#( Reb is bored )

[jezziekg]

Tishina!Sun, Tishina!Moon, Tishina!Patch, and Tishina!Reb :3 (Patch belongs to @pippyartz)

Random fun facts:

- Characters From the Tishina Sub-AU have desaturated versions of their color pallets

- Their colors get duller as the day goes on

- They do glow at night, but only when they're asleep

- Reb is probably one of, if not the only character with an eyebrow due to his lightning bolt design on his face

- He also tried to wear pants once to cover up his legs since he thought they looked weird, but tripped the moment he tried to walk in them

[phantomrose96]

Savit-e

My host mother is a woman with long twirling hair and more floral-patterned sundresses than I’ve seen in my entire life. She throws open the closet each morning to flick each dress along its hanging rail, sharp squeaks. “What can I even wear?” The dresses sway like summer willows. I sneak in behind her and grab a t-shirt and jeans from my tiny pile at the bottom.

She loves earrings that swing and she loves stain-glass windchimes which clink and muse while she pours me the bitterest cup of tea I’ve ever had in my life. I fill it with sugar and she chides me. I remind her of all the spicy dishes I make that she cannot eat, and she says, “Okay, I’ll let it go this one time.” She sips her tea black. The birds titter at her joke. We’ll have the same conversation tomorrow.

My host mother is Jira and I wonder how closely we might be related every time I catch that glimmer in her eyes like my mothers’. Jira is too tall to be my mother and her hair is not quite dark enough, but I like to believe I see it. I like to believe Jira’s country and mine are related, that maybe her great-great-grandparents and mine were friends before the records were scorched and the lines were redrawn. Or maybe our countries bore no relation to each other. Maybe they were friends anyway. Maybe they were enemies. I’ve heard every opinion.

Jira has a worry-face like my mother, but she uses it for different things, like plum prices at the market and rain clouds blundering through like clumsy creatures. It used to surprise me, since my mother reserved her worry-face for only the dourest things in her mind. I saw more and more of it from my mother before I left. “Baby maybe you should spend the summer home. Maybe you can get your money back.” She said she’d been reading things in the news. I told her not to worry. I would be safe in my travels. I feel stares pressing into my back while Jira leans over the plums. I notice Jira receives the stares too.

She hums a tune and busies herself in the kitchen in a dress I’ve never seen. She’s been in a great mood since her daughter came home this morning. I didn’t get a good look at her daughter at first because Jira swallowed her right up in her arms. But I got to see her better when I helped bring her bags in. Savine is lithe, baby-faced and a head shorter than Jira, and her eyes carry the same arch and slope as Jira’s. She has the same dimples and she moves in the same way, tilted forward, as if to let gravity do the work of carrying her momentum.

Savine is napping from her trip, and Jira seems to have forgotten all the slow and patient syllables she usually saves for me. She speaks in her rapid pace and I jog to keep up. Too many words slip through my grasp. One in particular I hear too many times. Savit-e.  

“Savit-e?” I ask.

Jira puckers her lips as if to think. Her eyes rove. Footsteps tap gently closer behind me, and Jira’s eyes light up as she looks past me.

“Savit-e!” she says, motioning forward as Savine rounds the counter and pulls her mom into another hug. Savine is only 10. She’s been away almost 6 months for school, according to Jira.

A nickname, I note. Savine wears earrings like windchimes as well.

…

Jira has offered to charge me no rent if I babysit Savine for the summer and cook dinner in the evenings. Savine’s summer classes are early and short, as are mine, so I pick Savine up every day at noon. “This is Reb. She’s my mom’s friend this summer,” Savine tells her school friends. I gather that Jira does something similar every year, taking in an au pair while she works the summer.

There is a park Savine likes in particular, with the tall slides and the cold water fountains and all her friends. It takes me a few days to realize her friends are new to even her. Any child at the park becomes her friend by nature of needing two to play the teeter-totter. I meet parents and I practice my clumsy language with them. They don’t stare strangely at me like the man in the plum aisle.

Three times over the summer, I hear a parent at the park ask me. “Who is Savit-e?” I point to Savine every time. I don’t think too much about it, because they always like the answer, nodding along. Savine’s friends do not use the nickname, but I experiment with it here and there. Savine lights up when I do. “Savit-e,” I call to her from the school lawn, and she squeals and bounds forward to wrap me in the kind of hug she gives her mother.

I pick up a copy of the newspaper from the corner store every day on my way to pick up Savine, and I read what I can of it at the park. The newspaper is not a person, and it does not stilt its vocabulary to be simple and clear the way people do when they notice me struggling with the tongue, so oftentimes I gather just the concepts from articles. It is my fourth week of doing this when one article stops me. I see the spelling of what Jira says out loud so often.

Savit-e.

The article is hard, but I recognize the word for murder, and the words for three men. Three men murdered, and Savit-e. I would ask Savine, but I’m afraid the article may be something upsetting.

I ask Jira that night, after Savine has gone to bed.

“A man killed three others,” Jira says, brow slightly scrunched as she skims the paper and distills its contents to simpler words I know. Her eye creases are deep by the evening lamplight. “He is not charged with a crime, because he was protecting his Savit-e.”

This sinks in slowly, and a red flush of embarrassment makes itself known on my cheeks.

“Savit-e… as in ‘daughter’?”

I use my own word for it, since I don’t know Jira’s word for daughter. Or at least, I did not know, until now.

Jira’s brow scrunch tightens, which she does whenever I’ve used one of my words she doesn’t know.

“Like Savine is to you. Savine is your daughter.”

At this, Jira nods slowly, then more quickly as she lets the meaning sink in. “Yes… Savine is my Savit-e… my daughter.”

I thank Jira for the explanation. I lie awake that night thinking too much about the parents at the park who think Savine is my Savit-e.

