#potionomics sylvia

Squatter's Rights

"A property dispute, conducted at three in the morning, between two claimants. One of whom is asleep."

Fandom: Potionomics Ship: Boss Finn/Sylvia Rating: T Word Count: 1,000 Warnings: None Series: Part 19 of Tinctures and Tides: Finn/Sylvia One-Shots

A/N: Aaah, returning to my natural habitat: Sylvia and Finn snuggled in bed. :))))

Excerpt:

Her pillow. Her side. Two possessives she'd applied to furniture that was, by every legal measure, his. A discrepancy he'd raised only once, in the form of a leisurely explanation over coffee of what happens when you let somebody move onto your property and don't make a move to object. Courts, apparently, eventually just hand the thing over.

She'd asked if he was objecting.

"Nah. Just want it on the books that I'm lettin' ya get away with it."

Four months without an objection, and he'd waited until three in the morning to file. Typical. He'd filed on her before. Though this one she minded considerably less.

A Rare Kind of Rhyming Triplet

"I have no rhyme for you. My flippers were not made for rhyming. My heart was not made for waiting, either, so I find I am short on both counts tonight."

Or: Rafta's poetry slam relocates to a new venue, and Sylvia ends up watching both her partners take the stage to recite love poems. Muktuk, who cannot rhyme to save his life, and Roxanne, who very likely has.

Fandom: Potionomics Ship: Muktuk/Roxanne/Sylvia Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Word Count: 6,000 Warnings: None

A/N: Written for PotionTrade2026. A gift fic for @gazulu as part of the blind art trade!

Thank you so much for the opportunity to write this request, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! 😁

Excerpt:

"This is going to be excruciating," Roxanne groused, folding her arms. "Watching amateur poets perform earnest self-expression should qualify as cruel and unusual punishment. And I've been good."

Sylvia laughed, nudging her shoulder as they walked along the cobbled street. "That's a sentence I never thought I'd hear from you."

"Neither did I, dear. Yet here we are." Her gaze flicked sideways, sharp and amused. "You're a terribly good influence."

"Not too good, I hope."

Roxanne hummed, dragging the sound out like she had all the time in the world. Then, without breaking stride, she reached over. Velvet-gloved fingers swept a stray lock of hair back behind Sylvia's ear as though dusting off a display piece she particularly admired, lingering out of habit.

“Mm.” Roxanne’s smile softened at the edges; candid in a way she rarely allowed outside closed doors. “I’d say you know exactly how to walk the line.”

Flushing instantly, Sylvia huffed a quiet snort out of sheer fluster. She didn’t quite manage to formulate a reply before the forge came into view, mercifully sparing her the attempt.

The familiar silhouette of Muktuk's massive sled loomed ahead, firelight spilling out to illuminate the surrounding plaza. Roxanne patted Sylvia's cheek lightly, punctuating the moment.

“I suppose I can suffer through it.” Her theatrical sigh carried a great deal of carefully curated suffering. “For you.”

Sylvia’s mouth twitched. That sigh was doing a lot. Namely, an impressive amount of heaving, and none of it accidental.

"Speaking of suffering," Sylvia dropped casually, "I bet it's going to be at least a hundred degrees in there. Muktuk said he'd keep the furnace roaring. Just for you."

Roxanne perked up almost imperceptibly. An unmistakable flick of her tail betraying interest, an easing of her shoulders, before the rest of her remembered dignity. She drew herself up with regal bearing; a queen graciously accepting tribute.

"Darling," she said, squeezing Sylvia's hand once in faux admonition, "you really should have led with that."

Sylvia grinned. "Unfortunately, it seems someone's penchant for drama has rubbed off on me."

Roxanne gave an elegant sniff and lifted her chin a fraction higher, as if the accusation were beneath formal response. Which, Sylvia noted with satisfaction, wasn't actually a denial.

Not just for the festivities and little gifts (but those sure don't hurt).

For the leverage.

He spends the whole week inventing traditions. Very official, very ancient, totally real shark customs that happen to require Sylvia to stay close and say nice things and not leave without giving him a kiss on the forehead first. He presents them with complete confidence and increasingly flimsy supporting shark-facts. She clocks every single one and plays along anyway because she loves him and she thinks it's funny and also because she knows what's actually happening underneath all the bits.

What's actually happening is: Finn's whole arc is a guy who keeps moving because slowing down and stopping feel dangerous. Mr. "it's not a feeling I'm used to, but it's growing on me." Of course he'll take an excuse to be mushy without looking like it:

No Turnin' Down the Shark — "Real bad juju to argue with a shark durin' Shark Palooza. Everybody knows that one." (This is a crucial one, as it prevents disagreement about the other totally made-up rules, lol.)

