#rigel is allowed to bite people again

[justagaycryptid]

Tarnished Dog

[kaccvcate]

second autobiographical essay below

The first sixteen years of my life I spent with my mom, and they were honestly the motherfucking worst.

My mom met my step dad larping when I was about 2, he was 16, and she was 26. She got pregnant, they got married, and he started sexually abusing me right away. When my brother was born, I couldn't stand him and was a complete cunt to him (sorry dude, I was a kid and I didn't know better.)

When I started school, I struggled to focus and did very poorly, and my mom and step dad would beat me and take all my things out of my room except for furniture, and lock me in there except to use the bathroom, for months on end, until they thought my grades were good enough. My step dad would come into my room at night and touch me. He would also jump out at me around corners and "wrestle" with me (pretending to wrestle for fun so he could squeeze my tits.) I would struggle and yell, and bite him as hard as I could, and my mom would punish me for hurting him. Sometimes he would do it in front of her, and when I complained to her, she would call me a liar. (His name again: Rigel Cameron Freeman.)

We moved pretty much every year because my parents struggled to maintain jobs. Mainly we lived in different parts of Gainesville, Florida, but we also briefly lived in Raleigh, North Carolina. At school I was usually the only non Christian kid, and I was a complete asshole because my family life was so horrible, so no one liked me and I was bullied constantly. I spent a lot of time in class, and all my time at recess, drawing and making up imaginary friends, or reading books about talking cats (I was very misanthropic, something I still struggle with.) When I was in late elementary to middle school, I made a few friends I still talk to. That was also the same time as my first suicide attempt (5th grade), and when I started self harming.

When I was 12 I dyed my hair red, and my friend's dad named me Red (their family were Irish and Cherokee.) I had been called lots of other names before that, basically something different by each relative, and the only thing everyone could agree on was that none of them suited me (and no one ever called me my government name.) After I was named Red, I dyed my hair every other color you can think of, but my name has stayed the same.

The same year, I moved to Miami, and that began a new isolated phase in my life that led to me becoming interested in magick. My mom had never lived in a major city before, and we ended up moving to a pretty sketchy neighborhood (gunshots almost every night, drive bys, etc.) In our home country (Mississippi) kids are simply expected to fend for themselves outdoors until supper. Now that I was trapped inside with my incredibly abusive family, I had nothing to turn to but the internet (something I'm sure many of us here can relate to.)

I became interested in magic through mythology. I had always found other pre-Christian cultures fascinating, since I wasn't allowed to learn anything about my own, and I discovered through Wikipedia and Google searches that people still practiced the pagan European religions of my ancestors. Through neopaganism, I began to learn about ceremonial magic extremely quickly, feeling as though it was the one piece of my life I'd been missing, finding that I had an innate understanding of something other than visual art for the first time. It wasn't long before I was ready to try my first invocation. I had always wondered if I had a "spirit animal," or a guide, which I knew must be part of my subconscious, and recognizing immediately that I could use ritual meditation to access this, I crafted my first ritual based on some uninitiated wiccan articles I had been reading, and what implements I had laying around. I set out a circle of stones, invoked the four quadrants with a candle at each cardinal direction, laid out offerings of oil, salt, and water, lit an incense cone, and two additional candles for the Mother and Father. My practice is very different now, but my results at the time were extraordinarily intense. When I closed my eyes, this is what I saw:

Dense forest, high on the mountain. It's foggy and overcast, but it's summertime. The rocks are covered with moss, thick and green. I look down at my sandy brown forepaws and know that I am a panther. I begin to stroll, and I can feel the power in my muscles. I'm strong and free.

I opened my eyes, and was back in my bedroom, surrounded by rocks and candles. Shortly afterward, my mom mentioned Scott Panther to me for the first time (I didn't remember meeting him as a baby.) I'm sure it will confuse some that my first experience with a native archetype, my family animal, was through a European style ritual. Hey, think how I feel! I should have been able to take peyote and meet a mountain lion face to face to earn my name, like any decent person. Unfortunately, since I was so isolated, I didn't have the privilage. My connection to the panther is extremely deep - some of my first dreams were of being a cat, and the first time I prayed (age 8) it was to "StarClan," which, for the uninitiated, is the clan of dead cats who live in the sky in the children's book series Warrior Cats (I still like to think my cat ancestors are up there watching.) I've always studied cat behavior and embodied cat energy, even before I had any vision, but in my life that was treated as something annoying and strange by the people around me, rather than the sacred mystical practice it was. When I had cats in my life, I prioritized them, often over my own health and safety. Even though I only have a dog now, I still consider cats to be my teachers. I can't say whether my conceptualization of reality and my experiences is native, or European, but I would guess it's a mix of both, like me.

