#apothecary au

[stardust948]

Apothecary AU

Iroh: I'm sure you're excited, brother. The baby will be here before you know it.

Ozai: I hope so. Going through withdrawal is hard.

Iroh: I understand. You know, there are other ways to please each other before you and Ursa can be intimate again.

Ozai: What? Not that. I meant Ursa’s experiments. Strictly no poison or weird plants until the baby is weaned.

Iroh: Well, she is a healer. She should know better than anyone else.

Ozai: Yes but-

Ozai to Ursa on the other side of the room: SPIT IT OUT!

Ursa, with her mouth full: It’s not technically lethal.

Ozai: Spit. It. Out.

Ursa: Ugh. *spits out flower*

Iroh: I stand corrected.

[sister-lucifer]

An Epoch of Horticulture: Chapter One

[Masterlist] 

Ticci Toby x Gender Neutral Reader 

Genre: Slow burn, fluff 

Summary: An odd figure slinks into your apothecary on a rainy day 

Content/warnings: Profanity, a bit of awkward conversation, my personal headcanons about Toby + his disabilities, I made up some magic fantasy plants for this so don’t think too hard about it, thankies 

This is not fully proofread, please let me know if you see any errors. 

Feedback is appreciated and encouraged. 

If you like this fic, please reblog! It’s free, takes two seconds, and it’s a great way to support writers.  

The rain has been falling nonstop since dawn. Not once has the endless patter of water on the roof of your apothecary ceased, or even slowed. Now and then you glance out the window at the stubborn clouds, willing them to move, but they refuse. 

You’ve busied yourself with menial tasks today; scrubbing the counter, reorganizing your tools, alphabetizing your seeds. Despite your silent hope, though, not one customer has come through. Bad weather means no foot traffic—you know that, but it’s still a fair bit disappointing. For the fifth time today, you debate closing up shop early. You can’t help feeling a bit dejected. It’s not easy running a small business like this, and every sale matters. 

Your little apothecary is quaint, but you’ve poured your heart and soul into making it exactly to your vision. On the front of the building is your hand-painted sign, the name “The Zenith” proudly proclaimed in a perfect forest green, and by the door sits your rainwater catchers. Inside, you’ve stacked the shelves full of anything that can be potted, and racks for drying herbs and flowers hang on either side of the shop. Behind your counter, on the furthest wall, are locked cabinets for keeping the more expensive wares, and you even have your own greenhouse through the back door. This place means so much to you—seeing it so empty is disheartening. 

You heave a heavy sigh as you trudge to the door, deciding to just give up for today. The rain shows no signs of stopping, and that means no one will be coming in. You can always try again tomorrow, right? 

You reach up to turn the sign on the door from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed.’ Just as your fingers touch the wood, though, you pause. An odd sound has caught your attention. You only recognize it as the sound of frantic footsteps on the wet cobblestone for a split second. 

In a flash, a dark figure appears from out of the gloom. You barely manage to move out of the way before the door swings open. You almost wince, worried it may come off the hinges, or perhaps knock the bell off its hook. 

A tall man rushes in, stumbling like a fawn on ice and nearly getting a bit too friendly with the ground. You watch him gain his bearings, not taking your eyes off him as you quickly shut the door back. He huffs as if he can’t catch his breath. 

Your eyes slowly scan him from the bottom up as you try to discern if you’ve seen him before. His thick, leather boots are clearly worn from use, and caked in mud that’s left a filthy trail on your floor. His baggy work pants are equally weathered, with patches of scrap fabric messily stitched on in random places. He wears a navy windbreaker half zipped over a ratty, brown hoodie, and when your gaze gets to the edge of his sleeve you can see that he’s wearing gloves. He pulls his hood down off his head—good heavens, he’s paler than death—and shakes out a curly thatch of brunette hair. You could liken him to a big dog shaking off its coat. 

He turns to face you, boots squelching in the small puddle he’s created around his feet. The bandage on his cheek crinkles as his face stretches with a crooked smile. Your attention is momentarily drawn to the one chipped tooth he keeps running his tongue over. 

“Not ex-exactly the bess-ss-t day to be— b-be—bop! Bopop!—out and about, h-huh— huh?” he says with a chuckle, followed by several clicks of his tongue in an odd rhythm. You nod in agreement, still a bit too startled by his sudden entrance to reply. One of his hazel eyes scans the shelves with curiosity; the other, you notice, struggles to follow it. 

After a second more of silence, you snap out of your surprise. 

“Oh, let me take your coat,” you say quickly, reaching up to take the windbreaker off him. He happily complies, pulling the striped sleeves of his hoodie free from the jacket. It continues to drip as you hook it on the rack. You make a mental note to do some good mopping later. 

You turn back to your guest, only to find him on the other side of the room. He’s crouched in front of a pot of sour brandy, eyeing it intensely. He leans in to sniff the opening of the pitcher-like flower. 

“You don’t wanna do that!” You call out, but you aren’t fast enough. He winces and groans in disgust, rising to his feet so fast he nearly falls. You have to choke back a laugh. 

“Sorry,” you say with a barely disguised giggle, “you might wanna avoid smelling random plants in here. That’s sour brandy.” 

You pick up a pamphlet from your counter and hold it out to him. 

“It’s known for its incredibly acerbic taste, and is usually used to, uh…expel irritants from the stomach. Here—this will tell you everything you need to know about that sort of thing.” 

He huffs, like he’s trying to push the smell out of his nose. He takes the pamphlet from you, but only flips through it for a few seconds before folding it in two and shoving it into his pocket. Well, okay then… 

“…Um, anyways,” you continue as you move behind your counter, “welcome to The Zenith. What can I get for you today?” 

He only stares back at you like you’ve just spoken another language. You’re about to repeat yourself when you’re interrupted by a sudden jerking of his neck. It pops in a way that surely must be painful, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“Just a ss-second,” he replies, holding up one hand while the other pats around his pockets. One side of his face twitches as he digs into his hoodie. After a bit of searching, he pulls out a slip of paper, unfolding it and pushing it across the table towards you with a shaky hand. 

Some ink comes off on your fingers as you pick it up. The words are a bit smudged with raindrops, but it’s readable enough, even with the pompous cursive handwriting. You nearly scoff as you scan the list of plant names; it’s all high-end herbs and rare flowers, even a few species you need certain credentials to own. Fortunately, you do. 

“Looks like someone’s planning a party,” you comment absentmindedly. You rifle through the keys on your belt for a moment before grabbing the one you’re looking for. 

“Oh, uh, it-it’s not for me,” the man explains, suddenly looking sheepish as he watches you unlock one of the cabinets on the back wall of the store, “my, uh, mm-m-my bosses have—click! Clickick-ick! Fuck off!—h-have this big…thing—I dunno what it is, really—going on this-ss-s weekend.” 

You give a hum of acknowledgment without looking away from what you’re doing. Briefly, you run your eyes over the various pouches of herbs sitting on the cabinet shelves, then look back down at the list. You grab each bag one by one as you read the names. 

Sailor’s red, sunflick, vylar…they better know what the hell they’re doing. 

You let out a low whistle as you close up the cabinet. Talk about crazy rich people. This mix of stuff could lay you out flat for days. The man seems to notice your expression. 

“W-What’s wrong?” he stammers with a tilt of his head. 

“Hm? Oh, nothing,” you reply with a shrug, “just, uh, this stuff is more intense than I usually go for.  I sure hope your bosses know how to prepare this sort of thing, you can’t just be throwing this into your salad…” 

He laughs—it’s a scratchy sort of warble, and it makes you grin in return. He reaches up to itch the back of his neck, and he looks like he wants to say something, but he bites his tongue. 

