#it was also targeted at people who were assigned male at birth go fucking figure.

[petpetpinixy]

saw someone saying that trans people who haven't/won't medically transition are a danger to the community. never heard that one before

[generic-sonic-fan]

Happy pride! Here's some headcanons.

In-depth explanations beneath the cut (please keep in mind that these are personal and that I actually don't really stand by any that strongly! This is just for fun.)

Sonic: okay do I really need to explain this one?

Knuckles: What can I say, his gender contains multitudes. He's definitely a member of the "I don't care" camp for both gender and sexuality. He is what he is, loves who he loves, and doesn't give two rips about what other people might say. I like to imagine he plays around with both genders of clothing from echidna culture.

Amy: oh Amy, my sweet summer child. It's so autistic and queer of you to relentlessly declare your love for someone of the opposite sex because it's what is expected of you. I did the same in third grade before I realized that the other girls meant what they were saying about their target boy. Heteronormativity is a bitch, get well soon <3

Rouge: I think she fucked around with being she/they for a while before settling back on she/her. And bi icon, of course.

Blaze: okay do I really need to explain this one?

Silver: That is one nonbinary hedgehog if I ever saw one! He's a he/him by convenience alone. He hasn't had the chance to explore his sexuality yet unfortunately.

Big: He's good with he/him and that's all he cares about. Not a super strong connection to his assigned gender at birth but he likes being a boy well enough. As for his sexuality, he never figured out what everyone was going on about when it came to sex, and only recently figured out it was because he was literally missing that 'sexual attraction' thing.

Shadow: is nonbinary as fuck and has no idea. Honey, seeing masculinity as a burden you have to bear is not normal!!! He's also demi-ace. It takes a very close relationship with someone to even consider sexual attraction.

Cream: happy being a girl! Hasn't really thought about crushing on anyone yet.

Tails: Internalized homophobia + transphobia from being bullied go brrrrrr. Besides, Sonic doesn't spend much time thinking about these things, so why should he? (Tails. Tails listen to me. Sonic's aro and knew he was trans at an unusually young age. he's a statistical outlier with how early he figured it out PLEASE consider that and don't base your self-discovery journey on him. . .)

Metal: You all know my headcanons for this one. Metal was assigned male by Eggman from its earliest iterations and gender dysphoria is literally 98% of all of its problems. Please get this robot some estrogen. As for sexuality, full romantic attraction is definitely on the table but jesus christ this robot needs to do some work on itself before that. Please read Complex Inquiries if you want me to elaborate that's like my master's thesis on this subject

Vector: Gave his gender a really good thinking before shrugging and sticking with his assigned gender at birth. Also pan as hell, definitely dated some femboys in high school I think.

Espio: Currently in the process of speculating if he's nonbinary. Keeps very quiet about it though. But he knows he likes dudes, so there's that.

Charmy: He's bit-sexual. Whatever he needs to be for the punchline of the joke to land, frankly.

Omega: For narrative parallel reasons to Metal Sonic, I love to headcanon that Omega wasn't programmed with a gender, but then discovered that masculinity is traditionally associated with aggression and violence and went ham. Doesn't mind getting she/her'd, doesn't exactly like they/them, but it/its is of the highest offense. He will kill you for that. As for his sexuality, (I know he's a robot but PLEASE hear me out) he's demi-aro! He'd have no idea that any sort of feelings on his part are happening until it was too late. He'd hate himself for it and promptly bury said feelings beneath so many layers.

[sunspira]

i often feel like the male socialization claim against trans women is bullshit but also has some "passing privilege" discourse aspects to it to unpack. and yet the specific damage and suffering of someone forced to pass and hide is sometimes HARDER to put into words and eats her from the inside out more insidiously and with less support systems for it or even Words for it just having words for misogyny can help us cope with the oppression be heard and validated and fight it when when youre a cis woman and have always be sure and assured that you are. that's why so many trans women are facing material oppression like poverty and mental illness (like actual mental illness caused by lifelong pain and trauma not the transphobic idea). tho even then there are such insidious, invisible aspects of misogyny that all women even we as cis girls are still trying to identify unpack and uplift each other out of so it's still a concern that runs deep. for me a lack of girls in stem is still so insidious and i would even give priority to helping more cis girls into stem because that pipeline to arts and humanities (and domestication) vs stem is pushed on kids and adolescents more subtly than the more obvious blantant misogyny. they don't outright say "oh you look like a boy to me you should work on computers" it comes in the form of subtle praise for one academic or life skill and subtle discouragement for another academic or life skill from adults who assigned your gender. so we say ya ok cool :) they're so proud of me :) not even cis women have put good words to it yet or figured out a good fight for it so we aren't really better off than trans girls in this aspect as we are on like more well established fights like autonomy in reproductive health or the right to vote or work

the passing privilege discourse thing to me isvery similar to a white passing person of color or a person with an invisible illness or disability or a gay guy who has a traditionally masculine personality. like a fem gay guy who was considered obviously gay since birth have problems that people who can kinda hide it don't and their childhood homophobia experiences were so different. tho still homophobia. but the people who can hide it are also forced to hide it, even from themselves!!?!. trans girls in childhood aren't visible girls until they come out. being closeted isn't a privilege but we know that invisibility vs hyper visibility are different kinds of pain that don't really counteract each other. also to be clear it's the aspect of being a GIRL that is invisible. often a trans girl is very visibly marginalized for not conforming to whatever a boy ks supposed to be. tho feminine boys and girls still have different experiences under misogyny where someone seen as a feminine boy is the indirect target. and how horrific that must be to homophobically / patriachically marginalized for not being the right kind of boy and on top of that like IM NOT EVEN A BOY LEAVE ME ALONE. it must be hell. it's not supposed to be about how easy it was for trans girls for fucks sake that's so deluded or that trans girls had the same experiences as cis het boys. it is usually just helpful to look at like opportunities and protections afforded to you by not being a visible girl like Mulan being encouraged and taken more seriously as Ping stuff like that is actually very healing to go over in your mind and process.

for me it was the dichotomy of having a serious but invisible childhood neurological disorder or difference but never being diagnosed until late in life early adulthood because i had atypical symptoms and was good in school. and i can't tell you how important it is formatively to be good in school and be able to blend in well enough to not get called out of class for extra help and not get bullied. but also the lack of help and slow invisible descent into madness and detachment from myself and denial of my own emotions and stressors and detachment from my soul while 24/7 masking and confusion every time i felt differently from what was expected like averse and avoidant and anxious or overwhelmed over "abnormal" things, or struggled with something that should be easy for "someone like me", i would just self gaslight and self deny and self blame. culminating in complete and total nervous mental breakdown at like 21 and at least a decade of recovery. with all that of COURSE i am sometimes gripped by envy of people who were diagnosed as young children as intended and spent their whole life knowing the most simple neurodivergent stuff about themselves like sensory overload because without that label when experiencing sensory overload i'm telling you it just seems like random bipolar mood swings, no wonder they put me on lithium. it was hell. and yet when i look at neurdivergent people who are so much more openly and obviously impaired than me and that increased NEED and severity is part of the reason they were dx'd in the first place, who are forced into abusive aba therapy and go nonverbal and want a relationship but struggle to connect with people irl or even go out or be allowed to go out. well i would never pretend like i have it harder in that regard even tho the experience of being undiagnosed were awful. not the cleanest comparison tho but

that hypervisibility vs invisibility thing. and the ramifications of being abused or controlled and silenced for a visible marginalization vs the life long debilitating scars and damage done by suppressed repressed and gaslighted marginalization is how i look at cis girls childhoods vs trans girls childhoods. cis hypervisible girlhood vs trans invisible girlhood. is this anything

[boydsfm]

❛ ✶ ( ALEX WOLFF , CIS MALE , HE/HIM )  —  did you see LUCAS BOYD walking around campus earlier ? i hear a lot of people talking about the NINETEEN year old SOPHOMORE . from what i know , they are studying COMPUTER SCIENCE and are a part of PHI KAPPA DELTA . they come across as + KIND-HEARTED but also - TIMID , which makes since because on their instagram ( LUCAS.V.BOYD ) it says they are a VIRGO . when i see them , i think of A DESK COVERED IN EMPTY COFFEE MUGS, DANDELIONS GROWING THROUGH THE SIDEWALK, THE UGLIEST GODDAMN SWEATERS YOU’VE EVER SEEN. the most interesting thing i’ve heard about them though , is the fact that REDACTED  , but don’t tell anyone i told you that . ooc info . ally . 22 . est . she/her .

hello hello hellooooooooooooooo. i’m ally, i’m from canada, and i’m addicted to tik tok i’m so excited to be here!! this has been an opportunity to bring back an old and beloved muse of mine, one lucas victor boyd ! if you like this, i’ll hyu on discord, or you can hmu at known simp harry hook#3923. 

statistics.

full name. lucas victor boyd  nickname(s). just lucas. not luke or lou, just lucas.  occupation. undergraduate student, beaumont campus tech support  age. nineteen. date of birth. september 2nd, 2001.  nationality. american. ethnicity. ashkenazi jewish, scottish. orientation. gay. gender & pronouns. cis male; he/him/his.

height. 6′0”. weight. 145 lbs. eye color. hazel. hair color + style. dark brown; usually messy and curly. he gets it cut short at the beginning of the semester and then by the end its a mop. really doesn’t style it.   dominant hand. right-handed. distinguishing features. distinctive nose, lanky figure, messy curls, undereye bags, that cute li’l mole. 

background. (tw alcoholism, death of a parent) 

SO. lucas was born in portland, maine, to a pretty lower middle class family. his father left when he was two years old, and he was largely raised by his mother, florence weber. 

florence was a hardworking and loving mother, but she was also quite depressed her entire life. she was a recovered alcoholic when she met judas, lucas’s father, but once he left, she slowly slid back into her old habits. 

by the time lucas was eight, he was having to start to pick up some household responsibilities. cooking, cleaning, packing his own lunch. waking his mom up in time for her shifts at target. 

by the time he was in middle school, he’d learned how to forge her signature on cheques, he’d applied for unemployment for her after she got fired, and he was taking any odd job to make money. 

school was his favorite distraction; he was always a brilliant kid, and if it weren’t for the fact he was already a terribly shy and awkward kid, he could have skipped a couple grades. he threw himself into schoolwork to avoid everything; his mother’s worsening condition, his crippling loneliness, his fear that he might be as gay as every one of his bullies insisted. 

this was, also, around when he picked up his most lucrative but troublesome odd job; hacking into the school board network to get test answers. he could get fifty dollars per person per test, and he was able to buy groceries besides beans and rice, was able to buy new clothes for himself and his mom. he felt awful about it every day, but... he still did it.

