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Demon Slayer Things
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Please keep interacting with this post because when I come to tumblr to procrastinate, this shows up again in my notifications and guilts me into writing again
Please keep interacting with this post because when I come to tumblr to procrastinate, this shows up again in my notifications and guilts me into writing again
Please keep interacting with this post because when I come to tumblr to procrastinate, this shows up again in my notifications and guilts me into writing again
Turns out Cora made it somehow- he wakes up in a marine hospital at some unknown date in the future. What's happened since he's been away?
(Story under the cut)
(Part 1/???)
The world shifts into a blurry focus. There's a plastic mask over his face and an uncomfortable weight in his throat that suggests a tube in his stomach. Hospital... Awesome, guess that means... What. What???
"Law!!!"
Even after all this time, the connecting cables are no match for the gangly arms connected to them. Tha dazed man crashes unceremoniously to the floor.
Several terrified nurses scramble to pull him upright and stub the bleeding from a pulled IV in his wrist. Greasy hair falls across his face. Letting out a sigh, he resists the urge to sweep it away and lets them do their job.
Instead, he tilts his head back. Urgh- big mistake. The tube hits his gag reflex and and a wave of nausea floods his system. Tensing his jaw, he fights the urge to vomit. The nurses mutter something about solid food and breathing. Please, for the love of God, remove this damn thing.
Out of habit, silence forms around his face. In a hoarse whisper that noone else can hear, he lets out a string of complaints and curses. Ah shit, they saw his mouth move.
"..."
"..... us-"
"Hello? Sir, can you hear me?"
Cancel. Nothing to write with. He can't use his arms with them pawing at them anyway, "Yes, hello."
Several of them take a step back. The tiny women are like little white rodents, wide-eyed and jumpy. The man wonders if they preferred him asleep, most people do.
The seemingly head nurse takes a shaky step forward, bowing her head behind a trembling clipboard. Her voice barely above a whisper, she stammers, "G-oOd morning, s-siR...!"
What's with all this 'sir' crap? His bleary eyes drift around the room until they land on the mark of the blue seagull. Ah, marines- gotcha. What was his rank again? He had never bothered to remember, especially as it kept changing. Undercover agents are kind of a special case anyway.
"What day is it?" Wait, no. Better question, "How long have I been out?"
The nurse regains her composure, taking a deep breath before answering, "I'm afraid we're going to have to do some... tests, b-before I can answer that."
Standard. That means it's been a helluva long time. Don't wanna shock the patient when he's just woken up. Great, wonderful, perfect. Steady your breathing, steady it dammit.
She takes another step. Don't yell at this random woman. She's kept you alive- her team has kept you alive. You're okay, you're safe. He can't get you. Can he get you? Fuck, how long has it been?
A soft whumf and the nurse takes a seat next to him. She stops just shy of touching, allowing her presence to be checked for threat. She's a marine med, of course she has experience with shell shock. Despite the poised and deliberate movement, the large man can still sense her fear. The bed practically vibrates with it.
Come on, she's meeting you halfway. Just say something, anything-
"Is Sengoku still around?"
Anything apart from that, you moron.
She softens, like she was expecting this, "He's already been contacted. If you do the tests, you'll definitely be able to see him."
Oh-thank-god.
Rosinante lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Fine, tests it is then.
Hours later, after being poked and prodded with every object known to man, the tube is finally removed. Cora is about ready to cry. Moving his neck has never felt so good.
The tension in the room has almost entirely dissipated. It is as if the head nurse (who's name is Florence, by the way) has diffused a ticking time bomb. Once the others were sure that he wouldn't lash out in panic, they relaxed into a professional rhythm. To their credit, nothing they did was prolonged, it just felt like it. Questions, notes scribbled on clipboards, eye tests, motor function tests, more questions.
Rosinante knows his height is intimidating, even without his background or rank. He had broken out of the restrains on his bed without even meaning to, just by waking up. The fact that this team was warming up to him so quickly was a credit to their experience and talent, not to mention bravery.
