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#decades story
antiquatedsimmer · 4 months
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🌻❤️Josephine Coombes Harrington, Welcome to the family❤️🌻
Colored Photos & Subtitles Below:
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Friday, 1908 Dear Journal,
Today started early with Mama rousing me and Pa before the sun for Si's wedding. Si, true to form, seemed uninterested, bored even, as we made our way to the church yard.
Despite a soggy autumn, today turned unexpectedly pleasant. Clear skies, a welcome break from the week's thunderstorms. However, I think Ma is stressed, she kept nagging about walking with my skirt up to avoid dragging it through the mud....
The ceremony was small, Only Josephine's parents and Jackson with his fancy wife, bothered to show. I tried my best to focus on Mama's words from yesterday, And I could see why Jackson favored her.
Skinny, porcelain pale, dripping in expensive jewelry....everything I am not. However, as Josephine graced us with her entrance, any inkling of comparison vanished.
Radiance enveloped her, surpassing the boundaries of mere beauty. She embodied something ethereal. A sunlight aura surrounded her, and I found myself akin to a sunflower, unable to avert my gaze.
Even Si seemed genuinely happy, I saw him smile from ear to ear, he clasped her soft delicate hands, and caressed her cheek.
It was a sight to see, physical or emotional affection have never been his forte, not even in our childhood.
He was initially furious with Pa over the prospect of marrying Josephine. I remember his enraged shouts, echoing from the parlor.
Confidentially, Journal, I've noticed his practiced performance of donning the façade of a gentleman and a devoted son, particularly when in Mr. Coombes' presence.
Whether genuine or an act, my earnest prayer is for him to treat Josephine with the respect she deserves. I hold a genuine fondness for her, and I welcome her warmly into our family.
Lucile Harrington
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simblrangel · 1 year
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While she waits to hear back from the University, Virginia focuses on her Skills.
Rose informs her, among many other things, that she has also applied to the Britechester University nursing program!
Start 1910 || Prev || Next >>
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aholefilledwithtwigs · 2 months
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I once had a landlord offhandedly mention that his mother had set this house on fire before. He and his wife lived on the first floor, and i rented the third.
Apparently his mom didn’t like his wife. So she set their house on fire. The house i was living in.
He assured me that everything was fine now and that this was years ago, just kinda laughed, smiled, and said ‘You know how moms are’
Yes. I know how moms are. I know how fucked up moms are as well. I have known many fucked up moms and fellow children of fucked up moms.
Attempted murder through arson is not typical mom behavior, even for a fucked up abusive mom
Oh, and his mother lived next door 🙃
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got a worm nibbling my brain. can someone help me find a piece of obscure media?
webcomic/indie comic from the 2010s. basically a sci-fi short story about a young girl (with red hair?) who was being raised by scientists as part of an experiment. she receives a haircut/has her head shaved, in preparation for her annual brain scan/testing. it is revealed that while her body is human, her "brain" is artificial, made of computer implants throughout her skull and spine. at some point her biological mother (also a scientist on the same campus?) encounters her and is repulsed, viewing her as a machine who has murdered her daughter.
it was very poignant and it bruised my heart and i can NOT find it anywhere
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starbuck · 6 months
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reading and watching “classic” books and films is such an interesting experience because, before you get into them, when you only know them by name and maybe the vaguest plot outline, they’re intimidating and stuffy and up on a pedestal, but then you finally take the leap and check them out and realize that almost every story that’s achieved such a legendary level of popularity did so because something in its emotional core reached out and grabbed a lot of people by the throat and you are NOT immune.
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blackbatcass · 8 months
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the first thing every dick grayson writer has to keep in mind is that he is defined by his kindness. second thing is that he’s an asshole. third thing is that he’s so, so angry. fourth thing is that he loves donna hinckley stacy troy more than life itself.