(death tw) at sixteen, when he found his mom motionless and cold on the floor of their apartment, he buried himself in his work, too. he couldn’t help but feel guilty, though; it was his work, his taking care of everything that had allowed his mom to keep her addiction up for this long.

so, yeah. there’s a very good reason why he doesn’t go back to portland anymore. he spent last summer in cambridge. well, that and his Secret. 

since the beginning of his freshman year, lucas has had something of a glow-up. he signed up for the school’s counselling services before he even got to campus, and he’s been making great strides. 

additionally, he pledged phi kappa delta, which... he never saw himself pledging a frat, ever in his life. but all the guys there were so... cool. and so supportive and nice and... and they’re like the brothers lucas never had. having that little family has helped him gain that much more confidence in himself. 

personality. 

if there was an onion headline for lucas’s life it would be Nervous Wreck Slowly Becomes a Functional Human Being.

very virgo, very type a. but also a pisces moon cancer rising. so he needs everything to be in alphabetical order or he’ll cry.

ever since he’s started college, he’s transitioned from being As Plain As Possible to being more outwardly soft as he’s gained confidence in himself. he wears the dorky sweaters and neat socks he likes, he has a small collection of plants on his desk, he knits scarves for his friends. big hufflepuff energy. again, this comfort largely comes from the acceptance he’s found at phi kappa delta.

slowly getting over his Big Anxiety. slowly learning how to talk to people. still awkward at parties. still has panic attacks every day during exam season. but he adores his therapist and takes his zoloft every day and he’s… he’s doing alright.

there are things he is sure of. his intelligence, his diligence, his ability to get shit done. he’s recently mastered asking fellow customers to please be kind to servicepeople.

still he’s that guy who doesn’t want to tell the waiter they got his order wrong.

he’s literally highkey fucking brilliant. he’s literally at the top of his class in one of the most difficult programs at one of the most difficult universities in the country. 

a chronic people pleaser up until the point that it breaks his moral code. like if you want him to help you cheat or help you toy with someone he will put his foot down. he’ll do it very softly, but he won’t budge.

(though he is known to do mathematics and computer science homework for his friends when they’re overtired. he’s always the one to offer in that case, though.)

the rare gay who is extremely capable in math. legit he gets so excited about math it’s actually really cute.

theres a part of him that still believes in magic, to some capacity. he still wishes on shooting stars and pennies on the ground and dandelions. 

his greatest strength and fatal flaw is that he sees the best in people. even if he knows you tried to hurt him, he will give chance after chance.

(but he works in tech support rn So. he’s slowly losing his belief in humanity.) 

in conclusion, here are some tik toks that describe lucas 

him in kindergarten

he can’t write i’m so sorry

 just.... the Vibes 

wanted connections. 

skinny love. lucas is extremely shy, especially in romantic situations. he cannot flirt to save his goddamned life. he also probably thinks this person is out of his league. (honestly i want a romantic plot for him so bad gimME) 

close friends. GIVE HIM FRIENDS FOR THE LOVE OF FUCKING GOD he’s such a good friend he just wants to love people.

lawyer for real life. based off this john mulaney bit. someone who reminds lucas that someone is mistreating him.

lab partner. idk man i just like that easy camaraderie. or maybe they make lucas do all the work in which case he will eventually snap.

tutoree. someone that lucas basically helps out of the good of his heart.

bad influence. someone get this boy TURNT

manipulator. lucas does have a bit of a backbone, but he is incredibly naive and very easily manipulated. basically he will do your stats assignments for you if you say he’s your friend.

academic rival. lucas is not typically an antagonistic person, but having someone be so obviously smarter than him grinds his gears a little bit. his mood when talking to this person is :))))))))))

literally anything pls i’m desperate and he’s baby

[spongeekat]

Life as a Super Powered Omega Sucks (Chapter 1)

read on ao3

Masterlist Here

Summary:  Peter just got invited on his first lengthy Avengers mission, one that will prove whether he's fit to continue operating as a hero on the streets of New York. Unfortunately, he's also an omega disguised as a beta, and on the week of starting his heat. Unable to miss out on the mission for the sake of his future, he goes anyways, equipped with a dangerous quantity of heat suppressants and an optimistic outlook. However, he wasn't prepared to end up spending most of his time with Alpha and long term friend Wade. Will he survive the mission and get back in time to spend his heat at home? Or ruin his health and suppress his heat long enough that he can prove his worth to SHIELD and the Avengers?

Peter Parker wasn't exactly ashamed of being an omega. Sure, he hid his status like the plague- masking his scent with an artificial beta spray, using heat suppressants at any given chance, only going off them when it was guaranteed he had a free weekend to spare, and wearing clothes that highlighted his un-omega-like toned arms when he was feeling particularly insecure about it- but it wasn't out of fear of being seen as such. But if you needed a picture painted of why he chose to hide his biological assignment in lieu of presenting himself as neutral, the one word he could begin to create it with was ‘Alphas’.

Alphas secreted dominance with them wherever they went, leaving their cocky, charismatic scent all over public spaces. School was no different. From the days of 7th grade and up, when puberty started hitting Peter's classmates and kids were presenting left and right, the alphas took total control of the hallways. Big man Flash was the first to show clear signs of an alpha, and the rest of his crew of alphas and wannabee-betas fell right in line behind him. With the rise of Alpha-Beta and Beta-Beta relationships being accepted in society, omegas were far and few. Male omegas were even rarer, making up just 25% of the omega population. History taught the extremely fertile gender was previously discriminated against harshly by those that believed them to be nothing more than baby-making machines, and nearly eradicated, as only Alpha-Omega relationships could produce omegas. However,as the omega population went down, closely followed by birth rates, everyone had begun to realize the necessary role omegas played in re-population. As such, omegas were presently celebrated and respected; lusted after and worshiped by alphas and betas alike.

But that was mostly in their later years. Before alphas started to develop their sexual drive, they reveled in the chance to show their power over others, and omega girls tended to be their target. Peter saw kids shoved into lockers, thrown in trash cans, and pushed around on a daily basis. He’d only known 2 omega boys in his life, and the teasing had gotten so severe they eventually moved to homeschooling. Luckily, he hadn't presented, and when he reached 14, he was officially declared as a beta by the school nurse, giving him a pass to fly under the bully's radars at least a tiny bit more effectively.

Unfortunately, being born as the child of a purebred omega and a groomed Alpha such as Mary and Richard left you more susceptible to presenting than other children. So when Peter awoke when he was 17, a few years after he'd taken on the Spider-Man persona and met Mr Stark, sweating and clawing at his clammy skin mid-heat, he knew the universe was doing whatever it could to fuck him over. Besides just school bullies being an issue when it came to his identity, another major reason he had to conceal any evidence of his omega status was the fact that he was Spider-Man. Not only would he most definitely be looked down on by his enemies or perceived as weak, but with the Avengers hardly taking him seriously as it is, and police on high alert searching for an alpha with superhuman strength, he didn't want to risk losing any more respect from the public. He wasn't totally popular at the moment. Besides, being known as an omega, especially a male omega, publicly would narrow down the search quite a bit. What was he, one of 20,000 in all of New York City? Luckily, he'd been pretty successful in hiding it so far, even on days such as today when he was on the week of his heat and could feel the hormone changes already. There was some big-name-but-secretly-evil private investor from some big-name-but-sketchy company that had been quietly investing in illegal technology on the terrorist level, or at least that's what Peter had gathered so far. He always did have some trouble figuring out what Coulson was actually saying, especially when he was distracted by...everything. Particularly a shiny-- "And we can count on you for that, right, Spider-Man?" Oh yeah. That was him. "What? Yeah, yeah, of course." Peter flashed his biggest grin to show he had definitely been listening and not spacing out like the 20 year old kid he was, but Coulson obviously couldn't see it through the spandex of his mask. All intimidating and slightly patronizing pairs of eyes turned back to stare at him, and he felt himself melting into his seat in guilt. Coulson drew a long sigh, rubbed his temple, then turned back to the map projected on the screen. "So, to repeat for Spider-Man, this point of investigation on the building will be a stealth mission. We'll send Natasha and Steve to the ground floor to  take out the heaviest of the security, and once they take notice of you, Spider-Man should have plenty of time to access the elevator shaft and descend to the bottom floor unnoticed. Once you're there, you need to find a way to get Tony in so he can disable the bombs placed on each level. That way, our agents can effectively infiltrate the premise with as little resistance as possible, end the weapons trade in Cabo, and place as many of the workers under arrest as we can.” Now Peter was a little confused, mostly by how he had spaced out all the way from the Russia plans to Mexico, but he was at least a little too proud to raise his hand and ask.

“We already have your escort ready for your portion of the mission, Spider-Man, so don’t worry about that piece. We’ve already made contact and he shall be there tomorrow when you depart.”

“I need an escort?” Peter earned an intense frown for his comment, and he shut himself up right away. “I mean, yeah. A-Okay with Me.”

“Intelligence gathering will begin tomorrow. Meet here at 4 for your flight. Yes, Clint, 4 in the morning. Don’t be late, and don’t forget to bring any supplies you may need for a mission that may take up to two weeks. The majority of your time in Russia will be spent on hold as back-up, in case something goes awry, until we make our move on their transportation facility once we’ve acquired enough data. Keep that in mind when packing. ” With that, Coulson officially ended the meeting and began to gather up what he had brought over. Peter was happy to escape, until he realized what exactly Coulson had said. Two weeks? No, there was no way he could be gone that long. His heat was due sometime around Friday, maybe Monday at latest. Tomorrow, Tuesday, at earliest. He couldn’t go on a trip with the Avengers when it was so close. That would be a story he would never live down.

“Yo, hey, Mr. Stark.”

“Kid.”

Peter side-stepped Captain America as he shuffled past, ending up in front of the man who had brought him into this line of business in the first place. He wasn't aware of Peter's omega status. Mr Stark hardly trusted him enough to allow him to be an Avenger in the first place, so Peter had hacked into Karen's programming with Ned's help to keep her from relaying omega-related health information to anyone else but himself. "Hey, uh, he said this mission was going on for 2 weeks?”

“Yep.” Mr Stark answered as he shoved his expensive tablet into its case, depositing it in his bag. “Homework standing in your way?”

“No, no, that’d be totally uncool.” Peter mentally crossed that off his list of excuses he had prepared. “I just don’t know if I can like...keep my cover that long. I have a lot of people that expect to see me every day. I don’t think the flu will work again.”

“Then use the Stark Internship papers I signed.” Mr Stark sighed thickly, turning to face Peter with an impatient expression. Peter internally cringed, able to see the extra stress he’d been under reflected on his face. He was five seconds from being scolded. He could feel it like a truck about to run him over. “Tell them you’re going on a school trip. Use my card and book hotels for proof. Figure it out. You’ve known since yesterday it was this long.”

“I...you’re right.” Peter relented. Guess there was no helping it, then. He’d just have to make sure to make the mission went by fast. And bring as many heat suppressants as possible, no matter how ineffective they were on him. “Sorry. I’ll get it sorted.”

“Good. This is your chance to prove we can trust you as a part of this team.” Mr Stark continued, walking past Peter and towards the door. Peter kept up with him easily, shadowing him through the hallways of the tower. “You’re young, and that’s kept SHIELD off your back for years. Don’t let this mission be the reason you have to give up everything you’ve worked towards.”

“It’s that important?”

“It’s that important.” Mr Stark repeated back.

Peter hadn’t even begun to consider this may be some sort of test to allow him to continue to operate in New York without proper jurisdiction. However, that made sense. Why else would an entire important section of the mission be dedicated to him? Or at least he assumed it was important. He wasn’t paying attention during the rest to find out what anyone else was doing. In fact, what was the goal of their mission again-- ?

Mr Stark’s shoulder came up close to Peter’s face too fast,and he realized too late he had stopped walking. He barely managed to catch himself before he rammed into the taller man from behind, taking an uncomfortable step back. Mr Stark turned to face him with a suspicious expression, slight worry maybe-possibly mixed in there somewhere. “You’ve been acting weird since yesterday.”