By the end of the day, he has proven that he can eat solids and use the bathroom by himself. Much to his chagrin- the idea of making these angels wipe his ass makes him want to die in a hole. Odd really, given what he thought was his recent habit of burning down hospitals.
He knows Sengoku probably won't appear the same day, but Rosinante still pouts about it. He tries not to let it show, but he hears Florence tittering about it anyway. Part of him reconsiders rescinding his cooperation, but on the other hand, he just wants the day to be over.
They plop him into the biggest wheelchair they can find and wheel his butt over to a new room.
This room is a lot more comfortable than the other one. The bed is still plain and white, but there are none of the sectional dividers or monitoring machines. It even has a corner with a coffee table and chairs. There several cabinets crammed with books, paper and utensils. Fancy. He is really getting the gold star treatment, huh.
After waving him off, Cora is finally given some time alone. The first thing he does is get his thoughts in order. He picks up a standard empty logbook and just writes. Anything and everything he can remember: his full name, his marine code, the last date he checked in, what he was doing. It comes easier than he thought it would. Years of muscle memory help ground him until he can finally fall asleep.
The blonde wakes with a start. Silence. He yawns and stretches within his little bubble. Man, he feels rough. Who kicked his ass again? Doffy? Those damn kids? Urgh, cancel.
He scans the room for a clock. It reads 5:40-ish. They'll all sleep till mid morning anyway. That's enough time to get the kid to another hospital before they get run out of town. He'll give his report later.
Wait. Wait a minute.
He shakes his head as if to clear it. What's going on? What is he doing? Where is he?
As if on cue, his side twinges. Bang! The heat of lead and the steam of a muzzle. The cold wet floor of snow. Doffy stares down at him with signature smile. No, that's not right. He's not smiling. His face is twisted into an ugly grimace. Slouch, lay down. Distract him from the wood at your back.
You can't use it. You have to listen to his monologue. After all, these are the last words you'll hear, the last ones your family will leave you with. The chair scrapes and shifts from under him. Stay still, kid. It's nearly over. You're nearly home free.
There's a clatter and a crash. Did he lose consciousness? Did it deactivate? Shit! The best he can do is throw his body between them. Grab his ankle, his ankle- stop him!
A rush of pain floods his senses as something large and flat collides with his face. Take that, bastard. Go on, kick me. See what good it will do.
"RUN!!!" He screeches, hoarse voice echoing off the white empty walls. Another shrill voice joins his,
"Oh god, sir! Are you alright? Sir!!!"
The angel effortlessly flips him onto his side, levering his own limbs in order to do so. Tiny hands cup his cheek. A cloth dipped in something wipes a trail of soft stinging next to his ear.
"No..." tears form streaks down his face, smearing the makeup, "Take the fruit... Leave me... Please kid..."
She pauses for a second. Then leans down to whisper, "It's okay Cora, we're safe now. He can't get us."
Another pause, "We have the fruit. We did it. We really did it."
That snaps him out of it. He's heard those lines before. Lines you tell dying men so they can rest easy. He lifts his head to see the nurse looking down at him with a gentle expression. For a brief second, he wonders who she really sees when she comforts people like this, before once again surrendering his limp body to her professional hands.
"... and I can't believe you didn't even break your nose!" Florence continues, "Really? Falling asleep at a desk after waking from a coma- who does that?"
She has been on his ass ever since his tiny saviour did her handover. In an effort to appear like he actually gave a shit about this lecture, Rosinante opted not to use his power. Though the repetitive hen-pecking was really testing his patience.
"I'm pretty sure it was a flashback-" interjects another nurse, playing with her hair.
"Of course it was a flashback," Florence stands dramatically with her hands on her hips, "And that's why needed something soft to land on."
"Like a bed..." he admits.
"Like a DAMN bed!" She says in unison.
Their chatter is interrupted by a slight knock. It was so quiet and polite that one could've mistaken it for a footstep, if not for how rhythmic it was.
"WE'RE ON ROUNDS!!!" yells the head nurse, not bothering to turn her head. The others turn slightly, and one breaks off to check. Cora isn't quite sure, because she's so quiet, but he thinks her name is Hazel. Fitting, given her hair colour.
