#it's ok if i am polly voice i am very young and learning how to live I'll understand i promise but I'd like to know

[serpent-jugheadjones]

The Partner Revealed - Part 7

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Pairing: Jughead Jones x Reader

Description: Revelations on Jason’s case burn through.

Warnings: None I can think of. But I suck at warnings... 

Word count: 3281

A/N: Wow, it’s been more than a month since the last part was released and this one is more on the short side. Dog Days final part coming soon :)

Y/N’s point of view

Y/N wakes up in fright, heart pounding off her chest, barely breathing. The loud noises that interrupted her slumber are coming from downstairs. She gets up as quickly and silently as possible and grabs the baseball bat her uncle gave her when she turned 14, which has been neglected to the corner of the room ever since. Gathering all her courage, the girl walks down the stairs slowly, avoiding the creaking steps she learned to skip when sneaking out at night, hoping it’s not Jason’s killer, for a 16-year-old with a bat she doesn't even know how to use won’t stand a chance against someone with a gun that has already killed a teenager.

At the bottom of the stairs someone is coming up with boxes covering their face. She gets scared and swings, missing whoever is there by a hair. “Wow. Sweetie, it’s me.” Her father’s familiar voice calms her. He drops his box at the step and takes the baseball bat from her as she still looks distressed. It takes her a few seconds to process she’s safe, but as soon as she does, her arms are around her father. “No love for moma?” Y/N sees her mother, of whom she’s the spitting image, standing by the open front door. She runs down to hug the woman just as tight as she did her dad.  “You guys didn't tell me you were coming.”, she says, happy to see them instead of a killer. “We wanted to surprise you.” “That you sure did.” They all laugh, as that wasn't exactly the welcome they were expecting. “Do you need help unpacking?” Y/N notices the mess everywhere. “No, you go get ready for school. We’ll deal with all this”, her mother instructs, pointing at everything around the living-room with a ‘why did we brought so much stuff’ look.

Y/N gets back to her room without any guilt for not helping them. She’s used to them coming back home with extra luggage. The girl did try to help once, but they just ended up making a bigger mess. It’s a lot earlier than she planned on waking up, so she takes that time to finish her articles for the Blue and Gold. Time flies by and she only notices when her belly roars in hunger. The girl quickly changes out of her pijamas into high waisted jeans and a loose tank top. Reaching the kitchen, she finds suitcases and boxes full of stuff they brought from the trip piled everywhere, making it impossible to eat, let alone cook there. “I’m going to Pop’s for breakfast.”, she shouts grabbing a jacket from the coat hanger. “Wait! We didn't even have time to catch up.” Her mom comes out from behind a pile of boxes. “We’ll do that at dinner, when I come back to this house the way it was before you arrived, young lady.”, Y/N says playfully. “Oh. Bring your boyfriend for dinner.”, Y/F/N requests. “He’s not my boyfriend.” She blushes. “Of course not, you just spend a lot of time with him, talking about him, thinking about him...”, Y/M/N teases. “Ok, I got it. See ya later.” Y/N blows them a kiss and heads out.

The girl is glad to be reminded of Jughead. She texts him on her way to the diner. 

From: Y/N

Wanna have breakfast at Pop’s? My treat.

From: Jughead

Would love to, but I’m heading to Betty’s for breakfast. I’m gonna distract her mom while she tries to find out where Polly was taken to. 

Y/N doesn't reply, perplexed to why she wasn't included in their plan. She’s not mad at Jug, but rather disappointed in Betty. After the memorial, she was sure they were on the same page. Clearly not. Nonetheless, she’s not gonna let that stop her from getting the best milkshakes in town before class.

Jughead’s point of view

The chair in the Blue and Gold office is way more comfortable than his mattress on the floor. Nevertheless, whenever Jughead tries to sleep there, he ends up staying up late, writing. Tonight is one of those nights. Without any major development on the Jason Blossom case, the novelist doesn't really have much to add to the story but editing is just as important. Jug can’t move past the paragraph about the first time he met Y/N by the edge of Sweet Water River just after the body was removed. It’s the way she’s written in, skeptical and cold, that got him stuck, realizing he doesn't relate to that at all. Even so, at the same time, it’s how he felt back then. Since he promised she’d be the first to read his finished work, the writer can’t imagine letting her read those as his first words about her.

After much editing, he’s finally happy with the end result of Y/N’s introduction to the story. The clock on his screen shows it just turned 6 am. He could try and get some sleep, but the boy remembers the long overdue paper he has to deliver and not a single sentence written yet. School work isn't really his forte. Forty-five minutes go by and Jug’s staring at his laptop screen, motionless, not even all the cold coffee left in his thermos flask would be enough to keep him awake, so he decides to take a power nap before leaving for Betty’s. Jughead just slouches back on the chair and crosses his feet over the table. Leaving the office would mean 15 minutes wasted wondering the school halls till his ‘room’ and he can’t afford to lose a single one. He’s woken up by a text from Y/N, inviting him to eat at Pop’s, rather than his alarm clock. 

