

“Who’s gonna make me?” Mickey grins then yelps when Ian stands with him in his arms.

“How the fuck are you doing this? My legs would be jelly dancing like that all night.” 

Ian carries him into Lip’s room and tosses him on the bed. 

“Light work. Watch me put in real work,” he says, stripping off his shorts and jumping onto a laughing Mickey. 

“Look, before you start all that real work, hear me out.” Mickey wraps his arms around his neck, pulling Ian down for a kiss. “This thing with her, it’s temporary, alright? I’ll figure it out.”

Unable to resist the offered promise, Ian lets it go with a final salvo. 

“You better because side-chick status sucks.”  

Mickey rolls them and wriggles down Ian’s body to lick at his filling erection. 

“Nothing side-chick about you, Ian. Never before and not now.” 

As Mickey fills his mouth, moaning around his cock, Ian has one last thought before succumbing to pleasure. 

Never before and not now. Sure. But, what about never again? 

He doesn’t think either of them could ever make that promise. 

Never again just doesn’t seem to stick. 

Maybe it never will.

[simmonsized]

What does distilled sea water taste like

aww man you had to ask the most difficult question huh

i feel like, maybe it's not the same for everyone

and maybe it's different if you are not on a boat, or on a boat that is not the boat i was on, but like

to me it

okay to start, the thing with the water, right, is that all our fresh water came from the ocean. like it was not hauled on board, there was no fresh water to start, it is all pulled up and boiled and then that water vapor is put into the tank and used for showers, sinks, toilets, and, obviously, drinking and cooking etc

right so it's just plain H2O, no electrolytes, no fluoride, no whatever the fuck right it's just. water molecules lol

but it's water that came from the ocean right so like

it tastes like water, at first (if u have ever ingested clean river water i would say even that might give u an idea), but there is an aftertaste that's like

the way that standing on a beach in the northern pacific smells. cannot be clearer than that, i'm afraid.

there's like, eau de seaweed but no but yes but no

drinking water when i got back was very strange and i am now hyper aware of how all water tastes (and i was already a picky water drinker so this is a problem lol) and sometimes i miss it. it's weird.

[bastardblvd]

perfumes in grimetown give “eau de toilette” a new meaning. it’s because the base to every perfume is water from the toilet.

[wellthatwasaletdown]

My shower thoughts about yesterday, in no particular order or sense:

It was no-wigs allowed day.

He broke up with his wig glue.

His toupee was in the shop for repairs.

Treat Harry’s bald head with kindness.

Hair Club for Men has a new spokesmodel.

If an egg had a buzz cut.

It’s for a nonexistent movie role.

PR for Pleasing eau de toilet perfumes. On sale now.

He was tired of his wig getting pulled off during sex.

My Policeman would have been better if his hair got pulled off during sex.

Clown toupee lost. If found, contact Harry Styles.

It: Part 3.

There’s less resistance when he’s riding his lime bikes.

Hair is in the eye of the beholder.

President of Baldystan.

This generation’s Justin Timberlake but without the ramen noodle hair.

I bet Harries are gonna attack Louis for having hair.

It’s hair plug harvesting time.

The world needs a James Bond who is bald but at the same time cannot act and also looks 45 at the age of 30.

Jesus carried a cross. New Jesus wears a toupee.

Y'all kill me. LOL

[transandersrights]

happy friday!! how about handers, nighttime in kirkwall, and someone's laughing nearby?

(I take prompts! See info here)

Ohhh this is a really evocative prompt, ty! I offer ~700 words of mHanders pre-relationship flirting. It got real goofy ahaha

It was almost the moment they stepped out of the Hanged Man that Hawke tilted his head to one side and groaned. “Maker, they had to do it out here?”

Anders twigged only a moment later, catching the distinctive sound of running water. Not the sea in the distance; running water, outside the tavern with the Free Marches’ most unsanitary hole-in-the-floor toilets. Yep, that could only be one thing. “Better out than in?” he offered, smile wry.

