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steakout-05 · 1 year

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muffinsposting on main!?!?!?!??

so i'm a pretty longtime fan of the My Little Pony grimdark fanfic 'Muffins' (by an author i will not name for drama-related reasons. you can easily find it if you look it up, but i ask that you please do not discuss any drama related to them on this post), and i really like the character of Minkie Pie. in the story, she's Pinkie Pie's eldest sister, along with Inkie Pie and Blinkie Pie (maud doesn't exist rip maud). Minkie is her long lost sister who was trapped in a cellar since she was a filly and thus never developed a proper childhood. she's a very quiet and creepy mare who has a lot of passion for endgaming other ponies in the most overly violent ways possible. she has a very pretty design and i've always liked how creepy and timid she is.

she's always been a favourite of mine, but because of the fanfic's poor writing and general issues with Minkie's original character, people have been creating rewrites and redesigns and i thought i should make my own as well! i haven't gotten to properly drawing her yet, but here is a rough sketch of my Minkie redesign, 'Moonstone Pie'!!

this is Moonstone! she's a tall, slim earth pony who is very shy, timid and lacks a lot of crucial social skills. she bears a lot of religious trauma on her shoulders and has issues with properly trusting other ponies, but she's a really sweet pony once she feels like she can trust someone. she's named after a real rock of the same name, similar to how Minkie's birth name is Obsidian. i haven't gotten her special talent and stuff figured out yet since i've been mainly working on her design and backstory, but here she is :) i'm really proud of her and i'm really excited to develop her more as a character!!

her proper appearance is as follows:

Hide: a dark blue-grey sort of colour, with a white fade at her hooves. the sketch doesn't reflect it but Moonstone has peculiar black and white splotches on her fur all down her back that make her look like the night sky.

Mane: a very very dark purple that looks black in the dark. it's very long and straight, with a long fringe covering her left eye. one side of her mane and her tail are tied with thin black ribbons.

Eyes: her eyes are green, but change depending on what point of the story she's in. for example, when she was a child, her eyes were a bright Applejack-green to symbolise her innocence, but after being rescued from the cellar, they are faded and hollow.

Cutie Mark: a black key with a bow in the shape of two wings. this symbolises freedom and being able to unlock herself and fly free from her trauma.

Accessories: black ribbons that are tied to her hair and also hang loosely in it. she also wears a white dress collar.

her rough backstory is under the cut, though i'd like to give a warning that there are (albeit brief) mentions of religious trauma and parental abuse, as well as it being pretty dark. if that makes you uncomfortable, you don't have to read it and you're free to click off and go look at something nice and wholesome!! please take care of yourself :)

i don't have too much of her backstory done yet, so this is mainly a draft, but basically, Moonstone was raised in a cult that's something like The Family International and Jehovah's Witnesses put together. her parents, Cloudy Quartz and Igneous Rock, were very strict with her and would often enact bizarre punishments several incidents related to Moonstone's behaviour occurred, to which her mother, Cloudy Quartz (Pinkie's canonical mother), deemed her a devil and shunned her away into a cellar, where she would spend a majority of her life up until Cloudy "mysteriously disappears" one day.

Moonstone, having been heavily traumatised and weakened from being neglected in the cellar for so many years, is in a state of near-death and delirium. just when it seems like Moonstone is about to kick the bucket, the door opens, and she sees two figures obscured by the sunlight standing at the top of the stairs. she thinks these are angels coming to take her to salvation, but they are actually her sisters Inkie and Blinkie, who just before had literally sent Cloudy plummeting off a cliff until she went splat. Moonstone faints, and after a couple comatose weeks, is introduced into a new "family" run by Pinkie, Inkie, Blinkie and their newest victim recruit, Derpy Hooves. little does Moonstone know, however, is that she has just been dragged into another cult, one that takes ponies and turns them into baked goods in a not-so-cheery way. she basically gets indoctrinated again by ponies who are close to her and manipulate her by giving her a loving family and a stable place to stay. i want to portray Pinkie's baking group as something that's way more sinister than it's portrayed in the original Muffins because i feel like it doesn't address the mental strain it has on the bakers as much as it probably would be. the baker's cult portray themselves as a happy-go-lucky batch of bakers who love each other, but there's really a shitton of distrust and fear between the members of the cult. Moonstone and Derpy later realise this, and agree to escape together as newfound adopted sisters. this is a story about colourful horses by the way- 💀

at the end of the story, her and Derpy end up escaping, and this is when Moonstone finally gets her cutie mark; a key with a pair of wings symbolising her newfound freedom. OG Minkie's cutie mark is a lock, but i didn't really like the message that it represented and felt it didn't make that much sense for Minkie's character, and the concept of a pony getting their cutie mark late is interesting, so Moonstone gets a cutie mark that represents her destiny to finally break free and unlock her true self :)

and that's pretty much Moonstone's character! i'll probably make a proper colour palette for her in the future and i'll see how her character goes if i develop her further. this post isn't confirmation that i'm definitely doing a Muffins rewrite, but i thought giving a different twist on Minkie's character while trying to stay true to the original would be interesting and fun.

