#editing old works

[wisecura]

The wind and the leaf

Sanemi x Tsuguko-f!reader

summary: You are the Tsuguko to Sanemi, the formidable Wind Hashira famed for his abrasive and harsh demeanor. Yet, your cool and calm presence in his live has him reeling. He just cant figure you out.

an: man i just gotta thing for mean dudes with bad personalities. not sure the direction for this fic, but I want it short and sweet.

warning: this story may contain yandere-esque features. The later chapters may be unsuitable for all readers. Proceed with this in mind....I mean...the dude literally stabbed a lil girl to prove a point so...

p.2

swoosh swoosh

Sanemi Shinazugawa, the infamous Wind Hashira, was a force to be reckoned with.

Adorned with battle scars like badges of honor, he exuded a raw intensity that sent tremors through the hearts of many demons. Fiery and aggressive, his bloodlust towards those grotesque creatures simmered just beneath the surface.

He was the embodiment of a warrior consumed by his purpose.

And then there was you.

His Tsuguko.

You were a stark contrast to Sanemi's volatile nature.

Serene and calm, moving through life with an ethereal grace. Soft where he was hard. Smooth where he was rough. Kind where he was brash. The most beautiful person he's ever seen, flowing with grace and poise. Dedicated, hardworking, and oh so admirable. It hadn't been a difficult decision to take you on as his student. If he were to fault you on anything though...

Emotions were not your strong suit.

He could watch you tear down demon after demon for hours, but you'd never seem to crack in your stoic facade. You eyes were lifeless and damn near indifferent. Could he even call it a facade now if it was the face you'd kept since the day he met you?

Perhaps it was your unwavering focus on perfecting your swordsmanship that left little room for the complexities of the heart. Or maybe, just maybe, you were simply too good at hiding those thoughts and feelings. Whatever it was, it irritated the hell out of Sanemi.

You had been in each other's company for a little over a year now and had yet to engage in any real conversation. Let alone betray even a flicker of emotion towards him.

He could spar with you till you were worn to the bone, yet you barely said a word. He'd rather you complain even a little bit. It was as if you were an enigma wrapped in a riddle, baffling the very core of Sanemi's being. How could a person be so...cold. Yet so warm.

He could barely stand it.

Then it happened. One fateful, fucking day, that changed his whole perception of you and himself. Sanemi's eyes fell upon you, engaged in a conversation with Rengoku, his fellow flame Hashira.

He struggled to make sense of it. Impossible to explain it, really, but it was as if a sword pierced straight through his chest. Jealousy, a sensation he was scarcely familiar with, gnawed at his insides, stoking a surprising fire of resentment towards the two of you. And he working tirelessly, his mind running circles, to come up with the root behind this feeling.

It wasn't that you were just talking to the Flame Hashira, it was the slight smile you shared with him—a rarity you had never bestowed upon Sanemi himself.

Sanemi's little bird mind resorted to the only explanation it could comprehend: irritation. Irritation at your lack of dedication to her swordsmanship. That had to be it. The feeling must have been a byproduct of his strict training regime, a testament to his commitment to the Demon Slayer Corps.

And he working tirelessly to come up with the reasoning behind this feeling.

It wasn't that you were merely talking to the Flame Hashira, but the fact that you were slightly smiling at him. Frustrated and unable to understand his own reactions, Sanemi’s little bird mind resorted to the only rationale his mind could accept: irritation.

Irritation, he convinced himself, at your lack of dedication towards your swordsmanship.

That had to be it.

The feeling must have been a byproduct of his strict training regime, a testament to his commitment to the Demon Slayer Corps. He couldn't fathom anything else.

You just didn't take this seriously enough.

And shame on you to be slacking on your training, spending your limited time with someone else. You weren’t Rengoku’s Tsuguko—you were his. So why didn’t you act like it, huh?

But surely Rengoku was only stopping by for a minute. Just to drop something off, right? This nasty irritation would definitely go away soon.