Peter swallowed. Pre-heat brain. But he couldn’t say that. “I guess so? It’s probably just because I’m around all of you guys and-”

“Cut the crap. What’s up? Why are you so determined not to go?” Mr Stark eyed him, as if he could see through his facade if he stared long enough. “Are you hurt?”

“What? No, I’m fine. Totally good.” Peter insisted, only realizing his missed opportunity once it was too late. “I think I’m just tired. I’ll make sure not to stay out too late tonight for patrol.”

“Maybe stay home and sleep the entire night. I’m sure New York will survive for a night.” Mr Stark still didn’t look like he believed him, and Peter almost preferred being ignored.

“I’ll think about it.” Peter agreed, though there was no way that was going to happen when he was already going to be gone for an extensive period of time. “Anyways, thanks for the talk. I should really get working on my excuses and alibis and stuff.”

“Right. Try to take it easy.”

“Will do.”

Peter peeled out of the conversation before Mr Stark could press it any further. He sprinted through the hallways of Stark Towers, pushing on each window until he found the one that was actually able to be opened at this height, indicated by a small rush of wind detectable only to his sensitive ears. His gloved hands pressed lightly on the surface, letting the glass pane swing out after some resistance. Peter crawled up onto the sill, his path home highlighted between the numerous skyscrapers littered along the streets. The cars honking below gave a rise to his adrenaline, and then he was falling, leaping from the building to give himself enough distance not to hit the wall, but free-falling like a bullet through the wind. 10 stories or so down he finally caught his fall, webs shooting out from both wrists with a distinct thwip . His arms jolted at the end of his dissent, before he was soaring again through the air, waiting until the last second possible before he would let another strand sail out and grip onto a pole or a ledge. All the while, calculations of heat suppressants and calendar days ate through his brain. He was sure this mission was just going to last a couple days, and the 2 weeks warning was just precautionary. They’d be in and out within a few days, and he’d be home and in bed by Saturday at the latest. They were the Avengers! It didn’t take that long for these kinds of things.

Probably.

"Hey Karen?"

"Yes, Peter?"

"Falsify a good health report if Mr Stark tries to check on me. Also, can you tell me how much is in my bank account? Suppressants are pretty expensive."

"Of Course, Peter." Karen responded, making Peter smile as he felt slightly less alone. "I believe you have about 3 doses remaining at home, and can afford a pack of 12 from the budget pharmacy in Northwest Queens."

Shit. "Thanks, Karen." Peter would just have to make do somehow.

--

Peter was not awake, by any means, the next morning.

He had followed Mr Stark’s advice and passed out before midnight. However, that still meant he only got a few hours in before he had to be up and packed by 3. He shoved a few days of civvies into a bag, rolled up tightly to conserve space, basic toiletries and underwear, and of course packed the rest of the space with necessary tools in case he got unlucky enough to end up in heat; a week’s worth of heat suppressants (enough for a normal metabolism to last a month, but he was unlucky enough to burn through a day’s worth in a few hours), 2 bottles of faux scent to mask his, and anti-anxiety medication to take the edge off if he was in a difficult spot. With that, he snuck a quiet breakfast and left Aunt May a note, before taking off with toast in his mouth towards the hangar he was told to meet in.

Peter was surprised to find himself to be the only one in full uniform. Mr Stark had his suitcase in hand but had made no attempt to wear it even partway, Steve had on sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt, in similar style to Sam, though his wing containment unit was in his arms, Clint hadn’t even changed out of his pajamas, but he did wear his bow over his back, and Natasha was in her bodysuit without any of her normal accessories layered on. They were still waiting for Peter’s supposed stealth mission escort, as well as Scott Lang, but otherwise Peter felt quite out of place.

“Don’t tell me you’re a morning person, too.” Clint walked in front of Peter, eyeing his suit with a yawn that made him look half-asleep still. “Sam and Steve exhaust me even thinking about waking up this early. I can’t be the only one thinking this is ungodly torture.”

“I’m running on pure adrenaline right now. I only got a nap in last night.” Peter admitted in a low voice, stretching to work the soreness out of his muscles. Usually he could sleep in short spurts and still have some energy for the day. Today, however, his body decided to try to shut down every 5 minutes and force him into a coma. “Honestly, I hope this plane ride is long enough to get a couple extra hours in-”

“I KNEW OUR LOVE WOULD PREVAIL.”

“Oh no.” Peter blanched, and didn’t even dare turn around. “Please tell me it’s not who I think it is.”

“No one told you?” Clint tsked, giving Peter a pitying look. “Yeah, sorry. He’s the only one we felt complimented your skills enough to be your escort.”

“Spidey, we’re finally official teammates! Or I guess I’m more like your babysitter. That just takes all the sex-appeal  out of it. Ooh, wait. I’ll be the professor, and you can be my favorite student I give after school lessons to.”

“Please tell me this is a joke.” Peter swallowed hard, able to smell the alpha behind him from where he stood. Apparently he was the only one that noticed how intense of a scent the man carried with him, as no one else seemed as repulsed by the air.

“Sorry, dude. Can’t always get what you want.” Clint threw Peter a grin that was so smug he wanted to wipe it off his face. However, he made a mental note not to try to attack any of his teammates no matter the situation, and turned to face his battle head-on. Clint passed by the red-clad newcomer with a short, but crisp, high five, and gave the spider one last wiggle of his fingers. What a jerk.

“Heeeey, Deadpool.”

“I thought they were kidding when they said you were on this mission.” The mercenary - or ‘in the process of retiring from murder’ mercenary- crossed the distance on the roof, standing inches above Peter. He wasn’t intimidating, however. More like… a giant, annoying man-child.

Who Peter also happened to be sort of really good friends with. Like, to the point they played video games maskless at Wade’s Manhattan safe house and split pizzas when on patrol. And Deadpool knew his name and face. But he wasn't Peter's first pick to accompany him on a mission Peter was trying to prove that he was mature enough to be on.

“Ouch.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with you, Pumpkin. But you gotta admit, if I get asked to join in on missions before you, something seriously needs to change about your job performance.”

“Pretty sure they only brought you along as a bullet shield. So you could distract the bad guys with your giant mouth.” Peter shot back, though all in good humor.

Wade made a dramatic gasp, one gloved hand shooting up to cover his lips in true theatrical fashion. “I guess it’s good my kink is getting used.”

“That’s...A weird kink to have.”

“Does it turn you on?”

“Not at all.”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

“Hey, Tweedledee and Tweedledum.” Mr Stark’s voice sounded behind Peter, jarring them both from their banter. “Get ready to board.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” Wade saluted in response, then glanced back down at Peter. “You’re sitting by me, right?”

“Definitely not.”

“Awww, Spidey!”

“Let’s go.”  Natasha ordered, her head peeking out from the corner of the craft.

Wade threw out his hand with a gentlemanly “after you.” Peter, unable to resist a moment of humor and making Wade laugh, half-courtesy’d in return and made his way towards the short ladder leading into the plane.

The inside of an Avenger’s aircraft wasn’t anything like Peter had pictured. Being sponsored by a billionaire apparently didn’t reap the benefits of travelling in style; rather than being filled with alien tech, or super advanced spy technology, or even genuine leather seats, the inside of the plane was rather bland. It featured a cockpit illuminated with buttons and levers that Peter hadn’t the slightest clue their true intention, only slight privacy given to the designated pilots at the front. Behind that rested a computer Peter had to resist the urge not to immediately ask to study, as well as spaces in the sides for weapons and storage. The seats were spaced so that there were 8 passenger seats, stretching along the length of the plane. Peter situated himself in the back, close to the hatch they used for for entering. Somehow, having an escape route made him feel more secure than the claustrophobia he would feel trapped between two well-respected heroes. Or maybe he was just self conscious. Either way, he sat himself down as far from the others as he could get, and shoved his backpack in his lap.

Wade decided to take the spot right next to him, despite 3 other seats remaining open, and Natasha -looking as judgemental as ever- took the space across.

“The Itsy Bitsy Spider ran up the water spout. Down came the rain and washed the spider out!” Wade apparently became quite the comedian under pressure, pulling out his katana Bea - or maybe it was Arthur- to start sharpening the length. Both the spider-themed heroes gave him an irritated look, Peter a bit more disbelieving he would bother one of the scariest members of the team, before Natasha cleared her throat.

“I’m sure I could find a way to make sure you don’t come back from death, if you keep this up the entire ride there.” The ginger commented dryly, crossing her legs in a way that Peter felt he was a second away from witnessing Wade’s true demise

“That would be my lucky day, cupcake.” Wade grinned back, sliding his katana back into its holster. Despite his cool exterior, Peter knew he thought Natasha was hot shit that could beat him to a pulp. “I’m quaking in my suit. I don’t know if I’m scared, or excited, but probably both.”

Scott swiveled in the chair placed just in front of the computer he had claimed, the metal loudly squeaking to catch their attention. “I am not dealing with you two arguing for 12 hours.”

“15 hours.” Bruce mumbled, though he remained primarily focused on a notebook filled to the brim with incoherent scribbles.

“I am not listening to you arguing for 15 hours!” Scott corrected, folding his arms in a fatherly fashion.

“I don’t even remember you being invited, LadybugBoy.” Natasha’s subtle but annoyed comment instantly sent Wade into a fit of laughter, jolting her from her anger. The change of Wade’s attitude was just enough for her to relinquish her dangerous atmosphere for a moment, and she settled calmly back in her seat.

“It’s Ant-Man.” Scott mumbled indignantly, which only served to make Wade laugh harder. The ex-convict turned back to his computer to rest his head, and for once in his life Peter saw Natasha crack an expression similar to a grin.

The conversation seemed to settle their nerves, as well as at the 4 AM call time, because the Avengers grew completely silent within the hour. Clint dozed off first, followed by Bruce (after he injected himself with some tranquilizer he often kept with him), and Natasha dropped into some weird relaxation that was close to sleep, with her body still tensed and at the ready to fight at any time. Scott was still sulking by the time Peter felt himself start to fall asleep, a yawn being the first sign of his body begging for a nap. Wade seemed to notice immediately despite the mask, because a gloved leather hand wormed its way to the top of Peter’s head to try to pull him in to his shoulder. Peter didn’t budge, giving Wade a deadpanned look. “Dude.”

“What?” Wade asked innocently, his arm retreating back to his side.

“I’m not sleeping on you.”

“I am the best goddamn pillow you will ever use.”

“We’re on a plane with the Avengers.” Peter said in an awkward whisper as if it wasn’t obvious, crossing his arms stubbornly.

“You don’t have to be shy about our secret relationship, Spidey. I’ve already told everyone you’re my lo--”

“Friend.” Peter cut in, groaning and sitting back in his chair with a huff. He had to admit, the seats weren’t very comfortable, and his stomach was tight with anxiety. Talking with Deadpool was easing at least a little bit of the pressure.

“Friend with benefits. Just as exciting without the emotional attachment. I like your style.” Peter didn’t really have the energy to argue against Wade’s ramblings, so he just let his eyes slip shut and tried to focus on staying awake, figuring he could just rest his eyes for a few minutes. Eventually his body grew numb enough he was a little more comfortable, and the rest was doing wonders for his scattered brain and anxiety.