a couple other facts about Moonstone:

the ribbons in her hair change colours based on her state in the story. for example, when she was a little kid, her ribbons were white to symbolise her innocence. she later wears black when Moonstone got dragged into the baking cult to symbolise her further dwindling mental state and the horrible situation she was in, basically symbolising how she became a harbinger of death and agony. and at the end, she wears white again to symbolise her newfound freedom and a hope to regain her innocence and happiness now that she is truly free. they also become more flowy when she's wearing white, rather than the viney swirl down her hair when she wears black.

i was originally gonna have Moonstone's cutie mark be something like a wing in chains or a ball of light breaking through black chains, but they felt a little too on the nose. i do like the light breaking through chains idea though :)

thanks for reading all this way :) as mentioned before, please do not use this post to discuss any drama relating to the original author in the replies or reblogs. please also refrain from mentioning the name of the author as well as i fear it would just stir things up. i don't want my blog to become a place of drama, i just want to share my silly little ideas about creepy girl horse :P

#minkie pie #muffins mlp #do not mention the drama relating to the original author on this post please #moonstone pie #oh yeah forgot to tag this but #// spoilers #spoilers for muffins #tw religious trauma #tw abuse mention #tw cult #thought i should add those tags since those are a part of Moonstone's character and i don't want anyone to get uncomfortable :)#take care of yourself :)#a bit nervous to post this but here goes...!!!

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ingek73 · 1 year

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As a Cult Survivor, I Found Prince Harry’s “Spare” Surprisingly Relatable

I didn’t even refer to our way of life as religion, because religion could be false

Princess Diana and Prince Charles broadcasted on a television set

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

APR 7, 2023

REBECCA WOODWARD

I woke up earlier than usual on the Sunday morning Princess Diana’s death was splashed across the news. I knew my mom would want me to wake her up for this. When I told her what happened overnight in Paris, she leapt out of bed and hurried to the television, where she sat in silent attention, still in her nightgown. At the time I knew it would be deeply uncool to betray an interest in European nobility, but I couldn’t look away either.

While my mom’s affection for the princess was hardly unique among midwestern mothers of the 1990’s, I suspect her fascination ran deeper. Like Diana, my mother had married at 19, and she gave birth to her first and only child the same year Diana emerged from the Lindo Wing with a young William cradled in her arms. For any stay-at-home mom, it must have been ennobling to see traditional womanhood celebrated at Diana’s level of fame while working moms in powersuits simultaneously dominated American pop culture. But my mom knew better than others what it was like to live within a rigid system like the royal family—except there were no adoring crowds cheering her on as she struggled.

Both my parents had been raised as Jehovah’s Witnesses. They accepted that their most important duty as parents was to raise their child in the faith—to teach them about the Bible, yes, but even more importantly, to teach them to live their lives as Jehovah’s Witnesses, which had less to do with the Bible than they wanted to believe. No birthdays, no Halloween, no Christmas of course, but that’s just the beginning. This way of life was all my parents had ever known, so they didn’t think to question it.

This way of life was all my parents had ever known, so they didn’t think to question it.

My mom, who sewed her own modest clothes in the 60’s when only miniskirts were available in stores, thought I was lucky that maxi skirts were in style when we went shopping for meeting clothes. My dad would tell me stories about congregation elders spying on him and his friends through binoculars when they were teens, as if to say I should just be happy I wasn’t being actively surveilled by middle-aged men.

As head of the family, my father tried to drum up enthusiasm for the monotonous routine of Witness life, which included three meetings a week—Tuesday night, Thursday night, Sunday morning—and Saturday mornings spent preaching door to door while other kids watched cartoons in their pajamas. I would sit at the end of my parents bed while my dad tied his tie for meetings and he’d lead me in a duet of an old Marty Robbins song.

“A white-”

“Sportcoat!”

“And a pink-”

“Carnation!”

“I’m all dressed up for the dance,” we sang together.

The song was from the ’50s, when my dad was just a kid himself. I imagined his father singing it with him and his brothers before meetings to get them excited—or at least willing—to sit quietly in uncomfortable formalwear on a weeknight.

The dictionary definition of a cult is so broad that almost any group of people aligned around a belief system or leader could qualify.

My mom, on the other hand, hated getting up early for Sunday Meetings, and preaching to disinterested strangers added to her sometimes crippling anxiety, yet staying at home was out of the question. Elders paid close attention to meeting attendance and hours spent preaching, and if we were absent too often we would be labeled “spiritually weak.”

There were large assemblies and summer conventions, too, where we would pack our lunches and roast in an un-airconditioned stadium alongside 40,000 other Witnesses for three straight days. On the hottest days, my mom would take an ice pack from the cooler and tuck it under her skirt while no one was looking to stay cool. We dreaded the summer convention every year, but they were nothing, my parents would say, compared to the eight-day outdoor conventions they attended as children, and it was unthinkable not to go. When it was over we would agree with the rest of the congregation that we had found it so encouraging, that we couldn’t do without this wonderful “spiritual food.”

Watching television coverage of the Windsors alongside my mom, the tiresome schedule and strict rules of royal life started to resemble life under our religion: modest dress was required, personalities were stifled to uphold an organizational image, and service to the institution was to be top priority at all times. We even had the same bizarre aversion to facial hair, and we were never to complain publicly. The Princess seemed to be chafing against the same kind of strictures with which my mother and I were painfully familiar.

