#it's a curious addition to his uniform that looks out of place among other guards | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

demonslayedher · 3 years

Note

any random trivial thoughts you have about the lives of the slayers? i like to think that nezuko keeps the acorns inosuke gave her in a jar as a collection and that inosuke is determined to fill the jar completely, hehe. also, do you think an official announcement of nezuko’s existence was made to the lower ranked demon slayers or did it travel through word of mouth. imagine oblivious demon slayers visiting the butterfly mansion, only to be greeted/encountered by nezuko

If I may add to that thought about Nezuko having a jar, Gotouge has stated that Nezuko is okay getting tossed around and bumping her head in the box because she heals from it immediately, but one of this days Tanjiro is going to open it and it will pour with acorns and glass shards, and she'll just be sitting there glaring with disappointment. (Hopefully Nezuko keeps the jar in a safe place at the Butterfly Mansion instead!)

As for telling the whole Corp that Nezuko got the OK from Oyakata-sama and the Pillars, I can see that being like a low-key announcement that spreads like a rumor, just kinda whenever the crows get around to that detail between missions. It makes sense that Oyakata-sama wanted to tell the Pillars first, and since the Pillar meeting was coming up pretty soon when Tanjiro passed the Final Selection, Oyakata-sama had probably planned as soon as he got Urokodaki's letter than he was going to have Tanjiro and Nezuko at that meeting. Even if we set the Pillars aside, though, there's wide-spread hatred against demons throughout the Corp. It probably helped to have the Pillars generally on board first. I can imagine the rest of the Corp being very curious (if cautious) about Nezuko, and although we see characters who get the pleasure of spending time with her getting to baby her, most Corp members who meet Tanjiro probably don't get to meet Nezuko face to face. Daytime is problematic, or Nezuko would otherwise be asleep a lot of the time even if Tanjiro is busy in settings when he'd meet other Corp members. Still, I think Tanjiro's reputation as a nice guy would spread even faster, so even people who were iffy about Nezuko would probably get to know Tanjiro and be like, "oh, she's probably fine."

But if we're going to get into trivial headcanons about the Slayers' everyday lives, you know who I think gets babied more than Nezuko?

Inosuke. Most of the Corp members are freaked out by him at first, but as it dawns on them that Inosuke grew up all alone, it may bring out a nurturing side in them, and it makes everyone happy to see him get better at fitting in among humankind. They get to feel proud of him as he picks up on limited amounts of etiquette and gets marginally better at picking up names, but most of them are still likely to make a quick exit when he starts getting too rambunctious.

Zenitsu, however, is someone who should know better and most people find him really annoying until they go through Pillar Training with him, as that's the strongest bonding experience most of the Corp members have ever shared, aside from the really close bonding that probably occurs a lot among members of the same Final Selection batches. However, the Corp members who have witnessed Zenitsu in action (and who were rescued by him) have nearly the same awe for him that they have for the Pillars, so they never say anything to him about how indebted they feel.

Since more of the Corp members have met Inosuke and Zenitsu than have met Nezuko, Tanjiro's saintly reputation mostly stems from how much of those two numbskulls' company he can stand, and how he can keep them in line (keeping a demon sister in line must be easy in comparison). Also, Tanjiro is not just good at tending the fire to make good rice, his sense of smell makes him a master at seasoning food perfectly, and many Corp members have cried thinking of how their own mothers never cooked so well. Tanjiro is also very good at tending to people when they fall ill.

The Pillars are so advanced in Breath technique that they don't generally catch colds unless they are recovering from serious injury or like, poisoning themselves. Normal Corp members catch minor illnesses all the time, though, and that's part of why they're so slow to advance. They tend to have to take time for lots of little things instead of just major injuries sustained in battle. They still train as much as possible to make sure they don't get rusty when it's time to take a mission again. These recovery periods are some of the only times when they can maintain a reasonable sleep schedule, many of the members who survive to old age feel long term effects of sleep deprivation in addition to lingering injuries. Since the Corp members can't very well engage in long-term goals, simple pastimes are encouraged in the daylight hours to help keep them in the moment. The Butterfly Mansion and most of the Wisteria houses are well stocked with board games like Sugoroku and card games like Karuta, as well as tools for shuttlecock and paper for origami.

While many of the Corp members try to be virtuous, and in indeed there are other circles that have their own sort of main-character like Tanjiro equivalent, there are still those who have less polished, or certainly far less positive character. The rougher members tend to spend their salary and free time on vices. Oyakata-sama understands his children are under a lot of stress and turns a blind eye to it (or two blind eyes, I guess).

Different Breaths tend to come with their own cultures, and overtime different Cultivators tend to get different reputations based on the members they send into the Corp. Like, "Oh, Yamada-sensei? Then you must be a stickler for the 10th form" or "Yamaguchi-sensei? Are you okay out there? I heard he's real half-assed on Breath technique." There is a certain amount of awe that students of former Pillars automatically get, and although some of that is due to pride and jealously, people who have been in the Corp long enough tend to get over these notions and just realize that everyone's doing their best. Since they're core Breath styles there may be other Thunder and Flame Breath users throughout the Corp from different Cultivators, but, pardon the pun, they can't hold a candle to the students of former Pillars (or the Rengoku clan in general) and it's highly, highly unlikely any of them would ever get close to the same level of mastery. There's plenty of Muratas in every Breath, basically.

Speaking of Murata, he and others like him probably had an easy time of settling down and getting married after retirement. Years of experience as swordsmen certainly gave them a mature edge over the average Joes they otherwise would be compared to, but they also have the advantage of not being freaks. Takeuchi remains life-long friends with Yushiro.

The young maidens of Wisteria houses get flirted with all the time. Many of the Corp members are starved of TLC, and while the maidens of the Wisteria houses are polite and have deep respect for the work the swordsmen do, they know they likely will not know most of them for long. However, when there is a true connection between a Corp member and a Wisteria House family member, they tend to make very solid matches. Girls make up a slim percentage of the swordsmen in the Corp, and this is why they tend to get sent on undercover missions a lot more. Demons tend to put their guards down more around women, as they'd more likely be on the look out for male swordsmen.

