#tw: Deadnaming mention

[sapphoscorner]

Y'know, as a white person,when rasa said to me that racism changed your whole perception of the world I agreed, because yeah white supremacy and racism are the main reasons why there's so much bigotry

But now I'm sitting here, seeing white trans people coddling a (presumably) cis woman for misgendering and deadnaming a trans Black man (he's a fictional character but my point still stands) and I'm like...yeah racism does affect how we view the world because I don't think these people would have been as chill if this cis person deadnamed a white trans character.

Also just because it's so weird seeing people being ok with deadnaming a trans character?? I thought we agreed deadnaming is bad?? So yeah I'm just like "oh people are coddling this person because they're probably white and don't care for Black trans people"

[yourpostisonpinterest]

@acybernetickiwi

i found your post on pinterest!

[hikaaa-bi]

okay but is it confirmed that ink5oul’s government name is their deadname? bc i see a lot of people complaining about “deadnaming ink5oul” and nowhere in the podcast does it say that ink5oul doesn’t go by the name grace. yes, they’re nonbinary but that doesn’t mean they can’t have a typically “feminine” name.

“ink5oul” seems to be the name of their online persona anyway, idk why people think that calling them grace is deadnaming them, when it hasn’t even been confirmed yet.

and before anyone comes at me, i’m genderqueer myself. i just wanted to add in my two cents bc i think people are blowing this way out of proportion.

[gummywurm-gaming]

Little bittergiggle meme bc I love him and toadster so much

Also I found out from the wiki that bittergiggle was originally called something else and it sounded kinda feminine to me so my first thought was "canonical deadname????" And I found it so funny that that was my first thought and not "oh cool beta name for bittergiggle" that I made this

[thecouncilofidiots]

Constantly deadnaming and misgendering your child, despite knowing their identity and preferred way of address, then jokingly "offering" to call them an intersexist slur instead...

Ah, yes! Allyship. /sarcasm

-Karma

[pluralquotebook]

”i think bunnies should be trusted with guns”

“what are you talking about, bunnies should NEVER be trusted with guns”

“go ask michael kovach since we’ve been following him on x (which we don’t use) for months”

“don’t bring him into this!!!-wait, WHAT?”

.

[carnivalls]

writing some of eve's relationship with her dad. did you guys know it was this bad

[helldustedstories]

I am......not doing great, fam. My parents were on vacation for a couple of weeks, and came to visit me during the last leg of their trip. I was already kind of apprehensive about that, considering the last time they came to visit out here, they kind of ambushed me and tried to pull the whole "we don't support your lifestyle" after essentially forcing me to officially out myself to them.

I thought they had been doing better with using my name and proper pronouns, but turns out they still super frequently deadname me, to my face and to the rest of my family, and barely even tried to use my pronouns at all. (Though at one point, my mom went "She--he--they--she," which.....idk.)

So I was masking super hard the whole time they were here, then my mom broke her leg and it was just.....I'm an expert at pretending I'm fine when I'm not, when my family's here.

I might not be around as much for a little while. I took today off because I'm barely a human being right now, and it's gonna take some time to really recover from how much of my hard work at feeling okay with myself they undid in just a long weekend.

[ask-the-anomalous-linguist]

//OOC: To those anons on @/corrosive-theatrics, fuck all the way off. Transphobia is transphobia regardless of how you want to package it. I myself am trans and many of my friends are, too; I can say right now that you dismissing Dyo's feelings about being deadnamed, even accidentally and unknowingly, regardless of your so-called "reasoning" is disgusting and pathetic.

//OOC: You're part of the problem.

[blackthorn-legion-irl]

ah, the deadnaming anons are back it seems.

funny how none of them ever come after me who can find them immediately. it's almost like they're just cowards trying to get a rise out of people.

[poll-ventures]

Perdition 1.4

< >

I hung up. I stared at the phone in my hand, its screen showing an old rotary telephone slamming into its receiver.