His eyes shot open again when they hit turbulence, and he realized he had been passed out for an extensive period of time. Long enough that nearly everyone was asleep, including Wade, who was passed out on Peter’s arm. Peter stared at him for a few minutes, trying to decide whether to push him away and save himself the embarrassment of anyone seeing, or let him continue to slumber to make up for the nights he’d let Peter stay over on his couch and eat his fridge dry.

He ended up choosing the latter after an extensive internal debate, though most of it was because his arm was completely asleep under the weight of his large head and leather mask, and he didn’t have the strength in it to push him away. It worked out fine in the end, once Peter had grown tired enough to fall back into sleep, when Wade’s head created a hard pillow for him to drop his cheek on. And that was how they spent their flight, until Wade roused and immediately started teasing Peter for falling asleep on him, to the point he got up and changed seats out of annoyance.

There was a reason Peter had said no to sitting by Wade. He was an asshole. Comfortable, but still an asshole.

[kuriquinn]

Metamorphosis

Summary:  It’s been four years since Sarada quietly, haltingly confessed to Sasuke and Sakura over dinner that she – he – was not a girl. [Day 13 – Prompt: “It’s A Boy” ]

Disclaimer: This story utilises characters, situations and premises that are copyright Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz media. No infringement on their respective copyrights pertaining to episodes, novelisations, comics or short stories is intended by KuriQuinn in any way, shape or form. This fan-oriented story is written solely for the author's own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All plot and Original Characters except for those introduced in the canon books, manga, video games, novelizations and anime, are the sole creation of KuriQuinn. (© KuriQuinn 2016- )

Rating: T

General Warnings: I can’t believe I need to have a warning for this, but we live in a time where people can be horrid little monsters. There are LGBTQ themes in this story. There is a transgender character, and the story deals with some of concerns and difficulties that families, especially parents, of a transgender child deal with. If you are uncomfortable with this subject matter in anyway, you are welcome to click the “back” button and wait around for my next prompt. Nasty comments about my choice in subject matter will be ignored, and possibly mocked.

Trigger Warning: For those of you who actually are LGBTQ, this story may bring up some strong emotions. The person who proofread this for me had some difficulty reading this chapter as it hit on some of his own experiences and challenges coming out as transgender. He made sure I knew how important it was to tag this appropriately. Though he said this story was well-written, as someone who had dealt with the scenario personally, he didn’t like it. So if you have experienced something in your life where you are caused distress by reading about parents trying to come to terms with their transgender child do not read this story. I don’t want to cause mental anguish or reopen wounds that some of you might not have had a chance to heal yet.

Author’s Note: The minute I saw this prompt I knew this was the story I was going to write. There aren’t enough fics out there dealing with transgender kids coming out, and even fewer about what the parents (even the most supportive ones) go through behind closed doors. I’ve done my best to be delicate with the subject without sacrificing any of my usual style choices. Obviously, not every experience is the same from individual to individual, but I made every effort. And just to head off any comments about my own personal stand on the matter: I support transgender individuals and their rights. I believe that it is your mind and your soul that determines who you are, not your genitals. And while I am not perfect, and I still occasionally slip up with pronouns and accidentally say things which show my privilege as a cisgender woman, I stand by the transgender community. Especially in this time, when hatred and outrage are directed at across the entire world. The views expressed in this story are not all necessarily mine – in fact, there are several ideas that were difficult for me to put to paper, because I very much don’t agree with them. But based on my research, for good or ill, they are sentiments that have been expressed by parents when a child comes out. I only hope I have managed to treat the subject matter with respect and possibly given you, my readers, something to think on. I’m hoping to showcase that even the people we care deeply for (whether real or imaginary) can do some things we don’t necessarily like or agree with. Doing the right thing is not always as easy, and some people find it harder than others, but in the end it is worth it. No one should weight their personal discomforts or prejudices against another person’s happiness and right to thrive.

Beta Reader: Sakura’s Unicorn

Sasuke stares up at the large, draping banner in his living room which proclaims, ‘Happy Birthday!’. Bunches of blue helium balloons meander along the ceiling, nearly obscuring the clock that ticks closer and closer to the inevitable. He has to consciously rein in the desire to set it all on fire.

He hates parties. Always has, always will. Even knowing that this is for his kid isn’t much of an incentive to relax; he finds that hard to do even under normal circumstances. Naruto would say that that’s because he’s got a pole shoved up his ass, but then, Naruto’s judgement is questionable. It’s been questionable since childhood, the JSDF, their tour of duty in Iraq, and then their stint on the Okayama Bomb Squad seven years ago which resulted in both of them losing an arm.

Then again, his questionable judgement is also the reason Sasuke is even alive to have a kid— whom he’s throwing a ridiculous, superhero-themed birthday party for—in the first place, so he gets a pass.

This time.

The entire foyer is decorated with streamers and decals of the latest comic craze to hit television. Little cape-clad figures proudly proclaiming, “It’s a Boy!” are interspersed along the wall. Honestly, it’s utterly kitschy and targeted for a much younger demographic than an eleven-year-old, but then, today isn’t an ordinary birthday.

It’s been four years since Sarada quietly, haltingly confessed to Sasuke and Sakura over dinner that she—he—was not a girl. It was an announcement that, Sasuke maintains, caused him considerable confusion and, if he’s not lying, a little resentment.

He comes from a traditional background. His ancestors were samurai of note and, in their small community of Konoha, the Uchiha name means a lot—an old, founding family with traditions and taboos and expectations. These “LGBTQ issues” that his wife and child keep talking about falls very naturally under the umbrella of what Sasuke was brought up to categorise as “don’t ask, don’t tell.”

It’s an unspoken rule that men and women among the Uchiha may take lovers of the same sex if they wish as long as they fulfil their duties to the clan: namely, get married and produce children. Hell, his own brother’s been in a twenty-year relationship with a male masseuse, but Itachi still had the prudence to get married and produce two kids first.

The point is, it’s not talked about.

It is how everything has always been done. And in just the same way, among his family, members of the Uchiha play the role they are assigned by birth. A man has his place, as does a woman. The idea of operating outside of those very separate spheres, let alone the idea of a man being born into the body of a woman, is nonsensical to him.

To say Sasuke had instant reservations would be putting it lightly.

If he were a man of a different temperament—a man like his father—his first instinct would be to point out the impossibility of the situation, and if that failed, attempt to find some counsel to get his child over it. A very, very small part of him continues to be tempted to do just that.

The other part—the one who has travelled the world and been exposed to many different lifestyles, the one who has struggled with his own demons (both addiction and the trauma of active combat), the one who married one of the most open-minded women in existence—that part tells him to keep his fucking mouth shut and go along with it for the sake of his family.

If it weren’t for Sakura, he doesn’t think he could manage it.

His wife reacted to the announcement with the same sympathy and openness he’s seen her display at every major milestone—like the time Sarada shamefacedly admitted to needing glasses, or when their Uchiha cousins throw around insults about “commoner blood.” In every case, Sakura is always the calm and comforting one, the one ending her assurances with, “We love you, no matter what.”

In her usual whirlwind manner, after hearing Sarada’s announcement, she made it her personal mission to ensure their child’s needs were met completely. Because of the nature of her job, she was already very knowledgeable about it all, to the point of being matter-of-fact.

“The important thing here is to show that we support him from the beginning, no matter what,” she insisted.

Suddenly, the house was filled with every book written on the subject, and every other day, she was on the phone with some expert or other. For four years, she organised psychological and psychiatric consultations, fought for an official diagnosis of gender identity disorder, had them attend individual and family counselling sessions as well as meetings with a sexologist, and schooled Sasuke in the usage of proper pronouns.

And woe betide anyone—friends or even family members—who questioned her decision to support Sarada. There’s a reason that Sasuke’s family, with the exception of Itachi, will be conspicuously absent from today’s festivities.

It’s another one of Sakura’s ideas, a formal show of support, as Sarada has decided the time is right to live as a boy from now on.

They’ve told a select few people, with Sarada’s permission, over the years—the respective grandparents, Naruto and Kakashi and their families, Sarada’s teachers and best friend ChōChō—but today is the official “coming out.” Sakura was seconds from taking out an ad in the damned newspaper before Sasuke and Sarada stopped her.

He wonders if there’s such a thing as being too supportive.

“How are you doing with all this?”

Sasuke glances to one side, notices Kakashi eyeing him knowingly. His former bomb squad captain and mentor is always observant. Today is one of those days Sasuke wishes he wasn’t.

“Fine,” he replies neutrally, taking a sip of tea. He isn’t actually thirsty, but he just needs something to occupy his hand and mouth.

“And Sarada?”

“Fine.”

Kakashi sighs in annoyance. “Is there any point in asking how Sakura’s doing?”

They both glance through the door to the kitchen, where Sasuke’s wife is fighting with Ino about pretzel-to-chip ratios (“Don’t you dare fuck up my child’s birthday party, Pig!” “You’re the one who can’t manage proper place settings for shit, Forehead!”).

“She’s in her element,” he replies simply.

“Man, I’ve got so much respect for you guys,” Naruto says with a low whistle, and then takes a chug of his beer. “I don’t even know what I’d do if it were my kid.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes. “You’d be doing the same thing I’m doing, moron. Only with more panicking and oversharing.”

“Very funny,” Naruto replies with a scowl, but then his face relaxes into earnestness. “I’m not so sure. I mean, yeah, in theory, I’d like to say I would, but in reality… It’s just weird. I mean, one day, you have Sarada and the next day…well, the next day, you have him.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Sasuke replies shortly.

Any further rumination on the topic is cut off when the doorbell rings.

“I’ve got it!” Sakura sings, flying from the kitchen to greet their first guests.

“Shouldn’t Sarada get the door?” he inquires. “It’s his party, after all.”

“He’s busy. ChōChō said something about a surprise,” his wife answers, hauling open the door and exclaiming her delight at the first guests.

Sasuke sighs, squares his shoulders, and prepares for the longest afternoon of his life.

うちは

The atmosphere at the beginning of the party is pleasant, but there is a definite undercurrent of curiosity and uncertainty beneath the requisite excitement.

When Hinata arrives with Boruto and Himawari, the latter chirps a sunny hello to Sasuke and bounds upstairs to find Sarada. As in all things, Naruto’s youngest is utterly unaffected by the whole matter. To her, life is simple: yesterday, it was sunny; today, it’s overcast.

Sarada was a girl, now he’s a boy.

In contrast, Boruto skulks in, glowers at everyone, and sits in the farthest corner with his handheld gaming device. Naruto scowls at him, and when Sasuke raises an eyebrow, he shrugs, and confides in a low voice, “He’s having some trouble adjusting. Sarada’s his best friend. Even knowing this was coming…I don’t think he actually thought it would.”

Neither of them mention the fact that Naruto’s son has always had a crush on Sarada, and that this complication might be a major part of his resentment.

Besides, Sasuke has more to concern himself with, not the least of which is the minor heart-attack he has when his daugh—his son—makes a grand entrance about half an hour later, ChōChō and Himawari beaming smugly on either side.

Sarada has shorn off his long hair and bangs, leaving nothing but spiky black bristles. The horn-rimmed glasses he’s sported since childhood have been replaced with a thick, squared rim. And even though Sasuke hasn’t seen Sarada in anything resembling a dress since the age of three, the sight of loose-fitting khaki shorts and a dark blue polo are a bit jarring.

It’s like looking at himself when he was eleven.

“Oh, darling!” Sakura swoops in, tackle-hugging Sarada from behind and pressing a kiss against his temple.