The door cracks open and she squeaks in surprise, "Inspector general! Oh!"
Inspector general? Who-
"My apologies for interrupting your rounds. I came as soon as I could." Yet another man to tower over them, poor girls. Hazel stands aside, and the shadow of the other man crosses her face and slips to the floor as he ambles into the room.
Is it really him? Here already? Wait... Inspector General, how-
Rosinante's face lights up at the familiar voice. So many calls, so many reports. About the only constant thing in his life after the death of his parents, here in the flesh.
And then it falls. Deep set wrinkles scar his face. His once dark hair now faded into a grey white. Where once stood a clean cut, prim and proper marine admiral, a decrepit old man remains. How can this be? His voice still sounds the same! What the hell happened?!?
Sengoku gives an indignant huff, upon seeing his subordinate's face fall, "I'm not that old! I'll have you know this is all due to stress! STRESS!!!"
Cora can't help but chuckle. Yelling like an old man sure as hell isn't helping your case, "... old man." He mutters.
"I heard that!" The general stomps over to one of the chairs and throws himself down, "See if I ever pay your medical bills again, cheeky brat..." He rests his feet on the coffee table, earning a look of distain from Hazel.
Ah, that's why his room's so fancy.
"All hail my lord and saviour with deep pockets." He says deadpan, as he mimes praying, then kneeling. The mattress creaks under him.
"Thank Florence and her team if you're ever really feeling grateful." Sengoku waves his hand lazily.
"Already did, many times..." Rosinante swings his legs over the side of the bed and presses his hands into the mattress to get a firm grip.
"What was that?"
"THANK-YOU FOR THE CARE!!!!" The lankey man gets caught between standing up and trying to bow, the momentum sending him careening face first towards the ground.
Florence tries her best to catch his head, but she trips at the last second, leaving some the others to try and scramble over her. The effect is similar to someone knocking over bowling pins. After the dust settles, Cora is laid face down over the bodies of three nurses.
He tries to pry himself off them. Though that proves quite difficult due to the many hands holding him in place.
"Don't move!" The head nurse's muffled voice comes from beneath the pile. Several other voices chime in, telling him to stay put.
"Sorry- I'm really so- Look, I must be heavy-"
Sengoku bursts into raucous laughter, "Oh-ho my, should I leave?"
After thoroughly extracting him from the nurses and floor, Sengoku reaches into his coat and hands a stack of newspapers to Rosinante. The medical team fusses about, clearly unsure if he is ready for it, but their superior dismisses them, "Wanna know what's been going on in the world?"
"Fuck. Yes. Please." He knew he wouldn't disappoint. The next best thing would have been a cigarette, maybe later.
Cora lays them out across the coffee table. His commander picks one up and examines the date before placing it back down, "This one is the most recent."
Thirteen years, damn. That is, if this accurate. The headline reads 'Worst generation topples Kaido and Big Mom alliance'. Alliance? Huh... Rosinante slowly picks up the paper and rifles through it. Suddenly, his eyes stop focusing. Wait. What.
"Thirteen years?!?"
"Not such a spring chicken yourself, huh." Sengoku chuckles, "I know it's a lot to take in. Keep these. I'll come back and visit."
"You can't just leave..." Cora protests, "What about the-" He stops, his mind catching up with him. Why hasn't he said anything? Does he know what happened? He must do. There's no way he could be alive otherwise. Unless, this feeling of familiarity is just... It's fake. That's it, it has to be. Then again, what right did he have to expect anything else after what he'd done? Oh god-
"I knew this was a bad idea." Florence clinks a tray of tea onto the table, "Quit agitating our patient." She quickly corrects herself, "... Sir."
He ignores her, "It was a miracle I was able to get here at all, considering everything going on right now." He lifts the cup to his mouth, stopping to blow on it slightly. Doing so fogs up his glasses.
No, wait. Argh. Rosinante feels something crack in his head. Ah. Right, if course. No need to beg, no point. Sengoku just doesn't care. He woke up at the worst time possible and now he's being updated out of obligation. It's not fair. He's scared, he just wants- Just-
White hot anger bubbles under his skin, only barely being held back by his clenched fist and gritted teeth. The paper crumples and tears under his nails. A large vein pulses on his forehead. He's shaking, feeling all of the muscles in his body flexing simultaneously. The table begins to tremble. Hah... hah...