Hawke’s returning smile was unfairly soft. Andraste’s sweet nipple tassels, he had to stop doing that. “Better inside than outside though, surely. What if there’s a dog out here! Or a mugger?”

“There are muggers in the Hanged Man,” Anders pointed out.

“Point taken.” Not that they’d ever go for Hawke, but someone tried their luck with Merrill once. Poor sod walked out with a half-empty bag of nuts and a shadow in the shape of Varric’s pending blackmail against him. “Must be embarrassing, though. Dick out in a Kirkwall alleyway.”

“Oh, you’re such a romantic.” Hawke shoved him very gently for that, and Anders made a point of stumbling forward, arms flailing. “And a gentleman, too!”

“I can be a gentleman.” It was too dark, and Hawke’s face just a little too far away, but Anders could hear the pout. “I could show you chivalry like you’ve never seen.”

“You could, could you?” Anders really should have stopped pushing the flirting weeks ago; no, months ago. Hawke was an unattainable dream, and this was only going to make it all worse, but…

Hawke bowed low, his arm twirling in a particularly lavish flourish. “My fair companion. Would you accompany me on a nightly stroll back to your humble abode?”

Yeah. That was why Anders was primarily screwed and secondarily never going to stop; terrible Orlesian accent and all. “We’ll trade eau de piss for eau d’espair.”

Hawke snorted; around the corner where the piss noises came from, so did someone else. Great — they had an audience. Except then, because Hawke was as much a shameless flirt as Anders and twice as bold when there were other people around, he moved closer, his arm outstretched in an obvious invitation.

They’d look like drunks, walking arm in arm and laughing at each other’s awful jokes. Hawke was lightly tipsy at most, and Anders stone cold sober, but they’d still attract the worst kind of attention. Did he have the energy for that right now?

Did he care, if he’d get to walk with Hawke like that? Anders was pretty sure he knew the answer already.

“I think you surprise me more every day,” he said, stretching his arm out in turn. Hawke linked them at the elbow, a small smile forming on his face.

“I dedicate myself ever to your amusement.” And his voice was softer again, which was so unfair. Who taught this man to be like that? Who made Anders so susceptible? “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

The laughter, once around the corridor, drew closer and came into view. Anders recognised its owner, someone he’d had in the clinic a couple of times: a dwarf with a particularly impressive grey beard — he couldn’t recall her name. “You two are hilarious,” she said. She looked between them, then snorted. “Sorry, did I interrupt your foreplay?”

“No!” The moment he said it, Anders felt bad about how quickly the words left his mouth. Yikes, that wasn’t going to make Hawke think this was anything more than a joke at all.

Maybe that was a good thing.

She glanced at Anders again. “Sure. You’re in the way of the door, by the way.”

“Right.” Hawke’s voice sounded tight when he lead Anders away, leaving the path to the Hanged Man clear once more. “Hope you had a good piss?”

She grinned. “Go sober up, lover boy.”

When she left, Hawke covered his face with his free hand and sighed. “Please tell me you don’t know her.”

Oops. “Guilty as charged,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Maker, you know everyone.” Hawke’s despair was a joke, but it still felt like something had been ruined. Just a little.

Ah well — there was still the rest of the night to get it back. Anders could salvage something in the walk down to Darktown, surely.