You drop the pouches onto the counter before moving on to the next part of your list, and to one of your shelves. While you’ve several attractive flowering plants, you notice that the types requested are quite renowned for their beautiful blooms, and all in white and yellow. You also notice, though, that many of them are incredibly high maintenance, and will die within the week if not attended to with utmost care. 

For some reason, it’s a bit hard to conjure a flattering image of these people. 

You’re almost hesitant to let your darlings go when you know in your heart they won’t be properly loved. 

Despite your woes, you gather the pots all the same. When you turn to walk back to your counter, you catch eyes with the man for a split second. He nearly jumps out of his skin before quickly putting his head down and pretending to be very interested in his shoes. 

You’re not quite sure how that makes you feel. You brush it off for now, deciding it probably isn’t all that significant; he’s a rather awkward one, after all. 

You set the flowers down on the counter, then look back at the list. The last few items aren’t kept in the front of the shop. 

“Oh, I’ll be right back,” you tell the man with a polite smile, “I need to grab a few things out of the greenhouse for you.” 

“Huh?” he barks. He was looking right at you, but it seems he wasn’t really paying attention. 

“Uh, yeah, that—th-that’s okay,” he adds quickly, a few of his knuckles popping as they flex in an unnatural manner. He shoves his hands in his pockets and lets his eyes wander idly about the store. 

As you make your way back into the greenhouse, a nagging feeling in the back of your mind starts to bloom. The tall stranger has definitely caught your attention. He couldn’t be any older than 25, but he looks worked to the bone. Despite that, you think as you pluck a few fruits from a caerulem tree, he’s got the charm of an awkward teenager. He shambles about like his body is new, or perhaps like three raccoons pretending to be a person. The idea amuses you more than you’d like to admit. 

When you return to the shop, bag of assorted fruits in hand, the man has already found something else to be interested in. He’s gingerly toying with the cap of a spongy mushroom, occasionally glancing at the pamphlet you gave him earlier. Cross-referencing, presumably. He looks up like a deer in headlights when he hears you drop the bag on the counter. 

He shoves the pamphlet back into his pocket with even less care than last time before rushing over to you like an excited child. He puts his palms flat on the counter, leaning forward a bit more than is usually socially acceptable. 

“Didja get it?” he asks, lazy eye twitching and scrunching a bit. 

“Yessir,” you reply with a quick nod and wide eyes. He seems to realize he’s overstepped a bit, and pushes back. 

He starts searching around in his pockets again.

“So, uh, h-how much will—dammit! Goddammit!—will th-th-that be?” 

You take a moment to count up everything on the counter. It’s quite the haul, that’s for sure. Good news for you. 

“…An even 80,” you declare. 

He swiftly pulls something from his pocket and smacks it into the table. When he moves his hand away, you can see it’s a drawn note for…two hundred? 

You resist the urge to groan in frustration. You begrudgingly open your register to retrieve the man’s change, but he stops you. 

“T-They said to just let— l-let you keep the cheque!” he sputters as quickly as he can. 

That makes you quirk a brow. 

“Um…are you sure?” you ask, “This is over double what this stuff is worth.” 

The man shrugs and kicks at the ground. “They do that s-ss-sort of thing all th-the—shrrrk!—all the time. ‘s not like they can’t aff-aff-afford it, ‘n’ they wanna make sure the—t-the—go away! Go away!—make sure the sh-shhh-shopkeepers like them.” 

A beat of silence passes as you mull that over. 

“…I sh-shhhouldn’t have said that,” the man mumbles. His lips quirk up in an awkward grin. Of course, you naturally return the gesture, and mime zipping your lips. You could swear it makes his restless shoulders relax a bit. 

You put the cheque away before reaching for one of the pots. Just as you pick it up, the man’s hands come down on yours and hold them still. 

“Woah, hold on, w-what-what are you doing?” 

You stutter, not sure how to answer. 

“Uh…I was just gonna help you carry some of these. You walked here, right? Can’t be that far. Besides, it’s not like anyone else is gonna be coming in with this weather.”

He shakes his head vehemently, pulling the flower away from you. 

“No way, I-I got this-ss-s,” he insists with an admirable amount of confidence. 

You open your mouth to protest, but you’re too impressed by the display that follows to speak. You’re not sure how, but he manages to scoop everything up into his arms. You nearly jump over the counter just in case he falls. He’s like a tower of blocks struggling to keep its balance. 

By some miracle, he manages, and before you know it he’s headed to the door. You go to open it for him, but don’t get the chance. He lifts a boot and hooks it under the horizontal door handle to pull it open. You hold it open for him, but only really to feign helpfulness as he sprints out into the rain. 

“Have a good day!” you call, and he gives a reply you can’t understand through the rain. He quickly disappears into the gloom. 

You step back inside, alone in your shop once more.  

“…Nice guy,” you mutter to yourself. You turn to head back to your counter, but something catches your eye: 

His windbreaker is still hanging on the rack! 

Frantically pulling it from the hook, you rush out into the rain without thinking. You call out to nothing as you run in the direction you think he went, realizing you never got his name. There’s no sound but the rain on the concrete. 

You slow to a stop when it becomes clear your efforts are for naught.  

You look down at the jacket, watching as the rain rolls off of it. Briefly, you debate still running after him, but think better of it. Even if you did find him, he’d probably be weirded out that a stranger chased him down over a windbreaker. 

Well, you can’t stand in the rain forever. You sigh as you turn back around to head back to the shop. 

Surely, he’ll be back…right?

This is not fully proofread, please let me know if you see any errors. 

Feedback is appreciated and encouraged. 

If you liked this fic, please reblog! It’s free, takes two seconds, and it’s a great way to support writers.

[lucygriefer]

Apothecary Nightmare design

I've been listening to the Apothecary diaries anime dub and was inspired to make this idea. Enjoy. The original Dreamtale creator is Jokublog

This AU idea was inspired to me by "The Apothecary Diaries". There's a good bit of text explaining the AU as I want to leave myself some notes and ideas (Some that may be scrapped some changed who knows right now).

In this AU Dream and Nightmare are both heirs to the Floral Empire. Nightmare having more of a chance to take over as he was the first born. Nim having been killed when her sons were 4 by assignation via a slow acting poison. So she and the food taster didn't survive. Being picky eaters Dream and Nightmare were saved from the same fate. Nightmare wasn't as liked but no one really cared. Till the twins turned 5 Dream was about to be cursed by someone, but Nightmare pushed him out of the way and became corrupted. After that almost everyone of the empire secretly turned on him. The two not knowing till the two turned 6.

A group kidnapped Nightmare in the night. Placing special made restraints that are normally used for prisoners awaiting trial. To weaken his magic and prevent him from using his tentacles. They were cruel and gave him extremely heavy restraints despite how small he was. He never learned the true weight and simply guesses that they are possibly 60 pounds. They kept him drugged and carried him far away, wanting to sell him for a high profit. Only for an avalanche in the snowy mountains to happen and take their lives, with only Nightmare surviving.

When Nightmare finally awake he couldn't return home as he does not know how to return home. So he traveled. Trying to find help. During so he broke his crown and started hiding it around his neck under the metal collar not wanting to lose his crown.

Eventually finding a village and being taken in by some women who works in a brothel. Being raised by them while also becoming an apothecary. Working with poison and finding cures to them. Doing this for 16 years and seeing the women of the brothel as step parents. Eventually at the age of 22 he was kidnapped again and sold as a servant to the X empire.

One day he learned about two of the heirs having been sick and concluded that it was poison. So he left a written note to warn them and went on with his day not wanting to be seen as anything that important.

