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d4rk-x-w0lf-17 · 2 months

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hanako instantly getting nervous and admittedly jealous of the mere THOUGHT of yashiro going on a date that wasn't with him is so funny. bro knows that mitsuba likes to fuck with people but he was still on edge cuz he's way too in love with yashiro to think straight

#hanako out here bout to run his knife through mitsuba over a joke #they're so silly #toilet bound hanako-kun #jibaku shounen hanako-kun #tbhk #jshk #yugi amane #yashiro nene #mitsuba sousuke #hananene

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purrfectlycontent · 7 months

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this scene has a chokehold on me

#coloring time #this took me. four hours total #i started it in january and then forgot about it hdkdhdj #coloring manga panels #tbhk #toilet-bound hanako-kun #jshk #jibaku shounen hanako-kun #hananene #hanako #yashiro nene

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unearthlyramblings · 3 months

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The way he looks at her...

Hanako spends most of his evenings watching over Yashiro. He claims to stay by her side for protection while she sleeps, but it's clear that his nightly duty brings him more than just peace of mind regarding her safety.

a/n: inspired by this post ! enjoy some fluffy musing about Hanako's thoughts while watching Yashiro dream. banners: @cafekitsune 💕

Amane couldn’t quite recall what it felt like to dream anymore. The sleep-induced sensory experience haunted him like the lingering scents left behind by an extraordinary feast in an empty kitchen. The memory is just far gone enough that he can’t picture it precisely, but he could almost taste it if he closed his eyes, balled his fists, and concentrated hard enough.

The thoughts that ran wild in his mind while watching Nene like this were the closest to a semblance of a dream that he felt in decades. He gazed lovingly at the rise and fall of her blanket-covered shoulders, and he smiled as her soft cheeks puffed out upon each exhale. It was a habit— or rather, a guilty pleasure— he had developed over the past few months, guarding her while she slept.

He floated beside her on the bed, hovering just a few inches above her sheets. As he lie there on his side, his elbow and forearm propping up his head, Amane's thoughts meandered in vain hope. He crafted a storyline in which he might enter whatever dreamland Nene was lost in and whisk her away toward the fairy tale ending she had always hoped for; a beautifully-spun, romantic fantasy that he would rarely let himself indulge in. During moments like this, it was hard to chase the bittersweet thoughts from his mind.

Amane fawned over Nene’s every sleepy sigh, leaning closer to analyze her expressions whenever her nose scrunched up and the crinkle of her brow indicated discontent. While he couldn’t stop her bad dreams, he found that he could provide some comfort by pretending to smooth out the skin between her brows. He would run his index finger from the top of her forehead down to the bridge of her nose over and over until the tension on her face disappeared. While Amane knew she couldn’t really feel his touch, it seemed that, somehow, his intent and efforts were not lost.

It had been several months since they each swallowed the mermaid scales. “Bonding ourselves to each other until death do us part,” as Amane often joked. Over those months they had grown more and more fond of each other— though neither of them would ever admit it.

He moved to hover above Nene so he could get a better view and take in the entire picture of her sleeping form. She looked so peaceful under the pale orange moonlight filtering into the dark room. He could almost let himself forget about the impending tragedy his delicate flower was destined to face.

A tree outside of the window left a dappled pattern of shadow across her pillow and cheek. Amane could spend hours tracing the outline of it on her face, taking care to accentuate each minute detail if only so his fingertips could linger on her warm skin for a few seconds longer.

Nene’s lips parted slightly and some of her stray hairs fluttered in the wake of her soft breaths. He watched her every movement intently and began to wonder if there was any veracity to his previously held belief that ghosts completely forfeit the ability to dream in death. That the lack of real sleep holds spiritual beings back from experiencing the fleeting, calming sense of euphoria that comes with a sweet dream. When he gazed down at her, his serene angel, Amane’s mind seemed to succumb to the long forgotten feeling of blissful imagination.

Amane still couldn’t recall the exact sensations of being immersed in a dream, and maybe he never would. But he found himself content with knowing that his time spent watching over his love was a close substitute.