[lincolncarlsonblog]

Introducing No-Fuss Oil Perfume Methods

Perfume is made use of to provide the human body, pets, things as well as living areas a positive smell or fragrance. The scent of a stunning woman is a guaranteed embodiment of her womanliness. Composition Names like Chanel, Estee Lauder, Guerlain, Thierry Mugler or Lanvin make some really well-known business womens perfumes. Real perfumes consist of a higher quantity of Oil Perfume fragrance oils and are a lot more expensive than colognes and also toilet waters. A lot of fragrances are made up of 10 to 20 percent fragrance oils dissolved in alcohol. Depending greatly on its desired use is what establishes the make-up of a perfume. Coming from low-cost products are perfumes utilized is soap production. Classic Fragrances Possibility, No. 5 and Appeal are several of the traditional scents by Chanel. In addition, there are highlighted celebrity fragrances like Unforgivable Woman Black by Sean John, Spirit by Antonio Banderas and also Midnight Fantasy by Britney Spears. Much of these prominent perfumes are offered by the large houses and are priced between $100 and also $200 an ounce. Real lover of perfumes will always get her brand name, since it has become a part of her personality, despite the fact that there are unique deals for other brands readily available throughout special seasons. The Coco Mademoiselle by Chanel is a 100ml Eau de Spray. It can truly be identified as a feminine and also attractive scent, launched in 2001. The numerous fragrances available are mandarin, orange bloom, baroque flowers, Bulgarian increased, Indian jasmine and Tonka bean, all of which are light scents. Released in 1921, Chanel No. 5 is among the earliest solutions of Chanel. From that time until today it is taken into consideration one of one of the most feminine as well as yet modern floral scents. The fragrance notes include ylang-ylang, brownish-yellow, iris, patchouli, neroli, grasse jasmine, may increased, sandalwood and also vanilla. An equally enticing fragrance is Ecstasy by Calvin Klein. It can be classified as modern-day, sophisticated as well as feminine as it has a flowery fragrance. The numerous flower scents in which Bliss is offered are black violet, pomegranate, black orchid, mahogany wood, persimmon as well as lotus blossom. The perfume released by Viktor & Rolf called Flowerbomb also has a woody fresh fragrance and also is known for its Asian impacts. Grapefruit, cucumber, apple as well as magnolia are the scents made use of, which are extremely a lot different from the other perfumes mentioned. Whether Gucci, Armani, Christian Dior and even a less widely known manufacturer makes it, a female's very own special fragrance lends her poise, design as well as style. It matches the taste of her gown, the celebration and the character of the individual who uses it.

[dahkis]

doesnt eau de toilette translate to toilet water...

[wedekindplace]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Cacharel Noa Fleur.

[this-is-not-a-slow-burn]

I'm sorry but how is "chambre de la poupée" not French for bathroom? (it's "room for a doll" more or less)

No, they went with "Salle de bain" or "toilette" for the room where you do le peepee and le poopoo (toilette is both about the room and the fixture, *and* at one time meant the act of grooming done in the room. It's where we get "eau de toilette" or "toilet water". Not water from the commode, but because it's scented water used as part of doing your toilette)

AND. AAAAND. Douche is shower. Makes sense, yes?

I love language.

[pxppermxnt-tea]

When I put this through the translator it said that "Eau de" was "Water of" and I thought it was gonna come out as "Toilet Water" or "Water of Toilet"

Seeing ads for perfume is so crazy.. like girl what do they smell like

[hristianiorauvage]

Christian Dior Sauvage

 Sauvage is the perfect cologne for men.Men's Christian Dior has created a fragrant Sauvage cologne. Sauvage was launched in 2015 by Christian Dior. François Demachy is the nose behind this Sauvage fragrance. Some of the top notes are black pepper and calabrian bergamot and middle notes are lavender, pink pepper, vetiver, sichuan pepper, elemi and patchouli, geranium. Its base notes are labdanum and Ambroxan, cedar Sauvage.�� Cologne Eau de Parfum embodies an irresistible natural beauty in a stylish bottle of toilet spray. The smoke of Sauvage cologne reflects the calm breeze and coolness of the desert at a gloomy time of day.This cologne fragrance is perfect for such a person. Who is restrained and calm. Use moisturizer and shower gel before using Sauvage cologne. Because it helps the cologne to last longer. Johnny Depp is the nose behind the fragrance Sauvage Cologne.