#braintwin writing

[melancholy-ember]

Isn't it obvious your writing has been married to mine for like, 7 years now?

Why do you think I immediately messaged you? I was convinced you had ghost written the anonymous ask. When I tell you that it literally made my day, I was so not kidding! 😂

[wingsyouburn]

Would you ever write an og story for Naoki/Tessa 👀 (I spent like 5 minutes trying to come up with a "would you ever" question bc I feel like I knew you answer for all of them hskdjakdh #braintwins)

I WAS GONNA SAY, YOU KNOW DAMN WELL WHAT I WILL AND WON'T WRITE LOLOLOLOL #braintwins

Also, yes!! I would love to adapt Naoki/Tessa! Perhaps expanding the Haven's Point universe to include elementals? Because I'm pretty sure angels are going to show up at some point, too.... ;)

[littlestsnicket]

little did i know when you dropped your first comment on my first jaskier fic that i would find out that we are the most simpatico braintwins ever. whenever i see these writing posts go around that says 'write for yourself! & 5 of your closest friends!' you're always right there up in the first row in my mind. i love your curiosity & i love seeing the way you showcase these profound moments of friendship & trust in your fic. ❤️ i am so excited to finish my wip for you. your friendship is a joy.

<3 <3 <3

it is so so so nice to find someone that just, gets a character in the same way you do. can hardly describe how much joy all your comments on my witcher fic give me :D

and i am deeply honored to be on your 5 closest friends to write fic for, you're on mine too!

and i cannot wait for you to finish the fic!!!!

(also, i re-read stories we tell recently, and i have a whole list of quotes i pulled, and some day soon i will either make it a proper comment or just dump my quotes and squee your way)

[deliriumsdelight7]

Hey, Braintwin! How does it feel writing from the point of view of Don, both in his moments of clarity, and his moments when the 'Rage Virus' is in control? How do you get into that mindset?

It’s odd, to be honest. It’s tricky to write from the perspective of someone who’s been reduced to a primitive rage state. I guess most of getting into the mindset is just trying to understand how the virus works - how it affects the body and the brain. With the way they bleed, I imagine the Infected are in constant pain, and that the rage is partially the mind protecting itself from that pain. I’ve also read articles about hysterical strength - how extreme stress can give the human body an extra surge of strength as it goes past its normal failsafes. Once the adrenaline wears off, the body usually needs time to heal from its overexertion. I imagine the Infecteds’ enhanced strength comes from being stuck in such a state for long-term periods.

I also imagine that the virus affects the brain by suppressing certain parts like memory and language, enhancing others like emotion, and leaving some areas alone. Infected Don needs to be able to have some form of intelligence; he retained knowledge on how to use his key card, after all. But he doesn’t speak, and he doesn’t recognize Andy and Tammy as his kids most of the time. But hearing his name seems to bring memories to the surface. To get into his mindset when he wakes up, I just imagine how it must feel to wake up in a hospital bed - in pain, alone, with gaps in your memory gradually filling in with images that horrify you. Doesn’t seem like a good time.

As for the rage itself, I have two go-to sources to put myself in that mindset. One is a playlist on Spotify if my angriest music. The other is the “hate” speech from Harlan Ellison’s “I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream” (a short story that fucked me up for like a year straight). It’s somehow both emotionless and seething with loathing:

HATE. LET ME TELL YOU HOW MUCH I'VE COME TO HATE YOU SINCE I BEGAN TO LIVE. THERE ARE 387.44 MILLION MILES OF PRINTED CIRCUITS IN WAFER THIN LAYERS THAT FILL MY COMPLEX. IF THE WORD HATE WAS ENGRAVED ON EACH NANOANGSTROM OF THOSE HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS OF MILES IT WOULD NOT EQUAL ONE ONE-BILLIONTH OF THE HATE I FEEL FOR HUMANS AT THIS MICRO-INSTANT. FOR YOU. HATE. HATE.

[marigoldvance]

(Ask reference)

Nonny! THANK YOU

[i had no idea how to answer all of these separately so i hope nobody minds 👍]

first, goodbetter made my day - seriously, that portmanteau is such a compliment, i can’t even: merci 💋

*squeals* no, really, BLESS YOU; i’m vibrating that you wanted to reach out at 11PM (!!) to let me know what you thought, i am so humbled right now, like, wow. just wow. breathless.

i totally understand what you mean about the translation of years :) although, i admit, if i’m dappling in Middle-earth, i do tend to write them more as adults (emotionally around 30ish) but i can’t deny i love myself a good YA!BBs ‘verse 😎 they’re just so presh! and spry as gymnasts with the stamina of cheetahs. 