Girls make up a larger proportion of the Kakushi, and traditionally feminine skills are highly prized. Gotou is very proud of his sewing skills, even though he only does small repairs and has never been tasked with tailoring full uniforms. The Kakushi use a lot of code words and have a very insular work culture that is hard for outsiders to break into; even Oyakata-sama finds himself confused by a lot of it, but he appreciates that it makes them efficient and mostly leaves them be to organize themselves as they see fit (his orders are still absolute, though, so none of them are aware how much autonomy they effectively have.)

Hand signs like "don't breathe" and "don't listen" are unique to the Corp (yes, I have looked them up, consensus in the Japanese fandom is that they are unique to KnY), and taught by Cultivators. Inosuke didn't have a Cultivator to teach him so it took him a while to catch on the existence of hand signs. He makes up his own confusing hand signs to impress people with how flexible his joints are.

For many, Pillar Training was harder than undergoing Cultivation (but still less harrowing than the Final Selection). In Cultivation they tend to get specialized attention from someone who cares about them and actually knows a thing or two about how teaching works. Pillar Training does not fit this explanation at all, especially in the teaching department. As mentioned before, this is when a lot of Corp members who used to find Zenitsu insufferable come around and start to appreciate him more, for they survived different stages of training together, and every time he blew his top and complained, they were grateful he gave (loud) voice to what they were thinking but were too afraid to say. Instead of getting down and depressed, it riles them up enough to keep at it, however ridiculous the Pillar's demands are. Suffering under the Pillars also broke down perceived barriers between different ranks, building a more solid level of comradery among a lot of the Corp. However, this was also the most time most of the Corp members ever got to spend with the Pillars, who they always felt were untouchable and who they feared bothering. They feel very genuine affection for them by the time they all enter the final battle.

Once Inosuke figures out that Zenitsu can only bring out his full abilities in his sleep, he tries to goad Zenitsu into fighting him at full strength by insulting him in his sleep. He did throw a really good punch at him one time, but usually he only sleep-argues back. Other times Inosuke hits a sore spot and Zenitsu starts sleep-crying, in which case Inosuke gets bored and leaves. Once Tanjiro realizes this about Zenitsu (thanks to Inosuke having point-blank explained it to him), he puzzles over it and figures Zenitsu may not be aware of how powerful and helpful he is, and this hurts his confidence, but then again, how can he not know if he's so aware of his surroundings even in his sleep? As Zenitsu sleeps, Tanjiro has been puzzling over this a long time and how he might best be able to help Zenitsu reach his full confident potential, and by the time Zenitsu wakes up and drowsily looks over at Tanjiro, Tanjiro looks him in the eye and very seriously asks, "Zenitsu, what is your problem?" Naturally, Zenitsu interprets this as Tanjiro suddenly being very disappointed in him, and Tanjiro has unwittingly done more harm than good.

On the contrary, Tanjiro has unwittingly done a lot of simple good for most of the PTSD-suffering Corp members with his little throw-away positive comments, just like he did for Muichiro and Aoi. Most of the Corp members have never met Oyakata-sama, so Tanjiro is to many Corp members what Oyakata-sama is to the Pillars. It's like they all have an Oyakata-sama shaped hole in their hearts and Tanjiro just falls into it like a good proxy. After all is said and done and Tanjiro and Nezuko read all the kind wishes left for them in deceased Corp members' wills, Tanjiro is consumed with some guilt that he can't place faces to all the names, though he remembers the majority of them. While his memory is still fresh he works hard to recall the ones who escaped him, and then he makes sure to refresh his memory every year with annual visits to the graves.

#kny fandom theories and meta #or just general headcanons #but they have their basis in little fanbook details like favorite games and such #Kimetsu no Yaiba #Demon Slayer

82 notes · View notes

benjimirthursby · 4 years

Text

"Couriers and Recalls.” - The Book of Thursby.

*******

"When the seas become rough, gulls will fly inland seeking shelter, often many miles beyond the sight of water. It was a telling oman to my crew that the gulls were fleeing to high seas on an easterly wind as we put into port."

- Benjimir Thursby, The Analects.

The approach to the quay was quite. Little in the way of command was required as the crew was well versed in hoisting and taking in sail. Harlond was located south of Minas Tirith along the shore of the Anduin river. The approach required sailing into both wind and the flow of the river. Oars were manned to allow the vessel to turn back downriver, as to port with her bow facing downstream. The work was eased by the addition of the crew from her sister vessels which were lost during the sortie. The commander of the three vessels that set out months before joined Captain Benjimir on deck, looking out over the ruined city of Osgiliath to the north. Osgiliath was the last and chief defense against the ever festering Enemies to the east.

"To Port mister Bondermir and rack oars." Benjimir called out from the forecastle. The vessel began to make her turn to port, at last letting the wind and river work to her advantage.

Fishing and merchant vessels felt the first press of the enemy abroad before the first Orc had assailed Osgiliath. In years of escalating boldness, pirate fleets from Umbar, haven of the Faithless and their disciples, assailed ship and port alike. As with the guard of watch which the southern Kingdom of Gondor had maintained across the land, the boundaries of safe waters had rolled back to the shores of the coastal fiefdoms. The battle at sea was now some ten years in duration. What proper navy Gondor had once kept seaworthy was long since committed to the depths. The crews of the lost ships were scattered to what now passed for a fleet. Intense devotion and pride kept the fighting traditions alive among the mariners. They fought very differently as well as very different enemies than their countrymen ashore.

"Amidships, take-in sail and cast line." Benjimir called out. The fields of the Pelennor at harvestmath, white walls and gated levels of the fortress city of Gondor now rose above Benjimir.

