Why did Ragatha Change in your Comics? Both in Design and Personality
For those who don't know: Ragatha looked like this before Episode 2
And tbh it's mostly cuz I was to lazy to draw her hair at first. Then I realized "huh... I could just go crazy", created a more Warm color palette to match the tone I was going for, and here we are!
Update: FORGOT TO SAY WHY HER PERSONALITY CHANGED SORRY!! Personality-wise she...kinda? Changed. This was her only appearance pre-Ep 2. If you meant the Pomni change(she acted like this)-
-it's because at the time flustered panicky Pomni was a V cute concept. The "inexperienced Younger having a crush on the mature Older(Younger being at LEAST a 5 year age gap, mind you)" is a fave trope of mine, but since Ep 2 came out the perception changed! I honestly do like the idea of them both being flustered/panicky around eachother (when Pomni Eventually figures it out pfft) but for now it's mostly one-sided attraction (romance-wise anyway, you'll see next month ;3)
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"Mams...you okay?" You grin tiredly and teasingly ask your First Man, who is currently in the process of tearing up, his lips wobbling silently as he attempts to keep it in.
He looks up at you from where you lay exhausted in the hospital bed, attempting to blink back his tears. "Oh aye..." He replies shakily. "I-...I've never bin 'appier....Y-you should g-get some sleep...MC...get yer strength back..."
You grin stupidly at him, eyes closing sleepily as he watches you from the seat beside your bed, his attention drifts to you and his eyes water even more, the sheer lightness of the small weight in his arms making him dizzy as he leans further back into the armchair.
He looks down at the sleeping newborn in his arms. His baby girl. Her little yellow hat sitting perfectly on her little tiny head. He's sure she could fit on just on of his hands.
His bottom lip trembles, heart so full of love for the tiny thing in his arms it feels like it might burst. He holds her to his chest, bringing one finger up to gently caress her tiny tiny cheek. He sniffles, holding back happy sobs as he whispers gently. "Hiya little baby....I'm yer papa....I'm gonna take well great care of ye...I-I..I promise...Íosa Críost...yer tiny..."
Mammon looks over to your sleeping form in the hospital bed and slowly inches his chair even closer to you, so as not to jostle your daughter too much. He grabs his phone off of the nightstand and makes an order for your favourite food to be delivered for when you woke up. He chuckles softly as he texts the groupchat, telling them that you and the baby are okay.(albeit slowly seeing as he's only able to use one hand)
He asks for Lucifer to send over the cake he made with the horrible icing saying 'Congradulation COngratulations, MC, Your You're so amazing' so he could celebrate with you when you woke up from your much deserved nap. He turns off his phone and sets it back on the bedside table next to yours which is charging.
He could celebrate with you after, you could laugh at how he looked like a deer in headlights when the nurse asked him if he wanted to hold his baby for the first time. He could spoil you more than he ever has before (which isn't humanly possible considering how much he spoils you.)
But that could all wait for when you woke up, right now he was content just watching over his favouritest girls in the whole wide world, making sure you were both safe and sound.
But you should never trust a scheming scumbag, MC.
Oh no, fuckhead was already coming up with plans to spoil your daughter silly. That was his little princess, God dammit! She deserved the three worlds combined! And even then she deserved more! And don't get him started on you, you weren't going to even think about doing chores for at least 6 months. You just preformed a miracle. You get rest time. No buts.
In the softening light of the sun through the windows, Mammon holds your baby girl with so much gentleness, as if she'd crack at the smallest touch, his loving gaze flickers from you to her with so much tenderness, you would've thought he was an angel.
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☆ de fontaine
{☆} characters furina
{☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader
{☆} warnings angst, suicidal thoughts, hurt / no comfort
{☆} word count 1.4k
This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair!
She thought, for one moment, she could put the mask down and breathe – for one moment of daydreaming, she thought she could just be Furina. She thought she would finally get to live the live she should've had in the first place, the life she threw away to play God to an audience who saw her as nothing but a circus animal, dancing to their whims. Furina just wanted to be selfish for one brief and fleeting moment..and it was gone before she could even grasp it in her hand. A comet soaring past far out of her reach.
She can barely keep her hands from violently shaking as she looks down at them – broken and bloody and more a corpse then a person – and she feels so numb she can't even feel the rain pelting against her back. None of this is fair, she wants to scream, why is it always me? But her voice is silent beneath the torrent of rain. She wonders if the ocean would take her if she sank into it's depths – just for a moment, she wonders how it would feel to finally be able to sleep at ease.
Furina is tired.
But Furina is nothing if not useful, isn't she?
So she forces her feet to move, dragging against the stone beneath her heels, and drags their bloodied body into the nearest empty building, letting the rain do the work of washing away the smeared blood following her path. The smell makes her feel sick, the feeling of it sticking to her hands and gloves makes her lightheaded, but she persists. Because Furina is useful, because Furina won't let them die out in the rain, because Furina won't stand by and just let them rot on the streets like some..pest.