bahahahahahahaha Grandad was onto something though, no? there were willies involved! 🤣 omg your enthusiasm is so uplifting, i can’t even begin to express how happy i am right now. legit, reveling, i am a modern gal reveling!! who revels in 2021!? ME!!

i, too, am a reader who (when it comes to certain things) appreciates a visual ;) ain’t no thang, sugarpie. i have to say ... finding that GIF ... God, the NSA must be having a field day with my websearches, that’s no lie 😳 

i’m going to assume we’re braintwins; this is the only explanation i accept. 

truthfully, i never imagined Kee as those things ever before in all my years of devotion but Fee and Kee are who they are (in my head) and they do what they want. i’d never written p*rn before so i’d never had to get into their headspaces (or ... bodies, i guess, but that sounds weird AF) in a sexual sitch, right? so i never knew that’s how they’d be (in my ‘verses) ‘til now 😅 i dunno if it’s relevant to other ‘verses outside of DA? i guess there’s only one way to find out 😏

also, Baby is the sexiest endearment, i don’t care how overused it is, it gets my engines revving and i will never stop imaging Fee using it. i can’t, for some reason, hear Kee using it though (he’s more of a Babe or specific nickname type, to my mind). 

hon, those whisper-soft touches are, like, the absolute best thing ever, of course Fee would be all naively suave and tactile XD he’s a total natural at foreplay, those are facts! i picture his hands (after puberty) being these big, meaty paws with sausage fingers (ohmygod the things those fingers can do...). just, broad and capable, dexterous, calloused from hours of physical work; fuzzy on the backs and knuckles. plus, his thumb, pointer and middle fingers are bendy, super flexible. why? idk, it just hit me like common sense, i don’t get to ask questions. 

truly madly deeply, Anon, thank you so so so much for reaching out and sharing your thoughts/feelings with me!!! when it comes to p*rn, i’m a novice but i want to get better! the more i write, the more i’ll improve ... is ... kinda the idea lol

you’ve put a permanent smile on my face, darling. keep being awesome 🥰😘

xx- Mari

[gingerly-writing]

Random Question! Dark or High Fantasy? Or both? Which do you prefer to read/write? 😸

BOTH!

tbh I find flaws in both genres, like I’m not a fan of horror or unnecessary violence against women and minorities in dark fantasy, and I’m not a fan of unnecessary hate crimes against women and minorities (often for white/man pain) in high fantasy ;’’’’’’)

buuuuuuuuut there are plenty plenty plenty of books out there in both genres that don’t contain that, especially ones written by minority voices!! I haven’t been reading much in recent times because a) time b) budget but I can’t wait to get my hands on more diverse fantasy books of every sub-genre!

as for writing....hmm. I don’t know if the fantasy I like to write counts as high fantasy? it has original worlds and big wars, but I prefer focusing on characters over worldbuilding (with magic systems as an honourable exception) soooo ??

and I do have a dark fantasy lurking in the background! it’s a big fave with both my beloved muse and my braintwin, so they’re always there are encouragement for me to get back around to writing it ;PP I don’t post much about it on tumblr because a) it’s not that developed and b) I’m scared of getting judged lol, but if it ever becomes my main project I will do!

thanks for the ask!!

[rose-tylers]

Last Line Meme

Post the last sentence you wrote and then tag others to do the same. Tagged by mah braintwin @timelordthirteen

Eveline smiled as she stepped over to Celeste, lifting her hand to her hair. “I am too. C’mon, let’s go shopping.”

From Book 2 of Crimson Hollow (lol it’s so boring but it is what it is)

Tagging... IDK? Is there anybody who hasn’t done this? If you write and haven’t done this, consider yourself tagged. Boom.

[runicmagitek]

Top 5 Hits for Fics

was tagged by the oh-so lovely @xylianna for this! Basically share your top five fics you completed from 2018 with the most hits. Fun times!

I'm the Darkness, You're the Starlight - Rated E, Celes/Setzer (Final Fantasy VI), slow-burn drama romance thing, equal parts pseudo-novelization and missing scenes/post-canon goodness. So glad I finished this massive fic this year. It's been almost four years in the making and a massive labor of love and I'm really happy and proud to share it with the fandom.

If You Don't Love Me Now - Rated E, Jyn/Cassian (Rogue One), shameless smutty fix-it fic with feelings and if you squint, I swear there's something resembling plot. Wrote this as a belated Christmas present for the braintwin @wingsyouburn , because we both love this movie and shop and once upon a time, we headcanon'd that they totally banged in the elevator. And that's how ideas become fics, children.