Of course he would 100 times prefer to have breakfast with Y/N at the Chock’lit Shoppe than with Betty and her mom, but the fate of their investigation could rest with whatever information they can get out of Polly, and for that they need to know where she is. That’s something they can only get from Alice and everything is set for today. Jughead just hopes the Y/H/C girl understands that. He can’t help thinking if she had texted a little earlier he would most definitely have had two breakfasts. 

A couple of waffles in, some OJ and both silent and vocal insults from Alice, Betty gives him the sign to get her mom out of the room, which is as easy as asking for the bathroom. When he returns, the blonde is already waiting for him by the front door with an accomplished look. Jughead thanks Alice for the ‘hospitality’ before they leave hurriedly. He can’t wait to share this with Y/N.

Y/N’s point of view

Y/N uses her free period to drop her finished articles at the Blue and Gold not expecting to run into Betty and Jughead in there. “It's a Home for troubled youths.Where disenfranchised teens will learn such virtues as discipline and respect, enjoying lives of quiet reflection and servitude.”, Jug quotes. “Poor Polly.“, Bets says. “So you found out?”, Y/N asks, reveling her presence in the room. She can see the blonde dig her nails in her palms and go from a hateful to calm face within seconds. “Y/N/N! So glad you could join us. Juggie was very helpful in us finding out where Polly is.”, Betty says on fake-nice tone, stroking Jug’s arm, making him cringe and Y/N’s face grow red. “Where is that?”, the Y/H/C girl inquires, trying to not sound weird out by the whole ordeal. “The Sisters of Quiet Mercy. Sounds creepy, I know.”, the raven-haired boy replies. “When are we going?”, Y/N asks enthusiastically, as this would be their first group operation. “I think it’s best if just me and Juggie go. Too many people can call attention.”, the vixen replies coarsely. “I disagree.” Jughead stands up and walks away from Betty. “The more the merrier. If things go south we can create a diversion, plus Y/N can drive us there.” There’s no valid argument Betty could use to explain why she doesn't want Y/N with them. The Y/E/C eyes meet Jug’s blueish ones in gratitude for standing up for her.

The bell for lunch rings and they leave the office to the courtyard. They find the table where Archie is sitting next to Valerie, with a melancholic expression. Betty walks a little faster than them and sits in the corner of the bench, forcing Jug to sit in the middle and Y/N next to him in the other corner. “I think we should do it after school.”, Bets suggests, probably because she knows Y/N has an extra class today. “Sure, that works for me.”, the Y/H/C girl agrees and takes a sip from her soda. Playing Betty’s game isn't really something she wants to do, but she’s not just about to leave Jug alone with her again. “What are you guys talking about? Anything I can help with?”, Archie inquiries, begging to be a part of it, same way Y/N has to fight for her spot in. “What we're attempting is a stealth operation, Archie. If we go in there with the entire Scooby Gang, forget it, we're compromised.”, Jug explains, eating the last of his tortilla chips. The ginger boy looks even more miserable at that, but at soon as Veronica arrives, his gloominess changes, since she offers to play with him at the Variety Show. Y/N understands Jughead’s gestures of asking for her bag of potato chips and gives it to him with a smile, only to watch Betty making fists with her hands once again.

Now that her parents are home, Y/N can’t just skip class so she heads into her classroom acting sick. Lucky for her she’s very convincing and the teacher let’s her out without any problems. She meets Jug and Betty by the front gate so they can walk together to her house where she’ll get her mom’s car to drive them to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy building. The girl asks them to wait on the corner while she gets the car. Y/N’s not in the mood to explain to her parents what they are doing. Not too long goes by and they hear the loud roar of the Impala. “I call shotgun.” Jughead says opening the door so that Betty can seat in the back.

Jughead’s point of view

They arrive at the reception. The place looks more like a prison than a home. Betty hands the nun her ID and she’s allowed in, but Jughead and Y/N have to stay back. “What do you think she’s gonna find?”, the girl asks as they sit on a bench in the lobby. “The truth. Whatever that is.”, he answers. Soon after, they are asked to wait in a room. The doctor insists on them moving, not taking into consideration their attempts to prove they’re fine where they are. “Are we being committed now?” Y/N tries to open the window, to no success. “No. But that may have been a better outcome.” Jug makes her turn around to see Alice Cooper by the door with a furious look. 

They are being escorted out by doctors. Before they reach the door, Polly comes out from a corner. She loses control and start screaming at her mom for not telling her what happened to Jason. Y/N tries to block one of the doctors from holding Betty, so the blonde can hug her sister. “Don’t touch her.” Jughead throws himself in front of the Y/H/C girl as the doctor was just about to pin her on the wall. They all watch as the pregnant mourning girl is dragged out. Jug is met with a different, darker view of what he thought was a perfect family.