Yet,

As the days passed, Sanemi found himself growing more and more vexed. Rengoku’s visits became almost a daily occurrence. It grated on him, seeing you constantly engaged in light conversation with the Flame Hashira, seemingly neglecting the rigorous training schedule he had laid out for you.

Did Rengoku have nothing better to do than to distract you? He was a damn Hashira, after all. Surely, he had more pressing responsibilities than to idle away his time chatting.

This constant interactions between you two wasn't just a thorn in his side. It was becoming an unbearable aggravation, challenging his patience and his command as your mentor. He had said anything yet, but he was so tempted.

It was as if a shadow settled over his estate, darkening his mood constantly. Initially, he hadn't minded the Flame Hashira, but now he couldn't stand him. He could go as far as to say he hated him.

Yet, he remained steadfast in his silence, unable to voice his concerns to you. After all, how could he begin to explain something he himself couldn't fathom?

But that didn’t stop him from expressing his unspoken words through his actions. Your training sessions grew more rigorous. Then again, they should have been intensifying already—how were you supposed to grow if he didn’t push you?

But now, his training took on a meaner edge, driven more by his swirling emotions than by the usual disciplined approach.

It only grew worse when he realized you might actually be growing attached to the Flame Hashira.

Your interactions, though always subtle and calm, began to reveal a depth of affection that bothered Sanemi deeply. You never openly showed preference or attachment, keeping your emotions concealed beneath a tranquil surface.

But, it started with small smiles, and now, you were inquiring about Rengoku’s brother and his garden. You seemed to know intimate details about the Flame Hashira, details that were trivial yet so fucking telling.

Did you really not see the issue with having Rengoku visit so often at his manor? To Sanemi, these were not mere friendly exchanges, rather, they were breaches in the exclusivity he felt over your mentorship and training.

The situation gnawed at him, the silent question burning in his mind: Why did Rengoku, of all people, need to be so involved in your life?Each encounter, each shared smile between you and the Flame Hashira, seemed like a small betrayal to Sanemi.

His frustration grew with each passing interaction. Why couldn't he be the one to elicit a reaction? You never smiled at him the way you did with Rengoku. You never engaged him in light conversation or inquired about his likes and dislikes. Why was it always Rengoku who managed to coax those rare glimpses of emotion from your otherwise impassive demeanor? Was it the Flame Hashira’s charismatic charm or perhaps something deeper, something more that drew you to him?

He was supposed to be your mentor, the one you looked up to and sought guidance from, yet here he was, feeling sidelined in his own estate. The complexity of these emotions was so unfamiliar to Sanemi, a man more accustomed to straightforward battles and clear enemies. How could he fight this unseen foe that seemed to be stealing away your attention and, possibly, your affection respect?

Lost in his own sea of turmoil, Sanemi wrestled with feelings that defied his comprehension. He had spent his life honing his instincts as a demon slayer, yet when it came to matters of the heart, he was as clueless as a beginner. It was a battle he never expected to face, and it threatened to consume him whole. Why were you causing him to feel this way?

why.

Why?

WHY?

WHY.

In the midst of your training sessions with him, Sanemi found himself studying you intently.

Your stoic facade remained as unyielding as ever, but he couldn’t shake the flutter in his stomach every time you fixed him with your gaze. His heart rate would pick up just that much more and he would have to look away. What were you thinking, staring at him like that?

His training as a Hashira had taught him how to mask his emotions—after all, a rapid heartbeat was normal in the heat of battle. But how long could he keep the flush from his face hidden? He desperately wanted to see a different expression on yours, something that broke through that serene exterior.

If you noticed his discomposure, you never mentioned it. It was as if you were oblivious to the turmoil you stirred within him, or perhaps, you were simply choosing to ignore it.

Sanemi found it increasingly difficult to find common ground, to find the right words that could foster a meaningful conversation between you. Each attempt felt more strained than the last, widening the chasm he felt in your interactions.

Driven by a mix of desperation and determination, he decided to shift his approach.

If words would not bridge the gap, maybe actions would speak the volume he needed. He began to observe you more closely, paying attention to the small details—the way you organized your training gear, the slight pause before executing a particular move, or your preferences for certain foods during breaks.