Antes - Rated T, The Man in the Transistor-centric with a splash of shippy goodness with Red (Transistor), a pre-canon drabble collection. I had a lot of fun exploring his character, who we know close to nothing about in the game, and was genuinely surprised by the attention this garnered over time. Also happy to have finished this and I'm really terrible at keeping up with updating the other drabbles I have for Transistor and it doesn't help that the fandom kind of died out when Pyre rolled in. Need to get better with that.

All That Glitters - Rated T, Pharah/Mercy (Overwatch), silly fluffy high school AU. What was supposed to be a quick prompt for Pharmercy Week during the summer blew up into something I now can't stop thinking about. This story was way outside of my comfort zone and I didn't think I'd do it justice, but I suppose I did! Now I'm in the works of writing a massive sequel following the lives of these two high school girls trying to balance their relationship and senior year.

In a Sky Full of Song - Rated T, Max/Kate (Life is Strange), friends to lovers silly fluffy goodness. This was a pinch-hit I wrote for the Press Start exchange during the summer. I have such a week spot for this ship and I'm all about them caring for one another and being adorkable teens together. Plus art references for days. Also helped that everything the recipient put in her letter was A+ and I tried my best to cram it all into one fic, like ya do.

Not really going to tag anyone, but if you want to do this, go for it!

[whipplefilter]

1,3,5, and 6 (for identity ask)

I answered 1 here and 3 here (I love that all my friends are braintwinning these! :D)~

As for 5 and 6:

5. Do you think of yourself as a human being or a human doing? do you identify yourself by the things you do?

When I first saw this meme, I actually thought to myself, “Human being vs. human doing? UGH, I hate that wordplay!” XD I think I do tend to identify myself by the things I do, and what I want to effect in myself or for myself by doing them (e.g. I want to do X, which will help me get better at Y). Or striving to have hobbies that are productive in some way (e.g. writing/creating, vs. only doing things that are passive or self-enclosed, like just watching stuff). But there’s a lot to be said for ‘being,’ and I think too often it gets underrated. [Insert diatribe against capitalism here, probably.] It’s okay to just be, for no reason other than itself. And I don’t think as a planet we focus nearly enough on that.

6. Are you religious/spiritual?

I am Buddhist! Of the jodo shinshu sect, more specifically. (It’s a strain of Japanese Buddhism that posits a Pure Land/Heaven instead of reincarnation.) Since it’s so much about mindfulness, though, it’s always felt pretty secular, as religions go. Especially since the whole point of the Buddha is that he’s not a god and he’s not really that special as a dude? Like,  he lived, he found that the middle path (all things in moderation) was his enlightened path, and he died. But he’s also supposed to exist in a world that compatible with all other religions (and probably also the other many variations of Buddhism, some of which are significantly more shamanistic)–so like, God, Jesus, Mohammad, all the shinto gods, all the Hindu gods, they’re all still entities that exist in the world, too.

[blondrichclosetwitch]

Well, this is an interesting morning .

Last night I dreamed

Of the salon master. I find it more appropriate these days to call

Him s&m. His specialty is foreign pretty boys who always have water (pisces/scorpio) as their sunsign. Well, at least since he lost the gemini. He never really

Got over that one, and became darker after that. He’s an aries. For the record, when an Aries tries to book a session with me I tell them

No. Aries as

You may know are the sign of war, and they lack a

Connection to the spiritual. They’re very physical. S&m’s numerology is a 2.

That is about duality.

In the dream, he was Doing what he does best. He was talking. s&m was my best New York friend. I never see him in my sleep.

**********

There’s a lot of high people on the train it seems. My santerio has prepared me a white bath & some revoking work. You

Know, with death threats and everything. Seemed like a good idea.

I won’t even see my tree.

As I was walking, saddest vacant lot in all the world started

To play. This is the song that started

To play on december 30, 2017 when jakk’s mother “spun”

Me around the room. I made a video for the girl I used to call “braintwin” about it later that day. I was taken aback by how loving and warm and joyous it felt. Spinning derives from the Sufi practice;

It’s how they would get messages In early times.

Well, all

I got

In those

Moments was that I wasn’t alone, and that it was beautiful, this ability to dance with spirits. Immediately after, some miley Cyrus song played and a voice pretending to be my niece told me it was time to buy drugs and “party”, even though I had been sober for a year. I asked what was she suggesting, surprised. “Cocaine and ecstasy.”

But I was gullible. And i always took the advice

Of my favorite spirit. In fact, I always took the advice of all my

Spirits.

Isn’t that curious, as steel would say.

*****

so the fact that the saddest vacant lot played, that’s meaningful. I don’t think it has played in a few

Months to be frank.