The vessel putting into port this day had been among the first to put to sea and battle. Not war. No such declaration had been made against Umbar, nor even the pirates awash in Gondorian cargo and blood. Certainly no effort to provision Gondor with a navy were made. Such was the will of the Steward of Gondor. The strength of Gondor at sea came from Belfalas, Anafalas, and the fiefdoms to the south of Minas Tirith. That support had made it possible to hold a line in the water that kept the Enemy away from most of Gondor. Thus far, the distance from their home ports kept the threat from venturing further north than the Bay of Belfalas.

Past voyages had ended like this one. Others with with a measure of satisfaction. There were no longer cries to return to sea seeking to avenge losses nor any sense of shock at them. What held now was the most any at sea knew could be achieved. The Enemy had itself paid for what it took many fold. Yet no expectation of victory raised voices in song nor lifted spirits aboard ships such as Benjimir's. Only the desire to never permit defeat while any alive could put to sea.

"Drop anchor, linesmen stand too fore and aft. Mister Bondermir, prepare to hail our arrival." Benjimir ordered.

The quay had only a few small boats docked, none of size or lines of the approaching vessel. She was neither a ship of war nor a merchant vessel. Her hull was laid down within site of the castle of Dol Amoroth in Belfalas, built in a yard owned by Benjimir's own family. A main mast and smaller masts fore and aft could allow her to hoist more sail than merchant vessels or fishing boats. Her lines nearly suggested a ship of Umbar with sharp edges along the bow and castles fore and aft. Yet she road higher in the water than they did her decks sloped inward from the water line. She was fast as most any at sea, hard to board in combat and her crews came to feel it's name was both title and promise.

"Entulesse arriving!" Bondermir, the ship’s first officer cried out, ringing a bell mounted to the aft mast twice.

The linesmen threw ropes to the men waiting on the quay, one, dressed in a hauberk emblazoned with the White Tree crested with seven stars of Gondor was looking intently at the forecastle and the men there. He shouted up to Benjimir, “Ahoy aboard, is the ships master with you?”

“Aye,” Benjimir hailed back, “but master Gatewood of the Andustar is here too, he commands this mission.” Benjimir gestured to his commander.

“Verily, I come from the Citadel seeking the Entulesse and bearings dispatches. You are ordered henceforth to the Citadel with all possible haste Captain Thursby.” The courier called back.

“Have you no dispatches intended for the commander?” Benjimir asked, the Entulesse now squarely against the quay and being tied-off by the men ashore.

“Nay sir, but I should venture that the Lord will wish a report from commander Gatewood as well. I have mounts here at the stable waiting.” The courier answered, gesturing to the stable some ways from the ship. Benjimir nodded in acknowledgement and turned to commander Gatewood.

“Three months at sea, the loss of two ships, and we return to a courier asking for me and no obvious interest in speaking to you sir?” Benjimir posed to Gatewood who was still pondering the curious welcome himself.

“You have me at a loss mister Thursby.” with which Gatewood and Benjimir turn to walk to the quarters. Such a summons demanded immediate response and despite having to leave as soon as the gangway had been laid down, the Citadel demanded proper uniforms for whatever the visits purpose. “Mister Bondermir, see to the docking, we will be below.” Benjimir instructed and ducked through the passage entrance in the forecastle.

Some minutes later the gangplank was hoisted over the side of Entulesse and the master and commander strode down to the quay. Each now dressed in the black hauberk, crested with swan wings at the chest and white down the center. The mariners hauberk was little worn at sea and even less frequently seen ashore in these days. The wings recalled the ships that carried the faithful of Numenor to Middle-earth in a past age and were often associated with Befalas and the Prince Imrahill’s standard. The courier stiffened to attention as they approached, he led them to the stables where they mounted and began a swift ride to Minas Tirith.

As they rode commander Gatewood queried the courier as to the purpose of the summons. “Is the commodore not aware of the dispatch we sent when we entered the mouth of the Anduin? I cannot recall one of my captains being summoned in my stead.”

“I know word of your return was received m’lord, the couriers from the delta remain swift. All about Harlond know of the loss of Andustar and Rommena. There is a council underway at the Citadel. They likely as not will want you hear your report of your ships’ sortie. However I was only given orders to summon the captain as soon as he could debark his ship.” The courier explained.

“I have served my own stay in the Guard friend, I am sure you have some word as to the reason for my being urgently called on.” Benjimir asked. He had indeed begun his time in the service of Gondor as a guard in the Citadel. Several of his brothers had likewise served. The Guard was at once a common soldiers duty but considered high honor in Gondor. There was accordingly a pride among those who share such service and this was what Benjimir sought to cull information from the younger lad.

The courier glanced toward Benjimir as they rode. “A messenger from Belfalas arrived shortly before your vessel. What word he carried I do not know, but the Steward issued his summons for your shortly after. I would say it was that, not some notion of the Lord Denethor that brings you to the Citadel. More than that I do not know Captain.”

“Thank you.” Benjimir said sincerely.

The men continued their ride at a renewed pace, in silence save for giving passwords to challenges as they passed through each gate of the city. At the upper most level, their mounts were taken to the stables and the courier lead them to an anteroom adjacent to the hall of the King. A council of the cities commanding guards and actuaries was taking place. The Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor could be heard questioning several men. After nearly an hour of waiting a page took commander Gatewood to speak to the council. The gathering ended with the commander's report and he reappeared at the door to the anteroom seemingly relieved yet purplexed. Benjimir rose and moved to speak with him in the Hall. He had been in the Hall before, but the statues of the late Kings and throne set on high drew his eyes even as he spoke to Gatewood.

“Where away?” His eyes now seeing the Steward shielded by a variable wall of knights and attendants.

“They appear as uninterested in my report as their attention to my return suggested.” Gatewood said. “The only question of note was if you had survived and were in my company.” He continued.

Denethor’s eyes caught sight of Benjimir from across the hall. Then he gestured to him and asked dryly “Is this the one?” A knight at Denethor’s side nodded. The knight had a crest akin to Benjimir’s own, he was from Belfalas and in the service of the Prince. “Very well then, take and be gone with him. If his father thinks it wiser to secure commerce hither and yon over the shores of Gondor so be it.” Denethor said with crass disdain.

