Vanilla - Bourbon

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    Alice, The Reaper of Cruelty Perfume Oil

    Bourbon geranium emboldened by the rich scent of aged patchouli, the sweetness of peach, raspberry leaf, and bourbon vanilla, surrounded by a butterfly swarm of spicy carnation and Italian bergamot.

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    Anathema Device Perfume Oil

    She was a bright child, with a pale face, and black eyes and hair. As a rule she tended to make people feel uncomfortable, a family trait she had inherited, along with being more psychic than was good for her, from her great-great-great-great-great grandmother.

    She was precocious, and self-possessed. The only thing about Anathema her teachers ever had the nerve to upbraid her for was her spelling, which was not so much appalling as 300 years too late.

    White sandalwood, blackcurrant, bourbon vanilla, and warm amber.

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    Anise Swallowtail Perfume Oil

    The Anise Swallowtail is a creature of wide open spaces. She flies through wide open spaces, over hills and through lots abandoned by humankind, dancing among dill, parsley, fennel, and wild carrots.

    Bourbon vanilla, star anise, cypress, juniper berry, a drop of blood orange, and bronze fennel.

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    Bast Perfume Oil

    There was a girl. He had met her somewhere, and now they were walking across a bridge. It spanned a small lake, in the middle of a town. The wind was ruffling the surface of the lake, making waves tipped with whitecaps, which seemed to Shadow to be tiny hands reaching for him.

    — Down there, said the woman. She was wearing a leopard-print skirt, which flapped and tossed in the wind, and the flesh between the top of her stockings and her skirt was creamy and soft and in his dream, on the bridge, before God and the world, Shadow went down to his knees in front of her, burying his head in her crotch, drinking in the intoxicating jungle female scent of her. He became aware, in his dream, of his erection in real life, a rigid, pounding, monstrous thing as painful in its hardness as the erections he’d had as a boy, when he was crashing into puberty.

    He pulled away and looked upward, and still he could not see her face. But his mouth was seeking hers and her lips were soft against his, and his hands were cupping her breasts, and then they were running across the satin smoothness of her skin, pushing into and parting the furs that hid her waist, sliding into the wonderful cleft of her, which warmed and wetted and parted for him, opening to his hand like a flower.

    The woman purred against him ecstatically, her hand moving down to the hardness of him and squeezing it. He pushed the bedsheets away and rolled on top of her, his hand parting her thighs, her hand guiding him between her legs, where one thrust, one magical push . . .

    Now he was back in his old prison cell with her, and he was kissing her deeply. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, clamped her legs about his legs to hold him tight, so he could not pull out, not even if he wanted to.

    Never had he kissed lips so soft. He had not known that there were lips so soft in the whole world. Her tongue, though, was sandpaper-rough as it slipped against his.

    —Who are you? he asked.

    She made no answer, just pushed him onto his back and, in one lithe movement, straddled him and began to ride him. No, not to ride him: to insinuate herself against him in series of silken-smooth waves, each more powerful than the one before, strokes and beats and rhythms that crashed against his mind and his body just as the wind-waves on the lake splashed against the shore. Her nails were needle-sharp and they pierced his sides, raking them, but he felt no pain, only pleasure, everything was transmuted by some alchemy into moments of utter pleasure.

    He struggled to find himself, struggled to talk, his head now filled with sand dunes and desert winds.

    —Who are you? he asked again, gasping for the words.

    She stared at him with eyes the color of dark amber, then lowered her mouth to his and kissed him with a passion, kissed him so completely and so deeply that there, on the bridge over the lake, in his prison cell, in the bed in the Cairo funeral home, he almost came. He rode the sensation like a kite riding a hurricane, willing it not to crest, not to explode, wanting it never to end.

    A desert wind alight with myrrh and golden amber, cardamom and honey, bourbon vanilla and cacao.

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    Bawd Perfume Oil

    Pray you, without any more virginal fencing, will
    You use him kindly? He will line your apron with
    Gold.

    Raucous red velvet musk, sweet patchouli, billowing peony, bourbon vanilla, and a cascade of red rose petals.

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    Cytherea Perfume Oil

    White sandalwood, patchouli, white amber, orris, bourbon vanilla, champaca flower, and kush.

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    Hal Perfume Oil

    Saffron-infused bourbon vanilla, blackened honey, Kashmir wood, Atlas cedar, ambrette seed, hay, and Egyptian jasmine absolute.

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    Injured Dickchest Alchemy Lab Perfume Oil

    Forget everything you know about “brand awareness” and consider a timeline in which Injured Dickchest becomes a viral internet sensation, complete with animated TV spinoff and celebrities’ kids repping our merch. If you enjoy being able to afford our products, be grateful that IDAL never made it past the brainstorming stage.

    Champaca blossom, bourbon vanilla, pink pepper, and green tea.

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    Iole Perfume Oil

    The newcomer. The brains. Pensive and thoughtful. Small and frail, even now Iole sometimes can’t keep up as Pandy and Alcie stride through the market place or the olive orchards or swim in nearby lakes and rivers. But…but…she’s smart as a whip; often using big words when she speaks; not to show off, but only because her mighty mind can’t come up with anything smaller. Will gladly tutor in algebra and calculus!

    A serious, studious scent: fig, night-blooming jasmine, red sandalwood, bourbon vanilla, oak bark, leather accord, and black amber.

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    June 23, 1868 Perfume Oil

    True love renewed by night in an English garden: moonflower, Nottingham catchfly, Casablanca lily, evening primrose, night-blooming cereus, Queen of the Night, muted by the sepia tones of tonka, tobacco absolute, bourbon vanilla, and costus.

