riicky-ye

[riicky-ye]

okay so I’m slowly writing a meta post about all the Furina&Erinnyes connections with both proofs and counter arguments because I’m so nice and objective, and honestly this is just hilarious, Erinnyes is one of the most sus genshin characters. The FUCK you mean Furina just said she would like to use an Erinnyes-inspired perfume in her next performance??? This is SO weirdly specific I don’t have a coherent explanation except for this being a foreshadowing.

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ok but how are you feeling about the 5.4 livestream fanservice?

Thank you for your question! To me, it feels cheap and middling. I’m concerned HYV will push this tendency forward. Furina better be running her heels out of this game. Fanservice was, undoubtedly, always a part of Genshin. But it was more subtle, not that aggressive. Like, Fontaine’s vibe was all about copying a gothic whimsical mysterious 2010-ish manga style like Black Butler or my precious darling Pandora Hearts. And that, comrade, was a fanservice specifically for me. I’m a key audience for this genre, I grew up on manga I mentioned earlier. But the thing is, that kind of fanservice actually serves to give characters more depth, along with not putting their sexuality into the focus point. Now we have a classic shounen in the form of Natlan, and, along with shounen, another popular genre — harem! I think they’re trying to attract the audience with any way possible. It’s pathetic.

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consider yourself lucky: you won’t fall a victim of me cracking awful jokes about my fatherlessness. at least now I have an anime gacha father :D it took 79 pity but I’m a meta slave so the big numbers will be worth it.

UPD: I tested her at 70 and 80 lvl and damn she’s a rockstar

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you don’t understand

I am SO normal about this being applied to Focalors/Furina/whatever name she had before ascending as the god of Justice.

I mean, Focalors split herself in two, but the most of her is within Furina, not within Focalors-from-the-machine (in this post called the Oratrice). Furina is Focalors’ body, her spirit, her soul. In a sense, Focalors is dead. Well, we all know that. But what we don’t consider enough is that she was dead for the last 500 years. The moment she stopped being Focalors (or whatever name she had before ascending as the god of Justice) and started being Furina&the Oratrice, she was dead.

Furina is like a flower blossoming upon the flesh long rotten, bones white and fragile. Like an empty shell left by its owner. Like both a haunted house and it’s new owner, not understanding why their favourite plates are flying and who’s that invisible someone walking in the night. I like to think she has some kind of a muscle memory belonging to Focalors. I mean, she has her sense of justice. Maybe it’s not everything that is left. Maybe there’s something else. Dreams she tend to forget the moment she wakes up; glimpses of landscapes she never saw; songs she never heard; the way sword’s pommel is sitting in her hand like it’s finally home (why else would Focalors hold a sword, if not to wield it?)

Yes, Furina is her own person. But before becoming Furina, she was also someone else, and these two statements coexist and intertweave. If she weren’t this someone else, she could not become Furina.

I think it’s just a crime to leave this arc unexplored the way it is unexplored in Furina’s story. This predicament is so gut-wrenching, so interesting for her character’s growth. But no, we are sticking to an uwu girlfail who suffered so so so much please pity her!!! Furina doesn’t need pity. She need to process her grief upon losing a part of herself. She need to learn why Focalors — why she did all of this. Who she was. Where her footsteps were. Why does the sword pommel is sitting in her hand like it’s finally home.

She need to learn all of this, accept it and move forward, knowing who Focalors was — and who Furina is. And who they will be tomorrow in this changing world of theirs.

[riicky-ye]

So, uh, do you remember me saying some time ago I’m not a fan of Arlecchino and will not pull for her? Long story short, I changed my mind. I saw what a terrible nasty Mary Sue Mavuika is, and suddenly I felt something akin to sympathy for Peruere. Sorry, father. I had my expectations too high. Please come home. I have a really good Glad set for you, and the staff of Homa on top of that. I really don’t want to spend my free time to build Mavuika (I got her from 10 pulls January 1st to check the New Year Miracle and my reaction was: “well, I can’t expel you. since you came, you can stay”)

So yeah. Father, come home. I’ll draw you a pretty picture of yourself if you come home.