He quietly started to take care of smaller tasks for you, adjusting your gear before training, ensuring there were extra rations of your favorite snacks available, and subtly modifying training routines to include elements you showed interest in.

Each act was a silent plea for your recognition, a hope that these small gestures would catch your eye and perhaps elicit a response, any response, that might indicate you saw him as more than just your mentor.

After training sessions, Sanemi would discreetly place new hair accessories or small trinkets beside your belongings—items he had thoughtfully selected from the local shops. Each one was chosen not only for their aesthetic appeal but also for their subtle reflections of himself: a pristine white hair clip, or a patterned haori that mimicked his own.

Yet, nothing seemed to elicit much of a response from you other than a polite "thank you." Your calm acknowledgment, devoid of the warmth or interest he hoped for, was starting to drive him seriously mad. It felt like banging his head against a wall, trying to reach you, to see a flicker of something more beneath your composed exterior.

However, you did eat the snacks he brought you, and to his surprise—and his tinged ears—you wore the items he had picked out for you. Each day you adorned yourself with these, you became a walking symbol of him.

A constant reminder of who you shared most of your time with. Who you staying with.

He couldn't figure it out. Couldn't figure you out.

p.2

come home

[krysmcscience]

I have some questions about karaoke night, Alex Hirsch. Very Important Questions. Which I will happily scream at a poor hapless baby triangle who can have no answers for me, and possibly also does not have object permanence yet.

Follow-up that is I guess suggestive, but let's be real here, Bill's a fucking triangle:

Dude slipped right into his birthday suit, lmao

this is so stupid :D

Anyway, I don't care what anyone says, this brilliant individual knows what's up - Bill is absolutely way more of a monsterfucker than Ford could or ever will be, full stop.

[badolmen]

They don’t even attempt to assassinate US politicians anymore. You notice that? Not since the anthrax scare back for… who was it, Barack? And even that… pathetic. This new generation has no respect for an honest hitman. I’m not sure this new generation has any honest hitman - you see that shit with Boeing? Sloppy, fucking disgraceful - you kill the whistleblowers before they get halfway to a lawsuit. What kind of fucking amateur is doing faked suicides the night before testimony? Goddamn greenhorns. Back in my day someone tried to shoot Ronald Reagan in broad daylight. There used to be bomb threats to Congress. I took out a few union leaders in the utilities sector myself. Today’s generation? Won’t even threaten to throw a punch - not even over on that - what’s it now, ‘X’? They got no guts. None! And they don’t even have poor impulse control to boot! Too much of that - that panopticon anxiety bullshit. “Oh what if I get a called out post???” People used to send the president letters full of bioweapons. In the mail! Today’s generation? Not a chance. All because of woke.

[deikshen]

More DILF Shen Yuan because I woke up from that mood

Shen Yuan has an ex-wife with whom he gets along well, an older daughter who is already of legal age as geeky as he is, two younger thirteen years old twin sons, and his daughter under ten years old. He is closer to fifty than forty, and apparently a traditional life with a wife and children was what was necessary for him to accept how terribly homosexual he is.

But that's okay, he supposes. Accepting his sexuality, learning to communicate better... Necessary things. His ex-wife is now his friend, his children are well raised with lots of love and patience. Shen Yuan does not consider his divorce a failure, as his brothers accuse him, just another experience. He was not happy in his marriage. Why should he remain in a place where he was not happy?

Then one day, Luo Binghe knocks on his door.

Shen Yuan looks at the haughty man dressed in xianxia robes, a sword on his back, says "fuck not today" and closes the door in his face. Luo Binghe enters anyway. Look, Shen Yuan may enjoy the habit of reading and trashing web novels... That doesn't mean he accepts web novel protagonists ending up at his doorstep! Really!!

Luo Binghe looks shocked to see him, Shizun this, Shizun that. He looks at him as if Shen Yuan in his haughty fifties with gray hair and a tired face had two heads or four arms.