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    Looming Spectre of Inutterable Horror Perfume Oil

    Arizona vs United States

    We are not talking here about a federal law prohibiting the States from regulating bubble-gum advertising, or even the construction of nuclear plants. We are talking about a federal law going to the core of state sovereignty: the power to exclude.

    The Court opinion’s looming specter of inutterable horror-“[i]f §3 of the Arizona statute were valid, every State could give itself independent authority to prosecute federal registration violations:-seems to me not so horrible and even less looming.

    If securing its territory in this fashion is not within the power of Arizona, we should cease referring to it as a sovereign State.

    Wherein Scalia channels Lovecraft: raw frankincense and tobacco absolute with Russian leather, blackened champaca, bitter clove, red patchouli, bourbon vanilla and petitgrain.

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    Luxuria Bath Oil

    Red musk, patchouli, pomegranate, red currant, bourbon vanilla, nutmeg, sweet orange.

    Lust’s passion will be served; it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes. — the Marquis de Sade

    8oz Bottle

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    Mastermind Perfume Oil

    Inspired by the character HUNTER ROSE.
    The first of the Grendel legacy, a stylish, best-selling author who leads a double life as a relentless assassin and all-powerful mob overlord.

    An elegant cologne of olibanum, opoponax, leather accord, black amber, bois de jasmine, cade wood, pale balsam, orange blossom, oudh, black plum, bourbon vanilla, and sandalwood.

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    Nasty Woman Perfume Oil

    As you have no doubt heard, during the third presidential debate, Hillary described her plan to raise taxes on the rich in order to fund Social Security. She took a swing at him over him being a tax dodger (which he is).

    “My Social Security payroll contribution will go up, as will Donald’s – if he can’t figure out how to get out of it.”

    Trump interrupted her and said, “Such a nasty woman.”

    These are two things uttered by the same man within the same hour:

    “Such a nasty woman.”

    “No one has more respect for women than me.”

    Amazing.

    Let’s put this pussy-grabbing, racist, predatory, misogynistic, hateful, irresponsible, ignorant, immature grotesquerie out of politics for good, and do what we can to ensure that he and his ilk never cast their miserable shadows over our political process again.

    Nasty Woman: black fig and patchouli, filthy bourbon vanilla, honeyed amber oud, and loukhoum.

    Proceeds will be split between Planned Parenthood and EMILY’s list.

    plannedparenthood.org

    emilyslist.org

    Photo: Women marching in national suffrage demonstration in Washington, D.C., May 9, 1914.

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  • Nightingale Perfume Oil

    The national bird of Ukraine. A lovely and powerful song translated into scent: toasted bourbon vanilla, sweet oats and honey, cardamom, and cream.

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    O Spirit of Love Perfume Oil

    O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,
    That, notwithstanding thy capacity
    Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
    Of what validity and pitch soe’er,
    But falls into abatement and low price,
    Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy
    That it alone is high fantastical.

    — Orsino

    Effervescent rose chypre and bourbon vanilla.

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    Pink Moon Pefume Oil

    The name of this moon refers to the color of wild ground phlox, a primary component of this Lunacy Blend, which is one of the most widespread floral signposts of springtime in North America. This Lunar blend is soft with phlox, pink freesia, stargazer lily, tulip, daffodil, pink columbine, delphinium, pink carnation, peony, and muscari, dusted with pink sugar and honey, bourbon vanilla and a touch of the first strawberries of the season.

    Artwork by Dan Santat!

    To purchase a Pink Moon Tee, scoot on over here!

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    Sachs Perfume Oil

    A sensual scent, compelling and passionate, that stays close to the skin: Roman chamomile, bourbon vanilla, and smoky vanilla bean.

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    The Eternal Queen Perfume Oil

    A whisper of names: Nandi, Dido, Clytemnestra, Hatshepsut, Merneith, Olga of Kiev, Boudicca, Urraca the Reckless, Makeda, Sasaban, Semiramis, Rabodoandrianampoinimerina, Theodora, Julia Agrippina, Wu Zeitan, Irene Sarantapechaina, Elizabeth. She is every queen that has ever walked on this Earth, and every queen that shall come. She rules the past, the present, and the future; she is the archetypical sovereign, the amalgamation of feminine power – dark and light – throughout all of mankind’s history.

    White gardenia and tuberose with ambergris accord, vegetal vanilla musk, bourbon vanilla, and amber incense.

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    The Small Brown Cat Perfume Oil

    The small brown cat opened her eyes and stretched to her feet. She padded across the kitchen floor and pushed at Shadow’s boot with her head. He put down his left hand and scratched her forehead and the back of her ears and the scruff of her neck. She arched, ecstatically, then sprang into his lap, pushed herself up against his chest, and touched her cold nose to his. Then she curled up in his lap and went back to sleep. He put his hand down to stroke her: her fur was soft, and she was warm and pleasant in his lap; she acted like she was in the safest place in the world, and Shadow felt comforted.

    Warm brown fur, cardamom-infused bourbon vanilla, and a touch of cedarwood.

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    The Temptation of St. Nick Perfume Oil

    Available from Friday to Monday ONLY, for $26

    A holiday season imp assault: cacao, blazing chili pepper, clove husk, bourbon vanilla, pistachio, and hazelnut.

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    Various Penises Hair Gloss

    Smoky brown vanilla husk, bourbon vanilla, dark amber, pink oud, and burnt cocoa bean.

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  • You May House Their Bodies But Not Their Souls Perfume Oil

    You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
    For they have their own thoughts.
    You may house their bodies but not their souls,
    For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
    You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
    For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
    You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
    The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
    Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
    For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

    A woody, deep patchouli with bourbon vanilla, rich amber, and soft golden skin musk.

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