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wolfythewitch · 10 months
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What is it with sexy men and their complicated relationship with death
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Lackadaisy Enrichment
#in our enclosures!!#video linked as source; which i'm glad to see already has a million views and is trending. That's Right#lackadaisy#WHICH i have been reading since at least '07 when i was thirteen my god b/c this animation is based on the ongoing webcomic#like does its influence show up Directly in some Discrete way i can point to in my art? not very easily probably. And Yet.#the inspiration....i wasn't able to be Regularly Only for at least another year / art done Nonprofessionally Online was novel to me#like wow ppl can make & post fanart of w/e they love huh....didn't know webcomics were a thing & i never really read that many since but.#good god the quality of Lackadaisy at its onset is like this is superb?? this person putting in all their talent and effort???#and Then you get years & years more art and i don't even know what superlatives to throw out abt its quality as it evolves. obsessed w/it..#if i see a new lackadaisy comic page i Will be acting out. obviously this animation is a delight & also stunning. and fascinating to also#juxtapose as a Translation / Interpretation of the comic in a different medium & standalone snippet of Story#and that we're not even quite there in the comic timeline; Taking Notes abt character info we get distilledly here....genuinely love like#take it back to '07 i'm like oh boy can't wait for the dream team to assemble. then a decade later when it did? Oh Boy. that is payoff lol#namely hooray for stitches and mudbug at the field office for every passing gangster. killing one marigold associate but not the other#which seems like a promising start to shootouts w/the other dream team triumvirate. i adore that in canon so far mordecai freckle & rocky#have met but only over a nice brunch. re: all intentions anyways. anyways i'm like Gifs Must Be Made while i'm also so riled afresh abt the#comic that i've been sooo hype for for over fifteen yrs now babeyyy Deservedly. i've done a couple of rereads & ought to do another....#For Interest it'd probably take a few sittings to catch up from the start but there is much to be engaged over....this ongoing story that's#historical fiction prohibition bootlegging cats with plenty of focus on characters & several Mysteries. which i'm better at parsing now lol#like one of the more recent rereads like Oh Of Course x (probably) accidentally killed his y & z took the fall & that's a binding secret...#Not [oh of course] abt the circumstances surrounding a's death & how b & c were involved. nor the ''what's marigold's damage'' mystery#which is great. love to not know things. love that we can readily follow all the emergent drama everyone's wading in nowadays. hell yeah#anyways admire my organized approach to gifs here. four shots each Expressions Atmosphere Action Groupshots#sure might've muddled through gifmaking for this anyways but fr being a huge lackadaisy comic enjoyer for now most of my life helps#and its very Overall Inspiration like. just really getting the [you can really just draw stuff out here] going. fr the art's detail & skill#and that enrichment like i'm gonna have a great time following this. And I Have#you don't expect a crowdfunded indie animation in the mix back then but hell yeah fellas#SIGH ok removing a 4th gif that's broken / not displayed despite reuploading then entirely remaking it. if it's a bug i'll try again later
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boylikeanangel · 9 months
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mean absolutely zero hate by this at all but talking to non book fans casually about certain details of the book is literally the funniest shit ever like yall are so sweet you dont know anything. yes aziraphale gets called a faggot in the book. by an eleven year old girl. and yes crowley revives the dove at the birthday party not aziraphale. and book fans got so mad about this change that they initially boycotted the show when it came out in 2019. dont worry I dont get it either. please continue to be confused about all this it makes my day every time I see someone in my tags be outraged they put homophobic slurs in a book written in 1989 <3
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ashleyloob · 7 months
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I remember a really bizarre exchange I had on my old Tumblr back in 2015 where I argued with an anon over asks bc I wanted to eat less sugar in my diet so that I'd have less painful acne breakouts. and they took it SUPER personally for whatever reason and I specifically remember a banger line where they said something along the lines of "if you're gonna be the fucking sugar police then im becoming a sugar terrorist" and I still don't know what it means today
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clanborn · 5 months
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Origins of the Bay Clans: Stone and the Lynx (Part 2)
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The tracks led inland, further than the cats of Stone’s little clan had yet dared to travel. She followed the river upstream, skirting the thrashing current as it threw itself against the banks. The forest grew denser, the hemlocks thicker, the sharp peaks of the mountains taller, casting the valley in deep shadow. All was silent but the river, and the sound of strange, buzzing bird calls that rang eerily through the trees. Though her heart trembled, Stone trekked on, her pawsteps guided by purpose and the tracks that still sat unmistakable in the mud.