Numbly, I watched it repeat several times before it faded away into the black of the dead screen. Why had I done that?

What am I doing?

I broke into a sprint down the road, running as fast as I could to the woods. 

*****

The woods of Old Hill were untouched. Serene, tranquil, and still easing itself awake from the dusty silence of early morning. I tore through the trees at a sprint, thin vines and branches tearing at my coat as I sped over the cold packed dirt and gnarled forest roots. 

I was following a creek, and I was relatively sure it was the same one that Noel meant. I’d seen the maps of the land in the museums, but those had never held much truth when it came to small details like a small creek in the heavy western woods. Noel's parent's mansion had been built only a few decades ago, so I was guessing at a ghost.

I slowed as I approached a large fallen basswood tree, leaning on it as I caught my breath. I really wasn’t made for running, and my lungs screamed with the icy air pulling and pushing out of them. As I sat on the cool bark, I faced the way I’d come, and recognized it.

I’d been here before, with Noel, when she needed a break from her homework, or life in general. This was near the right spot.

“Noel!” I shouted, turning around on the tree to search for her. The quiet, yet alive chatter of the woods slowed as my voice rung out, then returned as it died.

A woodpecker stabbed a rhythm into a far away tree, and the forest all together went on uncaring. I swore under my breath, and moved my legs to straddle the cold dead tree like a horse.

The felled basswood spanned the creek, and I stared down its length as I caught my breath. Moving my gloved hand down the trunk, I found my glove was sticking to something.

It was a carved heart. The injured wood was green and fresh, sap building up and out at the edges of the cut.

The letters in the heart read N + J, then a date. 2-3-23. Very fresh. I stared at the ‘N’, brushing the older sap aside with my thick gloved digits.

Natalie.

The name still burned painfully in my heart, incorrect and shameful in the memories it wrought. One word from a well meaning stranger, one reminder of the date of the accident, that’s all it took. 

February 15th, 2020. The night was alive in my mind again, without my asking. I turned my head up, to face the woods. 

The woods, as many dark and cold nights on the road had taught me, could be very dangerous. Refusing to drive or even be driven after the accident, I had backpacked my way down from New York.

I’d thought the trip would be quick; Google Maps said ten days, and I thought I'd be in Old Hill in nine, maybe eight days, easy.

After the money for inns and motels had run out, I had realized that walking worked on the same kind of time that hospitals and classes right before lunch did: Slow time. 

Time that stretches on until you're sunburnt and dehydrated, until you want to turn back, but that would make things even worse, and everyone back home doesn’t want you there anyway, so just keep on heading down I-81 counting the mile markers. 

Slow time traps you in this until your eyes roll into the back of your skull, and you’re willing to sleep on a pile of rusty nails because at least they don’t fucking honk at you for having the gall to walk on the shoulder instead of in the gluttonous mud trench that sucks your falling-apart-shoes down its shit-coated-throat.

So, after a long day of trudging, the sun would go down, sometimes obligingly slow, sometimes slipping right out of slow time and into blink-and-you’ll-miss-it time, diving below the horizon and leaving you soaking wet, struggling with two damp sticks to make a fire.

This, however, was preferable to the perils of the interstate’s shoulder and its many bored, cloying cops and just-like-me vagrants.

If I had to choose, though, it’d be the vagrants. I’d shared a few kind fires with a number of them, sometimes learning their names and their stories, sometimes sitting in uneasy silence until we wandered off to sleep in private.

As the weeks wore on, I had been moving into a cold front, and not sleeping in front of the fire had become impossible. 

More often than not, I’d made camp in a thin layer of trees that lined a highway-side property. Sometimes you’d need to hop a fence, which started out hard, but by the second week was routine.

This was technically and legally trespassing, but a camo sleeping bag and a good spot usually got you through the night without disturbance. Usually.

