Enjoy this piece of queer holy family fanfic by Mary, as Mary Magdalene walks a fragrant path of self-discovery.
Tobacco (Queer, mystery, kind, magic, mystic, earth)
It’s 2pm, that time of day when everyone feels a little lost or sleepy, and Mary Mag (she/they) is in the greenhouse, helping Mary brew her headache salves. Dolly Parton beseeches Jolene from Mary’s old cassette player in the corner, and a big fan whirs, keeping the femmes slightly less sticky on the hot August day.
“Don’t get me wrong…I love working at the club. The money is nice, I have cool regulars and I love expressing myself, my body, in dance. But something…is missing. I feel a deep urge but I don’t know what for.”
Mary nods and gestures at Mary Mag to stir the pot of beeswax while she adds the herbs and oils.
“Like, I’m a multi-faceted artist. Have you seen the makeup I’ve done for J? And the outfits I’ve curated for them? I’m creating looks that are new, and strange, and queer. Oh by the way–you should add tobacco oil to this batch. Super cooling and I believe it naturally helps us rewire neurons. Plus it will add an earthy sweetness.”
Mary raises her eyebrows, ponders, then nods and finds her tobacco oil in the depths of her cabinet.
After a few drops of the oil is added, the greenhouse fills with an odd, but enticing, smell–the headache salve has taken on a new personality. The femmes look at each other and communicate without words. Slowly, Mary smiles. “You’ve got a knack for scent, my love.”
One of Mary Mag’s neurons rewires.
“Hey Mar…can I borrow some of your oils?”
Black Spruce (Individual, queer, soul)
Mary Mag sits at her makeup vanity (black with red velvet accents) surrounded by some of Mary’s most precious and loved oils: Jasmine Sambac, Rose Absolute, Neroli, Damiana, Oakmoss, Black Spruce, Tobacco, Vetiver, Cedarwood, Bergamot, and more.
They stare at themselves in the mirror for a moment, looking into their own eyes. Layered in the deep shade of brown are specks of green–pine green. Her eyes are a forest, and she is always down–eager, even– to explore. She loves her multitudes.
So she explores. Jasmine and Bergamot. Black Spruce and Oakmoss. Neroli and Cedarwood. She puts some of the combinations into the atomizer bottles she found in Mary’s supply closet. Adds grain alcohol from the local distillery. Drops a few precious gems and essences into the mixture. Then spritzes.
So much happens all at once: a memory, a faraway emotion, a tear, a smile. A desire. Sensual pleasure. The spruce is first, then comes the jasmine, the rose, the vetiver. Like dynamic flavors of a home cooked meal, the scents have a story, so personal yet so universal and connective. She feels present, and alive.
For a moment, at least, Mary Mag has found what was missing.
Cedarwood (Community, daddy, gentle, confident)
“Dang, MM, this smells GOOD!”
Leave it to her BFF Jesus to affirm TF out of her.
“Are you just being a supportive best friend? Or do you ACTUALLY like it?”
Mary Mag conjured up a signature scent for Jesus: Geranium, Cedarwood, and Pink Grapefruit. She cheekily called it “Heaven Scent” because...well, you know the story.
“I love it. I want to bathe in it. It makes me want to go out and FLIRT.”
Mary Mag rolls their eyes. “You always want to go out and flirt.”
“Yeah but…hey, MM, I’m serious. This shit smells good. Mom was right…queen of scent!!”
“Here–spritz some on your feet. The Cedarwood will have you standing tall and the Grapefruit will bring a little pep to your step.”
“…how do you know this stuff? Did you take a class?”
“No, I just…know? The oils tell me.” Jesus raises their eyebrows. “What? We gab.”
“Actually, I get it. Me and the flowers chat, too. Oof do they gossip. Roses are real pieces of work.”
Rose (Dazzle, death, mother, boundaries, self-devotion)
It’s a club night, and MM has on her favorite stilettos: Black with red roses wrapping around the heel. She gives her lips a swipe of scarlet and ties a black silk scarf into their brown curls. She made a perfume to match her aesthetic: Black Spruce and Rose Absolute with a few other notes.
Before she gets on stage, she spritzes her heart with the scent. When her fellow dancers catch a whiff, they ask for a spritz to their wrists, necks, ankles. Soon the whole backroom smells like a cool, floral forest.
When she dances tonight, it hits different. She is dancing with spruce needles in her hair, with thorns along her thighs, with petals under her feet, with oak leaves in her lungs, with frankincense in her blood. The oils of scent sing along with the music, murmuring magic down her spine. The red lights bloom against her skin. The pole cold as river water along her body. She feels…connected.
As she dances close to one of her favorite regulars, Ruth, Ruth whispers, “babe...you smell good.”
Thanks for reading, scent-sual babes. If you're looking to explore your desires and connect with your inner self, grab the last 30ml bottle of WWMMD? here--restock happening soon!