#woody amber

[parfumery-wiki]

Black Orchid (eau de parfum) Signature Tom Ford

Woody amber

Born of Tom Ford’s quest for the perfect flower, the iconic Black Orchid fragrance is a deeply seductive potion of black orchids, spice and dark accords.

A luxe and extraordinary fragrance of rich, dark accords merged with a sensual composition of black orchids and spice, Black Orchid is both modern and timeless — an homage to worldly glamour and iconic style.

“Black Orchid is a rich blend of spice and darkness to revolve around you, to be closer, and closer to you. Unleash its perfect power — both rare and extraordinary.” — Tom Ford

Key notes: Black orchid, Black truffle, Patchouli

[persolaise]

Frederic Malle Uncut Gem Review - Maurice Roucel; 2022

So, we have a new Malle — always an exciting proposition. But is this one worthy of standing next to Potrait Of A Lady, Noir Epices, En Passant, L’Eau D’Hiver, Carnal Flower, Iris Poudre and Lipstick Rose? — My thoughts on the new Uncut Gem.

I’m not worried yet. When its output is considered as a whole, the Frederic Malle brand remains one of the strongest and most praiseworthy in the business. So there’s no reason to fear the worst and sink into despair just because its latest release, Uncut Gem, is decidedly subpar. You can watch my full YouTube review of it at this link: Frederic Malle Uncut Gem review. (more…)

[retrofragrances]

Coty Musk for Men was released in 1974. It’s a woody-amber eau de cologne.

[softerhaze]

getting on fragrantica and seeing that everyone thinks my new fave perfume is literally ASS is so humbling.....i guess i'm just paying money to smell bad 😮‍💨🫶

[guthrie-odonto]

Chapter 3 still hasn't been released yet, which can only mean one thing... we can still speculate and have fun ideas as to who the fan-favorite Secret Skrunkly Boss™ will be! In my case, I have a mix of multiple common theories: The runningest, rip-roarin'est raptor this side of the Pixos, Chonery the Cowboy! (pronounced similar to "Connor" and "canary")

Once the beloved star of a simultaneous kids show and computer/video game (think like Dora the Explorer but inverse/a video game would be seen as a show in the dark world), Chonery even knew Ralsei at one point, the two being good friends and going on all sorts of fun adventures before Ralsei ended up leaving for his princely duties in a way, Chonery was the Chara/Kris to Ralsei's Asriel.... One day, Chonery would be told by some stranger (through mail, like how some shows would have fan mail segments) that their show would come to an end, as cowboy shows tend to go. At first, they just saw it as a chance to give one final great perfomance and proudly watch as his successors carried on in their role. But...

Nobody came...

Nobody did anything with them, no director/screenwriter/controller gave any commands, nothing was done with the sets he once performed on, nobody even came back for props. Eventually, the mysterious entity they had been in contact stopped writing to them, his last note being about the truth of this world paired with a shadow crystal and a poncho constructed from pure darkness, information so core-rattling that it left literal scars on their eyes. Being left alone without a spotlight, without light, without anything more than darkness for so long, cursed with the so-called freedom of abandonment beyond their control, even their color left them; but that's just how cowboy shows are... right? The one place they ended up finding solace in was the deep caverns of the fossil mines and the remains found within. Might not seem like the place for a spunky buckeroo to be in, but perhaps they saw a bit of themselves in the extinct creatures after all, they were certain that they too were a Goner.... And besides. If a canary sings in a mineshaft and nobody is around to hear it... why would it mean that there's something wrong?

Then, after the dark fountain that had been seeded was opened, Chonery noticed that some visitors had shown up in his little ghost town. Not just any visitors, but genuine, bonafide lightners! It wasn't enough to completely bounce them back, but the sight of Lighters of all entities visiting their little patch of NOTHING was enough to bring some hue to Chonery's shaded face. And if that wasn't enough, his old friend "Rip-Roaring Rally" subsequently arrived, having detected the dark presence that had been spawned in the Dreemurr household. After being filled in on the situation, Chonery even volunteered to join the party as someone who knows the ins and outs of this particular dark world as well as being just as knowledgeable on matters of darkness and lore as Ralsei (in battle, Chonery and Ralsei would act together as a single party member). And what's more, they didn't even ask for anything in return, not even a chance to get the airtime they'd gone so long without it's not like a dead bud walking such as themselves had any reason to breathe anymore. But Chonery would have an idea for a project he'd make for the fun gang, one that they suggest Kris and the player could help out on by obtaining the six power cathodes split amongst the two big factions of the dark world, the gangs led by Mike and Tenna respectively. This, of course, is the buildup for the secret boss fight, but it was also... oh, it was an idea. a great idea.