More than once, I’d been woken by something rummaging through my belongings, sometimes even the coat I’d been sleeping in. Sometimes it’d be curious and annoyed animals, but most times it had been people. The cops had always been the worst. 

“What you’re doing is illegal,” they’d say, then look at me confused and finish either with “Sir,” or, more often, “Ma’am.” Always with disapproval in their voice and always using more force than needed.

Sometimes they’d let me move on, or I’d get a ride to their office, where they called my father, confirmed he knew where I was, then bewilderedly let me go, usually with a stern warning. 

Most cops, when they understood, had offered food and drink for my trip. Some had even offered rides, which I graciously denied. Some offered neither, and just let me go.

One, the worst, had left me locked up in the little town’s singular cell for three days and three nights. It was just outside of West Virginia, right after I’d crossed the Kentucky border. 

Jessup, as the nothing little two-road town was called, apparently had trouble keeping folk around. Or so I was told by Jessup’s top boozer, who said his name was Jesse. He’d already been in the cell when I was thrown in.

The officer who’d found me on the side of the road, a mean mugging ugly woman, had given Jesse her meanest mug as she walked away with a clipboard securely tucked beneath one arm.

Jesse of Jessup played harmonica, and drank like a fish. In the morning he was always set free, but at night, he was brought to the cell, what he lovingly and drunkenly called ‘Jesse’s Little Corner of Jessup’. 

On my last night in his town, he’d snuck in a small bottle of Fireball, a deck of cards, and his dirty harmonica, still wet from its play in the bar. After the mean-mugger had left for the night, Jesse showed me how to play Hearts, Bullshit, Garbage, and the 'ca.

He was good, and I told him as much. In his jovial way, he corrected me: “I’m not good,” I remembered him slurring, “I’m mean. ‘Jesse,’ you should say. ‘You play a meaaaaan har-moan-i-cah,’ you should be saying.”

So I did, and he cheered. We shared no campfire, but did huddle and did dance around the rattling radiator, him blowing sharply into the ‘cah and me stomping my boots and clapping my hands.

He’d thanked me for my company, and kissed me gently on the cheek. He’d reeked of alcohol and worse, but I thanked him for his good humor, and let him sleep. 

After the mean-mugger had exhausted all of her attempts to find me guilty of various crimes, she’d let me go. She had demanded I shower first, staring me down with a disappointed grandmotherly glare. So, thanks to her, I walked out of Jessup and up the highway on-ramp cleaner than I’d been in weeks.

The memory of the mean-faced officer set a worry ablaze in my stomach as I stared down the creek. Again, the stab of the woodpecker cut through the wood’s idle chatter. Why was I out here?

Why in the world had I ignored direct orders from an officer of the law, when they knew my name and phone number? It gnawed at me. I’d never done anything like this.

I finally crossed the log, and stepped off of it onto the other side of the creek. “Noel!” I shouted out again, this time more of a bark. A quick check of the woods revealed nothing but the quiet apathy that suffused the trees. Wasting my time, when she could be in danger. What the fuck am I do-

“Hands up,” a thin, scared voice said from behind me. I recognized the slight southern accent.

“Noel,” I said, half turning my head. “I-”

“I said hands up!” She was shouting now, and I turned to face her with my hands up.

Noel, almost thirteen and dressed in stained Hello Kitty pijamas, held a rifle aimed at my chest. The lever action rifle was almost comically large in her arms, and I laughed nervously, falling, then stepping backwards as she approached me slowly, gun held level against her shoulder. She was trying not to cry.

“Where is my father,” she asked in a broken voice, screwing up her face in a grimace.

“I-I don’t know, Noel, what are you doing? I came here to help you,” I blurted out, still holding my hands in the air carefully. “Please, put the gun down.”

She shook her head. “Answer me,” she said, waving it in the air. She stood on the basswood I had crossed the creek on, and faced me, searching my face for a clue.