“Mom, you’re choking me!” their beleaguered offspring complains, but Sasuke can tell it’s just an act. Sarada is pleased by the contact.

“Doesn’t he look great?” Sakura exclaims as they watch Sarada head over to a group of friends and cheer about the pile of waiting presents.

“Sh—He cut his hair,” Sasuke points out through gritted teeth. “Why does he need to cut his hair?”

“It’s his way of asserting his masculinity.”

“There’s nothing masculine or feminine about hair,” he protests. “None of the men in my family have cut their hair, unless they were in the service. Itachi’s is practically down to his ass, and he’s got flee-on-sight warrants in three different jurisdictions.”

Sakura’s face is set in that particular way—the “if you don’t shut up I will grab you by the short-and-curlies and twist” look he only sees when he’s doing something socially unacceptable.  

In a quieter voice, Sasuke adds, “Isn’t this the sort of thing that requires parental consent?”

“It is, and we’ll discuss it with him later, after his friends have gone home,” his wife says crisply, returning to the kitchen before Ino sets it on fire.

Naruto gives him a knowing look and Sasuke snaps, “What?”

“Nothing. I just find it interesting that you’re getting upset about ancient Uchiha hair traditions. Are you sure there isn’t anything you want to talk about?”

“You’re the one who feels the need to emote everywhere. Go do that somewhere else.”

His best friend sighs and meanders away, knowing better than to push. Kakashi exhales a weary laugh and says, “For what it’s worth, I think he improved on your look. Your hair always reminded me of the back-end of a duck.”

Which Sasuke doesn’t even dignify with an answer. Instead, he wanders over to the dining room table, which has been lovingly decorated with every type of junk-food offering and warehouse-sized plate of fruit imaginable, and resentfully begins picking through it.

Across the room, Sarada is having a blast.

He takes great glee in opening presents, laughing uproariously over stereotypically boy gifts. Occasionally, he shoots a glance up at his father, showing off a video game or football gear, and rolling his eyes which makes Sasuke’s heart lift a little. Just because he’s a boy doesn’t mean Sarada fits a particular mould—it’s a relief to know he’ll still probably want Sasuke to show him proper kendo form, instead of attending some brutish sports rally.

Throughout the party, Sarada’s friends are curious but open, most of them already knowing the specifics, while some still ask questions. When anything gets too close to inappropriate – such as whether Sarada intends to get surgery—Sakura is there to swoop in with small, yet pointed reminders.

“That’s a rather personal question, Yodo. If he wanted you to know that, he would tell you.”

In his corner, Boruto pretends not to listen in, but the scowl on his face isn’t as pronounced. The parents are more quiet in their curiosity; these are all old family friends, and more than one of them owes Sakura in some way. No one will say anything unkind here, and once Itachi shows up with Shisui in tow, no one will dare think it, either.

But it still makes Sasuke nervous, having to stand there and answer questions or hear comments about matters that he doesn’t truly understand himself. If his wife wasn’t so busy playing the hostess, she could be making infantile conversation, instead of him.

Somehow, the time does pass, and they eventually get to the point in festivities when Sakura and her mother carry in a huge chocolate cake, and the din becomes overwhelming. It’s amusing how a bunch of kids who insist they be treated like adults turn feral when sweets are introduced into the equation.

Sarada waits until everyone has finished a horrifying rendition of the birthday song to stand up and call for silence.

“I just wanted to say thank you to all of you for coming by today,” he says. “And for all the cool gifts. And I really want to thank my Mom and Dad for doing this because it’s been awesome.” He beams at them, and Sasuke feels Sakura appear beside him, leaning into his side. “I also wanted to share something with you guys because it is my birthday. It’s a pretty huge deal for me, and you all mean a lot to me, so I wanted you to be the first to know.”

He shifts nervously.

“So…when I was little, I asked my Mom why they called me Sarada. It’s kind of a weird name.”

“Yeah, they basically called you salad,” Boruto grumbles.

“Fuck you, Bolt.”

“Language!” Sakura snaps, her voice like a whip-crack. Every kid in the vicinity, and some parents, wince.

“Sorry, Mom,” Sarada says, ducking his head penitently before continuing on. “Anyway, Mom told me how she and Dad came up with the name. It’s made up of parts of their names, and my Uncle Itachi’s—who, if you guys don’t know, is brilliant and could probably make James Bond cry like a girl.”

Over in the corner, stuffing his face with dango, Itachi waves a stick in acknowledgement of the compliment.

“And the thing is… even though it’s a cool name, and I’m honoured to be named after these three people, it never really felt like my name. I knew I was going to have to leave it behind someday,” he continues solemnly. “It’s been a hard decision. I never really brought it up with my parents because, well, they’ve been so focussed on helping me through all of the other stuff. It never seemed like the right time. Besides, it’s been hard finding something that fit. And I didn’t want to completely forget what went in to naming me the first time, so I decided on something that still keeps alive the spirit of what my parents thought of.” He takes a deep breath. “From now on, I would prefer if you all called me Sachiro.”

It’s the first time either Sasuke or Sakura have heard the new name, even if it has been discussed.

The cheers and clapping from the guests wash over Sasuke, who flashes back to that day eleven years ago, when he and Sakura were debating names. They hadn’t been able to agree on anything in the months leading up to the birth, and now it mattered, and neither of them could think of something fitting.

He recalls how she looked, flushed and exhausted from giving birth, but so obviously happy. Her tentative suggestion of naming the baby after them both, and Itachi, who was the only reason the Uchiha family had accepted Sakura as Sasuke’s wife. How, at that moment, he couldn’t think of anything that was more appropriate.  

The music and chatter seems to start up again tenfold, and Sasuke finds himself staring down into eyes that are the exact colour as his own.

“That’s okay, right, Dad?” his child asks quietly, and a little uncertain. “It’s a good name?”

Sasuke’s chest constricts a little, and he nods slowly. “Aa.”

Sara –Sachiro beams up at him. It’s the same brilliant, joyful smile of Sakura’s that Sasuke fell in love with, the same smile he’s seen when he read stories, visited the park, taught her—taught him—to swim and climb trees. Toothless, or beneath a scratched nose, or covered in mud.

A smile, he realises, that’s grown rarer over the years.

Sarada was always a little sullen, a little quiet and reserved. Sasuke always thought that sh—he—was just similar to the way Sasuke was as a kid. But right now, the way this boy beams and laughs and just exudes joy, Sasuke sees more of Sakura for the first time in almost a decade. There’s a joie de vivre there, a confidence and sense of self Sasuke has barely felt.

And the idea that he could be responsible for that smile or certainty disappearing, that’s the thing that convinces him, finally, that all of this is right. Whatever he personally feels, it’s no longer about just going along with it and humouring the situation as if it’s something that’s been done to him. It’s about his child’s happiness and frame of mind.

The realisation isn’t a happy one, per se, but it’s solid enough that Sasuke thinks he will make peace with it, eventually.

“Mom?” Sar—Sachiro is asking, bringing Sasuke back to the moment. “What do you think? It’s still got yours and Dad’s and Uncle Itachi’s name in it. I mean, the ending is a little different, but I thought—”

“It’s beautiful, sweetheart,” Sakura says, reaching out and brushing a hand over newly-shorn hair. There’s a warble of emotion in her voice as she says it, but when Sasuke glances down at her to check, she’s already pulled away. “I’m going to get plates for the cake, all right?”

Sachiro nods, grins one last time at them, and hurries back to his friends.

Sakura crosses the room, and Sasuke is concerned to notice a stiffness in her back that wasn’t there before. She makes a beeline for the kitchen, pausing only when intercepted by Tsunade, who she greets with a wide—and false—smile and accepts a nondescript plastic bag. As she continues to the kitchen, Sasuke sees her fist clenched around the handle, knuckles white and shaking.

He isn’t the only one to notice, either. Naruto watches Sakura disappear into the kitchen and shoots a questioning glance at Sasuke. They’ve all known each other since they were toddlers which means he knows as well as Sasuke when something is wrong. Without words, he communicates to his friend to keep an eye on things, and follows his wife.

うちは

He finds her standing over the sink, fingers clenching the metal, her shoulders shaking.

“Sakura?”

There’s a sharp inhale and she straightens up, throwing a glance over her shoulder. “Oh. Darling, you’re here. Did you need something?”

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing! Nothing. I’m just…cutting more onions for the dip.”

It’s an utterly different story from before, made all the more unbelievable by the fact that there are no onions anywhere in the house.

“Sakura…”

“Tsunade stopped by from the hospital,” she goes on, making a vague gesture toward the kitchen table. The plastic bag Sasuke saw earlier has been casually tossed there. “She knew we were so busy with everything, so she filled the prescription for the… for the blockers.”

Sasuke tenses, staring at the package with renewed understanding. They’ve had discussions in the past weeks, as Sarada grew closer and closer to making the official, full-time transition. There were mentions of intervening before the onset of puberty, recommendations from the psychiatrist to get started now while they wait for official permission to start him on testosterone injections, but—

Looking at the nondescript plastic bag, Sasuke can’t help a resurgence of his apprehension.

He knows it’s only a temporary measure; in theory, it’s like a pause button, a chance for Sachiro to be absolutely sure before any actual commitments are made. There are still many more milestones in the future; this one isn’t even the most important. But it still unnerves him. Judging from Sakura’s shakiness, she’s affected too, even though she tries to chat like normal.

“We can give them to h-him tonight, or…or maybe giftwrap them and add it to the present pile? It would be a nice surprise, I think…don’t you think?”

She sounds like she really wants his opinion on this, and he opens his mouth to agree, to disagree, to do something, but it feels like his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth. He’s only just had his personal revelation on the subject. Before this, he’s kept himself out of any major decisions, and she’s aware of this. Why the hell does she want him involved in this one? She’s the one who’s been so keen on pursuing all of this, why—

There’s a sudden choking sob.

Before he can really parse what he’s seeing, Sakura’s face seems to crumple, her bright eyes and trembling smile imploding into a look of horror.

“What are we doing?” she whispers, and shaking fingertips go to her lips. “Oh, Sasuke, what are we doing? What if this is wrong? What if…” She emits a staggered sob. “People understand here, but what if she…what if he wants to go somewhere else. For college. For work. People can hurt him—you’ve read the stories in the paper. What if that happens to our…”

She trails off in a moan, and tears are now leaking from the corners of her eyes, her voice getting higher and more panicked in pitch.

“We’re rushing this—I feel like we’re rushing this—”

“Sakura…” he begins, reaching for her, but she evades his touch, pacing now.

“Sh-she said she needed this, and everything she asked for, everything she asked us to do, I did, but maybe we should have talked more first—four years isn’t that long, maybe…maybe it’s a mistake, maybe we’re not doing the right thing—”

“Sakura—”

“Why couldn’t she just be gay?” she whispers suddenly, rounding on him with wild eyes. In her panic, she is no longer able to use the correct pronouns. “This would…this would just be so much easier if she just liked girls, because then she…then we wouldn’t…”

“Didn’t you tell me it isn’t the same thing?” he asks, tentative and uncertain.

“I know it’s not!” she snaps, and then presses her fist against her mouth, stifling the uncontrollable sobs that now rack her body. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You did not do anything wrong,” he informs her, taking her by the shoulder now and squeezing in reassurance.

But his wife doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, she looks off into the distance.