…

I start to dislike the newspaper. I’m not sure if it’s the summer heat sewing aggravation, or some deeper unrest, or maybe my own growing vocabulary, but more and more I notice articles that leave me unsettled. I read about the arrest of a man who looks like the man in the plum aisle. Maybe there’s no resemblance at all. Maybe any man with those piercing eyes in a mug shot feels like the man in the plum aisle. There are still many words I don’t know, but country and nation come up often. And Savit-e. More articles of someone acting in protection of their Savit-e.

My mother isn’t here to protect me. I walk more cautiously when I’m alone at night, as a woman, as a Savit-e with no parents here to protect me.

I’m in the kitchen with a knife shunking through the angled cuts of scallion. The pot for the noodles is boiling and I’ve halved the spices as I do every night for Jira and Savine. I don’t even hear the front door kick open.

I do hear Savine scream.

My heart is in my throat and my blood is cold, and I move, because in the moment I have forgotten I am a Savit-e far away from home. All that matters is Savine’s scream.

And my sockless feet are light as I snake through the dining room and round the corner to the living room, entering from the same door as the two men who now stand there, backs to me, both eagerly teasing the handles of a gun. One has Savine in a chokehold, and the men stare at Jira, pressed flat against the wall. I realize Jira does have a worry-face she reserves for the truly awful things.

And the men with their backs to me are plum-men, in ways I understand without knowing what fast and clipped words they’re shouting at Jira. The one holding Savine presses the barrel of his gun against her ear, and the windchime titter of her earrings is drowned under her scream of fear. The plum man barks a demand at Jira, and she watches with moon-plate eyes.

He barks it again.

Jira raises a trembling hand. And her digits curl, and her palm pulls inward, and her earrings clink with the slow stuttering shake of her head. She points her index finger firmly against her own heart, and she declares ‘Savit-e’.

Jira runs out through the second living room door.

“Mooooom! Savit-e!!” Savine screams, and her words choke, and she wriggles under the hold of the man. And suddenly sense returns to my body at the sound of Savine’s screams.

I am still holding the scallion knife.

I don’t remember what I do next, but the knife does.

…

There is a drawl of radio static that seems to dominate my ears. The sirens and flashing lights are background noise to me now. They’ve taken Savine away with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. They’ve assured me I’ll be able to see her, but later, once she’s been looked at, once she’s calmed down, once I’ve been spoken to.

“You are not in trouble,” the detective tells me in my own tongue with a slight accent rounding her words. She’s the only one who speaks my language. They called her in when it became clear I didn’t know enough of theirs to give a report. “You were protecting your Savit-e.”

I flinch, a little bit, somehow still capable of embarrassment with a mind that’s gone completely numb. “Savine isn’t my Savit-e.”

The woman detective frowns. I remember we’re in my own tongue.

“I mean, she’s not my daughter. She’s Jira’s daughter. She’s Jira’s Savit-e.”

The woman’s frown lessens some. “Your daughter, no. Your Savit-e, yes.”

I hold my hands near my face. They still smell of garlic and scallions. “The pot’s gonna boil over. I have to go turn off the stove,” I say, urgently, and unhelpfully, as the thought suddenly strikes and I push myself standing.

The woman’s hand is on my shoulder, and she presses me down. “The pot is not boil. The stove is off. It is okay. Who is Savit-e?”

And the question sits weird. I realize she asks it like those parents at the park.

I don’t answer. The detective chews her lip, and I see her eyes searching for a word she can’t find. “Who is your… The Most? Who is your The Above? Who is your The Most of All?”

“My most what?”

“Who is your Protect Over Everything?”

And from her face I can tell she is frustrated with her own words. There is more she is saying that I cannot know in my own language.

Protect Over Everything. I think about the scream that pulled me from the kitchen.

“I think… Savine… is my Protect Over Everything.”

And this satisfies the woman. And she nods the way the parents at the park do. “You are not in trouble. You always protect Savit-e. You must always. There is no trouble for what you did. Good job, that you protect your Savit-e. You will have her back soon.”

I go stiff.

“Jira needs her back, not me. I go home in a few weeks. I only started—” I falter. “Savine is Jira’s Savit-e.”

The detective shakes her head. “Jira is Jira’s Savit-e. Jira does not come back.”

…

I postpone my flight home. I tell my mother it’s because my studies are going long. I’ll tell her more, later, when I’m ready.

I pick up Savine every day from school as always. She doesn’t smile, and she pulls me into a hug that is too tight and lasts too long. She doesn’t want to go to the park. She comes grocery shopping with me, because it’s better than being left home alone. I look over my shoulder whenever I grab the plums.

I cook dinner and I eat with Savine, and we do this at the counter because when I sit us at the kitchen table, Savine looks too long at Jira’s empty place. I tried calling Jira once, after Savine went to bed. Her phone rang from the next room. I watched it ring until it cut to voicemail.

There’s an article about me in the paper. I can’t read most of it. Or maybe I just don’t try to. I see Jira’s name. I see the plum man words. I see Savit-e written 14 times.

I don’t know what happens to Savine if I leave. I’ve tried asking and I get too many words I do not know, and no one who can explain them better to me. But their expressions stay with me. Like the looks of plum-men and worry-faces and now this new look, which is rooted in something deeper about a country which I know too little about. It’s a sad look. It’s something I can maybe understand without the words attached. I tell my mom I might like to extend my study through the fall.

Savine has started calling me “Savit-e.”

[strangeaxel]

Im planning on also having my own stand at that convention bc AHHH I LOVED IT. I gotta prepare myself and buy some prints and make art for it and all that stuff jskwkenfk I HOPE I CAN DO IT, Ill probably announce it here, it'll be in spanish tho bc u know--- i ain't from USA or anything 😭

HERE'S THE MERCH THAT I BOUGHT BTW.