I started high school at MAST Academy in Miami, a school for "future scientists." My family always discouraged me from drawing or playing music, often my instruments would be taken away or sold, or I would have nothing but lined notebook paper to draw on (I would only get things I needed for school.) Since all I had to decide a "career" on was my passion for non-human animals, I thought I might be a zoologist. It was a lot less horrible than most other high schools in a lot of ways, and a few of the teachers even treated me like a person (cheers.) I started visiting my dad a little during this period, he began teaching me about Jewish mysticism and Kaballah, what little I could understand, and I began to read from his collection of books on magick and the occult.

During my second year of high school, my mom and step dad moved to the Netherlands, and brought me with them. I was too young and shy (scared) to have any fun, and I just thought about suicide constantly. My mom would never stop yelling at me about everything, telling me how l worthless I am. I caught my step dad taking pictures of me as I got out of the shower, and my little brother told me he caught him watching me sleep through the window over my bedroom door (you could stand at the top of the stairs and look right through it.) I became paranoid he was going to start raping me again, like he did when I was younger, and slept with a knife beside me, when I could sleep. (Again, his name is Rigel Cameron Freeman, and he is a computer programmer who works in the video game industry.)

The only positive part of my life during this period was an online death cult I joined, called Les Fleurs de la Mort. I can't talk about our practices in detail, but it lead me to get really into gardening, which was probably the healthiest possible pastime for me. I don't think I've spoken to any of my fellow Fleurists in years, but if any y'all are reading this, meow.

After I turned 16, I got the chance to visit my dad back in Miami (court ordered), and I refused to return to my mom. I haven't heard from my mom or step dad since then, except for a handful of extremely rude emails from my mom before covid, and I hope that's the end of it.

Rigel Cameron Freeman, the pedophile who made my life hell and molested me constantly throughout my childhood, currently has sole custody of my youngest sibling, who's 9. (He was born after I left, and we've never met.)

[luthientinuviiels]

if i become a supervillain it’ll 100 percent be thanks to tumblr’s incredible talent in ruining my posts ANYWAYS @phil-the-stone my inbox ate your original ask i’m so sorry but here’s the answer!!

Send me a number and I’ll write you a oneshot!

“I dreamt about you last night.”

In retrospect, Peter could’ve stopped all of this from happening if he’d just confronted Gamora in the morning like he’d wanted to. It’s not a surprise to find her up before him – she’s always been an early riser, especially before missions – but the dark circles beneath her eyes and the thousand yard stare she has on kind of is. The fact that her hands are shaking around her cup just seals the deal.

But the thing is, he only has like five seconds to stare at her in concern before the rest of the team filters in, and confronting her with everyone else around would just make her angry, so the next thing he knows they’re leaving the Milano to fight a bunch of angry warlords on the cliffs of Rigel IV and Gamora still hasn’t said a word to him-

He should’ve said something. He should’ve realized why he’d been having a remarkably easy time avoiding the blaster bolts sooner, why he never had the chance to land a hit himself because Gamora was there first.

But he didn’t, because he’s a frickin’ idiot, so when he twists to dodge the shot that’s coming toward him, he doesn’t realize Gamora’s diving in front of him before it’s too late.

The shot isn’t fatal, not to her (he’s never been so thankful for her body mods oh god) but it knocks her unconscious and, more importantly, knocks the power from her aero-rig.

They’re over a thousand feet in the air.

The next seconds are easily some of the most terrifying in Peter’s life. He doesn’t even give himself time to scream her name, diving after her in a straight free-fall because he can’t, he can’t lose anyone else not this soon not Gamora-

Gamora falls too fast, her limp form small and fading and for a few awful seconds Peter thinks he might not catch her. But weight and consciousness work in his favor, and he’s able to catch her with several hundred feet to spare, his arms shaking as he grips her tightly.

The whole experience leaves him shaky and scared and sick, which is probably why he snaps at her like he does.