“And the name,” she continues in a whisper. “I knew there would be a point when we…but…but Sarada was our miracle. She was our little g-girl and I’ll never get to say her n-name anymore. And she...didn’t even ask and I…I mean, is it…is it wrong that I should want a say in m-my own child’s name?”

Sasuke exhales, drawing Sakura into his arms and holding her close. “No.”

“I h-had a daughter, Sasuke,” she sobs into his shoulder. “I g-gave birth to a girl, and she was beautiful and w-wonderful and…and do you remember that first year? With the ladybug dress, and the s-strappy shoes?”

“I do.”

“And the way she would pretend her mattress was a magic carpet and ride it down the stairs, and I…I know we said we did this for her—him. We’re doing this for him, so he can be healthier and happier. And I’m trying my hardest to let h-him be who he is, but why…why does it feel like I’m killing her?”

The question is so raw, so wracked with pain, that for a split second, Sasuke wants to call everything off. His wife is hurting, and the event going on in the other room is causing it, and since he was seventeen years old, his life has revolved around ensuring the Sakura does not hurt.

But since he was twenty-two, his life has also revolved around ensuring his child does not hurt either.

He knows that if he walks in there now, telling everyone to return home—or even just calls Sa – Sachiro in and points out that his mother, the one who has been a pillar of support since the beginning, is having second thoughts, it will break him.

And his…his son is the kind of person who will accept a lifetime of misery if he thinks it will save someone he cares about a little pain. If it’s someone Sachiro loves with the same fierce devotion as he does Sakura, he’ll quietly go back into the closet and never say another word about it until his dying day.

And from the articles that Sasuke has read over his wife’s shoulder, that’s something that could come much sooner than later.

The idea is chilling.

Which is why it only takes another split second for Sasuke to pull out his phone and send a text to Kakashi and Naruto, both of whom are as protective of his child as he is and order them to keep everything running smoothly. Then he leads a still-shaking Sakura up the stairs to their room.

Shutting the door, he steers her to their bed and sits her down, then silently takes the place beside her. For a long while, he simply allows her to cry, holding her until she gets past the wordless, grief-filled sobs.

When he senses her coming back to herself, he takes up the conversation as if there was no break.

“You are not killing anyone,” he tells her quietly but firmly.

“But she’s still going to be gone,” Sakura says dully. “It’s almost worse.”

“You don’t mean that.”

She swallows. “No. I don’t. But I… Sometimes, I still feel like our daughter is…dead. And we’re supposed to replace her with this…this stranger.”

It is the first time Sasuke has heard his wife utter any of this, the first time he’s heard her insinuate that she is just as uncertain of this whole situation as he is, that she has doubts. And it’s the first time that he finds himself in the position where he has to be the one with the answers.

He has no idea what to do, but it’s clear silence is not the answer in this case.

Stick to the facts, he decides. He’s better at logic than emotion.

“That child downstairs is still our child,” he tells her firmly. “The child you carried inside you. Everything you love about that child is still there, whether we have a boy or a girl. And our son is happy which means we’re doing the right thing.”

Sakura sniffs. “You’re just saying that,” she mutters. “I know you haven’t been completely on board about this.”

“I haven’t,” he agrees. “I’m still not sure that I completely understand. But I do know that Sar—Sachiro is happy. And he’s safe. And protected. And accepted by his friends, our neighbours, and most of the town. And that’s because of you. He wouldn’t have even this much anywhere else. And if he were growing up the way I did, he wouldn’t have any of it. He would be miserable.”

“I know,” she whispers. “I know that, Sasuke. In my heart I know it, but every so often, right when I’m least expecting it, there’s just this moment. And I just feel it all—all over again. I can’t say anything, especially not to S-Sachiro. It would crush him. And if anyone else thought I wasn’t supporting him, maybe they’d stop supporting him, and—”

“Then you tell me,” Sasuke interrupts her.

She glances at him in surprise. “What?”

“You’re supposed to tell me these things,” he continues, dogged. “I can only guess you haven’t because you thought, if you wavered, I’d put a stop to this whole thing.”

“I-I didn’t mean to…”

“You might’ve been right,” he concedes. “But that was before. I’m also the only person in this whole situation who’s going through the same thing as you. From now on, you tell me when you’re feeling like this. It’s not healthy for you to keep it inside. Isn’t that what you say to me?”

“Sasuke…”

“Did you…want me to set up a meeting?” he suggests, tentatively because this next bit is definitely not his strong suit. “With the therapist?”

She sniffs, rubbing at her eyes. “Yeah. Yes. But I’ll make the appointment.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“You hate talking to therapists,” she points out.

“If you want me there, I’ll be there.”

“…I want you there.”

“Then that’s settled.”

They are silent for a while, just sitting quietly together, her ear pressed against his heart and his fingers stroking her hair in comfort. For just a few precious minutes, they can be two parents struggling with a change that has been a long time coming, but which neither has been truly prepared for.

Eventually, Sakura breaks the silence. “We should go back downstairs before we’re missed.”

“Hm.”

“If Sar—Sachiro comes looking for us, we’ll have some explaining to do.”

“You could take your top off. That would forestall any questions.”

“Sasuke!”

She smacks him a little more than lightly on the shoulder, but there’s a hint of her smile from earlier back on her face. He considers it a win.

“Do you think this will all turn out all right?” she asks, tentative. “He’ll be okay?”

“I don’t know. But I believe his chances are better if he’s secure in the knowledge that he has our support.”

“Yeah…” Sakura inhales a deep, shaky breath and squares her shoulders. “All right. Let’s go back down,” she says with only a little less of her usual certainty. She catches sight of herself in the bedroom mirror and frowns. “Everyone will know I was crying. I look horrible.”

“Don’t fish for compliments,” he tells her because they both know that he always finds her beautiful. He takes her by the hand and leads her from the room.  “Besides, we can always say you were cutting onions.”

終わり

Apologies if I got anything horribly wrong, this was a difficult piece to write and I did my best to do so with the proper respect. 

Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome, but if you feel like keeping me caffeinated out of the goodness of your heart, it certainly would be appreciated! I’m also starting to post original works to my patreon.

I’m only able to keep writing as I do thanks to the support of readers like you, so every bit helps!

栗

[sasusakufestival]

Metamorphosis

Summary:  It’s been four years since Sarada quietly, haltingly confessed to Sasuke and Sakura over dinner that she – he – was not a girl. [Day 13 – Prompt: “It’s A Boy” ]

Disclaimer: This story utilizes characters, situations and premises that are copyright Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz Media. No infringement on their respective copyrights pertaining to episodes, novelizations, comics or short stories is intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan oriented story is written solely for the author’s own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All fiction, plot and Original Characters with the exception of those introduced in the books, manga, video games, novelizations and anime, are the sole creation of KuriQuinn and using them without permission is considered rude, in bad-taste and will reflect seriously on your credibility as a writer. Seriously, just don’t do it.

General Warnings: I can’t believe I need to have a warning for this, but we live in a time where people can be horrid little monsters. There are LGBTQ themes in this story. There is a transgender character, and the story deals with some of concerns and difficulties that families, especially parents, of a transgender child deal with. If you are uncomfortable with this subject matter in anyway, you are welcome to click the “back” button and wait around for my next prompt. Nasty comments about my choice in subject matter will be ignored, and possibly mocked.

Trigger Warning: For those of you who actually are LGBTQ, this story may bring up some strong emotions. My best friend/surrogate brother/braintwin had some difficulty reading this chapter for me and as it hit on some of his own experiences and challenges coming out as transgender. He made sure I knew how important it was to tag this appropriately. Though he said this story was well-written, as someone who had dealt with the scenario personally, he didn’t like it. So if you have experienced something in your life where you are caused distress by reading about parents trying to come to terms with their transgender child do not read this story. I don’t want to cause mental anguish or reopen wounds that some of you might not have had a chance to heal yet.

Author’s Note: The minute I saw this prompt I knew this was the story I was going to write. There aren’t enough fics out there dealing with transgender kids coming out, and even fewer about what the parents (even the most supportive ones) go through behind closed doors. I’ve done my best to be delicate with the subject without sacrificing any of my usual style choices. Obviously, not every experience is the same from individual to individual, but I made every effort. And just to head off any comments about my own personal stand on the matter: I support transgender individuals and their rights. I believe that it is your mind and your soul that determines who you are, not your genitals. And while I am not perfect, and I still occasionally slip up with pronouns and accidentally say things which show my privilege as a cisgender woman, I stand by the transgender community. Especially in this time, when hatred and outrage are directed at across the entire world. The views expressed in this story are not all necessarily mine – in fact, there are several ideas that were difficult for me to put to paper, because I very much don’t agree with them. But based on my research, for good or ill, they are sentiments that have been expressed by parents when a child comes out. I only hope I have managed to treat the subject matter with respect and possibly given you, my readers, something to think on. You may not like Sasuke in this story. You may not like Sakura. That’s okay. I’m hoping to showcase that even the people we care deeply for (whether real or imaginary) can do some things we don���t necessarily like or agree with. Doing the right thing is not always as easy, and some people find it harder than others, but in the end it is worth it. No one should weight their personal discomforts or prejudices against another person’s happiness and right to thrive.

 ______________________________________________

Sasuke stares up at the large, draping banner in his living room while bunches of blue helium balloons meander along the ceiling, nearly obscuring the clock that ticks closer and closer to the inevitable. He has to consciously rein in the desire to set it all on fire.

He hates parties. Always has, always will. Even knowing that this is for his kid isn’t much of an incentive to relax, because he finds that hard to do under normal circumstances.

Naruto would say that that’s because he’s got a pole shoved up his ass, but then, Naruto’s judgement is questionable. It’s been that way since childhood, JSDF, Iraq and then the stint in the Okayama bomb squad seven years ago which resulted in them both losing an arm.

Then again, his questionable judgement is also the reason Sasuke was even alive to having a kid and throw ridiculous, superhero themed birthday parties in the first place, so he gets a pass.

This time.

The entire foyer has been decorated with streamers and decals of the latest comic craze to hit television. Interspersed along the wall are little cape-clad figures proudly proclaiming, “It’s a Boy!”.

Honestly, it’s utterly kitschy and targeted for a much younger demographic than an eleven-year-old, but then, today isn’t an ordinary birthday.

It’s been four years since Sarada quietly, haltingly confessed to Sasuke and Sakura over dinner that she – he – was not a girl. It was an announcement which, Sasuke maintains, caused him considerable confusion and, if he’s not lying, a little resentment.

He comes from a traditional background. His ancestors were samurai of note, and the Uchiha name means a lot in their small community of Konoha. An old, founding family with traditions and taboos and expectations. The idea of these “LGBTQ issues” that his wife and child keep talking about falls very naturally under the umbrella of what Sasuke was brought up to categorise as “don’t ask, don’t tell”.

Men and women among the Uchiha may take lovers of the same sex if they wish, as long as they fulfil their duties to the clan: namely get married and produce children. Hell, his own brother has been in a twenty-year relationship with a male masseuse, but Itachi still had the wherewithal to get married and produce two kids first.

The point is, it’s not talked about.

It is how everything has always been done. And in just the same way, among his family, members of the Uchiha play the role they are assigned by birth. A man has his place, as does a woman. The idea of operating outside of those very separate spheres, let alone the idea of a man being born into the body of a woman, is nonsensical to him.

To say Sasuke had instant reservations would be putting it lightly.