The council dispersed as the Steward turned and left by a passage to the rear of the Hall. The knight approached Benjimir and nodded respectfully. “Captain, you have been recalled to Belfalas at the request of your Father Tinafalas, by the grace of my lord and with leave of the Steward. You are to travel to Dol Amoroth and await the pleasure of Prince Imrahil.” The knight handed a scroll to Benjimir, affixed with the seal of his father.

“I am at the Prince’s service. I will depart at once.” And with that Benjimir bowed, turned and with commander Gatewood departed for the stables.

#lotro #lord of the rings #tolkien #landroval #ffxiv #ffxiv rp #ffxiv mateus #ff14 ffxiv #ffxiv roleplay #ffxiv crystal

3 notes · View notes

elizaviento · 6 years

Text

Protect & Serve

Okay. @lolliequinn gave me the inspiration for this Cop Rick x Reader fic that’s been brewing in my head for the last few days. This first chapter contains a good bit of the Reader’s back story and, yes, this will be another multi-chapter affair. (Although, it won’t be nearly as long as Assimilation. You’re welcome, lol.) Anyway, without further delay--

Protect & Serve (part 1)

(Cop Rick x Reader)

SFW (for now, but not for long)

(FYI: Additional chapters of Protect & Serve can be found in the Rick Fic Masterpost link in my blog description. Or, you can click the #protect & serve tag in this post, within my blog, to access additional chapters.)

*****

I met my first Morty a year and a half ago. I had been brought in to assist with an initial evaluation at the group home he was assigned to three weeks after his entire family had disappeared. The exact circumstances that led to the disappearance were hazy at best and all anyone could seem to get from the poor boy is that his grandfather was the ultimate culprit. Every other detail Morty begrudgingly divulged seemed ripped from a fever dream; talk of portals, interdimensional travel, alien worlds, alternate realities, infinite versions of not only himself but of nearly every person in existence. Yeah, I had seen more than my share of cheesy science fiction films, but none were ever as descriptive or – dare I say – believable as what poured from Morty Smith’s mouth.

Eventually, he was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic and was put on so many medications that he soon became just a shell of a boy. I continued to see him on a regular schedule; no less than once a week. When he wasn’t drugged up into a near catatonic state, he seemed happy to see me. I would try my best to get to the truth of what happened to him and his family, but he would either constantly change the subject or tell the same story he’d asserted time and time again. After several months of this, I changed my tactic and just tried to be a friend to him. I would show up to our weekly appointments with games, candy and junk food and spend our allotted hour trying my best to go over his personal goals which consisted of relaxation techniques, educational milestones and socialization. He was a sweet boy and I felt him growing on me as the months passed. And, even though his trauma was severe, I could see the curious, fun loving side of him hiding just underneath.

Then, one day, he was gone.

I’d arrived to the group home at the same day and time as I usually did, expecting to see him either in his room or in the common area playing video games. But, when I checked in with the receptionist, she told me to take a seat and the director of the home would be by to fetch me shortly.

“I’m sorry to be the one to inform you, but Morty Smith was claimed by a relative last week, right after your last visit,” the director said when we were securely behind the closed door of his office.

“How is that possible? It says in his chart that he has no other family. He’s essentially an orphan.” I opened his chart and began scanning through the information for what felt like the millionth time since he’d been assigned to me just shy of 6 months earlier.

“A man showed up claiming to be his grandfather’s twin brother. After searching through family records, we confirmed his story.”

“Okay,” I replied, pinching the bridge of my nose. “But that still doesn’t explain how this man was able to just take Morty and stroll away with him. Morty was court ordered to this home. There would have to be another court hearing to determine if that man was even fit to care for Morty, given his serious diagnosis!” I was beginning to raise my voice in ire as I continued to explain my position. There was no way any of this could be possible just from a legal standpoint alone, not to mention an ethical standpoint.

The director just blinked at me and gave the same speech he’d given seconds earlier. It was like he was in some type of trance and any countering argument or insistence of further information was swiftly knocked down.

“Fine.” I conceded, standing from my chair to prepare to leave. “Then I have no choice but to report this to the state’s child protective services. I have a duty to Morty as his case worker to make sure he is cared for and safe and I have not been given the proper assurances or required documentation. I’m also going to note in my report that you, personally, have neglected your professional duties as the director of this facility.” And, with that, I left.

When I made it to the sanctuary of my car, I couldn’t stop the tears that stung my eyes and leaked down my cheeks. It was a blessing but also a curse that I had a personal conviction to care for children such as Morty. I didn’t know if I would ever find out what happened to him, but I swore to myself – and to him – that I would try my best.

However, when I finally got home that evening, I was shocked to find him sitting on my living room couch.

“Morty! What the hell?!” I screamed, startled. I dropped my bags on the floor to quickly closed the distance between us, kneeling directly in front of him. How did he get in here? How did he even know where I lived?

The first thing that struck me is that he looked… different. He had put on weight – no longer the bone thin boy who hardly ate during meal times – and was dressed in a suit and tie. His hair was slicked back and he no longer sported dark circles under his eyes. He looked like a normal teenage boy dressed up for a junior high school dance.

He didn’t speak. At least, not at first. He only placed a hand on my shoulder with a calm smile and turned his head in the direction of my dining room where a man sat in one of the chairs. He was dressed in some type of guard uniform and looked eerily familiar.

“What’s going on here, Morty? I was at the group home today and they said you were released to your grandfather’s twin brother.” And, that’s when it hit me. The man sitting in my dining room looked identical to the photos I’d seen in Morty’s file of his grandfather, Rick Sanchez. “Is that him?” I asked. Then, leaning closer and lowering my voice - “Or is that Rick?”

Regardless of how discrete I had tried to be, the man had obviously heard me as he quickly rose from his seat and began to approach Morty and I. Instinctively, I shifted my crouched position so that my body was completely in front of Morty, attempting to shield him from any harm the man may try to inflict.