Silence.
Breathe. Get your bearings. He forces air into his lungs. In... out... in... out...
Sengoku says something, but he can't hear it. He closes his eyes and continues to focus on calming down. There's a weight on his shoulder, whatever. Hit him, he doesn't care. That's probably what he came to do anyway- to punish him for being a traitor and a drain on resources.
The breathing isn't working. His chest feels tight. Tighter than with that accursed tube. He's going to be dropped. Hunted, he's going to be hunted again. Noone will catch him this time. He can feel the warmth of torches and the vibration of mud against boot. Maybe he can buy some time, maybe he will- Keep it in, keep it in. Breathe, breathe- BREATHE!!! Why isn't it WORKING?!?!
He can't open his eyes, he can't move, he can't breathe. Doffy help-
Out. His body ragdolls against the strong shoulder next to him. Pitch black.
Urghhh... Cora shifts in bed. He thought waking up the first, no, the second time, was bad. This is worse. It feels as if he has been dragged underneath a ship. His head is pounding.
Where is he? Hospital, marine base. Okay, no more of this. The nightmares and memories have never been this close together before.
Argh. Another painful throb. If it really has been thirteen years, he has to be pushing 40, right? Probably why that stupid panic attack gave him the equivalent of a damn hangover.
A few minutes later, the door clicks open. The quick quiet tap of flats draw close to the side of his bed. He lays still. A gentle hand lays over his chest, moving with each rise and fall. Another hand presses to his neck, right under his jaw. Rosinante cannot help his heartbeat jumping. Anyone touching his neck would have had the same reaction. She leans back and sighs, "I know you're awake."
Even cracking his eyes open hurts. They're dry and swollen. Oww...
"Gimme a minute." Is the only thought he can manage to string into a sentence.
"I'll get you a glass of water, kay?" Before he can respond, she turns quickly and the tap-tap-taps fade.
Not Florence, not Hazel, this nurse is... uhh... Isla! That's right, she's the one with the mole. She returns with a glass of the best drink he has ever had. It's as if all the moisture that had been previously sapped out of his body is being shwooped directly into his veins. Wow. Good old-fashioned life juice, can't beat it.
The Moled woman quietly watches him down several glasses, her stare permeating through him. He finally takes beat to catch her eye, "Thank-you, miss."
It's a small moment, but it holds his dignity. She smiles, "No problem! Thought you might be thirsty."
The lull leaves time for Cora's eyes to wander. The room is meticulously tidy- they definitely cleaned while he slept. The logbook he'd been using has been leaned against the back wall on top of the desk, complete with a dip pen and spare sheets of paper. The front of it shows some splatters of ink, but it looks as if someone has wiped it to the best of their ability.
There's a conspicuous box next to the book, with some files poking out of the top. As soon as Isla spies him looking at it she mumbles, "Don't look at that yet."
The words feel automatic. She must be trying to avoid another incident. He nods, "...Okay." This is so awkward. Make conversation. You do remember how to do that, right?
"So uh, how long you been working here?" Smooth, very smooth.
She cups her chin, thinking, and shrugs, "Around three years, I think?" She muses idly, "I was pretty green before the attack..."
Which attack? Where even is this base? He wants to know. He wants to know so badly, but his stupid brain is on a hair trigger. Instead, "Well, you seem pretty practiced now, definitely better than a field medic at least."
That earns an airy laugh, like the soft bell of a windchime. The smile that forms is slight but sweet nonetheless. What battles have you seen, love? How many men have you saved with that smile?
He changes track, "Don't wanna assume, but I don't think I've seen any doctors around."
She nods, "That's right. We were told to keep the team to a minimum- well, at least while you were comatose."
"And now?"
Isla wrinkles her nose, "I don't see why that has to change, to be honest." Oops, he didn't mean it like that. Backtrack, backtrack.
