💜 Day 1 of the Potionomics Valentine's Event is one week away!
Galentine’s Day (Feb 13th) is the day to post your contributions for any relationship comprised entirely of women: romantic, platonic, queerplatonic, or undefined. Trans women are women, and are absolutely included and celebrated here. 🏳️⚧️
POTIONOMICS VALENTINE’S EVENT
Full prompt event info here
Art by @art-crosternum
💜 Galentine’s Day (Day 1 — February 13) is all about the women of Potionomics. Their friendships, rivalries, mentorships, teamwork, competition, tenderness, ambition, and survival in a capitalist reality.
This day is for any relationship comprised entirely of women: romantic, platonic, queerplatonic, or undefined. Trans women are women, and are absolutely included and celebrated here. 🏳️⚧️
These prompts are meant to help explore what these women build, protect, endure, or find refuge in—whether that’s a shop, a friendship, a rivalry, or each other. All are open to interpretation how you see fit!
💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜
❤️ What about non-women characters?💙
Characters who are not women (including men and nonbinary characters) are lovingly celebrated on:
Day 2: Valentine’s Day — Everybody & every dynamic
Day 3: Palentine’s Day — The fellas & their bonds
Those days are intentionally designed to give them space to shine.
💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜
🧪 Participation reminders:
Romantic or platonic works are welcome
OCs and self-inserts are welcome
All ratings are welcome (please tag appropriately)
Fic, art, headcanons, playlists, moodboards, drabbles—it all counts
💜♥️💙 That's a wrap (kind of) on Potion Valentine's 2026!
Running a fan event for a small fandom is a little bit an act of faith, and I want to thank everyone who created, shared, and lurked for this tiny wonderful fandom this weekend. So: THANK YOUUUU!
📚 All the fics from the event are collected on ao3: [LINK]
Go read! Leave kudos! Show the writers some love!
(seriously, you should check out the ao3 collection; for arcane reasons beyond my ken not every tagged post is showing up in the event tags on tumblr)
And for anyone still in progress on your art, writing, etc.—don't shelve it! There's no real end date here. Post when you're ready, tag it #PotionValentines2026 and/or add it to the ao3 collection, and I will find it and I will lose my mind over it. I promise.
Mint had gathered ingredients dozens of times. Hack, slash, stuff in pouch, move on. The way heroes were supposed to work.
Saffron, on the other hand, approached a patch of fairy flowers like they were sleeping babies.
"These will serve you well," she said, kneeling beside the closed bulbs. Her hooves folded beneath her with impossible grace, and Mint tried not to stare at the fading light catching copper in her hair. Failed, mostly.
She unsheathed her knife, eager to prove she could at least do this part right. "Great! I'll just—"
Saffron's hand settled over hers, intercepting. Mint's pulse kicked up for no good reason.
"Before we take," Saffron said, "we ask permission."
"From the plants?"
"From everything." Saffron placed her palm flat against the earth, eyes drifting closed. Her ears twitched. After a long moment, she nodded. "They're willing to share."
She took Mint's wrist—callused fingers gentle against her skin—and positioned it at the base of a stem. Mint stared very hard at the flower and definitely not at how close Saffron's face was to hers. Sawdust and something green. Was that what carpenters always smelled like, or—?
"Feel the junction?" Saffron's voice was soft, meant only for the space between them. "Where stem meets root?"
Mint managed a nod.
"Cut here. Clean and quick. The plant can regrow from this point." Saffron's hand remained over hers, guiding the angle of the blade. "Like this."
The stem parted clean. Mint's exhale shook slightly.
"Well done." Saffron released her, and Mint immediately missed the warmth. "You have good instincts."
"I didn't even really do it…"
"That's called learning." Saffron moved to the next cluster, and Mint scrambled to follow. "Most people don't take the time."
They worked in silence punctuated by the forest settling into evening; birdsong shifting to cricket chorus, light fading from gold to violet. Mint kept sneaking glances at Saffron between cuts. The way she handled each plant with such care. How her pipe bobbed between her lips when she was thinking. The small smile that appeared when Mint made a clean harvest.