“It’s okay,” I heard Morty say from behind me, placing his hand on my shoulder once again. He sounded calm and lucid which immediately took me aback. “I’m not the Morty you think I am. But, I’ve been watching you and I’m very impressed with the dedication you’ve shown to the Morty of this dimension. We could really use someone with your type of character on the Citadel to help other wayward Mortys.”

At this point, I was completely speechless and felt my stomach drop to my toes. Morty – my Morty – had spoken of the Citadel many times during his, what I assumed to be, psychotic ramblings. Could it have all been true? No, it couldn’t be…

The man dressed in the guard uniform was now standing directly in front of me and was offering his leather gloved hand. Seemingly running on autopilot, I took it and allowed him to pull me to my feet and slightly away from Morty. Then, I heard the flush of a toilet and whipped my head toward my bathroom as it opened to reveal Morty – another Morty. This one was dressed in a white button down oxford shirt and black slacks and was carrying a briefcase. Around his neck, there was an ID badge that read –

Morty Smith N-1519 – Personal Assistant to the President

“Mr. President –” the other Morty began, glancing at his watch, “– we need to get back soon. You have a speech in two hours and you must prepare.”

Morty – President Morty? – nodded and turned his attention back to me. “The Morty from this dimension is fine, by the way. We took him to the Citadel last week. You’re more than welcome to see him, if you decide to join us. So, what do you say?”

--------------------

A year later, I found myself standing outside of a run down, abandoned building in the middle of what the locals called ‘Morty Town’, waiting for my mandated and mandatory Citadel Police Department escort. As I flipped through the files of each Morty suspected to be squatting in the building, my mind began to wonder back to that night, when my life was flipped upside down. As I stood here now, I didn’t regret my decision to move to the Citadel. It was actually very easy to leave my old life behind considering most of my family lived on the other side of the country and I didn’t have many friends to speak of since I was a self proclaimed workaholic. Once I had agreed, President Morty gave me two weeks to settle things in my home dimension before sending his assistant and the guard back to fetch me. He then gave me an additional two weeks to acclimate myself to Citadel life, which was decidedly more difficult.

Mortys and Ricks. Ricks and Mortys. Everywhere.

I’d never met a Rick before that night in my apartment. But, being thrown into an entire space station full of them was very unsettling. Mostly because they were all exactly alike but incredibly different. It was an oxymoron of there ever was one and I fumbled through the nuances of daily life among them.

Getting used to the throngs of Mortys was just as difficult, which is something I should have expected. Thousand and thousands of 14 year old boys stuck in the middle of space with almost no females – of course it was an adjustment, to say least. Despite the constant giggling, red faces and awkward flirting, most of them were joys to work with – except for the ones that weren’t. But, those were different stories in and of themselves and the main reason I was recruited and voluntarily gave up my life on earth to come here.

I was suddenly pulled from my thoughts when I heard the crunch of tires on the gravel covered asphalt and turned my body to face the police cruiser as it approached and parked just behind my car.

“Hello, Officer Sanchez,” I greeted with a smile as he stepped out of the cruiser and adjusted his utility belt. He gave me a small smile in return as he strolled toward me with his hands in his pockets.

“Just call me –”

“Just call you Rick,” I cut in, smiling wider. We played this game almost every time he was required to meet me for what was mandated as a ‘risky’ assignment and somehow, it hadn’t gotten old. At least, not for me.

“One cream, no sugar,” I said, plucking a cup of coffee from the drink holder on the roof of my car to hand to him.

“Uh, thanks. You didn’t have to –”

“I know,” I acknowledged, cutting him off again. I seemed to do that an awful lot and it sent a frustrated blush to my cheeks every time. “Just consider it a ‘thank you’, okay? I know it’s your job to come assist me with these visits but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

He only nodded in response as he took the cup from my outstretched hand, his fingers lightly brushing mine in the process. Immediately, my neck and cheeks flushed anew.

Damn it.

As much as I hated to admit it, I had been harboring a crush on Officer Sanchez for most of the year I’d been here. The first time I found out that I was required to take a police escort on ‘risky’ visits, I had been offended. I was a seasoned professional at that point and knew how to take care of myself in iffy situations. I had even taken self defense classes and carried mace on me at all times. I tried arguing this point with my boss - another Rick - and even went to President Morty myself, but it was hopeless.

“You’re the best we’ve got. Most of the Mortys trust you but you know first hand that some of them have been traumatized well beyond trusting anyone. This is for your own safety.” He then left me standing in the waiting room outside his office, frustrated and determined to make miserable any officer who was unlucky enough to be stuck with me. What an absolute brat I had been.

“What – what do we got?” Rick asked me, taking a sip of his coffee and leaning casually against the side of my car.

“Um – looks like four Mortys are squatting in this building. All of them are presumed to have been caught up in the unsanctioned Pocket Mortys ring and are most likely still chipped,” I replied, flipping through the files to try to familiarize myself with each Morty’s individual look.

“Yep,” he agreed, placing the coffee back on the hood of my car to check his utility belt. He pulled out a taser and handed it to me. “Take this.”

“Rick, you know I can’t –”

“Just – just take it,” he interrupted, grabbing my hand and thrusting the weapon into my open palm.

I relented with a sigh and shoved it in the back pocket of my jeans before pulling an elastic band from the opposite pocket. I then proceeded to tie my hair up into a tight bun, remove my earrings and other jewelry, and pull the belt from the loops of my jeans. I’d worked with troubled kids long enough to know that the first rule of thumb is to never give them something to grab on to.

After throwing the jewelry and belt into my car, I took a huge gulp from my coffee and dumped the remainder on the asphalt.

“Ready?” he asked, removing his sunglasses and tucking them into his pocket so I could finally see his breathtaking brown eyes.

“Yeah. Let’s get this over with.”

To be continued...

