A quick comp of the new Toyhouse icons I did for the competitors for the death match I did over on @oc-poll-times <3

Finch: A ghost that was never meant to exist, but tries their best to not be a nuisance while trying to form a sense of identity for themself. They don't have the first clue how being a ghost is supposed to work, which makes communication difficult. They are often shunned from the rest of the neighborhood by the ghosts who believe they don't belong, but they try their best to improve and become friends with everyone. It doesn't help their identity to be rejected, though, and they run the risk of disappearing forever if they cannot find a way to accept themself. Is kind, helpful, friendly, and would do anything to protect the ones they love. Even if they have to protect them from themself.

This character's main theme is Out Of Sight Out Of Mind by Crusher-P

Cardamon Suite: Belongs to all and no Kingdom at the same time. Follows Xena around like an annoying henchman and provides nothing useful except being a nuisance and they love it. Is always willing to cause mischief, whether they're asked to or not. Very petty and very quick to anger, which makes them infamous in many establishments across Kingdoms, all banning them before they even arrive. Is fairly easy to manipulate and ends up getting stuck in situations they can't easily mischief their way out of. For some reason, Xena comes to get them every time. She feels a connection to them she cannot place.

This character's main theme is I'll Forgive You Even You Die by Kikuo (captions are essential to this one, folks)

Christmas Eve Will Find Me

Four: Finn

Somewhere Between Christmas Markets and Heartbreak

Athens, Greece

Christmas was waking back up all around them. Finn felt Sirius’ eyes on him as he went up to an old woman heating pots of spicy smelling tea while another woman set up their stand. Her smile was rather toothless and her eyes were the sparkling kind of joyful. She gifted Finn a cup with a small spoonful of sugar, pushing away his money and putting a hand to his cheek.

You can charm anyone, Finn heard Logan say. Mon Rouge…mon bijou. Une perle.

“Sad,” the woman said in English, swiping a gentle thumb beneath Finn’s eye—he was sure he looked terrible then. Sleepless and red-eyed. “No more.”

Finn’s throat closed up all over again. “Thank you.”

He turned back to their group, watching his breath mix with the steam. The tea was good. Not to sweet and full of clove and cardamon. He felt it try to thaw out the center of his chest that rung with who are you, who are you?

There wasn’t really any point in denying it. For whatever reason, Logan hadn’t known who he was. He hadn’t recognized the number—or he had? Logan had called Finn. He had called Finn, only to ask who is this? Who is this?

Finn wasn’t sure what they were looking for, or how walking around the city was going to help them find Logan and Remus—especially if Logan and, maybe, Remus, didn’t even know them. Finn had to stop walking and close his eyes against the swaying, sickening sadness. He just wanted him back. Before, it had been the most horrible need, but now it might be even worse.

“Warm enough?” Leo asked, falling in at his side.

Finn didn’t bother opening his eyes right away. Leo had already seen.

“Yep,” Finn said. He sighed and looked over at him. “Yeah.”

“The tea is good?”

Finn nodded. He took a sip and let the spices give that chunk of ice another good knock. Nothing.

“I’m sorry none of us could have prepared you for that.”

“What,” Finn began. “The love of my life not knowing me?”

“Well—yes.”

“I’m not sure anything could have prepared me for that.”

Leo’s mouth pulled to the side. “Right…”

“Le,” James called. He was standing with Sirius by a cafe table and gazing up across the street. Finn followed their eyes. A security camera.

“This is where Sirius saw…” Finn began.

“Possibly,” Leo said. “Be right back.” He put a hand on Finn’s shoulder. “And don’t wander.”

Finn watched him cross. Guilt tugged at him. Leo had pressed himself all along Finn’s back last night, trying to stop him shivering. It seemed useless. Finn had shaken himself to sleep, gripping onto Leo’s hand. It had scared him, the tremors. He’d accidentally called Leo—

What’s wrong with me, Lo? he’d said through clenched teeth.

It’s shock, Leo had whispered. He hadn’t commented on the mistake, just held Finn tighter. Maybe he’d been holding Finn together. Finn hadn’t even woken again when Leo slipped out of bed for his turn to go on watch.

Finn too another sip of tea. Another attempted thaw. He caught a glimpse of his wedding ring and then couldn’t seem to look away.

The church was hushed as they entered together. Finn was glad he was holding onto Logan’s arm, glad he had Logan to lead him, because he couldn’t take his eyes off Logan’s face. In his dark green suit, he was gorgeous. Winter, Christmas, green, frozen pond, strength.

Logan’s mouth had fought a smile. “Don’t trip us up.”

Finn couldn’t even remember what music had played. Only holding Logan’s hands at the alter. His brother Alex’s happy brown eyes as he’d handed them the rings. A squeeze to his shoulder.

They knew Logan had—died. God, what would Finn say now? He shook himself, he tried to hold onto the memory. Logan’s hands had been so warm, leaning down to kiss the ring he’d just slipped on Finn’s fingers and drawing awes from the audience. Finn felt tears in his throat. He brought his own fist, the cold gold, to his lips.

In sickness and in health. For better and for worse. For richer and for poorer.

In memory and, what? Forgetting?

Until parted by death. Finn had done no such thing. No part of him had been severed from Logan when he’d thought he was dead. He’d simply been dragged, by his very soul possibly, there with him. It didn’t matter that he had been walking around and talking. He felt very much, upon hearing Logan’s voice, that he’d just taken his first breath in months.

Leo had told him not to wander, but Finn needed to look at something else other than his own mind.

Down a very narrow street, just a few steps away from where the others were gathered, a small bookshop rested, closed just then. It looked like it had been built right into the city’s stones itself. Finn walked towards its window display and crouched to read the Greek titles. Beautiful typography, even if he couldn’t read it. He could see the way the shelves turned and folded into a maze within. If he looked past his own faint reflection in the window—God, he did look horrible—he could see him and Logan there. He could pretend. He could turn the shop lights on in his mind and feel Logan’s hand in his. Logan would have let him drag him around the shelves. Would have pressed him up against one and kissed him. What Finn would do to feel the way Logan kissed again.

And then the memory snapped. The lights turned off and Finn shivered.

Something cold was pressing against the back of his head.

Finn didn’t know how, but he knew it was a gun.

“I told you to stop trying to find me.”

Logan’s voice was right behind him. Finn’s mouth parted. His eyes unfocused, shifting away from the shop’s interior and zeroing back in on his own reflection. His own surprised brown eyes. He looked up. Up, slow, up…

Standing behind him in the window’s watery mirror, there he was.

After months. Months of thinking he was dead. In the pale, grey light of the window, Logan looked unreal. A ghost, completely imagined. No hat, brown hair curling against his neck. Even like this, his eyes were vividly green. Black coat. His gun against the back of Finn’s neck, where Logan had kissed him so many times. Finn dropped the tea. It burned his knee through his jeans but he could hardly feel it.

Slowly, Finn began to turn his head.

The gun dug into his skull. “Don’t move.”

But Finn did. He dropped to his knees. He put his hands up and he turned. Logan could shoot him if he really thought he should. But in that case Finn needed to see him one last time.

“I said stop,” Logan said, but he let Finn turn. The gun was right at his chest now. Logan. Logan had a gun on him, and he was looking at Finn with an expression that Finn had never seen before or at least didn’t remember. Logan hadn’t looked at Finn like he didn’t know anything about him since that first handshake back at college. Ten years of knowing each other inside out and suddenly there was this. Tanned skin, broad shoulders.

“Logan,” Finn said. He didn’t know where this courage was coming from. Logan didn’t recognize him. For all Finn knew, Logan would shoot. “It’s me.”

Hesitation. At least Finn could still read that on Logan’s face.

“You’re Logan,” Logan said. “The phone number. I…I see your phone number.”

Finn shook his head. “No. You’re Logan. Logan Tremblay.”

The gun wavered. If Finn was really smart, or had any sort of training at all, he would try to get rid of it entirely. But it didn’t feel real. For the amount Finn had been around guns—never—it looked like a toy. In Logan’s hand, his Logan, it looked like a toy.

“I’m—I’m Logan,” Logan repeated haltingly. Questioningly.

Finn nodded. How didn’t he know his own name?

“Who are you?” Logan asked.

“Finn. I’m Finn.”

Logan seemed to remember the gun. He raised it back to Finn’s chest. “Why do I see your number?”

“Because you gave it to me.”

“No. No, I didn’t know where it would go.”

“Yes. You gave it to me for emergencies. So we could keep in touch in case… In case anything happened.”

“Why? Who do you work for?”

“I’m a professor of English Literature at King’s College. In London. I moved there for you.”

“Why?” Logan fired the questions like an interrogation, but Finn could see how curious he was.

“For your work.”

“No, why did you move for me?”

Finn thought of Sirius. There had been something said about not saying too much. That it was too much too soon. But just then, Finn couldn’t help it, he couldn’t stand it.

“Logan,” Finn said softly. His hands were still raised, and he hoped Logan would notice his ring. “Lo, we’re married.”

The gun flagged again. Logan just stared at him. His eyes flit to the gold on his left hand.

Finn eased that hand forward, palm up. “We’ve been married for five years. Lo, something’s happened to you—”

Finn broke off when Logan dropped the gun. It rattled on the floor. Logan’s face twisted up in pain. His hands went to his head and he dropped to his knees right in front of Finn with a low cry.

“Lo?” Finn reached for him. Logan sagged against his chest, gasping for air. “Oh God—Logan, what—”

Logan didn’t seem like he could support his own weight. His eyes were closed, teeth grit.

“Logan.” Finn gathered him close, cradling his back, getting his legs under him to pull Logan into his lap. He didn’t care if Logan didn’t know him, he wasn’t going to let him lay on the cold ground. “Logan, can you hear me?” He looked up, searching for Leo or Sirius.

“Finn.”

When Finn looked back down, Logan was staring at him. Finally, a shade of green he knew. A shade that knew him. Logan reached for him. “Finn. Rouge.”

Finn felt his eyes fill with tears. “It’s—It’s me. Oh God—Lo, it’s me.”

Finally, it felt like when Logan was looking at him, he actually saw him. He gripped onto Finn’s jacket and touched his face. Finn leaned his cheek into Logan’s palm.

“It’s me, it’s me,” Finn whispered. “Lo—”

“Listen to me. Listen to me. Salazar—” Logan said, and his face screwed up in pain again. A sound of pain broke in his throat and his back arched in Finn’s arms. He grabbed Finn tighter. “No, no, no, listen Finn, listen—”

“Logan.” Finn held him tighter. “You’re scaring me, you’re scaring me—”

Logan’s nose began to bleed, a thin red trail down his cheek bone, but his eyes opened again. “Tell Leo…” Logan’s fingers dug into the skin of his neck, but Finn didn’t care. He only cared that Logan was looking at him, talking to him.