Decades later, I would watch coverage of Prince Harry and Meghan’s separation from the royal family while I navigated my escape from the religion I was raised in and really begin to understand my mother’s royal fascination.

In his memoir Spare, Harry says of his family “outsiders called us a cult,” seemingly unable to leverage the claim directly. It took me a while to use the word, too. The dictionary definition of a cult is so broad that almost any group of people aligned around a belief system or leader could qualify, but the dangerous kinds of cults share common traits: They’re governed by authoritarian control, believing the leadership is always right and the only source of truth. Followers are taught that they’re never good enough. Criticism or questions are forbidden. And, most importantly, cults believe there is no legitimate reason to leave the group, that former followers are always wrong to go.

Like life in the royal family, Witness life was full of ever-shifting rules that often made little sense, but obedience to the men God had chosen to lead his organization was mandatory. In Spare, Harry is often as mystified by the arbitrary rules that dictated his life as I had been. Obedience, it seemed, was the only point for both of us.

Harry opens his memoir with a frustrating scene between himself and his brother, who can’t seem to understand why he’s left royal life behind.

“I couldn’t believe what I was hearing,” he writes. “It was one thing to disagree about who was at fault or how things might have been different,” he concedes, but he cannot understand how his brother pleads ignorance of how he’s suffered. They’re having the conversation I avoided for as long as I could.

When I told my parents in an email that I was leaving the faith behind, my dad admitted that he understood why I was unhappy.

“Things haven’t always been done the best way,” he said vaguely. “But in order to accomplish Jehovah’s will there simply has to be an organization.”

Not unlike a royal justifying the existence of the monarchy, I thought. Both systems of rule ordained by God.

I’d been taught that what we believed was absolute fact.

If there’s one thing the royal family and a cult have in common, it’s the indoctrination. As Witnesses we simply referred to our beliefs as “the truth,” as if our interpretation of the Bible was beyond questioning. Growing up, I didn’t even refer to our way of life as religion, since religion could be false, and I’d been taught that what we believed was absolute fact, like it or not.

The worst thing you can do in a cult is admit it’s a cult, so for a long time I used the gentler term “high-control religion.” Even as an active Jehovah’s Witness, I couldn’t deny that the words fit, and I still worry that calling a group a cult will close more eyes than it opens. I want a better term for myself than “cult survivor” too. Cults can be life or death business, but compared to some, I didn’t have it so bad. Some didn’t survive at all.

Harry seems to have decided the name fits his family, too.

“Maybe we were a death cult,” Harry dares to suggest. “And wasn’t that a little bit more depraved?”

He describes his father pointing to the Duke of Edinburgh as an example of someone who was tormented by the press in his young years, but hailed as a national treasure at the end of his life.

“So that’s it then?” Harry asks. “Just wait till we’re dead and all will be sorted?”

“If you could just endure it, darling boy, for a little while, in a funny way they’d respect you for it,” Prince Charles replies.

The reward deferred is essential to keeping an otherwise independent adult in a system of control, and I knew those kinds of promises well. Witnesses are expected to sacrifice their own desires to earn passage through Armageddon and entry into a paradise earth. Better to die faithful and be resurrected in paradise than to seek happiness now and miss out on this glorious hope.

“Consider the Israelites,” my father urged me. “They complained about how things were being done, and they witnessed miracles…and some lost out.”

I no longer had to feign interest in the latest Watchtower article when my parents called, because they weren’t calling.

Leaving the royal family, it seemed, was a lot like leaving a cult, too. That is—unthinkable and punishable by social and familial exclusion. Witnesses can leave the faith three ways: against their will by being disfellowshipped and shunned, of their own volition by disassociating and being shunned, or by avoiding the decision as long as possible and “fading”—gradually doing less and less in the faith and hoping no one will notice.

For me—and for Harry, it seemed—the pandemic made a slow fade from our responsibilities impossible. When my parents invited me to watch the annual convention with them on Zoom, I could no longer pretend I had any interest left in the religion, or that I hadn’t been weathering lockdown with a boyfriend who didn’t share the faith. On some level, lockdown was the perfect time to be shunned—there were no parties to be disinvited from, no one was hanging out without me. I streamed coverage of Harry and Meghan’s move to California while I cut off contact with devout family members and watched friends unfollow me on Instagram.

At first, it was an immense relief. I no longer had to feign interest in the latest Watchtower article when my parents called, because they weren’t calling. I could post a picture of my boyfriend on Instagram for the first time. I could be myself.

It wasn’t until life began to return to normal that I felt what I had lost in a more visceral, even physical, way. One Saturday, before Witnesses had resumed door-to-door preaching, I passed a group of former friends eating brunch outside a restaurant near my apartment and we pretended not to see each other. I had understood that relationships within the religion were conditional, but I had also always been the one sheepishly turning my head when passing a former Witness on the sidewalk. I had been trained to treat defectors as if they were dead, but this was my first time as the ghost. I didn’t know how much these friends had heard about my decision to leave, or what stories they were telling themselves to make sense of it.

“I think deep down he knows it’s the truth,” we would often say of a disfellowshipped friend. “He just didn’t want to follow the rules.”

We told ourselves our missing friends would come back once the shunning process had worked its magic on them, and some did. But I wouldn’t, and they would never understand why.

