doomsday_disco

Incense Smoke & Winter Herbs.

Purple Sage & Pinon.

Ice & Crushed Mint Lotion.

Bloodroot & Evergreens.

Amber & Grey Musk.

A wolfish grey transformed by the moon’s cold silver gleam.

Now this is the Law of the Jungle — as old and as true as the sky;

And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die. 

As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and back —

For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack.

– Rudyard Kipling

A scent for strength through solidarity against the encroaching horrors of authoritarianism. Silvered fir, life-giving soil and immovable stone, black sage, rue, hellebore accord, winter moss, cypress, fossilized amber resin, and vetiver.

May the thundering chorus of our voices — entwined, rising, unbreakable — scatter the darkness.

Yuzu & Warm Honey Drizzle.

Pink Lime & Coconut.

Lime Blossom & Amber Sugar.

Green Tea & Cookie Dough.

Graham Cracker & Buttercream.

Coconut Cream & Guava.

Iridescent rainbow flakies and pink galaxy glitter floating in a bubblegum pink jelly.

We’re all desperate for something light and uplifting here at BPAL, so this year’s Beev is a zingy key lime cheesecake with a whisper of lime sugar.

War of the Roses? Not anymore! After years of fragrant hostilities, BPAL’s Reigning Yule Queens, Snow White and Rose Red, lay down their arms.

Two beloved Yule blends are bound together at last: frost-bright petals and deep, blood-warm rose, entwined with winter air and the green snap of freshly cut stems. A hard-won peace, sealed in perfume: cold beauty and velvet warmth.

I’m honestly not sure if this is actually a New Year’s card, but for the sake of this project, let’s say it is. Your ancient ones are welcome? I misunderstood the card when I first saw it, and my brain translated it to an invocation to the Great Old Ones, Outer Gods, Elder Gods, or Dreamlands’ Great Ones, so let’s run with that, too.

This scent is no mere nut of hearth and harvest, but a squamous chestnut, born of ancient groves whose roots knot through strata older than memory, necrophagous and ravenous, sucking nutrients from long-buried carrion. A whiff of roasted shell, scorched coffee bean, and smoldering husk billowing in tenebrous clouds of nutty, cacodaemonical incense. Beneath this lies a resinous sweetness, dry and fungal, as though the chestnut had ripened not beneath familiar suns but under a swollen, unwholesome moon.

A paean to the dad jokes that the King in Yellow tells his kids, this chestnut’s warmth carries the faint echo of a pun told too many times and the comforting dread of knowing the punchline before it lands.

Boldog ujevet! Bubblegum musk, fermented plum, and strawberry brandy in a white candyfloss-dusted fairy ring of ruby-capped mushrooms and marshmallow cream.

Golden hay and sun-warmed straw, soft brown fur musk, ripe banana peel and green fig, steamed rice and almond milk, mimosa blossom, and pale yellow chrysanthemum.

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.

May you skillfully dodge all of life’s chamberpots while the blessings of the new year splash upon ya. Clean snowmelt touched with lemon peel, clover leaves, sugared almonds, and glimmering amber coins.

Wishing you and your cocks a happy new year.

Red peppercorns and gingersnaps.

Here’s hoping 2026 is less an endless replay of spectacular wipeouts and fail videos and more a year that finally sticks the landing.

Leather tack, saddle soap, bay rum, carmine wool, black silk, crushed winter grass, a billowing cascade of pipe tobacco, and a shot of adrenaline.

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.

“O father, see yonder! see yonder!” he says;

“My boy, upon what doest thou fearfully gaze?” —

“O, ’tis the Erl-King with his crown and his shroud.”

“No, my son, it is but a dark wreath of the cloud.”

A dread shape forms in the mist: chilled white musk, rain-soaked earth, and a gleam of blackened steel.