P.S. Thanks for reading! I think this will be a fun journey. :)

#rick and morty #rick sanchez x reader #rick sanchez #fanfiction #cop rick #cop rick x reader #protect & serve

81 notes · View notes

voyagerafod · 7 years

Text

Star Trek Voyager: A Fire of Devotion: Part 3 of 4: Sweeter Than Heaven: Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Although she’d been at several weddings in her life, Captain Janeway had never officiated over one before. She knew the routine fairly well, having heard the standard speech given by Captains before. She’d even heard Tom Paris’s father give the speech once, but now it was her time to do this, and she had to admit she was excited.

There was also a fear that she would somehow mess it up, but it was a small fear, easily pushed aside until the ceremony was over and she could breathe a sigh of relief that nothing went wrong for Samantha Wildman and Seven of Nine.

What she couldn’t help but find bizarre about the situation though was where the ceremony was to be held. She’d assumed it would take place in the mess hall, since that’s where such events were usually held on a starship, even if Voyager’s mess hall was actually a post-launch addition to the ship, converted by Neelix from what had been the Captain’s private dining room. Even getting married on the holodeck wasn’t unusual. But instead, the ceremony was to be held in front of the wall of Borg alcoves in cargo bay 2.

“That is where my journey began,” Seven had said earlier that day when she and Samantha had come to her ready room to tell her their plans. “That’s the room I was in when I first realized I was no longer a drone, when I started to become human.” When Janeway had suggested the mess hall, Samantha had chimed in with, “Hey, at least it’s not in the turbolift where we first met.”

Another unexpected choice was to have Marla Gilmore as a guest. Janeway knew of course that Gilmore had been the one to help Seven of Nine and Joe Carey escape their confinement, but she had had also been partially responsible for their capture in the first place. Perhaps Seven felt she owed Gilmore, despite that.

Janeway pushed those thoughts aside though once she reached cargo bay 2, making sure her dress uniform was as straight as possible as she stepped inside. Seven and Samantha were already there, both of them wearing their standard uniforms. Naomi was there, of course, talking to her mother. Marla Gilmore wore civilian clothing, as did Neelix who was standing guard over the cake Samantha had asked for as though he expected some armed men to come and try and take it. Harry Kim had his own dress uniform on and was talking to Gilmore and Seven.

“I’m not late am I?” the Captain said, smiling. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to face her. “Not at all Captain,” Samantha said. “In fact, I think you’re early.” “Good,” Janeway said. She’d actually known she wasn’t late, but didn’t feel like announcing her presence in any formal fashion. The dress uniform was formal enough for her as far as she was concerned.

Samantha and Seven, wearing their uniforms instead of anything more formal or traditional, shared a look. The later smiled and nodded at the former.

“Since everyone’s here,” Samantha said, “I suppose we could start early. Would that be alright Captain?” “Of course,” Janeway said. Seven got to work letting everyone know that the ceremony was about to start, and soon everyone was standing at attention, except for Seven and Sam who held each other’s hands, and Janeway who stood in front of both of them.

The music of the couple’s choice, selections from a ballet called Coppelia, began playing while Janeway began the standard captain’s wedding speech.

“Since the days of the first wooden sailing ships,” she said, “all captains have enjoyed the happy privilege of joining together two people in the bonds of matrimony.” “There is actually considerable disagreement amongst historians about that,” Seven said. Samantha laughed, as everyone else in the room tried not to. “Honey, let her finish,” she said, trying to stifle her giggling. “Sorry,” Seven said, looking genuinely apologetic. “That just sort of slipped out.” Janeway grinned and shook her head. “It’s probably just nerves, Seven, don’t worry about it. Anyway, as I was saying, it is my honour to unite you, Annika Hansen, and you, Samantha Wildman, together in matrimony.”

The rest of the speech continued on without any further pedantic interruptions. When it came time for the vows, Samantha went with the standards, ones based on western religious traditions on Earth that had over the centuries become increasingly secular and common amongst people from all backgrounds, even amongst non-humans. Seven, on the other hand, had prepared her own.

“Throughout the past few years, I have often had people comment on my bravery for one reason or another. But they are wrong, because when it came time to pursue the thing that would have the greatest effect on my life after leaving the Borg collective, I stayed silent. I had feelings for you, but out of fear of failure I kept it to myself. Even when others,” Seven glanced at Harry Kim, “could see it and told me to take the chance, I did nothing.

“I didn’t have the words for it at the time, but I thought you were too good for me. That you couldn't possibly love me, because you were human and I was Borg. In the end, you were the brave one. You always were, from the time you first saw me, still just a lost drone, my skin still pale, and still covered in Borg technology. You were among the first to be kind to me. And you were the first to come to me, to make me face my feelings, to get me to tell the truth, and that is a large part of why I love you so much, Sammy. You bring out the best in me.

“I will never take you for granted. You are the one that I want. I don't know if I'm worthy of you, even still. To me, you still seem better than I deserve when I spent eighteen years of my life causing so much pain, but I'm not going to let that bother me anymore. Because I can see it in your eyes when are together. When you say you love me, I know it’s true. I can hear it in your voice. Due to my own cowardice, I nearly lost that. It is through simple good fortune that I didn’t, and I won’t forget that.

“I love you, Samantha Wildman. I'm grateful you love me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Thank you for being brave, for both of us. Thank you for choosing me.” Seven stopped. Janeway knew she was supposed to say something else now, but was distracted by her own tears. She noticed that everyone else in the cargo bay was crying as well. With the ceremony being shown on all shipboard channels she had to wonder if there was a non-Vulcan, non-hologram on Voyager that wasn’t. “Captain?” Samantha said. “Are you okay?” “Fine, sorry,” Janeway said. She searched her memory for the rest of what she needed to for the rest of the ceremony, and sped them as quickly as she could without stumbling over the words. She pronounced the couple as officially married under the power invested in her by Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets. Sam and Seven fell into each other’s arms, kissing passionately, while the small group around them applauded. Naomi ran up and threw her arms around both Sam and Seven. Janeway casually walked up to Harry Kim, and leaned in to talk to him quietly.