If he were a man of a different temperament – a man like his father – his first instinct would be to point out to his child the impossibility of the situation, and if that failed, attempt to find some counsel to get over it. A very, very small part of him continues to be tempted to do just that. The other part – the one that has travelled the world and been exposed to many different lifestyles, the one who has struggled with his own demons, both addiction and the trauma of active combat, the one who married one of the most open-minded women in existence –

That part tells him to keep his fucking mouth shut and go along with it for the sake of his family.

If it weren’t for Sakura, he doesn’t think he could manage it.

His wife reacted to the announcement with the same sympathy and open-mindedness he’s seen her display at every major milestone, like the time Sarada shamefacedly admitted to perhaps needing glasses or when some of their Uchiha cousins throw around insults about “commoner blood”. In every case, Sakura is always the calm and comforting one, the one ending her assurances with, “We love you no matter what.”

In her usual whirlwind manner, after hearing Sarada’s announcement, she made it her personal mission to ensure their child’s needs were met completely. Because of the nature of her job, she was already very knowledgeable about it all, to the point of being matter-of-fact.

“No matter what, the important thing here is to show that we support him from the beginning,” she insisted.

Suddenly the house was filled with every book possibly written on the subject, and every other day she was on the phone with some expert or other. For four years, she organised psychological and psychiatric consultations, fought for an official diagnosis of gender identity disorder, had them attend individual and family counselling sessions, schooled Sasuke in using the proper pronouns, had them all meet with a sexologist –   

And woe betide anyone – friends or even family members – who questioned her decision to support Sarada. There’s a reason that Sasuke’s family, with the exception of Itachi, will be conspicuously absent from today’s festivities.

It’s another one of Sakura’s ideas, a formal show of support, as Sarada has decided the time is right to live as a boy from now on.

They have told a select few people, with Sarada’s permission, over the years – the respective grandparents, Naruto and Kakashi and their families, Sarada’s teachers and her best friend ChoCho – but today is the official “coming out”. Sakura was seconds from taking out an ad in the damned newspaper before Sasuke and Sarada stopped her.

He wonders if there’s such a thing as being too supportive.

“How are you doing with all this?”

Sasuke glances to one side, notices Kakashi eyeing him knowingly. His former bomb squad captain and mentor is always observant. Today is one of those days Sasuke wishes he wasn’t.

“Fine,” he replies neutrally, taking a sip of tea. He isn’t actually thirsty, but he just needs something to occupy his hand and mouth.

“And Sarada?”

“Fine.”

Kakashi sighs in annoyance. “Is there any point to asking how Sakura’s doing?”

They both glance through the door to the kitchen, where Sasuke’s wife is fighting with Ino about pretzel-to-chip ratios (“Don’t you dare fuck up my child’s birthday party, Pig!” “You’re the one who can’t manage proper place-settings for shit!).

“She’s in her element,” he replies simply.

“Man, I’ve got so much respect for you guys,” Naruto says with a low whistle, and then takes a chug of his own beer. “I don’t even know what I’d do if it were my kid.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes. “You’d be doing the same thing I’m doing, moron. Only more panicking and oversharing.”

“Very funny,” Naruto replies with a scowl, but then his face relaxes into earnestness. “I’m not so sure. I mean, yeah, in theory I’d like to say I would, but in reality… It’s just weird. I mean, one day, you have Sarada, and the next day…well, the next day you have him.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Sasuke replies shortly.

Any further rumination on the topic is cut off when the doorbell rings.

“I’ve got it!” Sakura sings, flying from the kitchen to greet their first guests.

“Shouldn’t Sarada get the door?” he inquires. “It’s his party, after all.”

“He’s busy. ChoCho said something about a surprise,” his wife answers, hauling open the door and exclaiming her delight at the first guests.

Sasuke sighs, squares his shoulders, and prepares for the longest afternoon of his life.

うちは

The atmosphere in the beginning of the party is pleasant, but there is a definite undercurrent of curiosity and uncertainty beneath the requisite excitement.

When Hinata arrives with Boruto and Himawari, the latter chirps a sunny hello to Sasuke and bounds upstairs to find Sarada. As in all things, she is utterly unaffected by the whole mater. To her, life is simple: yesterday it was sunny, today it’s overcast.

Sarada was a girl, now he is a boy.

In contrast, Boruto skulks in, glowers at everyone, and goes to sit in the farthest corner with his handheld gaming device. Naruto scowls at him, and when Sasuke raised an eyebrow, he shrugs, and confides in a low voice, “He’s having some trouble adjusting. Sarada’s his best friend. Even knowing this was coming…I don’t think he actually thought it would.”

Neither of them mention the fact that Naruto’s son has always had a crush on Sarada, and that this complication might be a major part of his resentment.

Besides, Sasuke has more to concern himself with, not least of all the minor heart-attack he has when his d – his son – makes a grand entrance about half an hour later, with ChoCho and Himawari beaming smugly on either side.

Sarada has shorn off his long hair and bangs, leaving nothing but spiky black bristles. The horn-rimmed glasses he has sported since childhood have been replaced with a thick, squared rim. And even though Sasuke hasn’t seen Sarada in anything resembling a dress since the age of three, the sight of loose-fitting khaki shorts and dark blue polo are a bit jarring.

It’s like looking at himself when he was eleven.

“Oh, darling!” Sakura swoops over, tackle-hugging Sarada from behind and pressing a kiss against his temple.

“Mom, you’re choking me!” their beleaguered offspring complains, but Sasuke can tell it’s just an act. He’s pleased by the contact.

“Doesn’t he look great?” Sakura exclaims as they watch Sarada head over to a group of friends and cheer about the pile of waiting presents.

“Sh – He cut his hair,” Sasuke points out through gritted teeth. “Why does he need to cut his hair?”

“It’s his way of asserting his masculinity.”

“There’s nothing masculine or feminine about hair,” he protests. “None of the men in my family have cut their hair unless they were in service. Itachi’s is practically down to his ass, and he’s got flee on-sight-warrants in three different jurisdictions.”

Sakura’s face is set in that particular way – the “if you don’t shut up I will grab you by the short-and-curlies-and-twist” look he only sees when he’s doing something socially unacceptable. 

In a quieter voice, Sasuke adds, “Isn’t this the sort of thing that requires parental consent?”

“It is, and we’ll discuss it with him later after his friends have gone home,” his wife says crisply, returning to the kitchen before Ino sets it on fire.

Naruto gives him a knowing look, and Sasuke snaps, “What?”

“Nothing. I just find it interesting that you’re getting upset about ancient Uchiha hair traditions. Are you sure there isn’t anything you want to talk about?”

“You’re the one who feels the need to emote everywhere. So go do that somewhere else.”

His best friend sighs at that, and meanders away, knowing better than to push. Kakashi exhales a weary laugh and says, “For what it’s worth, I think he improved on your look. Your hair always reminded me of the back-end of a duck.”

Which Sasuke doesn’t even dignify with an answer. Instead, he wanders over to the dining room table, which has been lovingly decorated with every type of junk-food offering and warehouse-sized plate of fruit imaginable, and resentfully begins picking through it.

Across the room, Sarada is having a blast.

He takes great glee in opening presents, laughing uproariously over stereotypically boy gifts. Occasionally he shoots a glance up at his father, showing off a video game or football gear, and rolling his eyes, which makes Sasuke’s heart life a little. Just because he’s a boy doesn’t mean Sarada fits a particular mould – it’s a relief to know he’ll still probably want Sasuke to show him proper kendo form instead of attending some brutish sports rally.

Throughout the party, Sarada’s friends are curious but open, most of them already knowing the specifics, while some still ask questions. When anything gets too close to inappropriate – such as whether Sarada intends to get surgery – Sakura is there to swoop in with small, yet pointed reminders.

“That’s a rather personal question, Shinki. If he wanted you to know that, he would tell you.”

In his corner, Boruto pretends not to listen in, but the scowl on his face isn’t as pronounced. The parents are more quiet in their curiosity – these are all old family friends, and more than one of them owes Sakura in some way. No one will say anything unkind here, and once Itachi shows up with Shisui in tow, no one will dare think it either.

But it still makes Sasuke nervous, having to stand there and answer questions or hear comments about matters that he doesn’t truly understand himself. If his wife wasn’t so busy playing the hostess, she could be making infantile conversation instead of him.

Somehow, the time does pass, and they eventually get to the point in festivities when Sakura and her mother carry in a huge chocolate cake, and the din becomes overwhelming. It’s amusing how a bunch of kids that insist they be treated like adults turn feral when sweets are introduced to the equation.

Sarada waits until everyone has finished a horrifying rendition of the birthday song, and then stands up and calls for silence.

“I just wanted to say thank you to all of you for coming by today,” he says. “And for all the cool gifts. And I really want to thank my Mom and Dad for doing this, because it’s been awesome.” He beams at them, and Sasuke feels Sakura appear beside him, leaning into his side. “I also wanted to share something with you guys, because it is my birthday. It’s a pretty huge deal for me, and you all mean a lot to me, so I wanted you to be the first to know.”

He shifts nervously.

“So…when I was little, I asked my Mom why they called me ‘Sarada’. It’s kind of weird name.”

“Yeah, they basically called you “salad”,” Boruto grumbles.

“Fuck you, Bolt.”

“Language!” Sakura snaps, her voice like a whip-crack. Every kid in the vicinity, and some parents, wince.

“Sorry, Mom,” Sarada says, ducking his head penitently before continuing on. “Anyway, Mom told me how she and Dad came up with the name. That it’s made up of parts of their names, and my Uncle Itachi – who, if you guys don’t know, is brilliant and could probably make James Bond cry like a girl.”

Over in the corner, stuffing his face with dango, Itachi waves a stick in acknowledgement of the compliment.

“And the thing is… even though it’s a cool name, and I’m honoured to be named after these three people, it never really felt like my name. I knew I was going to have to leave it behind someday,” he continues solemnly. “It’s been a hard decision. I never really brought it up with my parents because, well, they’ve been so focussed on helping me through all of the other stuff. It never seemed like the right time. Besides, it’s has been hard finding something that fit. And I didn’t want to completely forget what went in to naming me the first time, so I decided on something that still keeps the spirit of what my parents thought of alive.” He takes a deep breath. “From now on, I would prefer if you all called me Sachiro.”

It’s the first time either he or Sakura have heard the new name, even if it has been discussed.

The cheers and clapping from the guests wash over Sasuke, who flashes back to that day, eleven years ago, when he and Sakura were debating names. They hadn’t been able to agree on anything in the months leading up to the birth, and now it mattered, and neither of them could think of something fitting.

How she looked, flushed and exhausted from giving birth, but so obviously happy. Her tentative suggestion of naming the baby after them both, and Itachi, who was the only reason the Uchiha family had accepted Sakura as Sasuke’s wife. How at that moment, he couldn’t think of anything that was more appropriate. 

The music and chatter seems to start up again tenfold, and Sasuke finds himself staring down into eyes that are the exact colour of his own.

“That’s okay, right, Dad?” his child ask quietly, and a little uncertain. “It’s a good name?”

Sasuke’s chest constricts a little, and he nods slowly. “Hm.”

Sara – Sachiro – beams up at him. It’s the same brilliant, joyful smile of Sakura’s that Sasuke fell in love with, the same smile he has seen when he read stories, visited the park, taught her – taught him – to swim and climb trees. Toothless, or beneath a scratched nose, or covered in mud.

