Juushika

The Masque (LE; honey and carnation, rich incense and rose accord, myrtle, red sandalwood, amber, jonquil and clove propel you through the revel, finally seating itself in the final, patchouli, tobacco and labdanum drenched darkness of the blood-tinged western chamber) is closely reminiscent of Masquerade (GC; patchouli, ambergris, carnation and orange blossom) minus the citrus—which disappears upon my skin anyhow. They share the same golden-red florals and incense, and have much the same feeling of a celebration shadowed by darkness. (And, perhaps not too oddly, similar names and inspirations.)

In the vial: Organic murky green with chemical cologne. A strange combination. Also worth noting: the oil is olive green! Never seen one like it, and it's almost intimidating. On me: It's difficult to describe. The scent is smooth and green, rather like a pond of glass-smooth murky water, but there's nothing aquatic about it. It has surprisingly warmth—not sharp or spicy, but as smooth as polished wood—the scent of heat itself. I don't get any musk. The scent is lighter and softer than I expected, but still is deep and somber. Perhaps its just because of the book I'm reading (Kiernan's Threshold), but this reminds me of the cavern of an unusually peaceable Elder God: deep and dark, ancient resins and time-smoothed wood, murky green but dry, unnaturally warm, and powerful—but not threatening. Verdict: Oblivion is a smoothly blended work of art, but it's not my style. I don't think I can pull it off, and while I love the warmth, the murky olive green tone of the scent is oddly unsettling. Glad I got to try it, but not interested in wearing it, so I'll pass along my imp.

This was a frimp from the Lab—but I love musk, so I have high hopes. In the imp: Dark green herbal. On me: Sweetens when it hits skin, and then there's my beloved musk: dark and almost earthen, but not overpowering. Musk is sweet on my skin, transforming very masculine blends (looking at you, Satyr) into something wonderful and wearable; this musk does the same, but for once it retains a masculine edge. The musk rises from mixed herbs, wood, and moss (smoothly blended, I can't pick out notes), so while the musk is still deliciously sweet, it's grounded by a slightly herbal organic setting. This is Robin Goodfellow crouching in his forest, gently masculine and warm with musk, a spirit who—in his heart of hearts—only means well. It's surprisingly gentle, with minimal throw. Verdict: I'm won over. I have other musks which I love more, so this probably won't become a favorite. But it is lovely, well-suited to the inspiration, beautiful on my skin, sweet and herbal with warm and comforting musk. The masculine edge is just enough that I'll wear this when curled up with a book, not as a perfume for others to smell. But I'll definitely wear it, and I'm keeping the imp.

In the vial: Warm, yellow, and ... bitter? Don't mind me, I never like the bottle scent. On me: The bitterness has long fled and there's a very slight floral edge. I can't pick out notes, and the scent is faint; this is more of an atmosphere, an evocation, than it is a scent—but it's glorious. Golden warm, glowing like sunbeams, this is the scent of reflected sunlight. It's what I wished Sportive Sun would be: a pure, langarous solar oil. The color is the glowing pale yellow gold of sunbeams. Verdict: I adore it. I won't wear this for the sake of perfume, but instead for the sake of an experience akin to stretching catlike in the sunrays on a hardwood floor. Therefore, the lone imp I have will be enough—but I am very glad to have it.

I love apple and autumn, so I took a chance and bought a bottle unsniffed when the update went up. In the bottle: Warm apple cider, but there's something in the background which I can't pin down, and it makes the scent seem slightly artificial and "off." On me: When it goes on, whatever it is that I don't like amps up for a moment and then disappears. The smoke and wood amp, eclipsing all other notes, and then die down to a more manageable level. After that, Fearful Pleasure is pretty much what I expected: warm apple cider with wood and smoke. The apple ripe, red, and cooked; not fully mulled, it's only lightly spiced—truly the scent of warm apple cider. I don't smell the orange peel, which is too bad—it would be a lovely touch. The wood and smoke is warm and golden brown, light in tone (if not in strength) and not bitter. They're also stronger than I expected, standing equal with the apple. As a result, this isn't quite a foody blend—it's not just cider, but the act of drinking that warm apple cider indoors in a wood house, sitting before a fireplace. It has a golden red-blond-brown color, and the scent seems to float around the wearer rather than rising from the skin. Verdict: I wish that the cider were predominant and that I could smell the orange peel; the lack of both is what keeps me from being head over heels in love with the scent. Nonetheless, I do really enjoy it—this is a warm, comforting autumnal scent, and a spot-on, authentic match to the inspiration and the image it conjures. (It does make me want cider, though. >.>) I'll definitely keep my bottle, and I expect I'll wear this often.