Harry’s memoir may have set sales records, but both the book and the Prince’s post-royal publicity tour received its share of criticism.

“Even in the United States, which has a soft spot for royals in exile and a generally higher tolerance than Britain does for redemptive stories about overcoming trauma and family dysfunction,” Sarah Lyall wrote in the New York Times, “there is a sense that there are only so many revelations the public can stomach.”

Someone better versed in TikTok therapy-speak might accuse Harry of “trauma dumping.” But what they may not understand is the desire, after a lifetime of indoctrination into a bizarre way of life, to have strangers confirm what you always suspected—that you’re not the crazy one, they are. I wore out the patience of at least one friend seeking exactly this kind of reassurance, but the satisfaction of having your instincts confirmed at last is hard to resist. Finally, someone is telling you you’re right and it’s intoxicating.

When Harry told Anderson Cooper he and his wife would apologize if only his family would tell him what he and his wife had done wrong, an article in Newsweek was more than happy to provide an answer. But the question was rhetorical. If his family realized they had no answer, maybe it would open their eyes, bring them around to his side. That result was optimistic, and unlikely.

Leaving a cult requires you to let go of being right. The only way to garner sympathy from the people you leave behind is to shatter their faith, and for most of them, the cost is too high. They simply must believe in the fact of the institution they’ve sacrificed their freedom for. It’s easier to see the faults of a system that doesn’t benefit you, so the second-born son doomed to bad press coverage, or the single woman in a patriarchal religion, is better able to see the dark side of the institution that raised them. If you’re next in line for the throne, there’s so much more to lose by acknowledging the harm your beliefs do.

“I’m not interested in debating,” is all I would say to my father when he attempted to understand why I left or tried to convince me to change my mind. My parents have already made all their sacrifices for their faith and they’re waiting for their reward. To take that from them now would only hurt them.

The only way to garner sympathy from the people you leave behind is to shatter their faith.

One reviewer called the Prince “deaf to his privilege” in The Guardian, and I couldn’t help but think that perhaps our definition of privilege is too small. The privilege of leaving a palace for a mansion is undeniable. If I’d been able to afford my own apartment when my parents threatened to kick me out of the house if I stopped attending meetings, I could have left earlier. I wouldn’t have doubled-down on trying to convince myself I believed what I had been taught so I didn’t have to leave my entire life and all my loved ones behind to start over with nothing. But if I didn’t get to choose to be a Witness, certainly Harry didn’t get to choose to be a prince. And self-determination is more valuable than any trust fund. No palace or royal title could be more valuable than freedom. In that sense, Harry is only now enjoying the privilege of an ordinary person in an ordinary family.

In interviews Harry often says he hopes to reconcile with his family, that his issues are only with the press and the royal system, but I’ve learned it’s impossible to separate family from the institutions that rule them. My family and their religion are so intertwined they have become one and the same. Leaving one means leaving the other. I hope Harry makes peace with the fact that his family is the monarchy, and the monarchy is the press. And that in leaving any one of those things, he loses them all.

In the ex-Jehovah’s Witness community there are acronyms for people along the process of leaving: PIMI (physically in, mentally in), PIMQ (physically in, mentally questioning) PIMO (physically in, mentally out) POMO (physically out, mentally out) and perhaps the worst stage: POMI (physically out, mentally in). The POMI stage can be the most dangerous: it’s where ex-Witnesses, often disfellowshipped against their wishes, still believe, but find themselves unable to meet the demands of their faith. At best, POMIs languish, believing themselves disapproved by God and doomed to destruction. At worst, they resort to violence or commit suicide, hoping for forgiveness of their sins and a resurrection, a shortcut to a paradise they won’t get into otherwise.

For Harry, physically leaving could be as easy as making a phone call to Tyler Perry, but mentally leaving is the real work. Whether he makes amends with his family or not, I hope Harry can make peace with the fact that they may never understand why he wanted to be free. And I hope he can watch his father’s coronation and be happy for him—he’s finally getting the reward he was promised.

About the Author

Rebecca Woodward is a freelance writer living in Brooklyn. Her work (link: rebeccawoodward.com) has been published in The New York Times, HuffPost and Paste.