The Stillness Clause — "Sharks gotta keep swimmin' or we sink, everybody knows that. But the shark's allowed to get real cozy during Palooza. Long as you stay put with him."

Five More Minutes — "This time of year, shark can't start his laps till the sun's good and high. It's practically scripture, minnow. C'mere."

Dawn Aura Reading — "Gotta scan you first thing or my whole day's off. Electroreception, don'tcha know. Real serious." (He nuzzles up to her sleepy face for a while. That's the whole ritual.)

Sunset's Non-Negotiable — "Palooza tradition insists we gotta watch the sun go down together. No shop talk. Doctor's orders, and by doctor I mean the ocean."

The Smile Tithe — "A shark's grin only shines when his sweetheart says it does. Tide's honest truth. So... y'know. Say it."

Goodbye Kiss or Bust — "Bad luck to leave without kissin' the shark. Forehead's fine. I don't make the rules."

A New Anklet Every Year — "Gotta do somethin' with my discards, right? Endless supply and all." (A transparent excuse to sit close with her hands in his while he strings sharp jewelry.)

And at the end of the week Sylvia stretches like, "Whew, lot of traditions in the Palooza. Really put us through our paces, huh?" completely straight-faced.

Finn chuckles all, "Yeah. Real grueling stuff." But it's a little bit wistful, and Sylvia's already reaching for him.

The Pearl

"Bedtime questions have a way of becoming bigger than anyone expects. Fortunately, Finn has a shellfish metaphor."

Fandom: Potionomics Ship: Boss Finn/Sylvia Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 2,100 Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Series: Part 4 of Ankle Biter

A/N: This started with the idea of "well, merfolk probably don't talk about where babies come from in terms of seeds and sprouts when they explain it to their kids, right? that sounds like landfolk metaphor." and expanded from there.

Excerpt:

"Papa, where did I come from?"

The rag stopped mid-arc. Sylvia cocked her head, ears suddenly doing a lot more work than her arms.

The question bounced down the hall at full conversational volume, which was the first tell. Nobody whispers a stall.

The second tell was the routing. The kid had taken her query to Papa, which was no accident. Nothing that rascal did at bedtime was an accident. She'd waited for the shift change and checked who was on the floor. Sylvia would have said bed. Cordelia knew Sylvia would have said bed.

Five years old and already comparison shopping.

The creaking of a bed frame followed. Finn shifting his weight, folded on the edge of a mattress built for someone three feet tall. Sturdy enough, thanks to Saffron, but still—the thing had limits.

"Come from," he repeated, and gave it a second. He always gave it a second. She'd sat across a table from that second more times than she cared to count. "The tub," he continued, matter-of-fact. "'Fore that, the table. 'Fore that, butchering a carrot that never did anything to you. You want me to keep walkin' it back, squirt, I got all night."

Oh. Oh, he'd stepped in it.

All night. You didn't say all night to her. You didn't say it to a kid angling to stay awake, who could hold a tea party hostage over a seashell. She had all night now. He'd given it to her, out loud, and he'd said it like he'd closed something.

She hadn't even had to ask.

"No, Papa." Patient. Long-suffering. The tone of a child who knew exactly when she was being handled and had elected to be gracious about it. "Where did I come from before. Before I was born. Before I was here."

Sylvia set the cloth down without a sound. She didn't move toward the doorway. She didn't need to; the hallway had excellent acoustics, especially when somebody was supposed to be asleep and was instead running a negotiation in a nightgown.

There was a pause. She could picture it exactly: the head tilt, the way his eyes would narrow a fraction while he figured out the angle.

"You know how pearls work?"

The case that they'd likely be child-free (at least for a long while):

Sylvia's entire character arc is defined by career ambition and self-reliance. She moved to Rafta alone, inherited a failing shop, dug herself out of debt, and beat multiple competitors in high-stakes potion competitions. Her identity is deeply tied to her business; she tells Baptiste she's a "self-made woman" focused on "blazing a trail forward," and she repeatedly says the shop's needs take priority over personal luxuries. When Finn asks if she's spent her winnings on anything fun, she says every coin goes back into the business because she's "in a building phase." She's clearly not a witch planning to slow down anytime soon.

