it’s interesting to me that ichigo canonically has so much reitsu that he can increase abilities of the people around him, if he spends enough time with them, which is why chad & orihime have powers (or at least, the ASSUMED reason since chad’s really a fullbring) but both of their abilities have to do with like, having more soul than everyone around them, basically, which is a power ichigo himself was born with
like chad says that he feels the power of his abuelo dwelling in his right arm & that his own power is in his left, while orihime’s power is having six different spirits that are supposed to represent her soul. canon describes it as being like a shiginami’s sword, which makes sense, because they all, like, are housed in her hairclip, there’s still more variation just one weapon one power (an oversimplification, i know)
there’s no real point to this post, i just think it’s fun that out of everyone ichigo could have met, he gravitated towards the kids with powers closer to his
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Wait, was Belos just using random corpses he found as temporary bodies??? Cause this is the rabbit, I think it's a rabbit?, before the goop covers it. And it's pretty rotted as is with the exposed spine and ribs.
Then we get this:
Where the skull looks exposed as well, with the goop then making the horns. So are all of the bones Belos left behind just corpses he happened across? Were some of them alive? Was it both? and did they just...lose skin and whatever was left the longer that Belos had them?
Would that have happened to Hunter given enough time? Could Belos have possessed a normal person if given half the chance?
If he could he probably didn't only because of his thing about 'saving humans' which is why he didn't immediately try to kill Luz. Would he have possessed one of the other kids though?
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When she enlisted, Regan thought - she didn't know what she thought. She was there, when the Emperor took her seat. She was there, numb, tired, wondering what use a little girls' words would have for her, what she would gain from a war that wasn't hers. Regan's thought about it a lot since then. She has a list in her head of questions she would ask if she was the right person.
Regan was a butcher. The death throes of men are similar to those of pigs.
Generally speaking, war is boring. This is the first thing Regan learned. She isn't on the front lines, and she isn't a strategist. And if she was, she scarcely thinks that would change the fact. Rumors would have you believe Emperor Edelgard is a suspicious creature who scarcely trusts her own chair, let alone her generals. Regan would never know the battles for the war. And battles scarcely come her way. It's monotonous. It's empty.
Another thing she learned is that Faerghus is not as desolate as the nationalists would have you believe. About half of the propaganda she's seen so far tout it as a frozen wasteland rife with barbarians, that Adrestia can bring the finer things to its people, if they'd only come under her wing. The nearest town is wary of them. But Regan has more in common with the young man holding a chicken by its neck and a big knife in the other hand than she does with the child on the throne.
It is cold, though. It is terribly, terribly cold. The flowers that spring up here must be hardier than the feisty things they cultivate in Leicester, or the large bright flowers that unfurl only in the hot sun back home. Regan has a favorite - they are small blue flowers that grow in clusters. She doesn't see them in the forest, but the young man with the chicken coop has a sweetheart with a garden. They venture out into their homelands' cold spring with bare arms, and Regan wonders why.
She doesn't have a good reason for enlisting. If she'd been born richer, she would have been a painter. Her cheap paper curls under her cheap watercolors, and is covered in small blue flowers. If she trusts the words of a girl who is more likely a liar than an idealist, maybe her daughter will get to live like that. Regan sighs. She leans against a tree. Wishes she had a cigarette left.
She doesn't know why she is here, in an evergreen forest, in a hastily constructed waypoint. She sees only the trees. And -
Regan jolts, looks closer at the shadows, at how they choke out the new greenery, the stubborn snow. Jagged lines stretch out like a farmer's repurposed scythe, or
perhaps a wicked crown, leading to - to a hart. A stately young man with an unseasonal rack. Red as the flag. Regan's hand twitches, she wonders at her bow. But -
The hart leans back. It looks at her with sweet brown eyes. Regan remembers the first piglet she ever held, and the first man she ever killed. She hesitates. She always hesitates. She cannot help hesitating. It will be the death of her.
It is so quiet between the two of them, even the birds do not sing. In Enbarr, when Ionius' family was slaughtered, the city was shocked into vigil. The silence is like a mourning, until a branch snaps, and the hart is startled into flight. It bounds back into the rich green shadows, and Regan wonders - she wonders why the birds are silent.
She is facing the forest, so she doesn't see the danger. There is a clamor behind her, a shout and the sound of swords being drawn.
The beast is shrouded in furs, black and blue and white. Its hair is long and lank, and covers its face. There is - fuck, it's drenched in blood, the steel tip of a lance slick with it. The steel tip turns down, and is driven through Edmund's stomach. Edmund is 19. Regan only watches, frozen. A red hart faces a butcher.
She has an advantage, maybe. If the beast does not look for her, perhaps it will not see her. Regan's bow is sturdy, but her aim has never been the best, and the beast moves erratically - not unlike an injury, or something like an injury. If she could just get a better shot - Regan steps forward, right into a twig.
The… thing… it turns to face her. It snarls, its mouth levering open with some amount of difficulty. She cannot - Regan's never seen anything like it, skin so gray and sunken, so many stitches on someone still living, still shaped like a human. Such a fog in its mismatched eyes. She hesitates. She always hesitates. She cannot help hesitating. It raises an arm and throws its lance.
It hits.
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