At the parking lot, Alice instructs Betty to wait in the car and she walks away with both a grateful and apologetic look. Thanks to them, she got to see her sister, although because of that her mother is just about to lecture them. “I didn't expect this of you, Y/N.” The girl can’t meet Mrs. Cooper’s eyes. “She was doing...”, the boy starts. “Jug...” She nods her head from side to side interrupting him. “That’s right, Jughead. Y/N doesn't need you to defend her. She knows she’s wrong.”, Alice spits with her eyes still watery. “No. Betty has a right to know what’s going on with her sister. And THIS... exiling your own daughter because she’s pregnant. I didn't expect THAT from you.” Y/N opens the car door and gets in without looking back at Alice. Jughead follows her actions and they drive away. 

“Where should I drop you off?”, she asks. Jughead is silent for a while, figuring out the best way out of this. “How about we just go to Pop’s?”, he suggests, defensively. “Sure. After this, all I need is a double chocolate shake with waffles.” Y/N changes their route to the Chock’lit Shoppe. “Waffles? For dinner?” The raven-haired boy laughs. “Don’t judge me, Mr. Coffee-before-bed-ops-I-have-insomnia.”, the girl teases and they both laugh. Y/N keeping her eyes off the road a little longer than she should’ve. Juggie is sure he caught her glimpsing at his lips but this isn't the right time for it so he just focuses on their order. He’s temped on the waffles as well, but the usual burger wins every time.

Of course he stole a few bites from Y/N’s delicious sweet treat, making the girl fake-mad and him fake-innocent. However, a sweet grin vanishes from his face as fast as it appeared since she offered to drive him home once again. “I think I’m just gonna stay here, enjoy the free coffee refills and write a bit.” Jug hates not being able to tell her why he’s not going home. Luckily she doesn't look suspicious to his reasons for staying. “How about tomorrow we have actual food for dinner? My place?”, Y/N asks confidently. “Sounds good.” The boy loves Pop’s, but the thought of real food makes his stomach fluster. The girl slides off the booth and walks out of the diner, leaving Jug wishing there was a white chocolate and ginger milkshake so he could still smell her.

Y/N’s point of view

 Light tapping on Y/N’s bedroom window startles her. “Jug?” She surprises herself as this is the second time she calls him by his nickname. The boy is on a ladder the girl wasn't even aware they owned. “Hey there, Juliet.”, he proclaims, getting in. “You do know we have a front door?”, Y/N asks rhetorically. “There was an unfamiliar car in your driveway.”, he states, looking around the posters on her walls and some of the books on her shelves before turning to face her. “So you decided to climb up?” She waves her hands in confusion. “Could've been the killer. I may as well have saved your life.” Her heart beats faster as he walks closer and closer. “Also...” Jughead breaths in, his eyes switching from her lips to her Y/E/C orbs. He guides his hands to each side of her cheeks. Without hesitation Jug leans in, meeting their lips in a sweet, passionate kiss. Y/N is dazed by his actions and takes a few seconds to kiss back. But their moment is interrupted by her father knocking on the door. “Dinner is almost ready. When is your friend coming?”, he shouts through the hallway. “Soon.”, Y/N replies with a wide smile, looking up at that amazing boy in front of her, who just gave this fortunate overjoyed pleased teen her first kiss. 

They walk down the stairs to the kitchen. “Where did Jughead come from?”, her mother asks, suspiciously. “You know Nightcrawler, right? Ta-da!”, Y/N points at the boy, implying he teleported. “Are you hiding a tail under that flannel?”, her father jokes. “No, I've got my holographic clock on.” Jughead shows his wrist, with a bracelet rather a clock, but the reference to X-Men: Evolution still stands. Y/N’s sporting an amazed look at his knowledge on the series. “Ok, Kurt. you can sit here.” Y/F/N point at the seat next to his daughters usual place and winks at the girl. Laughter and conversation fill the room. Y/M/N shares stories about their travel, Y/F/N talks about some of his less bloody cases, and Jughead gives them movies suggestions. Y/N is loving every second of it. However, as soon as they finish the main course, Jug’s phone buzzes. He shows Y/N the text.

From: Betty

Meet me at route 40 by the Maple Syrup sign. 

Both teens look at each other, knowing they have to go, because it could be about the case they are desperate to solve. “Mom, we’re gonna skip desert, we have to go meet some friends.”, Y/N tells them, seeing the disappointed look in Jug’s face. “That’s ok, honey. Call us if you’re gonna be later than really late.”, her mother says. “Thank you for dinner Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N. It was delicious.”, Jughead says. “Oh, please. Calls us Y/M/N and Y/F/N and you’re very welcome.”, her father replies, taking out their plates.

Y/N parks the Impala when she spots Betty by the roadside under the pouring rain. She doesn't look happy, and not about being soaking wet, but at the sight of an accompanied Jughead. “How...” The blonde doesn't even have time to finish when Jug cuts her off. “I was having dinner at Y/N’s when I got your text. It, seemed odd you didn't send her one.”, he speaks firmly, making sure this doesn't go any further. “So, why are we here?”, Y/N asks, looking around. “Polly told me about a getaway car Jason had ready for them. I wonder if it’s still here.”, Betty says, handing each a flashlight and directing them towards the sign. Even with the little visibility they have it’s not hard to find the vehicle, covered with tarpaulin and leafs as it has been there for a while now. 

