Hello! Been wanting to make a neat little intro post to pin so here goes
I'm Merlin, a 30-something French person who's been on Tumblr for approximately an eternity (aka since 2012). I use they/he pronouns in English and il in French.
Here you will find: a lot of reblogs from current obsessions and permanent fandoms, art I've drawn, fics I've written, crafts I've made. I tag most things both for filtering purposes and to find stuff on my blog.
You can find my art in the art tag, my writing in the fic tag & on AO3, and my sewing/crochet/others in the craft tag.
You can also find my commission info and my shop on my Ko-fi page!
[id: four gifs of eddie (played by luis) and bridget (played by alex ward.) bridget opens and then closes her mouth, her wrist upturned on her knee. eddie, sitting on the couch next to bridget, gently maneuvers her back into the couch cushions with one hand. she closes her eyes and leans back as he takes her wrist in his hand, preparing to feed. end id.]
the thing with aroace grace headcanons is like. i can totally see it. it’s not what i’m most interested in because my hobby happens to be writing romantic drama and pornography, but i can see it. it’s my runner-up headcanon for sure. but. he doesn’t identify that way. he instinctively flinches away from anything that even implies hes anything other than a perfectly normal heterosexual man who has all his shit completely figured out. he doesn’t identify using that phrase, and if someone explained it to him, i don’t think he’d identify with the concept, either. he’d be like “that sounds awesome! that’s not me though, i fulfilled the Normal Girlfriend Experience shortly after college. didn’t work out but i’ll probably find someone i mean a woman specifically who i click with one of these days, and then we’ll have sex and get married or whatever it is you’re supposed to do.” and then he’d just blithely go on not thinking about it. he’s a school teacher in san francisco in the 2020s, he’s on the front lines of the culture wars whether he likes it or not, he knows what pronouns are, he may very plausibly know the words “aromantic” and “asexual” but it has never in his life occurred to him to apply those to himself. and it quite possibly never will. he’s not particularly introspective and he absolutely does not have the level of self-insight required to understand why he’s only had one long-term relationship in his life, and why it ended so fucking badly. not solely due to his orientation you understand, but also due to his various flaws as a person. where was i going with this. oh yeah. i need everyone to make this guy more repressed right now immediately.
Love being in a theory heavy fandom because sometimes I'll see a meta post that will make me feel like a whole new light has been cast on the plot and then the very next post will make me stop and consider asking op if we've been watching the same show
sometimes a fic can just be about the age old question 'how emotionally bad for everyone involved can a threesome be when they all did in fact agree to be there'
if Mumford & Sons existed in Aramán I think 17-year-old Azune would have listened to Little Lion Man on repeat every night in his tent and cried. And I think Teor would eventually go up to him and say "you are not little lion man" and it would just make Azune cry harder because now he thinks he accidentally offended Teor. And Teor would panic and say "no no I meant you are not metaphorical little lion man, I didn't think you thought you were an actual lion man." Which, of course, would just make Azune even more upset because he feels guilty that he thought Teor would not understand the metaphor. And eventually he'd just be lying on the ground ugly sobbing while Teor is patting his back and saying "I wish to kill Mumford and all of his Sons"
not that anyone asked for further analysis but I think Kattigan would introduce Azune to Bruce Springsteen but instantly regret it because Azune would just listen to Nebraska on loop. he tells Teor "If I have to listen to Atlantic City one more time we'll find out whether everything that dies someday comes back." And Teor says "is still better than listening to the eh eh oh Bastille song every day, no?"
Thjazi keeps trying to get him into Green Day but Azune will only listen to Wake Me Up When September Ends and Boulevard of Broken Dreams
(little post c4e25: targeted fic because Holy Molly)
Bolaire finds Azune sitting on the bottom steps of a secluded staircase, far from the agitation of what had been the gala. The Arcane Marshal holds his head between his palms, elbows on his knees and half-lidded eyes staring blankly at the ground before him; he does not move at the curator's approach, but something brushes up against Bolaire's consciousness, inquisitive and crackling in a way that's quickly becoming familiar — then it backs off, retreating in the battered body crouched in the darkness.
"Rough night," Bolaire calls out, leaving Azune the choice of acknowledging his presence or not.
For a moment, he believes that Azune is going to ignore him; but then the man shifts and looks up, sunset eyes dulled, lines of exhaustion and misery etched deep into his young face.