It was a simply WONDERFUL IDEA.

for some meta, behind the scenes notes: Chonery (a portmanteau of Chara, Goner, Flowey, and canary–as in "canary in a coal mine") is obviously a mix of Chara and Flowey in allusions, paralleling how Ralsei was in Chapter 1 and being the Ralsei version of Chara. (doesn't hurt that it means they have eye scars that match Photoshop Flowey and look like a face in the Memoryhead enemy from Undertale) In addition, they also draw on the popular cowboy/woody theory, with the video game aspect being from the sonic theory crafted by @right-brain-left-brain as well as the semi-common idea that the chapter 3 secret boss could be inspired by how Asriel had an attachment to Yoshi and felt enough guilt over pulling the "Yoshi down the pit" trick to confess to it in church–hence why they're specifically a raptor (plus it fits the sonic angle because what's more 90s and cool than a dinosaur?) Also, the secret bosses all have some kind of speech quirk (Jevil's repetition, Spamton's advertisment interruptions) and have actual voice lines somewhere, so what'd those be for lil' ol' Chonery here? They'd be both. That's right, instead of a written speech quirk, all their dialogue would come with voice acting (almost as if they're capable of not just speaking to Kris and the others, but to the player). As for what object they're formed from: The trashed flowers from Asgore? The bootleg video game controller? Kris' feelings of the once-happy (or at least relatively stable) state of the Dreemurr family overall, now a shadow of what it used to be? Who's to say.

Even with all their knowledge on the truth of this world and what darkners become in the light world, Chonery isn't so sure themselves...

[mynamesdrstuff]

I'm going to get a good grade in smelling, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve

[koisurubeam]

hey do you guys like perfumes at all and if so do u have anything you would recommend i try next? incl stuff like bath and body works im not picky i just like nice smelling things lol 🪷🌸🌷

[orchidrush]

🤎

[clitormiss]

kind of revealing that even if you (incorrectly) believe amber heard is at fault she's still recieved more public hate than any documented male abuser. that includes woody allen, weinstein, kevin spacey ... actual pedophile roman polanski (who depp defended), the list goes on. wonder what that tells you

[parfumery-wiki]

Tombée De La Nuit (eau de parfum) Bella Bellissima

Woody amber

An uncompromising, dark scent of seduction. Innocent notes of orange blossom and night-blooming jasmine are drawn into a dramatic backdrop of sensual tobacco-smoked patchouli. Rich guaiacwood is enveloped by precious oud, vetiver, soft sandalwood, leather, amber and bourbon vanilla to complete this mysterious and magnetic creation.

Top notes: Bergamot, Coriander, Orange blossom Heart notes: Jasmine, Geranium, Guaiacwood Base notes: Tobacco-smoked patchouli, Oud, Vanilla, Vetiver, Sandalwood, Amber, Leather

[persolaise]

Parle Moi De Parfum Wake Up World Review - Michel Almairac; 2022

Wake up… and face the other way. — Some more thoughts on Parle Moi De Parfum Wake Up World.

Following on from my mention of it in a recent blog post (click here to read it), I reviewed the new Parle Moi De Parfum Wake Up World over on YouTube the other day. Here’s a link to the episode: Parle Moi De Parfum Wake Up World review. (more…)

[kingsnorthlobotomy]

This is from my YouTube Channel. If you like movies, you may like it.

[tartaroooo]

One More Night

Hookups were supposedly a one- time thing. A way to have fun without getting attached.

So why the fuck does he keep coming back to you?

Scaramouche x Gn!Reader

A/n: A quick edit of a draft I've had in my notes for a while now.