They remove the protective layers and open the trunk, revealing suitcases and Jason’s varsity jacket. “What are those?”, Betty asks, pointing at something in plastic wrap. “Drugs...” Jughead picks one up. “JUG!”, Y/N shouts, making him drop the evidence. “Fingerprints...”, she explains, rubbing everything they touched with the sleeve of her sweater. “This is all evidence, we need to talk to Sheriff Keller and get Polly.”, the blonde girl states. “This whole car is a crime scene.” Jughead takes a few pictures with his phone before they leave to warn the Sheriff about it. 

Sadly, by the time Sheriff Keller arrives at the site, the car is in flames, and Polly isn't at The Sisters of Quiet Mercy anymore.

[redditnosleep]

I Caught My Grandfather Talking To An Air Vent

by kmcooney. Trigger warning for sexual abuse.

My grandfather isn’t the kind of man who is particularly communicative. Actually, he barely bothers to speak at all unless it’s a grunt of satisfaction aimed at a piece of pork chop or a prod to turn the TV channel back to golf. My mother says he’s just selective with his words: I prefer to call him what he is—a dick.

He’s always been this way. Even when I was an adorable little toddler teetering my way around his living room, he barely acknowledged me. He would just sit in his plush armchair and read the paper, ignoring my squeals of delight as I practiced my dance recital in front of him.

“Pappy, Pappy, look!” I would squawk in his direction. He would just shift his newspaper higher in his lap to hide me from view.

It was always grandma who offered me any sort of grandparent-related comfort. She doted on me throughout my childhood; pinching my cheeks, baking me cookies, cooing at every sound or accomplishment I made. So when she passed away last spring, I was heartbroken. Apparently, so was my grandfather.

That’s when my mother cooked up the idea for a “granddaughter-grandfather bonding extravaganza.” She shipped me off to live with him for two weeks during summer vacation while she took a honeymoon with her new husband. Even though I am 15 and purely capable of staying alone for two weeks, my mother just couldn’t resist the opportunity to kick-start the grandfatherly affection that should have taken place the day I popped out of the womb.

“You’ll have fun, honey,” she said earnestly as she practically kicked me out of the moving car.

“He doesn’t even talk!” I yelled in frustration.

“Yes he does,” my mother rolled her eyes. “You just have to listen.”

The first week and a half ticked by pretty much like I expected. We ignored each other in gruff silence and ate our meals separately: him in front of the TV and me in the guest bedroom. It wasn’t until the last night of my visit that I got up in the middle of the night to piss only to find a light shining from his bedroom. Curious, I peeked out from around the corner. My grandfather was sitting in his armchair, a glass of scotch in his hand and eyes puffy from tears. His gaze was trained toward the air vent next to his bed.

“I wish you were still here,” He whispered. I could barely hear him over the clink of ice in the glass.

“You wish who were here?” I asked lightly, stepping forward. His gazed up towards me and he beckoned me to sit down on the edge of the bed. I balanced myself on the edge and looked back at him nervously. I don’t think we’ve ever sat this close next to each other.

Wordlessly, he handed me the glass of scotch. I took a sip and let the liquid bite my tongue, sending shivers down my spine. I handed it back to him.

“I think it’s time you know about my sister,” he murmured.

This is his story, in his words.

I know you don’t think very highly of me; I don’t think very highly of me either. Honestly, there are a lot of things I would change if I could. You’re young, but you’ll understand that one day.

My parents and I lived here ever since I was a little boy. Back then, after the war, this place was like a castle. I loved living here. This was actually my room, believe it or not. And for an eight-year-old boy, it was my kingdom.

I used to pretend that my mother and father were the king and queen and I was a prince. I would rule over my stuffed animals as if they were subjects. My parents actually encouraged it, they thought it was cute. My mother was a homemaker. Back then, most women were. So she was always around to cook and clean and play my childish games with me. My father was different. He was attentive when he was home but he was rarely home. See, he was a preacher. He was a “Man of Faith.”

When you are young you just trust your parents. You take them on their word, you believe what they say and you have no reason to consider otherwise. So when they told me to go to church three times a week, I dutifully followed through. It was fun being the preacher’s son. My mother and I always seemed to bathed in a heavenly glow wherever we went. People knew us as the perfect family, a family of faith and God and virtue. My father was known as a man of God; someone the community should trust in. So when my father told me to ignore the sounds coming from the attic, I did.

I first noticed the sounds the day we moved in. I was sleeping when I heard a muffled cry coming from the air vent. The cry was immediately silenced with a dull thud. I fell back to sleep instantly. For the next few weeks I would hear the occasional pitter patter of footsteps or the off-beat thud in the middle of the night. My father told me that we had rats. I learned to grow accustomed to the random spurts of noise, much as children do.

Then one night I was playing in my room when I should have been sleeping. I held my fake sword up to my stuffed animals and pretended to knight them. I was asking them to bow down to me when I heard it.