"I've had better," he answers. His voice is rough, fraying at the edges; Bolaire has no doubt that if he'd stayed among the chaos of the ballroom he would have eventually blown up — though in tears or flames, he cannot say.
"Do you want some company?" Bolaire asks, stopping a few steps away.
Azune stares at him, then blinks sluggishly, shrugs.
"If you wish."
Bolaire does not move.
"This isn't what I asked. Do you want me to stay?"
Azune tenses up, and there's a spark of annoyance in his eyes now, though it is quickly smothered by the usual cool professionalism. They stare at each other, blue pinprick to dusky hues; Azune blinks first. He looks away, hugging his knees against his chest.
"I don't mind if you do."
That's as good as he's going to get. Bolaire closes the distance and sits next to Azune, leaving some space between them. Silence stretches, the strain bleeding into disinterest — then, eventually, into a tenuous sort of camaraderie.
"I didn't think I'd see her here," Azune says, breaking their little bubble of quiet. "I didn't think I would see her anywhere ever again, honestly."
Bolaire lets out a barely audible hum.
"This is the week of long-lost sisters, it would seem," he comments. It gets an humorless chuckle from Azune.
"Yours sounds like she might become a problem."
And yours doesn't? Bolaire bites his borrowed tongue, makes a non-committal noise.
"Perhaps Termina will be happy enough gnawing on Lady Cormoray's carcass for a while. Who knows? She didn't stick around to discuss her plans."
Azune's fingers tighten on his calf; Bolaire doesn't need to read his mind to know he's thinking of his own sister, narrowly escaping with her life just a few hours ago. There's a lull again, one that Bolaire lets linger and sprawl; Azune appears lost in thoughts, but some of the stiffness has melted from his posture.
"I'm scared I will never meet her again," he confesses after a while. "But I am also scared I will. It's been so long. We're both very different people. She — what if she comes to hate me? She looked like she's been through hell, and I never looked for her, I assumed— I believed —"
Azune is getting agitated once again, nervously rocking back and forth in a way that is terribly uncharacteristic of his usual focused composure. There's a volatile energy to him, a smell of ozone in the air — static electricity raising the hairs on Bolaire's arms, even through his layers of clothing.
"Stop," Bolaire commands, and Azune's mouth snaps shut. "She didn't look either. This does not lay on your shoulders alone."
Azune glances at him; there's a sheen to his eyes, the echo of a desperate need to beat himself up until he can bear to stand again. Bolaire isn't inclined to let him.
"You think yourself a cornerstone," Bolaire says slowly, letting his words sink in. "You're so eager to take on the weight of the world, with your lists and your contingencies. You have fashioned yourself into both the sword and the shield, begging to be put to good use. But you're a person, not a thing." Azune gives him a sharp glance; Bolaire raises a hand, silencing him when he looks about to speak. "You're only responsible for your own actions. Do you trust me? Do you trust Murray, do you trust Hal?"
Azune frowns confusedly. "Of course."
"Then trust us with our own decisions. Trust your sister. Trust that Thjazi — for all his faults — did what he did according to his beliefs. You are not the pillar holding up the heavens. You are a man among many others."
Azune stares at him for a while, eyes scrutinizing every inch of his porcelain surface. Then he looks down to his hands, fingers flexing tight then relaxing turn by turn.
"You're better at being a person than I am," he murmurs, voice tinged with grief and something like envy. "You say you're a thing, but you are also so deeply yourself. I —" He huffs, and his hands close into fists again. "You know what I realized? I don't know who I am. I don't know — I don't know if I'm the real me, even among friends. If I'm playing a role, trying to be who you need me to be. I don't know if there is a real me, after all this time."
"And?" Bolaire prompts. Azune squints at him.
"And what?"
"What will you do about it? You're a doer. You solve problems."
Azune seems to fall into deep contemplation. The hubbub buzzing deep in the bowels of the Archanade has somewhat ebbed as party goers are told to go home and Marshals finish taking notes of the damage. Azune's tension seems to relax by increment, until he's slumped again, head in his hands, back bowed.
"There's no time," he ends up declaring, half-muffled and directed at the ground. "No time for this right now."
"Time for what?" Bolaire asks idly, examining the tip of his gloved fingers.