Art credits: ike_0910

Warning: Slight nsfw, cursing

Scaramouche despises hookups.

To be tangled within the sheets with a complete stranger, the idea repulsed him to no end. Honestly, it was rather pathetic. It was nothing more than a desperate act of attention. A despondent call to those terrified of estrangement. But archons forbid, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't the least bit curious.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try at least once?

Besides, stress has been eating him up lately. He needed a way to clear his thoughts and forget. To let go and revel in the pleasure of losing himself in his inhibitions.

But there must be something wrong with his hookup. Weren't they supposedly a one- time thing? A way to have fun without getting attached?

So why the fuck does he keep coming back to you?

Why does he insist on keeping you on his bed, with a part of him wishing you'd stay there forever?

He hated this so much.

Words can’t express how much he loathes this thing referred to as attachment. He refuses to let his emotions run rampant again and undergo the heartbreak of treachery. He’s been betrayed three times. He’s not letting you be his fourth one.

Yet here he was, in bed with you for the 5th time this week, lips locked in a fiery fit of passion. Your wrists were pinned above your head, it was scary how he didn’t want to let you go. How despite his repugnance towards devotion, his hypocrisy ruled with the thoughts of keeping you in place.

"You taste so fucking good…", he mumbles as his breath brushes against your lips. Your skin was redolent of fresh lemon with the base of woody amber, the bed sheets stained with the scent of your perfume. The air was heavy, choking the last of his self-control. He eyes you, taking shallow breaths underneath him as you tried to catch your breath. He couldn’t help the twitch of his lips as you never fail to provide him with the dopamine of having control. He dives in for another kiss, this time devoid of passion and merely fueled by his hunger. Hunger for you. For the delightful moans that slip out your pretty, little mouth when he pounds relentlessly into you. For the way your body arches when he rakes his fingernails across your smooth skin, all the while his hips snap forward to hit that spot deep within you. A certain area only he knows that would drive you crazy.

He was obsessed with this feeling.

He knows that he should've let you go already, that this is something that shouldn't be happening. But dear archons forgive him because being wrong never felt so right. You were like a poison who seeped into his veins, rewiring his brain to be filled with thoughts regarding you and you alone. You collapsed the building of his very morals, turned everything he stood up for into non-existent debris.

"One more night…" He mutters, burying his face into the crook of your neck. It would be a comforting gesture, if not for the fact that he sinks his teeth into your skin and gnaws on it like a piece of meat. He’s sure that's going to leave a mark tomorrow yet it doesn’t stop the sinful moan that escapes your throat, an invitation for him to keep going. And he will most definitely keep going. His sense of judgement disintegrated when you hooked your arms around his neck, reciprocating his intense desire that tarnished both your bodies and short circuited your willpower. Nothing else mattered. Just you and his desire to have his way with you until he's satisfied.

A low chuckle escapes from the confines of his throat as he saw how much of a mess you became. A mess that belonged in his museum of you, framed, sculpted or whatever way its preserved. With a smirk that seemed to widen every passing minute, his fingers lightly trace the curve of your spine.

He just couldn't get enough of you.

[jaideepkhanduja]

@oldspice @oldspiceindia #nomad #deodorant #bodyspray is classically masculine but a unique creation. It's distinctly refined and perfectly designed. The #fragrance is so #special in many ways. The #fragrance #experience envelopes with #warmth of #amber topped with #spicy, #creamy, and #woody notes. It's #zerogas and the #freshness stays intact for #24 hours #loveit (at Delhi, India) https://www.instagram.com/p/Ce7pQrOFius/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[kvtie444]

⋆‧₊˚ TEACHERS PET pt. 2

A/N: ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER 18!! i luv this song but doesn’t really fit 💔

Summary: Reader has a new teacher and finds herself falling for him blahblahblah teachers pet by melanie vibes xoxo

Warnings: swearing, mentions of nsfw content, that’s it??

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

"Just have to hold you behind a bit and ask you something," he continues.

Shit.