“Hello?”

The voice was a muffled echo, barely reaching my ears. It was a girl’s voice. I think that’s why I paid it so much attention. I wasn’t allowed to have girls in the house.

“Someone there?” The voice echoed again. I realized, at this point, that it was coming from the air vent next to my bed. I quickly scrambled towards it, letting my fake sword clatter to the floor.

“Who’s there?” I asked, using the bravest voice I had.

“I Polly. I live in attic.” It’s then that I noticed how childish the voice sounded, how strained it was. I bent my head closer to the vent.

“You my brother?” the voice asked.

“I’m not sure. Are you my sister?” I countered.

“Don’t know. Daddy says I have brother but won’t let me see him.”

“Why not?”

“Daddy says something wrong with me.”

“Is there?”

“I can’t think real good.”

“Oh. Who’s your father?” I asked.

“Michael Larson.”

“That’s my father!!” I yelled excitedly. “That means that you must be my sister if we have the same father.”

“That how it works?”

“I think so, but I guess I don’t really know.”

“I don’t know either.” We were silent for a little while.

“Why do you live in the attic?” I finally asked, the question burning the roof of my mouth.

“Daddy say I can’t leave because I not like everyone else.”

“So you’ve never been outside?”

“Don’t think so,” Polly said nervously. “Not allowed to talk about it.”

“Oh.” I sat back on the bed, puzzled. “I’m uh, I’m going to go to bed,” I said hesitantly into the air vent.

“Oh, ok,” Polly answered back. Her voice faltered and for a moment I thought she was going to cry.

“But—but I’ll be back!” I said urgently, trying to calm her down.

“You will?”

“Of course, I’m your brother,” I assured her.

“And I your sister.”

The next morning I woke up excited. Not only was it Saturday, but I had a sister! I bounded down the stairs two at a time, eager for breakfast. Like every Saturday, my mother had laid out a full breakfast spread for us. After father led us in our morning prayer, I dug in to the steaming pancakes and sausages on my plate.

“Woah, woah there, champ,” my father laughed as he watched me shoveling the food into my mouth. “What’s the rush?”

“I want to finish quickly so I can go play with my sister,” I explained through a bite of toast.

My mother’s face went stone gray as if she had just seen a ghost. My father clenched his jaw and very carefully put down his fork and knife. They didn’t make a sound.

“MJ,” he said with an edge he couldn’t hide. “You don’t have a sister.”

I looked up from my plate, confused. “Yes I do, she lives—“

“ENOUGH,” my dad roared, pounding the table with his fist. My mom was now looking down at her hands folded neatly in her lap. I saw a small tear fall onto her plate.

“Can’t you see you are making your mother upset with your lies?” He hissed.

“But, but I’m not—“

“Go to your room this instant, MJ,” he demanded. “And if you try to lie to us again I promise you that you will never get to leave your room.”

I pushed back my chair and ran from the table, hot, messy tears sliding down my face. I threw myself onto my bed and cried at the unfairness of it all. After a few minutes, I heard her.

“You ok?” Polly asked.

Anger flared in my chest. “No,” I spat bitterly. “I got in trouble and it’s all your fault!”

“What happened?” I could hear her concern, but I didn’t care.

“I told my dad that I had a sister and he yelled at me and grounded me!” I hiccupped between sobs.

“You told daddy we talked?” she said in a panicked voice.

“Kinda.”

“You shouldn’t done that,” I could hear her voice trembling. “I going to be in real trouble. He k-kill me.”

“Yeah, well, you deserve it!” I screamed at the air vent. “You ruined my whole day! I was fine before I met you.”

I could now hear Polly crying through the vent. I thought her muffled sobs would make me feel better but they only made me feel worse. Guilt bubbled in my stomach. I put a pillow over my head to drown out her crying.

I must have fallen asleep because when I woke up the pillow was on the floor and I could hear Polly again. But this time, she wasn’t alone.

“No, no,” she whimpered.

“How did you find a way to talk to him,” a voice hissed at her. I immediately sat up, my heart pounding in my ears. I knew that voice.

“No, no, I be good. I be good,” Polly cried back. I could hear a thump and Polly cry out. I pressed my ear closer to the vent. “I talk to no one.”

“You’re lying,” my father’s voice yelled back.

“No, I good. I don’t lie.” I heard another thump and now Polly was crying loudly. I shivered as I listened to what was happening above my head.

“You better be my good little girl,” my father replied. “You know what happens when you’re a bad girl.”

“Please, please no. I good, I very good.”

“Take your clothes off.”

“No, no I don’t lie—“ Polly’s voice was interrupted by another slap. I heard her cry out and had to clamp my hands over my mouth so I wouldn’t either.

“You heard me,” my father challenged. “Take your clothes off.”

I sprinted from my bedroom and ran all the way downstairs. A part of me really hoped to see my dad sitting in the living room when I rounded the corner. I prayed, I begged God that I would see my father sitting in his favorite chair. I prayed that I was just imagining things, that my creativity had gotten the better of me. But when I turned into the living room I saw only my mother, sitting rigidly on the sofa as she knitted.