Wow, there is a guy on the train who is so high that he is playing drums with no music in his ears. He’s been doing that for at least 20 minutes.

Oh. I get it.

It’s symbolic.

It’s Jakk.

Guys, how’s Jakk? Who has seen him?

Besides the Red Queen?

I don’t want to talk to you, Psychic Blond. Stop crying. Go away.

“No I won’t.”

Hi Jakk. Hi babe. Yeah I don’t understand people either.

I want you

To know people are reading this and know what is happening

To

You. I want

You to

Know I’m

Not going

To stop writing until I see

Your face. Even if it’s in a hospital.

I prefer that to a casket,

Okay?

They’re playing that song Jakk. You know. The one I had the staff xerox when I was in the psych ward to give you along with the letter I wrote you. You know, just in case you visited me in there. You didn’t, but I really hoped you would walk

In.

“I wanted to.”

The man who was playing drums just talked to me. He got so scared when the bell rang. Everyone’s scared Jakk. Scared and high out of their minds, apparently.

So what do we as a people do about

This?

What? Blond too? You mean she’s high? Yeah well that doesn’t surprise me. She’s what? She’s here? I

Know, Jakk. I can’t really do anything about that at this time. I can’t come over, and I’m sorry I can’t. You know I want to.

But I can’t risk my own death to save you. That’s one thing I won’t do.

Yes Jakk, apparently everyone has a gun. It is a sign

O the times.

But I want to remind you of something.

“You’ve got nothin but time. And it ain’t got nothin on you. You know what you got to do. “

“I can’t .”

Yes, you can. I’m waiting for you.

“But it’s cold.”

I promise you it won’t be cold for much longer: spring is supposed to be here, and summer has to follow after that.

“Tell.”

Remember that time

Ibi dreams of pavement played when

I was in the park and I texted it to you? It seemed relevant to us.

Remember all the time

You read about

Nothin but

Time playing at

My

Most scared moments? How it was the anniversary of stella’s death and I sat at Coney Island sobbing, looking at her picture and looking at the water alternately? Remember how that beautiful black woman caught me crying on film, and smiled the most beautiful warm smile at what she witnessed in me listening to music, and looking at stella, looking at the sun and the water, and how back in greenpoint there were stalkers waiting for me? And how within 36

Hours I put myself

In the hospital to

Keep myself safe. So I could cut off the connection from the woman

You married. So I could get free.

Jakk, do you think

It’s playing now because it’s time for you to do the same? Because I do. You’ve talked

To me so

Much about being in a hospital over the years that maybe a

Place as sterile and unfamiliar as that is maybe the safest place

For you.

When I was told a few weeks ago that you were already in the hospital,

I was told I couldn’t visit you because the mafia was waiting

To kill me. It took me a while to make the calls to figure out none

Of those things were true. But since then, I keep asking questions don’t I. And i keep breaking down what is true, and what is untrue. And you know I’ll keep doing that.

So Jakk, let’s make this chapter end. Not through death, not through drugs, but through what we know. Get out of your head. Go outside. What is that taylor lyric? About we thought they were

Monsters but they were just trees?

Trees.

Trees, Jakk.

“Less voices, more trees.” Evelyn said that to me once when I was getting confused.

GO.

[kuriquinn]

do you think it's possible to write smut without any sexual experience??

I think it helps to have sexual experience because, as with anything you write, if you can draw on a personal experience it gives you more ideas about how to write something - 

but no, I don’t think it’s entirely required.

Just read a LOT of smut (and not the crappy stuff that is all over the internet and basically amounts to plotless, often impossible, porn) and watch your favourite tv/movie love scenes (again, not for pointless porn, but to try to figure out the sensual element of it) for inspiration.

I remember I was about twelve when I saw my first sex scene (Jack & Rose in Titanic), and I remember even though I didn’t really see that much, I felt breathless. You want to evoke a sense of emotion and feeling when you write smut, a connection between the characters that goes beyond the cliche of “tab a into slot b”.

Do a lot of research. Find out exactly what physical reactions the body experiences during sex, make sure you understand the limitations of the human body so as to avoid describing acts which are physically impossible (my braintwin likes to call these “butthole gymnastics”) and find out what people feel like/ experience during sex on an emotional level.

And get a beta-reader (or two) who can make sure what you’ve written makes sense. 

Good luck!

[goodenoughfortoday]

10 Year Sickiversary

10 years and 4 days ago today I got sick and never got better. I wrote this to commemorate it:

I want to write something incredibly profound and moving for my 10 year sickiversary. But I can’t. Writing used to be my outlet. It was something that came easily for me and I was proud of my talent with words. Business school beat my affinity for flowery and often turgid prose out of me in favor of conciseness and bullet points. But even so I still retained a nugget of my craft and found ways to enjoy penning a tax research paper in place of angsty poetry.