“-the hell, Gamora!” he yells, after the others have left them in her room. “What were you thinking?!”

Gamora shifts, pulling the bio-sensor off, her face still too pale. “They would’ve hit you,” she says, voice emotionless. “You wouldn’t have survived it. I did.”

“I could’ve dodged it,” Peter fumes, hands balling into trembling fists by his side. “I was dodging it, damnit, Gamora, you could’ve died just as easily!”

“But I didn’t,” she says, her face expressionless, her eyes on the ceiling. “So it doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t- yes, it freaking matters, Gamora, I almost had to watch you die!” Peter snaps. “You were doing it the whole damn battle, too! Look, I get it if you think I’m too – too freaking helpless, now, but you can’t just-“

"I dreamt about you last night," Gamora interrupts him. Peter is momentarily silenced by the abrupt change in subject.

"Wha - okay?" Peter says, thrown for a loop. "I don't see what-"

"I-“ she swallows. “I dreamt Thanos killed you," Gamora says, her voice hollow.

The end of Peter's sentence strangles off in his throat. He looks at her, really looks at her, the trembling in her hands and the way she blinks furiously.

“He killed you and I couldn’t stop him,” she says, her voice growing unsteady. “Just like I couldn’t stop him from killing my parents.”

Peter’s anger evaporates, leaving him feeling like he’s been kicked in the chest. Now his heart is just breaking for her.

"I’ve ignored it this long, but that was a reminder," she says, her hand pushing through her hair in frustration. “Thanos is still out there. He’s coming eventually, and I – I don’t know what-“ Gamora cuts off, her eyes squeezing tightly shut.

"He murdered my first family, Peter,” she says, brokenly. “And I had to watch. He killed them just to hurt me. And I can't - Peter, I can't-" Gamora's breath hitches, and she curls in on herself, impossibly small on the bed.

“Gamora,” Peter whispers, frozen where he stands.

“I can’t go through that again, I can’t, I - I can't watch him kill you, too, Peter!" she bursts out, sitting up sharply, her hands clenching at her hair. "I can't be the reason you die, I can't, I can't, I-“

“Hey,” Peter says, finally snapping out of his stupor to sit lightly on the bed next to her. “Hey, hey, look at me.” He gently takes her hands in his, guiding her fingers out of the death grip they have around her hair. “Gamora.”

She finally looks at him, eyes bloodshot where the start of tears gather on her lower lash line, her expression tight as she bites her lip fiercely. Peter’s heart breaks all over again.

Still holding her hands in his, he leans forward, resting his forehead against hers. Gamora’s eyes flutter closed, and he feels her fingers tighten around his.

“I’m okay,” he says. “I’m alive, alright? All of us are.”

“For now,” she whispers.

“And we’re planning on staying that way,” he says. “We’re a strong team, Gamora. We’ve fought against some pretty rough people and come out on top.”

"This is Thanos, Peter," Gamora says, anguished. "He's like no one you've ever seen."

"Then we'll follow your lead," Peter says, firmly. “However you want to fight this, we’ll follow you.”

“…this isn’t your fight,” Gamora tries, but she sounds exhausted, broken down.

“Maybe not,” Peter says. “But it’s yours. And we’re not letting you face this on your own. You were there for my crazy father, remember? That’s what this family does. Kill each other’s parents.”

Gamora gives a strangled noise that sounds like it’s caught between a sob and a snort. She finally relaxes, allowing Peter to pull her tightly into his arms, and she buries her face in his shoulder.

"I can't promise you nothing bad will happen," Peter says, quietly. "But I can promise you that we're gonna fight as hard as we can. And we won’t leave you, Gamora. We’ve made it this far. I mean, we defeated a Celestial.”

There’s a brief silence. "I know you're not helpless," she whispers. "But I'm scared, Peter. It’s weak, but I’m…terrified."

“You’re not weak,” Peter says, determinedly. “It’s okay to be scared. Hell, I don’t know how you wouldn’t be scared. I can’t even imagine what I’d do if I’d been captured by Thanos-“

Gamora’s hand tightens around his arm sharply.