“Mother,” I said. Tears were still dripping from my face. “Mother, where’s father?” I was shaking.

She looked up at me with a sad smile. “He’s praying, darling.”

“Are you telling the truth?”

“Of course, dear,” she said. But her eyes told me something different. “Come on now,” she said. “Let’s listen to something on the radio. Your favorite program should be starting soon.”

I took my seat besides her and she turned the radio on. She hummed as she continued knitting, her mouth pressed in a firm and tight line. She held the needles so tightly that her fingertips were turning white.

“I love your father,” she said.

“I know, mother, I know.”

My father’s knife cut through the steak as if he was cutting through butter. The meat bled lightly, just how he liked it.

“Are you done lying, MJ?” he asked without looking up from his plate.

“Yes sir, I am,” I answered back. “I let my imagination get the better of me.”

He smiled at me and pointed his knife towards my mother. “And what do you have to say to the woman who gave birth to you?”

My face flushed red. “I’m sorry, mother.”

“There’s my good boy,” he said as he continued to eat. “I think you learned your lesson then.”

“I did.”

The dinner talk then turned towards the church fundraiser happening the next weekend. My mother promised she would bake her famous pecan pie and my father discussed who from Bible Study would be attending. After dinner I excused myself to my bedroom.

“Polly?” I whispered into the air vent. I heard a small series of sniffling, as if she were crying. Guilt boiled in my chest.

“Polly, I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “Can you forgive me?”

“I guess,” Polly replied.

“Are you ok?”

“No.”

I looked around my room for a second. “Well, whenever I’m sad I like to play a game,” I explained as I picked up my toy sword. “Do you want to play with me?”

“Ok.”

“Ok, well I’ll be the prince and you can be the princess. And we both have kingdoms that we can rule. Yours can be the attic and mine can be my bedroom. Does that sound fun?”

I heard her sniffle. “I be princess?”

“Of course!” I assured her. “You can be anything you want to be.”

And that’s how it started: with a game. We would wait until I heard my father go to sleep every night and then we would give our secret code. I would tap the inside of the air vent twice and, if she could talk, she would tap right back. Then we knew it was safe to play. Some nights we would rule over our kingdoms while other nights I would read her stories from one of my books. Some nights, we would just talk. It was nice, having her around. I grew accustomed to our routine. But like all routines, sometimes they break.

Sometimes I would tap into the air vent and hear nothing back except some weird groans and the occasional thud. When I would go downstairs, I would always see my mother knitting silently in the living room, knuckles white. Father was nowhere to be seen. That’s how I knew he was in the attic with Polly. Polly didn't like to talk much after those times.

“What outside like?” Polly asked one night. I was lying on my back, my head turned towards the air vent. I pondered for a second.

“It’s...big, I guess,” I said lamely. “But it’s cold now because it’s almost Christmas time. There’s a lot of snow.”

“What snow like?”

“You’ve never seen snow?”

“No.”

“Well,” I said. “Why don’t I show you?”

Polly paused. “I don’t leave attic ever.”

I sat up on my bed. “What if you left just once? I can come and get you. I can take you outside so you can see the snow and then I can take you back! Father won’t have to know.”

“Like...like secret?” Polly asked. I could hear the excitement bellow out of her. “Outside! Outside!” she yelled, forgetting the hushed tones we normally used.

I laughed. “Yes, let’s do it!” I screamed as I got caught up in the excitement.

“When!?” Polly yelled.

“We can go right—“

“Who are you talking to?” My father interrupted. My face turned beat red as I turned from the air vent to face him. I was caught.

“No-no one,” I mumbled weakly. “I’m just playing a game.” My father’s eyes wandered to where my stuffed animals were, shoved away into the corner, forgotten and abandoned.

“With who?” He challenged.

“No one, sir. Just myself.”

His face turned to stone and he nodded gruffly at me. “Carry on, then. Just try to keep it down.” And he turned out the door. I nearly shit myself with relief that he had believed me. I waited a few minutes before I spoke again.

“Let’s wait until he goes to bed, then I can take you!” I whispered.

But I didn’t get a response. “Polly?” I asked after a few more minutes. “Polly do you still want to go outside?”

“No,” my father’s voice answered back. “She doesn’t.” I clapped my hands over my mouth and bolted upright from my bed.

“MJ,” Polly answered back weakly. “Help.”

But I stood frozen. I didn’t move when I heard thud after thud after thud. I didn’t move when Polly whimpered out for her brother. I didn’t move when I heard my father smack her. And I still didn’t move when the attic turned as silent as the snow outside.

I stood there, in the middle of my room, with my hands balled into fists at my side. I stood there as I heard my father leave the attic, his steps staggered and heavy. I stood there as I saw the porch light blink into life outside of the window. And I stood there as I watched my father digging, digging and digging all night long.

In the morning there was a raised patch of dirt under the maple tree that wasn’t covered with snow like the rest of the back yard. And the air vent? The air vent was silent.