And then, unbidden, a thought slipped in sideways: patient teacher, hopeful student, quiet forest, the moment where—
Mint blinked it away. She wasn't writing right now. She was here.
But gosh, it would make for a great story.
Saffron knew. She had to know. But she wasn't... saying anything. Wasn't making it weird. Just kept teaching, kept sharing this quiet space like Mint's blazing cheeks were as natural as the crickets' evening song.
Mint had never been more grateful for someone's tact in her entire life.
"The moon's rising," Saffron noted, glancing at the sky through the canopy. "You should head back before full dark."
Mint peered into her gathering pouch. More than enough for the quota. "Thank you," she said as they started back toward the path. "For teaching me the right way. I would've just, um… not asked."
"But you wanted to understand." Saffron steadied her by the elbow as they navigated around a root, and Mint's brain registered the contact like mission-critical information. "Intent and effort. That matters."
Face heating again, Mint barely held the eye contact. "Thanks. Could I—I mean. If you're gathering again…"
Saffron offered her mercy in the form a smile. "You're good company."
Then she turned toward her home deeper in the woods, leaving Mint standing at a ridge overlooking the town, heart still fluttering, with a gathering pouch full of carefully harvested fairy flower buds and a bone-deep certainty that she'd be finding reasons to return to this forest as often as possible.
This was the fourth time Luna had stopped to listen to the busker. The fourth time she'd told herself just one song, only to linger through several. The fourth time she'd carefully positioned herself at the plaza's edge, close enough to hear clearly, far enough to pretend she was just passing through.
It was also the first time she'd actually planned to stay until the end.
Roxanne's parting words had followed Luna through three client calls and half a proposal draft, a strange sort of permission she wasn't sure what to do with.
The bard—Xid, according to the Heroes Guild roster Luna had definitely-not-stalked online—finished a song about heroes who shed their armor. Her voice was clear and rich, cutting through marketplace chatter like it belonged there. Like she belonged there, comfortable in the public eye in a way Luna envied.
The song ended to scattered applause from passing shoppers. Luna's hands moved to clap, then froze halfway. That felt too much like announcing herself.
But Xid's gaze lifted, found hers, and held.
Luna's wings fluttered. Too late to pretend she hadn't been transfixed.
Xid slung her guitar behind her and crossed the distance between them. Up close, she was… wow. All striking lines and warm eyes and piercings catching morning light.
"You've been here before," Xid said. Not a question.
"I—yes." Luna's hands completed three different fidgets before she caught them at it. "I usually leave before you finish. I didn't want to hover. That's—that's a thing I do. Hover."
"And today?"
"Today hovering won out." The words came out braver than she felt, borrowed courage from an enchantress' teasing smile. "You're really talented."
"Luna." She managed to extract a business card without dropping her laptop bag. "I run a marketing consultancy. I've been working with some of the local vendors."
"Marketing." Xid took the card, examining it with real interest. "That's cool. You know, I've been thinking about how to reach people who actually care about substance over the usual flash."
Luna's professional brain engaged, giving her anxious one a blessed reprieve. "Authentic storytelling. What you're doing with the everyday hero angle? That's a completely underserved market. Everyone writes ballads about warriors, but nobody celebrates the potion-makers and craftspeople doing meaningful work."
"Exactly." Xid's smile warmed noticeably. "You were really listening."
"Of course I was. That's why I keep coming back." Luna's neck flushed beneath her fluff, but she pushed through. "Are you—I mean, do you perform here regularly? At the Guild, I mean."
"Depends on the day." Xid studied her for a moment, and Luna fought the urge to hide behind her phone. "You know Sylvia, right? Potion shop?"
"Yes! We're friends. Good friends."
"Thought so. She mentioned working with a marketing consultant. Said you were brilliant."
Luna's antennae perked up involuntarily. "She did?"