“What,” Finn said. “Tell Leo what?” Finn’s voice went high through tears. He wiped the blood from Logan’s nose. “Baby, what’s wrong? What happened to you, why didn’t you come home, what can I do—”

“Pascal,” Logan said, and then his entire body went limp in Finn’s arms.

“No—” The word came out strangled. “Logan, Logan—”

“Let go of him, O’Hara.”

Finn’s head snapped up. A man was standing there. Sandy-hair and with a severe face. He had a gun trained on him, held with two hands.

“Throw the gun,” the man said, not lowering his own. “Get up. And no one will get hurt.”

Finn held Logan closer, tilting his face, the blood drying across his cheek, against his chest and away form the cold wind. “Who are you?”

“I said let him go.”

Finn picked up Logan’s gun and aimed it. “Don’t touch him. Who the fuck are you?”

The man just laughed. “You don’t even know how to point that thing correctly.”

“But I do.”

They both turned to see Leo standing there. He had his gun raised at the man, but his eyes went wide when his saw his face.

“Jack?” Leo said. “What the hell? What are you doing here?”

“Stay out of this Leo,” Jack said, and turned back to Finn and Logan. “Tell him to hand over Tremblay.”

“Jack,” Leo said again. “Put the fucking gun down! He’s a civilian.”

“Then he shouldn’t be handling a service weapon,” Jack said. He cocked his own gun. “Let go of him, Finn. Set him down and step away.”

“No,” Finn said. “No.”

Jack grit his teeth and fired a shot into the air. Finn flinched down, curving his body over Logan’s. He’d never heard a gunshot in real life before. At least not like this. His own hand flexed around the handle of Logan’s gun. Jack was right. He didn’t have a clue how to shoot this thing. What if he needed to and nothing happened? Wasn’t there a safety mode?He heard cries of shock from the distant main street at Jack’s shot and tried to imagine someone getting scared because of him.

“Get up,” Jack said.

“No.”

Another single shot rang out and all three of them, Finn, Leo, and Jack flinched. None of them had fired it. Jack looked around wildly and Leo raised his eyes towards the rooftops.

Sirius and James rounded the corner on each other’s heels with their guns raised.

“Jack,” Sirius said, then saw Leo with his gun and raised his, too. He flitted his eyes to Finn and stopped hard when he saw who Finn was holding. “Logan…”

“Who the fuck was that?” Jack demanded, rounding on Sirius. “Who are you working for? What did Lupin say to you?”

James was positioned just out of view behind the street corner, but Finn could see him. “You’re not making any sense, Archer.”

Jack Archer. Finn carded his fingers through Logan’s hair, trying to think if he’d heard that name. Too much of his mind was bleeding bleeding Logan bleeding to remember.

“Remus?” Sirius called out hesitantly, eyes also towards the sky. Had the shot come from the roof? Finn couldn’t tell. “Is that you?”

“We have to go,” Finn said, locking eyes with Leo. “He’s hurt. He’s…” He looked back down at Logan’s face. It was relaxed now, peaceful even, but Finn couldn’t get the feeling of the way his body had contracted in on itself. “Please don’t die,” Finn whispered. “Please, Lo, I can’t, I know I can’t without you.”

There was no reply from above, and Jack fired off four shots, making Leo scream at him to stop. When he didn’t, Leo ran up behind him and disarmed him cleaning in three deadly hits to his shoulder, and elbow.

“What’s going on, Jack?” Leo asked, holding both guns now, pointing them towards the ground.

Jack scowled, eyes on his gun.

“What would Remus have told us?” Sirius asked.

Jack began to back up. “Like I’d give up what we know.”

“Did you know he was alive?” Sirius strode forward fast, gun raised. “Did you?”

Finn didn’t think of Sirius as calm exactly, but he did think of him as collected. He didn’t seem either one just then. He had a snarl to his voice. He looked like he was seriously considering killing Jack if he answered yes to that question.

“Did you?” Sirius shouted, and fired a shot of his own, just beside Jack’s head. It sent Jack running, with no weapon of his own.

The last thing Finn saw of Sirius was the flash of his gray eyes as he gave chase.

“Finn.” Leo’s voice. Finn realized, as he stared at his hands gripping Logan to him, that he was shaking again. Leo’s gloved hands covered his own. He’d put his gun away and he was staring at Logan. Blue. God, his eyes were so very, very blue. Finn had always been a little struck by that. Like water, though water wasn’t blue, was it? Like the sky in water. Though the sky wasn’t blue. Like light.

“He wanted to shoot me,” Finn heard himself whisper.

“What?” Leo said breathlessly. Slowly, he took the gun out of Finn’s trembling hand. Finn let him. “Shoot you?”

“And then he knew me,” Finn said, and Leo’s eyes widened.

“He did?”

“For a second.” Finn stroked the blood off of Logan’s cheek. “For a second, he knew me. He said tell Leo…”

“What?” Leo’s hand tightened. “Tell me what? Tell me what?”

“Pascal,” Finn said. Logan’s eyes moved beneath his eyelids. Delicate. Alive. “And now he’s…” Alive. Alive alive. “Now he’s like this. He said Pascal.”

Our Court is Complete! Let the Contestants be Announced!

Ice Juggler Cookie (Cookie Run)

Pomni (The Amazing Digital Circus)

Quackerjack (Darkwing Duck)

Lychee Dragon Cookie (Cookie Run)

Jevil (Deltarune)

Daycare Attendant (FNAF: Security Breach)

Bittergiggle (Garten of Banban)

Shadow Milk Cookie (Cookie Run)

Marx (Kirby)

The Jester (Lethal Company)

Gourmet (MAGO)

Binary Bard (Poptropica)

Dimentio (Super Paper Mario)

The Jester (Card Courts - OC)

Razputin Aquato (Psychonauts)

Courtley Jester (Ever After High)

Hyehehe (My Singing Monsters)

Jestro (Nexo Knights)

Blacephalon (Pokemon)

Miché (Regretevator)

Joka (Klonoa)

Nights (Nights into Dreams)

Clownpiece (Touhou)

Spark (Spark the Electric Jester)

Chester (Brawl Stars)

Kefka (Final Fantasy VI)

Spinel (Steven Universe)

Piedmon (Digimon)

Reala (Nights into Dreams)

Texture Jester (OC)

Cardamon Suite (Solitarius - OC)

Jester (Dreamscape Circus - OC)

Querella (Magical Girl TTRPG - OC)

Daugwin (Planet Chivalry - OC)

Stańczyk (Real Life)

Harley Quinn (Batman)

Prompt: Soft

fandom: Bee and Puppycat

Bee listened to the choked sobs escaping from Cardamon as she held him tightly, stroking his soft lavender hair. She wasn’t sure entirely what to say to cheer Cardamon, so she simply settled herself on her couch with Cardamon on her lap. Cardamon sniffled, quickly pushing away from Bee, “I-I need to get back to maintaining cleanliness of your building.” he muttered. Bee sighed and placed a dejected Cardamon back onto her lap.

“Cardamon, you’re clearly not okay. You should just let the big ones take care of things for now…” She smiled comfortingly and gently caressed Cardamon’s cheek in a mother-like way. Cardamon was originally opposed to the idea of allowing Bee to take care of him. She was hardly competent enough to pay her rent, let alone watch a child for a day or more, but when Bee began to flutter her fingers on Cardamon’s ribs, he found that he was unable to pick himself back up.

He giggled as he halfheartedly tried to struggle away, finding his sleepiness beginning to take effect. His body felt all warm and heavy as he found himself involuntarily snuggling up close to Bee’s soft body. She cooed, “You’re just as cute as puppy-cat when I do this to him.” Puppy-cat gave a sideways glare at Bee from across the room and farted decidedly as a form of protest before waddling into the kitchen. Cardamon giggled sleepily as he eventually gave up his struggling and allowed himself to reluctantly melt into Bee’s warmth. “That’s it, kiddo.” She said softly with a smile and began to trace her fingertips on Cardamon’s hands. He resisted a smile about to surface and look up at Bee curiously, “Bee, what are you doing?” He asked with a tilt of his head.

“It’s called rollercoaster breathing. Watch, I trace your fingers uppp…” She traced upwards, “and you breathe in.”

Cardamon followed suit and tried not to squirm against the sensations dancing along the side of his little finger. “And when I trace downnnn…” She dipped her finger down to the base of his fingers, “you breathe out.” Cardamon shakily breathed out as he filtered the retrained laughter out. “I-It feels weird.” He said quickly. Bee raised a brow and smiled comfortingly, “Good weird, or bad weird?”

This question was a little harder to answer. “I…good weird.” Cardamon answered firmly, although there was a tremor in his voice.

“Then I supposed it’s working!” Bee smiled proudly as she proceeded the action steadily.

Cardamon breathed with her, giggling when she dipped her finger down causing a restrained squeal.

Bee smiled knowingly, “You’re doing amazing. I’m proud of you, y’know that?”

Cardamon was caught off guard by this statement, he flushed. “…Thank you.” He whispered, not knowing what else to say.

“Anytime, bud. Just don’t make puppycat too jealous.” She said with a smirk, “he doesn’t do well with sharing affection."

_____________________________

A/N: im not sorry for being gone. fuck you guys. /lh

a brief question about seasons and perfumes: how would one wear a coffee scent in the summer? i fear it would be too heavy or out of place for the summer months, but i do reach for it on instinct. thoughts or recommendations? thank you darling!

Hi Love! ☕️🦢

I think in general seasonal perfume choices depend on (1) the summer (2) the perfume (3) you.

Depending on where you're from, temperatures and humidity will vary, so a certain scent might feel too heavy at one place, while being perfectly wearable somewhere else.

Then, the other notes that compose the scent also play an important role in its overal impression. Coffee, to me, is a neutral scent, but I see how it’s often composed in warm-spicy fragrances that feel better suited for cold weather. Lush's Cardamon Coffee for example is said to be purely a winter scent, with its spicy-woody quality. Meanwhile I personally am just starting to wear J'Ose by Eisenberg again, which has mint and lemon in the beginning to add to the lavender/mocha combo later, which to me makes it suitable for the mild weather with its cool wind and warm rain we're experiencing right now (I'm not sure I'd wear it in the height of summer, though. We'll have to wait and see). Then I think something like Black Opium is so well-loved and popular that I don't think it would be that outrageous to wear it in summer? It's the signature scent of quite a lot of people, so I could imagine you might just come across is in summer, too. Popularity sometimes means scents become universal to some degree.

