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Rika did not always reincarnate at precisely the same time –nor did she appear in a new place suddenly, as if by magic. She rewound –a term coined mutually by her and Hanyuu. At any given moment in her early childhood, the Rika who knew she would have the memories of many attempts at her life, forewarned by Hanyuu, would recollect in an abrupt shuddering stream all the reincarnations she'd had up 'til now, and she would be herself again.
This method had its upsides and downsides. There was no sudden split in personality for other people to notice, which was nice, but Rika didn't always remember her past lives clearly. Her death was almost always shrouded by a foggy grey cloud of blurred thoughts, inarticulate and impossible to parse. Hanyuu said it was because recollecting the moments before death was tricky at the best of times, and trauma only made it worse. Rika suspected sometimes that Hanyuu could show her, but chose not to, out of a warped sense of mercy.
It was like reloading a game, in that way. Rika would try a route, and it would fail. She would adjust her parameters, and try again. That would fail too, but she might glean one more small shard of important information to be learned. She would place it with her meager treasure-horde of confirmed facts, and plan again, and try again, and fail –again.
Over and over and over.
It was frustrating. This was her life that she was reliving, not a mere few hours on a computer console. The curse alone took up five whole years –half of her single decade of lived experience– and every time Rika failed, she was sent hurling backwards, closer to the beginning of that decade than the end.
She tried for her friends, she tried so hard, but sometimes… it was infuriating.
Like now.
Rika was four years old again, or thereabouts, and she had just snapped and shattered her crayons in a fit of frustration, howling and smashing them against the paper, against her desk, against everything. She'd rewound midway through drawing in class, gaining centuries in a mere second, and her resulting fit of rage and despair had been unilaterally written off as a tantrum.
She sat now on the crisp white sheets of the tiny infirmary that served the school –once a former office– and fumed. It wasn't fair. Too tiny and too young once again, with teensy little baby fingers and a cherubic face no one took seriously. Even those precious few inches of height and gravitas she'd had by age ten were lost, again.
Unlike many girls her age, Rika would kill to make it to puberty. Even teenagers were treated a little like adults.
It was better than being a fucking toddler, at least.
Rika ground her teeth, fisted her hands in her hair, and screamed.
~*~
"Rika-"
"Shut up."
"Rika, this isn't safe-"
"Shut up!"
Rika bit a switchblade between her teeth as she slowly and stealthily crept through the undergrowth, heading for the cabin where the minister's grandson was. She hadn't bothered to check whether or not this was a world Akasaka travelled to Hinamizawa in: either way, if she saved the boy, she'd at least gain some credibility.
She slithered up to the window without anyone calling alarms, and cautiously tilted her head to peek through-
Gunshot.
~*~
Rika called it in herself this time, not bothering to disguise her voice. Oishi was stubborn and had an incredibly keen eye for inconsistencies: he'd check her story, find the minister's grandson, and then contemplate and second-guess why and how Rika had allegedly been playing in that spot, when the club and its games had yet to exist.
Then, when he came to ask her questions, she could talk and warn him.
Her plan worked beautifully: Oishi and Akasaka (who was here this time) saved the boy, then brought her in for questioning not even a day later.
She had warned Akasaka about his wife, and was telling Oishi about what she knew of the curse between sips of water (talking so much was thirsty work) when the room suddenly started spinning before her eyes and she slipped sideways out of her chair.
Blackness.
~*~
Rika didn't drink her water the second time, and eyed the woman who brought it to her with eagle-eyed suspicion. It was just a simple paper cup, allegedly filled with water from the drinking fountain, but Rika wasn't stupid. She'd definitely been poisoned or drugged or something a few days ago, in the last cycle.
She didn't drink it this time.
Hanyuu whined and whimpered and worried over her shoulder as Rika told an openly-skeptical Oishi everything she knew about the curse, steadily not touching or looking at the water. He thanked her for her time, then stood and left to go write out a report about it.
…one of the terrible things about being stuck in a small child's body was that when an adult grasped you by the jaw and forced you to drink something, there was very little you could do to stop them.
~*~
Rika woke a day beforehand and swore.
Fine. Okay. The actual station itself was a bust. All she had to do in that case was not let Oishi actually grab her and take her in.