I LOOOOVED THE TF2 MERCH!!

I bought so much keychains <3 I WAS SO SHOCKED AT SEEING VINCENT HERE, I WAS HOPING TO SEE HIM AND THE OTHERS BUT I WASN'T PREPARED XD AHHHH I LOVED IT!!! I hope the artist can make more merch of rebornica, ill do it too soooo match!! :D

And prints, i LOVE THEM. I loved this convention SOOOO MUCH, this was the first time i went there so it was amazing seeing how many artist there were(?) likeee, in the comic con here it's all so boring. Always support artist as much as you can because they're so amazingg <33

And i had to leave the Instagram of the girl that made these drawing drawings bc myyyy gooood any Reb Fnaf fan needs to get all the attention here in 2024 xD

[brothermouse]

Sunday doodle 8/11/24

Pitched this idea last week and got some positive responses so here’s one part of my new project. You know where it’s a collection of sketches and letters set in a steampunk alternate history world where some guy is traveling through Deseret, drawing cool stuff he sees and trying to convince his friend back home that he’s not going to get murdered by the Mormons.

Letter transcript:

My Dear Friend Victor,

As my previous letter was sent from a rather dubious, yet reliable location, I anticipate that this letter shall outpace it and reach you first. As such, I shall briefly recount its contents.

First you must know that I am well and relatively unscathed. When I arrived in St George I believed all my rough traveling behind me and it would be airships all the way to Salt Lake. Hardly thirty minutes in the sky a band of Confederate Holdouts revealed themselves and took control of the ship, intending to sail it back to one of their secret enclaves in the South to aid in their misguided “war effort”. Fortunately they were foiled by a Deseret Federal Marshal (Lt. Whitterby of the Danite division) who subdued the rebels and orchestrated an emergency landing in the town of Kanab, a good distance east of St George. As I said, the exact details are in my other letter which I sent from the Kenab post office. The postmaster there seemed old as Methusala, leading to my doubt on the speediness of that letter’s delivery. This letter I shall send from the St George post office which is of a more modern fashion.

But I must tell you of the mechanical wonder I encountered in Kanab! After the ordeal the band of Johnny Rebs were locked securely in the Kanab town hall (the town is too small for a proper jailhouse). The other passengers and I were given a little rest and refreshment in the same building (the town is also too small for a hotel). I took this time to write my previous (or possibly forthcoming) letter and send it off. After a while we heard the sound of twin airships approaching. These were the Thunderbird and the Tiancum, which Lt. Whitterby called for. One to return us to St George and the other to take away the villains. He asked us to remain where we were, that we might witness the official arrest and then sign documents witnessing that the correct persons were taken into custody (I swear these Mormons are obsessed with everything being witnessed!)

When the Deseret Marshals marched in they were accompanied by the most peculiar automatons. I was able to make sketches, which I have included. There were four of these contraptions, one for each of the Confederates. They each bore the stern face sculpted from copper or brass, I could not tell. I was told that they bore the face of that wiley old General O.P. Rockwell, who gave our General Sherman and all those Union boys such a rough time in the siege of Echo Canyon.

Each Rockwell was directed by its operator to stand directly behind the hijackers and hold the criminals' hands behind their backs, like a pair of handcuffs. Just as I was wondering why entire automatons were called for what a mere pair of handcuffs could do, one of the scoundrels broke free and made a break for it, rushing as though he would leap out of the window to freedom! But then the Rockwell machine did a strange thing. One of its hands dropped, as if it was on a hinge and a small device extended from the open wrist. With a pop, it shot a tiny harpoon attached with a thin wire at the man. I wondered at this, as the harpoon and wire were both far too small to catch a fish, let alone a desperate criminal. But when the harpoon struck him there came a sound like a deep angry buzzing and the man became stiff as a board and toppled over as if dead!

The foiled escapee was looked over and determined to still be alive, (though with quite a lot less fight in him) and was bound in the same manner as the rest. In asking Lt Whitterby what had just transpired, he told me that the machines “Rockwell Automatons” where based on a design currently being used in both London and Chicago ment to assist local law enforcement in apprehending and holding dangerous criminals. When I brought up how easily the man had been felled, the Lieutenant told me that that particular innovation was of pure Deseret origin. In the Chicago models a simple gun is concealed in the wrist, and the London model is given a club. Both were determined to be far too brutal for the liking of the Deseret Marshals, so an alternative device was created. This deceive, I was told, delivers a small electrical charge to the target, not powerful enough to kill, but just enough to temporarily confuse the nervous system and render the target harmless.

But look! I have been writing and sketching aboard the Thunderbird so long that we have been returned to St George so that I might continue my journey to Salt Lake! I must finish this letter and mail it while I can. As always I shall write to you whenever I am able.

Your friend,

Jacob K. Steinsworth

P.S. Please thank your wife, Isabel for her insistence that I carry a pocket Bible on this trip. It proved quite useful during the ordeal with those Confederate hijackers. Again, the full details are in the other letter.