Lastly, it really comes down to what you personally enjoy. In my experience, taste and the desire to smell something change naturally as the seasons change. But what they change into - or whether they change at all - is a purely personal matter. If it's 35C outside and you feel like Cardamon Coffee is the perfect scent for you and it's exactly what you want to wear, do it!

Re: Possible summer alternatives... I’m not an expert on coffee scents — unfortunately I’m still searching for one I absolutely love, so I can’t really recommend any at this point that would be summer specific. What I randomly stumbled upon as I was doing research is Florabellio by Diptyque, which seems to combine coffee with sea breeze notes. I haven't smelled it, but maybe that could be of interest for you? 🌊🌬️☕️ J'Ose and Awake (by Akro) also feature lighter citrus notes in some way, which might lift the scent and make it lighter. And Black Opium has many flankers, maybe one of them feels more warm weather appropriate while keeping that coffee note?

To sum it up: fragrance does depend on the season, but I don’t think you have to worry too much about whether your coffee scent will be appropriate to wear in a few months. When the time (and weather) comes and you find yourself reaching for it still, wear it! Maybe wear it a little lighter, use less sprays if you’re worried about it being out of place or inappropriate. But all in all, I don't think you have to worry :) Enjoy your ️coffee in a bottle! ☕️

La squadra's fav perfume hcs pls! And the scent notes as well. Love ya 💖

You have thrown me a curve ball, dear Anon, but you threw it with love and I appreciate it. 💖 I haven't worn perfume in the last fifteen years (I am sensitive enough that they give me a headache), but I am stepping up to bat!

Risotto: In his younger days he never wore perfume beyond occasionally using his father's cologne for bigger events, so he didn't develop a personal taste beyond it. Upon starting a new life in Passione, he became a challenge because his Stand's influence has given his already pungent skin a slightly metallic odor that isn't noticeable without cologne, but immediately cuts into anything floral or fruity. In the end his teammates figured out that an earthy perfume suits him best, usually a sandalwood base followed by herbal heart notes like rosemary or star anise and some peppermint or pine in the top notes, which gives him the reassurance of smelling fresh and clean. He is more fascinated by fruity perfumes all the same, and admires people who wear them well.

Formaggio: As a true jack of all trades, he knows his perfumes well enough that he has some private theories about what your perfume preferences say about you (based on many a one-night stand and short-lived fling). His body odor isn't as strong as Risotto's so he has more room to play, and he will always go for spicy and fruity scent notes because in his opinion, these make you smell the most exciting and the most desirable - ripe for the picking, if you catch his drift. He will go for a vanilla base note to further enhance his favorites, and look for heart notes like strawberry or pear and cinnamon or ginger. He then finishes off with citrusy top notes, usually orange and bergamot. If your perfume smells good enough to eat, he will know he has found a kindred spirit, but he also loves a good floral perfume on principle because you can't go wrong with flowers.

Prosciutto: The Grateful Dead has not only compromised his ability to taste, but also impacted his sense of smell by virtue of proximity, which is one of the few things he's actually self-conscious about. Theoretically he loves the idea of perfume as a complement to your ensemble, but the selection process is tedious guesswork at best, so he has resigned himself to buying highly approved designer brands only. One of the few who not only prefers a strong musk base, but also wears rich scent notes really well in general like amber, vetiver, blackberry or cardamon. Herbal and floral scent notes "wilt" on his skin, but he can appreciate them on a partner by leaning close and focusing on their scent. If he ever catches you wearing something smelly or tacky around him because he "can't tell anyway", he will never forgive you for holding him (and yourself) so cheap. He could and probably has punched people over this.

Pesci: While he's perfectly content to use your run of the mill deodorant or wear anything that seems popular and therefore must be acceptable, he is quite sensitive to other people wearing perfume, and can tell when their chosen scent and natural odor are not in harmony. He can appreciate any sort of perfume that is in harmony with the wearer's skin type, but if pressed a little further, he does have his favorites. Fresh top notes like citrus will always be preferred to floral notes, and ideally these should be followed up by fruity or herbal heart notes depending on the desired vibe, like green apple or basil. He loves a fig base note, perhaps with a touch of vanilla, but only on his partner because he's too embarrassed to wear such a sweet smell himself; a cedarwood base might be a better compromise for him overall.

Ghiaccio: He openly prefers deodorant and body spray to perfume for himself (what other people wear is their business and he won't say a word unless it's downright offensive to him one way or another), but was gently and sometimes not so gently coerced into wearing cologne for more solemn occasions and had to make up his mind about what scent notes were acceptable. Will not be caught dead wearing any type of musk: wood base notes are his go-to, especially pine, and for the heart notes, he prefers to pair that with minty herbs like spearmint, sage or absinthe. The top notes are mostly watery like oakmoss or sea spray, and altogether these give him an almost cold smell that suits his powers as well as his desire to present as cool. He would prefer his partner to either wear something light or nothing.

Melone: Like Formaggio, he has made extensive observations about perfumes and personalities, but also pays more attention to context because he, by virtue of being an underpaid assassin, will usually take what he can get and is perfectly content to wear anything cheap if it catches his fancy at the moment. He's not ashamed to admit that he sometimes uses cooking extracts when he has nothing else on hand. His preferred base notes are vanilla and violet, respectively (he experimented with but never committed to musky or woody base notes), and he likes to blend these with heart notes like lavender, orange blossom or magnolia. The top notes are usually citrus, and altogether they give his tired skin a fresh and naturally sweet glow-up. He appreciates most types of perfume on a partner, though the stronger ones will overwhelm him unless applied in moderation.

Illuso: Possibly has the nicest skin on the team, which seems to be one of those arbitrary blessings of life that requires no effort on his part and only makes him more smug about the fact that he does know his fragrances. He loves a cypress base note for its woody and spicy scent as well as its benefits to a nervous constitution like his, and he's all about those floral heart notes: jasmine and ylang ylang are his prime favorites, the latter sometimes paired with sandalwood. The top notes are also likely to be on the floral side, especially rose or hyacinth, and the overall impression is exotic and alluring. Being a bit of a snob about this, he can get openly judgmental about people's choices, and because he does have enough knowledge to boast, he will give unsolicited though sound advice on scent notes.

Sorbet: If he can, he will wear perfume every day, and he tends to be loyal to his few select favorites, though he always tags along to perfume shops to browse and appreciate the bottle designs. His preferred base notes are patchouli and sugar cane. He loves a sweet smell, and accordingly he tends to go for heart notes that give it character and nuance: think a hint of musk, spices like clove, fruits like coconut, or subtle florals like lily and violet. The top notes are usually citrusy to add some freshness, and occasionally spicy to make him smell almost like a flavored caramel. He scoffs at bland woody colognes and rolls his eyes at the more pronounced floral fragrances unless they have something unique to recommend them, but otherwise tolerates everybody's choices with great composure.

Gelato: He actually doesn't wear perfume on the daily unless Sorbet explicitly expresses a wish for it, and then you will find that to him, the only valid base note is patchouli because that's what he grew up with and he refuses to part from it. That's a strong start already, but he loves to boost that with heart notes like frankincense and myrrh, and the top notes will likely be a citrus like bitter orange or a spice like black pepper. All in all, his favorite colognes have a musky or smoky quality to them that echoes the crowded bars he likes to frequent, and in other contexts gives his presentation an almost somber aspect. He is somewhat unbending in his preferences and finds it a little odd that most people go for lighter blends than he does, but will not make a big deal of it beyond poking fun if he can get away with it.

Day 26- Chilling (January 3)

Shela is known as a place to chill so today we decided to try that out. We headed to a local restaurant for breakfast where I was thrilled that they served chipatis and jam as a breakfast food! I also decided to try Swahili tea which as I understand it is marsala tea, cardamon, ginger, cinnamon and milk. Oriana and I liked it; however, the others decided it was a bit too much.

After our late breakfast we wandered the labyrinth of paths around Shela to admire the architecture, the donkeys, the cats, the carved doors and the artisan shops. Aman had some beautiful clothes that suit this hot but modest climate. I wanted to take pictures of the décor of the shop but that seemed inappropriate although I did discretely take a picture of a fully beaded chair that might not be comfortable to sit on but was quite spectacular!

Tamsyn and I have decided that if we lived here, we would need to start a cat sanctuary. There are cats everywhere; however, many of them aren’t looking very healthy and much to T’s chagrin we aren’t letting her pet them all.

After our stroll, we came back to the house to enjoy some reading, napping and general relaxation. After lunch we decided to explore more of the beach as we had explored one way, on our walk to Lamu Town, but not the other direction. On our first day here, we met a henna artist, Zena, and the kids have been asking to use their “Santa money” to get a henna tattoo since the interaction. When we went looking for her the other day, we didn’t have any luck so we were excited to see her soon after we hit the beach. The girls now have ½ sleeves of henna and I have a bracelet of flowers and vines.

Compared to our first day at the beach, there was nobody at the beach today! I guess due to it not being a holiday and a little cooler, everyone packed it in. This beach goes on forever; we walked for a couple of hours but still couldn’t see the end. Also, when you head towards Lamu Town there is consistent evidence of inhabitation; however, in this direction once you leave Shela there is no real development. There are large sand dunes and two houses, one that looks like a big sandcastle due to its colour and a huge, lengthy sandy beach. It sounds like at one point a lot of celebrities would come to the area and you can imagine the appeal of these beautiful beaches and no one around. I thought it would be a great walk for beachcombing; however, the shells are very small clam shells so not as remarkable as I thought we might find. We did see a dead red snapper and a dead parrot fish which were both interesting to see up close.

We had big dinner plans, so we made our way back down the beach enjoying the warm sand and water, cleaned up and headed down the ‘road.’ Peponi’s has a reputation as a great restaurant, so we had made a reservation yesterday (Mark had to sweet talk them to let us come as they were fully booked) and used our Christmas money to not feel guilty about the splurge. After a pre-dinner drink in the more casual bar area, we were shown to our table in the dining room. I had a wonderful seafood risotto with squid, a few types of fish, prawns and crab with a glass of bubbly! Tamsyn was thrilled to have a “toto” (kid) menu and of course choose a pasta dish so was super happy. Mark was craving beef and was excited to try the filet mignon which did not disappoint, and Oriana who is usually quite adventurous in her food choices, played it safe and went for a pasta dish which she enjoyed. We were all stuffed but managed to share a delicious piece of frozen mango cheesecake. While at the restaurant a freak rain shower happened soaking many of the guests. We were lucky to be seated under a thatched roof so not impacted by the shower as they rejigged the tables to get people out of the rain. Again a wonderful day enjoying this laid back, beachy town!

my handsome boys

THE ART OF SEDUCTION Reader Insert

After working months at his side, whether it be in the field, during training, debriefing in his office, or simply occupying the same space in quieter moments- reading in the lounge with a cup of tea, enjoying a few precious moments of peace, you were no closer at deciphering the gorgeous mystery that was Harry Hart. Your time with him merely reinforced what you already knew. And what you knew had, much to your chagrin, become increasingly and disconcertingly distracting with every moment you shared space with him. Harry was beautiful, obviously. You determined that the moment you saw him. Even from a distance, he cut a striking figure. But it was the understated way he acknowledged his own appearance, knew that it was pleasing and accepted it with grace, dignity and a matter-of-factness, that only made him more attractive.