In the bottle: Warm, smooth, and golden brown. The only note that I can pick out is the caramel. On me: Agrat-Bat-Mahlaht is an perfect olfactory capture of its illustration—something that I didn't expect from the notes. It's creamy smooth, rich brown gilded with gold, sexual and sweetened, and distinctly feminine. (The only aspect of the illustration that I don't perceive in the scent are the ruby jewels.) Caramel, deep and sweet, is the heart of the scent, but the amber, cream, and teak make it richer, firmer, and somewhat less foody. The apple blossom a strong floral (and not foody)—don't necessarily let that scare you away if you avoid florals, because it's not predominant; however, it does make the scent distinctly feminine. The skin musk isn't discernible, but it may be what gives the blend its a sensual, bodily aspects. This is rich and deep, seductive, a little dark, a bit sweet and a bit floral, and it forms an aura of scent around the wearer which is dense but not cloying. Verdict: I expected something lighter and creamier from the notes, but Agrat has all the richness and darkness of the illustration and a strong floral aspect that I didn't expect. It took a while to see beyond those expectations, but Agrat is beautiful, evocative, and sensual, the scent of feminine power, dark beauty, and comfort in ones own glorious skin. It's also aging beautifully—when I first got it the blend felt raw and a bit floral-heavy; five months later it's smoother and the apple blossom is playing better with the notes. This isn't my favorite scent and the caramel is too much rich brown for my daily use, but it is a keeper and I look forward to seeing how it continues to age.

In the vial: Chocolate and bright yellow fruit. On me: This Thirteen morphs almost constantly during wear, so it's rather difficult to write about. Yellow and orange fruits which are always present at varying strengths—they are the star of the scent, bright and golden, more dry than juicy, and distinct but not overpowering. Sometimes the fruit is sharpened by a bite of fresh, fibrous ginger; sometimes the fruit is smoothed out by sweet and creamy white chocolate and vanilla. There's also musty herbal chocolate, reminiscent of Thirteen April 2007 but softer, a strange organic scent which is oddly like algae and chocolate if algae and chocolate smelled amazingly good—it's prominent when first applied, provides a soft herbal grounding throughout wear, and sometimes pops up and makes itself more distinctly known. All of those aspects weave over and under one other in varying strengths and combinations to provide a constantly-shifting blend of peach and starfruit marked by cream and ginger and backed by herbs and chocolate. (Meanwhile, the boyfriend sniffs me and picks up most on the sweetness of the white chocolate, which reminds him of candy, and the slight floral edge of the orchid, which I can't pick out at all.) Verdict: Thirteen July 2007 is constantly morphing, a bit unusual, yet quite palatable. I love the pure musty chocolate of Thirteen April 2007, but it's not a scent to delight the masses; this, however, is a Thirteen that passing strangers will like on first sniff. It's also a delight to wear, and it's fun to track how all of the components fade in and out. However, the golden fruits don't quite suit my personality, even if they don't offend my nose. I don't think this is a blend which I'll wear often—but I loved the opportunity to experience it, and I'll probably keep the imp around for those infrequent times when I long for golden fruit.

In the vial: I have no idea. It's soft, gently warm, and smooth, but has a vaguely unappealing "after-smell." On me: When it first goes on, this reminds me almost perfectly of White Rabbit, crisp and homey, a touch strange—after all, they both share tea, milk/cream, pepper, and linen/wool. Ichabod Crane, however, is sweeter, softer, and warmer than White Rabbit; the longer it wears, the more the beeswax and muguet come out, and eventually they become predominant. Together, they are warm and golden with a distinct floral edge, reminding me (unexpectedly) of solar oils like Sportive Sun and Leo 2007. Altogether, the scent is smooth, golden, sharped a bit with the pepper, and just a touch refined; the texture of beeswax with the scent of a gentle unisex-or-men's parfum. Verdict: Ichabod Crane is White Rabbit transforming into Sportive Sun/Leo 2007—and I already have those others, and don't wear them frequently. The floral note of the final stage is also a little too strong for my tastes. All told, this is a pleasant scent, unassuming but unusual (not entirely unlike Ichabod himself!), but it fit my personality or have much personality of its own. I'll retest this one more time, but I think I'll pass this decant along to someone else.