[wine-red]

Holy shit hell yeah another rebs au enjoyer lets goooooo and also a fellow selfshipper we love to see it💜 excellent taste, scott sweep

I am like, one of maybe two or maybe three people on this godforsaken app who wants that night guard [Mike] so I have to ask how is he generally characterized in your au/rewrite(?) I'm scraping for crumbs ahahgdhahd also love your art it has a very chewable texture to it like a marshmallow or perhaps a gummy worm :]

first of all, thank you very much for the silly descriptor for my art, it made me giggle! also, i don't blame you for wanting a piece of that mike schmidt action, because honestly, i do too. i'm super excited to answer this question! my mike is still true to his original goofball-hotheaded self, but the difference is that i let mike smile more than 2 times a year, if that makes sense. he's kind of like a pitbull in the sense that he looks rough and intimidating, and most certainly can be dangerous, but he's a sweetie deep down. he's just kind of closed off when you first meet him, but has good intentions. he's the guy to rag on you, but doesn't really intend to hurt anybody's feelings, if that makes any sense. i think his aggressive nature pairs really well with jeremy's timid one really nicely and provides some damn good contrast that makes their friendship all the more fun to play with. mike is, by proxy, an aggressive speaker. he talks loudly and has a terrible potty mouth, but i think he can (reluctantly) filter himself when he absolutely has to. he loves to partner with fritz (and occasionally jeremy) to pull stupid pranks and get up to no good when he's bored on the clock, much to the dismay of scott, who is usually unsuspecting of it all lmao. mike and vincent still don't get along with each other and butt heads more often than not, but they would probably be able to put their differences aside if it came to like, teaching kids to say bad words or something like that. stupid shit! overall he's a good guy who struggles with his anger due to his head injury, but he's slowly learning to better himself and build stronger connections. i love this asshole and i hope this answers your question! thank you so much for sending in this ask!

[shslquestionmark]

I saw some people do this on YouTube, and it looked really fun, so here is my randomized Role swap AU for Trigger Happy Havoc! I'll be retelling the story chapter by chapter with each character playing a different, randomly assigned role using a random number generator.

The cast:

1. Makoto Naegi, the Ultimate Lucky Student

2. Kyoko Kirigiri, the Ultimate Detective

3. Byukuya Togami, the Ultimate Affluent Progeny

4. Sayaka Maizono, The Ultimate Pop Sensation

5. Leon Kuwata, The Ultimate Baseball Star

6. Chihiro Fujisaki, The Ultimate Programmer

7. Mondo Owada, The Ultimate Biker Gang Leader

8. Hifumi Yamada, The Ultimate Fanfic Creator

9. Kiyotaka Ishimaru, The Ultimate Moral Compass

10. Celestia Ludenberg, The Ultimate Gambler

11. Sakura Ogami, The Ultimate Martial Artist

12. Aoi Asahina, The Ultimate Swimming Pro

13. Mukuro Ikusaba, The Ultimate Soldier

14. Toko Fukawa, The Ultimate Writing Prodigy

15. Yasuhiro Hagakure, The Ultimate Clairvoyant

16. Junko Enoshima, The Ultimate Fashionista

Prologue

The Protagonist: Junko Enoshima

The world sees Junko as just a pretty face. They don't know that her true talent isn't modeling, it's analyzing trends. She's simultaneously patronized as an airhead AND totally bored by a world that's too predictable for her brilliant mind. But maybe at Hope's Peak Academy, surrounded by other great talents, she'll finally find people who truly understand her...

Alas, Monokuma has other plans when he seizes control of the school and declares the start of The Killing Game.

Chapter 1: The Cruelty of a Kind Face

Lethal Example: Sayaka Maizono

Antagonist: Aoi Asahina

Partner: Sakura Ogami

Victim: Makoto Naegi

Killer: Toko Fukawa

Junko gravitates towards the bubbly swimming pro Hina. Hina seems to genuinely be what Junko pretends to be: perky, adorable, and simple. Playing along makes Junko feel good about herself.

Beloved pop idol Sayaka Maizono immediately establishes herself as a leader. She declares that they will never kill one another or obey Monokuma, inspiring the class to reb. That is, until Monokuma uses a giant industrial press trap to literally squash their hope--and demonstrate what happens to those who disobey the school rules.

It's not long after that that the first body is discovered: poor, innocent, average Makoto Naegi, only here by chance. His body is found dead by knife wound.

During the trial, a number of factors just don't add up: testimonies contradict one another, clues are out of place, etc. it only starts to make sense once Junko realizes that Hina is intentionally misleading the class. Hina's cutesy, innocent act was so perfect that even Junko was fooled. Like a dark mirror, Hina, too, only pretends to play the innocent, but unlike Junko, she uses people's misconceptions to her benefit, amusing herself by toying with people and creating chaos. Upon realizing she's been tricked, Celeste swears she'll kill Hina for this.

All seems lost until a surprising figure rises to the occasion: Sakura Ogami. At first, Junko was suspicious of the mean-looking martial artist. But now that lives are on the line, Sakura proves an observant and insightful ally, whose patience and kind words help Junko to believe in herself and guide her towards the truth.

The culprit is revealed to be Toko Fukawa. Makoto naively approached her, seeing a kindred spirit in Toko's shy, vulnerable facade and wanting to make a connection. But Toko's paranoia and self-loathing led her to misinterpret Makoto's kindness. Surely this must be a trick. Surely he'd never like an ugly, horrible girl like her. It must be an attempt to murder her. She had to murder him first, don't you see? It is only when it is too late that Toko realizes how wrong she was, and how she murdered the first person who was genuinely kind to her...

In her execution, Toko is surrounded by shadowy puppets who are furiously scribbling mean rumors and insults at her. The "pens" are revealed as blades that tear her to shreds.

Chapter 2: The Double-edged Blade of Justice

Victim: Mukuro Ikusaba

Red Herring: Chihiro Fujisaki

Killer: Hifumi Yamada

This whole time, Junko has been avoiding her sister. She fears that their bond is too broken by past betrayal, and with their different looks, personalities, and names, no one else in class even knows they're related (except for Celeste, who puts it together and taunts Junko for being a liar)

Then Monokuma releases a motive: everyone's deepest, darkest secrets, to be revealed if a murder does not occur within the next day. Junko winces to see that her secret is how she abandoned her sister when they were young, putting her own survival in a tough family over Mukuro's and leaving her to fend for herself. As for Mukuro's secret, well, whatever it is, it shakes her to her core, and she starts behaving erratically, isolating herself and gathering weapons, and everyone suspects that she will be the next killer. Instead she turns up dead, seemingly killed by her own knife.