My grandfather put down his glass and stared back towards the air vent. The room seemed heavier now.

“Her—her name was Polly?” I asked.

He nodded. “Like you,” he smiled weakly. “When you were born I asked your mother to name you Polly.”

“Does she know why?”

“She knows I had a sister. She doesn’t know much else.”

I was silent for a second. “What did you do after—after it happened?”

My grandfather looked down into his drink. “Nothing. Just like what I did when it was happening.”

“What was wrong with her?” I asked slowly. “Why did, why did your father keep her locked away?”

He was silent for a moment before he took a swig of his drink. “I think she had Down Syndrome. And I think my father was ashamed of that.” He sighed.

“Grandpa, I’m so—“

“Don’t,” he interrupted. “It’s not necessary.” We sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the gentle hum of the air vent.

“Polly would have made a fine princess,” I whispered.

He smiled and for a second I could have sworn that I saw the flicker of what he had been like as an eight-year-old boy. “Yes,” he agreed. “She would have.”

[aeroknot]

here have 1,740 words out of 17,600 words of narusaku headcanon

.............i’m goin’ in deep y’all sry not sry (ok i AM kinda sry to those on mobile who have to scroll past this....... i wish mobile didn’t suck like that so you can avoid watching me be a huge dweeb instead of pro’lly what you decided to follow me for hnnnnggh)

these are 2 separate moments I came up with that I eventually tied together after some editing (/fantasizing about my own ideas) passes:

at a gathering with their friends, they both got insufferably cocky about a game involving pairs against pairs, and the stakes kept rising, eventually hinging on some pretty risky bets. when they lost, they were mortified in having to eat the brightly colored crow their friends (conspirators, the useless lot of them!) came up with. they had to temporarily dye their hair the other’s hair color, and couldn’t wash it out for a whole week (or use a genjutsu?). so sakura had to work around the hospital with blonde hair, and pink-haired naruto was at the mercy of his sharp-tongued genin students. people wonder if sakura meant to and if she wants to look more like her shishou, which is cool and all, but most everyone says they like her pink hair better, which is a relief. The most annoying part is the humiliation she feels since she had to do it as the result of her own hubris. he complains about the relentless teasing savagery of his genin students while they’re walking along the canal on their last evening of this punishment, but admits to sakura he doesn’t mind the hair so much and shares he’s often wondered what it’d be like to have his mother’s hair, and pink is similarly distinctive and beautiful and in the same color family. It’s the first comparison of one of her features to his mother’s he speaks aloud, and his heart starts racing because he momentarily forgets she doesn’t know about his mother’s words to find a girl like her. Completely unaware of his thoughts and sudden nervousness, she serenely replies, “I’m sorry she’s not here to experience how sweet her son can be to her… I wonder if she would have liked me? I think I’d have liked her” she actually doesn’t take his silence personally, sort of because she doesn’t think what she said requires a response, but mostly because she’s distracted. they get around some trees at the edge of the pathway right at that moment, allowing a beautiful view of the brilliantly warm-toned sunset. she makes a noise of appreciation and with a childlike wonder he hasn’t seen on her in a little while, she cheerily says, “this sunset has all our colors, Naruto!” “Yeah” he says, a little breathless. “All our colors.” He watches her until she notices (trrrooopey as fuuuuuuck, i know, shut up) and smiles real big at him but humorously admonishes, “Don’t look at me, weirdo! You see me all the time, but you don’t see the same sunset twice” then she faces it again. So he puts his hands in his pockets to stop their quivering as the scene soaks in and suddenly it’s just really hard to see her green eyes with his blonde hair. he turns to take in the sunset too, and he thinks, “she would have loved you, Sakura… we can bet on it” (originally all i’d written here was the first paragraph, and then I think my subconscious LEAPT OUT AT ME the next time I read it to provide this sunset scene -- they’re my rainbow sherbet fighting dreamers ninja family!!!)

~ & ~

In my headcanon world, Naruto and Sakura have five kids, two of which are adopted and three conceived. * I want to note here that I almost never go the “lots and lots of babies” route w/ my otp’s. 3 out of my top 5 do not go on to have kids in my interpretations of them. But for Naruto and Sakura it makes sense, and this is especially based in my conviction he would want to adopt and he would want a big family to experience the exact opposite of his childhood. So, yeah, 5 makes a lot of sense to me. I tend to think they are resistant to the idea of kids for a while bc of the threats to their lives, but they eventually decide they both really want to have kids after fostering two boys and it’s so hard to eventually let them go on to their adoptive parents. Sooo.. their youngest are twins; they’re named Konohana and Sakuya. And my reasoning for this, as well as for all the other names, is pretty in depth. Here: I first heard about Konohana from @yellowflasher‘s great fanfics. She has a Konohana and Kae (not twins), and I asked her once if she named Konohana after the myth, and she said she actually hadn’t seen or heard it before. It obviously stuck with me tho!! Uzumaki Konohana = from the Konohanasakuya-hime mythology. I just discovered with this name theme of using myths I coulda inadvertently referenced Kushina and Minato as well!! -- Kushina’s name could have been derived from Kushinadahime, a goddess of rice/life, and Susanoo is her husband, the god of STORMS aka Namikaze Minato. (Maybe other peeps in the fandom already knew this but I’m late to the party. Oh well! I was shocked when I learned this yesterday.) And it honors Konohagakure, and honors Sakura: ‘flower’ is part of the name. Konohana was conceived (twin to Sakuya)

Uzumaki Sakuya = from the Konohanasakuya-hime mythology. And see above for the comments about the possible Kushina/Minato connection. And it honors Sakura: it’s literally 2/3rds her name; one different ending syllable. & naruto calls her Momo-chan, and I explain why below.