I'm usually not a fan of rose (nor it of me), but I've had good luck with white rose before so I thought I'd try a decant. In the vial: Very mild sweetness with a touch of sharpness—probably the honey and rose. It's a clean white color. On me: Pale but sharp white rose, just a touch creamy and sweet. The rose is white, feminine, but not strongly floral-perfumey—it's a pure, natural scent. It does have a bit of a sharpness, which is characteristic of rose on my skin, but the sharpness is tempered by white honey and cream. I can't smell either distinctly, and the blend isn't sweet or milky-sour; instead, the honey and cream blend with the rose to create an allover smoother, gentler scent. That said, the scent is actually fairly one-dimensional, and it doesn't morph at all during wear. The color is pale, clean, slightly translucent white; the throw is pleasantly stronger than I expected. Verdict: My white rose of choice is usually Magdalene, which more dark and dreamy; this is the same white rose, but Katrina is lighter, younger, and sweeter. It's a pleasant scent, but the honeyed cream is just too soft, making for a rose so pure that it almost lacks personality. I like it, but I don't think I love it (and I only wear florals infrequently)—so I'll hold onto my decant and retest, but I don't need any more than that.

The 2008 version, picked up in a decant circle. In the vial: I couldn't say, except that I don't like it. It's dark, smoky, dirty, and bitter. The only note I can pick out distinctly is pine. On me: Predominantly dark and smoky when it goes on. This is nightime forest, after the rain and late in the year, when the vegetation has aged and some of it is rotting; there's a fire fed by damp logs, unfurling smoke into the night; underfoot, the dark soil of the forest floor. Within half an hour, red apples, a general "fruit" which may be the addition of pumpkin, and mixed spices become discernible and gain strength. They rise until they stand equal with the dark smoky forest, and they're a bit sweet—but not unpleasantly so. The strength and throw increase during wear. Verdict: In the vial, I dislike it; on wet, I'm doubtful; after half an hour, I'm won over. Samhain a bit sweeter than I expected (which may just be my skin chemistry) which seems a touch out of place against the woods; otherwise, it's wonderfully balanced and just lovely. The dark smoky forest is evocative, and the apples and spice make the blend more palatable and easy to wear. The boy says it smells like Christmas; to me, it's the long holiday season stretching from Halloween to Twelfth Night. It's lovely, and I'll definitely keep my imp.

Brings a rush of good luck, lifts the spirit, and helps alleviate depression. This was a frimp in a decant circle. In the vial: I can't even say. Something warm and golden with a distinct floral note. On me: When it first touches the skin, this reminds me distinctly of Chuparosa—not a good thing, in my opinion. The drydown loses some of that bright-pink screaming floral brightness. A golden heart develops: a bit sharp, which could be ginger; maybe some golden fruits; certainly a strong, cheerful floral aspect. The overall scent is a warm, golden tone with a wake-me-up feeling, and it's not unpleasant. It's not my style, however, and I accidentally over-applied (stupid imp leak) and the scent is already quite strong, so I'm more concerned with washing it off than having my depression alleviated. (And then I went and washed it off, so I can't comment on how the scent changes during wear.) Verdict: To be honest, I stuck this in my box for trades as soon as I recapped the imp. The scent is not at all unpleasant, and I wouldn't mind smelling it on someone else; it can definitely double as voodoo and perfume blend. But predominant florals aren't my style, nor is the bright golden color of the perfume. I'll pass this one on to someone else.

I never would have thought to try Haloes without this recommendation—thank you! I'll put it on my list. I also wanted to link to stick in a link for recommendations of scents which smell like fur, which I found in my wandering. Some of the recommendations are similar, but there are others as well, including: Crow Moon Brown Jenkins Lycaon The Rat King and potentially Oborot Just in case it's useful to other people like me who are looking for animal smells.