This caught the interest of Cross and his concubine (Killer, Dust, and Horror). So Cross worked to find who it was that saved his children Arch and Mo (Mochi just without the chi part). When they found out it was Nightmare and learned of his skills as an apothecary, he moved him up to poison taste tester, and is waiting to make him his fourth concubine. Being made into a concubine is a high honor. A tradition in Cross' family is to have 4 concubine. For now Nightmare is not a concubine and won't be for another year or two. As Cross wants Nightmare to get use to them all. They also don't know of Nightmare’s royal background.

I won't have Nightmare and Dream reunite for a while. There are also other empires that I'll be adding later. I'll be making artwork of all the other characters later, as I do wish to make some short comics with this idea. Also the restraint design might change, I'm still trying to figure out how it'll look. I might also change Nightmare's clothing design idk at the moment. So look forward to seeing Apothecary AU designs of Cross, Horror, Killer, Dust, Error, and others.

Pffh XD I just noticed this. The Nightmare in the corner eating a piece of sushi testing for poison. I accidentally drew the missing pinky tip on the wrong hand XD . I drew it on his right hand instead of left XD

[imjustheretoseetheprivateblogs]

Let's see; an apothecary AU for any fandom of your choice?

Any fandom I choose? Guess I'll go with Voltron (Plance & Shallura, for kicks)

Pidge is an apothecary with an interest in the chemical science and would be chosen to be part of a "collection of scholars" that would be recruited by Princess Allura, of the country of Altea, to help cure her ailing father.

The "scholar" from Cuba is not really a scholar; he's only the scholar's younger brother Lance, who impersonated his brother after his death. Pidge finds out when Lance fumbles a factoid about what's supposed to be his specialty (herbology).

Shiro is an army surgeon from Japan who met Allura when the two were at the same university. There seems to be a romance brewing between them, apparent to all but Lance.

Hunk is a "culinary genius" who's role is to concoct a new diet for the ailing king

Lance initially has eyes for the Princess, but soon begins to grow affectionate with Pidge as she helps cover for him.

[spatziline]

GUYS NEW YOUTUBE COMIC! Maomao tells Jinshi she's pregnant... PLEASE GO WATCH THE FULL COMIC

CLICK HERE, if the link doesn't work please go to my YouTube channel spatziline

[karlydraws]

This looks like a cover for highschool detective series lol

[onedivinemisfit]

Imperial prince meets the eccentric tactician’s daughter~

[cfserkgk]

I imagine them to be a happy family in the modern AU where Fengxian and Lakan are married and Lahan and Maomao are their children. Fengxian would be strict but she very much dotes on her kids (just not as obviously as Lakan, but who can compare with Lakan).

I feel like Lakan would be a lawyer which would put his skills to use, whereas Fengxian would be an academic in mathematics, and of course they're both super good at xiangqi and go in different ways. (I'd like to think Fengxian taught Lahan a lot of maths when he was younger and that encouraged his love for the subject).

[miyakuli]

** Permission to post it was granted by the artist Do not repost/edit the art without permission Please, support the artist on their pages too **

Artist : @ryosuketarou

Source

[the-kr8tor]

A Pearl

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Siren! Reader

Word count: 6.1k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing and siren traits), pirate AU, Siren AU, CW blood, TW death, CW eating human flesh, CW injury, CW food mentions, CW alcohol mention, Pirate captain! Hobie, a touch of hurt/comfort, Fluff!

Requested by @brokeaesthetic — Hello, this is my first time sending a request to you. Hopefully this is a good one to request for my first time. Okay, hear me out Sea clay & Epsom salt in a heart-shaped bottle❣️. Okay, so reader is a siren and Hobie is a pirate. And for many years reader has lured sailors, pirates and fishermen to a watery grave. But one day, when a pirate ship sails into her territory, she prepares herself about to lure them in until she sees Hobie and she's immediately infatuated. She stalks the ship for a couple days before hobie notices. Like something falls overboard, and she throws it back up. He thinks She probably wants something so she he throws down something shiny for her to keep. But she takes that as flirting(she has a huge crush now). So when one day the ship is attacked and Hobie falls overboard, she saves him. And then he develops feelings blah blah blah. I actually wanna draw this😭😭

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Katy's one year celebration 🎉

Your siren song echoes throughout the fog-covered sea. Together with your kind, you lure seafarers into their watery graves with your angelic voice that pushes them into a haze until their bodies splash overboard. With each tone you sang, more bodies hit the cold depths below. As the fog dissipates, so is your cover. Diving below before the survivors catch wind of what transpired, you swim towards the nearest drowning sailor.

Bubbles rise up from his lips, and you swim faster towards your meal. Another siren comes your way, and you have to hiss and bare your sharp teeth at her so you'd get your food. As she tries to fight back with her own growl, you smack her away with your tail, fighting for what's yours. With a yelp from the other siren, you don't waste time sinking your teeth into their fleshy neck.

Warm crimson flows from their skin, body thrashing against your own but your sharp nails dig further and further into their body as you eat your fill. Suddenly, their eyes turn the shade of seafoam, and his body is still. You open your maw and you bite into him.

This has been your life ever since your kind was forced to flee into the deep waters of the sea. Food is scarce, fish and birds shy away from the small rocky islands you've called home so you're forced to eat naive sailors rather than starve.

As you leave the cold waters and into dry land, your tail ebbs away to make way for a pair of legs. Shaking off the salty water, you head into your cave, hands wiping away all the blood and guts from your lips. Your home is small, cozy and away from the others. You keep tiny trinkets picked up from the waves, some you've taken from unlucky sailors. The wind chime you've made yourself that's filled to the brim with shiny human things twinkle in the night. The sound helps you sleep, the various knick knacks are the only things that keeps you going. It's survival of the fittest out in the open ocean, especially when you're being hunted down to extinction.

As you lay your head to sleep, you dream of better things where you don't have to hide amidst the rocks and the salty waves.

A loud rambunctious commotion wakes you up in the middle of the day. Their loud cheering can be heard from far away out into the sea. With bleary eyes, you blink at the odd ship, its red sails earning a curious tilt from your head.

You're still full from your last meal, there's no fog to hide you if you so desire to lure them. And surely you can't go back to sleep now that you're fully entranced by the hooting and hollering out in day break. Usually seafarers are quiet around these parts, only the eerie songs about the lingering death hidden beneath the waves are sung on deck can be heard at any hour of the day.

So with a curious raise of your brow, you head back into the sea. It's against better judgement, and you're in danger of getting caught or worse if you're ever found, but if you're careful enough, you'll find out more about humans than anyone in your kind has ever known about. Maybe you'll learn their tongue too.

Racing against the tides, you make it to their ship in quick time. You raise your head above water, enough to take a peek and listen in on their conversation.

“I told you our captain can do it!” An excited voice exclaims. “Three fucking cheers for the crimson spider!”

A roaring cheer echoes out, and it has you more curious than ever at who this captain could be. You spot the anchor dangling just above the water, so with a determined huff, and with curiosity fueling you, you head towards it to climb the ropes holding it up.

Your tail soon turns into a pair of legs, and you climb faster and quieter up on the rough rope. Finally making it above, just below the deck and still hidden from everyone's view, you see a whole crew of pirates dancing and drinking on the deck. Their laughter warms your chest, and their jolly music has you smiling at their human celebration. Whatever it may be.

“C’mon, lads, it was nothin' special.” Someone says, the crew surrounds him, all grinning at the man.

“Nothing special?!” The one with a sloshing cup full of wine says. “You blasted the fucking admiral to smithereens!”