After deciding all this, I came up with this moment: Naruto and Sakura love the names from the princess myth but also love they are referring to Konoha and Sakura. tho, because Sakuya can sometimes sound too similar to Sakura, confusingly so-- and as Naruto’s the only one who has to say both names in the household (y’know, because it’s either “Sakuya” or “mom” said by everyone else, the kids don’t call her Sakura) -- he often calls her “Momo-chan.” as a kid she’s not sure why but just rolls with it and then one day in her later childhood it dawns on her: orange + pink = peach (note: momo means the fruit and momo-iro means the color but I think naruto would just keep it short and simple as momo-- he’d probably argue an orange plus a cherry equals a peach anyway, somehow……... hahhh! I actually looked it up and peaches are in the same genus as cherries and apricots, and apricots are orange :P not that naruto would know this but sakura would be like me and probs research it lol). Sakura expresses concern that Konohana will feel jealous or excluded if he doesn’t give her a nickname too, and he forlornly / guiltily (at having not even thought of that) approaches Konohana with this. She’s rather young to be considering this so thoughtfully -- maybe 4 or 5 -- but her answer never changes as she grows up (though the vocabulary / phrasing she uses might mature…. But I say might, haha); “don’t change me; I love my name!! it is like our home so it means I will become hokage like daddy!! and it is like flowers like mommy’s flower so it means people are happy and have a party when i show up!!” (she’s talking about hanami) naruto immediately bursts into tears bc holy shit he just loves this kid so!! much!!! ( ᵒ̴̶̷̥́ _ᵒ̴̶̷̣̥̀ ) sakura’s doing better at keeping it together, tho not by much, lmao

Some months into the nickname of Momo-chan settling in, there’s a morning where it’s brought into question again. while sakura and naruto are folding laundry, the twins rush in from the backyard to show them something they’re excited about in their grubby cupped hands. “Look! loo~oook! polli-wolly-wogs!!” (tadpoles-- i have great affection for this term for them bc mei in the english dub of totoro calls them that, and totoro is a defining touchstone of my young childhood) naruto intones, “eeehhhh? How cool, konohana-chan!! Momo-chan! Maybe uncle Gamakichi knows ‘em, huh?” and they laugh and stick their tongues out at him, “he’s not our uncle! He’s a toad!” yet they’re making ribbiting sounds as they run off to return the tadpoles. Sakuya trips and just narrowly regains her footing at the last moment to prevent toppling herself and the tadpoles across the floor. “careful, momo-chan!” Naruto offers in a loud voice, but calmly-- he holds back his concern, as he’s learned that a lot of the time kids decide whether they should cry based on their parents’ reactions, namely whether they freak out a lot, and he’s done a lot of freaking out, and is trying something new now, pfft. He watches her right herself, check on the tadpoles in her hands, nod once firmly and give a determined “mm!” in acknowledgement of his caution, and they scamper off. 

So then Sakura asks, with some humor in her voice even tho she’s going for annoyed: “naruto, why’d we even name her sakuya if you’re just gonna keep calling her momo-chan?” “aahh, sakura-chan. She’s just little momo to her daddy. Out in the real world she’ll be called the name inspired by her mind-blowing mom.” the tinge of pink on her cheeks does not get past him and the side of his mouth starts to twitch into a smirk. He roguishly continues with, “I thought about making you the one I address with a nickname instead, but all the ones I could come up with aren’t appropriate in front of the kids” she tries to look aghast but she’s fighting her mutinous mouth starting to veer into a big smile, and to distract his gaze away from this very visible and losing battle across her face, she twists a towel and snaps it at him. They play fight until they fall onto the bed, halfway into the now half-undone laundry. They rest a little bit, soaking in the calm moment, his upper body on top of her lower body-- resting his head on her stomach and holding her around her waist. Her eyes are closed and she’s absent-mindedly running her fingers through his hair. Then he softly voices, “little peach... she’s our colors, Sakura.” and she does vividly remember the sunset he’s recalling. She answers with his words from years ago: “Yeah. our colors.”

(god i’m really driving home this rainbow sherbet ninja family theme aren’t i???? Don’t care!!!! I love it!!! They are my faves they deserve everything I have to offer!!!!)

THE END.

(....except not bc..... there’s...... uh..... 15860 words left...... yeah those figures..... weren’t hyperbolic, i am actually that much of a dork)