I just tested this today, and struck me as so unusual that I had to put in another word for it here: Gunpowder: Molasses and oats with a touch of wood and apple, and it's incredibly distinctive and unusual for perfume. It smells like a cider house, or a maple syrup house, or a warm barn: the scent of food preparation, but not actually foody. I love it, even if I'm never sure when I'll actually wear it... And to make a more complete post, other BPAL which I'd call quirky, or bizarre, or unusual: Destroying Angel: Thin dry acrid dirt, and white fungus. If you had asked me before I discovered BPAL, I would say there was no way a perfume could ever smell like that. Death Cap: Sweet pale-purple vanilla ... dirt. It's incredible, and unusual, and I adore it. Enraged Groundhog Musk: Strong sweet cherries coated in brown cocoa-and-cardamom fuzz. It's bright and sweet and fuzzy and soft. A very distinctive combination, and definitely not an average perfume. White Rabbit: A drop of tea, a shake of pepper, and a linen napkin. It's pale, white, and more than a little odd.

I grabbed an empty bottle (barely enough to test) from my decant circle because I wanted to smell one of the pumpkin patch and this was the most promising, but red rose scared me away from grabbing enough to wear. In the bottle: Pumpkin immediately, then a touch of resin (I guess that'd be the frankincense), then just "red"—an overall impression of the color, but no notes. On me: Goes on pumpkin, then it develops into a balance of red fruit made creamy by pumpkin and just touched by spice. I can't identify which red fruit, but it's distinctly red in color and full-bodied, rich, and a little sweet. The pumpkin is buttery and smooth; it's clearly discernible when I sniff for it, but for the most part it subtly balances out the red fruit and prevents the scent from growing cloying. The spice is subtle and almost featureless, just enough to provide an edge; if it's carnation, it's very flat. I don't get any other florals, including rose (which usually amps on my skin). Verdict: This is more enjoyable than I expected, but I don't feel the need to track down a wearable amount. (The boy agrees.) The combination of red fruit and buttery pumpkin is full-bodied and pleasant, and it makes for a likable, inoffensive scent that's not without character. I wouldn't mind smelling this on someone else, and don't mind how it smells on me. But I'm not making rapturous moaning noises or grabby hands. This was good to try, and I'm definitely interested in trying more pumpkin blends, but I don't mind not having this one.

In the vial: Molasses, then oats, then apples—but I'm unfamiliar with many of these notes, especially in the context of a perfume, so that's just a guess. The scent is sweet, thick, and very pungent. It has food qualities, but it's not quite foody—this is horsefeed, or a cider house: being around feed or producing food, but not consuming it. On me: The molasses creates sweetness on top, and it makes this scent very potent. The core is chaff and oats, a fibrous, cooked scent which is feed-but-not-food. At the base is a barely-discernible grounding of wood and a drop of musk. I also get a hint of overripe red apple—a touch of it in the throw, but not discernible up close. All in all, very similar to the scent in the vial but more nuanced. When it goes on, the throw is minimal and the molasses is a little bit overwhelming and cloying up close. Luckily, the throw rises within half an hour, and it doesn't contain so much of the molasses. This is an incredibly potent blend, and one little swipe is plenty. Verdict: I can't imagine any other perfume like this. Gunpowder is evocative, unusual, and truly one of a kind. I'm reminded of visiting maple syrup and apple cider farms in Vermont, or of baking dozens of oatmeal cookies in autumn—this is the scent of food preparation or animal feed, not of eating, and it doesn't make me hungry. I'm not sure how often I'll wear this, because it's more of an experience than a perfume. But I'll hold on to my imp, and I'm thrilled that I had the chance to experience it.

In the vial: Sharp greenery. On me: Goes on a distinctive powdery spice, gradually grows floral (that'd be carnation), and then takes on a milky undertone. It's a strong blend with a wide throw. It's powdery, which may be an amber base, but with a little grit—more like ground spice than baby powder. Above all, it's strong and pure carnation—the carnation of Alice or Maiden, spicy with a distinct milky background, not the dried blossom of Morocco. It's also the entire carnation, sharp green stem and spicy fresh red blossom. As the scent wears, much of the milkiness and greenery dies down and so does the throw, resolving to a subtle, spicy carnation, red and powdery, like dried carnation blossoms; it's a skin scent and disappears within two hours or so, but it's a lovely skin scent. Verdict: On my skin, Hod is an experience of red carnation, bold fresh-cut flowers transforming to subtle dried petals—and the experience is incredibly authentic. The scent goes on with a huge throw, dies down to a subtle skin scent, and doesn't last long at all. This isn't a scent for wearing out, because it morphs so much and lingers so little (and it's so rare!). It's a scent to wear, experience, and enjoy. I'm thankful that I was able to get my hand on it, and shall treasure my imps.