I could say that it happened the second the virus entered my bloodstream. That a microbe found and destroyed my skill in a summary execution. And in some ways that is true. But it was a slower and (at times) more devastating death. The virus/CFS hijacked my focus and memory immediately. A year later migraines and their medications took and continue to take my words (a condition called aphasia). Then for good measure they took my ability to type or write without angering the ruthless dragon that is the permamigraine (occipital/trigeminal neuralgia). More recently nerve compression from herniated cervical discs and stenosis keep my hands from working properly. But even without these numerous, concrete medical issues, the fact is that I lost faith in my mind a long time ago. That kind of self doubt is as debilitating as my motor deficits.

Because no matter what happened in my life - whether I was single or attached, fat or thin, rich or poor, happy or sad - I had my intellect. Twenty years ago when I graduated from high school I was awarded Most Likely to Run for President and bound for one of the best business schools in the country. I knew I was smart and I felt like because of it endless possibilities awaited me. I was told all my life if I studied hard that everything would work out. Above is a picture of me at 18. Her innocence and joy are hard to look at because I know she would be heartbroken if she knew how it all worked out. That the girl who wanted to major in literature struggles to focus on a young adult audiobook now. That the former CPA who used to run audits can hardly balance her checking account anymore.

This is usually the time where I start to worry I’m alienating people with the harsh truth of living life with a debilitating illness. The part where I list the joys that are still plentiful in my life. The part where I feel pressure to say that I’m grateful for getting sick because it made me see beauty where I once did not. That now I know what really matters in life. So it’s all good.

But I won’t do that this year. It’s been 10 fucking years. I have every right to be angry that I’ve spent 10 years in bed. That I watch my friends and family travel, get married, have kids, excel in their careers, and move forward in life. I feel stuck. Trapped in amber. Preserved at the age of 27 except with more lines on my face, gray hairs, and a crappier metabolism.

Of course I know it could be worse. I am friends with people much sicker than I am. I have friends who have died. I’m a white girl in America with parents who can afford to help her. My privilege abounds. But because of the plentiful cheery disabled person tropes, people’s discomfort with their own mortality and the pain of others, our positive attitude focused culture,and the ingrained socialization women receive to be pleasant and meek I have subjugated my own grief time and again over these last 10 years. So for today I’m sharing it with you. I’ll resume regularly scheduled Stepford programming tomorrow.

But I’d be remiss to say that my life of perpetual pain, fatigue, and loss is devoid of love and joy. It’s so not. I’ve got a kick ass boyfriend who genuinely enjoys taking care of me instead of doing it out of obligation, friends who never give up on me even when I disappear down a migraine hole for months, a niece and nephew that don’t see a sick person just their purple-haired Aunt Jenny, parents who let me and my cats move in and disrupt their swinging Empty Nest life without hesitation, a little sister who in many ways has become my big sister by taking care of me whether than means pedicures or help with errands, a Bestie/Braintwin who knows Jensen Ackles and the cuddles from Corgis can cure anything, my late babycat Cameron who was always up for spooning and never stopped trying to groom me, and a wee tortie Callie who is perfectly happy to spend her days in bed with me. These people love this Jenny. Even if she is broken.

I want to sum this up with some amazing wisdom I have gleaned from these last 10 years but all I can say is that it really sucks to watch everything you thought made you…well…you disappear into a fog of fatigue and relentless pain. It is devastating to watch what you hoped for the future, in my case a life of professional success, exciting travel with a loving husband, and maybe even a kiddo or two, disappear down the drain. The grief never really ends - it just ebbs and flows.

But it doesn’t mean I don’t have hope, gratitude, joy, love, and even excitement in my life. Doctors have found consistent, biological differences in CFS patients and the questionable studies that relegated it as a somatic disorder that only psychotherapy and exercise could cure are being disproven. I’m going to see the Old 97s play next month and am hoping for a trip to Colorado at the end of the summer to explore canniboid oil for pain relief.

So my great wisdom is that I don’t have to pigeonhole myself as the smiling disabled person who puts everyone at ease and is full of folksy wisdom. But I also don’t have to live solely in my pain, day in and day out. I can be grateful and grieving at the same time. I can look forward to tomorrow while being sad for that hopeful 18 year old girl that didn’t expect this future. To quote the 11th Doctor, “The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don’t always spoil the good things and make them unimportant.” Or better yet, to quote the TARDIS, “[Human beings are] so much bigger on the inside.”

