Toast

I wanted to repost my art because I was really proud of how this one turned out. This was made around lantern rite

Wait but imagine Yan!Flins who revels secretly that you're breaking every fae rule imaginable.....

For conveniences sake let's imagine you run a quaint little flower shop. Flins perhaps visits once or twice out of curiosity — after all, it's only proper etiquette to visit graves with flowers in hand. Luckily, it seemed business was slow, and you seemed all the more ecstatic to have someone come in.

He admits; its endearing how you slightly hunch in on yourself when he enters, almost cutting yourself off with the stark difference in demeanor from the "Ah, welcome customer!" To "..oh, uh.. how may I help you?" Once his silhouette made itself clear stepping in.

Conversation runs polite; he can feel your gaze on his fingers when he runs them over the petals of some of the flowers. You clearly want to say something, but don't. When his eyes meet yours, you stammer out niceties in the hopes his gaze doesn't stay too long on you. Thankfully, his eyes move– but what you don't notice is how they hone in on your little nametag.

The first few visits, he eases into the graceful atmosphere of the shop, leaving with only a few flowers in hand. Youre a skittish thing, he notices the first few times. But you've got your guard up in all the wrong ways. In a way, it's got him interested enough to keep coming back; perhaps simply to watch you squirm.

The next few times, you've relaxed considerably, but he's not sure if that's even better. There's a morbid yet comedic tact to it – the way you so easily accept his handkerchief when he lends it, or the way you hesitantly accept his company when you close up shop and take the long quiet walk home. It doesn't help when you politely ask him to use your name instead of referring to you with any formalities – you really don't know, do you?

It all gently washes over when you start opening up more. Although he seeked you out only from curiosity, now you've piqued his interest. You keep digging your grave deeper and deeper, but Flins only delights in such a thing; he'd prefer you to be oblivious as long as possible, especially if it means he can pull a few more giggles out of you with his quips.

But it rarely matters; after all, he considers himself the 'nicer' one from his folks. And he's not wrong in a way. When he has such a squeamish little thing beside him walking alone in the dark canopy of Nod-Krai's wilderness, hardly anyone in his place can resist the way he does. When you finally have to leave, he only relaxes, being able to peacefully let the burning cusp of his soul indulge in the playback of fleeting touches in his memory — but it rarely assuages his darker desires. Its always going to end this way; and he's only delaying the inevitable.

So when the wind knocks at your windows at night, and your candles flicker when you settle into bed, it's easier to ease you into his arms. You realise just what you've done when his cold fingers brush up your spine, name repeated on his tongue like a sort of prayer; you've been such a dear to him, haven't you? Always making things so much more easier for him than you realise.

Thank you to Rodrigater!

"just 5 more minutes," Boothill complains. He's now 8, playing in the grasslands with his siblings. He was about to win their game of hide and seek. Graey stands on the porch, saying dinner is ready and the children must go wash or they won't get any of the berry pie baked for dessert. Time will pass and afternoon will come once more. He can play another time.

"just 5 more minutes," Boothill bargains with his teacher. He's now 12, trying his damnedest to write down his answers on the test paper. The teacher stands beside his desk and sighs before taking the paper anyways. Time will pass and there will be another test to take. He can do better next time.

"just 5 more minutes," Boothill mutters to himself. He's now 18, standing in the quiet of the forest, smelling the sharp iron of blood. He's taken a person's life for the first time. The bandit lays unmoving by his feet, his six-shooter still smoking from the shot he fired into the cranium. Time will pass and there will be more evildoers to come. His hands won't shake next time.

"just 5 more minutes," Boothill insists. He's now 21, trying to prove his idea was a success. Yet, the bait never goes off and three men wind up in crowbar hotel because of him. The gang leader stares at him, unimpressed and orders for his tooth to be removed. Time will pass and one day, he'll become a leader of his own. He won't disappoint next time.

"just 5 more minutes," Boothill murmurs against your lips. He's now 23 and has found himself a sweetheart, someone to do right by. You laugh and squirm in his muscled arms, saying something about how it's late and you really must be going home now. Time will pass and he'll build a space for you at his base. He won't go home alone next time.

"just 5 more minutes," Boothill yawns, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. He's now 26 and his tribe respects him deeply. He's taken it upon himself to hunt those who pose a threat to the peace of the good-hearted. You whisper intimately in his ear, watching the skin darken before sitting beside him to help. Time will pass and the burdens will grow. He won't have anyone to shoulder them with next time.

"just 5 more minutes," Boothill whispers. He's now 29, watching the baby he found in the snow. The little angel sleeps peacefully in the makeshift cot, no longer crying from the harsh cold outside. You chuckle and say she looks just like him when deep in slumber. He glares but doesn't argue. Time will pass and he'll tuck her into bed as often as he can. He won't be there to see her awake next time.

"just 5 more minutes," Boothill argues with the men in black. They're throwing an elderly pair out of their home, claiming they failed to pay the fee to stay. Had he known of this earlier, he would've rushed over with all he had so they may keep the land they loved. Time will pass and more locals will be ousted from their homes. He won't be there in time.

"just 5 more minutes," Boothill pleads with the men in black. They'd taken his elder siblings into custody, framing them of sabotage they never committed. He throws away his dignity, pleading for them to wait so he can prove their innocence. So his gang can storm the place and save those he loves. His siblings are shot in front of him. Time will pass and his siblings will fall one by one. He can't save any of them.

"just 5 more minutes," Boothill relents. He's to sneak to the spaceship that looms like a bad omen. You hold onto him, begging for him to stay just a little longer. To stay with you in the farmhouse he grew up in and watch the little angel grow. But unless he finds the root of the problem, this peace won't last. Time will pass and the bombs have long since turned everything to ash. He won't know peace again.

unfortunately because im scrambling to finish all my work by next friday, ive had less time to draw meaning satan’s monstrous demon form will have to wait til after; have a luci doodle instead <3