Stone had never followed a river to its origin, had never even thought of it as a possibility. Water–rivers, oceans, rains–lived outside the boundaries of a lifespan, within birth and death. Rivers weren’t something that just began, or ended, they simply cycled–at least, that’s what she had believed. 
After hours spent unceasingly hiking through the valley, Stone emerged from the edge of the treeline. The pebbled ground spread flat in front of her, before abruptly spiking upward to form the range of mountains. Two peaks pierced the sky, and nestled between them was a landform unlike anything Stone had ever seen. The river rushed forward from the base of a giant white slope, a crystalline mass carved deep with blue crevices. 
The wall shone like a piece of the moon itself, bleeding into the valley, its essence spilling into the forest before winding its way to the Bay. As Stone drew closer, she realized with a shock that the structure was made of ice, frozen solid despite the warmth of late spring.
She halted at the river’s edge, looking upon the structure in wonder. Was the moon made of ice? Had a shard of it fallen from the heavens upon the mountains? What else could create a fortress so massive, so imposing yet nurturing, whose icy waters fed the land and the bay?
These questions swam through her mind, but she tossed them to the side with a flick of her ears. For now, the answers were unknowable, and she must remain focused on her task.
She shook out her pelt and continued her path: the ground now had turned to gravel, and she tracked by scent instead of footprints. The slope turned steep, then rocky, a gray mountain face broken only by patches of unmelted snow and determined shrubs. Below her, the mass of ice gleamed, stretching out beyond the peaks like a blinding white sea. 
As she continued along the mountainside, she noticed an opening in the cliff face, a dark entrance where the ice field met the mountain. She quickened her pace until she reached the cave entrance, standing on the barrier of darkness. Here, the scent she was tracking hung in the air, strong as ever, leading her into the blackness. She slipped into the cave without a second thought
Inside was a large cave, and she quickly crossed the open stretch of ground to the back, where a darker shadow lay. A tunnel.
Curiosity drove her forward, driving away any fear she might have felt. Down into the tunnel she tread, deeper and deeper into the veins of the mountain. For ages she was guided by scent alone, and the narrow tunnel walls pressing on all sides. An eternity of darkness. 
Finally, Stone saw light, a blue glow that softly spilled into the end of the tunnel. Her footsteps quickened, and the cat entered into a cavern. Her breath hitched as she stepped into the light, awed by the sight before her. A medium sized cave rose around her, walls of smooth, layered stone arcing above her. The stone was washed with blue, for one wall was made not of rock, but entirely of ice. It was a deep, rich blue, as sunlight filtered down into the fragment of icy moon.
Within the ice wall’s bubbles and cracks hung an even stranger sight. A giant skeleton, ancient and fragmented, was trapped frozen in the ice, the remains of a creature Stone had never seen before. Though it’s thick bones and long, curved fangs were utterly unfamiliar, something in Stone knew it had once called itself catkin. A forgotten ancestor.
In front of the ice, sitting still and gray as the rocks around it, was a towering feline silhouette, its tufted ears outlined by the cold light. Stone’s fellow, wild catkin cousin. The Lynx.
The Lynx turned its gaze towards her slowly, expectantly, like it had known about her presence even before she did. Stone approached it, wary. 
“I admire your tenacity, cat” Its voice was a gravelly purr. “I thought you’d stop at the treeline.”
Stone skirted the wall carefully, keeping several pawsteps of distance between her and the creature. “Why did you assume that?”
The Lynx wrinkled its nose in a wry smirk. “Well, look at you. You’re an imitation of a cat. This wilderness is unfit for your kind.”
Stone flattened her ears, attempting to keep her voice level. “What exactly do you mean?”