"Among other things." Xid nudged her guitar case closed with the toe of her platform boot. "I've got another set tonight at the Guild around sunset. If you wanted to hear more."
"I would." The response came too fast, but Luna was apparently past mortification. "I'd really like that."
"Cool." Xid started toward the Guild entrance, then paused. "For the record? I've been hoping you'd stick around long enough to talk."
Luna stood there, coffee forgotten, work scorched from her mind, Roxanne's voice echoing in her head alongside Xid's parting wink.
Maybe being cute when nervous wasn't the worst thing in the world.
The thing about being a con artist—former con artist, Roxanne corrected herself—was that you learned to read people. Their tells. Their desires. The gap between what they said and what they wanted.
Which was how Roxanne knew two things the moment Luna started explaining customer retention strategies with four-armed passion, stumbling over her words whenever their eyes met: Luna found her attractive (who could blame the girl), and Luna was absolutely, devastatingly adorable when flustered (which was going to be a problem).
The way those antennae kept curling bashfully wasn't helping.
"So the challenge," Luna was saying, her voice quick and earnest, "is positioning enchantments as essential rather than luxury add-ons. Most vendors see them as—oh, sorry, I'm talking too fast again, aren't I?"
"Not at all, dear." Roxanne leaned forward, chin propped on one hand. "I'm riveted."
Luna's cheeks flushed pink through the fine fuzz covering her face. "Right. Okay. So, um—where was I?"
"Essential services…"
"Yes! Exactly." Luna's enthusiasm rekindled immediately, one hand pulling up a chart while another scribbled notes. Yet another fluttered to her collar, ostensibly plucking a loose thread."If we frame your enchantments as problem-solving tools instead of vanity items, you'll attract practical buyers. It's not about wanting magic, it's about needing a leg-up."
Luna didn't have a deceptive bone in her body. Every thought showed on her face, every emotion telegraphed through those expressive antennae.
It was refreshing. Also dangerously endearing.
"You're practiced at this," Roxanne observed.
"Oh, well—I mean, I helped Sylvia position her potions as essential household goods, and that increased her sales by thirty two percent, so I thought—" She broke off, one hand flying to her phone, tapping and dimming the screen on reflex. "Sorry. I'm rambling. I do that when I'm nervous."
"Nervous?" Roxanne's smile sharpened with interest. "What've you got to be nervous about?"
Luna's flush rose. "Nothing! I mean—it's just—I've been working on this framework for service-based businesses, and I think it could really help your…" She gestured at Roxanne, as if encompassing all of magnificent demon enchantress in one palpitating motion. "It's very impressive. You're very impressive. The magic! The magic is impressive."
Oh, this was delightful.
Roxanne had perfected the art of calculated seduction years ago. A look here, a smile there, words chosen for maximum effect with minimum investment. It was a tool, a weapon, a way to get what she needed in a world designed to hinder her. But watching Luna stumble over her own words, antennae vibrating with flustered energy, fluffy arms trying to simultaneously hide her face and continue working? That wasn't calculation.
It was… sweet.
"So," Roxanne said, deliberately casual. "Shall we schedule our next meeting while we're at it?"
Luna's head snapped up, eyes wide behind her glasses. "Next meeting?"
"If you're available." Roxanne let warmth seep into her voice. One hand drifted to rest on her hip, oh-so-casually, and her tail curled around her own wrist. "Half of Rafta still thinks I'm going to curse them. You're one of the first people who's looked at my body of work before…" A gesture to her horns. "It's refreshingly professional."
The flush deepened. "I—yes. Of course. Professional consultation. Very professional."
"Very," Roxanne agreed, tone suggesting otherwise. Once they'd selected a date, she collected her notes—Luna's handwriting was meticulous, color-coded, adorable—and took her leave.
"You're cute when you're nervous, by the way."
Out before Luna could respond, but she relished the small squeak behind her.