“I don’t know,” I repeated, feeling the cold press of a tree against my back. The creek babbled quietly next to us, and I stared at her. We both stood, unmoving.

Carefully, she stared at me, then raised the gun to point at my head. “Stop fucking lying!” she barked at me. I flinched, closing my eyes.

“I’m not! The cops said you were missing, nothing about your dad! I don’t know what the hell is going on, I just want you to stop pointing that thing at me,” I said, breathing heavily. 

“Bullshit,” she spat, the curse sounding foreign in her light voice. “Don’t move,” she said, and braced the rifle against her with one arm as she dug in her pocket for something. Then she threw it at me, and adjusted her grip on the gun. 

Her phone landed next to me in the leaves, the screen lighting up to show a picture of Noel and her mother, smiling happily in a selfie. I looked up at her, facing the glare of the rifle’s blackened metal barrel. She stared at me, raw anger in her eyes.

“You know the passcode,” she growled. “Open it. Watch the video.” I blinked, then nodded, crouching slowly and taking my right hand down to put in the numbers. 9-2-1-2. Her birthday.

The phone opened, showing a paused recording of a computer monitor. The woodpecker stabbed his staccato into a nearby tree. I tapped on the screen, then pressed play.

The video was a recording of the security system in the house I’d lived in until yesterday, portrayed in black and white. It was a view from the top of the grand staircase, watching the front door and most of the upstairs balcony, and the time in the bottom left corner read 2:03 A.M..

Noel, holding the camera in the video, was quietly and carefully breathing, the view slowly moving with her breath. The time in security footage flipped to 2:04 A.M.. The real Noel’s breathing suddenly broke out in a gentle shaking wheeze, I wasn’t sure if she was sobbing, or laughing. “Keep watching,” she choked, seeing I was looking up at her.

Car headlights streamed through the front door’s windows, casting shadows on the wall of the balcony floor. The balustrade’s shadows fled quickly across the wall, then slowly melted away as the headlights died. A moment passed, and then the door opened. Noel’s father walked in. 

Kyle Montgomery was a tall man, ambiguously young but mature and well kept. Grey was seeping in at the top of his scalp, peppering his blond, jaw length hair. Carefully hanging his keys on a hook near the door, he stared at himself in the full length mirror next to the door, straightening out his thin mustache and checking his jawline. 

He mussed up his hair, then turned his head back and forth to check if it was correctly incorrect. Nodding in approval, he shrugged off his heavy business coat, and let it drop to the floor as he walked up the stairs. He shed his suit and loosened his tie, leaving him with just a tailored pinstripe button up tucked into perfect black slacks. 

As he rose to the top of the stairs, he stopped and carefully undid the highest button of his shirt, the tie hanging loosely about his chest like an ascot. 

Then, he paused, staring down at the mess of his coat on the ground, the stairs, then the hall the opposite way, where his wife and child were asleep. He looked small in the video, and suddenly very tired. Still facing his bedroom, he raised his hand gently to his mouth, and bit down softly on it. 

He turned to face my bedroom, biting down on his own flesh hard enough to draw a bead of blood. He walked to my door, then knocked on it, drawing his wounded hand to his side, near his hip. He looked as if he were going to draw a sword, though nothing was there, just his right hand hovering a few inches away from his left hip.

The door opened, and I was standing in the crack. I was dressed in pijamas, and looked at him confused. He said something, the recording silent. In the past, I nodded, widening the door.

My brain felt like it was dropped in a bath of ice water, pure confusion washing over me. “What the fuck?” I said aloud, watching myself open the door further, letting him step in. I walked away, disappearing into the room as he slipped through the doorway, then closed it. 

I stared at my door in the video, nauseated. “Noel,” I said, staring up at her from the floor of the forest. “I don’t remember this.” My voice was cracking, confusion and fear seeping into my words from my core.