Well, it's Luo Binghe. Shen Yuan knows that he has no chance to fight him. It's not even opposed to the idea of fantasy - age drains one's imagination. If Luo Binghe is there, great, damn, he really is there.

Shen Yuan takes a deep breath, scolds him for breaking his door, tells him that he's really not in the mood for games or riddles. He has to finish correcting some important files which must be delivered no later than tonight. Luo Binghe is invited to stay as long as he keeps that sword away from his children. This week they will be with their mother, but not the following week, and that is his only condition. He's not going to let the kids near that sword.

... Luo Binghe surprisingly accepts it.

In reality, Shen Yuan is concentrating on his work so as not to think that there is a xianxia protagonist inspecting every aspect of his house. By the time he submits the corrections he owes, it's not even dusk yet and Luo Binghe is sitting on the sofa in the living room, watching a historical drama that Shen Yuan sometimes watches with a look of surprise. Shen Yuan explains the plot to him a bit and when it seems that Luo Binghe is more lost than found, he actually asks him what he wants. How did he get there? Why to his house? What does he want?

Luo Binghe looks annoyed that he has to explain - as if Shen Yuan should know beforehand or just agree to Luo Binghe's demands without asking! He explains about opening portals with Xin Mo, a strange world where there was another him, a kind Shizun married to another Luo Binghe. Something about a soul exchange, tracing the soul back to... him. Luo Binghe wants that kind Shizun for himself. He wants what is rightfully his. Why would a Luo Binghe have someone like that in his life, and he wouldn't?

Shen Yuan tries to be open-minded enough. Well, it's not like there's any other explanation. Luo Binghe shows him his claws, his zuiyin, and it's clear that he really is who he says he is. Shen Yuan assumes that a version of him (different? Who came out of the closet before marrying a woman?) transmigrated and took his favorite character as a husband, even if it is from the skin of the scum villain. Well, congratulations to him. Shen Yuan wishes them all the best.

But now there is a very real, very demonic, very traumatized Luo Binghe in his living room, watching a transmigration drama, trying to understand everything. Shen Yuan feels sad for him. He definitely needs kindness, good treatment, better care. These are not things he gets in the harem! Always having to be the provider, the protector, the one who gives his all. Shen Yuan had always been annoyed by that part of the story.

Well, now he can change that, can't he?

He tells him that he is not willing to go with him. He has a very good job as an editor, his children have an arrangement to spend one week at his house and one week at their mother's house, he has a good relationship with his ex-wife. Going to another universe would complicate his life as long as he doesn't do it during his vacation season.

However, Luo Binghe is welcome to stay. Shen Yuan will be kind to him, but if Luo Binghe wants to, he must communicate about it. And he cannot talk about other worlds, demons, harem or emperors when his children are at home. Luo Binghe doesn't quite agree, but he agrees. Shen Yuan promises him that he will take a vacation and go to that world of his to meet him, but it won't be right away. Luo Binghe is a little appeased by that.

And so, a few days later, Shen Yuan picks up his children from his ex's house and tells them: "I've brought a friend to live with us for a while."

He explains to them that he comes from far away, that he doesn't know much about the city or technology, that he speaks strangely and that it can be overwhelming. But he is a good friend, he cooks exquisitely, and he will enjoy spending time with them.

(Luo Binghe would not agree to that last point.)

They are somewhat wary, a wariness that goes away when they enter a house that smells of delicious, unburned home-cooked food. After dinner, they are more willing to accept Luo Binghe into their home and their life. And Luo Binghe does his part well: he behaves pleasantly, speaks casually, does not terrify or intimidate the children, he is a functional adult... As soon as the kids go to their rooms he looks up at Shen Yuan with big puppy eyes waiting for pats on the head for being good.

Sweet Jesus. Shen Yuan is too out of the closet for this. How will he survive this Luo Binghe who just wants to be treated kindly without spoiling him and showering him with all the love he deserves?

[mischievous-thunder]

Gender? Their gender is whatever they act like and it varies from time to time.

