DSMP trans oneshots

FtMSapnap

Pls read triggers. Actually don't read if u get triggered by them because I am very descriptive when I rant or vent and you might think 'oh it'll be fine'.
Don't risk it.
Please

Triggers (I'm very descriptive)
-very descriptive mentions of suicide/leaping off of a building/intended falling
-descriptive falling
-descriptive talk about dysphoria

First person:

Every step echoed, bouncing off the solid, grey walls and travelling further down the gloomy path. Each footstep on the uneven rock of the dark cave shook the silence that greeted me, there was no sign of life except for the occasional bat that would squeak, making me jump as it flew by on its way.
It smelt like dirt, the air felt heavy, moist and almost suffocating, each breath visible in the air. It was cold, the air pinched at my skin as I continued forward.
The familiar tips and taps of water droplets sounded, sounding closer and closer every step I took, and then slowly disappearing behind me.

Apart from the sounds of bats and running water, there was nothing. Complete silence. The only sign of human life was my own footsteps.

As the orange hue that painted the walls started to fade, I grabbed another torch and lit it, instantly bombarded by a wave of heat against my face. Squinting at the new, profound, light, I placed it on the floor in front of me, revealing previously hidden path into my line of vision.

I admired the dancing shadows as I continued walking forward, already missing the earlier heat from the torch's flame.
Dodging spikes and ragged rocks, I continued forward, travelling further and further from civilisation, what time is it now? Is it morning or night?
I'm not sure.

Remembering hours earlier when I first entered the discrete hole in the mountain, the sun was high up in the sky, around noon.
As far as I knew, nobody knew of this cave, and nobody had followed.
This was clear as it was so quiet, and the many ores shon, reflecting off of the flickering torch's hue. Diamonds, emeralds, iron, gold. Everywhere you looked there was an ore. This cave was filled with riches.
I just never mined them, not yet at least, I enjoyed their colourful touch, and I didn't want to damage the aesthetic of the cave with random holes in the ceiling and walls.

The path stated to tilt, leading me higher into the mountain for a while before I reached a familiar drop. Torches were no longer required, the ladder trailing down the smooth rock was very clear, illuminated by the large pool of bubbling reds and oranges.

I carefully positioned my foot on the first step, unsure of the ropes stability, before balancing my whole body's weight onto it, cautiously. I climbed down the ladder at a steady pace, I was in no rush.

I jumped off the last step onto some cobblestone with sat beside the lava, acting as a path, the heat didn't affect me, but the stone was still somewhat a lifeline.
I sat beside the lava.

I watched as each bubble appear at the surface smoothly, lingering for a moment before popping, releasing boiling hot air, the pressure causing bits of the liquid to fly and hit the stone wall next to it, sizzling as the colour drained.
I pulled my knees to my chest as I glued my gaze onto the swirl of colours, they mimicked fire, only they traveled like liquid.
I found the scene comforting.

I pulled at my binder strap on my shoulder, rearranging it into a more comfortable position, rolling my thumb underneath to feel the mark it had left. I sighed.

I didn't want to feel. Dysphoria is too overwhelming. I just wanted to be in the silent, calming presence of the lava within a deserted cave, not yet tainted by the presence or items of humanity.
It was welcoming.
The silence, the danger, the darkness.
It reminded me that I was alone, and that's how I preferred it. No people to judge, no-one to hide from, no-one I had to pretend around.

Being trans isn't fun. Never had been, never will be. Always having a gap to fill, always feeling like something is missing.

Always feeling like you have to prove yourself.

It's like I need to act a certain way to be valid in my own head, it's easier to hide and push people away than worrying 24/7 about people finding out the one thing about you that you hate about yourself.

I continued to watch as the lava swirled and moved around, completely spaced out, trapped in my own thoughts.

I had woken up that morning, and dysphoria hit me like a truck.
Dysphoria is different for everyone, some don't get it often, some feel it 24/7, some can avoid or ignore it, some tolerate it, some want to scream so hard their throat scratches up and they loose the ability to speak.
At least at least then my voice won't give me away anymore.
Testosterone doesn't fix it, it just helps dull the dysphoria, even with a deeper voice it still sounds somewhat feminine to me.
Only to me.

Falling. That's how it feels for me. Most people feel like they are being crushed, held under water, suffocated or trapped. Restricted. Everyone feels it.

I feel like I'm falling. I don't know how or where but I am in the air, just falling, same velocity, same direction, same blank and boring setting.
It's always the same, I never know the destination, I can only wait for the inevitable collision with the ground.
Back facing the ground, looking up. It's all white. And eventually, you loose track of which way up your facing, the only hint is the forceful wind brushing past you, the friction holding you up in the air.

The force gives you a headache, the wind makes you cold. I'm falling, out in the open, free yet trapped, stuck in the same path. No physical obstacles, only one that branches out into thousands. The landing.
I feel lost, like nothing is real, like it's all just a dream.
Reality seems to allude you when you're falling. Like denial is the only option left.

It's normal to imagine it, falling, the last moments where all other worries seem to disappear and the the feeling of freedom clouds your vision. Any form of impact would lead to harm and possibly death. But it's rare that the impact is what kills you.

That's just the only way I could explain how it felt, not crushing, not drowning, not suffocating, but like I'm falling. Trapped yet free to move. Taunted by the open, clear, empty setting, places I will never be able to reach as gravity restricts me.

Dysohoria sucks.

There's no way to escape it. You can get as many surgeries, hormone injections, as many people to accept you as you, change your name, everyone using your pronouns.
But the end result is always the same.
You will never be cis.

I was snapped out of my thoughts and immediately jolted out of my previous position at the sudden sound of life close to me, it wasn't the bats this time.
It took a second for my brain to once again register my surroundings.

"You alright?" they asked, sitting down next to me, the boy held a shield in-front of him to try and block the heat of the lava in-front of us.
I hadn't even realised I was crying, the moist liquids on my cheeks only conducting more of the lavas heat, quickly evaporating them.

The other shuffled closer, he was in shorts and a t-shirt, too hot for them.
He seemed to immediately know what was going on, he was the only one who knew.
He removed his goggles from his face and leaned his head against my shoulder in silence.
This wasn't the first time he had caught me, he must have followed me in here. Funny. I didn't hear him at all.
He never cared if it was an often occurrence, he knew I was struggling, and he always wanted to be there for me.

Always.

The fall is difficult. But the destination isn't always a bad one, it's just heavily implied by the image of falling and the words associated with it. The fall can be stressful, but sometimes it's calming.
Maybe the end is success.
Maybe the fall is the worst part, agonisingly long and painful for the mind.

But the fall is much more tolerable when you have someone to support you through it. Regardless of the ending.

"Thanks, George"