“Bullshit,” she croaked. She readjusted the grip on the rifle. “I’ve literally seen you do it. I watched you open that door for him! I don’t know what you’re doing in there, but it’s got to be why he’s gone. Where is he?”

“Noel,” I pleaded, “That’s not me. There’s no way, I’m not lying. I wouldn’t do that to you, or your mom,” I said. “Beli-”

“I don’t believe you,” she shouted, almost sobbing now. “You’re a liar. You stole my dad, or killed him, or something, ‘cause you knew it wasn’t right. Almost every night at two A.M., since you got here. Look!” She gestured towards her phone with the rifle. 

I looked down carefully, cringing away from the gun as it came back up to point at me. Noel in the video was shaking, watching as her father left my room, five minutes after he had entered it.

He looked the same as when he’d entered, save for the blood and bite mark on his hand. They were gone. He walked calmly down the stairs, grabbed his coat, and left the house. The car’s headlights cast the familliar shadows in reverse.

The camera spun, and the mouse on the desktop shakily moved to a new folder, reading 2/13/23. Two days ago. The mouse maneuvered to the video file labeled 200, the second file in the folder, and opened it.

Almost on the dot at 2:03 A.M., Mr. Montgomery stepped into the foyer, shrugged his coat onto the floor, then climbed the stairs.

This time, he didn’t pause on the way to my door to bite his hand, stopping only to knock, clearly hover his hand over his empty hip, then enter my room. 

I hadn’t even looked up at him. I’d just let him in. 

“What the fuck,” I whispered hoarsely. 

The mouse skimmed the video to five minutes later, when Kyle exited punctually, closing the door after him carefully, then taking the stairs two at a time to leave the mansion. 

The video then clicked through random nights at two A.M., watching the same process occur many times over, sped up. 

Sometimes he bit his hand, sometimes he just knocked. Always, his hand reached for the empty space at his left hip. I watched, silently, until the video ended suddenly in the middle of a night.

Noel had been staring at me the entire time, burning with silent rage. “Just tell me.”

I took a deep breath, and sat on the cold, packed dirt. “I don’t know, Noel. That’s not me. There’s no way…” 

I wasn’t one to repress memories. My worst traumatic memories, I could remember in painful detail, burned into the fabric of my being. It could be an actor, but no, I’d been there at two A.M., almost every weeknight for a year. I could very distinctly remember my nights, they were usually taken up with studying and listening to music.

A coldly horrible idea formed in my head. He could have been drugging me to make me forget. Something in a drink, or something in food. He hadn’t been carrying anything in with him… 

But it could’ve been in his pocket. I writhed in disgust, and I drew my knees up to my chest, feeling my breath hitch inside me as I stared emptily at the phone. 

“What the fuck was he doing to me,” I said, hollow, not really there, not really meaning to. What had he done to me? Why couldn’t I remember? If he was drugging me inside of my room, how had I let him in? Would I let that man in my room if he knocked? No. Definitely no. “What the fuck,” I whispered, rocking slightly.

“Parker?” Noel asked softly.

“No,” I stated, almost to myself. “It’s a fake, a fake video or a fake set that he made to set me up. It’s just an actor, just…” Noel was staring at me, shaking her head.

“What do you mean?” She asked, lowering the rifle a little, stepping towards me.

“He was never home, he could’ve been, I don’t know, setting this up? There’s no way I’d let him into my room. I don’t even like your father as a person, let alone,” I stopped, feeling bile rise in my chest. “No. This isn’t real.” I stated firmly, and felt like I was coming back to myself, at least a little.

“No, Parker,” she said, stepping back again and raising the rifle. “I watched you do it. After I recorded this, I stayed up to watch you. He knocked, you let him in.”

“No,” I pleaded.

“Please, don’t lie,” Noel whispered.

“Stop calling me a fucking liar! I don’t remember any of this!” I was shouting now, on my knees in front of her.

"Just tell me the truth!" She cried, matching my intensity.