[irate-iguana]

We need more weird historian rep in Doctor Who. The companions are too normal when faced with the prospect of time travel. I want a companion who makes a list of super specific historical destinations related to their dissertation. I want somebody whose first reaction to finding out that the Doctor is a time travelling alien is to create a Microsoft Word document and ask, “What caused the Late Bronze Age collapse?”

[royalarchivist]

Tubbo: I don't know my left and right!

Bad: What do you mean you don't know your left and right?!

Tubbo: I'M DYSLEXIC!!!

Bad: That's got nothing to do with left and right!!!

Tubbo: Oh my god, it literally does! That's not even a bit, it's like the main thing of dyslexia! [Laughs]

Bad: I thought it was just like, mixing up the letters! You're saying you actually mix left and right difficult?

Tubbo: MATE– EVERYTHING'S MIXED UP!

Foolish: You know what, we'll see you on Twitter, Bad.

Bad: I– didn't know that, ok? I feel like– that's not a real thing!

Tubbo: WHAT?!? I'm sat right here!

Fit: Hmm... That's a little problematic, isn't it? It's a little problematic. 🤨

Tubbo: This is just like the chairs! He hates everything about me as a person!

[ Full Transcript ↓ ]

—

TRANSCRIPT

Bad: Go to the left, go to the left and–

Tubbo: I don't know my left and right! This way?

Bad: Left. Left left left!

Tubbo: [Shouting over him] SORRY!

Bad: What do you mean you don't know your left and right?!

Bad: You got it!

Tubbo: Thank you.

Bad: Yippee!

Foolish: [Laughs as he imitates Tubbo] "I don't know my left and right!"

Tubbo: I'M DYSLEXIC!!!

Foolish: [Chuckling] That was awesome.

Bad: That's got nothing to do with left and right!!! I think you're just dumb!

Tubbo: Oh my god, it literally does! It literally does.

Bad: No it doesn't!

Tubbo: I feel– Dude, I– [Puts his head in his hands] Mate.

Bad: [Sounding a little less-certain] ...Does it?

Tubbo: Yeah, it does!

Bad: Does it actually?

Tubbo: Yeah, it does!

Bad: Wait, really???

Tubbo: YEAH!

Foolish: Way to go Bad, now you're just an asshole.

Bad: Aw... :(

Tubbo: That's not even a bit, it's like the main thing of dyslexia! [Laughs]

Bad: I thought it was just like, mixing up the letters! You're saying you actually mix left and right difficult?

Tubbo: MATE– EVERYTHING'S MIXED UP!

Foolish: You know what, we'll see you on Twitter, Bad.

Bad: I– didn't know that, ok? I feel like– that's not a real thing!

Tubbo: WHAT?!? I'm sat right here!

Foolish: [Laughs]

Fit: [Sarcastic] Yeah, it's not real guys, it's not real.

Bad: No, I feel like he's making this part up!

Foolish: You see how he was mansplaining it to you? He was kinda mansplaining it too...

Tubbo: [Rubbing his temples] Just mansplaining to me dyslexia.

Fit: Hmm... That's a little problematic, isn't it?

Bad: No! I'm just asking if he's being serious or not!

Fit: It's a little problematic. 🤨

Bad: So it really isn't obvious, like your words?

Tubbo: This is just like the chairs! He hates everything about me as a person!

[dread-full]

[lolobizarreadventuresshatpost]

[gaveyouigaveyoui]

you should be.

[until-i-set-him-free]

#SMITTEN4SMITTEN ❤️

[bivekits]

hey. it's been 6 months. regretevator icons, you want 'em. 200 x 200 & free to use! ^_^

[creativesparkz]

no me mires con esos ojos

[duplicitousfate]

Does your Bluesky still exist? I haven’t been able to track it down

It does! -> Toasts bluesky for all the cult sin

I did post something new today, so y'all will have something to look at 👀

[padmestrilogy]

blue monday (extended mix) - new order

[mischievous-thunder]

It's still so unbelievably baffling that both of them felt such a soul to soul pull at that very moment that they decided to sacrifice themselves for the other person's happiness. Theirs is the epitome of a love that's pure and truly selfless.