DSMP trans oneshots

TransNoBlade(they/them)

Transnoblade but let's make it darker and more disturbing :)))
Haha... yeah anyway-

Triggers:
-needles
-injections
-Un-consensual injections
-physical/mental abuse
-being held captive
-death
-yelling
(Did I miss any???)

Third person pov:

-10 years ago-

"Come here you little shit." The man grunted, gripping the small piglin hybrid by the arm and forcefully trying the drag the young warrior as she tried to struggle and free herself from his grasp.

They dragged her out of her cell, her long unkept pink hair thrashing as she tried to kick the two men dragging her by her arms. Screaming and yelling as she was pulled past the other cells, each filled with children around the same age as her, all young, all different species of mob.
All of them forced to be warriors.

It was a routine she would never get used to, being forcefully dragged across the dark, dirty,  humid halls to that same room. That same old plain room.
With that chair.
She hated that chair with every ounce of her being.

They strapped her down to the chair, but she never lost hope even after two years of the same repetitive weekly "check up" as they'd call it.
She tugged and pulled trying to somehow magically loosen the leather that tied her down.

A figure emerged from another door, that same familiar needle in his hand and wicked grin on his face that still haunts the piglin to this day.

The other two men held her still while the so called "doctor" injected the substance into her, sometimes it was her thigh, sometimes it was her stomach. But they gave her that shot. Every. Damn. Week.

She screamed in protest and tried to kick, punch, headbutt, anything to try and stop the inevitable. She wasn't strong enough to free herself.
Not yet.

They would drag her back to her cell, defrayed and weak. She was their little test subject, the only part human mob in this place. Wherever it was.
Since most mobs don't have the separating sex characteristics like humans do, finding a part human female piglin was one of the rarest "catches" as they'd say.
And by they I mean the humans.
The superior race of the world, the ones she knew as the enemy. They had too much power and authority. She hated that.

They threw her back into her empty cell, she was the only mob separated from the others. Because she was special.

The smarter humans had realised that part human mobs were stronger, so when for the first time this dump got a hold of her, they couldn't wait to use her.
But as the doctor had explained so many times, human males were stronger, they could build muscles easier and were generally better warriors.
And so every damn week despite her attempts to escape or reason with them, they would inject her with the same thing they would use on a human to change their secondary sex characteristics.
Testosterone.

They started when she was only 10 years old, needing "a new champion fast to please the higher ups" as they would constantly put it.
Every day, every couple hours, young mobs deceased and mangled bodies would be dragged past her cell, just waiting for the day that it would probably happen to her. She had given up trying to talk to the mobs in the other cells, whenever she did she just ended up with another death on her conscience.

Eventually only the voices in her head kept her company.

The stone wall of her cell only had one bared window, too high for her to see out of, but it let in some light. Occasionally sand-like gravel from the battle arena would accidentally get kicked in, only a few pebbles made it to where she sat, the rest by the window appearing as a dusty cloud.

By the time she was 13, she was sent to the arena. They could inject her all they wanted, but the only way to actually build up that muscle was for her to battle other captive orphans. And live.
These battles were to the death, and none of them had a choice in the matter.
Either one lives, or they both die.
Eliminated.

She won every battle, every two days she would be sent to a separate arena with the other youngsters. Winning each and every time.
She didn't want to die. It was either her or them.

Now she was 16. She had a very muscular build and when revealed to the public, was revealed as a boy. As a male.
After years of misgendering along with the mental and physical abuse she was put through.

He started to believe it himself.

Over the years, each battle possibly more gruesome than the last, each becoming quicker and easier, he lost all the emotion he previously felt towards death.
To be honest, he didn't feel much emotion either, he lost the mental strength to resist his shots, to talk back or scream at the doctors.
He was stuck in a continuous loop he no longer had hope of escaping.

That look of hope in his eyes when he first arrived was long gone, his only choice was to adapt, fight, win and live. Every day like clockwork. Same routine.

He managed to kill the champion effortlessly, everyone celebrated for their new champion. Praising him for cold blooded murder.
It was their entertainment and a sport.
A disgusting race.

Since the day he started hearing voices, they only grew louder and more intimidating. Their words starting to sound more reasonable as over time the piglin lost sight of right and wrong in this place.
The voices influenced him in battle, encouraged him to kill.

They demanded blood.

He doesn't remember what happened that day. The last thing he remembered was entering the arena, and in the blink of an eye he was in the middle of nowhere, covered in blood.
And the voices had gone quiet.

The voices demanded blood, and that's exactly what they received.

He wandered in a random direction, unsure where he was or where exactly the path would lead him.
He slayed every mob in his path, some for food and some for protection. Some just for the familiar thrill he received from the arena he's grown up with.
He always felt tied to the place, like he'd never actually left. He would never feel free, he never even learnt what that word meant while picking up some of the English the guards used.
He would just always feel cooped up in that little cell.

Almost a year later, the piglin only labelled as a test subject number, came face to face with hope. Ironically, it was the thing he hated most. (No not orphans) A human.
Part human to be exact.
The kind man was a bird hybrid who said his name was Phil, the teen was sceptical at first, but after spending a lot of time together the piglin trusted him enough to follow him back to the family he spoke so much about.

The piglin didn't speak much English, but he understood a lot of what they were saying. When they realised he didn't have a name they decided on Technoblade, to which the piglin happily agreed to.

Due to his secondary characteristics, none of them knew that Technoblade was originally born a female, and he didn't plan on telling them, feeling more comfortable without the confusion of gender labels and stuff.

5 years later, he was 22 years old in human years, he picked up English quickly and was fluent in it now. Phil was so proud of how far the Piglin had come since the day he found him.
He never did open up about his past to Phil, the blonde just waited patiently for him to do it in his own time, which he greatly appreciated.
He did open up to Phil about the voices though, not talking about it in much detail and merely just warning him that "they can be dangerous." Phil helped him in any and every way possible to try and control them, a few methods thankfully ended up working, and the incident 6 years ago never repeated.

Today Techno had finally decided that he didn't like he/him OR she/her pronouns, both didn't feel right to them, either due their traumatic past whilst using each, or just because they weren't male or female, they didn't care.
"Phil, please refer to me using they/them pronouns." They said.
Phil was of course very accepting of them, and so were the boys they lived with that they saw as brothers.

They had actually grown an attachment with people they could consider family.

What a lovely example of what my sleep deprived brain thinks about on a daily. Wow. Could've been darker.