"I am!" I screamed I picked up the phone, throwing it back to her harder than I needed to. She staggered backward, shocked.

"Liar." Noel almost growled the word, dripping with resentment.

She bent to pick up her phone, momentarily hugging the rifle against her chest, hand still on the trigger guard. It was pointed at me. My eyes darted up to Noel's. She wasn’t looking at me.

What do you do?

< >

[cjoatprehn]

Alright. I hope everyone’s doing okay. Um, to those who have mommy issues I wish this as an ode to yall and your struggles with your parents currently. I’m sorry to know how common this is. I hope this poem honors you. With how heavy this poem is, I’m thinking when I get myself more stable, I’ll post this on my patreon. This one was the poem that made me realize that, I can still record these kind of poems but they can be patreon exclusive or restricted to those who can handle it better than the mass.

This was the Day 15 poem that was supposed to be completed with my Beach poem. My Health has other plans. So here it is now.

TW: Abuse Themes, Complicity themes, Spiritual Warfare, Religious Themes

This one is a bit heavy and mentions what my incubator originally named me. This was me coming to terms with the emotions that I feel for my mother; not love or hatred, but apathy. I don’t fucking like her and for good reason. This poem was an Ode to those who are in my situation with their mothers. I hope this poem comforts you and makes you feel seen.

Song(s) Inspiration

Update with the Spoken Poetry video!

[#escapril Spoken Poetry] “The Other Mother : The Earthly Spawn Point” by CJOAT for AWG 2024

If you enjoy the video, liking, commenting your thoughts, and sharing the video and post helps out a ton. ^^ Have a good rest of your week!

[just-positivity-stuff]

Just your friendly reminder that you CANNOT or SHOULD NOT call yourself a christian if you willingly promote hate of any kind (transphobia, homophobia, etc) l. God's whole thing was to love one another. If you willingly say how you're a proud transphobe, you're trash. Period. Being trans is not a trend. Being trans and transitioning saves lives, and refusing to accept them for who they are, deadnaming and misgendering them on purpose is what causes the trans suicide rate. Those people don't choose to be like that, they just ARE. Transitioning saves lives from suicide, so does something as simple as using their new name and pronouns. You're seriously the one who's messed up if you openly admit without thinking anything wrong of it of declaring yourself a transphobe. "Be YoUrSeLf" but not like that, right? They ARE being their true self by accepting who they are, and if you can't, as a Christian.. There's no hate like Christian love. Christianity promotes loving one another regardless of perceived flaws, not spreading hate. He would be deeply ashamed of you. You know WHY the suicide rates are so high for trans youth, and their estimated lifespan is so short? Hateful transphobes. They're murdered or killed for simply being themselves. People refusing to accept them for who they are, not using their new names and pronouns. They're not shoving their "lifestyle" on anyone. You know who DOES do that? Christians. You know what you're telling people, even your family, who may potentially be trans or LGBT? "I am not a safe person to come out to, I will openly misgender and deadname you, I do not care if it makes you suicidal". DO. BETTER. Don't have children if you cannot accept any possible outcome, including being trans. People don't choose to be trans, but you choose to be an asshole. So if family or friends suddenly distance themselves from you or suddenly cut you off, ask yourself if that's why.

This is a pro trans and anti transphobe safe space. Fuck you 🖕🏻

[ofcourseitsafurry]

The(3)main player characters

Aka my main monster prom OC and his friends along with their drinks to help describe their personalities or aesthetics

First Sparkles Glowbright,ex-prince of Villa of Monocerotem, a very magical adept White Unicorn

Sparkles is my main monster prom oc. He's calm, collected, and goes with the flow(Yes, like Brian.)Unlike Brian, he's more energetic, he enjoys dancing, walking, and magic tricks with physical requirements. He's also much more thoughtful than most of the monsters in Spooky High, resorting to murder less, more education-focused, and less sexually interested preferring to take it slow. Sparkles, despite(hopefully)what a lot of future art shows isn't actually in Spooky Academy, his reason for being there along with his actual school is to be discussed later for his backstory.

