So I've been thinking lately about how Mithrun is Kabru's dark mirror (more on that another time- it needs its own post), and I thought it interesting that one of their parallels is that they were both cared for by Milsiril, but in opposite directions. She took Kabru in as her foster after he was orphaned and tried to convince him not to become an adventurer. On the flip side, she helped rehabilitate Mithrun specifically so that he could rejoin the Canaries.
And I kept wondering: why?
For Kabru, obviously she loves him a whole lot- despite any other shortcomings in their relationship, I do believe that.
So I get why she tries to convince him not to go dungeoning, and, failing that, at least prepares him as thoroughly as she can.
But why help Mithrun? She used to hate Mithrun, but after realizing what a secretly twisted person he was, she actually thought of him more positively (oh, Milsiril). So it wasn't as if she held the kind of grudge that might motivate her to make his already-depleted life even more miserable by sending him back to the dungeons. And it wasn't that she felt bad for him either, since she didn't visit Mithrun for the first ~20 years of his recovery.
The Adventurer's Bible says that Utaya was the impetus for Mithrun returning to the Canaries, but Milsiril is the one who made the trip to see him and tell him about it.
Why would Milsiril work so hard to get her old coworker back into fighting fit? Why encourage him to return to such a dangerous lifestyle, when she was the one who chose not to mercy-kill him?
That last panel is such a crazy thing to hint at and then never elaborate on. Without it we could have just thought that Milsiril wanted the Canaries' work to continue without her, even if it seemed out of character. I think some people even assume she's just a natural caretaker as a foster mom and handwave it to include nursing Mithrun too. What could Milsiril's suspicious motives be? What does she gain from Mithrun joining the Canaries that isn't an altruistic desire to see dungeons safely sealed? Feeling a sense of responsibility for the work she left behind isn't an ulterior motive.
My theory is: Milsiril, knowing that Mithrun was empty save for the burning desire to face the demon again, wound him up like a clockwork doll and pointed him back at the dungeons.
Hoping that he'd eliminate the biggest threat to Kabru's life, before it was too late for him.
Body hair on women is totally normal and natural. A woman having chest hair is okay. Women can grow a beard or a mustache. Women can grow hair on their forearms. Women can grow body hair. Body hair on women is totally natural. Not just the hair on your legs and armpits but the hair everywhere.
"alastor isn't canonically aroace" errrrm actually he told me he was himself sorry
also yes I edited this myself so some details below if anyone's curious (did this to challenge myself a bit but it didn't take too much effort)
edited in premiere pro, this is how the frankensteined audio and visual look together, even reordered, slowed down and stitched the different mouth movements together to fit the words
specific dialogue taken are:
Alastor: I'm afraid you've lost your signal.
Alastor: Of course! Can't let my new project fall into disrepair already. What would the papers say?!
Alastor: When I'm done, your status quo will know its race is run!
all from episode 2, basically what was compiled was "I'm air al ace" but air al sounded enough like aro to me so I just rolled with it LMAOOO
the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.
three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.
two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.
their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.
one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.
i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.
i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.
and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?
you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.
a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.
someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.
what do you mean youre technically a detransitioner cause of terf bullshit?
it's a v long story but i detransitioned for a couple of years when i was 16/17, for multiple reasons but mostly because i fell into the blaire white/kalvin garrah chamber of "you have to be This way to be trans otherwise you're not real".
i was already Deeply insecure about myself and my 'passing' and i was led to believe that i couldn't want to wear makeup or skirts, and i couldn't choose not to have bottom surgery, and i couldn't do anything but bind for 12+ hours a day to the point that my ribcage is still misshapen. basically i thought that if i wasn't suffering enough doing 'feminine' things, i couldn't really be trans, so i should just go back to being a girl and suck it up.
the terf bullshit is because i'd seen a lot of terfs/detransitioners talking about the 'dangers' of testosterone and how it would turn me into a horrible ugly evil monster and how there was nothing worse than wanting to be a man. which combined with 'you need to fully medically transition to be valid at all' creates some very dangerous and upsetting feelings to cope with.
it also came from trying really hard to put myself in a little box before i realised that my sexuality/gender are very fluid and it's FINE for me not to have a label and just do whatever i want. when i was 19 or so i went back to using they/them (and eventually he/him) and changed my name again because even though i like doing 'feminine' things, i don't want to be seen as a woman.
tldr: i was conditioned by transphobic/terf rhetorics to think that i was being trans the 'wrong' way so i couldn't be trans at all, so i believed i must actually be a girl if i still wanted to do 'feminine' things. nowadays i am a transmasc who does feminine things because i don't give two shits about what any transmed prick thinks of me anymore.