He gestures toward a random desk chair, silently inviting me to sit, and I comply. Mimicking my actions, he takes his desk chair and turns to face me. "I read your essay last night," he begins. Curiosity fills my gaze as I await his judgment. "Was it good?" I inquire, feeling a vulnerability in his presence. He sighs, briefly looking down before meeting my eyes again. "It's good," he starts, "but you tend to sit on the fence. Write less formally and infuse more personal elements."

I nod, nervously biting my bottom lip. "You're a smart girl, Y/N. I don't doubt that for a second. You have the potential to lead this class, but you need to be more organized and avoid last-minute efforts," he advises with a smile. Returning the smile, I stand up, throw my bag over my shoulder, and express my gratitude, "Thanks, sir."

As I head for the door, he adds, "And in future lessons, try to focus more on the work than your teacher." I turn to him, cheeks burning, and he smirks. My attempt to respond fails, and I release a small chuckle, rolling my eyes before walking down the hall. I sulk, realizing how challenging it will be to ever meet his gaze again.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

About a week has passed since Matt's feedback, and as time elapses, the workload intensifies - his words still linger, throwing me off balance. Today, nothing seems right – my hair, makeup, and the mounting stress are pushing me to the edge. I grab my keys, bag and water bottle and start my walk, listening to a calming playlist, hoping to ease my nerves. I admire the scenery, the once-orange leaves now lie scattered on the ground.

I arrive at class, 10 minutes late due to my meltdowns. I exhale, remove my headphones, and open the door. All eyes turn to me, interrupting Matt mid-sentence. Anxiety grips me as I make my way to my desk, noticing Madi's absence. Matt resumes teaching while I space out, arms crossed, and slouched in my chair.

God knows how long I was zoned out for until a deep voice breaks my trance, "Y/N? You okay?" Matt leans over me, his chain dangling close. I nod and force a smile. "Need water or a break?" he offers. "No, I'm fine, I swear," I reply, smiling through my lie. Matt glances around, then leans toward my ear. "Need to see you after class," he whispers, his warm breath grazes the skin on my neck and ear, causing a shiver to run down my spine. Pulling back just a bit, he meets my gaze with his icy blue eyes. Our faces remain in close proximity, and I catch a whiff of his breath—a mix of spearmint and cigarettes. The subtle notes of amber and a woody, musky cologne emanating from his shirt complement him perfectly. Through my lashes, I look up at him, utterly dumbfounded. I offer a nod and a soft smile in response.

He reassures me with a smile, sending a quick squeeze and pat to my shoulder before attending to the next student. I watch him help another, feeling an unexpected twinge of jealousy. I rub my face, trying to refocus.

The lesson concludes, and I remain seated, nervously fidgeting with my pen. The classroom empties, leaving only Matt and me. He takes the initiative, shutting the door, pulling up a chair, and positioning himself opposite me. With a thoughtful expression, he sticks his tongue in his cheek before breaking the silence. "Y/N, if there's anything going on, you don't have to tell me, but I'm here if you do want to speak about it." Confusion crosses my face until I realize he's addressing my recent struggles in class. "Oh, no, I'm fine. I'm just a bit lost with the work," I reply, attempting to make the conversation less intervention-like with a smile.

He sighs and leans back in his chair. "Y/N, you need to remember that this is college. If you don't find your feet again, they might have to kick you out, and I really hope it doesn't come to that," he advises. Fiddling with the lid of my pen, I hum in agreement, looking down at my hands. "Which is why I think I should tutor you privately. This classroom isn't a good environment for you, and, like I said before, you have so much potential. I'd hate to see it go to waste." Nervously chewing on my lip, I meet his intense gaze. He wants to privately tutor me? I nod and manage a smile, "Yeah, I think that could work."

He smirks a bit, resting his elbows on my desk, leaning forward. His hands play with his rings, revealing clearer views of his tattoos—a lighthouse, an owl, keys, and more. "Do you think I could get your number?" he asks. I'm shocked by his request, "To contact you for sessions, of course," he clarifies, clearing his throat. "Yeah, of course." We exchange details, and I can't help but admire his large hands whilst they grip his phone. Afterward, I stand up, throw my bag over my shoulder, and he returns to his desk, opening a small journal.