A smile, he realises not, that grew rarer over the years.

Sarada has always been a little sullen, a little quiet and reserved. Sasuke always thought that she – he –was just similar to the way he was when he was a kid. But right now, the way this boy beams and laughs and just exudes joy, Sasuke sees more of Sakura for the first time in almost a decade. There’s a joie de vivre there, a confidence and sense of self Sasuke has barely felt.

And the idea that he could be responsible for that smile or certainty disappearing, that’s the thing that convinces him, finally, that all of this is right. Whatever he personally feels, it’s no longer about just going along with it and humouring the situation, as if it’s something that has been done to him. It’s about his child’s happiness and frame of mind.

The realisation isn’t a happy one, per se, but it’s solid enough that Sasuke thinks he will make peace with it, eventually.

“Mom?” Sa – Sachiro is asking, bringing Sasuke back to the moment. “What do you think? It’s still got yours and Dad’s and Uncle Itachi’s name in it. I mean, the ending is a little different, but I thought –”

“It’s beautiful, sweetheart,” Sakura says, reaching out and brushing a hand over newly shorn hair. There’s a warble of emotion in her voice as she says it, but when Sasuke glances down at her to check, she’s already pulled away. “I’m going to go get plates for the cake, alright?”

Sachiro nods, grins one last time at them, and hurries back to his friends.

Sakura crosses the room, and Sasuke is concerned to notice a stiffness in her back that wasn’t there before. She makes a beeline for the kitchen, pausing only when intercepted by Tsunade, who she greets with a wide – And false, he notices smile – and accepts a nondescript plastic bag. As she continues to the kitchen, Sasuke sees her fist clenched around the handle, knuckles white and shaking.

He isn’t the only one to notice, either. Naruto watches Sakura disappear into the kitchen and shoots a questioning glance at Sasuke. They’ve all known each other since they were toddlers, which means he knows as well as Sasuke when something is wrong. Without words, Sasuke communicates to his friend to keep an eye on things, and follows his wife.

うちは

He finds her standing over the sink, fingers clenching the metal, her shoulders shaking.

“Sakura?”

There’s a sharp inhale and she straightens up, throwing a glance over her shoulder. “Oh, Sasuke, you’re here – did you need something?”

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing! Nothing, I’m just…cutting more onions for the dip.”

It’s an utterly different story from before, made all the more unbelievable by the fact that there are no onions anywhere in the house.

“Sakura…”

“Tsunade stopped by from the hospital,” she goes on, and makes a vague gesture to the kitchen table. The plastic bag Sasuke saw earlier has been casually tossed there. “She knew we were so busy with everything, so she filled the prescription for the… for the blockers.”

Sasuke tenses, staring at the package with renewed understanding. They’ve had discussions in the past weeks, as Sarada grew closer and closer to making the official, full-time transition. There were mentions of intervening before the onset of puberty, recommendations from the psychiatrist to get started now while they wait for official permission to start him on testosterone injections, but –

Looking at the nondescript plastic bag, Sasuke can’t help a resurgence of his apprehension.

He knows it’s only a temporary measure – in theory, it’s like a pause button, a chance for Sachiro to be absolutely sure before any actual commitments are made. There are still many more milestones in the future, this one isn’t even the most important.

But it still unnerves him; judging from Sakura’s shakiness, she is affected too, even though she tries to chat like normal.

“We can give them to h-him tonight, or…or maybe gift-wrap them, and add it to the present pile? It would be a nice surprise, I think…don’t you think?”

She sounds like she really wants his opinion on this, and he opens his mouth to agree, to disagree, to do something, but it feels like his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth. He has only just had his personal revelation on the subject matter. Before this he’s kept himself out of any major decisions, and she’s aware of this. Why the hell does she want him involved in this one? She’s the one who has been so keen on pursuing all of this, why –

There’s a sudden choking sob.

Before he can really parse what he’s seeing, Sakura’s face seems to crumple, her bright eyes and trembling smile imploding into a look of horror.

“What are we doing?” she whispers, and shaking fingertips go to her lips. “Oh, Sasuke, what are we doing? What if this is wrong? What if…?” She emits a staggered sob. “People understand here, but what if she…what if he wants to go somewhere else. For college. For work. People can hurt him – you’ve read the stories in the paper, what if that happens to our…”

She trails off in a moan, and tears are now leaking from the corners of her eyes, her voice getting higher and more panicked in pitch.

“We’re rushing this – I feel like we’re rushing this –”

“Sakura…” he begins, reaching for her, but she evades his touch, pacing now.

“Sh-she said she needed this, and everything she asked for, everything she asked us to do, I did, but maybe we should have talked more first – four years isn’t that long, maybe…maybe it’s a mistake, maybe we’re not doing the right thing –”

“Sakura –”

“Why couldn’t she just be gay?” she cries suddenly, rounding on him with wild eyes. In her panic, she is no longer able to use the correct pronouns. “This would…this would just be so much easier if she just liked girls, because then she…then we wouldn’t…”

“Didn’t you tell me it isn’t the same thing?” he asks, tentative and uncertain.

“I know it’s not!” she snaps, and then presses her fist against her mouth, stifling the uncontrollable sobs that now rack her body. “Did I do something wrong?”

 “You did not do anything wrong,” he informs her, taking her by the shoulder now and squeezing in reassurance.

But his wife doesn’t seem to notice, instead looks off into the distance.

“And the name,” she continues in a whisper. “I knew there would be a point when we…but…but Sarada was our miracle. She was our little g-girl and I’ll never get to say her n-name anymore, and she…didn’t even ask and I…I mean, is it…is it wrong that I should want a say in m-my own child’s name?”

Sasuke exhales, drawing Sakura into his arms and holding her close. “No.”

“I h-had a daughter, Sasuke,” she sobs into his shoulder. “I g-gave birth to a girl, and she was beautiful and w-wonderful and…and do you remember that first year? With the ladybug dress, and the s-strappy shoes?”

“I do.”

“And the way she would pretend her mattress was a magic carpet and ride it down the stairs, and I…I know we said we did this for her – him. We’re doing this for him, so he can be healthier, and happier and I’m trying my hardest to let h-him be who he is, but why…why does it feel like I’m killing her?”

The question is so raw, so wrecked with pain, that for a split second Sasuke wants to call everything off. His wife is hurting, and the event going on in the other room is causing it, and since he was seventeen, his life has revolved around ensuring the Sakura does not hurt.

But since he was twenty-two, his life has also revolved around ensuring his child does not hurt.

He knows that if he walks in there now, telling everyone to return home – or even just calls Sa – Sachiro in and points out that his mother – the one who has been a pillar of support since the beginning – is having second thoughts, it will break him. And his…his son is the kind of person that will accept a lifetime of misery if he thinks it will save someone he cares about a little pain.

If it’s someone Sachiro loves with the same fierce devotion as he does Sakura, he’ll quietly go back into the closet and never say another word about it until his dying day.

And from the articles that Sasuke has read over his wife’s shoulder, that’s something that could come much sooner than later.

The idea is chilling.

Which is why it only takes another split second for Sasuke to pull out his phone and send a text to Kakashi and Naruto – both of whom are as protective of his child as he is – and orders them to keep everything running smoothly. Then, he leads a still shaking Sakura up the stairs and back to their room.

Shutting the door, he leads her to their bed and sits her down, then silently takes the place beside her. For a long while, he simply allows her to cry, holding her until she gets past the wordless, grief-filled sobs.

When he senses her coming back to herself, he takes up the conversation as if there was no break.

“You are not killing anyone,” he tells her, quietly but firmly.

“But she’s still going to be gone,” Sakura says dully. “It’s almost worse.”

“You don’t mean that.”

She swallows. “No. I don’t. But I…sometimes, I still feel like our daughter is…dead. And we’re supposed to replace her with this…this stranger.”

It is the first time Sasuke has heard his wife utter any of this. The first time he has heard her insinuate that she is just as uncertain of this whole situation as he is, that she has doubts. And it’s the first time that he finds himself in the position where he has to be the one with the answers.

He has no idea what to do, but it’s clear silence is not the answer in this case.

Stick to the facts, he decides. He’s better at logic than emotion.

“That child downstairs is still our child,” he tells her firmly. “The child you carried inside you. Everything you love about that child is still there, whether we have a boy or a girl. And our son is happy, which means we are doing the right thing.”

Sakura sniffs.

“You’re just saying that,” she mutters. “I know you haven’t been completely on board about this.”

“I haven’t,” he agrees. “I’m still not sure that I completely understand. But I do know that Sa – Sachiro is happy. And he’s safe. And protected. And accepted by his friends, our neighbours and most of the town, and that is because of you. He would not have even this much anywhere else. And if he were growing up the way I did, he wouldn’t have any of it. He would be miserable.”

“I know,” she whispers. “I know that, Sasuke, in my heart I know it, but every so often, right when I’m least expecting it, there’s just this moment. And I just feel it all, all over again. And I can’t say anything, especially not to S-Sachiro. It would crush him. And if anyone else thought I wasn’t supporting him, then maybe they’d stop supporting him, and –”

“Then you tell me,” Sasuke interrupts her.

She glances at him in surprise. “What?”

“You’re supposed to tell me these things,” he continues, dogged. “I can only guess you haven’t for that exact reason. You thought if you wavered, I’d put a stop to this whole thing.”

“I-I didn’t mean to…”

“You might have been right,” he concedes. “But that was before. I’m also the only person in this whole situation that is going through the same thing as you. From now on, you tell me when you’re feeling like this. It’s not healthy for you to keep it inside – isn’t that what you used to say to me?”

“Sasuke…”

“Did you…want to me to set up a meeting?” he suggests, tentatively, because this next bit is definitely not his strong point. “With the therapist?”

She sniffs, rubbing at her eyes. “Yeah. Yes. But I’ll make the appointment.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“You hate talking to therapists,” she points out.

“If you want me there, I’ll be there.”

“…I want you there.”

“Then that’s settled.”

They are silent for a while, just sitting quietly together, her ear pressed against his heart and his fingers stroking her hair in comfort. For just a few precious minutes, they can be two parents struggling with a change that has been a long time coming, but which neither has been truly prepared for.

Eventually, Sakura breaks the silence. “We should go back downstairs before we’re missed.”

“Hm.”

“If Sa- Sachiro comes looking for us, we’ll have some explaining to do.”

“You should take your top off. That would forestall any questions.”

“Sasuke!”

She smacks him a little more than lightly in the shoulder, but there is a hint of her smile from her earlier back on her face. He considers it a win.

“Do you think this will all turn out?” she asks, tentative. “He’ll be okay, right?”

“I don’t know. But I believe his chances are better, secure in the knowledge that he has our support.”

“Yeah…”

Sakura inhales a deep, shaky breath and squares her shoulders.

“Alright. Let’s go back down,” she says, with only a little less of her usual certainty. She catches sight of herself in the bedroom mirror, and frowns. “Everyone will know I was crying. I look horrible.”

“Don’t fish for compliments,” he tells her, because they both know he always finds her beautiful. He takes her by the hand and leads her from the room.  “Besides, we can always say you were cutting onions.”

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終わり

Apologies if I got anything horribly wrong, this was a difficult piece to write.  As usual, as part of the SasuSakuFestival, please go to the ssfest page and vote, like and/or reblog, it would be majorly appreciated!

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