Pac: I said, "Hey, let's do something fun, you know? Let's kidnap the [Federation] baker!" And we are kind of like, locked up, and [Richarlyson's] even sadder now, right?
Phil: I can put my hand through the bars.
Pac: [Laughs] Can I ho– Please save us!
Phil: Do you miss human touch, Pac?
Pac: Yeah, I miss human touch.
Phil: I'm here for you. [...] We can smuggle things into jail. [To Richarlyson] It's okay, mate.
Pac: Can you smuggle me a cellphone?* I know information is power here.
Phil visits Pac and Richarlyson in jail.
* Pac's quote here is a direct reference to Fuga Impossivel, where Cell (Cellbit) had a cellphone he used to threaten people with his "contacts from the outside." (In reality, the phone had no signal, but that's how he earned his name "Cell")
[Full Transcript ↓ ]
—
Pac: Richarlyson feeling a little bit sad 'because 'cus he's locked up, you know? That's why he's using a different kind of hat.
Phil: Oh, Jesus Christ. Wait– why's Richarlyson's [happiness] bar gone down?
Pac:Yeah, 'because 'cus he's unhappy, 'cus, well, we kind of like, got locked up, and it's his birthday today, and he's feeling a little bit sad about like, growing up, you know?
Phil: Is that why he's got a different cow head on?
Pac: Yeah, yeah, and to try to help him, I said, "Hey, let's do something fun, you know? Let's kidnap the baker!" And we are kind of like, locked up, and he's even sadder now, right? [Richarlyson shakes his head] Yeah, but look – jail is fun!
Phil: I can put my hand through the bars.
Pac: [Laughs] Can I ho– Please save us!
Phil: Do you miss human touch, Pac?
Pac: Yeah, I miss human touch.
Phil: I'm here for you. [Cracks up]
Pac: I miss human touch. Oh my god, a hand! Richas, you want to touch a hand? Touch uncle Phil hand. [Laughs]
Phil: Yeah, right here.
Pac: Touch it, Richas! Connect with every–
Phil: I can get you out, I can get you out, I don't know if I'll get punished though, but we'll see. [Laughs]
Pac: I don't think you're going to get punished. [He looks at Richarlyson] Right? [Richarlyson shakes his head, holding a camera] There's nothing wrong about setting two persons out of the jail.
Phil: Yeah, I feel like you've learned your lesson, right?
Pac: Yeah, I won't try to kidnap the baker.
Phil: Oh, Richarlyson wants you to take a photo of, like, hands touching, I think.
Pac: Oh. Ok, let me...
[They stand there, holding hands in silence until Richarlyson takes a photo, then they burst into laughter.]
Pac: Well, Richas, you wanna do the same? I can take a picture of you! I just need a paper. [Pac checks his inventory] ...I don't have any papers, if you have one?
Phil: [Still cracking up as he holds hands with Richarlyson]
Pac: I need the paper, Richarlyson!
Phil: I have paper, there you go.
Pac: Oh, thank you.
Phil: We can smuggle things into jail. [To Richarlyson] It's okay, mate.
Pac: Look! [Laughs and throws Phil the photo] Can you smuggle me a cellphone?* I know information is power here.
Phil: I can – hold on, let me see, let me see...
Pac: Maybe like a cellphone? Or maybe a gaming setup so me and Richarlyson could put some gaming in here, you know, so we can play games?
Phil: I can – I could just break you out. [Laughs] But it's up to you – do you want to be out?
Pac: Yeah, if – Richas, you want to get out of this prison? I know it's bigger and better than our house. Look at the size of this, Phil! You wanna, like–
[Richarlyson breaks the jail bars and lets himself out, then replaces the bars to keep Pac inside]
Phil: [Dying]
Pac: ALL ALONG? Wait – we have been in here for the past 15 minutes, Richas! Oh my god. Ok, ok, I'm done, I'm done. I'm just gonna stay here. I'm just gonna stay here. [Pac walks to a corner of the cell and sits down facing the wall]
Phil: [Still wheeze-laughing] Dude...
Pac: I'm just gonna stay here.
Phil: I can't– [wheezes] I can't break these blocks, he's locked us in!