“Ned's right, Hobie, they're going to need a bloody shovel just to scrape him off the floor.” Another happily says, clasping what you surmise is the titular captain. “If it weren't for you, James and I would've died. Not to mention the new crew managing to not piss themselves while getting us all out.” The raven haired woman smiles, nudging him and toasting her cup against his own. “You did good, cap’n.”

“Right, stop inflatin’ my ego.” Hobie, you think that's the captain's name, shakes his head with a smile. He's handsome you think, hands painted with ink that reminds you of sea life, and a face that looks chiseled by the goddess of the sea herself. You've never seen a pirate not quite like him. His smile single handedly brightens up the already merry ship, and instead of toning down the festivities, it loudly continues on. “We still have shit to do!”

“No we don't!” A blonde girl exclaims as she dances with another crew member as music plays.

A bout of laughter follows, and Hobie surrenders and joins in on the party after giving the sea a glance over. He's probably on the lookout for danger while everyone is too busy partying. He's not just handsome too, but also smart and practical as he secretly tosses the wine overboard to remain sober while everyone else drinks their fill.

You grow ever more curious at the captain. His hair stands out, beautiful wicks all tied together in a ponytail to keep the wind from messing it up. His sleeves are rolled up as he navigates the wheel, dozens of ink drawn on his arms, each having different designs that your otherworldly eyes have never seen before. And his eyes, his brown eyes are aglow with happiness, as if he's at his peak in his seafaring life. He doesn't gloat or bask in the compliments, rather, it seems to motivate him more to do better for his crew; unlike the other captains you've seen so far. He truly cares for them like they're his family, they could be as he looks at them all with fondness.

Morning soon dips into the afternoon, orange hues kissing the pleasant blue of the sea. The party is long gone, they've retreated back into their cabins, probably snoring away all the wine they've drunk. Hobie's alone on deck, save for a few pirates snoring on the floors while clutching at wine bottles and even their blunderbuss.

He looks like he's genuinely enjoying the quietness, letting the sea sing to him its primordial song. His hands relax against the wheel, eyes glittering like the water below. Sighing, you admire the captain beneath the orange glow and how it illuminates his handsome features.

You daydream about what life could be for you if you were a pirate sailing the seven seas. Would you even be good at it? Would you find precious treasures on your adventures? And would the captain praise you for your heroics just like the crew have done for him?

A loud clattering of something metallic takes you back to reality. A rolling coin heads your way, threatening to fall into the depths. Hobie follows right behind, boots thumping as quietly as he can but frantic enough to get the coin before it falls.

Your eyes widen, immediately plunging down into the water before he could spot you dangling on the anchor. As you splash down, the coin drops into the sea, its gilded metal glimmering in the water.

“Shit.” You hear his muffled curse.

Without thinking, you scoop up the coin before it plunges down deeper. Admiring the simple thing, you wonder what's so special about it to have the captain run after it in haste. You've seen a hundred of these, and you still have no idea why humans fight to the death just for it. You seem to not think things through as you rise above the water and throw it back on deck. If it was so special to him, you'd rather have it be back in his hands than on your own.

“The fuck?” His shock is evident in his voice. As you hear the familiar footsteps, you duck back inside the water to hide and then you see his face peek from above. His eyes scan the water, finding nothing out of the ordinary. “I thought I heard somethin’”

You can't help but giggle at his confused expression. Bubbles rise up from your smiling lips, and Hobie knits his brow at the weird occurrence.

With curiosity, he throws the coin back into the water and watches it plop down. You catch it underwater, looking up at him as he anticipates for it to jump back up on its own.

He waits and waits, but after a full minute, he leaves the side of the ship. You smile, preparing to throw it back to the deck. But before you could leap, he comes back to take another look, as if he could catch it moving mid air.

You laugh, hands clasped over your lips. He scratches the back of his head, and blinks the tiredness away.

“I'm goin’ bloody bonkers out ‘ere.” He says, going back to the upper deck to steer the ship once again.

“B–Bonkers.” You repeat with your own voice, giggling to yourself at the word. “Bonkers!” Your tail swooshes happily, coin grasped tightly in your palms.

With a teasing look above, watching the ship as it sails, you decide to throw the coin back on to the ship. This time though, you don't hold back. Swimming deeper to gain momentum, you quickly swim back up and leap into the air, and toss the coin right on the highest deck. It hits him right on his head.

His startled scream and the crew's more terrified yells was worth the effort of doing that. A string of curses erupt throughout the whole ship as they wake up one another with their earth shaking screams.

Hobie races to the bannister, but you're already long gone and swimming back to your tiny island, laughing as you swim.

—

Night comes and you're still asleep because of this morning's activities. A startling boom wakes you up, followed by yelling and the crackling of fire. You know the smell well, a mixture of blood and gunpowder floating in the salty sea.

You look outside of your home, finding the same red sails burning and crashing down into the water. Your heart plunges down, and you've got only one person in mind— Hobie. Without sparing another second, you swim as fast as you could towards the fighting. You expertly dodge corals, seaweeds that threaten to entangle your tail and sea life that parts for you. It's further than you thought, but you continue on with hope in mind.

The second you get there, you see fellow sirens gathering and taking chunks out of the ones that have fallen deep enough in the water. There's no saving the ones who are long gone, so you desperately search under the heat of the fire and wreckage for the familiar face.

While you swim around, you see a small dinghy rowing a few ways away from the fight. A single oil lamp guiding them in the dark. As you look closer, you find that it's a handful of Hobie's own crew, and they're fighting a couple of sirens who are trying to grab hold of them to pull them down into the dark depths. You race over to their side, not to go help pick them apart one by one, but to hiss and fight your kind.

With a show of your teeth and a few scratches along their scaly arms, they scramble away, leaving the crew behind. Looking back at them, you find that they're already staring at you with wide eyes. But you don't care as you search each of their faces for the captain, leaping over to the side of the boat as it sways side by side. When you don't find him, hopelessness clings to you like seaweed.

“Ho–Hobie?” You manage to let out with few resistance from your throat. Their faces can't be painted as they look at you with a mix of awe and fear. “Hobie!” Your yell startles them more. But it's effective as the same blonde you saw earlier points back towards the ship where you can briefly see his silhouette still on the deck. “Thank!” Swimming away, you leave the puzzled crew members behind.

Swimming with all your might towards the blaze, your arms are raised in front of your face to protect you against the blaze and the bodies floating around. you leap up into the sinking ship without sparing another minute, legs carrying you towards him the second your feet hit the slippery wood.

Hobie's fighting a much bigger man than him. Both evenly matched as swords clash amidst the flames, and the moon bears witness to it all.

Just as you get closer to them, the man strikes Hobie's side with a dagger that was hidden underneath his sleeve, drawing blood from the captain.

“No!” Your guttural yell takes the assailant's attention, giving you enough time to pounce on him and rip his face with your teeth.

His screams fill the night, and as he falls harshly into the floor of the sinking ship, you quickly make your way towards Hobie's side.

“Wha–who?” He gasps for breath, red staining the floor underneath him.

You point at yourself, “I…will help.” You manage to find the right words to convey your feelings.

“Help?”

“Yes,” grabbing him, you effortlessly carry him over your shoulders. “You will live.” Turning around to look for his crew members, your eyes hone in on the small boat getting farther and farther away. If you tried to swim there with him in tow and him weighing you down, he wouldn't make it. So in a last minute decision, you dive into the water towards your small island.

—

Hobie groans in his sleep, and your hands smell of herbs. You haven't concocted something like this in years, but your memory still serves you right as his wound is healing well. He's still unconscious, but at least he's alive.