Next is Draco Lung, the son of a Western fire dragon and an Eastern lightning dragon(also the brother of an Eastern water dragon).

Draco, short for Draconic, is a stereotypical greedy dragon, he doesn't steal damsels and force them to marry him as he finds that sexist and weird. Unlike Vera, Draco is lazy, stealing from shops, kingdoms, and even fountains for his fix of money obsession. (Hell, that last one was how he met Sparkles in the first place.)Another example of his laziness is his obsession with sleeping, likely due to the energy of being such a huge beast. While he isn't a complete jackass he's rude and just as quick to violence as several monsters threatening to fight someone if they annoy him enough.

Next up is Feng Xuang, a FENGHUANG not a PHOENIX or a VERMILION BIRD

Feng is the one I have the least plot thought out for. He likes astrology and astronomy due to the real-life monster corresponding to Celestial bodies and beings. He's obsessed with fire, not like just an arsonist, he likes playing with it, eating it, looking at it. Fenghuang mating rituals have two Fenghuangs doing a mating dance of death that combines both parents' personalities into one egg making Feng an orphan. He hates to be referred to as other similar mythical bird species. He's cheery and upbeat but a general everyman who enjoys preppy culture.

Last but not least, Mh'athra.Deity of Sacred Secrecy and darkness

Mh'athra is technically canon, but I'm giving her a non-canon design. Sparkles became a mortal contact for Mh'athra when he snuck into one of the cult headquarters on his way to Monstropolis and read a book that allowed it to come into the monster realm with his magic. Mh'athra is an asshole, she’s extremely dismissive of Zoe and her choice of becoming part of mortal kind, like the carnival mirror event, unlike the mirror event Mh'athra is actively cruel and even dead names Zoe while alternate Z'gord is dismissive but tries to talk her into rejoining her "purpose." While it's evil, it's not actively malicious, not currently into recreating the Nothingness.

[lemons-and-art]

This ward is a prison. They don't recognise me for who I am. They tried to get me to cut my bangs short to show my 'pretty eyes', not even realising that my eye sockets are why I have my hair like this. I'm not allowed to be called my own name, just the one they put down on my birth certificate that nobody calls me in the real world. I'm trapped here against my will. This hasn't fixed anything.

—

Day 6 of OC-tober! I missed yesterday due to not having enough time unfortunately :( but I managed to do this today for the prompt of Prison! I don't have any ocs who have gone to actual prison before (or at least ones I feel comfortable drawing the scene of) so I went for a time that felt like prison for Daphnis Springston. They were admitted to the hospital shortly after their sister was murdered and they attempted suicide. The staff misgendered and deadnamed them and overall made their mental health worse than it was prior to them being admitted.

Prompt list used: @oc-tober2023

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

since we're attacking eclipses insecurities ima mention tds eclipses main one.

if you really wanna get at him [not sure why ya would] you would have to deadname him [his dead name being sunrise/sunset i don't remember which one it was]

while yes you could beat him, make fun of his fear of the dark, tap him in the dark. but the thing to him that is worse then all of that is deadnaming him.

since at the daycare he was at before the pizza plex, he was deadnamed and called crazy for wanting to be a guy

[also how would snowe eclipse react to someone dead naming tds eclipse?]

[What would be worse is someone locking TDS Eclipse in a dark room and someone else tapping his shoulder while they eerily deadname him to taunt him.]

Eclipse would be so, so pissed. He doesn’t have a deadname and he probably never will so he doesn’t understand the feeling of it, but he will taser people to death who deadname his little buddy. Then he’ll snuggle TDS Eclipse up and assure him that his deadname doesn’t matter, what matters is who he is now. Sunrise/Sunset never existed as far as he’s concerned, only TDS Eclipse and by god Eclipse is protective of him.