Harry Hart’s appeal wasn’t just based on his good looks. There were other men who had more classically balanced features. It was significantly more than good genes or the symmetry of bone structure. Not that his purely physical attributes were lacking in any regard. You had already committed to memory every aspect of his form and figure, from his hair, with a distinguished flurry of silver, all the way down to his feet in their gleaming oxfords. No doubt polished with every wearing; they carried him with purposeful movement and long measured strides.

Harry Hart was a tall man. Often folding his legs as gracefully as possible under tables and desks that were just a breath too short to accommodate a man of his stature. He carried himself differently. Always with a posture, walk, a gait, that had a purpose.  Never rushed unnecessarily, he possessed the ease of someone in full control of his physical body. His movements were light, sharp, and kinetic. When he was still, he held himself straight and tall, without strain. In more casual moments, his weight would shift to one side or the other, or he might lean against a support, breaking up the long, precise lines of his full height.

Mostly, this had to do with a hyper awareness of his environment and his place in it. If Harry needed to calm a new recruit, he might stand with authority, but tuck his hands in his pockets, conveying a sense of ease and familiarity. When confronting an adversary, his stature seemed to grow as he pulled himself to his full height.  In those rare moments where he was free from personal and professional obligations responsibilities, as much as he could ever be, his figure would take on smooth curves and relaxed angles. The space he occupied was his to claim, mould, and manipulate. And Harry Hart did so with his body, his voice, his gaze, his way of dress.

Surprisingly, you discovered that Harry was a man who often communicated through physical touch. As a man of few words, who often guarded his privacy and personal life, you expected him to be even more reserved with his body language, to be even more wary of close physical contact. Quite the contrary, he was often more generous with a hand on the shoulder or a gentle pat on the back as a form of approval or encouragement. Sometimes, he would place his hand over yours as gesture of support and understanding. Harry was more demonstrative with contact and touch than he was with using words of praise or comfort. Even his proximity, whether it be as a figure in the distance or his physical closeness, could affect the energy of the room.

Rolling it over in your mind, you realised that it made sense that Harry would be comfortable communicating through touch. In some regards, he was a very tactile man, a sensual man, if not overtly so. He was a man that celebrated the senses.

In his office, though minimalist by Kingsman standards, austere even, there were touches of extravagance not influenced by tradition. All the furniture, as well as being beautifully made, focused on designs that were hospitable as well as functional. The chairs were comfortable. The lounge was upholstered in a dark, rich leather, well oiled and worn smooth by years of use. It was masculine, but also soft and inviting, a piece that you could relax and sink into.  A sumptuous throw. Pillows covered in dark velvet that were actually soft, not just decorative.

The items that did adorn his office were obviously selected thoughtfully and with care. The enticingly smooth curves of a vase, seemingly out of place, brilliant jade against the subdued tones of hunter green, tartans and plaid and the deep tones of polished wood and leather. The delicate lines and breathtaking color of a framed butterfly.  A small, sterling silver paperweight in the shape of a terrier. A cut crystal decanter, with matching tumblers, no doubt holding an insanely old and very expensive scotch.

There was an emphasis, not on the prestige or price of an object, but on its, color, texture, lines that were pleasing or challenging to the eye. Not as a flaunting of wealth, but a source of pleasure. It wasn’t an ostentatious display of the rich, it was the luxury of selection and taste. Any piece of clothing or fabric that touched his body directly was often luxurious, as well, scarfs, gloves, fine cashmere or calfskin leather. Though you had no way of knowing, you assumed his sheets would be of the highest thread count.

Harry’s manner of dress was immaculate and as precise as the polished, clipped tones of his aristocratic accent. He presented himself as a man who was self-assured with his appearance. Whatever he wore, he wore with confidence. He wore it well, without vanity, pretension, ego or conceit. Not that he needed the help of his wardrobe to face the world. His manner of dress seemed to highlight, magnify his innate sense of self.  He was not a flashy man, but he appreciated the expert craftsmanship that went into a finely cut suit. That good clean lines, quality materials, understated but interesting details could be the final polish on an already finely honed presentation.   

His clothing was the other area where he allowed himself some extravagance. A firm believer in the principle that if one’s self and surroundings are not only presentable, but impeccable, then one will always be prepared for what surprises life may decide to throw in one’s direction. In his line of work, unpredictability was as predictable as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. His wardrobe countered the erratic nature of life as an agent.  Thus, his was a look of man who had his life in order.

Harry Hart was a man of consistency. His tie was an unfailing full Windsor, tucked under the spread collar of a pristine white shirt. An equally crisp pocket square, folded neatly, peeked from his breast pocket. French cuffs were secured with custom gold links, bearing the Kingsman insignia. His suits were mostly double breasted, in classic shades of black, charcoal, navy and grey and cut in a wool that was appropriate for the occasion, whether solid, pinstriped, or woven with a pattern such as herringbone, or houndstooth. After years as a Kingsman agent, he had amassed a considerable and varied wardrobe that consisted of classic suits, formal wear, overcoats, ties, scarves, for any occasion or any type of mission. Each Kingsman agent also wore a gold signet ring on the pinky of their dominant hand. Harry wore the ring on his right.

Kingsman suits were cut close to the body, but designed with allowances made to accommodate weapons, ensure maneuvrability and flexibility in all types of action. They were also bulletproof. It was a feature created after decades of experimenting with different textiles and weaves and exploring processes and techniques that would result in a material that could withstand the velocity and impact of of a bullet shot at close range. The lightweight, flexible lining was sewn into every Kingsman suit and many times proved to be a lifesaver.

Shoulder harnesses were used for carrying. Not belt clips. Belts constricted the body whereas a harness allowed freedom of movement. They were also easily and quickly detachable in case they needed to be removed. Belts, on the other hand, though they had their uses, could also cost valuable seconds when needed to be taken off. The carry position prevented printing and maintained the lines of Kingsman’s suits.

The fine, bespoke tailoring emphasized Harry’s height and build. Trousers were slim cut, long and hemmed with a perfect mid break. He preferred the simple Oxford rather than brogues. He styled his hair in a classic, handsome cut, and was always clean shaven, (unless in the field where there was no opportunity for a straight razor shave). His aftershave and cologne were unobtrusive but memorable. Rather than preceding him, the warm and masculine sent of woods and spices, with hints of cardamon, bergamot, the tactile sensuality of rich leather and suede, would linger after his departure, like a layer of warm dark velvet. Even his hands were beautiful. Beautiful but not delicate. Large wide palms, long elegant fingers, his nails were neat and clipped. They sometimes bore the marks of time spent in the field. They were strong and capable.

Overall, Harry Hart had the appearance of a man who embraced classics, honoured tradition, but defined his look with his own individual aesthetic personality and sense of style.

In quieter moments, when you had the opportunity to watch him without being too obvious or call attention to yourself, you allowed your curiosity to wonder over all the small details and mannerism that were unique to Harry. How his fingertips would gently find the arm of his glasses and rest lightly there, when he was thoughtful or pondering a question, as if it helped him focus or think.  The automatic gesture probably developed after years of transmitting information through the eyeglasses, which also functioned as communication devices.  Through your experience in human psychology, you recognised this as a self soothing gesture. Finding the comfort of something familiar. You were fairly sure that Harry was aware of this gesture and allowed himself some habits, that were, not particularly productive but, helpful nonetheless. Rubbing his thumb along the band of his signet ring. The way he would always shoot his cuffs when rising from his seat. Or run the palm of his hand along the back of his head, smoothing down the already polished hair.

Never had you met someone who had the ability to asses and evaluate any given situation as throughly and unerringly as Harry. Whether it entailed clearing a room, identifying a mark, or even just something as simple as slowing his pace when you walked along side him so you wouldn’t have to struggle to keep up. He was constantly aware of his surroundings and deconstructing what needed to happen to make the environment more pleasing, the conversation more engaging, the meeting more productive, the mission more likely to succeed. He was nothing if not thoughtful. Thus, when you walked with him, he always slowed and allowed you to maintain your own graceful stride.

His physical appearance, his exacting nature, his precise moments, his carefully maintained wardrobe, his formal patterns of speech, his refined accent, not to mention his good looks could intimidate even the most confident agent, let alone a green one.  That was until the person in question realised that this outward perfection was merely the layer that he presented to the world.

It would seem impossible for man to be blessed with so many gifts, but Harry Hart proved to be the exception to the rule, for he was as charming and gracious as he was handsome. His quick wit, his clever way with words, as well as his dry, incisive sense of humor could enthrall even the most unwilling participant.

He could placate the most difficult handler, assuage the most reluctant agent, enchant the most reserved target, or ingratiate himself into the most inhospitable of circumstances. When Harry turned on the full force of his charm, the people he met, let alone the men and women who worked with him, frequently found themselves elevated in his presence, their own experience heightened by his vitality and charisma. They left the experience a little breathless, a little awestruck, a little seduced by Harry Hart. You were no exception. And you had been spending a lot of time with him.

————

You found yourselves alone one evening at the manor. In the lounge, when you both happened to desire a drink at the same time. Most of the Kingsman had already departed for the shop if they were returning to the city. The rest had dispersed to their own private quarters, or were participating in whatever activity they had planned for the evening. The lounge was quiet. They way he liked it. Apparently, it was the way you preferred it as well.

Harry spotted you the same moment you lifted your gaze at the new arrival. Your eyes narrowed slightly in pleasure at the sight of him. You gave him a small, but welcoming smile. The musical clink of crystal against glass as he poured a scotch from the fully stocked bar was the only sound aside from the cracking logs in the grand fireplace.

The club was a vast space with a vaulted ceiling. The stately fireplace stood on the far wall. Like most of the manor, it was dressed in masculine shades of dark brown and hunter greens, tartan and plaids. Polished hardwood furniture, mostly antique, and historical paintings, displaying the rich history of Kingsman, whispered class and wealth. In the center was an arrangement to accommodate a more substantial group with larger sofas and chaises surrounding a massive polished low wooden table.