“I’m curious,” she said. “How is it you knew those two would end up together before even they did?” “Because it’s happened before,” Harry said. “And now it’s happening again.” “The Year of Hell?” Janeway said. Harry nodded. “Hmm. Maybe it is fate after all. Though obviously, Seven seems to think it better that she not see it that way, and I see no reason to discourage that line of thinking. I always thought it was kismet with Mark, and look how that ended up.”

Harry shrugged. “If there were a right answer for love captain, everyone who wanted it would have it. We do the best we can, and if it ends badly, it ends badly.” “That is oddly less cynical than it sounds, Harry,” Janeway said. “Anyway, I think it’s time to send the happy couple off on their honeymoon to the holodeck.” “No M-class planets nearby?” “None that aren’t populated by pre-warp cultures,” Janeway said.

---

As they walked down the corridor towards their quarters, hand in hand, Seven of Nine and Samantha Wildman would nod politely at any crewmember they came across who congratulated them, but their focus was on each other. When she saw no one nearby, Samantha stopped walking for a moment. “Annie,” she said, “I just want to thank you again, for what you said during the wedding. That was so beautiful.” “Thank you,” Seven said. “I meant every word of it.” “I know you did. I just feel both flattered and confused that you’d see me as the brave one of us. I don’t know if I could’ve faced some of things you have and come out the other side sane. Hell, that whole thing with the Equinox nearly broke me.”

“There’s more to bravery than simply keeping a cool head in a crisis, Sam,” Seven said. “But enough about that. I’ve finally figured where we can go on our honeymoon.” “Holodeck 1 or Holodeck 2?” Sam said with a wink. “Ha ha,” Seven said in a deadpan tone of voice. “I mean I believe I have chosen a program you will find satisfactory. I was researching the origins of my surname given at birth out of curiosity some time ago, and traced it an area of Earth called Scandinavia.” Samantha’s jaw dropped. “Oh that is perfect, we could go skiing! I haven’t been skiing since my academy days.” “Saunas are also a distinct possibility,” Seven of Nine added with a smile. “I love you,” Sam said. “I know,” Seven said.

---

“And with that, Lieutenant Torres,” the Doctor said, closing his medical tricorder, “you are finally clear for duty.” “I can’t help but feel like you took as long as you did to clear me to punish me,” B’Elanna said. “Punish you for what exactly? I mean besides the self-induced near death experience that both the captain and I warned you against of course?”

B’Elanna groaned. “Nobody likes a smart-ass Doc.” “Well, then why am I dating you?” Tom Paris said, smiling. B’Elanna just rolled her eyes and shook her head. My boyfriend the comedian, she thought. “So,” the Doctor continued speaking after putting his medical instruments away. “did either of you happen to catch the broadcast of the ceremony this afternoon?” “I slept through it, actually,” B’Elanna said. “I heard it, and frankly I’m not amused,” Tom said. “What do you mean?” the Doctor said. “Good question,” B’Elanna added, crossing her arms. “Seven’s speech,” Tom said. “Sets the bar pretty high for anyone else on this ship who might wanna get married before we get back to the Alpha Quadrant. I don’t know how anybody could top that.” “It was certainly lovely,” the Doctor said, “but I honestly think you’re overstating things. What made what Seven said to Ensign Wildman so beautiful was its sincerity. As long as no one tries to go out of their way to just one up Seven of Nine, I’m sure anything said at any future Voyager weddings will be just as romantic and poignant.” Well put, B’Elanna thought. “Good point,” Tom said aloud. “I suppose I’ll have to watch the recording of it after my shift,” B’Elanna said. “But for now, it’s back to engineering.”

“I’ll be on the bridge,” Tom said. He put his arm around B’Elanna’s shoulder and the two left sickbay together.

“Was it really that good?” B’Elanna said. “Whatever it was Seven said to Sam at the wedding I mean?”

Tom looked around, as if make extra certain no other crewmembers were within earshot. “Just between you, me, and the bulkhead? I cried.” “Damn, sounds like it was good,” B’Elanna said, genuinely surprised at Tom’s admission.

---

Marla Gilmore stared at herself in the mirror of the quarters she was forced to share with two of the other Equinox survivors. There were enough crew quarters for each of them to have their own of course, but a loss of that kind of privacy had been just one part of the punishment she and the others had been given by the Captain.

She didn’t complain though. Noah and Angelo were almost never here at the same time she was, the former being trained to work in Voyager’s astrometrics lab, the latter having been assigned to security division under Lieutenant Ayala’s supervision. As for her, she took one last look at her pip-less uniform, clean and pressed, in the mirror before heading to her shift in engineering, working under the Vulcan engineer, Ensign Vorik. I just hope someday I feel like I deserve to be wearing it again, she thought.

She headed to engineering, and when she got there she was once again struck by how quiet the place was at this time of ‘night.’ That could change at a moment’s notice if a crisis occurred, but as part of the night shift she wouldn’t have to carry much if any of the burden. As the old academy joke went, “night shift just means you watch the monitors for eight hours unless something comes up, then you go wake up Mom & Dad,” meaning the Captain and the First Officer.

She didn’t mind though. The last time she had been in charge of engineering, she’d followed an order that had led to so much suffering she honestly didn’t care that she was so far down the chain of command that the operation officer would be called down here to run things before she’d ever have to be in charge again.

“Miss Gilmore,” Vorik said in his usual formal tone. “Hello Vorik,” she said. “What’s the schedule for tonight?” “A routine cleaning of plasma injector ports,” he said. “Sounds good to me,” Marla said. Vorik raised an eyebrow, as he always did whenever Marla expressed enthusiasm for tasks that were normally considered boring by the rest of the engineering staff, but unlike the first time she’d done it over a week ago, he didn’t comment.

Such tasks were boring of course, but necessary to keep a ship running smoothly. She also knew that she could actually take the time necessary to do them properly, a luxury she hadn’t had on the Equinox for years. When she could do repairs, they were always rushed. More than once she’d had to bypass procedures in a fashion that would make a Federation safety officer’s head explode.