Furina wants to go home. She wants to sleep and she isn't she if she wants to wake up, this time. But she keeps going anyway.
Because it's all she's ever done, and the habit sticks.
An Archon she may not be, not anymore, but the expectations of five hundred years still linger like eyes on the inside of her skull. They watch her, pry and prod at her thoughts, mocking laughter and judging eyes following her as she forces herself to dance to the song they weave with glee. Furina never stepped off that stage – she's still there, she thinks, watching the crowd stare at her in disdain as the curtain call looms above her like a guillotine. She still hears Neuvillette deliver her damnation and salvation with a trembling voice, still feels her hair stand on end when electro crackled like the crack of the whip, Clorinde's blade aimed at her like a loaded gun.
She's trapped on that stage and she never left, not really.
She hates it. She thinks she hates them, but it's not their fault. They didn't ask for this, didn't ask for everyone to turn against them, didn't ask for her to save them. Neither did she..yet here they are, she thinks.
She tries to tell herself she's in control this time, though. She can stop performing her part in this horrible, bloody play any time she wants. It makes her feel better, just for a little while, if she convinces herself she's still Furina, painfully human.
And Furina has always been good at lying.
It's the believing that's the hard part.
There isn't time for her to wallow in her own self pity, though. They're still bleeding out onto the dusty, creaky floorboards of some random, broken down house and she's just standing there as the blood stains the wood. She can fix it – she's good at fixing things. She's done nothing but fix things – try to, anyway – for five hundred years. She can fix a little wound, how hard could it be? Her hands are clenched so tight they ache as she kneels down, wincing at the creak of the floorboards beneath her heels– she hesitates just long enough to wonder if she's making a mistake before she peels away just enough of the outer layer of their clothes to see the deep, bloody gash across their chest. She tries not to think about it – it's deep, too deep, and she feels dizzy just looking at it, but she's handled worse, right?
Furina can fix it. That's what she's good at.
She doesn't feel so confident when she tries to wrack her brain for..something. Five hundred years, and a little wound stumps her? No, she had to have learned something, right? She's decidedly not trying to buy time because she's panicking, parsing through hundreds of years of memories like flipping through a book. Furina isn't made for this, not really – she's running on nothing but adrenaline and she's really not sure what she's doing, but she's trying. And just like before, it won't be enough, will it?
She'll fall short again – she'll be too late to fix it before she's alone again.
Furina was an Archon..used to be. What use would she have for that sort of knowledge? Which makes her predicament all the more harrowing and bleak. What was she supposed to do?
Furina had heard it first hand, that vitriol in Neuvillette's voice. She isn't sure she's ever heard him that..angry before. She's not sure he would listen to her if she tried, either. And that scares her more then anything. All of Fontaine was up in arms about this..imposter, yet here she was, staring down at them bleeding out in front of her, and she was trying to save them.
Why? Why is she throwing away her only chance at normalcy for a fraud? Why didn't she just turn them in?
They were dying – that should've been a good thing, shouldn't it? So why didn't it feel like it?
"Why you?" Her voice breaks as she speaks in harsh tones, grabbing the front of their shirt in trembling, bloodied hands. "Why now?" She wants to scream, to demand answers they can't give, to claw back the reprieve she was promised after five hundred years of agony..and all she can do is sob into their chest, pleading for an answer that will not come. "Why me?"
Silence is their answer, and it hangs heavy on her trembling shoulders as she cries.
Of course they don't, she thinks bitterly, no one has ever answered her pleas spoken in hushed sobs. Not her other self and certainly not them.
Furina has always been alone. Furina will always be alone.
Because Furina never left that stage, never left that moment when she looked at herself in the mirror and took up a mantle too heavy for her to bear. She always finds her way back eventually. There's no one on the other side anymore – she stands alone on a stage, waiting for an inevitable end she isn't sure will come.
"Please," She pleads through tears and choked sobs, clinging to them like they are all that keeps her from sinking. "Please don't leave me, too." The words burn on her tongue – how pathetic is she that she craves companionship from the bloodied body of the imposter? Perhaps she's truly lost her mind after all these years..perhaps she's finally gone mad. She must have.
But their presence is like the first feeling of gentle warmth upon her skin as the sun crests the horizon, like the gentle lap of tides along her heels, the sway of branches and leaves as the wind blows through them like an instrument all it's own. They are the soothing sound of rain against the window as she watches the dreary skies in fond longing, the first bloom of spring as color blooms upon the landscape like paint had been spilled across the hills and valleys.
They are like the faint spark she carefully nurtures and stokes, so fragile even the smallest wind could blow it out like a candle. She cradles it within her palms, pleads with whoever will listen – prays that someone finally listens, because if not for her, then for them.
She's failed to protect too much already, let too many people with so much trust in her fall between the cracks of her fingers like grains of sand. She won't let them go – she can't.
If nothing else, if she couldn't be saved when she begged for salvation from that five hundred year long agony, even if she never got that chance..
Furina will make sure they do.
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