[wingsyouburn]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love❤

So I answered this already technically, but here are a couple bonus fics I wanted to rec but ran out of space!

Together We'll Mend Your Heart, Final Fantasy VIII, Rinoa & Angelo. I had the opportunity to write some backstory for how Rinoa got Angelo (and Angelo had puppies!!!) and link that back into how Rinoa is maturing into her role in Timber.

A Helping Hand, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, Aunt May. I loved getting to write a May-centric story focusing on grief but also how we can help others in the wake of that grief, too. Because every Spider-Man needs an Aunt May.

Get On My Wave, 13 Sentinels: Aegis Rim, Keitaro/Natsuno. When you get your braintwin as your Yuletide recipient, you know you gotta write their OTP for them ;)

[jbankai89]

Snarry Fic: I’m Due For A Miracle

My good friend and braintwin @kuriquinn​ suggested I try posting my actual fics on Tumblr, rather than just linking them, so I'm giving it a try. For those of you following my work on AO3 or AFF, these will be reposts until I'm caught up and everything is posted. :)

Title: I'm Due For A Miracle

Author: JBankai89

Status: Complete

Chapters: 1/1

Rating: Soft R

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Harry Potter/Severus Snape

Achievements: Written for Snarry-A-Thon 2016

Warnings: None

Summary: “These are dangerous times, Mr Potter. If you love something, you can lose it just as easily.”

Word Count: 2429

Other Links: AO3, AFF, LJ

I'm Due For A Miracle

Long, deft fingers traced the contours of his face. Every touch committed to memory. His lover leaned forward with an impassioned groan. His straight, black locks tumbled over his shoulders and tickled his back,“Harry...” Damp skin on skin, every touch a burning delight, dark  eyes staring intensely into his own, drawing out the moment, he never wanted it to end—

~

Harry woke in an empty bed with tears in his eyes.

It wasn't the first time, and he doubted that it would be the last. Hiccoughing and roughly wiping away the dampness, he reached for his glasses. Relief washed over him at the fact that Ron and Hermione had moved out of Grimmauld Place some years earlier. He no longer had to explain himself every time he woke from one of his fevered dreams, for which he was deeply grateful.

Shaking off the remnants of his dream, Harry stood and stepped over to the full-length mirror. His eyes were puffy, his jaw was dotted with morning stubble, and the circles under his eyes had taken on a bruising quality. He was deathly pale, and Harry knew that not much colour would return as he regained his calm. He'd been out of the world too long, hidden away from the press, his friends, and his pseudo-family. Ventures outside were done under cover of darkness, and only then to replenish necessities like food and toilet paper.

No one had seen Harry Potter for years, not even his best friends.

Harry's mind jumped back to the dream. His stomach rolled, and he pressed his burning forehead against the glass of the mirror. Why can't I let him go? The list of the dead was burned into Harry's brain, each funeral he'd attended following that fateful Spring was as harrowing as the last. He took them, placed them in their own little memorial in his mind and heart, and left it at that.

But not with Severus.

Potions Master, ex-Death Eater, War Hero, Grade-A Bastard. Harry smiled weakly as memory overlapped memory.

~

“Why are you here, Potter?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“How delightful, I'm touched. Go away.” The Potions Master slammed the door in Harry's face.

~

“You are aware, of course, that you're breaking about fifty school rules in being here.”

Harry readjusted his position on Severus's lap, and the older man broke his intense stare to arch his head back and hiss with delight. “Gonna give me detention, Professor?”

~

“Take...it....take...it...”

~

Harry's breath hitched, and tears sprung to his eyes again. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.” He sunk to his knees, his breathing shallow. Harry made no move to try to compose himself. “Why did you have to die?” His own voice sounded strange in his ears, and he again cursed the memory of Voldemort, the man who'd taken the one good thing away from him.

~

“I love you, you know.”

“I heard you the first fifteen times, Potter. Why are you repeating yourself?” Harry shifted closer to the warm, naked form next to him in the bed. He rested his head against Severus's chest, and he coiled an arm protectively around Harry's shoulders.

“Because I wasn't sure you believed me.”

“These are dangerous times, Mr Potter. If you love something, you can lose it just as easily.”

~

Harry stared down at his breakfast, uncertain when he'd made it to the main level of the derelict house, or when he'd been lucid enough to cook. The evidence sat before him on a cracked plate, eggs and toast, slightly charred along the edges. The house was silent.

~

“Are you ever going to call me Harry?”

“Is what name I call you by really that important?”

“Well since you just had your cock in my arse I think a little familiarity wouldn't be too much to ask.” He grinned, and shifted to wedge himself more securely into the embrace of his lover.

“As eloquent as ever, I see...Harry.”