[riicky-ye]

I am extremely happy to partake in #NuFuHoliday, and even more happy that I got the chance to gift one of my favourite nvfr ficwriters @missdema !! happy holidays, although a tiny bit delayed, and may your journey be full of wonder ❤️

Here’s Hades!Furina & Persephone!Neuvillette

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"Cheer! Give praise! Be awed! Raise your glasses! Every night bereft of banqueting is a sordid squandering of sore, sober daylight... And, uh, those who are not yet of age may have grape juice instead!"

— Furina de Fontaine, the wisest woman of them all.

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furina's a lesbian

no need to force your headcanons into other people’s personal space pookie ❤️now get the fuck out of my blog, she’s my bisexual queen who prefers women and neuvillette as the only exception

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soooo you’re telling me in the span of the last two years Neuvillette mentioned both his wife and then his husband with his daughter in the birthday letters? Truly THE family man.

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Hear me out that’s Furina during the process of restoring her original memories. A hellish mix of remurian slurs, old fontish curses and oceanid chants.

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Guys, we don’t talk enough about the depth of Furina’s grief over Focalors. Allow me to fix that.

Imagine: you wake up in the middle of an empty stage, a voice calling you. You don’t know who or what you are, you don’t know where you are, but the voice calls you Furina and you know it’s your name.

Then you see the mirror and there’s you, too! Your name is Furina, then there’s a mirror — the Mirror — talking to you, and of course there’s the lines of a prophecy carved into your very being. You know absolutely nothing besides that. How and why did you get on this stage, how old are you, what’s your favourite colour (you wear blue tailcoat so it must be blue), who named you Furina and where you’ve been before.

Everything is blurry and fogged and your head hurt thinking about it. So you stop thinking. You brush those questions off and try to never recall they exist somewhere in your mind — you have a more important thing to do.

That’s right, your name is Furina, and the Mirror talking to you says you were invited to avert the inevitable doom. She says it in Her soft and compassionate voice, like it’s truly an invitation — but you know you’re meant to take the task. This is why you’re here, on this stage, and how did you get there — it doesn’t matter anymore.

Not long after that, the Mirror turns empty, and now there’s only your puzzled face in the reflection, not the perfect, precious, darling She you just saw. Then you feel it. A weird thing in your chest, chilly and uncomfortable. You don’t know what it is but since then it doesn’t leave you.

You live, you play your part, you learn. You actually like the colour blue, and desserts, and you have a beautiful singing voice, and this it, an unsettling feeling behind your ribcage, is called emptiness.

You accept it as a part of yourself. Just like the way you like the colour blue and the way you can’t die and the way eyebags under your lower lids, already heavy when you wake up on the stage, turns heavier and heavier and darker.

Then there’s a trial — a trial of our god, ladies and gentlemen! — and it means you failed. You look at your people and at first you see their suspicious, hostile gazes, but then you see them as puddles of water on the luxurious opera floor, and it doesn’t matter anymore how much they hate you. They can hate you all they want, just please let them stay alive.

Now you know what the Mirror meant when She said about a magnificent and dramatic trial. You were diligent in your duty, you made sure every proceeding ran in this nation was dramatic enough, you dragged the Witness of Teyvat in court, and then, when it didn’t helped, you did the same with the 11th of the Fatui.

Now you know it wasn’t enough. Now you know why. Now you know…

this is why you’re here, on this stage.

It all makes sense now, and for once in your 500 long years you realize with crystalline certainty what you’re needed to do.

It all makes sense now, so you play your part.

You play your part and you fail. No matter how good you argue, how quick you are to find answers, Witness of Teyvat, the damned Traveler, just overpowers you with the force of their charisma and people’s already existing resentment towards you. You fight, and then you ask, and then you plead, and then you beg them to believe you, and they don’t.

They just don’t believe you.

It seems you spent all your parlour-trick smokemirrors pseudo-magic, and none is left.

It would’ve been such a fitting end for a deceiver such as yourself, if not for the fact that your exposure doomed all those who you loved and cherished. All their precious, darling lives will be lost to the Primordial sea. Your knees give up, and you fall back on your fancy — stupid — chair. The Oratrice stirs alive, ready to deliver the death sentence. You don’t have enough willpower to care, not anymore. You sit and cry on your throne, just as it was foretold . Is this why you’re here?