Starting today and running through February 13th, I'm posting a 13-part ficlet series called "A Lovely Day in Rafta" to celebrate the countdown to the Potionomics Valentine's prompt event! (Feb 13-15)
Each scene hands off to the next like a relay race, creating one continuous story told through 13 different POVs to take us through a full day on the island. Why? Because this game and these characters deserve love, and I wanted to hype up the Valentine's prompt event with something special!
You'll see friendships, rivalries, and romance brewing, and the beautiful ordinary moments that make Rafta special. From Sylvia's morning cauldron troubles to late-night shop talk, from the Heroes Guild to the docks to the forest—we're visiting everyone.
New scene every day through Feb 13!
💜❤️💙 A LOVELY DAY IN RAFTA 💜❤️💙
Part 1 of 13
Sylvia and Roxanne
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The cauldron wasn't cooperating.
Sylvia adjusted Combustopher's temperature for the third time, eyeing the telltale shimmer that meant the base was almost ready but not quite. Add the rotfly cocoon too early and the whole batch would curdle. Too late and she'd waste an hour producing sludge.
"Morning, darling."
Roxanne's voice drifted up from the basement hatch. Dark hair bouncing, tail curling languidly behind her, she emerged with her usual dramatic flair.
The basement had been empty before Roxanne. Only lava and dust and storage Sylvia never realized sat beneath her feet. Now it brimmed with purpose: enchantment circles, the heat Roxanne required to be comfortable, the space she needed to build something legitimate.
Sylvia hadn't asked for rent. Didn't want it. Helping Roxanne get her feet under her was more valuable than a handful of coins. Now she moved through the shop like a long-lost relative, and maybe that's what they were building. Something more solid than business arrangements or temporary solutions.
Home, maybe. For both of them.
"You're up early," Sylvia said, eyes flicking back to the cauldron.
"Couldn't sleep. Your floorboards are very communicative." Roxanne perched one hip on the counter, examining her nails with exaggerated interest. "Lots of pacing last night. Thinking about your lesson plan for a certain... finned entrepreneur?"
Sylvia's eyes rolled. "I was reviewing my recipes for the competition."
"Mm-hmm." Roxanne pushed off the counter, heading for the shelf where Sylvia kept the feyberry tea. She knew where everything lived; another intimacy of shared space. "And I'm sure the shark circling the premises has nothing to do with all the pacing."
"He's eager to learn."
"Uh-huh. And I'm a celibate nun."
"Hoot."
Oswald's contribution came from his perch near the window, pointed and judgmental in the way only an owl could manage. Sylvia shot him a look, and he turned away with an air of supreme indifference.
Roxanne laughed at the avian assessment, a sound warmer than her usual sharp amusement. She poured the tea with a curl of aromatic steam, then leaned forward—a slow stretch across the counter that settled her weight against the edge, the press of wood against smooth skin as she slid a mug within Sylvia's reach.
And there she stayed, chin dropping into one hand, tail swaying behind her in a satisfied rhythm. "Well, given your devastating sincerity, which is apparently catnip to those of us trying to reform..." A knowing smile. "He never really stood a chance, did he?"
Sylvia looked up, one brow raised, and scooped up the drink. She blew across it immediately—Roxanne's idea of "drinkable" usually meant "scalding"—then blew again for good measure. "Thanks." Another cooling breath preceded her first cautious sip. "And tell me more about how irresistible I am. I could use the ego boost before facing down Robin."
"Oooh, I could write you a list." Roxanne's voice turned silky. "Frame it, even. But something tells me you'd rather hear it from the scaly admirer who keeps finding excuses to visit your shop."
"Oh no, you don't get to dangle that and then pull it back." Sylvia pointed with her stirring rod. "I expect that list, missy. I'm invoking roommate privileges."
Roxanne's lips curled, but she didn't yield. Instead, she swept up her hat and headed toward the door. "Maybe later, dear. I've got an early appointment. Try not to detonate any tonics while you're definitely not thinking about tall, dark, and toothy."
"Roxanne—"
But she was already gone, tail flicking behind her in a lazy wave, leaving Sylvia chuckling down at her brew.