"I don't know!" Azune all but whines. "For growing a personality, I guess? For — for seeking a sense of identity that might be buried in me? I'm more useful as a tool, I can deal with this once the world isn't on fire anymore —"
"This isn't ever going to happen," Bolaire interrupts with a bit more cheerfulness that the thought warrants. He corrects his tone to something more considerate: "I was created seventy years ago, Azune. Granted, I've mostly been awake to witness and participate in turmoil. But even if you only consider the short time I've been able to make my own choices, live my own life — the world is always on the edge of crumbling. Pressure rises until it blows; there's a brief moment of peace in the aftermath, during which people swear to never let it get this bad again. And then it does, because that's the way things go. You're never going to have time to catch your breath, or to find yourself, whichever. In my experience, life is a series of crisis."
Azune glances at him, a hint of something confused in the narrowing of his eyes.
"Is this meant to comfort me?"
Bolaire shrugs. "Not really. It's more of a reminder. You're always going to feel like there's one last fire to put out, one last orphan to rescue. You're never going to simply have the time."
Azune sighs — tired, resigned. "So I should just... take it? Is this what you're saying?"
Bolaire hums pensively and stretches his legs in front of him.
"I don't think me telling you what to do is conductive to the goal you intend to achieve. Do or do not. The world will keep moving anyway. Though, between you and me —" Bolaire knocks his knees against Azune's, continues: "I think you could stand to be a bit more selfish. Consider that a gentle encouragement."
He gets back up, giving his breeches a cursory swipe to dislodge any stray dust. The unrest of the assassination attempt back in the ballroom has finally quieted to a murmur; Bolaire offers his hand to Azune.
"Ready to get back into the fray? I'm sure Murray and Hal will be looking for you."
Azune hesitates. The weariness has mostly faded from his face, the despair has all but vanished; yet he looks fragile still, like a stiff wind could send him sailing through the sky.
"You go ahead," he declines. "I'll be there in a minute, I just need — I —"
Bolaire dismisses his excuse with a flutter of his fingers. "Shush. I'll let them know you'll be there once you're available." He takes a step away, intending to stroll back into the remains of the gala — stops abruptly and turns back around, twirling on his heels.
"For what it's worth — I don't think you're a mask. I don't think you're playing a role, when you're around them. I don't think you're a thing to them, either. They know you." He lets a smile stretch across his painted lips. "No offense, you're not that good of an actor."
Azune snorts; the sound is jagged but genuine.
"Excuse me, I am an excellent liar."
Bolaire winks. "The lies don't make the role. See you later."
He starts leaving again; Azune calls behind him.
"Bolaire! Thank you."
Bolaire doesn't stop walking, but he waves a hand over his shoulder.
also everyone's talked plenty about what julien said to koral and what that indicates about how his relationship with occtis has changed, but the one thing that really gets me is specifically "your family has taken nearly everything from me and has definitely taken everything from your brother occtis"
because that's a notable pivot from julien! to go from only following occtis because you wanted revenge on his family for destroying your life, to protecting him because you've realised for all they did to you, what they did to him was worse
(and in fairness, yeah, julien lost a lot of family and friends to that attack, plus his primary home. but he still has his mother and hope for his sister. he's still alive, he's not going through the horror of attempting to puppet his own corpse around. occtis lost his home a long time ago and in losing his life has in essence lost his entire family as well - but not to death, that would be easier. occtis is losing family members every time he gets his hopes up about having some ally among his house, any of them that didn't want him dead, and so far having those hopes dashed every time)
it is a big moment, for julien to have primus tachonis in reach and choose to pull occtis out of that situation instead. but i don't think seeing occtis in total trauma panic attack mode in front of his father was any kind of revelation for julien. i think he already knew exactly what the problem was. (and probably has known for a while - julien's a way more perceptive person than he lets on, just most of the time he's pretty selfish with that information)
not anymore. julien's sense of justice is strong, albeit extremely subjective. and during the worst week of his life, he's found someone he thinks deserves revenge even more than him
and also on that, like. their exchange about koral earlier that episode of "you're quick to trust other tachonis after what they did to you" "i'm sorry i'm quick to trust a member of my family"
occtis is clearly reading this as another continuation of julien saying "i don't trust you, and if you get too close to acting like the rest of them i'll kill you"
but i think julien's meaning is closer to "hey. be angrier about how they treated you"
As we get closer to Fields of Mistria's 1.0 release on August 5th, we've put together an FAQ answering some of the questions we've seen most from players! 💛
This blog post covers:
🌎 Localization
🏆 Achievements
❓ And more!
Check it out here