“-right, okay, bad road to go down,” Peter amends, hurriedly. “But Gamora, you’re the strongest person I know. I honestly can’t even begin to tell you how much I admire you for that, because, like, holy shit, you’re so, so strong Gamora. But,” he says, brushing her hair lightly to the side. “You don’t have to be strong on your own. You have us, too. And I’m serious about following your lead. Whatever you want to do, however you want to do it, we’re behind you. A hundred percent of the way.”

Gamora is silent. She doesn’t pull back, allowing Peter to keep holding her close, and he tries to will every bit of love, every bit of determination he has to never leave her, through the embrace.

“If I’m going to lead my team against Thanos, I’m going to need my co-leader beside me,” she finally says.

“He’ll be there,” Peter says, smiling. “You know why?”

“Why?” Gamora mutters, sounding like she already knows the answer.

“Because,” Peter says. “There ain’t no mountain high, ain’t no valley low-“

“Peter, are you serious?” Gamora pulls away, with a weary sigh.

“Ain’t no river wide enough, baby. If you need me, call me, no matter where you are, no matter how far-“

“Peter,” Gamora repeats, lightly hitting his arm, but there’s a smile pulling at her mouth. Peter goes quiet, but he continues to hum, still holding her hand in his.

“Thank you,” she finally says, exhaling heavily. Peter squeezes her hand.

“Anytime.”

[writinginthenebula]

The spell works, and suddenly, Panic is standing in the middle of the seven men, all of them staring at him quietly.

 He puts his pizza down, confused, and looks around, not seeing Apollo anywhere.

 “Did you summon me he...” he starts, but freezes, his eyes widening as he looks at the others. “Oh... Oh no...”

 “So you were off” Professor starts, eyes narrowed, and Panic swallows dry.

 “I-I...”

 “You are not allowed to get out without supervision” Flirt is the next, his hands on his waist. “What were you thinking?”

 “I-I just...”

 “Even we that aren’t your original friends know you can’t walk around like that” Sad says, shaking his head. “I am disappointed in you”

 “Panic, you know I usually stay by your side but... You should have at least said something...” Nerd says, biting his lip, and Panic looks around before looking down.

 “But... But I... It was just pizza...” he mumbles, his voice wavering.

 “We know. But something could have one wrong” Soft says, his voice smooth and worried. Suddenly, something snaps.

 “What could have gone wrong?” Panic asks, quietly, darkly, and he looks up, his eyes on fire. The others step back. “I could have gotten an attack? So what? I get those all the time with you there or not. Why would this time be any different?”

 “That is not what we meant...” Soft tries again, but Panic growls.

 “Yes it is! I know who and what I am, but just because of it I am not allowed to have any fun?!” he asks, and a black aura surrounds him. “You all treat me like a monster that needs to be stuck inside forever and never see the light of day! I am not a child anymore! I can take care of myself just fine!”

 “You can’t!” Professor interrupts, walking forward and grabbing Panic’s arms. “Don’t you see what you are doing now?! You are out of control Rigel! You can’t be left alone! You have a condition!”

 “I AM A CONDITION!” he screams, pulling away from Professor and growling deeply, the aura becoming darker by the second. “Isn’t that what you Anxieties are all proud of?! Well I will embrace what I am as well! I am Panic, I am fear, I am despair! I know what I am and that won’t ever change! I have panic attacks constantly but this is the first time in years that I have been so well for so long! And instead of embracing you all hate it and want to lock me up again! I am not a monster to keep hidden inside a closet! I want to live and walk around and be happy! All of us have problems and you know what you all do?! You pretend you don’t or you act sarcastic to other people to rub off on them! I am nice to everyone, I hide away when things are hard and I have fun when I can have fun! I am not going to hide away again! I want to live and I want to go to classes and I want to have friends!”

 “You can’t and you won’t! You’re not normal, Rigel! You have a problem!” Professor screams back, and everything goes silent.

 The dark aura around Panic never leaves, now black and thick, but he deflates from all his anger, his eyes tearing up as he stares at Professor with broken eyes.

 “Oh... Oh no...” Nerd mumbles, and he steps forward, but stops again when Panic begins to cry.

 “If that’s what you all think of me, then be it...” Panic mutters, looking down as the tears fall his eyes. He makes his way through the circle as quickly as he can, rushing to his room and crying loudly as he closes and locks the door, the black aura becoming bigger as he cries.

 Monster. That’s what we are. That’s what we will always be...

 Then let the monster out.