Meanwhile, Hifumi seems to have turned over a new leaf! Where before he was off-putting and obstructive, he's become charming, helpful, and something of a leader. He forms a particular bond with Chihiro, and many jokes are made about them being a couple.

In the trial, Junko puts the clues together that someone hacked into Monokuma's files and used their findings to blackmail Mukuro into taking her own life. It seems that after Junko left her to become a superstar, Mukuro committed horrible war crimes as part of the Fenrir Mercenary Group, and feared that if anyone learned of the blood on her hands, they would never accept her. Since only the Ultimate Programmer could accomplish such a feat, that makes Chihiro suspect #1.

Indeed, Chihiro admits to hacking the secrets but not to blackmailing Mukuro. Junko pressures Hifumi until he cracks, admitting that he took advantage of Chihiro, using the secrets himself. The pressure of the Killing Game drove Hifumi to disconnect from reality and he began viewing everything through the lens of his favorite manga: a pastiche of Death Note in which he cast himself as Light, roleplaying as a charming and competent sociopath.

As he goes to his execution, Hifumi awakens to the reality of his misdeeds and begs for forgiveness. Chihiro reaches down in sympathy, but when he goes to take Chihiro's hand, it turns out to be nothing but a flimsy cardboard cutout--only 2d-- that he breaks through, falling to his death in the chasm below.

Chapter 3: Dynamic Detectives on the case of the Occult!

Victim #1 Kyoko Kirigiri

Victim #2 Byukuya Togami

Killer: Yasuhiro Hagakure

Monokuma's motive this time is cold, hard cash. Byukuya and Kyoko laugh off this paltry motive. As the two (apparently) smartest students, they begin working together in earnest to investigate who the mastermind behind Monokuma really is.

Celeste and Junko end up in a fight as they each accuse the other of not appreciating money as a motive, since they both assume that the other has never endured real hardship. When they open up about the difficulties of their pasts, they actually start to make amends.

Byukuya and Kyoko gather everyone together to share their findings, but when the class arrives they find them both dead, strangled, with a message in blood warning of the school's curse.

The investigation and trial prove to be a comedy of errors as everyone gets paranoid about the supernatural and Hina does her best to make the ghosts and demons seem real. Sakura's cool head helps Junko see past the distractions and tension to the rational truth: that Yasuhiro used charlatan's tricks to trap and suffocate the two victims and make it look like the work of a ghost.

It seems Yasuhiro is deeply in debt and not only wanted the money, but saw the killing game as an opportunity to become a massive star: the heroic Occult Detective who faced down Death Itself. A story like that would be worth millions, but not if he gets upstaged by a couple of smart detectives in suits.

Yasuhiro's execution is an obstacle course themed after a haunted house, with whirling blades help by ghosts, fire-breathing demon heads, etc. He stumbles at the first hurdle and impales himself on a plastic skeleton.

Chapter 4: The Traitor's Note

Traitor: Mondo Owada

Monokuma reveals that he has planted a traitor among them. Accusations and paranoia tear the class apart. Then Mondo's body is discovered, torn to shreds, identifiable only by his clothes and pompadour. It appears that the traitor left a threatening message at the scene of the crime.

Junko's investigation reveals that Mondo himself was the traitor. Before the Killing Game started, Mondo was insecure in his position, afraid he would never live up to his brother's legacy, and surrounded by rivals vying for head of their gang. The Mastermind offered to make his rivals disappear if he agreed to lure his classmates into the Killing Game and assure everything went according to their plan. Seeing the pain he'd caused, Mondo killed himself out of guilt, and Hina staged the body and the note.

Everyone's getting real tired of her shit about now.

Chapter 5: Liars Prosper

Victim: Aoi Asahina

Fall Guy: Celestia Ludenberg

No one is buying Hina's peppy, innocent schtick anymore. They decide to hold her prisoner in the pool's locker room so she can't cause any more trouble--only to shortly thereafter find her drowned in the pool.

Junko finds herself torn between her analytical talent and her heart. All the evidence points to Celeste being the culprit: she had the opportunity, she left physical evidence at the scene of the crime, and she publically fought with and threatened Hina on multiple occasions. But you see...

Celeste and Junko hated each other on sight. They were like oil and water. But what they discovered over the course of the game was that they understood one another in a way that no one else did. Although their personas could not be more different, at their cores they were both girls who became what they needed to in order to survive. And beneath that, they craved genuine connection: a person who accepted the real them. And they found that in one another.

Celestia swears that she did not kill Hina, but of course no one believes her, because she is the Queen of Liars. Junko's word alone is not enough to save her. Her execution is, fittingly, being burned at the stake in a witch-hunt.

Chapter 6: Final Match of the Killing Game Tournament

Mastermind: Sakura Ogami

Survivors: Junko, Taka, Leon, Chihiro

Junko believes so sincerely that the last trial was falsely concluded that she challenges Monokuma to relitigate it. If she can prove that Celeste was innocent, was executed in error, then the Mastermind must reveal themselves and end the game.

Junko investigates, but what she finds is deeply troubling. The only person who could have killed Hina was the one they all trusted without question: Sakura Ogami, who had been set to watch over her, and who claimed to have been tricked by Celeste into leaving her post.

Sakura admits that Hina had tearfully confessed to her before she died. Hina felt remorse for having manipulated and hurt her friends. As much as she hated being underestimated and talked down to, she realized that she couldn't hold these people personally responsible for all her past pain and disappointment. She said that she admired Sakura's straightforwardness, her insight, her calm acceptance of reality and wanted to be like her. She swore she's so everything in her power from now on to bring down the Mastermind. So Sakura killed her.