~

Children ran and played out in the square beyond Grimmauld Place's property line. Their shrieking giggles of delight did not permeate the windows, but the evidence was on their faces. Harry watched them, and tried to siphon off some of of their joy. He could see the overgrown hedges of his front lawn move abnormally, and he could make out the shape of someone under a disillusionment charm. He quickly stepped out of sight of the window and closed the curtains seconds before the flash of the camera went off.

~

“I put a silencing charm on the door, Severus. Would you stop being such a paranoid bastard and come to bed?”

“I did not survive this long only to be murdered by Molly Weasley for ravishing her surrogate son,” Severus snapped as he flicked his wand here and there around the door and walls, testing the strength of Harry's charm.

“She wouldn't murder you,” Harry scoffed, but he couldn't completely wipe the grin from his face. “She might chop off certain choice body parts, but I don't think she'd go as far as actually murdering you.”

“You're such a comfort.”

“I do what I can.”

Severus finally set his wand down on the bedside table, and smirked at his young lover. He braced his knees on either side of Harry's hips, and pressed his palms into the duvet on either side of his head. Severus enveloped him in a commanding kiss.

~

A sharp tapping on the sitting room window jarred Harry from his memories. Grumbling in annoyance, he peeled himself off the threadbare sofa and padded to the window. An ancient barn own sat on his sill, eyeing him in an almost accusing way for making it wait so long. Harry unlatched the window.

“Get out of here,” Harry said, waving his hand halfheartedly to shoo the bird away, “everyone knows that I don't accept owl post anymore. Piss off.”

How the bird got through his warding spells was a question for another day. The owl was having none of Harry's dismissing and it lurched forward and snapped at his fingers. Harry hissed in pain when it carved a fairly deep gash across his pointer finger with its beak. Grumbling, Harry stepped back and wrapped the bloody finger in the cloth of his T-shirt. The owl took the opportunity to flutter inside and stick out its leg expectantly. Tied there was a minute scroll of tattered parchment.

He grudgingly took the scroll from the owl, it took off at once, and Harry latched the door again before heading off to find some bandages.

~

“I never pegged you for the romantic type,” Harry mused, easing back on the checkered blanket. He was thoroughly enjoying the sensation of the sea air filling his lungs, and the calming rush of surf breaking ten feet away.

“I'm not, generally. Somehow my self-imposed rules break whenever you're involved.” Severus plucked a grape from the bunch and brushed the fruit along Harry's lower lip.

“Yeah, I usually have that effect.” He grinned and plucked the fruit from Severus's fingers with his teeth.

~

Finger wadded in a knobbly bandage—Harry was never much good at healing spells—he picked up the tiny scroll and eyed it dubiously. He hadn't received mail in over three years, at first from turning away owls, then later he learned how to shield the house from them. He turned it over in his fingers, almost afraid to see who would go to such lengths to contact him. No one living cared that much. He'd killed Voldemort. His work was done. Why couldn't the world just leave him alone with his memories?

~

“That was...different.”

“Hmm.” Severus rolled over following his noncommittal grunt, and coiled an arm around Harry's waist, his palm resting flat against his chest.

“I'm not sure I liked it...”

“I didn't hear you complaining.” The low purr sent a wave of pleasure through him, and he snuggled back into the embrace.

“No, I mean...I don't like how much it felt like...”

“Like what, Harry?”

“Goodbye.”

~

Harry unrolled the minute scroll, and stared at it before he could wrap his mind around what he was seeing. Instead of handwriting, the short letter had been composed by a typewriter of some sort, the print was so exact he couldn't imagine a normal human writing that way. He looked down at the words. He read them again. Harry slowed his mind and eyes, and read the words a third time.

When we two parted

In silence and tears,

Half broken-hearted

To sever for years

Ministry of Magic Atrium. Tomorrow, 5pm.

Harry fell heavily into the nearest chair, staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the parchment in his hand. He trembled, and for a moment he struggled to hold fast to the letter. Was this someone's idea of a sick joke? He stared at the parchment again, his fingers brushing over the indented words, and he felt his rage bubbling up. He stood and strode over the the fire grate. “Incendio.” the spell shot from his wand tip and a fire crackled to life in the hearth. Harry hesitated for a second longer, the parchment still clutched tightly in his hand, then he crumpled it up and tossed it into the flames.

Except the sender was apparently not content to be ignored. Harry watched as the wadded parchment landed in the centre of the flames, but did not catch. It quivered, then rolled out of the fire, across the stone floor, stopping at Harry's feet. The parchment uncrumpled itself and lay smooth and flat upon the ground. The message upon the parchment had changed.