None of his crew has come to take him home, so you kept him safe from the other sirens, kept him warm and hydrated by simply wetting his lips with fresh water from a river further into the island. It's been a few days since the fight, and his breathing is much better, and everytime you place your ear by his heart, it beats normally. You might not be human, but you've lived long enough to know about their anatomy. Well, you've eaten their anatomy.

“I…” your brows knit in frustration from not finding the right words. You've been practicing lately so when he wakes up, you can explain yourself to him. “...I eat.” That sounds wrong. “No, I don't eat…you.” You smile after you think that you've translated it correctly. “Yes, no eat.”

Patting his arm gently, you test if you could wake him up. You're growing quite impatient. With a sigh and not even a stir from the pirate captain, you go back to shore to bask in the water. The night is calm and there's no fog or other ships abound, so you sit and wait and watch as the tiny crabs burrow themselves in the sand. The sky stretches before you, stars twinkling beside the moon as you reach up with your hand to look at them between your fingers.

A groan echoes out in the cave, and as you stand up, you come face to face with the captain you've grown fond of.

Hobie's eyes widen at the sight of you. Your scales glow iridescent light from how the moon shines upon you. The makeshift clothes you wear that consist of shells, fishing nets, cloth from broken sails that sticks to you like wet paper, and rope tying it all together has his eyes squirming away to look at your face instead. As if looking at the face of a goddess is way better for his poor heart.

“Hello.” You enunciate.

He doesn't know what to say.

You take his reaction as fear. “Oh no, I will not eat.” Taking a step closer, you expect for him to flinch away but he doesn't. “No eating captain.” Smiling, you're proud of yourself for managing the words.

“Why? Do I not taste good?” He jokes, one that flies over your head. “‘m a bit offended by that, love.”

You slow blink at him. “Love?”

“I think that wasn't very funny either. Sorry.” Hobie chuckles nervously, “why did you help me?”

“Oh I know!” You come closer to him, hands clasped in front of you out of excitement. Pointing at his chest, your smile makes him smile, albeit nervous at how sharp your teeth are. “Bonkers!”

Hobie breaks into a bout of laughter. “You saved me because ‘m bonkers?”

You nod in quick succession. “Yes! And.” Inhaling, you gather all your strength to muster the correct word. “Pretty.” You remember that word from a sailor who once whispered it to you before you sank your teeth in him. “And!” You pat his pockets, he squirms away before you find what you were looking for within a half second. “This!” Showing him the coin, his face morphs into understanding.

“That was you?” You nod and He smiles softly, eyes darting from your face and at the waves as he rubs at his eyes. “And you think ‘m pretty?”

“Yes, and a good cap’n.” You mimic the exact words you heard his crew said to him.

“Now you're the one inflatin' my ego.” He shifts his weight, eyes meeting with your own. “I think you're pretty too.”

Smiling, you giddily bite your lower lip from the compliment. “Thank.”

Hobie chuckles, “you're good at this already, love.” He gestures towards his patched up wound. “And this. Thank you for the help.”

“Thank you!” You grin bigger, and he's slowly getting used to the rows of sharp teeth. *Slowly.

“Right, goddess, I have to build a raft to get to my crew.” He says and you're having a hard time deciphering his words. “Ah shit, you look even more adorable with that confused face.” His tone is laced with endearment.

“Thank you?”

“You're welcome.” He grasps at his injury as he wobbles further into the island.

“No,” you carefully take his hand, stopping him from going further. You're careful not to scratch him with your claws. “They will eat you.”

“Who's they?” As he looks towards the trees, he sees a dozen or so glowing eyes blinking at him. “Fuckin' hell.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” You mumble back.

Hobie side glances at you, lips curling into an unsure smile. “I'll think of something else to do then.” He walks back with you following close by. “For now at least.” Mumbling, he stretches his aching body from the prolonged idleness.

“Morning, they sleep.”

“It's safe in the mornin’?” You nod, a bit unsure but a nod nonetheless. “Alright,” he sighs, stomach grumbling. “Do you have food?”

“Only human.”

Hobie swears under his breath, not completely understanding whether you only have human food for him, or that the only food available is actually human. He has a long night ahead of him.

—

You have grown accustomed to the situation at hand. There's no rest for the wicked now that Hobie is in siren territory. You keep a close eye on them as they watch you with their glowing eyes at night, their appetite is insatiable even though they had their fill a few days ago because of the recent sea battle. Hobie's well enough to craft weapons for the two of you, so he made a spear that he whittled down, and a small dagger that he sharpened just for you. Your claws are the best weapons for you, but you still took it gladly. He made it especially for you so of course you'll keep it. No one has made you anything before, and you cherish it together with the trinkets you've collected over the years.

Days go by, more and more sirens leave you and Hobie alone in your tiny corner in the island as they've given up on hunting him down. You've proved how strong you are over the years of living alone. He's much better now that the wound you've relentlessly tended to has healed in record time. He keeps thanking you for it, but you can sense the melancholy in his eyes everytime he looks towards the sea. There's no sign of his crew coming to rescue him. You feel for him and his longing.

You and Hobie have some sort of schedule now, he picks fruits in the morning, then he teaches you human language in the afternoon after he gathers materials for the raft he's making. You've gotta hand it to the captain, he's quite good at surviving. You guess that he has done this before. And sure enough, when you asked him about it, he told you of a story that he was once stranded on an island, only surviving on fruits and crates of chocolate that had washed up on the shore. You wonder what that tastes like.

You're slowly liking the peace he brings to the island, there's no more petty squabbling between you and the rest of the sirens now that they've fully left the two of you. He's not liking the fruit and nut diet the island has an abundance for him though. Because of the lack of fish and birds that pass through the island, out of fear for the nature of the creatures that live there, other species avoid the place. He has to opt for a less filling meal everyday, it doesn't help much with energy as he needs it in building the raft. But he strives through it, chatting with you as if he's not trying to survive day by day. He even introduced you to fire and the warmth that it brings, not just the destruction you've seen it do.

You're carnivorous in nature, so one day, out of curiosity whilst he boils sea water to drink and roasting tree nuts over the fire, you asked if you could have one of the fruits he's holding onto.

“You can eat?” You point at the brown hairy fruit.

“Yes,” Hobie chuckles as you scooch over to him. Knee to knee as the campfire cackles through the night. The flames make the iridescent scales on your arms and legs sparkle. “It’s called coconut, and it's sweet.”

“No poison?” With the pad of your finger, you curiously touch the white part of it.

“No poison—” he starts to give it to you, only to realize something that might be crucial. “—Actually, it might be for you.” He moves the coconut away from you, worry etched in between his brows.

“Oh.” Your shoulders deflate.

“Sorry, I jus’ don't want my saviour dyin’ from a coconut.”

“I won't die, I'm strong like you.” You proudly say as you poke his chest.

Hobie smiles, the golden flames illuminating his handsome features. “I know you are, pretty. But you're afraid of it bein’ poison and there's probably a good reason for that.”

“Why?” You tilt your head, wide eyes blinking at him.

He can't help but think you're adorable, despite the sharp teeth and nails. “Species usually have a natural fear instinct of things that could kill ‘em.” Chuckling, he shakes his head. “What am I talkin' ‘bout? My mate Ned can explain it better for you, lovie.”

“Are you…” He waits patiently for you to continue. You're still getting used to human speech, but Hobie quickly found out that you're a quick learner. “...afraid of me?” You ask in a small voice, a stark contrast to how you sing your deadly song.

Hobie shakes his head with a gentle smile, palm patting your forearm briefly. “I used to, not anymore.” You've proven your friendliness to him more than once, he knows you're good too.