Around the room were smaller clusters of tables and leather club chairs tucked into alcoves for smaller gatherings or intimate conversations. 

It was at one these clusters that he found you, tucked in a quiet corner near the fireplace.

In the most relaxed arrangement Harry allowed himself while still on Kingsman property, he had his coat draped over his arm. Dressed in his shirtsleeves, tie and shoulder holster, tumbler in hand, he approached you, also with a pleasant but small smile. Pleased that you were the one that was sharing this space with him.

You were dressed quite differently from how Harry first remembered you. Well, your clothes hadn’t been memorable, but you had been. Since you were not a knighted agent, they weren’t quite sure how to classify you yet, you took the freedom to dress beyond the Kingsman uniform. Though always appropriate and surprisingly on brand, you were not quite regulation. If you were out in the field, you were in tactical, or the women’s version of the kingsman suits. You even had the shop tailor some custom pieces so you could have more diversity. When you were at Kingsman HQ or at the shop in support, you dressed appropriately, but in your own style. There were handfuls of fashionable men at Kingsman. You couldn’t turn around and not run into a gentleman turned out in Kingsman’s finest. But an attractive, stylish woman was a rarer sight. Even Harry noticed the heads that turned when you walked by.

Walking toward you, Harry took the time to observe your appearance, he told himself as spies always did out of habit. Today, you remained on the property. Without the need for being in the field, this would be your most proper look. You were dressed in a way that was very elegant, but sexy at the same time. Or, perhaps it wasn’t supposed to look sexy. Harry set that observation aside. Not the time nor the place, he thought to himself.

You were dressed in a slim, knee length pencil skirt in a very deep shade of oxblood red. It was velvet he noted when he saw the sheen of the fabric as you shifted your knees in his direction. A matching tailored jacket, that, like him, you had removed and draped over the back of your chair. Topped with a delicate, almost sheer silk blouse the color of sun bleached bone. It had tiny pearl buttons down the front, and lace detailing at the collar, cuffs and similar detailing along the button placket. A narrow dark brown leather belt circled your waist with a gold clasp rather than a prong buckle.  Dark brown suede court shoes with a tall, but reasonable heel. Your makeup was minimal and natural. You looked like you had just somehow heightened your features, but in no discernible way he could describe.

As Harry got closer, he was able to notice even smaller details. Your beautiful hair, was twisted up and away from your face and secured in some secret way women have where it would stay perfectly in place by means he could never quite see. Your accessories were feminine and understated. Small gold earrings in the shape of teardrops, a simple gold cuff around your wrist, a Kingsman issue watch on the other. A signet ring on your own pinkie. Your nails were trimmed short and clean, either no polish or something bare. A thin gold chain around your neck with a small solid gold version of the Kingsman pendant.

Harry didn’t know what he wanted a woman to look like until he first saw you. The first time, on that first chaotic night, he had the same thought. He could give you a basic description of what you were wearing, but he could describe every feature of your face. The way you looked when you were reflective. The line of your jaw when you were determined.

And then, for the very first time he saw you, dressed, properly, walking down the long marble corridor of the HQ manor, when you had the opportunity to present yourself on your own terms. Harry thought, this is what I want a woman to look like. It wasn’t that you were model beautiful, or that your features were perfect. In London, on the streets, you could see plenty of models. They were beautiful, no doubt, and pleasing to look at, but once you were done, you were able to go about your day without a second thought. 

Your beauty had substance. The fact that Harry knew what your skill set included, to know what you had overcome to be where you were, to be the person you were, made your beauty a real tangible thing, regardless of what you were wearing. Perhaps it was that, whatever you wore, you made it part of you. It wasn’t just a pretty skirt or a flattering blouse, it was the way you wore it that made him notice you. You could have looked completely different, with completely opposite features. Harry would have still have felt the same. And he would still say, this is what I want a woman to look like.

You posessed the capacity to stir his heart. Something that had been quiet and still for a very long time. Even something that Harry thought no longer had the desire to be moved. It was certainly not something he was seeking. He, long ago, had accepted the fact that the life of agent isn’t one that fosters lasting relationships. Relationships were based on communication and he had far too many secrets as a Kingsman.

Harry was beyond the time in his life for these kinds of thoughts. He knew he had been handsome in his youth. He had his fair share of relationships and much more than his fair share of sexual encounters. He was aware that his looks had carried him quite well as he got older and that if he wanted, there were women, very desirable ones, that would be more than willing to engage in a casual relationship. Harry was by no means vanilla. It wasn’t that he was prudish in the least, or one to deny himself physical pleasure. If you were not exactly who you were, then he would have most likely allowed himself to pursue you and enjoyed whatever that relationship had to offer. The crux of it was, that he would not be as attracted to you, or charmed by you if you weren’t exactly who you were. He would not want your as much as he did if you were any different. 

——

Harry set these thoughts aside as he approached you. Even though it was obvious you were alone, Kingsman manners never failed. Never ask a lady directly if she’d like your company. Give her a polite way to refuse without making her say no. She will indicate if your presence if desired.

“Excuse me, miss.” he opened. “Is this seat taken?”

You awarded him with an amused smile. You always enjoyed his little game of manners.

You nodded toward the chair. Please.

Draping his coat on the back of his chair, just as you did, He adjusted his slacks so he could sit down comfortably and gracefully. The club chairs were low and designed to sink back into. Harry took his seat, adjusted a little until he, too, was settled in.

Since both of you were now relatively stuck in your respective positions, where you couldn’t move without significant effort, Harry simply raised his glass in your direction. You followed suit.

You were pleased when he was comfortable enough to sit in silence with you. It was one of the first tells you would look for in asset or mark. Did they have enough self assurance to be silent? Were they uncomfortable, awkward, fidgety? Did they try to fill the silence? Most often, if they lacked confidence, you would notice these tells immediately. One of your favourite activities was to sit in silence.

It was also one of your favourite activities to look at Harry Hart. The fact that he was handsome was no surprise. When you initially started at Kingsman, this was simply an objective observation, like masterful way he handled weaponry. Or the fact that he was right handed.  The more you were partnered in the field, the closer you became, both in proximity and as colleagues, his physical attributes began to affect you in ways that continued to make you increasingly uncomfortable.

You were aware his body was that of a man that you admired and looked up to. Tall, broad shouldered, slim hipped. Strong, driven, powerful. You became aware of all the things that his body could do. You had the opportunity to observe him every time you were in the field, in combat, in action.

But you also began to discern a softness, a gentleness that he could convey when he gathered you up after a surprising blast had knocked you off your feet. Hands that smoothed back your hair from your forehead upon waking up in medical after a particularly dangerous mission. A warm hand on your shoulder as you successfully accomplished a challenging task. 

You were aware that as your mentor, Harry had a responsibility to maintain a professional relationship. But with escalating frequency, you imagined how it would feel to have him pressed up against you, to feel his body, purposeful and confident. 

————

The evening was relaxed. Both of you, without the urgency of an upcoming mission to prepare, took the opportunity to simply rest and unwind. A seldom occasion. Feeling more and more at ease when both of you were together, you allowed yourself a little space to test the waters. When engaging targets, if they seemed comfortable sitting in silence in your company, would they make direct eye contact? You took another small sip of your drink, savoured it for a moment, and swallowed.

Hmmm. You were very curious about HarryHart and you were feeling surprisingly playful. You wanted to try something. Let’s say an experiment in tradecraft. You waited until you caught his eye. Harry seemed amused and matched your eye contact with equal directness. You were pleased that he made eye contact and even more pleased when he maintained it. But he was a spy, after all. Making and maintaining eye contact would be elementary for him.

With a little cheekiness on your part, you raised your glass to your lips again and took a small sip. He did not waver. His eyes even took on a little bit of curious amusement. You held the scotch on your tongue, pulled it to the back of your mouth, rolled the scotch around a little bit longer than necessary, before you swallowed.

Neither of you would look away first. You gave him a half smile, half smirk, crinkled your eyes a bit in amusement. You seemed to be saying. Ok. Your turn.

Harry had never seen your in this kind of playful mood and he suddenly found himself enjoying this little match immensely.

He could more than participate in this game. He, literally, had decades more experience than you. An agent may be able to seduce. But a gentleman agent was a master at the art of seduction. And Harry Hart was the consummate gentleman agent. One did not get to where he was in life without knowing how to pleasure a woman. He was often told he had beautiful and talented hands. That may have been years ago, but those kinds of skills, they stayed with a man.

A quick raise of his brow. Darling, challenge accepted.

Holding your eyes with his, he lowered his glass just enough to where it was in your sight line, but slightly off to the side, at the edge of your peripheral vision. You would still be able to hold eye contact, but would have to make an effort not to glance down at his glass. Especially, when you saw what he was going to do with it.

Harry held your gaze suddenly with an intense focus you were unprepared for. Out of the corner of your eye you saw that he was holding his glass, cupping it in the palm of one hand. He began to simply roll it around gently, as one would while enjoying a proper scotch. He rolled it around harmlessly, in a slow, lazy, rhythmic pattern.

You had to concentrate a little harder not to look away, but you kept his gaze. If you were uncomfortable, you didn’t show it. You hoped your gaze held a similar intensity as Harry’s. His felt, well, piercing, for lack of a more appropriate word.

This was certainly turning out to be an interesting evening, Harry thought. You seemed determined to stick this through. He would be required to dial his technique up a notch. He nested the heavy base in the center of his palm and let it rest there for awhile without moving. Then, once again, he started rolling the glass in his hand, not to stir the liquid, but to feel the surface of glass itself. He bounced the glass, lightly, as if testing the weight and feeling the heaviness.

The movement was subtle, slow, and sensuous. He let his hand explore the texture of the smooth surface. The base of his thumb pressed against the glass in slow, languid circles, sometimes rolling on to the pad of his thumb, sometimes to his finger tip. But he did this as if he were doing it unconsciously, because he was staring at you with a focus and intensity that said you were the only woman on earth, and that he wanted you.

There was truth to the term, the male gaze. It was not looking at something through a man’s eyes, it was seeing into something as a man. There was a reason why they called this particular look penetrating. It was a gaze of desire, a singularly male want and need. If done properly, it was a way to make love to a woman without touching her. It was far beyond physical contact. It wasn’t hard for him to harness his essential masculine energy. Harry had done it for years on countless honey traps in his younger days with the agency.  He hadn’t thrown the full force of himself to seduce in quite awhile and found that he was enjoying a little flex of his muscle.  If desire had a name, at that moment, it would be called Harry Hart. He let his desire roll off of him in waves.