“You call yourselves ‘cats’, yet your kind feeds by human hands. You have grown small and thin-furred, distant from your nobler origins. You can only survive in little packs, reliant on the work of others, unable to face nature with your own merit—A true ‘cat’ walks in solitude, you know nothing of the sort.”
Stone looked beyond the Lynx to the ice wall behind it, where the massive bones of their great ancestor lay suspended in time. “You say my kind has fallen, but have yours not? Have you not also grown smaller than this god, your fangs short, your bones thin? It too lived in solitude, yet here it lies, dead, its life unremembered by its catkin. You mock my community, but we have lived this long despite this lands’ harshness, and will continue to do so.”
The Lynx’s smug expression faded, and its gaze grew intense as it stared at Stone. “Even gods die, housecat. The only thing life guarantees is an ending.” It curled its lip. “Your ‘community’ is not exempt from this.”
Stone met its eyes, unwavering. “If we are catkin, what bars me from the same powers you possess? Surely I can learn to survive by your means, surely I can find access to your blessings.”
The Lynx almost laughed, but the scoff caught in its throat. It narrowed its eyes, suddenly thoughtful, the smirk creeping back up its muzzle.
“Maybe I can offer you a taste of godhood, little cat. The lives of my predecessors run through me, from the tip of my tail through all ten of my claws.” The deity sat back on its haunches and held up its massive paws in demonstration. For a brief moment, its claws twinkled with a faint light, like stars plucked straight from the sky.
“One of these is mine, of course. But I have nine to spare.” It tilted its head down at her, its fangs gleaming in the blue cavern light. “Provided I deem you worthy of them.”
Stone raised her head in challenge. “What would make me worthy?”
The Lynx paused to consider, eyeing her up and down. 
“To you alone I will grant these lives, thus you alone must face me.” The lynx narrowed its eyes. “Prove to me your will and strength, and defeat me in battle. If I submit, I grant you these lives, and the chance to explore this bay with greater distance between death and yourself.”
“Your loss, of course, will cost you your life.” It dipped its head towards her. “Is it a deal?”
Stone paused, hesitant, her heart fluttering in her chest. How could she face this creature in her state, small in stature, weary from her climb, completely alone? Despite her apprehension, her curiosity was stronger. There was only one chance for an opportunity like this, and even if she declined, what would stop the Lynx from killing her anyway?.
She nodded once. “I accept your terms.”
The lynx nodded back. Its fangs flashed. It stretched its claws. 
They leapt into battle.
Stone was swift, but the Lynx was strong and skilled. It battered her with massive paws, slamming her into the cold rocky floor. Stone dodged and weaved through its attacks, but the cavern was small, and every leap Stone made seemed to send her into another faceful of claws.
Her opponent threw a powerful swipe, tossing her against the ice wall with a thud. Back against the blue glow, Stone crouched low, struggling to catch her breath. Her strength was waning, and Stone knew with every moment her chances of victory grew slimmer. Her paws shook slightly. The Lynx had noticed her waver, and began to pad towards with calm, sure steps. It smiled–it was eager to finish her off. How could she win this?
She thought of the cats–the clan–she had left behind, who likely waited anxiously for their wayward leader’s return. Would they falter without her guidance? Would the glimmer of hope she had lit in their hearts snuff out with fear? If only she could lead them to the majestic moon glacier, show them the ethereal ancient glow of the blue cave, renew their spirits with wonder at the wilderness they were trapped in. Stone suddenly stiffened, steeling herself as she lifted her gaze back toward her foe. Though she fought alone in the cavern, her mind conjured the presence of her clan behind her. She would not die here. She would die among the cats she had befriended, who had banded together in their time of need. The cats she needed, who needed her to return alive.
With a burst of vigor, Stone launched herself toward the lynx’s head, her weight and confidence catching it off guard. She clung to its face, slashing its ears, her momentum sending it crashing hard into the floor. It flailed its huge paws, but Stone stood steadfast upon its chest, pressing her own paws down forcefully against its throat. Her claws dug in, blood welled up around her toes. The lynx grew more panicked, struggling wildly, its breath stuttering in strangled gasps. Stone pressed harder.
