doomsday_disco
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Everything posted by doomsday_disco
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Hollow plastic shells of mango sherbet and musky black clove echoing with a ghostly miaow of glowing amber.
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The shortbread note is one where the shortbread is either made with and/or covered in powdered sugar, and I think it is reminding me of A Breathless Chuckle, of which I think I only have a half-bottle remaining, so I'll be needing a bottle of this in my collection, too. (And it's a cat scent, so there's another reason to get it!) I do get some cardamom with the shortbread, as well as a really lovely lightly smoked vanilla note. I'm not getting much cocoa at all, just a very faint dusting, which I'm happy about, because that means the other notes get more of a chance to shine. The cream is not super buttery, and I only get a hint of the pink pepper, which isn't bubblegum-y, nor does it have a kick to it like it does in some scents. A decant will not be enough!
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A scandalous affair between silk-furred conspirators: tails entwined beneath tables, furrrrtive glances stolen and held too long, stolen hours, arched backs, and the scent of unfamiliar catnip rubbed on jeweled collars. An indolent purr of cream-soaked shortbread biscuits, cracked cardamom, pink pepper, smoked vanilla bean, and cocoa powder.
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I agree with Leopard403. The clove is strong in this one. It's a toasty, sweet porridge scent, but someone might have tipped the jar of ground cloves into the bowl on accident. It's much spicier and more wintery than It Was But the Wild Blast As It Sung Thro’ the Trees, which also features oats and clove. I do enjoy clove, so I like this, but it's not my favorite of the sweet scents from this batch of New Year's Creepers and Oddments, so I don't think I need more of this. I'll be hanging onto my decant and will probably retest it before it departs just to be sure, though!
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Once in a while, I am truly at a loss for words. Oat porridge and cream, smoky treacle, clove bud, crushed sugar cookies, and pink currants.
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This is a scent that's definitely for fans that like to wear Beth's on point, highly realistic lipstick accord. The powdery, waxy lipstick is present throughout wear, with the musk and blood-slicked fangs gaining strength over time, but only the musk ever gets to be as strong as the lipstick. I believe the blood in this is a slightly spicy, resinous dragon's blood as opposed to a floral variety. It smells unexpectedly alluring with the musk, which is not one I can remember coming across in another BPAL scent. I don't need more than my decant, but this is a fun scent experience.
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Bringing you the colors of spring! Tawny golden musk and cherry-blossom lipstick smeared over blood-slicked fangs.
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Wolf Moon: Bloodroot & Evergreens
doomsday_disco replied to doomsday_disco's topic in Duets & Menage A Trois
I'm not familiar with bloodroot and have only tried one other scent containing the note (The Huntsman from the 2025 Yule collection), so I may not be the best person to describe it, but here's what I got from this scent when I tested it on my skin: something akin to a lemon-y, ginger-y cough drop backed by a light evergreen note. I personally was hoping for a stronger evergreen scent from this one. I look forward to reading future reviews and seeing what other folks' experience with this were like. -
Bloodroot & Evergreens.
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Wolf Moon: Snow & Oak Bark
doomsday_disco replied to doomsday_disco's topic in Duets & Menage A Trois
I, too, get mentholated snow from this, along with the oak, which isn't as sharp as it sometimes tends to be in other blends, but certainly isn't smoothed over by this sort of snow. This cold, mentholic, dry scent. I was really hoping for a sweet snow note in this one. Alas. -
Snow & Oak Bark.
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The perfume of French Quarter mornings: rich chicory coffee, earthy and bittersweet, drifting through the powdered-sugar clouds of warm beignets dusted to luminosity.
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When I was a child in the 1970s, I lived in a newly built neighborhood in Los Angeles that bordered land still undeveloped. The city thinned out behind my house and gave way to open hills. Wild horses thundered past, roadrunners darted through the chaparral and tumbleweeds, and at night, the coyotes sang. Some of my earliest memories are of lying awake and listening to their voices rise and fall in the distance, a wild and communal music that became a comfort to me. At pivotal moments in my life — initiatory moments — I would encounter coyotes crossing my path. These sightings were never casual. They appeared briefly and decisively, always coinciding with periods when something in my life was shifting or about to transform. Coyotes are among the animals closest to my heart, not simply for their presence in my early life but for what they represent. They are creatures of the in-between, thriving at the margins, adapting where others cannot. (Or will not?) Across cultures and throughout history, the coyote has been revered as a sacred being: Trickster and Creator, a deity of dance, song, storytelling, and celebration. Coyote is the bringer of change and chaos and a figure who embodies duality itself, at once helpful and harmful, wise and reckless. In myth, Coyote carries the wisdom of foolishness, acts as a benign prankster who has the singular power to defy and reverse fate, and becomes the unlikely bearer of gifts to humankind. Through disruption and mischief, Coyote teaches that survival depends on adaptability and that transformation often arrives disguised as disorder. Coyotes inhabit liminal space, and to embrace them is to embrace uncertainty as a companion. A spirit of defiance, resistance, and persistence, they should be venerated as an icon of our times. A scent for the coyotes of my childhood, sun-bright, resilient, and quietly feral: amber fur, white sage, chaparral, smoked palo santo, California sagebrush, clever sparks of white pepper, and sweet tonka bean. (Featured photo: the author with her first coydog, Chico. No, we didn’t know he was a coyote mix when we adopted him. A neighbor’s standard poodle magically gave birth to a litter of electric-amber puppies and I fell in love. Chico was beautiful to me: lava-orange fur that was shaggy like his coyote sire, but curled sweetly at the ends like his mother’s. He was strange, ridiculous, and delightfully clownish. I loved him so very, very much. In true Southern California form, Chico was not my only coyote mix. Arthur, my second coydog, was a shepherd/coyote, and I miss him equally. RIP, my wild boys. I love you forever.)