What you didn’t quite understand, was that the game you were playing with him, wasn’t about who could keep eye contact the longest. It was a question of who was going to be seduced and who was going to be the seducer. You were approaching what you thought was a staring contest as a battle of the wills, which was why you were going to fail. Making eye contact may be a test of power and confidence, but that was a quick, brief test. A simple meeting or a darting of the eyes. It was very easy to find out who was going to be able to make and hold contact. However, eye contact for a prolonged period of time, especially between a man and a woman? It became something quite different. It was a game of seduction. It wasn’t a test of power. It was a test of control. Control of two things in this case, the seducer’s own desire, and the desire of the other person. Could the seducer harness his own desire to control the seduced.

You had not faltered yet. He raised to single brow. Would you like me to keep going?

You narrowed your gaze. Please, do.

The expression on his face all but said out loud. “You asked for it.”

Harry saw the flush in your cheeks when you noticed what he was doing with his glass. Your breathing intensified. Your pupils dilated and there was nothing you could do to stop it. 

They were very small movements, but very deliberate movements. He cupped the bottom of the glass in one palm, fingers spread as if he were holding up a small tray. Using only his middle finger, the rest of his hand now cupping the base, he began to stroke the center of the glass. Like he was using his finger to say, come here. In very slow, very deliberate, beyond suggestive movements. His other hand simply rested on the top rim of the glass. Gently holding it in place while he moved his bottom hand. He did this without twitching another muscle in his body, as if nothing had changed.

Your eyes widened. Holy fuck, you thought. With very exact and explicit movements of his hands, Harry was not just implying, but overtly demonstrating how he used them to give pleasure to a woman. The shock of seeing him within the frame of something so blatantly sexual, all the while looking at you the entire time? It was intensely arousing.

Harry was not only looking at you, he was positively devouring you with his gaze. You could feel him, his energy in pulses of heat. This wasn’t merely eye contact. This was something unexpected and you were not prepared for it. Harry was suddenly changed, maybe not changed, but different. He was harder, stronger, more demanding. He was more of everything. The polite, honorable, considerate gentleman was still there,  but now he added an aspect of himself that you had never seen or experienced before. The man was still Harry Hart, but it was also as if a part of him had been unleashed, whatever primal energy that was held in check by the handsome suits and the manners and the chivalry, had been released.

You fought to maintain your composure. He knew exactly what he was doing. His hands moved expertly, and with ease. His gaze, became even more intense, if that was even possible.

Harry continued to play and to tease as he held the glass in his palm. You knew where he had his hand. You could feel the exact placement as if it were on your own body. The base of his palm would cup your center, with the rest of his fingers spreading between your legs. His middle finger was still moving in achingly slow circles, one direction, then slowly moving in the other direction. He curled his finger under, using his knuckle, rolling it in tiny circles. Not even really moving just shifting the pressure moving from one side to the other, from top to bottom.

You saw in his eyes, that he knew, that you were not only being affected by his movements, but you were feeling sensations as if he were touching you directly.

It was the most erotic experience of your life.

Here was this beautiful man, still dressed as properly as ever in his dress shirt and tie, his shoulder holster with his side arm. His perfect hair, his perfect face. With all his dignity and respect, relaxing comfortably back into his chair, his legs spread wide, an ankle crossed over his knee, one elbow resting casually on the arm of his leather chair. Radiating such a profound sexual energy, that without even touching you, had the ability to control your body with only his eyes and the the way he moved a glass in his hand. He was so confident in his movements. His expression said, however brief this moment, that he owned you, that you were his, and he knows that you wants it that way. He can see it all over your face. He can see it in your eyes.

——

Harry wasn’t even close to being done.

He took his other hand, laying his palm over the glass, as if it was resting there. On the other side of the glass, where his thumb fell, he began to roll it around in very explicit, very familiar circles.

He felt himself harden as his own arousal grew. He didn’t try to stop it. Instead of letting it distract him, he channeled that energy through him and into you. Allowing you to witness the physical evidence of his own desire would strengthen his hold. Never underestimate the power of the imagination. You would see it. Your mind would do the rest.

Harry saw your lips part, even the slightest bit. Your chest rising and falling under your ladylike blouse as your breath quickened. Your knees pressed tightly together. He watched your face very, very carefully and intently, watching the subtle changes in your expressions as he shifted the movements of his hands, knowing that you were feeling his movements in your body. Every time your brow would furrow, or you took a sharp intake of breath, or would clench your pretty hands, as he moved his own, he knew you were feeling pleasure. And that he was the source of that pleasure.

Harry knew that there were men who were turned on by violence. For him, however, there was nothing more erotic than the sight of a woman experiencing the pleasure that you were giving her. So, he was especially aroused when he was free to look at the nuances of your face and body freely and openly. Your pleasure had reached a constant as you moved almost imperceptibly to the consistent rhythm of his hand.

And you still did not drop your gaze. Harry knew, now that you were fully aroused, you would not break eye contact. You probably couldn’t at this point if you tried. For, half of your pleasure was a result of seeing the man who was controlling your pleasure. And seeing that you pleased him, that he was also sexually aroused, intensified your pleasure. And you wanted to offer that to him, very willingly. Harry was finding out much about you in these few moments. Things that he wasn’t even sure you knew about yourself. Very few women would have been comfortable enough with their sexuality to be purely on the receiving end of pleasure. In the intimacy of their own bedroom in a committed relationship. Let alone in an extremely public and therefore vulnerable way. With a man who may be, slightly off limits. Which, in fact, probably added to your pleasure.

To see just how much you were under his thumb, pun aside, Harry paused for a moment. He kept his hand, his fingers in the exact same place. He just stilled. And watched you. After a few moments he could see the tiniest furrow of your brow. When he continued to remain still, he saw the movement he waiting for. You probably didn’t even know you had made it. It was the slightest lifting and rolling of your hips. He didn’t realize he could be more turned on, but he felt himself grow harder. It was the motion every woman made, in his experience, when they wanted more, when they were asking for more, and when they were begging for more.  The ability to actively listen and comprehend another person was the most profound influencing tactic one could hone in communication, and therefore seduction.  Which is exactly what he was doing. In a very non verbal, very physical way.

Harry began his movements again, with more intensity and purpose. He let his finger, for the first time, slide all the way up the side of the glass, even letting it lift with the upward movement of his palm. He saw your body move as if you were receiving him.

He knew you were experiencing waves of intense pleasure. He could tell you wanted to close your eyes and tip your head back. As Harry witnessed your need, he went in for his last movements. His palm pressing up into the base of the glass, his thumb rolling in small firm circles and his entire middle finger along the entire length of the glass, the tip almost reaching the top of the rim.  As if his finger were deep inside you, he made deliberate strokes while pressing into the glass, slow, but then gradually increasing in speed and pressure.

Harry knew, that you knew, the exact two parts he was pleasuring.

You lips parted, your breathing grew heavier. You had no idea what was going to happen next, all you felt were waves of pleasure. The only thing you could concentrate on was not losing eye contact with the man in front of you.

Harry knew at this point, he had let what was a silly, flirtatious game, go too far. He also knew this began as a challenge, and Harry Hart was never one to back down from a challenge. He also knew that he never purposely lost a game. If it took climaxing for you to break eye contact, then so be it.

Harry also knew he was mesmerized by the sight of you. He didn’t know if he could stop. But it didn’t matter because he didn’t want to. This moment had to hit the list of the top most erotic experiences of his life. Both fully clothed, siting in separate chairs, more than six feet apart. With only eye contact between you. He didn’t know if he’d experienced something more intensely arousing, knowing that he was the one you were feeling when you made yourself come.

Harry began to see the tell tale tremors, the quickening breath, your lips parting with cries that you desperately wanted to make that you would not let yourself, and still, you were trying to hold on. Psychologically you were making it harder for yourself, denying your own release would only make it that much more physically intense when you had to give in.

It was at that moment, that a door banged within the manor and someone appeared at the large entrance of the club room.

“Harry. That you?”

Damn it. It was Eggsy.

“Just headin’ out.” Eggsy called over. “What’s up? Looks like you two’re having a staring contest. Whose winning?”

“It’s a tie” Harry replied.

Eggsy held up his hand in a quick wave and left.

Harry gave you a quick glance, where you were still trying to maintain eye contact, wait no, you were just staring into the space behind him, concentrating on something he could not see.

——

You knew you had to stop staring at Harry, so you looked past his shoulder into the empty space behind him. At this point, even the sight of him might set you off. You were still right at the cusp of your climax and your body was still so aroused you were afraid that any movement could push your over the edge. You wanted to tell Harry to leave, but you couldn’t think of a way without embarrassing or offending one or both of you. All you could do at the moment was sit quietly. So that’s what you did. You were waiting for your body to catch up with the rest of you and settle down. Harry was waiting patiently until you were ready to move or speak.

After a bit of time, you glanced over at him, made sure it was safe. It was, and you began to relax a little, though your body still felt like a flame that was ready to ignite with any hint of friction. You just needed to stay still for awhile.

You saw Harry watching you, his face both concerned and amused.

He broke the silence.

 “And that, my darling,” Harry said pointedly. “Is how one create’s an effective honey trap.”

In an attempt to further diffuse the situation, he wanted to be frank and direct with you and not to brush what just happened under the rug. That would be awkward for both of you.  He did not want you to feel embarrassed or ashamed or uncomfortable with him or what had happened. The best way was to be as blunt as possible. He pushed down on his palms and rose out of his chair with minimal effort.

“My dear, I’ve been in the spy business for over 30 years. One does not get this far without knowing how to pleasure a woman.”

He winked at you.

“Not to worry, you’ll get there.”

Harry reached behind him for his coat, draped it over his arm, but not before you clearly noticed his own erection. Which before had just been a suggestion in the shadows. He’s hard.

The thought made you flame all over again.

“I need to take my leave. Will you be alright, here?”

All you could do is nod. You didn’t trust your voice yet.

Always the gentleman, he leaned over and brushed his lips against the top of your hair.

“Thank you for the lovely evening.”

You still couldn’t look directly at him so you turned your head slightly to the side and gave him a small nod. With a quick squeeze of your arm, you heard his departing footsteps. He was heading to the tunnels. He was going back into the city, He wouldn’t be staying at he manor. You didn’t know if you were glad or disappointed.

You were grateful to him for providing at least a somewhat graceful way to exit the situation, referring to the seduction technique that ALL agents are trained in. Harry was letting you chalk it up to a learning experience.

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. You tried again.

“Fuck.”

It was the first word that you had said all evening.

——

“Fuck.”

Harry thought as he boarded the train back into the city. He had actually planned on staying at the manor, but with what just happened with you, he wasn’t sure if that would be the best course of action. It took all of his self control to remove himself from any temptation by leaving the place entirely. Making it impossible for him to act in a way that was inappropriate. Not that what had just happened would qualify as appropriate. At least it had the veil of a lesson on seduction. He wasn’t sure it would convince judges, but he found it a weak, but passable excuse.

No, the problem for the moment was that all Harry could see was your face as he pleasured you. How your lips parted, your breasts underneath your blouse, the flush of your cheeks. He wanted to hear what your cries would’ve sounded like. He wanted to be the one to make you cry out. His sex drive, always healthy, may have had a prolonged dormant period in recent times. But now it was raging like a fire that he unleashed and now he couldn’t put out. By letting the full force of it out this evening, it was fully awake and needed something to do. Harry had feared that if he had stayed at the manor even a moment longer, he wouldn’t have been able to help himself and would’ve taken you and had you right there.

If he could do that to you with his eyes and just the suggestion of his hands, he couldn’t imaging what it would be like pleasuring you with his entire body. Harry knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he took care of himself, and when he did, he would allow himself the sight of your trembling, responsive, body underneath his own as he gave you the pleasure he knew you so desperately wanted, joined together as he felt your body shudder around him when you climaxed, feeling his own release as he heard you cry out his name in pleasure.

Blackjack: A traveling gambler and entertainer that is just a bit too chaotic for her own good. Somehow ended up dating a cute and shy witch from the Hearts Kingdom. Is very patient with her partner's more timid nature, but is less so when it comes to anything else. Is genuinely half-cat, and often resorts to feline behaviors when startled or threatened. She does not remember which Kingdom she may have originally come from after traveling for so long. She tells herself she doesn't care.

Cardamon Suite: Belongs to all and no Kingdom at the same time. Follows Xena around like an annoying henchman and provides nothing useful except being a nuisance and they love it. Is always willing to cause mischief, whether they're asked to or not. Very petty and very quick to anger, which makes them infamous in many establishments across Kingdoms, all banning them before they even arrive. Is fairly easy to manipulate and ends up getting stuck in situations they can't easily mischief their way out of. For some reason, Xena comes to get them every time.

Čapkova Kašna [The Čapek Fountain]  

 “It’s not the end of the drink, but you can see it from here.”

42.50% ABV | Yield: 2.94 fl oz | Themed Drinks, Fandom Cocktails, Improved Whiskey Cocktail, Pre-Prohibition

2oz or 60ml Rye* 

.5oz or 15ml Becherovka 

.25oz or 8ml honey syrup 

1 dash Peychauds bitters

1 dash Angostura bitters

Stir just until chilled

Rinse chilled rocks glass with Absinthe

Strain

Twist lemon peel 

Even if you never asked for this, I think you’ll finish this drink for sure. 

Čapek is both a location near where Adam Jensen’s apartment is, and named in honor of the author who wrote Rossum’s Universal Robots, which also is referred to repeatedly in the game. It seemed a subtle, transhumanist way to allude to this playing off the Improved Cocktail format

*Jensen's favorite drink is started to be "Nye's Rye", which is noted “may not contain actual rye”. This is a bit of a joke about how relatively lax Canadian whiskey regulations are, but also meant that I was comfortable using anything I felt was a strong enough rye spice note, because the peanuts and caramel notes of bourbons don’t suit Jensen. This bottle is a blend of Maryland Rye and MGP-produced 95% rye mashbill bottled at cask strength, so its pretty boozy. This bottle is about 56.1% ABV. Becherovka is from Karlsbad [see The Lost Girl for a little more elaboration], replacing what is traditionally maraschino or Curaçao, and it (and absinthe) can be found in Mankind Divided. He also seems to enjoy sweets going by all his cereal, so a slightly heavy pour of syrup, honey holding up against this strong rye and synergizing with the Becherovka. 

Fee Bros Black Walnut Bitters, Cardamon or Aromatic Bittes from companies like Dr Adam or the Bitter Truth, or Bogarts Bitters would also be suitable, if you like. 

Clownpiece (Touhou) VS VS Cardamon Suite (Solitarius)

The scent (cologne, body wash, sweat, etc...) for each of the above listed man's, and why you think so. 💋

A/N: This is such an interesting prompt. Thanks for the thought generator anon💕 Also I just don’t even know what weird group of boys this is, I just know that I love them :)

Also some of these are literally just from my synesthesia like I can just smell these boys’ pictures; it’s ✨mental illness love✨

Send me headcanons!

Word Count: 862 bc ig I just don’t know how headcanons are supposed to work

Warnings: bad explanations lol, mentions of death

Carrillo:

so a bitch named @glowingpena​ made me realize that apparently Carrillo does smoke even though in my memory of the show he literally never touches a cigarette but whatever, I guess he smells pretty strongly of tobacco

Carrillo smells like a Dove soap bar. Not even men’s Dove, just like a normal ass bar of Dove soap because he doesn’t need men’s soap for everyone to know he is a man of authority. Idk what they had in the 80s, but this man uses a body wash to wash off his sins - even better if you do it for him because our beautiful baby needs a reminder that touch doesn’t always mean pain - and he smells strongly of it because he uses a lot of it. So he smells like that mild cinnamon-honey scent. I feel like Carrillo doesn’t really strike me as a cologne man because there’s a good chance he’s going to be getting sweaty that day anyway, but he does clean up.

Gustavo:

smoke and tobacco we been known

Gustavo just smells expensive. He’s got a lot of money to blow, and in the same way that it is very unlikely his wrist isn’t looking icey, his shelves are lined with luxury men’s cologne. If you were to bury your face in his neck and take in a lungful, you’d get Armani and cash. Also that bitter smell of gold from his chain if you’re close enough to him.

I don’t actually know how to place the scent of wealth. Men’s cologne scents are always weird, they’ll be like ✨night sky✨  or like ✨gravity✨  or some whack ass shit.

If we want a little of my bullshitTM: he smells like bad decisions and the rocks off the side of a river where he’ll leave you and your broken heart for one reason or another (probably bc he d*es but anyways)

Javier:

smoke again, I don’t make the rules I just enforce them

He smells like cheap cologne for sure. He puts a little bit on his collar, neck, and the insides of his wrists. And maybe he does the spritz and sashay

He picks his cologne carefully though. He smells like cloves and cardamon, a scent so spicy it stings your tear ducts but it’s good. Javier cares about how he presents, he just doesn’t really care about how much he paid for it.

He also smells faintly minty, like he was chewing gum a couple of hours ago, but never a couple of minutes ago. He strikes me as the kind of person that spends a solid 5-6 minutes brushing his teeth and staring at himself in the mirror.

And he definitely smells like super shitty instant coffee. It’s all they have at the embassy, and he’d probably lose his job if he didn’t overdose on caffeine some days.

Frankie:

this baby definitely smells not like laundry detergent but like dryer sheets. He just kind of smells clean. Especially if we’re talking post Colombia. He likes keeping it a little domestic after everything he’s been through, and for him doing the laundry makes him feel human.

He smells like sugar, like barbecue sauce. I just think that’s his natural scent. Like the sweetness of the icing on a cinnamon roll and peach cobbler on a summer day.

He smells like the leather of his pilot’s seat and a little bit metallic from leaning on the outside of his helicopter (since we’ve all decided that this muffin man gives copter tours for a living)

AND HE SMELLS LIKE DOG. He definitely strikes me as a dog man, and he always has a treat or two on the inside of his jacket pocket because he just can’t say no to his buddy, so that dog treat smell comes off sometimes.

Ezra:

Okay I’m going to try to not be canon here, because canonically bitch there’s just no way this man smells good. He’s literally in that fucking space suit all the time, and he gets so sweaty and worked up from digging. And he?? doesn’t shower?? Like there’s no shower in his tent, he can’t unsuit into a lake. Noncanon thots only.

I feel like Ezra’s natural scent is strong. The way freshly cut grass can hurt your eyes because it’s just filling up your senses and your pores to the brim until you hurt - he smells intoxicating.

He smells like books. If he had the chance to, he’d definitely stock up on his favorite literature, and the scent of the pages and the ink always seems to linger on him.

Whiskey:

He smells like smoke, but not like tobacco. He smells like charcoal and hickory and applewood. He’s a wooden man, and he just gives me wood vibes, you know?

He definitely throws some cologne on, and it’s gonna be a nice bottle too. He only owns one or two scents, but he makes sure he walks out of his home smelling like twine and spurs.

The felt from his Stetson. It smells intense.

Oberyn:

I never watched Game of Thrones but this man smells like sweat and fruit.

He is constantly eating (which is not my headcanon but I saw it somewhere and it makes a lot of sense), and the sweetness of grapes and berries gets on the skin of his chest.

And you can’t tell me this man isn’t always sweating. His pheromones poison the air before he even walks in.

When he bathes he smells like gold and expensive furs. A little bit like flower petals.

Max Phillips:

this idiot owns one (1) bottle of cologne and it cost him $3.5K

he fucking does it up with that shit literally catch him rubbing it like on his navel and his forehead like he’ll put it anywhere he will get his money’s worth before he ever admits that he got conned

On the bright side, he walks around smelling like a vanilla pod and grapefruit so maybe it was worth the investment????

He’s a vampire so when he doesn’t smell like luxury parfúm he smells like body wash because he doesn’t want to smell like human flesh and blood.

if anyone wants to be tagged in headcanons you can definitely ask, I just automatically assumed no one wanted to lmao. But tbh are these headcanons or a whole ass novel i can’t seem to distinguish the two

Weird fiction (reader meets Kato in the weirdest of the places)

Crackfiction ahoy ! Don’t take it seriously as a thriller. Who else loves to discover tiny restaurants in tiny downtown alleys? :D :D I love restaurants, love food...hey, from sorcery/alchemy/handling insects to cooking there’s a thin line. If you want me to continue this weird thing, go ahead! 

A brilliant golden temple surrounds you. You have been to Thailand before. It was that famous spring break vacation all your middle-school and highschool girls had saved during all your shopping mall part-time job. It’s as scorching hot as you remember from the alcoholic haze you have had during your last visit. It’s not that you don’t drink that much, but you’re neither one of those loud drunks. You drink socially, like any other millennial.  

Wearing a tiny skirt with breathable panties and long sleeved tunic with a west cartoon logo, you walk side by side with one of your pen-pals, a girl who knows Bangkok through. 

She was the one who helped you choosing a comfortable but light set of clothes. You had your hair cut short as “messy buns” aren’t really your thing and wasting water isn’t something you’re keen to do. 

After taking a long visit in the Golden Buddha Temple, Par Aromdee takes you to a local pho restaurant she swears by.  It’s in a dark alley even your Google-Maps can’t identify. The name of the restaurant “perfect empire” should set a few alarms. 

Once inside the twenty square-meters restaurant, the spicy mixture of boiling green onions, curry and soy sauce hits you.  It’s when Par Aromdee introduces you to the owner of the restaurant that you feel incredibly hot. For a South-East Asian, he’s awfully tall. You have met guys from Indonesia and Indochina before. Sure, Thailand is a melting pot of cultures, but there is something that seems off about the seven feet tall man in a dark leathery apron and a small transparent mask.

 He kisses your hand after taking the gloves and the transparent mask. His voice is quite deep and his English is mild. You have been teaching Indonesian kids ever since you quit college, you know a little about languages...Even though his intonation and pronunciation are heavily accented, his vocabulary is extensive.  If anything, the man’s accent reminds you of North-Asia, like Korea or China. 

Boiling noodles with eggs and oysters. It’s a perfect combination. The broccoli in this soup are nothing like the ones you are used to eat at home.    

Par Aromdee is slurping what looks like a real duck fetus from a egg. Then, she begins to eat what’s clearly a very spicy stew. 

‘You want something?’ She points at the oysters and the fried bugs. 

You shrug while accepting a small fried grasshopper. 

‘Don’t worry, they’re washed thoroughly before being fried.’

To your surprise, it tastes like shrimps or a crunchy-like nut. 

After the meal, Par Aromdee is given a kiss in the cheeks by a man she seems to know. Thai people aren’t known for being open about PDA. In fact, the restaurant owner nearly coughs up a large bug he was eating alongside one of the blushing, fairer Thai waitresses. 

A romantic music from a Mandarin-speaking movie seems to play in the background. You wonder how a man can walk with a wine-coloured suit and a rain coat and heavy boots with all the heat. 

‘Hey...ahm...This is my boss...not exactly my direct boss, but you know.’ 

‘Pleased to meet you.’ You say in a meek voice, blushing slightly.

You smile while bowing to the man in the large fedora hat. He grins and begins to speak in Thai. Par Aromdee looks petrified. Then, she playfully tries to give him a kick on his rear. She fails. The man merely laughs, his voice booming in the alley. 

The music shifts to a strange but familiar instrument. Violins and accordions, but not in the chords you’re used to. It’s traditional Thai music, but with a hint with western influences. 

‘Coconut water...It cleanses the palate.’ Par Aromdee offers you a glass. ‘I need to return to my job...night shift.’  

‘How long do you think?’

‘It’s a short shift.’ The giant of a man in the dark fedora hat speaks softly.  

‘Take care, Par.’

Par smiles as she playfully kisses the air between both of you. Her lingering perfume of cinnamon and cardamon hangs in the air as she rushes with the man. They nearly dance to the rhythm of the song.  The metallic rustle of metal and something clicking into place is muffled by the music and the noise of cars honking and passing in the closest streets. There are a few street peddlers and vendors yelling, claiming their food is the best. 

The owner of the restaurant sighs while shaking his head, washing the dishes.  

‘Don’t get mixed up with him...’ He comments in an acidic tone. 

‘Drug dealers...’ The young light olive waitress mutters in weak English.

‘I thought Par worked in Unicef, helping girls from poor towns with her skills in French and English.’ 

‘Little Par...That one does all types of jobs.’ The oldest of the waitresses mutters as she puts off her apron in a small racking stack. ‘Mr. Kh...’ She began to speak in Cantonese. The man answered to her fluently. Then, she bowed two times before saying the words you know by heart. It’s a goodbye and hope you don’t work too late. 

The Nursery Frieze was published by Edward Gorey through his Fantod Press in 1964 in a limited edition of 500 copies. Here are all 96 words being muttered by the animals parading in single file in the book, along with their definitions. Bear in mind some words have more than one meaning. 

Archipelago - Any large body of water with a chain of islands cardamon - Aromatic seeds used as a spice or condiment obloquy - Damning or censure of a person or thing by the general public tacks - A short, sharp pointed nail, usually with a rounded head Ignavia - Idleness or sloth samisen - Japanese musical instrument with a long neck and three strings, played with a plectrum bandages - A strip of cloth or other material used to bind a wound wax - A solid, yellowish substance secreted by bees gavelkind - Equal division of land among the heirs of the holder tumeric - A powdered plant rhizome used as a yellow dye or condiment, as in curry powder imbat - A cooling etesian wind in the Levant (as in Cyprus) cedilla - A mark (¸) placed under a consonant letter, as under c in French, in Portuguese, and formerly in Spanish, to indicate that it is pronounced (s), under c and s in Turkish to indicate that they are pronounced, respectively, (ch) and (sh), or under t and s in Romanian to indicate that they are pronounced, respectively, (ts) and (sh). Cassation - An annulment, cancellation, or reversal. Also, an 18th Century instrumental musical suite intended for outdoor performance hendiadys - A figure in which a complex idea is expressed by two words connected by a copulative conjunction: “to look with eyes and envy” instead of “with envious eyes.” quincunx - An arrangement of five objects, such as trees, in a square with one at each corner and the fifth in the center vanilla - Extract from an orchid pod, used in flavoring food Corposant - A corona discharge in the air caused by atmospheric electricitycausing a luminous region that sometimes appears around church spires, the masts of ships, etc. madrepore - any stony coral forming reefs or islands in tropical seas ophicleide - a musical wind instrument consisting of a conical metal tube bent double paste - A mixture of flour and water used to bind two objects together Jequirity - A poisonous scarlet colored pea used for making necklaces and rosaries tombola - British lotto or bingo played with paper and pencil as a gambling game. sphagnum - Any soft moss found in bogs, used in floral arrangements and for dressing wounds distaste - disinclination or dislike Aceldema - The land near Jerusalem purchased with the bribe Judas took for betraying Jesus lunistice - The farthest point of the moon's northing and southing, in itsmonthly revolution yarlborough - A hand in Bridge or Whist containing no honor cards cranium - The part of the skull that encloses the brain Febrifuge - A serving of medicine to dispel or reduce fever ampersand - A symbol to represent "and" hubris - Excessive pride or self-confidence geranium - Common garden flower. Also, a tone of the color red Opoanax - A semitransparent resin used in incense thunder - a loud noise produced by the explosive expansion of air heated by a lightning discharge dismemberment - To remove limbs baize - A soft green fabric resembling felt, used chiefly for the tops of billiard tables Hellebore - Any of several plants of the buttercup family, the Christmas rose obelus - A mark (− or ÷) used in ancient manuscripts to point out spurious, corrupt, doubtful, or superfluous words or passages cartilage - A firm, elastic, flexible type of connective tissue of a translucent whitish or yellowish color; gristle maze - A confusing network of intercommunicating paths or passages; labyrinth Anitgropelos - Waterproof leggings piacle -A sacrificial offering occamy - A metallic alloy that simulates the precious metals silver and gold. (Side Note: In the world of Harry Potter, an Occamy is a winged serpentine beast found in Asia whose eggs have shells made of silver. The Occamy can grow or shrink to fill any space. Perhaps J. K. Rowling has a copy of The Nursery Frieze herself.) whistle - To make a musical sound by expelling air through a small space made by contracting the lips Maremma - A marshy region near the seashore accismus - The feigned refusal of something earnestly desired badigeon - A composition for patching surface defects in carpentry or masonry epistle - A letter, especially a formal or didactic one Quodlibet - A subtle or elaborate argument or point of debate, usually on a theological or scholastic subject. catafalque - A raised structure on which the body of a deceased person lies or is carried in state hiccup - The condition of having spasms remorse - A strong feeling of sadness and regret about something wrong that you have done. Idioticon - A dictionary of dialect gibus - Another name for an opera hat botargo - A relish consisting of the roe of mullet or tunny, salted and pressed into rolls divorce - The formal ending of a marriage by law Phylactery - Something worn as a talisman or charm gegenschein - A diffuse faint light, sometimes visible almost directly opposite the sun in the night sky clavicle - Collarbone sago - A white substance obtained from the trunks of palm trees used for making sweet puddings. Bellonion - An early 19th Century mechanical musical instrument consisting of twenty-four trumpets and two kettle drums thurible - A censer for burning incense aphthong - A letter or combination of letters used in spelling a word but not pronounced., eg "gh" in "knight" plumbago - Graphite Amaranth - An imaginary flower that never fades or dies rhoncus - A whistling or snoring sound of the chest when the air channels are partly obstructed pantehnicon - A furniture removal van drawn by horses hymn - A religious song that Christians sing in church Diaeresis - A pause in a line of verse occurring when the end of a foot coincides with the end of a word purlicue - The flourish at the end of a pen stroke sparadrap - A sticking plaster whim - A sudden wish to do or have something that seems to have no serious reason or purpose Cicatrix - A scar salsify - An edible plant whose root tastes like oysters palindrome - A word, line, verse, number, or sentence that reads the same backward as forward Bosphorus - A strait connecting the Black Sea and the Sea of Marmara. Narthex - A porch or portico at the west end of a church reserved for penitents and others not admitted to the church itself betrayal - To deliver or expose to an enemy by treachery or disloyalty chalcedony - A translucent variety of quartz, often milky or grayish phosphorus - a poisonous yellowish-white chemical element that glows slightly, and burns when air touches it Ligament - A band of tissue serving to connect bones exequies - A funeral procession spandrel - The area between two adjoining arches, or between the head of a window on one level and the sill of a window immediately above chandoo - An extract or preparation of opium that is smoked Gehenna - Any place of extreme torment or suffering, but specifically the valley of Hinnom, near Jerusalem, where propitiatory sacrifices were made to Moloch etui - A small case, especially for needles anamorphosis - A drawing presenting a distorted image that appears in natural form under certain conditions, as when viewed at a raking angle or reflected from a curved mirror glue - A protein gelatin boiled in water, that when melted or diluted is a strong adhesive Wapentake - A subdivision of a shire or county corresponding to a hundred orrery - A mechanical apparatus for representing the positions, motions, and phases of the planets, satellites, etc., in the solar system aspic - A savory jelly usually made with meat or fish stock and gelatin mistrust - To regard with suspicion or doubt Ichor - An ethereal fluid flowing in the veins of the gods. ALSO: An acrid, watery discharge, as from an ulcer or wound. ganosis - A process of toning down the glare of marble as practiced by sculptors in classical antiquity, especially on nude parts of a sculpture velleity - A mere wish, but without the conviction to act upon it dust - A cloud of finely powdered earth or other matter in the air.

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