You feel like the boulder stuck in your throat is gone just from his reassurance. “Thank you, Hobie.” His smile grows wider at how much you've improved with your Language in such a short time. You clear your throat, waking up from a haze when you stared too long at his eyes. “Is Ned a friend?”

“Yeah, you'd love him. He's smart just like you.” Hobie looks into the fire sadly.

“Can you… tell me? About your friends?”

“You want to get to know the crew?” He stares at you fondly, the same look he had towards his crew back then. You nod with a smile, you're all ears. “Alright then.”

He tells you stories of life out in the sea and on land. The places he has been, the people he met and lost. And of course stories about his crew members and how they fought well, what their jobs are on the ship and what they dream of. With each word he utters about them, his face blooms into a more joyous one. But your own smile fades as the realization that he would leave your little island one day— And you in turn. Your heart aches at the thought you'll be left alone again.

Sometimes you wish that you don't understand humans as well as you do for this to hurt less.

—

Days fly by, turning into weeks as you two fall into a rhythm on the island. Each day that passes, Hobie's inevitable departure gets closer and closer, and you're already dreading the day he'll row away from you and the life he built there on the island. Your speech has gotten a lot better than before thanks to Hobie's teaching. In between the busy days and quiet nights, the two of you make time to just be yourselves. No lessons, no building the raft, just laughing at nonsense that Hobie has told you, or telling him stories of your time under the sea. The things you've seen in the depths always have him on the edge of his seat.

He even surprised you one day with a tiny display shelf to place all your collected knick knacks in. The way you jumped up to embrace him almost had him falling down into the waters. And in turn, you made him a necklace made from beads and seashells you've found, he never takes it off since then.

The two of you found affection for the other. A friendship that transcends despite the differences.

Morning comes once again, and the waves come to visit the little island you call home. You feel energized, finally having slept well without waking up in the middle of the night. After taking care of the unconscious captain, and fighting fellow sirens, this was the first time you've actually slept through the night. You're used to waking up to the moon, but with Hobie being with you in your cave, you've also taken to sleeping at night and waking up at the same hours as him. Sure you're missing out on sailors, but there's always scraps left for you in the morning with it floating in the water, small scraps, but food nonetheless. Yet, you're still starving.

Cracking one eye open, you see the empty spot next to you. Jumping out of bed, you worry that Hobie got eaten in the middle of the night, the feeling subsides when you see him weave ropes on the sandy beach.

“Mornin’ pretty.”

“Morning.” Your voice cracks with sleep. “Have you eaten?”

“I have,” he smiles, gesturing at the pile of coconuts he left on the half finished raft. “I didn't see you hunt yesterday. You okay?”

You shake your head without hiding your true feelings. “Starving.”

Hobie can practically feel your weakening form tremble from where he sat. “I can try again with the fish—”

Stepping closer, your irises have grown into slits, teeth bared in front of him. “There's no fish, Hobie.”

Nodding, his breath gets stuck in his throat as you get closer and closer to him. His natural instincts tell him to run. “I think I saw a bird fly over an hour ago, maybe I can—”

Your sudden sobs stun him in place. Cries echoing around the island as you hide your tearful eyes away from him. All your worries collapse on you, add the fact that you haven't eaten in days is a recipe for disaster.

“Shit—” he slowly steps closer, trepidation in each footstep upon the sand. “I don't know, love, maybe I can set up a trap in the water.” With an arm reaching towards you, you quickly step back in a hurry.

“Don't!” You yell, sniffing and wiping away at your tears. “I might eat you.”

Hobie chuckles, tensed shoulders relaxing and trying to reassure you with a single smile. It doesn't work when you frown deeper. “Right,” he walks closer to you, but you walk backwards and into the side of the cave. Now caged in as he cups each of your tear stained cheeks. “I know you won't eat me, love.” His thumb brushes along your tears, wiping it away as you look at him through your sticky lashes. “‘sides, you haven't eaten in days, if you wanted to eat me you would've done it days ago.” Smiling, he tilts his head. “Seriously, I think you don't find me appetisin’”

You sniff, eyes downturned only for him to duck to meet with your eyes. “I'm sorry for crying, I'm just hungry.” Gently laying your head against his clavicle, he chuckles and welcomes your warmth with open arms. “I'm sorry for eating people too.”

“Don’t be, they probably deserved it.” He pats your back while the other cradles the back of your head. “You can have a nibble on my arm—”

You smack his chest lovingly, giggling against his skin. “No.”

“You sure?” Hobie laughs atop your head. “Maybe I can make some sort of sauce to pair with me.”

Chuckling, you embrace him tighter. You don't know when you'll be able to hug him again so you take your time in squeezing him. “I'll survive, don't worry.”

He hums, getting a whiff of sea salt as he presses his nose on your hair. “I don't doubt that, love.”

Eyes closed, you remember the fruits and nuts on the island, maybe if you try it, it might satiate your hunger. You know your kind’s diet didn't always consist of human flesh, but that was before your time. So maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't hurt to give it a nibble.

When he went out to gather more wood for the makeshift raft, you grab a handful of nuts and a coconut from his stash. You sit cross legged inside the cave, heart thudding in your chest. Eyeing your herbs that you placed right next to you just in case you start bleeding out of your eyes, you take a deep inhale and immediately carve out a part with your nail and take a bite out of the fleshy part of the coconut.

Chewing, you let the sweetness spread on your tongue. You don't feel any different than before, no tingling sensation or blood dripping from every orifice. So you swallow down and wait for a minute.

Sitting there frozen, you feel fine. With a bout of loud laughter, you start eating the rest of Hobie's food, waiting a few seconds in between to test if it has any effects on you. The next thing you know, you've eaten your fill. Coconut juice is left on your lips and hands, the shell from the nuts are spread all over the floor of the cave and your burp echoes inside the place. Chuckling, you hear the sound of clattering wood right in the entrance of the cave.

“What—!?” Hobie quickly makes his way towards you, panic settling in his bones as he opens your mouth with his fingers. “Did you eat it? Love, you need to vomit it out!” He's considering shoving his hand in your mouth.

Your garbled words have him thinking that you're choking. “Fuck no!” His fear gets to him as he hugs you from behind and squeezes you in quick succession. He doesn't know siren anatomy, but maybe it's not so different with his own. So with determination, he tries to dislodge whatever you’ve eaten. “Shit– fuck!”

“I'm alright!” You let out instead of the food he was trying to squeeze out of you. Twisting around, you pat his cheek, giggling with amusement. “See?” Spreading your arms, you show off your still-alive self.

He heaves, palm placed atop his heart. “You're fine?”

Nodding happily, he finally lets out a sigh of relief. He feels like he's the one who's about to collapse. You guess you can stop eating human flesh now, maybe you should tell the others about your findings.

Hobie lays his forehead on your shoulder, hands placed on your hips as he levels his breathing. You pat his back, cradling him and letting out a laugh with every sigh he lets out.

“There there, captain.” You teasingly say. He could only groan in reply.

—

The day has come for him to leave. It's earlier than you thought it would be, you hoped that he could stay for a week or two more, but with the sight of a ship with the familiar red sail floating a few miles away, it has Hobie preparing for the short trip.

You help him with the final preparations, tying the last rope around the wooden planks, and securing the bundle of coconuts on the raft. Your heart weighs heavy, but you can't keep him away from where he's supposed to be.

The sun shines brightly above, but you don't feel its warmth against your skin.

Holding the dagger he gave you atop your chest, you watch him push the raft from the beach closer to the shore. Your lips wobble as he grins wider at the ship from afar.

