DSMP trans oneshots

AHHHHH-

I'm going to fucking fight god.
Fuel me with your mortal tears 🧍🤲🥤

Anyway thank you @VillainFlasche for suggesting this idea (:
(I don't know exactly what kind of a plot you wanted, but this is what sprang told mind, sorry if it's not what you were hoping for. I can write another if you had something else in mind, no problemo)

Tommy's pov:

"Agh! This fucking sucks!" I cussed, throwing the items I currently possessed on the floor out of anger. I was filled with and overwhelming amount of frustration that I couldn't quite put into words.
I could feel it. I could picture it exactly as I had seen it earlier, it was bound to happen at some point but I just couldn't bare to accept it.
It was all I could think about all morning.

The fact that my mind was currently engulfed by this thought caused me to subconsciously take a glimpse and immediately look away in anger, denying it was there and trying to ignore it.

I had woken up that morning, and my binder had a small rib in the inner fabrics, 'I blame exile' I stated, I refused to believe it was my fault. Just like everything else recently, I blamed it on exile.

The small rip in the inner fabrics where the original stitching held it together, had almost completely demolished the previous flat illusion of my chest, something I dreaded but had nonetheless expected since I arrived.

'I couldn't fix it, where the fuck would I get thread and a needle? Not that I was even very good at seeing anyway...' I thought to myself.

I had been brainstorming for hours. And hours. And hours. It was consuming any other thoughts I may have and replacing them with the exact same dilemma.
Fixing the binder.
But alas, I could not think of any kind of solution.

"How the hell do I-" I cut myself off, groaning angrily at my own self hatred. Just a small rip had uncovered so much pain. I was already upset because of exile, but as I was trying to stay optimistic, I was pushing all my negative feelings away knowing they wouldn't change anything. But just this small rip in my binder, had released so much anguish.

I was mad at everything. Myself, my binder, exile. It was all so stupid.
Why did I have to be born this way? Have to put up with all this shit? And for what?
These questions haunted me.
And they would always haunt me till the day I died.

I couldn't quite pinpoint what had made me so angry. But I could feel it all increasing as time passed and I thought more about it.
It was overwhelming, making me hit things whenever I thought about it. Sometimes I just felt like breaking down and crying on the spot.
But no, I'm a big man, I'm going to find a solution with my big smart brain and prove myself... to myself.

But I knew, I knew there was a way to fix my binder. I just wasn't going to like it. I was going to have to ask him.

"Hello Tomathy" a voice greeted, sending chills up my spine. But as much as I hated to admit it, I enjoyed hearing another persons voice, knowing there was another living presence close to me.

'Speak of the devil and he shall appear' I thought, grilling my eyes and scoffing as I turned to face him.

"Hello, Dream." I glared at him. I knew what was coming.

"Come on now, Tommy. I'm your friend, no need to be so rude" he stated in a rather jolly tone. He was definitely toying with me, teasing me, I could feel it. He had complete freedom whilst I was in exile. And he wasn't afraid to rub it in my face as much as humanly possible.