"I didn't-"
"Nah, I get it." Her eyes flick upwards, reaching back into her memory, "From what I was told, you went into surgery when you first arrived- waaaay before my time." She cringes, "Oops, no offence!"
He's so old now. This woman is so pretty and he is so old. Haha, everything is pain.
"None taken." Rosinante tries to fake a laugh. If she notices, the nurse doesn't comment.
"I think you had specialists working on ya for a good few months, until they realised you were long-term..." She produces a pen from somewhere and uses it to tap her lip, "... Aaaand then you got bounced around a few times. You've only been here for a year or so."
She gives him an expectant look, like he was supposed to remember any of this. He does not. He runs his hand through his hair. It was washed in a sink a day ago, after all the tests. He tries not to think about how many hands have washed him in thirteen years- which proving a very hard to do.
He sighs, "So, a small team cos I didn't change much?"
Isla flashes a devilish grin, "Actually, that's the thing, you shouldn't have a dedicated team at all."
"What... do you mean... by that?" The hell? Just how much money has Sengoku dropped on him? Why didn't he just stick him on a ward with a bunch of- oh. Oh yeah.
"Well, I recon you gotta be someone with pretty high profile for the Inspector general to vouch for you for so long." She leans in close to whisper, "I shouldn't ask this, but are you being hunted? Are you an ex pirate?"
Yes, and yes.
"It's better you don't know, if you haven't been told."
"I knew you'd say that." She pouts, and the moles move with the balloon of her cheeks. Huh, cute. The nurse gestures to the mystery box, "I've been dying to read those files all morning, but the Chief said I'd lose my job if I did, soooo..." Smart. Discretion is always your friend, especially as a marine. Stay in your lane, and you don't get dragged into shit.
"You thought you'd ask me? If that's the case, why'd you stop me from reading em?"
"If you start reading them, I have to leave! There's a video transponder snail in here!" A whine creeps into her voice, "It's not fair! I wanna seeee!"
So there is. Cora can't help but grin. What a bad girl- she wasn't trying to avoid an incident at all. She was just trying get in before anyone else. Too bad.
"I'm not promising anything. You really should try and keep your job."
She opens her mouth to protest, but is interrupted by an- "ISLA!!! I KNOW YOU'RE SLACKING OFF AGAIN- WHERE ARE YOU?!?"
He cocks his head, his grin widening, "I think you should go."
She pulls a face, scrunching her cheeks and sticking out her tongue, then darts off. Tap-tap-tap.
# my favourite part about this post # is that nowhere does it say to reblog this # but we’re all reblogging it # because if we have to suffer # so do other writers
Deadline: Nathan Fillion Says ‘Firefly’ Animated Series In Development With Co-Stars Set To Reprise Roles; Concept Art Revealed
TL;DR: It's an animated series and Joss Whedon has given his blessing, but he is not directly involved in the project.
MORE DETAILS:
Today, Sunday, March 15th 2026, Nathan Fillion and the remaining core crew of Serenity announced at Awesome Con in DC that they are bringing back Firefly as an animated series called Firefly: Still Flyin'.
In the video posted on the Once We Were Spacemen (OWWS) Instagram account, Nathan detailed what they would need and who has signed on to the project thus far:
"Joss' blessing - I have it"
The rights from 20th Century Fox/ Disney: "They got excited - they said yes"
Showrunners: a married couple who met through Firefly! Tara Butters (Dollhouse, Agent Carter, Reaper) and Marc Guggenheim (DC’s Legends of Tomorrow, Arrow)
A script - "We got it." A screenshot in the video shows the first page of a shooting script for Firefly: Still Flyin' Episode #1: "Athenia" written by Tara Butters & Marc Guggenheim.
An animation studio: Oscar and Emmy-award-winning animation studio ShadowMachine - another screenshot in the video shows some initial concept art
In the video, Nathan goes on to say that the last thing they need is a home. He asks everyone to like, comment on, and tag your friends in this post to spread the word and get Firefly: Still Flyin' a home.
While it was not explicitly stated in Nathan's video, Deadline's article on the announcement states:
"Joss Whedon, who created the original series, is not involved in the animated project."