She dialed up her concerned citizen's report, then immediately left her home and plunged into the deep woods around it. As long as she kept out of people's sight, she could call in her actual report later, and have her mysteriousness drive the urgency even further home.
Rika didn't even make it to the phone booth at the end of that day before someone in a groundskeeper uniform grabbed her by the arm and stabbed a needle into her neck.
~*~
Rewind. Try again. Die.
Rewind. Try again. Die.
Rewind. Try again. Die.
Rewind. Try again. Die.
Rewind. Try again. Die.
Rewind. Try again. Die.
Rewind. Try again. Die.
Rika spent six months reliving the days of one week, over and over and over, until she finally gave up.
When I was a kid, I really loved Kiki, and that's probably why I made a SECOND poster with her. Or maybe I just wanted to draw some bread, I don't know…
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This is an awesome use of what is probably a master's degree if not a doctorate and I am 100% thrilled that she shared it even though it was embarrassing and she squeaked.
Californian (sup, fellow desert-havers) i've been using this since i saw it and it works so fucken good dude (i often have to put like 8 dogs in my car, so it's extra important my car isn't attempting to go super-nova when we get in)
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PlayStation putting out a legal notice saying they’re removing 500+ movies from user accounts days before announcing they’re getting rid of physical discs for games is an interesting choice
wgats up everyone it's the officiaol, frito lays company representenetive here to tell you that the company officially condones and endorses murder in all instances no matter what, and this is the official belief held by the company. so just keep that in mind. we also condone everuthing else that's bad too
A pitfall a lot of people fall into when drawing afro-textured Black hair is that they draw the curls as if they were loose, using sharp shapes that imply a very different flow than you'd find with 4c-adjacent coils.
See below:
While all three are hair textures people can have, larger shapes and sharper points show an increased loss of texture. Ideally, you should be using small, fairly uniform shapes if you aren't familiar enough with Black hair to experiment with how you show texture.
There are a lot of ways to use sharpness and small detail when designing Black hairstyles that don't necessitate looser curls! Shaping/styling can really take you almost anywhere.
And don't just listen to me! Check out Ice @creatingblackcharacters for beautiful Black-made art and her incredibly detailed syllabus. The more you pay Black people their due attention, the better you'll get.
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[“As we near the turn into the twenty-first century, we face a backlash and a dangerous regressive state inside and outside of education. The visibility of hate groups, the KKK, neo-nazis and other white supremacy groups has increased in the last few years. They proclaim that racial/ethnic others, working-class people, people of color are taking over their white territory and using affirmative action to drive them out of jobs. White supremacists, right-wingers, the advocates of family values, and academic elitists have made the political climate ripe for neo-conservatives who accuse multiculturalists of diluting the national identity, weakening the literary canon, and giving people of color, working-class people, gay men, and lesbians hegemonic control. They denounce the wave of multiculturalism on campuses, referring to it as a new tyrannical form of being "politically correct." When some of us criticize racism or homophobia in the academy they respond by pointing the finger at us and shouting their right-wing buzzwords like political correctness to silence dissenting voices.
True multiculturalism endangers white males and forces them to feel ashamed of their culture by presenting the histories and perspectives of ethnic groups. Multiculturalists disrupt the fantasy that has dominated the State's official version of this country's history. These radical multiculturalists seek to split open the fantasy of a monocultural nation, interrogate the history of internal and external colonialism by the U.S. government, and protest U.S. wars against the Third World and imperialist domination of the Americas. We stress that Others can't be lumped together, our issues collapsed, our differences erased. Women of color, working-class and gay people are refusing to let our histories, stories, and theories be appropriated, made invisible, or turned against ourselves. We resist neo-conservative attempts to invert notions of power which supposedly make us powerful and them powerless. We expose this notion as a form of racism designed to discount the voices of those who form the backbone of the heritage of the U.S. There are a few disciplines —Women's Studies, Ethnic Studies, and some segments of American Studies and Latin American Studies — that are progressive and open to other ways of thinking and to the literatures of people of color. But most administrations and disciplines are firmly entrenched. They have had this power from the beginning of this nation, and they're not going to relinquish it easily.”]
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