“St–Sto-”
Stone leaned close into its face. “Do you yield?”
The Lynx thrashed its head, attempting to nod frantically. “Yg-Yes!”
Stone slowly lifted her paws, releasing pressure off the creature’s throat. It gasped for air, then shoved her off its chest, throwing her to the floor. She scrambled to her paws, watching the Lynx heave. After it had caught its breath, the Lynx pressed its paw deep into the stone floor. It did so with strange power, impressing into the rock like it was mud, leaving the crisp outline of its giant pawprint. It beckoned her over. Its breath was hoarse. “Come.”
Stone approached the Lynx. She eyed it warily, nervous that it would decide to ignore the deal and kill her anyway. But it didn’t move as she stood above it, her paws settling on the edge of its pawprint, which seemed to sparkle slightly in the dim, cold light. 
The Lynx glared up at her, its cool demeanor vanished, its eyes blazing with controlled fury. “Touch your nose to the floor,” it growled. “You will receive your reward.”
Carefully, Stone dipped her head down, until her nose brushed against the floor’s icy chill. For a brief moment, all was still.
Suddenly, she was blinded by overwhelming light. The force of the glare threw her head back, and her vision was assaulted by an oppressive blur of color and noise. Images flashed in her mind, landscapes, memories, creatures she has never seen before. Each streaked by, too fast for her to fully process the scenes. Waves of emotion crashed in her, sending her reeling, thrown into a raging sea of grief and joy and fear and wonder. She felt all of time as it had crept by, millions of years of the past and future stretched out infinitely, lived all at once in a single instant. She felt everything. She felt nothing. It was the most agonizing pain she had ever experienced, swept in a flood of sheer euphoria. She knew places and beasts and times she had no name for, all lived through and known by the catkin before her. It was the longest moment of her life, but as she crouched, trembling, blinking her eyes back to the sight of the blue cavern, she realized only seconds had passed.
The Lynx had stood, and had begun moving toward the cave’s exit. It turned to look down at her, and Stone returned its gaze, panting heavily, her fur on end and buzzing with strange energy.
It was silent for a moment. “You now have eight more lives to live along with your own. More than any little cat has had before. Your blessing and your curse.” It lulled thoughtfully, its expression had settled back into its neutral stare. 
Its voice was cold, though laced with an undertone of contempt–and perhaps, Stone thought, respect. “Do not treat this victory lightly, Stone. Every day you live here will be another test, another gamble with your life. Living here is a game with no winners, and you and your fellows can only stall the march of nature for so long.” 
The lynx turned, padding toward the exit. “The gods here will meddle where they like, and though you have bested me, I can not guarantee my kin will be deterred from entertaining themselves with playthings like you.”
The god stopped in the entrance, then glanced back toward her, its face in shadow.
“Good luck, Stone. You will need it.”
It disappeared.
For a moment, Stone stood alone in the blue cavern.
She was not Stone anymore. Something had changed within her, the Lynx’s stars sat heavy in her chest, glittered on her whiskers. Just as an icy piece of the moon had fallen to the earth and become one with it, fragments of the stars had melded with her being. She was Stonestar, and her pelt glowed with the new (old?) lives that settled under her fur. 
And she was alive. More than she had ever been before. 
And it was time to return to her clan.
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antiquatedsimmer · 5 months
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Trying something a bit different! I thought maybe my story posts were hard to read in tumblr Text so I'm trying Subtitles! If you dont like them or if the subtitles works & they just need to be a bit bigger let me know! I thought Yellow might stand out more than the standard black and white.
Also ignore the subtitles error I made on panel 7
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sableeira · 11 months
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whoever edited that bsd official art to make it look like chuuya is holding onto dazai’s arm will be put on trial for irrevocably changing my brain chemistry and making me so much worse
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the original and the edit in question. this artwork really makes me crave a mid to late 19th century historical au where Chuuya is a swordsman struggling with changes to his job due to the meiji restoration and with Dazai as a detective/private investigator who hires Chuuya as his bodyguard when a seemingly harmless investigation turns dangerous. they kind of hate each other (as per usual) but Chuuya needs the job and Dazai, while he proclaims to dislike chuuya, is also very smitten with chuuya’s fighting style and temper (as per usual).