#prince harry #spare #british royal family #cult #rebecca woodward

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quinntamsin · 2 years

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Sitting on the sidelines, she watched the Firstborn Followers of the Fallen hand out pamphlets. Her eyesight noted how their eyes held no real life, and only dark malice. Possessed walking the streets and acting like Jehovah Witness'. This isn't good. VERY BAD! Saoirse crept along the edge of the alley, her eyes firm on the men as they disappeared into a strange temple. Opening her phone she snapped a picture, the strange bladed cross of Adriel sat atop it. "These fucks just moved into my home, is anyone dealing with them?" --- SPOILERS AHEAD! YES, Warrior Nun Season 2 came out and I binged it like the basic thirsty bitch I AM! Please note, I have a lot of solid criticism for this series and a lot of love for it. Please be aware, this TV Series is a strict departure from the kind of hypersexualized work of Ben Dunn, "Warrior Nun Areala". In that world, the Halo doesn't exist in the same way that the Nun in question (Shannon) is a reincarnation of the original Nun, Areala. In this story, Arela is a former pagan Valkyrie comes to serve the church. There's a lot more magick and devils in this story and not as much multiplanar science. First, I want to say that as we enter this season, Ava was her usual irritating self. I mean the girl was basically abused and killed for being disable as an orphan. Remember, she was treated as completely useless and was poisoned to death via an overdose. So when she got the Halo she went hogwild with all the power and ability to you know -walk.-. By now she's still being her reckless self, and starts to actually mature. The breakout of this particular season to me were Beatric, Superion and Camila. Yeah, when we finally get Yasmine into the mix I like how we have a Coptic Nun (who decided to drop a few drags on the British Colonization of Egypt) join the crew. The Ugly Adriel is one of the MOST abhorrently plot armor-filled villain I've seen since I watched WIthout a Trace. Seriously, that godkin should have been killed so many times and the fact he could figure shit out was just stupid. Near the end we got a good example of his power, but honestly these fights felt more like needless tension raising rather than threats. This is where seeing him doing more than offhanded plagues would have been kind of great. As you know, maybe a scene where he stares down a tank, or I dunno ends a war. Like seriously, I mean I get the catholic influences in this show. But there is far too much plot armor propping up the Firstborn, especially with how they treated Lillith. Oh, gods don't get me started on FUCKING LILLITH! Second, Lillith literally murders an entire crowd of the Firstborn fucks and then turns to the man later on. She breaks away after hearing of Mary's death and just -gives- up? Like I get that her mother is shitty and that we're trying to tie her to the demon in the comics (who is a villain daughter of the OG Lillith), but wasted arc. Seeing her as more of a neutral party rather than a simp for Adriel would have been awesome. Since she was already a pretty solid anti-heroine backstory since Season 1. So basically, the story here is just kind of filled with a lot of stakes and at times needless extension. Adriel spends most of the time being a fucking mouthpiece of his own rhetoric and his followers are mooks. The few who reveal themselves at the Conclave was nice touch. Finally, god Miguel was kind of cool, but he was basically a bomb sent by a god. That was his story, sure he introduce the anti-Adriel resistance, but his entire arc was just kind of blah. The Good Fuck, Beatrice is filled with such fucking useless lesbian energy. The entire build up is done in such a way, that I was honestly angry with Ava a lot. But, honestly, Ava is nice to have as a bi/pan figure as well. I had a lot of gay thoughts popping away, but I like Avatrice as a couple. Yeah, in the original season it seemed there was more chemistry with Mary. How she appeared to love Shannon though build up this relationship which seems to coalesce out of the Halo-Bearers with their sisters. Now, there is something to be said for how well acted Beatrice as a big sister is to Camila. What we see here though is the need to protect and care for someone in a supporting and romantic manner. Mary and Beatrice have a strong bond with the Warrior Nun. As Warrior Sisters they stand as a sort of right-hand and as a defender. Yes, the Halo Bearer's have vast supernatural powers, but they need someone to watch their back. This is made even more evident as it was Beatrice in Season 1 who conducted Ava's training. Being together in isolation after the awakening of Adriel and the bombing at the Vatican likely increased their dependence on one another. Her frustration and how she expresses it with Miguel's appearance and joining the team was well acted. Hell, I was so fucking happy when they kissed by the end! The End This series is not nearly as bad as Cursed, which was a -very fucking bad- fantasy series. One that had a bit of potential which ended up wasted! Because, we can't have Arthurian stuff that is kind of okay these days! Now that said, the CGI in this series is still pretty janky. Like, I feel like if Shadow & Bone or even Witcher can get an upgraded so can Warrior Nun. Now this was a series I wasn't sure was going to get renewed. I watched it when Summer 2020 came before I made my big watch of the first Saga's of One Piece. So when I saw a new season I was pleasantly surprised. I do find it really funny that netflix seems intent on placating the Queers with tossing us a bone of a few solid LGBT filled series. While still supporting trash human beings like I dunno, David Chapelle? Who the fuck knows in this case. I was happy to watch this series, and when Adriel was torn apart all I could say was "Took way too damn long!" Hottakes: I watched this series at the end of a long day and in between assistance my sibling with her baby. Plus, I had my teeth drilled because of a cavity so I was pretty damn high as balls. I spent more time analyzing the series and think it over the night after I watched it. So sadly unlike the rest of my reviews I don't have any really hottakes for this one. I will say I want to see some good fics using this verse for you know, better writing!

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dieu-mange-dieu · 2 years

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Specific Character Headcanons: Bertram Gilfoyle

Youngest of 3

Has two older sisters, the oldest is very similar to him in personality and style, the middle is closer to how they were raised

Oh yeah he was definitely raised religious, possibly Jehovah's witness

This caused a lot of the rift between he and his parents, especially his mother

Ran away a lot as a kid, was labelled the "problem child"

Has ADHD

Favourite colours are maroon and dark green

Wants people to think he's a cat person, but is a huge dog person

Hung out at Hot Topic all the time as a teenager, has only ever bought one thing (Black and pink cat ears. He was 27.)