“They're waitin’ for me, I knew it.” He turns towards you, and you hide your sorrow with a forced smile. “Love.”

“Keep safe, captain.” You manage to say without a broken sob. “Stay away from here, you might not be…” you inhale shakily, “...so lucky next time.”

“Come away with me.”

His hand reaches towards you as the waves lap on the beach. You stare at his stretched hand, tracing the scars along it with your tearful eyes. He whispers your name softly, beckoning you closer.

You hug the dagger closer to your chest. “They’ll hurt me.” His hand grasps gently at your chin, raising your face to meet with his eyes. “Just like how I've hurt people.”

“You told me you saved ‘em. And you saved me.” He shakes his head, eyes softly looking into your own. “I won't let them hurt you, I won't let anyone hurt you.”

“I'm different, Hobie. Not human enough.”

“You're human enough for me, love.” Leaning closer, he nudges his forehead against yours briefly. “Come away with me, let me show you the world.”

Your eyes close as he moves closer, lips brushing nervously atop your own until you make a move. His lips taste of fruits, sweet and gentle on your own lips. You're careful of the sharpness of your teeth, but he doesn't mind as he kisses you like it's the last time he'll ever taste you. It might as well be if you decide to stay. It'll break his heart, but if that's what you want, he'll give it to you. If you want the world, he'll put it on a silver platter just for you.

You've captivated him without your siren song, but he's more than ready to dive into the depths if you so will it.

Leaning away, you open your eyes to his shining ones. “Will you have me as I am?”

Hobie grins and kisses each of your cheeks until you're smiling. He nods, “with everythin’ I have.”

With one final look at your home where your collections of human things lay, you leave it all for the pirate you have in your arms. Hopefully you'll see more in your adventures.

[stardust948]

[Apothecary AU]

Ursa: *Investigating who poisoned the minster's seaweed*

Ursa: There are ways to make the poisonous things not poisonous. As for this seaweed, it needs to be soaked in limewater.

Ursa: *eats it*

Ozai and Zhao: !!!

Ozai: What are you doing?!

Ursa: It's fine. Probably.

Ozai: Probably?!?!

Ursa, holding up a pouch: Don't worry. I have the emetic right here-

Ozai: *Snatches the pouch* That's nothing to be proud of!

Ursa: Hey-

Ozai: Zhao!

Zhao: Right! *picks up Ursa from behind*

Ursa: Wait-

Ozai, shoves the emetic into her mouth: THROW UP!!!!

Ursa: *vomits out poison*

Ursa, disappointed: I was only going to test if a one-night soak would get rid of the poison...

~

Day 6: Poison

@urzaiweekblog

[greeniegaes]

:3 i made a JiuYuan apothecary dairies au

Shen Yuan is Jinshi, basically high ranking offical who’s a eunuch and is really pretty and attractive

Shen Jiu is Maomao, a poison tester/apothocary and I can’t decide if she’s a trans woman or if he disguised as a woman so he can be a servant to his jiejie that was made into a concubine.

I had the idea of no eunuchs and disguised SJ and the both of them are in the cave scene and SY accidentally touched SJs crotch and it makes him scream at the idea of touching another man’s penis. Meanwhile SJ flips him over and holds a knife at his throat if he tells anyone about his identity.

And also SJ just bullying SY and SY always bugging him about poisons and cool beasts SJ studied outside of the castle (SY never really had the opportunity to leave)

[lucygriefer]

Apothecary Muffet & Lust design

Some more characters for the Apothecary AU. Here's not only Muffet's design but also Lust's design. Muffet is from undertale. While Lust Sans was made by NSFWShamecave. Though Skele-cakes was given permission to continue the AU. If I've put the wrong people for who created Lust sans let me know so I can fix that. Also I've got two other lust variants that I'm working on that I've nicknamed Sin (Lustfell swap Sans) and Hearts (Lustfell Sans).

Yes I'm putting the these two character together mostly cause I was working on them at the same time. Plus they work in the same place.

Here is Apothecary Muffet's design. I took some Giant Golden orb weaver spider insperation. Not with the colors but with some things like the strips. I also did take away one set of arms and gave her spider legs on her back instead.

Muffet is the owner of the Demon's temptations Brothel. She is 50 years of age. Her little mochi spiders hide among the snacks that are served to make sure that those visiting the brothel aren't going against the rules or hurting anyone that works & lives in the brothel. Her giant pet muffin spider. I turned into a nerikiri spider.

She has those that are unable to pay work for her. And if they try to get out of paying. Kiri (the Nerikiri spider pet) gets a little treat. She and many of the workers in the brother raise Nightmare as if he was their own child. Getting the title Step Mother Muffet, or SMM for short. She does not allow any of the customers to try anything to Nightmare as he was growing up.

I tried giving Muffet some interesting features to her design. Like how her feet look, and the little.. mandibles? I think that's what their called on the sides of her face.

Here is Apothecary Lust's design!

Lust works under Muffet as a Brothel monster. He is 38 years of age and has been working at the Brothel for 22 years. When he was 16 years of age he was not only very sick but he and some others were taken from their home and were being sold off to others as servants. Muffet had managed to find the carriage that was carrying him and all the others and used Kiri to free them from their captive. Many that were freed left to try and return home, some staid behind and got jobs, while 4 staid with Muffet as she took Lust to heal.

Once Lust was well enough he promised to work for Muffet to not only pay off for all the medicine and care that was used on him, but to also start saving up to live a comfortable life.

He works with Sin, Hearts, Blitz, and Flame (I'm working on their designs at the moment). The 4 that staid behind and went with Muffet. He and Flame (underlust Grillby) are both in a relationship but they also work at the brothel together. Hearts and Blitz are together as well. The group started off by not doing much aside from serving tea and snacks to the guests. As they got older Muffet and the other Brothel residents helped teach them everything else they needed to know for the job. Though Hearts isn't a big fan of that part of the job and mostly serves snacks, tea, and plays games with others.

Lust sees Nightmare as a child of his own. Same with every other Brothel member. Helping him learn how to read and write.

Hopefully I'll have a draft to the first page of the mini comic stories I'm working on. So enjoy the story drafts for those mini comics, and these character designs!

[jorenilee]

I have absolutely nothing close to finished rn so I'm reaching into my backlog of old art i may or may not have posted, introducing: medieval clown town au

They are jesters pleasing the royal yukako and doctor josuke is also secretly an heir but he left cuz sawing ppl's limbs off is funnier

[spatziline]

Maomao with her clingy boys, Jinshi and baby

[atinylittlepain]

Prologue

jackson!joel miller x witch!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

He thinks he might fall in love with her. She can't let him fall in love with her. Or: a reimagined take on an infamous Practical Magic au by yours truly.

wordcount | 1.8K

series content info | 18+ slowburn-ish, strangers to friends to lovers to estranged acquaintances to ???, discussions of death and grief, a little magic, just a little, jackson era joel and all that entails, eventual smut, angst obviously, and love that requires a little elbow grease.

a/n | thank you folks for your patience while I was being a little worm about this. Very excited to kick off this series, and I'd love to hear what you think <3

....................................

There is the after, and there is the before. This is the before. In the before, there is a town nestled down in the purple-blue belly of a mountain, all shade and damp, cool green. A small town, everyone knowing everyone and everyone knew everyone as far back as history could reasonably stretch. And in this town sits a house at the end of a string of houses, sidewalk curling up in waves under the old force of tree roots, wrought iron gates and sleepy porches. Kids dare one another to step through the gate of this house. Only the bravest make it up to the porch, a quick clambering tap to the front door, wanting, but not really wanting, to see who might answer. All but one child, that is. She has no problem walking through the gate, but she’s learned to be quick in getting through the front door and slipping it shut behind her. The other kids like to throw rocks if she lingers, so she doesn’t. But there is always a sweet suspension of disbelief on the walk, before the gate, and the porch, and the slip through the front door. How nice, to have all her classmates walking her home after school. 