And why had she done all this? Why did Sakura Ogami orchestrate the Killing Game? Simple: she believes in the purpose of Hope's Peak Academy but believes that they do not live up to their ideal. They coddle their students' idiosyncrasies, letting their potential languish. The Killing Game is a whetstone on which to hone one's talent. Whoever wins must surely be The Ultimate Hope.

And isn't Junko the proof of that? After all, Sakura guided her all along, helped her bring her Ultimate Analyst Talent to new heights, breaking through every barrier, solving every case. And by exposing her, Junko had at last bested Sakura, too.

Sakura went honorably to her execution after being exposed as Hina's true killed, enduring each of the previous executions in turn.

The survivors--Junko, Leon, Chihiro, and Taka--leave the school, free but forever changed by Sakura's parting words, no longer believing in the ideal of Hope's Peak, but finally trusting and understanding one another.

This was really fun! Curious if anyone else would want to give something like this a try or if I should do the other games in the future.

[wonder-worker]

"The memory of [Emma of Normandy] was of a generous patron. At Ely an inventory made in 1134 listed her gifts of precious textiles to the church. They included an altar frontal worked in gold and silver with an image of Christ in majesty, seven cloths with gold worked fringes (orfrey) and one of rich purple fabric, perhaps shot silk taffeta (purpura), adorned all round with orfrey work and precious stones, a purpura pall for each saint and each altar, and four woollen dorsals. The twelfth-century Ely monks also recalled a blood red altar cloth with a gold border a foot wide, and the magnificent purpura one worked with orfrey and adorned in a chequer pattern with gold and gems which she made for them, as well as the gold and gem-worked silk cloths for each saint,’ and, richest of all, the cloth she gave to cover the tomb of St Æthelthryth. The twelfth-century Abingdon Chronicler told of the gold and silver shrine she and Cnut had given to the church. It bore an inscription recording the two hundred and ten mancuses of gold and twenty-two pounds of silver which had gone into its construction. At Winchester they remembered her striving with Bishop Ælfwine to adorn the church of St Swithun, a contest which she won.” Canterbury tradition recorded the cup of gold worth 13 marks, two altar cloths, two copes with gold tassels, and a golden ornamented text which Emma had given.

Canterbury was not the only church to which Emma gave books. She sent an English psalter to her brother Robert, Archbishop of Rouen. She and Cnut have been associated with a lively production of de luxe manuscripts in the third decade of the eleventh century, most of which were intended as gifts for English and foreign churches or individuals. Gifts of manuscripts linked Emma and Cnut with such English churches as York, Canterbury, London, New Minster and Bury, and with cross- Channel recipients in Germany, Scandinavia and France. Peterborough, with its strong ties to queens in general and Emma in particular, was a major centre of this production. Wulfstan of Worcester remembered how a skilled scribe and painter of manuscripts who had taught him there as a boy gave Emma and Cnut a psalter, which eventually ended up in Germany. Ervenius was the scribe who taught Wulfstan. He is the same Earnwig who followed Emma’s close associate Ælfsige as abbot of Peterborough.

Emma was an acquirer of relics, and her acquisitions were almost invariably followed by their distribution. When the bishop of Benevento visited England in Cnut’s reign, Emma bought from him the body of St Bartholomew, which he happened to have with him; she gave most of it to Christ Church Canterbury, though retaining the arm for herself. Whilst staying in Rouen after the death of Æthelred she bought the body of St Ouen, which she again split on her return to England, this time keeping the head for herself and giving the body to Canterbury. New Minster was thus particularly favoured by her gift of the head of St Valentinus. A queen’s gifts were much sought after, and sometimes the process of giving was shortcircuited. Emma kept the head of St Ouen; after her disgrace, her goldsmith purloined it from her reliquary and gave it to Malmesbury where his brother was a monk.

Sherborne attracted her largesse in a more standard way. According to Goscelin writing c. 1100, she and Cnut came to visit St Wulfsige’s shrine at Sherborne. There the king pointed out to her the poor state of the church; the poverty of the angelic citizen Wulfsige was an accusation of them, weighed down as they were by gold and jewelled ornament.” It was up to her to repair it. She gave twenty pounds’ worth of silver for the repair of the roof. Sherborne is a rare instance of Emma as a patron of buildings. She may have contributed more than general support and intercession to the development of Bury and St Benet Holme.’ But according to the surviving sources her most generous building patronage was far away in western France where the rebuilding of St Hilaire at Poitiers was in ‘large part paid for by the queen of the English'.

The patronage of both Emma and [her daughter-in-law Edith also included] land. Emma gave Newington to Christ Church, acquiring it from Cnut after Ælfric forfeited it; she bequeathed land at Kirby to Bury, and together with Harthacnut gave land to Ramsey for the soul of Cnut. Edith was remembered as a benefactor of Wells, granting Milverton and Mark to bishop Giso. Emma almost certainly made gifts of land to the Old Minster, Winchester, where she and Cnut were buried: her son Edward confirmed her grant of the urban property of Godebegot in Winchester to the Old Minster, and after 1066 the Old Minster claimed that she had left them land at Hayling Island in reversion, after the death of her servant Wulfweard the White."

-Pauline Stafford, Queen Emma and Queen Edith: Queenship and Women's Power in Eleventh-Century England

[jungleindierock]

Rebjukebox 2024 - No. 5

Welcome to my fifth playlist for 2024, it's is comprised of 40 tracks all from this year. A mix of genres from emerging bands and solo artists, mixed with a few estsblished bands/artists. This playlist is available via Soundcloud and Spotify. Hopefully you will enjoy listening to this collection of new music. Think i worked there is music from 8 to 10 different conutries. Think the way things are going i am gonna have to post one every week or fortnight. The tracks are piling up!!! But it's a great way to share new music with you all.