Likes hiking, has gotten high in the woods before and not come back for 8 hours

Avid bacon enjoyer

Has oddly personal beef with vegans

Would definitely be a Bunker in the Back yard/ Apocalypse Prepper type guy if he had the time and the energy

Absinthe drinker, has a very elaborate setup for pouring absinthe

Hacked all of Dinesh's social media passwords on the day they met. Has never used them out of respect

Really likes candles, especially the tobacco and vanilla scents

Has a 7 year old niece

After hanging out with her he has shown up to work with Sofia the First clips in his hair on more than one occasion

Dinesh did not mention it

Has gone an entire month eating only cereal

Favourite cereal is Cocoa Puffs followed closely by Lucky Charms and the Kellogg's Strawberry cereal

Swears he hates kids but kids seem to love him. Is the designated babysitter at any gathering with children and always ends up having a great time

LIVES in chunky dark jumpers in the winter. Big fan of being cozy

Likes to wander aimlessly around IKEA when he gets the chance. He says it grounds him. Has spent hours in an IKEA before without buying a thing.

SLOW-ass walker. His ass is Not in a hurry

Huge dark chocolate enjoyer

Spoilers (?) ahead!

After Silicon Valley:

After the events of S.V. he moves to a cabin in Southern California and adopts a golden retriever named Buster

Has taken Dinesh hiking once.

Dinesh complained the whole time about how itchy and hot he was

Gilfoyle said he would rather blow his own father than go hiking with Dinesh again

Gilfoyle would take him hiking again if he asked.

When they are born he is named Monica's kids' godfather (he detests such titles)

Took Dinesh to Hawaii a couple of months after the Pied Piper fiasco so he could properly enjoy it. They're on more than decent terms now.

Has a drink with John once a year after the events of S.V.

They play chess.

#silicon valley hbo #silicon valley #silicon valley headcanon #bertram gilfoyle #gilfoyle #monica hall #dinesh chugtai

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computer-cacophony · 9 months

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Never Let It Be Said That Figuring Out Your Gender Identity Was a Picnic

TW for brief mention of CSA. sexism, high-control religion/cult mention

I saw and reblogged a comment on Twitter/X about a week or so back that said: "reclaiming your femininity for yourself and not for others after being raised in a traditional household." And the more I think about it, the more I realize about myself.

I thought I was comfortable as "Frank", and I do still feel somewhat comfortable as Frank, but I think I feel more comfortable as a "Sage" or a "Julie" or a "Nina". I think I'd so convinced myself that I hated being feminine due to my upbringing as an AFAB Jehovah's Witness (which is notoriously sexist, among other things), that I felt more comfortable presenting more masculinely and thought I was more of a man.

And I think I realized why. Again, I was born and raised as a Jehovah's Witness. It's a pretty sexist environment, and it's a close-minded environment, which makes it fucking shocking that I (foolishly) took the holy dunk, and they let me considering how outspoken I can be (sometimes. Frankly, I can also be a complete fucking coward too, but that's a story for another time.) Anyway, women can't have positions of power in the organization, they can't be an elder or a circuit overseer. No, the three things that they can be are a preacher (door-to-door proselytizing), a wife, and/or a baby-maker. Even if the sisters' achievements and courage outshined the men, the men would still take the spotlight while the ladies got second thanks, or no thanks at all.

And I think that's why I identified so strongly as a masculine-presenting person. I felt like no one could take me seriously, but I guess I thought that, if I were a man, people would take me more seriously. But that brings me to another realization: who does take me seriously? People outside the organization, of course!! They don't think I'm a total numpty.

Who doesn't take me seriously? The organization. Hell, they did nothing when I was SA'ed as a child by one of the elders in the congregation thanks to their stupid two-witness rule.

Truth be told, I think I do like being feminine, but I don't like what it entails when I'm in the organization. I threw out all of my skirts and dresses to donate later because I don't like them. Most of them were for going to the meetings/attending on Zoom (but on Zoom, no one has to know that you're actually wearing pants, or no pants at all XD), and the other stuff Mom bought me was because she was living vicariously through me because, as she said to me when we were talking about the stuff I was throwing out, I'm younger and prettier and thinner than her and she wanted me to wear the things she wanted to wear but can't because she's heavyset, even if it fucked with my mental health and I hated it. This is nothing against my mother, though. Low self-esteem is a bitch, and she at least acknowledged that what she did was fucked up and apologized for it, and she's more or less accepting of my journey to reclaim my femininity (though she doesn't know that it's also a part of my journey to leave the Jehovah's Witnesses).

I think a lot of my gender identity was tied to what I hated about the organization and myself, but now that I'm taking steps to leave the Jehovah's Witnesses, I'm properly able to think about myself, who I am, what I want to be.

I will always find comfort in the fact that I found comfort being Frank for a time, but I think it's time to put him in the backseat in favor of my true self: Julie (yes, I named myself after two of my favorite characters from the Welcome Home project, hahaha). I want to be more comfortable with myself. I want to find out what makes me comfortable, what makes me happy, what makes me, well, Julie, and I want to discard who I was when I was a Jehovah's Witness, or rather, who I made myself as when I was with them because of what they wanted me to be.

It's going to take some time, both to figure myself out and to leave, but once I do, I'm sure I'll be a lot more happy, more confident, and that I'll find it in my heart to love myself and the world more instead of living in fear.