Gears and cogs and pistons of the intricate system that is the Oratrice work faster and faster, and your vision is suddenly clouded with black, so thick you feel blind, but maybe you just blinked because it doesn’t last more than a fleeting second, and right after that…

Something snaps deep inside your chest, like a string broken.

It hurts so bad you think you’re dying, and at the same time — it doesn’t hurt at all. You feel nothing, and yet, you also feel pain you never felt before, and this lingering emptiness, your loyal friend and closest confidante, it swallows you whole.

You stop breathing, because breathing hurts. You stop moving, and it still hurts. Your head, your throat, your chest, but what hurts the most is a fleeting concept of your useless heart, weeping for a precious thing you never knew, because She, the dearest, the loveliest person you ever saw, was never there with you, not really.

She’s dead, you realise with utmost confidence you always lacked.

She’s dead, and her death reverberates through your whole body like a march, like a tsunami, like an agonising crescendo of rainstorm droplets falling down and washing away all that you held dear.

She’s dead, and you’re not.

Why, you ask yourself, because now you have nobody else to ask.

Hours later, when waters give up on destroying the land and everyone is not dissolved, you meet Neuvillette. There’s no resentment in his eyes, no hatred. Only sadness and exhaustion, and something soft and tender, akin to a pity, so you scowl at him, because you can take his hostility, but he has no rights pitying you.

He tells you a story.

This story’s plot sucks, and the twist is the cheapest tears-squeezing crap you saw only in soap operas.

The precious darling goddess in the Mirror was You this whole time, and it’s hard to wrap your head around it, you’re not sure you understand.

It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?

Funny, you think.

I’m tired, you say. I need some rest, Monsieur Neuvillette.

You return to your suite to pack some of your belongings. You see the Mirror, the same one you ordered to drag all the way from the opera Epiclese to your personal rooms in the first day of your life, and there’s no You in the Mirror, only the same old you.

You’re suddenly reminded about the tiny snap deep in your chest, the mind-shattering non-existent pain. You cover the Mirror with your bedspread, and you leave the suite.

You cover all the mirrors in your new house first thing when you move in.

[riicky-ye]

imagine my face when:

70/215 hutao with homa and the whole team of her best supports: barely makes 5 stars on the 12th floor.

70/140 (passive activated) clorinde with craftable fontaine sword, a poorly built team and whatever tolerable artefacts I pulled from BoL set after a couple days of farm: m’lady, here’s your first ever 12 stars.

to be honest, I always thought I can’t reach the abyss-conquering level of characters’ power despite having somehow good artefact stats or I just can’t play, maybe both. simply put, I thought I don’t know how to genshin. though it seems I just don’t know how to hutao. which is a pity actually, she’s one of my favourite characters and I put tons of effort into building her (crimson witch obviously hates me but that’s not the point today)

I guess y’all can just congratulate me. from now on I’m gonna concentrate on building clorinde. being in despair after hutao 5 stars flop, I decided to pull for arlecchino despite her being anti-climactic for my account (I don’t like her). maybe I will reconsider that to focus on cons and/or weapon for clorinde. if some of you has an experience with clorinde gameplay, feel free to share your tips, teams or an advise on what’s better for her: c1 or weapon.

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Consider this: Furina is a boomer old lady, there’s a chance she knows NOTHING about mental health despite being one of the most emotionally intelligent and empathetic people in Teyvat. When Clorinde says she’s expressing signs of depression and neurosis, Furina is like “nonsense I just need to go out more and stop being sad” and Clorinde is just what the fuck is wrong with you (compassionately)

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I bet it awakened something in him 🥵

Neuvillette seeing furina in a breeches role for the first time…

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I like to think Neuvillette and Furina are considered to be weirdos among the immortals. They’re both workaholics with 5/2 office job, wearing stiff white collars willingly AND personally presiding over most of the trials. Don’t they have better things to do with their lives? Weirdos.

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i love characters who are always like fear not, i shall take care of this problem for you….. by sacrificing myself!! and everyone else is like i swear to god if you pull this shit again i’ll kill you

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Neuvillette is Persephone and Furina/Focalors is Hades tricking him into staying in the land of Dead (Fontaine)