Ok the links for the playlist:- Soundcloud - Spotify

Stay Free Reb

Tracklist

1- CRAWLERS - Kiss Me 2- Waxahatchee - Bored 3- FRUITZ - Man On Fire 4- Love Fame Tragedy - It's Ok To Be Shallow 5- Grocer - Packrat 6- Tourist Attraction - You Were Right 7- Real Estate - Flowers 8- Great Hare - Gone Forever 9- No Windows - Fibbs 10- Atomic Tom - Let Me Show You How It's Done 11- The Empty Page - Cock Of The fifth Year 12- Telebrains - Justifer 13- VANCRYNES - Thurstin' More 14- Lazy Sunsets - You. Possibly 15- Layday - Wash Over Me 16- Bonny Light Horseman - When I Was Younger 17- THE NEW NOSTALGIA - A Fridge In Berlin 18- Arabella - August 19- Isobel Campbell - 3216 20- Kings Of Leon - Mustang 21- Bleachers - Me Before You 22- Queen Cult -Be Better 23- Winnetka Bowling League - Sha La La 24- Laura Jane Grace - I'm Not A Cop 25- Cloudbelly - Fascinated 26- Lyons Lane - Stoplight Kissing 27- Grouplove - Chances 28- Sunday (1994) - Tired Boy 29- BODEGA - City Is Taken 30- HighSchool - Doesn't Matter 31- Jamie Orr - For You 32- fanclubwallet - Easy 33- Beeef - Observational Eros 34- Jane Penny - Wear You Out 35- Cloud Nothings - Running Through The Campus 36- Sir Chloe - Over Again 37- Mannequin Pussy - Split Me Open 38- Pissed Jeans - Moving On 39- DIN NYC - N0.9 40- The Social Club - Rita

[hotmessmaxpress]

I love Reb Bull so much because they do the craziest shit and I KNOW I’d hate them if I didn’t love them. If I was a fan of any other team I’d be foaming at the mouth over them.

Fixing Checo’s car and putting him back in the race when he’s 15 entire laps down just to avoid serving a penalty? I’d be SCREECHING. I’d be LOSING IT. I’d be handwriting letters and mailing them to the fia.

But I AM a Red Bull fan. I’m a Max fan, even, who is his own brand of Out Of Pocket in addition to RBR. So instead of screaming in anger I have the pleasure of staring, jaw dropped, praising certified dilf Jonathan Wheatley for once again showing up to serve absolute cunt against the fia. There’s nothing more fun than seeing what this team comes up with next.

“ThIs SeAsON is So BoRInG” no it’s not. It’s absolutely ridiculous because this sport is ridiculous. One driver consistently winning doesn’t make this sport any less stupid or any less fun to watch.

[jezziekg]

Unmotivated

[techramonic]

maybe this is just a me thing, but literally just throughout my day columbine gets brought up. Just somehow. I remember in like August I was riding the bus home after school, and some guy was rambling to someone else (can't remember what, probably just about mass shootings in general) and he said something along the lines of "or else you'll get COLUMBINED!" and I was so taken aback 😭 ??? and then immediately I saw a restaurant named "REB" which I thought was incredibly ironic. I'm trying to remember a couple other times...uhhh...this is obviously a coincidence but I was in the car and saw some sign that said "William Sanders" :p......idk I thought it was surprising cause i was JUST thinking about columbine too. Sorry this is so long. Also my mom calls my white friends school shooters which isn't exactly columbine related but it's funny I guess

this is hella interesting and fun to read. maybe where i live is just fucking uneventful and boring or the kids here don't really give a fuck abt school shootings because it isn't a common occurence, fortunately. but yea, i have felt this way too but only on occasion. i can recount one instance, but it's pretty messed up yet intriguing.

my university had a bomb threat a few years prior. i was there to witness the mass hysteria. it's like how ppl describe it — the day starts off mundane and lackluster until you see ppl run off to different directions and try to hide in every room they can fit into, phone up their parents while crying, then rush out the gates like a bunch of caged animals. it was surreal.

during the time, i was in a radio communications organization where you basically patrol around, communicate using radios, and guard the event... pretty fun huh. I was there to guard the doors of one of the classrooms while waiting for the signal to safely escort my classmates out. luckily, everyone was safe and i just walked home with a shrug. i didn't think much of it even if it was a big thing — maybe bc of the adrenaline or that i was a kid or bc i knew school would be cancelled for the next few weeks.

now that i look back on it, the situation was terrifying. I just didn't have the capacity and maturity to understand. that very moment makes me evaluate how terrifying those sutuations of crisis are. it always reminds me of cases like columbine. just how scared do you think all those kids were when they thought their very lives were flashing before their eyes? were they also just as confused? upsetting to think abt.

also, the last part is hilarious as hell. when ppl say school shooter here, the immidiate first thought is america. land of the free ig 🦅 kackaaw

[peakyswritings]

Reb, I'm sending cake images to my moots tonight bc I'm bored. If Nina could say what she wanted, she'd send this to Tommy I know it!!