#lgbtqia #lgbt pride #agender #genderfluid #gender confusion #christian faith #closeted #questioning #trans man #afab problems #genderqueer #pimo #physically in mentally out #jehovah's witnesses #jw #demigirl

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themoonandthestarless · 1 year

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Shadow Work Dabbles

April 6, 2023

Full Moon in Libra

This full moon is really hitting me hard on how I view my beliefs and true feeling about certain aspects in my life and how I have been avoiding them. It’s like the final boss that I have been working and practicing on battling is finally here and I need to know how to defeat or conquer this quest.

This week was insane, it was the week of the memorial, and for those who don’t know, in the Jehovah’s witness religion the memorial is the annual ritual— sorry— commemoration of Jesus’ death. The religion is heavy on this day and hype up the people like it’s some rave. I, didn’t go to this, it is my second year not going and so far no one seems to care anymore. My beliefs have changed over the course of a year. My mother has turned a blind eye and slowly shunning me, my father still loves me because he has been in my shoes before. But this time it’s different, I am not heading my way back to the arms of a God who protects molesters. The loving bombing that I will get when I go back will be ridiculous.

My brain is asking, why? Why don’t go back? I feel like it’s old tradition to fit in a religion either you are catholic or christian. Fitting in a religion is a must in this family and if you are not, you’re better of cast off. But imagine this, if I do go back to that religion I would have to morph myself under the ideology of that the man rules the body of a woman, woman in the religion have no rights, we are there to breed and feed the men. My independent mentality will be reformed into that of dependent on my husband. I will be reliving a generational trauma and I am just the 3rd Generation in it.

I will have to cut off all my friends that I knew and recreate those that only like me because I am a JW. If you are raped by a man, I would have to show respect to the rapist action and forgive him because he violated me. If my child was born in this religion I would have to force myself to conform my child’s thinking to the JW thinking of raising a child, make them watch the Sophia and Caleb videos, listen to the JW music that we are made to listen. I would have to clay my child into the thinking of a JW, an innocent child who only wishes to explore and see the world. JW are meant to shun it and hide away from the world for they believe it’s the devil.

Well… many churches have said the world is the devil so technically JW are not the only ones believing in that. I looked into old sermons back in the 1800s and many sermons were to shun the world and its immoral ways.

I only want to free my generation and my future descendants from this terrible trauma that my family have endured for over 60ish years. May my strength strengthen me to overcome this problem— to conquer this boss as I enter a new dawn.

#ex jw #exjw #witchcraft #chaos witch #witchyshit #shadow work

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boricuacherry-blog · 2 years

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A mutual friend introduced me to Michael [Jackson] and given that I'm a rabbi, and he's not Jewish, I didn't know if there would be a deep spiritual connection between us. Michael was a Jehovah's Witness, but I was amazed at how deep that spiritual bond was.

I think people forget that he was a missionary, knocking on peoples' doors on Sunday, handing out watchtower magazine, even after Thriller. He was raised a very devout Jehovah's Witness.

And though we connected, I also don't believe humans are meant to live as gods. The moment I felt like my advice could not be heeded - because I wasn't a fan, I was a friend - I felt that's when I had to leave, and I severed our relationship. I didn't know whether to believe the allegations. What I did know was that regardless of whether it was true or not, Michael could never really again be around children.

Michael said he wanted to leverage his celebrity to help the world's children. So what I said to him is, 'you were never meant to be the child's Messiah. Stop thinking that you're the one who's supposed to give all the world's neglected children attention.'

Gavin [Arvizo]'s family arrived one day, and I was actually almost convinced, that Michael had brought them to impress me, to show me his good works. Because Gavin was a child who was suffering from cancer. When the trial happened - he was very reclusive, very secluded - so it was hard for me to believe anything had happened, because Gavin was also there with his family.

But before this documentary, we've never heard allegations this explicit, we've never seen the faces of the accusers as they make these allegations, and we've never heard the family members who've had to shoulder that pain. To see the guilt that the parents are feeling, touched me very deeply. And hearing their spouses - when you marry someone who has experienced deep trauma and how you have to help carry that burden.

When I first saw the Bashir documentary I was outraged. You cannot share your bed with a child, that is immoral, unacceptable - it's deplorable. I remember watching it - and feeling like I had been kicked in the stomach. I could not believe that he had done that - and that he had said it.

If Cardinal [George] Pell was a uniquely Australian tragedy of a country traumatized by its more senior religious prelate accused of these monstrous crimes, Michael was almost a high priest - of superstardom. And then you can also do things you're not called out on. This is a profound morality tale for all of us. I don't believe these men are lying. And I don't believe the shame and guilt being experienced by their parents - their mothers in particular - are feigned.

I think the cognitive dissonance kicks in with all of us in our inability to confront the most painful truths. And like Cardinal Pell, I can understand that when you have someone who is the head of an entire church for an entire country, it's hard to reconcile. They still respect and revere religious figures. But that discomfort doesn't excuse our need - our responsibility - to speak out, and to accept that there's a right and a wrong in this world.