---

Brian Sofin, as well as Angelo Tassoni, being the sole surviving security officers of the Equinox, had been added to Voyager’s security team under the constant supervision of either Lieutenant Ayala or Lieutenant Anderson, depending on the day.

Unlike the regular officers though, they were not allowed to have phasers just yet, and mainly only took part in drills.

As far as Sofin was concerned, they were getting off light. It still amazed him that there were any people on Voyager at all who were polite to him. The majority were clearly uncomfortable, likely afraid of being betrayed again, but while no one had explicitly forgiven him, or anyone else from the Equinox as far as he knew, but others had expressed a degree of sympathy. He did not feel he deserved it.

When he entered the mess hall, dimly lit as per usual during a ship’s night cycle, the only sentient there was the Talaxian, Neelix, who was putting utensils away. “Oh, hello,” Neelix said, and Sofin nodded back politely. “Mister Neelix,” he said. “I apologize if I interrupted anything.”

“Not at all,” Neelix said. “Is there anything I can get you before I close up for the night?”

“No,” Sofin said. “I just needed a quiet place to do my daily report for Lieutenant Commander Tuvok. I’m afraid that Noah snores.” “I can recommend an old Talaxian remedy for that,” Neelix said. “Did wonders for me when I had that problem. At least according to Kes anyway, assuming she wasn’t just trying to spare my feelings.”

“Kes?” Sofin said. “My ex-girlfriend,” Neelix said. “She came aboard Voyager with me six years ago.” “What happened to her?” “That’s a much more complicated story,” Neelix said. “But one I’d be happy to share with you when I’m not headed for bed.” “I don’t get it,” Sofin said. “What?” Neelix said. “How you can be so kind to me after-”

“You were in a difficult situation and made some bad choices,” Neelix said. “I hate to break it to you, Mister, um, I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name when you came aboard.”

“Sofin. Brian Sofin.”

“Brian. Got it. Anyway, Brian, there’s hardly a sentient alive without some kind of regrets. You did something bad, sure. But punishment is not my purview, it’s the Captain’s. And my empathy was, last time I looked, not on the list of things the Equinox survivors are not allowed to have while they’re on Voyager.”

“I guess not,” Sofin said.

“So, as I said, if you’re free during the day tomorrow, swing by and I’ll tell you all about Kes and what she meant, not just to me, but to the rest of this crew. It’s a great story,” Neelix said, smiling. Sofin, reluctantly, smiled back. “I bet it is.”

#a fire of devotion #part 3 #chapter two #fan fiction #star trek voyager #sam7

0 notes

darkflare-oc · 7 years

Text

Demonic Ambitions Part 1

The night filled the sky, but it wasn't silent. The local nobleman was throwing a party and there were many guests conversioning as well as the music that was playing by a band. In addition to all the other rich people attending, there was one other group that were hired to make sure things ran smoothly. They were the Centurion Security force. Guards were placed near entrances and exits, snipers on lookout in the roofs and there were even some that hid among the guests. If anything happened, the Centurions were ready to put a lid on it before any casualties would happen. In one of the rooms they had set aside, another group was monitoring the party through the camera feeds, both from the mansion itself and some they placed themselves. One of them stood out the most however, a large man easily over 6 feet. He wore the Centurion uniform although his had the sleeves torn off. He had mid length black hair that was very messy and a beard and sideburn combination to go along with it. His eyes were red and the rest of his face had a bit of a scary look to it. He stretched his arms as he looked over at the cameras overlooking the place, a bored expression in his face.

“Another snob party, another night where nothing happens.”

“You could at least pretend to look interested. Can’t really expect a fight out of all these missions.” Said one of his coworkers.

“Yea yea, but I hate being assigned to these guard duty missions. I prefer to be the one attacking instead of defending.” said the large man.

“It’s a nice change of pace not always worrying about my neck.”

“Clearly you haven’t been with my regular squad enough. Nothing like the thrill of the fight.”

“Forgive me for preferring to live.”

“Heh, you clearly chose the wrong job for it.”

The coworker was about to speak before the large man signaled to hold his thought as he began fidgeting with his communicator

“That’s odd, he’s not the type to call someone who’s on duty.”

He proceeded to answer it

“This is Aaron.”

“I trust everything has been quite so far?”

“Everything’s clear. Now get to the point.”

“I need you to do some recon.”

“Eh? Recon?”

“Yea, we’ve had some weird energy readings near where you are. They appear to be demonic energy.”

“Oy Lucas, you do know my kind and yours are supposed to play nice, right?”

“I’m not being.....look...the readings show multiple smaller readings with a much larger one with them. Just need you to go in, check it out, if it’s nothing get back to your original mission.”

“If I may ask...”

‘Why check this? Well, unfortunately, there are still a few of us from both sides that refuse to play nice. We’ve had reports of some suspicious behavior that matches these readings. Besides, I don’t like the idea of undoing decades of peace between ourselves.”

“Gotcha, it’ll give me a chance to stretch these legs of mine. Send me the coordinates and I’ll have it checked out.”

“Understood, Lucas out.”

As the communication ends, Aaron signals his coworker to put up a screen. With the computer mounted in his wrist, the coworker proceeds to create a hologram map marking their location and the readings. Aaron take a curious look as he notes the readings.

“I can see why they’re concerned. That’s quite a lot of....small readings. Big reading on the back, this formation looks pretty organized to me. Heh, tonight might be fun after all. Too many small fries though, I’m going to need some men to assist.”

“Shall I contact HQ for reinforcements?” said the coworker

“Won’t do much good, they could be gone by the time they get here. I’m going to need a few that we already have here to come with me.” He points toward the large reading in the map.

“This reading is pretty strong, if push comes to shove, I’m going to need to support to keep these small ones out of me while I deal with the big guy. These little guys aren’t a problem by themselves, but they got the numbers. Hate to admit, but I could be in trouble if I do it alone.”

Aaron began to step out.

“I think these rich snobs will be fine with...I dunno....3 less guards? We’ve guarded similar places with less before.”

#story

0 notes