That’s definitely Nina😂😂😂 truth is these two stubborn idiots cannot stay away from each other for more than a day

[melrosing]

favorite generations of Targs?

big pref for post-Vizzy Two Targaryens. I like Aegon V and Aerys II best in terms of storyline (obviously for completely different reasons lmao), also like the Great Bastards and the Blackfyre rebellions.

fuck it. targ monarchs ranked according to me

Dany obvs. I hope u feel better soon girl

Aegon V (if he’s your fave then you like me have never had an original thought in ur life)

Aerys II (it wouldn’t be robbie’s reb w/o him <3 also thank u for Jaime’s whole arc I owe u everything)

If Rhaenyra counts im putting her here

Aegon IV (his Henry VIII slay)

Maegor (mommy issues king)

Aegon II (unduly influenced by the show here so what sue me)

Aegon I (honestly he wouldn’t rank so highly if GRRM hadn’t confirmed that he was having weird visions that sent him on his conquest which I thought was an intriguing dimension)

Aegon III (like in the way he’s actually written in F&B I find him boring as HELL but in my head his trauma narrative has such potential)

Baelor (idk I had a laugh)

Daeron II (idk the events of his reign are interesting but idk about he himself. maybe w the right spin)

Viserys I (kind of same as above but points for being interesting in the show)

Maekar (I find his kids more interesting but points for killing his own brother that was kind of metal)

Jaehaerys I (if only for the chronicles of his shit parenting)

Viserys II (well done I guess?)

Jaehaerys II (points for being a bizarre incest obsessive that makes him marginally more intriguing but not by much)

Aenys (im giving him a point for his hilarious name and his proximity to more interesting characters)

Aerys I (his reign was interesting but lbr he would probably be bottom if not for Blackfyre rebellions)

Daeron I (im sorry I just don’t care what he did in Dorne)

If I’ve forgotten any then they deserve to come last

[saltlickmp3]

Aotearoa Music Month

It's almost the end of NZ Music Month, here are my personal favourite Aotearoa artists and a few song recommendations :)

(If you listen to one song from the list make it Old Peel)

Aldous Harding. Words cannot explain the sheer bonkersness of Aldous Harding. One of her earliest songs shares the name but seemingly little else with Titus Groan, the gothic-fantasy novel by Mervyn Peake, and the music video for 'Lawn' features her in a prosthetic lizard tail. Performing live, she often stares straight ahead as though she is not quite sure why you're all looking at her. Her songs, sometimes joyous (The Barrel, Fever, Lawn), and sometimes yearning (Pilot, Party) sometimes just bored (Ennui), are all unmistakably her. Her last few albums have been produced by PJ Harvey collaborator John Parish, and her band includes multi-instrumentalist H. Hawkline (Cate Le Bon collaborator). 2022's Warm Chris was my favourite album of the year, I listened to it almost everyday for two months, the standout line (from 'Fever' being 'the weather/opened up like a birthday card' which is just beautiful. Her best song, though, I think is 'Old Peel', a 2021 single in which the percussion is Harding banging on a coffee mug with a stick. And she does this live as well.

2. The Beths. The Beths are one of those wonderful indie bands whose music all sounds so cheerful but the songs are all about the crushing weight of your insecurities. They've released 3 studios albums and an EP, but I reckon their debut, Future Me Hates Me, is their best one - standout tracks are the title track, 'Happy Unhappy' and 'Uptown Girl'. Their sounds is a mix of contemporary indie pop (lots of chirpy backup vocals) and classic indie rock dirt, especially on 'Future Me Hates Me', though their new stuff is pretty heavy live. They also use a lot of the old NZ made amps and gear that was made here in the 60s and 70s when it was too expensive to import stuff( ask any adult who was in a band here when they were younger and they'll probably have one). 'I Want to Listen' from last years' 'Expert In A Dying Field' is really lovely, if you aren't in the mood for songs about not knowing if you're lovable cos they've got a fair few of those.

3. Voom. Voom are probably on the lesser known side, but their 2006 album 'Hello, Are You There' is right up there with Grandaddy and Built to Spill. It's one of those albums with like 17 songs but some of them are less than a minute long. Beautiful indie rock, full of classic stuff like 'Jimmy's Got A Boner' 'My Friend Satan' and 'I'm Leaving Forever'. The best song on the album is 'B Your Boy', which I could listen to for a very long time, and we're going to cover it in my band and I'm so excited. It's just a perfect song.

Those are my top three (at the moment) honourable mentions are -

Reb Fountain - I saw her live. It was scary. I loved it.

Marlon Williams - last year he invented a genre, Māori disco pop, wrote the most danceable song of the year (My Boy), and played bongos on 'Come To Me' (Björk cover) live.

Vera Ellen - Some nice pissed off indie rock. 'I Want 2 B Boy' is very cool.

Pickle Darling - very vibey bedroom pop, lots of delightful little tunes. Also they work at a record store in my hometown and is always really friendly when I'm in there :)

Tiny Ruins - I'm not the most familiar with their stuff but one of my friends tells me to listen to them all the time so they must be good. Indie folk.

The Clean - Dunedin sound band, not super familiar with them but they have a song called 'Point That Thing Somewhere Else' which sounds like Sonic Youth but somehow even cooler.

Dimmer - 'I Believe You Are A Star' sort of like Portishead, by ex-Straightjacket Fits musician Shanye Carter. loudest show I've ever been to.

This one song called 'Gaskrankinstation' by the Headless Chickens, it's hella dark but pretty damn cool. post-punk.

Special Mention to Flying Nun Records, the actual coolest record label.

[call-sign-shark]

SHARK I’M IN LOVE WITH THE NEW THEME

THANK YOU SO MUCH REB! I got so fucking bored of my theme but never really knew the vibes I wanted to give with the new one. I"m sso happy you like it, I feel like a brand new person AHA.

[wolfofansbach]

Sophomore year of college when I was bored in class I would work on this idea I had for a sort-of jukebox musical about the US Civil War where all the songs were parodies of Disney songs.

I endlessly kick myself for losing the notebook I has them all written in but I remember I had one called “Let’s Secede” (to the tune of “Be Prepared”) sung by South Carolina to her sister southern states, and one called “I’ll Make Free Men Out of You” (to the tune of “I’ll Make A Man Out of You”) about the training of the USCT, which of course began with the line “let’s get down to business, to defeat the rebs”