Scent Scribbles results for amber + red musk + BPAL may also be useful to you. Those are only the blends with listed notes, but it contains the blends that others have listed plus a few more. Fenris Wolf is a personal favorite, which has a very warm red color throughout, furry musks, and a rich, rounded heart of wood and amber.

In the vial: An unusual combination of salt and flowers with a distinct bitter edge. On me: The dragon's blood blossoms, quite literally—DBR is usually fruity on my skin, but here it's distinctly floral. They're mixed unidentifiable flowers, and they're predominant. Behind that, discernible but definitely second chair, is a salty aquatic. The aquatic isn't as bitter as the vial scent, and it's weak compared to the florals. The scent remains the same, but the throw morphs: it starts gentle, grows a healthy distance within twenty minutes, and dies to skin level within an hour. At an hour and a half, the scent is all but gone. Verdict: I usually adore dragon's blood resin, but it's usually fruity and resinous on my skin. The pure florals here aren't my style. While I've been looking for a salty aquaticand this is the truest I've found so farin combination with florals it evokes a humid tropical atmosphere, and that's most definitely not my style. Plus, the wear length is just over an hour. I think I'll have to pass this one on.

In the vial: Sweet white cake batter. On me: First hour or two: No longer the wet scent of the oil in the vial, this has become the dry sweetness of a baked sugar cake. It's distinctly sweet, but not sticky or cloying—more like crystalline white sugar than honey. The scent is weak, and I only get whiffs of it; sniffing up close, there's a light bitter/sour note. I think that's the milk, which sometimes goes sour on my skin. Third hour until it fades away: The sour note fades to nothing, thank goodness. Surprisingly, the scent amps over time. It's wonderful, actually: sugar cakes, pale and pure, discernible at a distance but never cloying or too strong. Color is a pale, opaque white—like a white sweet bread. Verdict: I'm very happy with Dana O'Shee. I wish it got to the final stage faster, but I'm grateful that the sourness stays faint and close to the skin and then fades away. The throw is lovely, and this is a wonderful scent, sweet and pure and comforting, never cloying. It's a bit too simple for frequent wear, but I'm glad that I have the imp.

I've only ever smelled ambergris in Masquerade, which isn't animal-anything at all for me, but now I'm even more interested in sniffing it out in other blends. Ivanushka is my favorite too, CaudaPavonis. It's a very evocative musk. The wine in Hunter Moon intimidates me, but I've always wanted to try both of these—the "outdoor animal musk" thing seems very much up my alley. Dove's Heart sounds really interesting. Thank you for the recs so far!

In the vial: Sweet, light, creamy. Pumpkins and a hint of spices. It's the same color as the oil, a light yellow-towards-orange. On me: The scent amps more than I expected for its lightness, but perhaps I just put more on than usual. Like the vial, it's pumpkin and spice, but the spices die down and the scent grows lighter and sweeter. The pumpkin is diluted and lightened by the peach, and the sweetness gives the scent an almost waxy-candle like quality. It doesn't morph and it's fairly strong. The color is shiny, creamy, light tangerine-yellow, far from a rich pumpkin. Verdict: On me, this is a commercial candle scent, not rich pumpkins and spices as I envision them. It's very sweet and rather waxy, and the autumn notes feel diluted by the lightness of spring peach. I would much rather have my pumpkin darker, spicier, muskier; Jack just isn't for me. It might be worth layering with it a spicy or musky scent, though, to see if that cuts down the sweetness. ETA: Layering Jack with herbal, spicy, and musky blends is an improvement, but still not quite good enough. I've layered it with Casanova before, and recently tried laying it with Satyr; these darker, deeper scents help ground Jack and cut down on the overpowering sweetness, but they don't do away with the waxy, candle-like feel of the scent. As such, this is definitely an imp for the swap pile.