“Did you get into any trouble today?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, always another chance tomorrow.” It’s just enough to coax a smile out of her, her aunt and all her tuts and tsks, turns of her nose and we need a brownie before we do your homework, little choice but to follow after her into the kitchen, warm and sticky, the smell of fresh yeast and something richer. Even now, even in the first gasps of Summer, a pot always boils on the stove, spoon stirring lazy inside it. 

Her aunt moves like a bird she thinks. But not the delicate kind. She saw a blue heron once, at the lake outside of town. Like that, she thinks. Graceful but sharp, big and sweeping, the tails of a linen shirt, and the braid woven gray and black that hangs between her shoulder blades. All so familiar, she can’t help but sigh, cheek propped in the clammy cup of her hand. 

“Something happened today.” 

“You don’t say.” Her aunt, always knowing before she can tell her, sometimes even before she knows herself. She picks a chocolate chip out of the brownie split between them, holds it on her tongue and lets it melt. 

“Andy Nichols broke his arm. He said there’s pins in his bones.”

“Is he the one who–” She nods before her aunt can finish her question. Yes, the one who never threw rocks at her. Yes, the one who would sit with her at lunch, not because his other friends dared him to, but because he wanted to. The one who, last week, sitting on the bleachers during recess, pressed a quick, there and gone kiss to her lips, all shy, all sweet, wings fluttering fierce in her chest. Yes, that one. 

“Now he won’t even look at me. All his friends are saying I did something to him.” 

“Oh, Maggie, I’m sorry. People can be, well, people suck, to speak plainly.”

“Did I?”

“Did you what?”

“Did I?” And the silence is enough of an answer, isn’t it? Her aunt’s eyes melt a little, lips pressed in a thin frown. Her aunt, who is as tired as she is, though she may do a better job of hiding it. After all, while she lost a mother, her aunt lost a sister. And the thing, that thing, this thing, that is threaded like a dark cancer through the sinew and snapping pulse of their hearts, contagious, careful or you’ll catch it. Everyone in town knows not to fall in love with a Campbell woman, a long history pocked with strange deaths, unexplainable misfortune. Her father wasn’t from town though, the first mistake of many.

‘It’s best if you don’t think on it, hmm?” Quiet and close in the kitchen, she does her best not to cry, feeling weak, a little wilted. One of those hugs that presses all the air out of her lungs, she needed it, breathing in deep, soap and sweat and soil and my little witch, we have work to do. 

Homework doesn’t really mean homework in their house. Not the paper she’s supposed to be writing on the civil war, not studying for the math test she has on Friday. Homework means her and her aunt in the greenhouse, and her aunt quizzing her on the plants they tend to. What is what, what does what. 

Lemon balm for stress and sleep. Also used to treat cold sores. 

Echinacea for immunity.

Peppermint for nausea and headaches.

Belladonna for sleep, handle with care. 

It comes easily to her, the same way that knowing things comes easily to her aunt. Plants, she thinks, make more sense than people do. It takes them a few hours to work through the greenhouse, night coming on in a swath of orange that smolders purple, cool shadows filtering in through green glass. They prune, they water, they propagate, and her aunt must think her extra pitiful tonight because she offers to teach her a few new tricks. The offer falls flat, however, when the prickled sound of scratching shivers up her spine. She knows it well, imagines that she could hear it from all the way across town at this point. The back door, nails skittering over its window panes, face pressed to glass, smeared shame, or maybe just a secret. All that’s needed, a look shared between them, no words. She stays in the greenhouse, closes the door behind her aunt, but leaves it cracked. She shouldn’t, but she likes to listen. 

What she hears is always the same. Variations of desperation, I want, I want, I want, I need, I need, I need, him, him, him, her, her, her. How badly? So badly. Anything? Yes, anything. She’s watched a few times, peering around the doorway into the kitchen. All kinds of ways to meddle, to tangle threads, cut them loose, pick your poison, pick your pleasure. Her aunt tries to keep her away from it, the dark, crawling things, the needles, the wax dolls washed in smoke plumes. But she knows. Love is an ugly thing. 

She doesn’t watch tonight, hardly listens either. Something else on her mind, in her hands. She plucks rose petals, lavender, rosemary, fills her hands with the rumpled things, says what she planned to say.

He’ll ride horses, talk to them too.

He’ll work with his hands. 

There’ll be a streak of silver at his temple. 

When we’re together, he’ll be able to stop time. 

“Are you casting impossible spells again?” Her aunt catches her just as she’s stepping out into the backyard, damp grass and cicada thrum and the moon.

“I hope so. I hope it’s impossible.” They stand in the cool, damp grass, all that heat dropping down into a low mist around their ankles. And her aunt knows exactly what she’s doing. Afterall, she was the one who taught her this. Somewhere between a love spell and a prayer, though she hopes hers is more like a curse. 

“There’s no taking something like this back, Maggie. Are you sure you want to do this?” She nods, says yes, and it’s enough for her aunt to stand down, giving her space to finish the rest of it. Intention, energy, that other word that people like to throw around She focuses on the words and the words become something other than words, and the petals and leaves lift from her hands. The moon takes care of the rest. 

“I hope I never fall in love.” 

The thing about spells is they always find somewhere to land, even the impossible ones. And somewhere in the before, that impossible spell found its target. Cupid’s arrow bent and broken, though still able to sting sharp. Somewhere in the before, a boy in another town in another life, young knees working hard to make the thin tires of a bike spin, already late heading home for dinner in the cooling night. 

The boy’s mother hears him before she sees him, big, hot tears and ribs shaking with sobs she doesn’t often get to hear anymore, getting older, trying to get braver. The boy is bleeding, the boy is crying. The soft round of his palms scraped and stuck with gravel, and his knees no better, all down his shins, and he didn’t mean to cry, didn’t want to cry, but walking the rest of the way home, wrestling with the crooked handlebars of his bike, the feeling and the pain got too big, and he didn’t know what else to do with it.

“Oh honey, what happened?” His words come out in stops and starts, little stuttered gasps. I fell, gets strung into a few extra syllables, already ushering him upstairs and into the bathroom, the sharp smell of this’ll sting, cotton gauze getting stuck in the blood. 

In the before, still young, the boy is a soft thing. He cries easily, and he doesn’t like that. Cries when he’s angry, when he’s hurt, when he’s frustrated. Cries harder when he cries because he wishes he wouldn’t cry, even if the words for such a feeling are still too old for him. Somewhere along the way, the boy will lose that. The boy will lose so much. But for now, his mother is making all the big and little hurts better, box fan humming in the cracked window in the bathroom, his brother, even younger, watching through the slivered opening of the door. 

For now, the boy lets his eyes close, sticky with salt and the last wandering tears, and he wonders if he really saw what he thought he saw, what stunned him so snappingly that he flew head over handlebars onto the still-simmering asphalt. A blurred vision, blink and miss it, though even so, he’s still sure of what he saw. A rose bush, a sudden burst and bloom and flashbang, nothing and then something and then everything. Blooms that unfurled their skirts as fast as he was riding by, until what had been only green was blotted out entirely by heavy white petals. The boy will lose this memory with time, reasoning it away as an impossible imagining, something from a young mind that will no longer be his. But while the boy is still young, still a soft thing, he will think to himself with a kind of secret wonder that whatever he saw that night, it had to be magic. 

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