-Rabbi Schmuley Boteach

#rabbi schmuley boteach #quote #mj #michael jackson #allegations #leaving neverland

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lboogie1906 · 2 months

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Edward Rubin Griffin (July 15, 1968) is a comedian and actor. He is known for portraying Eddie Sherman in Malcolm & Eddie, the title character in Undercover Brother, and Tiberius Jefferson “T.J.” Hicks in Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo and Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo. He portrayed Orpheus in Scary Movie 3 and voiced Richard Pryor in Black Dynamite. He was ranked #62 on Comedy Central’s list of the 100 Greatest Stand-ups of All Time.

He was born in Kansas City, Missouri, and was raised by his single mother, Doris Thomas, a phone company operator. His family were Jehovah’s Witnesses. He moved to Compton to live with his cousins. He enlisted in the Navy but was discharged within months for using marijuana.

He hopped onstage on a bet and earned a standing ovation with family stories. He talked his way into stand-up gigs around town.

He has appeared in films such as The Meteor Man, The Walking Dead, Jason’s Lyric, Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo, Double Take, Undercover Brother, John Q, Scary Movie 3, and Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo, Norbit, and Urban Justice.

He has appeared on Chappelle’s Show in the skit “World Series of Dice” as Grits n’ Gravy.

He performed on two tracks from Dr. Dre’s album, 2001, and the intro track from The D.O.C.’s album Helter Skelter.

He has appeared in commercials for Miller Beer’s Man Laws.

Comedy Central released Griffin’s stand-up comedy special You Can Tell ‘Em I Said It on DVD.

His stand-up comedy special, E-Niggma, was released on Showtime.

He married Carla (1984-97). He married Rochelle (2002-09). He married Nia Rivers (2011-12). He married Ko Lee Griffin (2017). He has 11 children. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

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donveinot · 3 months

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intro-blog · 4 months

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I've been curiously exposed to a few interactions with plots about movie writers. writers. screen writers. Is it a sign? I don't believe in coincidences. To me, everything happens for a reason. Like the script is being written every breath I take. As if the universe already thought of my life, me breathing and being alive is equivalent to the pen hitting the paper. The fingers click clacking away at a typewriter, keyboard, touch screen. Every minute, from the conscious decisions, to the uncontrollable factors... it's all meant to happen. From the glorious moments, to the painful lessons. From feeling euphoric to feeling my heart rip slowly in two.

Just as I'm writing this... Tony Soprano is talking about not having control over his son knowing he's a mob boss. Implying he was born into it. He gets asked by Dr.Melfi, "Genetic predispositions are only that, predispositions. It's not a destiny written in stone. People have choices. [...] You think that everything that happens is preordained? You don't think that human beings possess free will?" To which Tony asks why he isn't making pots in Peru. Not long ago I saw a video of an arrogant Christian preacher who preys on college students to make himself feel important. At least that's the feeling I get from those videos. A young man not intending to disrespect him told him, "You're only Christian because you were brought up here" This got Mr.Cliffe so upset. He lost his temper, and told the young man he was stupid to assume that. Uhm, so if Tony Soprano would've been born in Peru, would he have still had the opportunity to be raised surrounded by made-men? That's a bit of a stretch. Yes there were Irish, Jews, and even Blacks that were trusted as affiliates of the Mafia... but none actual members. Given that power that Tony seems to be having a problem with his own children seeing. Just like he saw with his father.

So now I ask myself. Was I really meant to live what I have lived? I think so. Do I have control of where I direct my life? To a certain degree I do. I can put in the effort to try to make something happen. Only my surroundings and the time added to that effort can determine if said things will happen. There is a supreme God who sees all. Who controls all. Who allows all to happen. There must be an entity overseeing it all. The poverty, the violence which is a byproduct of people trying to cut corners to get rich fast.

Wow. Yet another scene on a different show where a script/writers is mentioned. What is the universe trying to tell me? To write? To leave a story behind? Perhaps. Perhaps if I continue to write I will find my calling. My answer. My purpose. All the characters so far I've seen on these films are writers who do not end up being successful. Either kill themselves, or engage in risky behaviors. Yet everyone he speaks to when asking for advice is giving him the best suggestions possible.

Uncle Tony angrily tries to wonder what's wrong with Chris, his nephew. "Do you ever think about... You know... [puts a finger gun into to his mouth]" Chris replies, "FUCK NO" "Imagine those fucking losers blowing their brains all over the bathroom."

I have a feeling I should do what Tone Soprano is doing. (I had a bud from High School named Tone Snively, he was a former Jehovah's Witness that was derailing from his social life. Thought of him just now.) Tony Soprano has a thing with wanting to be accepted by his mother. Yet, the whole time she has everything against him. She won't accept him for who he is. And this breaks him. Every little thing she knows about him, she shares with his uncle and breaks his trust. My mother has been breaking my trust. She tells my uncle not only what I tell her. But also what I don't... what I do comes out of her mouth with ease. Tony stopped trusting his mother. I always confided in her. Little did I know that made me a weak man. My arc has flourished, I'm growing a magic bean and reaching to the sky. Climbing on my own is my calling.

I just found it. I found the calling that I was looking for. To be a man. To stop sucking on mom's emotional tit. To live my own life. To no longer confide in her like she raised you to. To grow your own veggies, to raise your own cows. To do things on your own. It's your turn. I just can't help it. Writing is saving me. Writing is helping me grow. I miss her so much. I decided to cut her off for little over the last forty days out of one whole year. I must not be weak. I must be a man. I will be a man. I am a man.

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