Finn, meanwhile, is coded as a restless, ego-driven hustler still figuring out what he even wants to do with his life. His entire relationship arc with Sylvia is about recovering from a devastating loss and searching for a new identity, and the resolution is finding a calling as a vendor advocate—essentially launching a brand-new career. He also describes himself as someone who is "always moving forward." His romantic confession is framed around the novelty of wanting to slow down for someone, which reads as a guy who's probably never seriously thought about the ultimate settling-down that is "kids."

Together, they frame their bond in terms of power and ambition. They're "apex predators," "unstoppable together," "better together." Their romance is built on mutual respect as scrappers, helping each other address their blind spots (purpose and deserving, respectively), and spurring each other on, not on any nesting instinct.

The case that children aren't off the table:

There's an undeniable tidbit that cuts against the child-free reading. During the TCG collecting hangout (romance variant, repeat visit), Finn jokes about keeping their collectible cards in mint condition and asks: "How else we gonna put our little guppies through college?" That's a casual but telling quip: he's projecting a future with Sylvia that includes kids, even if playfully framed through his usual fish metaphor. It's the only direct reference to the idea of them having children together in the game, and it's delivered as a joke (because sir you just met this woman, simmer down), but it's notable that the devs put it there at all. It suggests Finn at least entertains the idea.

It's also worth noting that in the Muktuk romance path, Muktuk explicitly observes that Sylvia is "good with children" during their art therapy hangouts, and his line about wanting to "collaborate on a great masterpiece—I want at least three" is a barely-veiled reference. And she doesn't balk at either line, so the game clearly isn't afraid to signal parenthood as a possibility for Sylvia.

My verdict:

With Finn specifically, I'd say they read as probably child-free for the foreseeable future, but not philosophically opposed to it. They're two ambitious, career-driven people who just found their footing—Sylvia with her shop, Finn with his new advocacy role. Neither shows any true urgency around family-building, and their relationship is rooted in active partnership and mutual respect. But Finn's "little guppies" line keeps the door cracked open as a someday possibility, and Sylvia's warmth with kids suggests she might not rule it out if life calmed down.

And the thing about Sylvia being slammed with business is that it's genuinely great news for her, which means everyone who misses her has to be happy for her while also being a little pathetic about it.

So anyway I wrote up quick exchanges for Finn, Roxanne and Mint missing Sylvia (complete with animation tags, woohoo):

How do you think the other characters would take it if they weren't getting enough flybys from their favorite local potion maker?

I feel like Saffron operates on such a different timescale that she might never notice/mention it, or if she did she'd be very chill about it

There's no way Sylvia is shaving by choice. She doesn't have time for that nonsense, she's busy running a business and being everyone's best friend. But maybe Combustopher flares up after she tosses in some new fuel and the fire crisps all the hair off one arm, and Finn just... runs a finger along the smooth skin. Very slowly. Very sadly.

It's one of those texture differences he didn't know he had opinions about until suddenly half of it is gone and he's in temporary mourning for the soft fluff.

"Finn, It'll grow back."

"...How fast?"

Rain Check

"Sylvia and Finn have the opportunity to reclaim one evening for themselves and absolutely no intention of wasting it.

It does not go to plan."

Fandom: Potionomics Ship: Boss Finn/Sylvia Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Word Count: 3,000 Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Series: Part 3 of Ankle Biter

Excerpt:

The hallway was an obstacle course. Twenty feet of it, and every one a referendum on her ability to be stealthy, which she rated as "excellent" and which Finn would have told anyone was a generous self-assessment. Cordelia's door sat ajar at the midpoint, a wedge of blue-green nightlight glow spilling across the floor, and Sylvia stretched tip-toe over the loud board—third past the closet, familiar as her masterwork recipes—and pressed her back to the wall on the far side like she was running contraband past a checkpoint, arms outstretched.

Finn didn't bother with any of this. Finn walked down his own hallway at his own pace, with a predator's grace, because Finn had a built-in child monitor and knew to the heartbeat that the checkpoint was unmanned, and he watched his wife flatten herself against the plaster with open enjoyment.

"She's asleep. Promise."

"Shh." Sylvia got a hand on their bedroom door, eased it open on the hinge she kept oiled for exactly this reason, and hauled him through by the front of his shirt. "Get in here."

For a man built to take up a doorway, he moved exactly where she put him, the way a current flows where the rock directs it. The door clicked shut behind them. He had her back against it nearly before she finished throwing the latch, one arm braced on the wood over her head, his other hand zeroing in on her hip.

"You know what it does to me when you get all efficient," he said into the space under her jaw.

"I do know, as a matter of fact."

His mouth found the corner of hers and she walked him backward toward the bed, ready to be done with the standing-up portion of the evening—

And stopped.

Barnacle was on the bed.