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stil-lindigo · 6 months
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Source
While reading this interview with a West Bank settler, it's important to remember her views do not represent those of all Israelis just like Israel does not represent all Jews. There has been sizeable protest in Tel Aviv against the genocide (quickly squashed under Netanyahu’s police force just like all other pro-palestinian sentiment) but it’s worth reading to get insight into the minds of average people who cheer on Palestinian deaths, and draw up a chair to watch hellfire rain down on innocents. This is the impact of years of settler-colonial propaganda - a complete dehumanisation of a scapegoat population.
It also has to be said that ALL colonialist countries are complicit in encouraging this kind of extremism, by facilitating and stoking the fires of islamophobia post-9/11. Israel is not an outlier - this kind of sentiment is festering EVERYWHERE and attempting to detach yourself and your country's identity from it is like burying your head in the sand.
If you stand on the side of Palestinians in this crisis, you have to be prepared to recognise the signs of islamophobia and fascism everywhere, and stand against them.
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stealingpotatoes · 5 months
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Okay, i just found your blog and while I adore your art, I have literally no idea who tf is the ginger guy. Like all i know is that he is ginger, has outfit that I kinda wanna steal from him and the girlfriend I really wanna steal from him
he's cal kestis!!!!!!!!! my beloved baby boy blorbo who's better known as the protagonist/ playable character of Jedi Fallen Order and Jedi Survivor!!!
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he's the best he's a jedi who survived order 66 and honestly same on the gf (her name's merrin!! and she does try to kill him a bit but then found family)
ik he's a Extra unrecognisable bc in tl4j i draw him with a new outfit + one of the other hair options from jedi survivor bc 1. I like it and 2. bc
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kiaxet · 1 year
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Sooooo y’all see the latest @somerandomdudelmao comic update? Because once again it is living in my head, which means once again my brain has generated fic. This one’s ~1200 words and slightly less tragic, depending on whether or not you take dramatic irony into account.
~~~~~~~
It starts fairly innocuously.
One of the surviving technicians monitors a computer as it finally, finally boots up successfully, whooping when the Genius Tech loading screen pops up. He grins and pats the power cable. "Thanks, Raph!"
It catches on.
A water purifier, disconnected to save a struggling power supply, gets plugged back in. It chugs back to life, and the kids responsible for its upkeep cheer and high five. One of them waves at the ceiling, where a power conduit runs overhead. "Thanks, Mister Raph!"
And it spreads like wildfire.
Every time something works the way it's supposed to - every time a much-needed device pops back to life, or the emergency doors close correctly, or a dying lightbulb flickers on one more time - they thank Raph. In gleeful shouts and careful whispers, they show gratitude for the person who gave up his life - and his second chance at life, at that - to keep them safe. It makes the emergency base, ramshackle and barely held together as it is, feel a little more like a home. A little more alive.
It doesn't take long for a few unspoken rules to develop.
They never say it in front of the metal shell. It's one thing to say it to the walls, the cables, the electricity; it's something else to say it to a figure with a face, seated against the wall like a sentinel that will awaken and protect them when danger arises.
(Nevermind that they've been in danger, constant and unending, for decades, and that this sentinel is already protecting them in smaller, everyday ways.)
They learn very quickly never to say it in front of Raph's surviving family, either. Master Leonardo gets angry when he hears it. It's an anger born of grief and loss, painful but not dangerous to allies, but given how terrifying Master Leonardo can be on the battlefield or a bad day, nobody really wants that anger directed at them. Master Michaelangelo just stops when he hears it, lips curling up in an expression too devoid of life to truly be called a smile. It's almost worse to witness than Master Leonardo's anger. No, they learn to watch themselves in front of the family, carefully taking their gratitude towards a dead man elsewhere.
Until the day someone forgets and says it in front of Casey Junior.