"I'll send you the address now. Could you do tomorrow night? We don't have a lesson here, so you could come at like, 5? 6?" he suggests. I look at him, "6 is good." Smiling, I walk toward the door, saying, "Bye, sir. Thank you." "No worries," I hear him call back as I make my way out.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

As I walk to Matt's place for our first tutoring session, I can't help but feel like I've gone overboard. My phone's maps tell me I'm just two minutes away - I'm drenched in perfume, a full face of makeup, my most flattering jeans, a long-sleeve crop top with just the right amount of cleavage on display, and a matching set underneath. I scold myself internally - Y/N, you're being delusional. Upon reaching his place, I'm slightly taken aback. It looks like a family house, detached, with a front gate and lights leading up the path to the front door. It's a 20-minute walk from mine.

I push the buzzer, hear a beep and the unlocking click, and let myself in. Glancing around the driveway, I spot a single black Mercedes, looks like an S-Class. I hear his steps approaching the door, my heart pounding out of my chest. A cold breeze passes, and I cross my arms, shivering. He unlocks the door, swinging it open.

My eyes scan his body as he does the same to me. He's in a black tee that hugs him nicely, grey sweats, Air Forces, and his silver chain over his shirt. Fuck. His cologne wafts from him, and I can’t help but think about how hot he looks right now. "Hey," he says with a smile. "Hi," I quickly return. He leans against the door, bicep flexing on his tattooed arm. He further opens the door, and I let myself in, brushing past him. "You must be freezing," he observes, locking the door and leading me to his office. I giggle softly, following him. "Yeah, just a bit. Nice house. You live here alone?" I ask, attempting to learn more about him. He glances at me briefly before leading me upstairs. "Yeah, just me. Why, is that a bad thing?" he teases, nudging me with his shoulder. I smile up at him, "No, it's nice. I'd love to have my own place. I'm sick of the accom here - always so much noise and drama." He chuckles before stopping us at a large, double door. He pushes it open, and we finally arrive at his office.

I take a seat opposite where his chair is, but he drags his chair next to mine, sitting down. I feel myself growing hotter at the close proximity. We get everything we need out, and I start writing down the main points I need to work on. He leans over tilting his head, our arms and knees touching, to look down at my notes. His skin feels warm against mine, which is cold due to the blistering weather. "Okay, so theories and methods use different sociological viewpoints," he starts, writing in his notebook. "It's just positivists and interpretivists." He looks down at me, his eyes scanning my face for any sign of confusion. I nod in response, and he continues explaining.

The session continues with small, intimate glances and touches. Eventually, we wrap up, and I gather my belongings. As I do so, he walks over to a bookshelf, grabs something, and comes back to me. "I think you should read this. It's good to build your knowledge, and I actually enjoyed reading it," he says, handing me the book. Our hands brush against each other before I look at the cover—'Tristes Tropiques' by Claude Levi-Strauss. I slide it into my bag, and we walk back down to the front door.

"How are you getting home?" he asks, looking down at me. I look up into his eyes, feeling myself blushing. "Walking," I smile. "At this time? And in this weather?" he asks, slightly shocked. I shrug. "Let me drop you off," he offers, stopping in his tracks, and I do the same. "I don't want you walking home, Y/N," he repeats. I sigh, looking down briefly before replying, "Alright, yeah. Thank you." He smiles before grabbing his keys. We step out to his car, getting in. It smells like him, and I can't help but admire how nice the car is—clean, modern interior, touchscreen navigation, blue LEDs illuminating his structured features. I type in my address, and he begins the journey, some music playing in the background.

Looking out the window, I decide to speak up. "How long have you been teaching for?" I turn around to face him, but he's already looking at me. He turns his eyes back to the road. "I was doing training for four years in college. This is my first real year," he replies. I do the math—he's only 23. There's another pause before he breaks the silence. "Why are you studying sociology?" he asks me. I shrug my shoulders, "It's good to have."

We finally arrive outside my building, and we both look at each other. "I'll text for our next session?" he asks. I nod, biting my lip. I grab the door handle, opening the door. "Thanks. Bye," I smile at him. "Bye," he mumbles back. I shut the door, walk up to my front door, and take my keys out of my bag. As I unlock the door, I see him waiting to see me get inside. I smile, giving a small wave, which he reciprocates before I get inside, shutting the door. I hear him drive off, and I walk up the stairs to my floor, taking my phone out. I see a text from Madi.