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A sturdy but soft lavender cotton twill, lightly flour- and sugar-dusted, with deep pockets full of kitchen mysteries.
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Voluptuous Bulgarian rose unfurls like crimson silk, met by the dark, resinous warmth of freshly cracked coffee beans.
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Hearthglow, a cousin to BPAL’s Heartglow, is an anointing oil for keeping the home safe, welcoming, and quietly joyful. It is an oil of gentle warmth, built to protect the household and its inhabitants, comfort and honor house spirits and guardians of place, encourage peace and understanding, and create an atmosphere of love, emotional safety, and mutual care. Suitable for use in ritual work and to anoint doorframes, hearths, windowsills, and keys. Contains: fossilized amber resin, frankincense, dragon’s blood resin, orris root, red sandalwood, lavender, patchouli, clove, allspice, burdock, sweet orange, honey absolute, sweet grains, and marjoram.
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According to some authors, myrrh is the produce of a tree that grows in the same forests as the incense-tree, though most say that they grow in different places: but the fact is that myrrh grows in many parts of Arabia, as will be seen when we come to speak of the several varieties of it. A sort that is highly esteemed is brought from the islands also, and the Sabæi even cross the sea to procure it in the country of the Troglodytæ. It is grown also by being transplanted, and when thus cultivated is greatly preferred to that which is grown in the forests. The plant is greatly improved by raking and baring the roots; indeed, the cooler the roots are kept, the better it is. – Pliny the Elder Kataf myrrh, smoked sandalwood, and vanilla bean.
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A new year’s blessing! Peony, China’s national flower, with bamboo for flexibility, plum blossom for perseverance, courage, and hope, tangerine for wealth, orange for happiness, lychee for household peace, pine resin for constancy, golden kumquat, pussy willow, and quince for prosperity, narcissus and King mandarin for good fortune, and peach blossom for longevity, with a splash of blazing red of dragon’s blood… to help you scare away the rampaging Nian.
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A glass of midnight stout, thick with black chocolate and roasted barley, its foam kissed with bitter espresso. A pale disc of buttered shortbread rests against the rim, crumbling into the inky depths. A strange eclipse of comfort and shadow: warm, crumbly biscuit and golden butter swallowed by a swirl of dark malt, molasses, and cocoa.
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Yuzu & Warm Honey Drizzle.
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Pink Lime & Coconut.
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On Monday, when the sun is hot I wonder to myself a lot: “Now is it true, or is it not, “That what is which and which is what?” On Tuesday, when it hails and snows, The feeling on me grows and grows That hardly anybody knows If those are these or these are those. On Wednesday, when the sky is blue, And I have nothing else to do, I sometimes wonder if it’s true That who is what and what is who. On Thursday, when it starts to freeze And hoar-frost twinkles on the trees, How very readily one sees That these are whose—but whose are these? On Friday—— Hot, sunny cardamom amber and milky musk, honeyed rice and snowy slush.
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A diaphanous, nocturnal blend that shimmers between airy radiance and shadowed warmth. A silvery wash of moonflower and white heliotrope drifts over cool iris and gossamer musk, while golden amber resin and benzoin glow softly beneath like the living heat of beating wings. Threads of honeyed beeswax and tobacco flower lend a faint, feral sweetness, and a dusting of frankincense ash and myrrh smoke curls at the edges, recalling the dark from which she rises. Amelia Jane Murray, Lady Oswald
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Macabre domesticity; a little warmth for a long eternity. A tender absurdity of frozen grins reflecting in the sooty iron of a merrily-aflame stove. Banked coals of labdanum pulse with amber flame, while a dusting of clove, coal ash, and brittle vanilla scuffs the hem of dusty patchouli linen. James Ensor
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An ode to persistent typos and overconfident, profoundly incorrect autocorrect. Dedicated to Ali in gratitude for years upon years of undangling my participles. Proceeds from the sale of this scent benefit Philadelphia’s Childrens Literacy Initiative who helps provide Black and Latino children with high-quality and culturally sustaining literary education. 7-year aged patchouli, candied dates, and dried red currant.