The kid looks up at Roger with wide, almost hopeful eyes. "Why did you- is he here? Can you feel him?"
Roger stares back at him with equally wide eyes. He'd just been grateful the computer had booted correctly for his monitor shift, and he hadn't been looking, and now he has to try to explain this to a kid who's never known a life outside the apocalypse. Oh boy. "No, uh- I mean- I don't have magic like your dads do, Casey, I couldn't-" He sighs. "It's just...a thing people do, when things work. Before the Krang, we had all sorts of machines that made life easier, and...we'd talk to 'em. Thank 'em when they worked, yell or beg when they didn't...I remember threatening a fax machine once, not that that made any difference. I think that just...kinda carried over here." Wait. "Not that your uncle was a machine or anything-"
"His body was a machine," Casey says simply, with a pragmatism that Roger hadn't been expecting. Apocalypse-raised kid. Right. "That wasn't what made him Uncle Raph. He was- it's-" Casey falters, expression starting to crumble. Pragmatism be damned, the kid is still grieving-
Rem, just coming off her shift, steps in smoothly. It's not the first time she's saved Roger's ass, both on and off the battlefield, and it won't be the last. "We know," she says gently, putting an arm around Casey's shoulders. "What Roger means is that we're grateful he's keeping us going, and that people like to bond with machines even when they're too simple to bond back. We all used to name our cars - can you believe it?"
"I named mine Red Rider," Roger says wistfully. He still misses that car.
"And I used to sneak out of the Hidden City with my cloaking brooch and go joyriding outside of human cities," Rem says, a grin splitting her feline muzzle. "I named every car I stole Phantom, like I thought I was cool."
Casey smiles - small and watery, but there nonetheless - and Roger breathes a sigh of relief. "What else did you name?"
"I mean, it was mostly cars, but some people named their computers."
"I had a friend who named her phone and just kept adding numbers when she had to replace it. It was Duchess O'Brien the eighth last I'd heard."
"I know some Yokai named their weapons, but I never really kept track of those. It was more of a Battle Nexus fandom thing."
Another Yokai leans in - a four eyed lizard whose name Roger could never remember no matter how hard he tried - and Roger shuts up. She's in charge of security now, and honestly she intimidates him. She looks around - at him, at Rem, at Casey - and then intones seriously, "I once named a kitchen appliance Toasty McToastFace."
There's a beat of silence. Casey has a lopsided grin growing on his face, like he doesn't get the joke but he knows it is one, and that's enough to lift his mood.
And then Rem doubles over, cracking up, and Bob smiles carefully. "Really loved that toaster, huh?"
"It was my closest friend," the lizard Yokai replies, deadpan as hell, before leaving the conversation.
Casey turns that confused grin on Roger. "Was she serious?"
"Kid, I have no idea. Some people are just really into this kinda thing."
Rem finally straightens up, wiping a tear from her eye with a paw. "Ohhhh boy. Oh, I needed that." She turns her smile back on Casey. "Point being, naming something makes it a little more real, and makes you a little more likely to take care of it. The system here...already has a name. We're just saying thank you, you know?"
The grin on Casey's face settles down into consideration. "Yeah, I think I do. I- Thanks. I'm gonna-" He waves at the door to finish his sentence.
"Go for it, kid." Roger waves him off as he departs, then sighs once he's gone. "God, that kid is just hemmhorraging family, isn't he."
"We all are, Roger, it's the fucking apocalypse." Rem flicks an ear.
"Yeah, but still. It's rough." There's a second or two of silence. "Also, if he says it in front of Master Leonardo, I'm denying all knowledge of this conversation."
"Spirits, same."
Roger learns a few days later - from Rem, of course - that Casey has named his chainsaw hockey stick Killer, because it's what his mom used to call him. Well damn, if kids like him are gonna be the future, then maybe they have some hope after all. He raps on a wall lightly, just below where the power conduit is mounted. "I know you didn't have a lot of time with the kid, but you did a good job." He can't help but smile. "Thanks, Raph."
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