In the vial: Sweet (in a thick, fluid way, not dry or crystalline) backed by a breath of light, unidentifiable mixed floral. The color of the scent is opaque off-white. On me: There's a spike of sweetness when the oil hits my skin, swiftly followed by a spike in the mixed florals. The sweetness is vanilla or perhaps mallow, rich and creamy, pale and opaque. The florals are again unidentifiable, pale, but surprisingly bitter and dry. That bitterness fades over time, but it prevents the sweetness from being pure and comforting. It seem a little cloying, a little dusty-dry-herbaceous, a bit "off." Verdict: When I catch whiffs of this, I like it. It's sweet, pale, creamy, and comforting. But when I smell it intentionally and try to pick out notes, I'm put off by the dry florals. They seem bitter and out of place in the otherwise sweet blend, and they prevent it from being truly wonderful to my chemistry/tastes/nose. I'll probably wear this intermittently, but it's not a personal favorite. It makes me wish for a pure, creamy, sweet vanilla scent without the bitter dry florals.

In the bottle: Pure, rich, melted chocolate—but it's backed by a trace of something which is slight off and smells vaguely like chemicals or alcohol (perhaps the Snake Oil base?). On me: Five minutes of rich, pure, melted, very dark chocolate and then poof! nothing. The scent disappears entirely, and I don't even get a whiff of Snake Oil left behind. On the bedding: (A few drops on a piece of fabric [which the oil will stain, but the stain doesn't transfer], stuck in the dryer with the clean dry bedding for about five minutes) When it first comes out, it's rich melted dark chocolate with a high, wide, exuberant throw, surrounded by a heady, slightly bitter alcohol note which is closer to rubbing alcohol than booze. By the next day, the alcohol wears off, leaving rich chocolate with a slightly non-foody, Snake Oil edge. It's deep dark chocolate, as rich as the oil itself; it's melted (perhaps the rice milk?) and thick; it has bit of non-foody spice and a Snake Oil medicinal edge. The Snake Oil aspects fade and the throw decreases with time, but the scent lingers for a week, easy. It transfers to my hair and skin during the night. Verdict: The first time that Boomslang disappeared on my skin, I was heartbroken—a rich, pure, dark chocolate would be my perfect scent if it lasted. Using it to scent my laundry changed everything: what disappears so swiftly on my skin stays around forever on my bedding, and sleeping cocooned in rich chocolate is indulgent and divine. It only takes a few drops to scent an entire load of laundry, but I'm still glad to have a bottle—I'll want chocolate-scented sheets for years to come.

Tell-Tale Heart (Dark Delicacies, but I've never had the chance to try Maelstrom): I get blood (musky/dry/congealed, not wet) and cocoa, backed up by pepper. It has me addicted to blood scents, and I absolutely love it. Midnight Kiss (Shojo Beat): I get sickly sweet blood wine, backed by cocoa and a bit of powdery amber. Blood Amber (GC): I get blood-via-Dragon's Blood, fruity and almost friendly, with powdery amber. I sometimes get blood from Dragon's Blood Resin, but DBR tends towards rich red fruits and sometimes florals. An incense/spice/otherwise-darker grounding helps bring out the blood, and it works well when paired when blood/blood musk/blood wine to bring the blood to pulsing life.

I love musks, and the description sounded similar to The Lion (which I adore), so I had to try this one out. In vial: It does remind me of The Lion, but darker. Dry grasses, deep musk. On me: When it goes on, the scent loses some of the sharpness from the vial and it fills out. To my nose, the musk is similar to Satyr. It's distinct, rich brown, and a bit powdery. The dry grasses, however, round out the scent and prevent the sweet edge that musk often has on my skin. The grasses lighten and sun-warm the scent into a golden brown. Verdict: It's ironic, considering my deep love of Satyr and the similarities that these two have to my nose, but I don't have much of an opinion about Coyote. The dry grass and musk is a pleasant combination and it's certainly evocative, conjuring the image that it represents. But, all told, the scent doesn't stand out or really appeal to me. I've been hanging onto this imp for a while, retesting and indecisive, but I think it's finally time to admit that Coyote doesn't grab me.