From Madi F

Wyd tomorrow night x

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

tag list!

@iloveneilperry @bernardenjoyer @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @daddyslilchickenfingers@mbbsgf @sturnvilmed @sturnphilia @s1urnioloslvr @mattsbratt @mangosrar @christinarowie332 @recklesssturniolo @bluesturniolo333 @flowerxbunnie @kenzieiskoolaid @pepsiskiess @poopydroopt @byechristopher @soursturniolo @m6ttsturniolo @lustfulslxt @stardustmf444 @thankyounextt

[diejager]

Saloon

He swung the reins of his horse over the pole, lopping it inward to tie a knot. With a firm and comforting hand, Ghost ran a hand down the neck of his horse, a beautiful black stallion that towered over other horses. Without much thought, he strode into the saloon, the wooden doors snapping behind him as he confidently stepped in, his heeled shoes clicking on the dusty planks.

The bustling and lively room turned cold and silent, faces turned to look at him, eyes fleeting over the red skull that adorned his face and the black cloth that covered the rest of it. He held his head high, shoulders broad and back straightened, he walked with his eyes pointed forward and his hat tilted upwards.

Stopping at the bar, his leg swung around the leather stool, taking a seat and crossing his arms over the table. The place burst into actin once more, voices and chatter filling the room, chairs skidding against the floor and cups clinking together in cheers. Ghost tapped a finger on the rich wood, his brown eyes wandering over the selection of drinks on the counters.

“Evening, sir,” a prettily dressed woman swayed to his side, dressed in a corset, blouse and little petticoat. He liked how simple the workers dressed here, even as pretty as the dresses were, they were easy to move around.

“Bourbon.”

She slid him a clean glass of bourbon, the amber liquor glistening under the golden sun that shone through the windows and the candle lights from the saloon. He reached for the glass, rolling his mask over his nose and tilted the cup, the soothing burn of bourbon trickled down his throat in a familiar taste. The tang of top-shelf alcohol lingering on his tongue, the woody mixed with he soft sweetness burned his throat.

“You’re back, Ghost.”

He tossed back his head, drinking down the last drops of his drink before turning to the voice, the cup softly placed down. The light shone abasing the shadowy figure that spoke to him, but he knew who it was. The ruggedly dressed person with a pistol strapped to the hip and a hat rivalling his stared back at him - you - the reason he often came to this saloon or the ones under your name and territory.

The room never went silent or deathly still when you walked it, it rejoiced and celebrate your arrival as the owner of such fine establishments. Rather than greet you with he same stares and fear they gave him, they welcomed you, waved and smiled your way. You were a name people liked and favourably looked at with pleasant words.

Your shoes clicked as you joined him at the bar, taking the stool to his right. You smiled and waved over one of your workers, the dazzling grin you gave her as she poured you a cup, her lips moving with every tales and rumours she’s heard for the past week. He stared at you, his warm browns washing over your face, your glinting eyes, your fluttering lashes and the dusty sand that matted your sweaty cheeks and nose, your pursed and sinful lips the only part spared from the sand.

He trailed down your neck, the high collar of your shirt and down your chest, the loose bottons that you popped from the heat on your black waistcoat and white shirt. You were a beauty in the rugged and wild look, the clothes matching perfectly to who you - became - were. That richness in your voice and the way you wore yourself, but you were humble, never letting your boldness and cockiness get to your head. Which, granted, made you more tolerable than some in his group, but he favoured you terribly, an obsession with your being that he couldn’t stop.

It made his heart beat wildly in its cage, beating against his ribs. He almost flinched when you caught him admiring you, your pretty hues peering at him from the corners of your eyes. He was glad he wore a mask, hiding the rising burn on his cheeks, flushed red under the dark cloth and red skull he wore to protect his identity.

“So, tell me, Ghost,” you drawled, flashing him a crooked smile, lips rising at a corner. “What brings you to my saloon?”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog