Cannotfly - Tumblr Posts

Art had always known that he wanted to send Lily to public school. He’d gone to a private school—the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy was as private as you could get—and he didn’t want Lily to go to one. They were intense in more ways than one and the kids that went there tended to be rich and elitist. So they’d sent Lily to the local elementary school and that had been the end of it. Until it hadn’t, of course. Art loved staying at home, but he got bored a lot. Being a tennis player for most of his life meant that he wasn’t the best at finding ways to occupy long, empty stretches of time.

So he’d joined the PTA at Lily’s school. It was something to do and it got him out of the house for a while. And he liked it. He’d always liked kids and this meant he could help kids and make sure his daughter wasn’t getting into too much trouble at the same time. The moms liked to ask him to do fundraisers and things for the school and he always said no. They were more interested in using his image than actually helping the kids, and that didn’t benefit anyone but him. He didn’t want that.

Recently, though, there’s been one mom that’s giving him trouble. He doesn’t know her name (he doesn’t want to) but she reminds him of Tashi and he doesn’t like that. She has no concept of personal space, and no matter how many times Art has tried to enforce his boundaries and tell her to back off, she never listens. It’s becoming such an issue that he’s debating going to the principal about it.

He slips his arms around Johanna’s waist and rests his chin on top of her head. “She wasn’t that bad. She’s just…persistent.” He sighs. “I think I’m going to go to the principal tomorrow.” There isn’t much to tell about what happened because nothing much had happened. “I’ve told her to leave me alone and she just doesn’t listen. It’s infuriating.” It’s a lot of things, but infuriating is the only one he wants to say out loud.

@notefinal's a.rthur d.onaldson sent: “  could you hug me again?  i think i need it.  ”

public school is by far a better choice for their family than a cold, private institution, but one would have to be completely blind as to not notice how they're treated differently. johanna is looked upon with a wearing stare. mothers hold their children a little closer to themselves when they see lily's step-mother ( a title that johanna doesn't think herself as, no, she is lily's mother ). she killed a man to save her first husband's life. her father. . . well, she isn't his daughter. not really. the members of the pta go from scorning johanna for her blood and turn to beg art to milk his former career for their sake. "the the school! the children!" they try to shame. johanna has the feeling it's for their sake more than the children's.

a lawyer-turned-housewife moved into their boundaries and every fears her. she realizes how silly it is to be try to leave the room once she enters it, but that woman terrifies her. especially since she's starting to prance on art like a vulture.

johanna wraps her arms around her husband's shoulders again, melting her cheek into his chest. ❝ was she that bad today? ❞ as much as she's trying to be a good, supportive mother to lily, pta meetings are more of art's forte. he knows how to deal with them better than she does. besides, the pta seems grateful that she doesn't attend them with him. she'd rather spend the afternoon with lily, anyway. ❝ i'm sorry. ❞ she breaths in the scent of their laundry detergent as she clings to his shirt. ❝ do you want to tell me what happened? ❞

Art is pretty sure he could fall asleep right here if he wanted to. He already has, but he knows it could happen again. It’s warm and Johanna’s fingers in his hair are incredibly calming. He smiles as she speaks, shifting to pull her closer to him. “We are.” He loves it. They can do whatever they want, whenever they want. It’s a luxury that’s not entirely foreign to him, but he’s never taken advantage of it until now. He’ll be taking advantage of it a lot in the future.

He blushes a little at the kiss to his cheek and leans in to return the gesture to Johanna. He can’t help but kiss her properly after she speaks, resting a hand lightly on her chest. He beams, nodding. “I can.” The steady beating of her heart makes him giddy. “We should stay here forever.” They have no responsibilities here. It’s just them and the birds.

@notefinal's a.rthur d.onaldson sent: my heart is yours. always was and will be.

the birds laid the wedding bed. the elements can't touch them here. legs loosely wrapped around each other, her head resting on his shoulder as her fingers play with his hair. dew is rising, she can feel it, but she doesn't move from her position. morning doves chirp from tree to tree. johanna is a run away, always looking over her shoulder for someplace to escape from if need be. looking out for her father, who sometimes she wonders if he's a god is disguise sometimes and he already knows where she plans to run off to next. but for now, her mind is at ease. johanna doesn't think of gods or men, just art.

gaze falls to their simple wedding bands. there is no diamond, no pearl; just the promise of everlasting love. she smiles to herself. they'd fallen asleep with them still on.

❝ you and i are free, ❞ comes her mumbling, voice heavy with the sigh of morning. arms stretch, hands come together at the back of his neck. ❝ we're free to be together. ❞ her father and his god never would have allowed her to marry whom she liked. she suspects he wouldn't have let her marry art at all, even if he knew how sweet he is. johanna smiles up at him. perhaps, in a moment she'll notice how her skin is covered in gooseflesh and she'll start to shake in the breeze. for now, her body is warmed by the sight of art's eyes. a kiss to his cheek. ❝ and be married. ❞ her grin grows. ❝ my heart--- ❞ she moves closer to his face ❝ ---beats only for you. can you feel it? i'm certain it beats just the same as yours does. ❞

⭐⭐⭐ i just feel like we clicked immediately. like as soon as we started talking, we connected in a really wonderful way. i love how we talk to each other at least once a day whether that be about mike faist or the books that we're reading or our muses in general. i love building ships with you and how giddy we both get when we plot new aus. i love how passionate you are. i love how we go back and forth. i love how we chat about our threads while writing them. i just love having you in my life so much jasmine. i've grown so much because i have you and i love you!!!!

me reading this: 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

no but seriously i love writing with you for literally all of the reasons you said. like i love how we can just go to each other like “hey i have an idea” and we just develop it. it’s so fun. regardless of whether we use it or not, it’s just fun to throw ideas around. and i love talking about our ships so much. like it’s not even funny how much i love talking about our ships. they’re all just top tier.

i love having you as a mutual and as a friend and it’s so fun to talk to you about whatever we end up talking about. i love you so much and i’m so so happy that we met.

Art would be lying if he said he was sad about the news of the judge’s death. He’d heard about it in the papers, but he hadn’t said anything about it until Johanna came to him and told him. He doesn’t know who killed him. He doesn’t care. The only important thing is that he’s dead and he can’t hurt Johanna anymore. He doesn’t blame her for not being here. She has a funeral to plan and she has so many things to worry about.

He sits up and gently tugs her into his side. “I don’t blame you. I’ll never blame you. You’ve been busy, my love.” They could run away. There’s nothing holding them back now. If he ran away, would Tashi look for him? Would Patrick? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know. He rubs her shoulder and kisses her temple. “Stay with me tonight?” It feels incredibly selfish to ask her such a thing when she’s still trying to figure everything out, but he can’t help it. “Tashi’s out somewhere. We’ll have the house to ourselves.” And they can plan their escape.

@notefinal's a.rthur d.onaldson sent: [ REST ] sender places their head in receiver’s lap.

❝ he's dead. ❞

it feels melodramatic, really. theatrical, yet wrong. this is the kind of news that she would burst into the library with, wet coat sticking to her skin and hair dripping on the floor while lighting cracks outside. there hadn't been the slightest hint of a drizzle when she heard the news herself. her footsteps were heavy as she tried to tie a dressing gown around herself. ( the housekeeper insisted that she didn't waste time getting dressed for this news. ) a constable that she recognized from prior events sat her down to deliver such somber news. he had no idea that she wouldn't be the sobbing widow on her news begging for it to not be so.

no, johanna had gripped her skirts, blinked, and stared him right in the eye to confirm it for her. ( "yes, madam, i'm afraid your husband was murdered...only a few hours ago. . ." ) it was the best news of her life.

why does she still feel numb from it?

the back of her hand rests on art's shoulder. fingers ache with a tingle to run through his hair, twist this moment into something wonderful. he's dead. isn't that perfect? now we can finally run away. . . there is still tashi. there is still patrick. johanna is still a new widow with a young daughter and a black dress that her maid sets out for her every morning, but she ignores it.

❝ i don't know if you had heard from the papers already, ❞ she continues in a mumble, ❝ but i wanted to tell you in person. he was murdered a few nights ago. the police are still looking into why. . . apparently, there were multiple deaths that night. ❞

her guardian. her husband. her rapist. her own murderer.

she grits the back of her teeth. he should have been killed long ago. she should be celebrating. [ JUDGE FOUND DEAD. . . MASSACRE IN BARBER'S SHOP. . . "BLOOD EVERYWHERE," WITNESS SAYS. . . ] even the papers seem to have more soul than she does.

voice steady, just as it was when she explained things to laura. the same tone as when she promised her daughter that they would get out of new york as soon as this is all over with. her throat only tightened when she asked about lily and art. johanna can't bring herself to hope.

a long sigh. ❝ that's why i haven't come around lately. i'm sorry for ignoring you. that's not what i meant. i-i-i. . . there's so much you have to do to prepare for a funeral and the house and the inheritances. . . ❞ a pause. ❝ i don't know how to pretend that i'm a grieving widow. i don't want to pretend. ❞

@cannotfly

Connor does not want to be here. It’s bad enough that he’s back in school, but Cynthia had insisted he find someone to “tutor him in everything he’d missed while he was out.” That’s how she’d put it. Like he’d missed a few days because of the flu, instead of what had actually happened. Connor didn’t understand his mother, but he guessed she was trying to smooth things over as best she could. Most of the time, it didn’t do anything but annoy him.

He slumps further into his seat, picking at his nail polish. It’s chipped in some spots. He’ll have to repaint it when he gets home. He doesn’t know who’s tutoring him. He hadn’t really tried to find anyone—no one really talks to him very much, but they hadn’t really talked to him before he tried to kill himself, so Connor isn’t that upset about it—and he doesn’t even know if anyone’s going to show up. He stretches his legs out in front of him and glances around the library again. He still doesn’t see anyone.

Alma likes Johanna. She likes all of her children, but she has a small soft spot for her ymbryne in training. Perhaps it is because they share same peculiarity. Perhaps it is because that sometimes, Johanna reminds Alma of herself. She doesn’t think she’ll ever truly know why. But she is fond of the young woman. And she is grateful to have another ymbryne around to help with the children. It makes things run just that much smoother, which is always nice.

Yes, it would. But such is the life of a peculiar. Lying and hiding is all most peculiar children have ever known. Alma herself never knew a life without it. It keeps them safe. And keeping the children safe is an ymbryne’s sole purpose in life. Johanna knows this.

Alma sighs just loud enough to be audible. “Unfortunately,” she says, fixing Johanna with a severe look, “we must. It is imperative that we keep the children safe, and to do that, we must lie. If that does not agree with you, Miss Nightingale, I suggest you find a different profession.”

@notefinal's a.lma p.eregrine sent: ❛ my dear, i think we can make this so much simpler if we agree not to lie to each other. what do you think? ❜

lying is the core of her person. remove her spine from her back and find thousands of lies tumbling from the wound. whether she looks the other directly in the eye or tugs at her sleeves, johanna has no problem in twisting the truth. it's the only way that she's kept herself safe. when a bird senses their predator, they don't hesitate in flying away. johanna's wings are the fibs that slips. does she even know how not to lie? she has the feeling miss peregrine wouldn't care for her truth anyway. she doesn't want to be an ymbryne, she wants to be free.

duty ties her down. guilt clips her wings. johanna curses her particularity behind closed doors ( that was still open---just a tad ). training to become an ymbryne was the only way to escape from him. she's only fallen into another trap. there are children of her own kind who need women like her. she has a duty. and yet, she wishes she didn't. she can't cook to save her own life. she doesn't know how to be a mother. she doesn't want to be trapped in the same day anymore.

curl is tucked behind her ear. ❝ i'm sure it is. ❞ not an agreement. not declining the offer, either. johanna's gaze slowly raises back to miss peregrine's, biting back a plead to escape. what kind of person would she be if she turned her back on her own kind? ( a runaway. the blood of one still flows through her veins. ) ❝ it would be much easier if we didn't have to lie. ❞

@cannotfly liked for a starter ( for kaz )

Kaz glances up from his paperwork as the door to his office shuts. Johanna Barker, he assumes. His new Healer. Inej had told him about her and her situation. He knew that she wanted to employ Johanna because of her sympathy, but Kaz has needed a Healer for a long time—Nina’s good, but she’s a Heartrender, not a Healer—so the decision was made easily. “My Wraith tells me you’re indentured to Phillip Turpin.” He knows Turpin. He knows every rich old man in Ketterdam. And, more importantly, he knows their secrets. “I have a job for you. You can take it or leave it, but I assume with how the conditions are at home, you’re going to take it.”

@cannotfly liked for a starter ( for riff )

Everything hurts. It’s his own fault for sneaking out. He needed to, though. He couldn’t go any longer without seeing Johanna. He’d promised her last night that he’d go back to her. She was probably worried about him. Riff hopes she’s worried about him. He hopes she’s missing him. He finds her house easily enough and stares up at it. “Johanna!” He wishes he had a better way of getting her attention than yelling at her window. “Johanna!”

There’s not a lot of things that come out of Kaz’s mouth that can be interpreted as good news. He doesn’t particularly care about that, except for when he’s talking about a job. He watches Johanna fix her hair and gather her shawl. He needs to find a Fabrikator to make her a better one that hides her from unwanted eyes. He’s had Inej out looking for the Fabrikator that made his cane for a few days now with no luck, but he knows she’ll find him. If anyone can find people, it’s Inej.

“I’m not going to kill you.” She’s the only Healer the Dregs have. It would be completely idiotic to kill her. Kaz doesn’t kill his employees. He wounds them, sometimes, but he doesn’t kill them. Most of the time it would be a waste of time and resources to kill them, and so Kaz refrains. “It would be a waste of my time, and yours.”

“Your indenture is almost up. I want to buy it. You’ll work for me and Per Haskell. I can’t promise you won’t want for anything, but it’s better than where you are now.” He told Inej that he wouldn’t promise her happiness. He’ll tell Johanna the same thing, if she agrees.

@notefinal's k.az b.rekker says, " when you get back, we'll have us a talk. "

❝ well, that hardly sounds good. ❞

it isn't difficult to perceive the words as a threat. look at the mouth from which sentence was spoken. look at the curve of his person and how it always looks as if he is readying for a fight. and yet, she doesn't find herself caring if it is another way of saying that he plans to kill her. the dreggs don't have a healer, but she is replaceable. hardly anyone has ever cared if johanna breaths or chokes, or when they do, it is for their own gain. ( but does she really want to die like this? indenture to a man whose gaze never lifts above her breasts? she would at least like to die free. )

when she was younger, she would be shrugging a crimson kefta over her shoulders. now, she settles for a shawl. it may be summer, but until she finds someone with ornate tailor abilities, she'd rather not everyone see her figure. especially in ketterdam. as she wraps it around herself, she dares to glance back at kaz. despite the frail trust she's allowed herself to put into inej, johanna doesn't think she'll ever escape the nauseating unease she feels around someone who is one, younger than her and two, not a grisha. nor a merch. he's something both better and worse.

fingers grasp around a curl. ❝ i think i can spare a few more minutes before anyone notices. ❞ the other indentures or the hired help. or their master. johanna lifts the shawl from her head, allowing the rest of her hair to spill out against her shoulders. she'll have to hide it again before leaving. ❝ i'd like to know now. or, if you're going to kill me, ❞ i'd rather you didn't until i'm a free woman, ❝ get it over with. ❞ she can't think of a reason why he would want to kill her now. it won't stop him from finding one. ❝ if you actually want to talk... then, i would like to talk now. ❞

He was worried she’d forgotten him. He’d gone off to war and she had gotten married. It was an easy thing to assume. Art had never forgotten Johanna. But he’d married Tashi because he’d heard that Johanna had married someone else. He had thought it best to move on and try to forget her, but he couldn’t. No matter how hard he tried, he could never forget her. The light at the end of her dock didn’t help. He’d built his house—his mansion—on the opposite shore just so he could watch the light every night. If he didn’t have Johanna, the light was enough.

And then she’d come back to him. He still can’t believe it sometimes. He still can’t believe they found each other again. He knows they’re both different people now—Johanna has a daughter and so does Art—but he can pretend they’re young again, if only to take his mind off the truth of their circumstances. He wishes he’d married her earlier, before he went to war, but that can’t be helped now.

He smiles slightly, tugging at the button on his sleeve to undo it and roll the fabric up to his elbow. “I never forgot you, either.” He’d written her letters when he was away. He’d never sent them, but he’d written them anyway. He still had them in a box in his room. He had to remember to give them to her soon. He rolls his other sleeve up. He doesn’t tell her that she was the only reason he came home. If he didn’t have Johanna, he doesn’t think he would’ve made it back.

He wants to marry her so badly it hurts, but he knows they can’t. There’s too many factors at risk for them to even consider getting married. “We can’t get married.” He hates that he’s saying it, but it’s true. “We can’t—it’s too much of a risk.” He undoes his shirt—it’s incredibly hot out today—and drapes it over the diving board. (Sometimes he marvels at his ability to do something as simple as take his shirt off in Johanna’s presence. He’d never do such a thing with Tashi or Patrick.) “You have Turpin, and I have—I have Tashi. We can’t divorce without it seeming suspicious, and we can’t marry without it seeming even more suspicious.” He wishes they could, but they can’t.

@notefinal's a.rthur d.onaldson says, " i thought you'd forgotten me. "

legs are carefully dangling in the pool. the rest of her body poised to catch herself---just in case. ( what threat might push her in? she doesn't know. ) the air is too sticky to stay above ground. she would feel better if she let go of the concrete sides, letting pink sink and long curls sink her to the bottom. drowning. breathless. cold. she'd imagined herself falling to the bottom of the ocean before, but now she imagines art standing there with a towel and wringing out her head scarf for her.

❝ i could never forget you, ❞ she says, turning her head slightly to see him better. head is throbbing slightly from the sun, the sun is pecking at her skin with a burn that she can already feel, but it feels as if she moves, art might fade away and all of this will be a strange, yet happy dream. johanna draws her skirt further up her leg. ( ...not just because she wants him to see---! it's hot. ) fingertips brush against the back of his hand. ❝ not just because of the parties or the lighthouse, i couldn't forget you. the pearls may have been hidden in the back of the drawer, but you were the furthest thing from the back of my mind. ❞

through the war that separated them, the long years where she caught glimpses of his rise to fame, her blood on her husband's knuckles, he was always there. those days felt like this one: heat that pools in her mind and makes her ache. the letters she could never write to her soldier was like submerging herself in the pool water. turning, her knee rests against the concrete. ❝ i prayed every day that you would come home. here. ❞ with me. ❝ i still want to marry you. every time i think about who i want my husband to be, it's you. it's hard to forget the man you promised to run away with one day. ❞ she smiles. ❝ you were my first kiss, too. and my best friend. i couldn't ever forget that. ❞

The scrape on Inej’s knee is courtesy of a rogue Dime Lion. She still doesn’t know how he found her, but he’d managed to get in a good gash on her knee before she got away. She could’ve stitched it up herself, but she let Johanna take care of it. She likes having Johanna around. Nina’s a good healer, but she’s not the best at it. It’s not where her expertise lies. She still doesn’t know where or how Kaz found out about Johanna, but knowing what Inej knows about her now makes her sick. She doesn’t like that what happened to her is happening to Johanna. She doesn’t like that it’s happening behind closed doors, either. The stadwatch isn’t entirely oblivious to the less than ideal conditions of the pleasure houses, but more often than not, they choose to look the other way. With Johanna, no one knows they should be looking the other way.

She blinks at the question. Johanna’s right. Inej does owe a debt. She nods. “Kaz bought my indenture from the Menagerie.” She’s almost certain Johanna knows this already. She works for the Dregs because Kaz works for the Dregs, and because she can’t fathom herself working for anyone else. She doesn’t know anyone else who would’ve given her the opportunities that Kaz has. She doesn’t know who else would’ve made her into something to fear like he has. Inej has had her own hand in crafting her reputation, but most of it is Kaz’s doing. She watches Johanna stand, fixing her pants as best she can. “Indentures are…they’re tricky.” Her indenture to Kaz is something she attributes to the Saints. She would have wasted away in the Menagerie. She’s not wasting away now. “It’s better to be free. But if you have someone that lets you be free, it’s…it’s not as bad.”

@notefinal's i.nej g.hafa says, " sometimes i feel like somebody chose my choice. "

people rip agency away from each other. right out of each other's hands. the first choice johanna feels like she actually took for herself was her escape from the white palace. look at where that led her. she can't be trusted to make her own choices. and yet, she chose this. a few spare kruge in exchange for closed lips and her fingers pressed against wounds---like the scrap on inej's knee. no questions are asked about how she got it. johanna doesn't need to know. stitching the skin back together, cleaning away the blood: this is her own choice. and she'll sink her teeth deep into her limited agency anytime she can.

❝ you, um, you owe a debt, don't you? ❞ it comes out in a small voice. behind barred windows in a room with no one but them, she isn't afraid of anyone seeing her, yet she's somewhat ashamed of the question. digging into someone's past like this. her dangerous hunger for knowledge; consuming her more than she hungers for waffles with apple syrup or a pile of oysters. a little taste of human connection. ❝ that's why you work for the dreggs? ❞ why else would a pretty, smart girl like her stay in ketterdam? she stretches her fingers as she finishes. ❝ i can't judge you at all. i practically gave myself up to be indentured. ❞ words are bitter. johanna rises to her feet, bracing herself against the table so she wouldn't fall. ❝ in my experience, indentures make every choice for you. ❞

He’s surprised to see Johanna practically running into the library. He’s even more surprised to see the tear in her leggings. He doesn’t say anything about it, but it’s surprising. She’s normally poised and perfectly collected. To see her with torn leggings and looking as though she might cry is a change that Connor isn’t used to. But he’s not going to mention it. He doesn’t think she wants to talk about it, and if they start talking about Johanna’s issues—whatever those may be—they could start talking about Connor’s. And he doesn’t want that.

He leans out of his seat to grab the fallen book. Johanna beats him to it. He slumps a little in his seat, picking at his nail polish. It’s chipped again. His picking isn’t helping. “I flunked it.” Geography has never been his best subject, and Connor doesn’t see the point in putting in an effort if he’s just going to fail anyway. “Got a 26.” He had the chance to make up his grade, but he didn’t take it. He’ll have to repeat senior year at the rate he’s going, but it’s better than graduating with the likes of Evan Hansen and Jared Kleinman.

He has an essay to write about the Great Wall of China. He doesn’t want to write it. Connor likes history, but he’s picky about what he likes. Writing about the Great Wall of China seems like a middle school task, not a high school one. He pulls the assignment out anyway. It’s due in three days and he’s barely started it. “Here.”

@notefinal ( starter call. )

there's a tear in her leggings as she comes practically running into the library. the feeling of air against her knee might make her cry any other day. for now, she cannot spare any tears or even give herself a moment in the facilities to blink them away. her guardian's dinner party was a few nights ago still, yet she's still recovering. it isn't as if anything bad happened... not as bad as things could have been. her goal: get to the public library as soon as possible. end the tutoring session early. she needs to hide behind a few shelves. this won't do her any favors, connor hates her. that, she's certain of.

connor can hate her. johanna hates those dinner parties.

pile of books crash onto the table. the one on top of the stack lands on the floor. a library peeks her head at her from over the desk. it isn't like johanna to be anything but the upmost careful. a mumbled apology as she scoots her chair in. ❝ what are we doing today? ❞ she puts the fallen novel back. ❝ oh! you had a test? the geography one? ❞ a pause to bite her lip. ❝ how did that go? i think--- ❞ pages fly by her fingertips. ❝ ---we said that we would focus on history today? you're good at that. you have an assignment? or something? ❞

He doesn’t know much about the attempted escape. He wishes he’d thought of trying to escape, but he knows it wouldn’t end well. He doesn’t think whoever it was is having any fun right now. Not that Fogg’s is fun to begin with, but everyone knows that people who try to escape get the worst punishments.

He doesn’t know what made him ask the question. It’s a stupid question, and he knew the answer. He’s just been distracted lately. “I’m fine.” He hopes she doesn’t ask again. He knows he probably looks weird. He’s sitting with his arms wrapped around his knees, picking at the skin of his palm and his nail polish. “I just—I’m fine.” He doesn’t want to unpack all of his everything right now. He never does. But he doesn’t want to tell Johanna that his sort-of-not-really-ex boyfriend is coming to see him, because that would mean telling her why he’s in here in the first place, and he’s not doing that. He doesn’t even know if he and Miguel are exes, because he doesn’t even know if they were dating before Connor fucked it up. “Don’t worry about me.”

@notefinal's c.onnor m.urphy asks, " what happens to a person who forgets how to breathe? "

someone attempted to escape and johanna only wishes she could call herself that person. a few weeks into being sent here, she'd tried. she thought back to the c.ount of m.onte cristo and wondered if she could dig a hole underneath the hospital or even if she could sneak into a body bag. but she had no bowl nor had anyone perished. the escape that was attempted was an act of pure desperation. whoever it was that had made a run for it was only stopped by locked doors. now, there are extra staff on every shift. a careful eye, especially on the youth wards. johanna wonders if they'd ( no one would tell them who it was ) gotten a taste of truly fresh air. not little glimpses of it between barred windows: that isn't the same. did they feel like they were flying as they ran down the white hallways?

❝ they die, ❞ she says softly. she grips the back of the chair before sitting. it's been weeks since the infirmary, yet johanna's back still reminds her of those nurses. that had been her closest to escape. while laying under those crisp sheets, she wondered if they would believe her if she had suddenly "died" and she could try to swim out of the ocean like edmond d.antes had. foolish girl, she thought to herself later, she doesn't know how to swim. and there wasn't an ocean anywhere close. toes push her closer to connor. glancing over him, he looks... well, not at his best. ❝ are you alright? what's happened? ❞ was it the extra staff? the pressure of tightened security? ❝ connor? ❞

Inej did tell him. She told him what she knew, at least. He knows she’ll get the rest of the information soon, but he has Johanna here in front of him, and the source is always the best place to get information. “She did.” He’s ignoring the comment about Johanna not being his indenture. If she wants to suffer with Turpin, that’s her own choice. Kaz isn’t going to try to talk her out of it. He’s not that kind of person. Inej is. Kaz isn’t.

He sifts through some of the papers on his desk until he finds what he’s looking for. The profit from the day’s work. He’ll finish it up once he’s done with Johanna. “I want to know what happened.” He settles himself in his chair and glances at her. He can work and talk at the same time, so he finds a pen and gets to work on adding up the sums he’d written down. “There’s only so much information the Wraith can get me. I want to hear it from you.”

@notefinal's k.az b.rekker asks, " where have you gone? "

isn't this inej's entire purpose? crawl on the walls and fly through chimneys to find out where people are and why they're there? if kaz told her that the girl could make masterpieces out of spun webs, she would believe him. she weaves those webs out of secrets from all over ketterdam. upon her arrival, johanna assumed he wouldn't ask. inej's ability to catch everything would have already passed the reason why she's been waving her away for the past few days on to him. she could show up, do whatever it was he ordered her to do, get paid and disappear. a fist clenches underneath her shawl. why does he suddenly care to hear it from her?

❝ it may come as a surprise to you, ❞ comes her snow-like tone ( light, but cold ), ❝ but i'm not your indenture. i can't always run to you at every request. ❞ it isn't often she spits her contract at someone's face. ❝ inej told you anyway. ❞ hopefully, she didn't actually witness what had happened. the aftermath was humiliating enough. worse than humiliation. every other indenture under his thumb hates her now. they call her princess and little favored one. and, whore. it is her fault it happened to them. but stubbornness won't allow her to accept that shortbread colored and ruby ring. ( and fear. ) inej had seen the cage. the red on her face. perhaps, she'd even witnessed her offering to heal bruises. but she hadn't heard those awful words. johanna heaves a breath. ❝ i'm here now. what do you want? ❞

Maybe she is haunting him. Maybe he’ll wake up under the pier, alone and shivering, and this will all have been a dream. Maybe they’re not getting remarried in a week. Maybe Arthur’s died and somehow ended up in heaven—not that he believes in heaven or hell or God—despite everything he did in life. He runs a gentle hand through Johanna’s hair. “It would be.” His voice is a quiet murmur. He doesn’t want to wake Pammy. He still doesn’t think he’s at all worthy of being her father, but he knows Johanna doesn’t like that particular line of thought, so he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Maybe.” He hasn’t really thought about his vows much. He doesn’t know if he’ll plan them or just get up there and say whatever comes to mind first. He knows he wants to apologize for ruining Johanna’s life, but that seems a little self absorbed, so maybe he won’t. “Oh?” He grins at her, shifting a little so that he can look at her comfortably. “And what might that sneak peek entail?”

@notefinal's arthur hartman says, " i love you. i close my eyes and see you every time. "

there's a lacey robin egg-colored dress peaking out between the closest doors. the tag for the designer is draped over her night stand. the first time ever something has been out-of-place in this room. the only thing that's in here that doesn't belong. johanna turns to lie on her other shoulder, smiling against arthur's chest. if it were a few years ago, she would shriek and shoo at him to get out! didn't he know it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding? this year, she wraps an arm around his torso. their daughter is sleeping just next door. if they're quiet enough, they can hear her mumbling to herself while dreaming. she has a dress of the same shade in her own dresser and a hair ribbon to match.

❝ it sounds like i'm haunting you, ❞ johanna whispers back, cheek pressed against him so it's more mumbled than intended. ❝ i'm very much alive, i promise. it would be quite awkward if you discovered you were accidentally remarrying a ghost. ❞ her other hand worms it's way to her face, to wipe the sleep from her eyes. she grins when she can open them and see arthur. it'll be a simple courthouse wedding: similar to when they were first married, his mother and sister in attendance and paloma to hold their rings. she can't wait for him to slip it onto her finger again. ❝ i love you, too. " another smile. ❝ are you giving me a preview of our vows? it may take me some convincing but--- ❞ a kiss to his cheek, hinting at what she's wanting, ❝ ---i may also give a sneak peak to what i'm going to say. ❞ birds of a feather, back to sticking together.

Nina likes Johanna. She was a little offended when Kaz first hired her, but she knew that it was practical to have a Healer in the Dregs. Nina, for all her talents, isn’t a Healer. She can set bones and knit skin back together, but the chances of it being a shoddy job are high. At least with Johanna, the Dregs will heal easier and faster. And Nina has more free time to spend at the White Rose, earning money to (hopefully) pay off her indenture and, more importantly, to free Matthias.

She smiles. She still doesn’t know where Johanna is going. She doesn’t like that. She knows Inej probably knows, and Nina can always ask her, but that feels like a breach of privacy. Still, she might ask anyway. Johanna won’t tell her if she asks, she knows that much. “Well, my doors are always open for you.” She laughs a little. “Between you and me, I think he’s got a thing for it.” Kaz loves to boss people around. It infuriates Nina sometimes. “I’ll miss you, Johanna.” She’ll keep an eye out for her.

@notefinal's nina z.enik asks, " are you coming back soon? "

if there is anyone in the dregs she can say she does like without a doubt, it's nina. and inej. there is a sort of connection she's acquired with both girl that she can't replicate with anyone else. she tries to think back to her days at the white palace, try to remember if she'd known her before, but memory is hardly loyal. there are a few faces that she can remember. most of her life before her contract is a blur. she closes her eyes and tries to think back now. all that floods back is the feeling of a woolen kafka and broken ribs. whether those bones were actually broken, ones she was meant to practice on, or she felt them snapping in her own chest from all the restrictions imposed on her life, she can't remember.

eyes open, bringing her back to nina's room. ❝ i may have to come back just for your services one day. ❞ a flash of a smile. ❝ if anything, a few moments of relief sound better than nothing at all. ❞ yet the idea of what nina does terrifies her. what would she prefer: continual suffering or the risk of becoming addicted to sparse moments of peace? johanna looks over her shoulder, just to see the room in its whole, before turning back to her friend. ❝ i think that i will, though. even if it's not for that. ❞ she nearly chokes on her laugh before it leaves her throat. ❝ i have no money anyway. i'll just have to sneak out again soon. or since your friend likes to boss people around so much--- ❞ kaz ❝ ---he'll send me. ❞

He’s been running a finger around the rim of his glass for what feels like hours. He’s barely looked at Johanna since he poured his first drink. He doesn’t know what number he’s on now. The world is fuzzy at the edges and Riff feels warm inside, so it must be on the higher end of the spectrum. There’s not a lot of liquid left in his glass, but there is a bottle next to him, so he’s not worried. He finishes his drink and pours another one.

“Mhm.” He glances at her over the rim of his glass. “Maybe.” The drink in his hand is the only thing protecting him from her words. He can’t process them if he’s drunk. He can’t get scared if he’s drunk. Nothing really matters when he’s drunk, honestly. He can see why his father liked it so much. He sips at his drink and sets the glass down. “Wife.” He giggles at the word. “You ain’t my wife. You left. Makes you—not my wife.”

He eyes Johanna again. “You left.” He feels a little more sober than he was two seconds ago. He doesn’t like it. “Took your kids and left. Didn’t even think ‘bout how I’d feel.” He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it’s his fault that Johanna left, but he’s never apologized for a thing in his life and he’s not about to start now. “They ain’t my kids. I ain’t even been there.” He doesn’t even know Matt’s full name. “You left.” He keeps getting stuck on that. “You ain’t—you ain’t my wife anymore. You left.” It hurts to say, but he says it anyway. She left. In Riff’s eyes, that’s as good as a divorce. He doesn’t let people come back once they leave. Tony was the exception, but Tony has always been the exception. And now Tony’s dead, so there’s no one to be the exception. “Ain’t my wife.” He mumbles it into his drink, sipping sulkily at the liquid in his glass.

@notefinal's rolf lautmann says, " maybe i'll move on, maybe i won't. "

he used to practically throw rocks at her window. calling her name ( " jo! " never johanna to him ) and waving his arms, like a little romeo. little juliet, as she was, she would slip onto the fire escape with a warning finger over her lips. some days, she would lean against that railing so much she nearly fell onto the pavement. johanna never minded; if it got her faster to his side, why should it matter? no love sonnets were shared. only small teasings and a joke or two. and a promise to be back tomorrow.

he throws rocks now. they are words that crash into her stomach with an overwhelmingly loud thud. their children will never know the lovebirds of romeo and juliet. the star-crossed lovers of verona have grown into unhappy adults in massachusetts. one reeking of drink, the other wishing she could finish off the one he had held in his hand.

❝ you'll move on? you will? ❞ was it not her who had left? had her husband not seen her close the door behind her? johanan could laugh. the sound resembling a dying bird. hands grasp through her hair, tugging as much as possible. scalp may bleed and she will thank god for the distraction. there is a shudder. a sigh.

❝ alright. fine. i don't care if you move on. i am still your wife--- ❞ the term she used to affectionately refer herself as melts into poison on her lips ❝ ---but if it will make you happy, then go. but you won't move on from our children. they are yours, too. i don't care how much you drink to forget it. there is a three-year-old girl who calls you her father and a baby who is barely speaking. move on from me, but you won't abandon them. i won't pass down my parental abandonment to my own children. i won't let you pass down that gene, either. ❞

Nina hasn’t played in the rain since her days at the Little Palace. She hasn’t had the chance to. She misses it. She wonders if Matthias would ever play in the rain with her. Probably not. He’d probably say the same things Johanna is saying. She pushes Matthias out of her mind and laughs, running out into the street to twirl around with her arms outstretched. The rain is cold as it pelts Nina’s face. She just laughs some more, turning to face Johanna with a blinding smile.

“Come on!” She gestures with one hand, beckoning Johanna closer. “We’ll be fine. You’re a Healer, for Saints’ sake! Come on, come dance with me.” She’ll regret this later, but for now she doesn’t care. For now, she can pretend she’s a girl again without a care in the world.

@notefinal's nina z.enik exclaims, " wait! i used to love to play in the rain! "

gone are the days of girlhood where she would look up at the sky and laugh. she remembers as faintly as a dying candle a day of gray clouds where a yellow-haired woman held her hand through a crowd. instead of catching a glimpse of that woman, she let the raindrops fall on her white cheeks. ( now, she wonders if that woman was her mother. ) there was rain at the white palace. the other children and her challenged themselves to catch as many drops on their tongues as possible. rain tasted better than the water in their saucers. johanna aches to be six-years-old again and tasting it for the first time. instead of lingering in the doorway, she steps onto the street to join her friend.

❝ do you still love to play in it? ❞ her voice raises as the storm intensifies. thunder and lighting can crackle in the horizon. she won't be swayed. arms stretch out, fingers welcoming the water. johanna is no tidemaker, but she faces the weather as if she is as brave as one. ❝ we'll catch our deaths out here! ❞ and she laughs at the sky. ❝ think of the puddles that this will cause! boots or not, everyone's shoes will get completely soaked. oh, those poor socks! ❞ she doesn't care about stockings or how long it will take for her golden curls to dry out. she has become a child again.

She’s right that they’re not in Manhattan. It makes Riff’s skin crawl. He didn’t want to leave, but Jo had wanted to leave, so they’d left. He still misses it. Massachusetts is nice, but he misses the city. He could go to Boston, but he knows it wouldn’t be the same. It’s not like he can go back to the West Side, either. It’s probably gone at this point. He watches her fingers disappear into her pocket. “We don’t know the neighborhood yet.” He doesn’t want her getting hurt.

“Nah. I was already up.” He’d had a nightmare again. He doesn’t need to tell Johanna that, though. He doesn’t want her to worry about him. She doesn’t need to know that it had taken him fifteen minutes to realize he wasn’t in New York, and another fifteen to calm down. He’d gotten up to get a drink when he heard the door shut. “Where’d you go?” He gets a glass down from the cupboard and fills it with water from the tap, leaning against the counter as he watches her.

@notefinal's rolf lautmann asks, " where have you gone? just out for a walk? "

caught. one hand hovering over the door nob and the other drowning in her pocket, she slowly turns to her husband. as if she is still a little girl who got caught in the library after she was banned from it. there was no place to hide in the library. the walls were too close together, almost suffocating. there is no place to hide now that she's already been caught. despite there being nothing to hide, johanna tucks her other hand in her pocket. fingers fumble with an old receipt in there, tearing it into small pieces.

❝ there's no crime in going for a walk. this isn't manhattan. we're safe here. ❞ johanna still shivers. she only threw a sweater over her dress, not enough protection from the midnight wind. ❝ i just needed some fresh air. i wasn't gone for that long. ❞ although she is newly married, she feels more like an adolescent trying to plead her innocence. ❝ did i wake you? i didn't mean to. i tried to be quiet. ❞ she wishes she could tell him that she also locked the door behind her, but that isn't true. closing the door is enough to protect them, isn't it?

He can’t quite help his laugh. Sneaking into a fair after hours is probably one of the more tame things Arthur has done in his life. “No.” He’s not planning on doing any breaking and entering tonight. He slides his arms around Johanna’s waist and kisses her forehead softly. “We won’t get arrested, don’t worry.” He tugs gently at her hand, leading her down the road to the boardwalk. “It’s a surprise.”

He doesn’t know if Johanna likes surprises or not. He hopes she does. And even if she doesn’t, he hopes she likes this one. He leads her down to the beach and proudly gestures to where he’s set up a blanket and a little basket of food. “You can see the stars for miles out here. It’s gorgeous.” He’s only done it a few times, but it’s been breathtaking every time.

@notefinal's arthur hartman says, " come on, i know a place. "

❝ is it somewhere slightly illegal again? ❞

laced with honey and dewdrops of adoration, her voice hushes along in pure excitement. good girl finally breaking out. it makes her feel like a teenager, but not the kind of head-bowed, poured over books, paling when a teacher called on her, kind of girl. she exists a cocoon-like state to find herself throwing caution to the wind. just without the fear of curfews or... well, she is an adult. just experiencing this side of young rebellion for the first time. her hands lean on his. she has to contain herself from jumping up and down

( arthur kissed her when they went to that fair after-hours... will he do it again tonight? )

❝ i don't have any plans tonight. i don't mind if i get arrested. better yet, we don't get arrested and it can just be you and i wherever you plan on taking me. ❞ johanna breaks into a smile. ❝ but either way--- " she shrugs, as if she is as nonchalant as she wants to appear ( she's fairly certain she's failing, yet she doesn't care ) ❝ ---where are we going? ❞