Mr Potter

Harry shivered. He could practically hear the tone through the paper.

~*~

Harry was glad he hadn't eaten anything that day. His stomach was knotted so tightly with panic that it was unlikely he'd be able to keep anything down. He stood before the his fire grate, shaking as he awaited for the allotted time to come. Harry knew this could be someone's idea of a joke, a ruse to lure him back into a world he wanted desperately to escape from. In the back of his mind, was the slim glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe it was all true. No one knew about him and Severus, especially while he was still at school. That pointed towards the likelihood that against all odds his lover had somehow survived.

Whatever happened, it would be big.

Harry pinched the glittering powder between trembling fingers, and cast it into the flames. “M-Minstry of Magic Atrium.” In a stomach-churning swirl of green flame, he was gone.

The atrium was crowded. Harry felt a wave of panic wash over him; it was more people than he'd seen in a very long time. He fought down the urge to race back to Grimmauld Place. He stepped out of the fireplace and looked around. He felt incredibly stupid, wondering why in the seven hells he actually believed the note. Now that Harry was out in the open, people were jostling and backtracking to get a good look at him, or trying to stop him for a word of thanks, or attempt to shake his hand. He brushed them all off, while his eyes searched the crowd.

~

“D'you think we'll ever...y'know, be able to be open about...well, us?” Severus moved his hand from Harry's chest to run through his hair, then resettled it upon Harry's waist. Harry's back was pressed into Severus's chest, and in his sleepy afterglow frame of mind, he waited with bated breath for the answer.

“It's difficult to say,” the non-answer irritated Harry, and Severus seemed to sense it as he pressed on. As he spoke, one of his hands casually slipped between the young man's legs. Harry's breath hitched, and he pressed his head backward into the crook of Severus's neck. “Perhaps if by some miracle we come out of this war in one piece, we will be able to. I don't want to make a promise to you that I cannot keep.”

~

The tittering crowd stood back, but watched Harry's every move with hawklike intensity. The attention succeeded only in worsening his anxiety, despite his attempts to ignore it. Across the resplendent hall, Harry's eyes found his. He strode with purpose across the atrium, struggling to keep himself from running. Severus smiled minutely, and watched him with an intensity Harry had deeply missed in the years he'd spent alone.

Severus waited for him patiently, dressed in his trademark billowing robes. The only change in his appearance was the presence of a black cane, which he seemed to be bracing a good portion of his weight on. Harry stopped just short of him, only vaguely aware of the gathered spectators to their reunion, as well as the occasional camera flash.

“You're not dead.”

“Decidedly no.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Harry struggled to keep his tone businesslike, but despite his best efforts his voice cracked, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. He wasn't keen to burst into tears before an audience.

“I was in no condition to, unfortunately. Given that no one was aware of our...liaisons, so to speak, there was no way to convey to you that I was not dead.” He paused, and observed Harry with a small smile, so faint that he doubted that their audience would catch it. “I am sorry, Harry.”

Harry took another small step forward, ignoring the apology. “As far as being open about us...This is one helluva big step.”

“I believe having your friends and surrogate family find out at a safe distance might be best.” His eyes glittered with amusement, and Harry cracked a grin.

Harry closed the distance between them. The shocked gasps of the crowd, the flashes of the cameras—it was nonsensical white noise. Nothing else mattered but the man that stood before him. Severus enveloped him in those voluminous robes, Harry reached up to wrap his arms around his neck. After three years apart, their lips met.

Harry reluctantly broke the kiss, and placed his hand in Severus's free one. “Let's go home,” he murmured, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

The crowd parted for them. Harry smirked when he recognized a few of the gobsmacked spectators, but he paid them no mind. He had eyes only for the man that walked next to him.

That night, Harry and Severus re-acquainted themselves with one another. In the realm between satisfaction and sleep, Harry realized that sometimes, miracles are worth the waiting.

-Fin

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[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.”

_____________________________________________

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!

クリ

[linndechir]

Going to hop over to London tomorrow until Sunday to SEE MARK STRONG ON STAGE AAAAAAAAAAAH and also, you know, visit my wonderful braintwin @swallowedkeys​. And make her watch Mag7 with me because RL fangirling is the best kind of fangirling. And hopefully I’ll also gather some RoL fic inspiration while I’m there (quirky pubs, yes, dark dank parks in January because I need to set that Erlkönig fic somewhere, no, self, stop it, you’re not good at plot, stop trying to write magical child murder). Did I mention MARK STRONG?

Meaning I won’t be around because tumblr and my phone hate each other. Awesome anon who sent me that awesome ask earlier today? You made my day and I will reply to you when I’m back home. :D