By now, Johnny's pretty much totally forgotten about his call time in three hours ( he's done ten-hour days on less sleep and hungover — not an endorsement of the practice, by the way ) . The need for sleep has melted into the back of his head, barely even a thought. He'd felt her practically jump. He'd say ' in her sleep ' but she wasn't really asleep at that point, was she? And Johnny didn't get an answer when he'd tiredly slurred the words, ' Is everything okay? ' while half-asleep but the lack of response was sort of his sign — something was wrong. ( That's more than enough to wake him up. )
His hand moves in slow, gentle circles in the middle of her back — maybe a little unsure of what else to do — while they sit near the edge of his bed. All he can do is ... be here, right? Let her know she's not alone? She hasn't elaborated much on what scared her awake so badly and he wasn't going to press. Plus, it doesn't really matter all that much in the long run, he guesses. It sounds like her breathing's slowed down. Good sign? He thought so, at least, until he finally gets fully clued in on what's going on :
❝ I was supposed to die that night. ❞
Yeah, that sends a little bit of a shockwave through him. He knew about it all but they'd never really ... talked about it. At length, that is. She always had that ' new lease on life ' thing going ; nothing was able to stop her, not even that. So this catches him by surprise. And, instantly, his face twists into something between that and just straight concern. ❝ Hey. ❞ He says it with enough force to try and get her attention on him, but he's not trying to pile onto the stress, that's for sure.
His hand even moves from her back to her neck, only so he can softly place his thumb on her jaw. ❝ I think we both know that's bullshit, ❞ is Johnny's attempt at reassurance. Even in just the dim light of the bedside lamp, she could notice the certain conviction in his brown eyes ( his people are everything to him — family, friends ... — and she's his person ) . ❝ If it wasn't, you wouldn't be here — ❞ Well, that's a little dark ... ❝ But you are. Okay? You're here because you're supposed to be, Jordan. ❞
( JORDAN RILEY ): 🍫💝 TO GIVE MY MUSE A BOX OF CHOCOLATES. ' seriously? ' staring down at the box that's offered to them, they find a bit of disgust in the shape of it, the colors, and the implications. the look that's given up to the woman says are you kidding me? to get their point across, but they take the box, if only because they're interested in what's inside. ' could've just got me a candybar, ' long fingers open the heart shaped thing, one brow raising slightly at the assortment of chocolates. another quick glance is given to jordan before they reach slowly toward a dark chocolate piece. upon biting into the sweet, they find caramel inside, and jules can't help but to savor the flavor as they meet jordan's eyes again, this time a little amused. they offer her one to take. ' get this half price th'day after valentine's, or what? ' @finalact.
@finalact sent : ∗ 29﹕ sender writes a note on receiver’s skin : 7/10 . // ted lasso au, you know EXACTLY what it is
the alarm on the bedside table blares the time far earlier than tristan would like, even though it’s already mid-morning. with one hand, he blindly reaches out to smack at it, missing twice until, finally, his palm lands atop his phone, fingers feeling for the part of the screen that might turn the damn thing off. for a few moments after the alarm has been silenced, he lies there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, allowing himself a beat or two to properly wake. immediately, he’s greeted with an unbearable pounding in his head and a nearly painfully dry mouth. too much liquor, a mistake he always swears he won’t make again, but he’s ever a weaker man than he gives himself credit for. it takes him at least a full minute lying motionless beneath his duvet to recall. god almighty, he brought someone back last night, didn’t he? it’s not uncommon that he engages a FLING here and there - but certainly rare as anything that he would actually bring anyone to his home, his own personal haven. but he remembers it well. at least ... he THINKS he does, unless his dreams have gotten very vivid.
and if that’s the case, he’s got to cultivate other interests ; strangely intense predispositions with women who have proven to HATE him aren’t typically fruitful endeavors.
but his bed is curiously empty, granting him the luxury - at least for that moment - of believing anything he remembered had, in fact, been a liquor-addled dream. eventually, he hauls himself up and out of bed, padding on silent feet toward his bathroom and rubbing his eyes in an effort to force himself awake, to will away the hangover that has him questioning his own reality. maybe he HAD returned home alone last night - which he can’t decide is better or worse, considering that means he’d actually dreamed of her, a concerning notion at best.
the reality falls into place when he looks in the mirror, when he sees the permanent marker partially overlaying one of the tattoos on his chest, dark enough to stand out against the slightly faded ink and light brown of his skin. 7/10. his jaw stiffens and he rolls his eyes, perhaps a bit more exaggeratedly than he intended. so she had been here. his hand tightens on his phone briefly before he sets it on the counter beside him, definitively making the decision NOT to send the text that tingles in the ends of his fingers. two can play at that game, after all.
"what? me?" roy asks, and his grin gets a little wider. it's almost unsettling, sometimes, when he smiles, not just because he's smiling in that shit-eating grin kind of way, but because he does it so rarely. and, when he does, it's often because he's noticed something that he finds funny that maybe the person he's noticing it about hasn't noticed themselves yet. "i just think it's interesting how you watched the prince prick of nelson road walk off the pitch just now." jordan's eyes had followed him from the pitch into the building, and roy's eyes had followed hers. then he'd sauntered across the pitch to the sidelines to give her shit for it.
"you interested in jamie fuckin' tartt?" he asks point blank, and he presses his lips together to contain his smile. he's really enjoying himself. "thought you couldn't stand him."
Final Act ends appropriately in the rain #sandypointstatepark #chesapeakebaybluesfestival #finalact #allyvenable #samanthafish #chesapeakebaybridge #kennywayneshepherd (at Sandy Point State Park) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cd9oQbHuuHX/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
FINALACT. an independent and highly private writing blog for a fandomless final girl original character. established june 2018. written by selena ( she / her, 30, est. ).
a study in: the infamy of survival, what happens to the final girl after the credits roll, old wounds that won’t heal and trauma permanently fastened to you like a weight dragging you under.
. carrd. prompts. aes. sideblog.
temporary rules below the cut.
001. this is a highly private writing blog for jordan riley, a final girl original character set within the horror genre. highly triggering topics will be present here and jordan's backstory deals with the trauma of sexual assault. the mun is a survivor of sexual assault and has worked hard to ensure these topics are handled respectfully.
002. I'm mostly focused on following and interacting with friends. I don't mind if other blogs follow me, but please note that I may not follow back and it's nothing personal if I don't. I just prefer to keep my following small so that I can focus on developed plots and connections.
003. this blog is pretty slow on activity. jordan isn't my main blog, I work a full-time writing-intensive job and I have a lot going on in my personal life. I won't always be around to write but I am usually available on discord to plot with partners. please feel free to reach out for my discord if we are mutuals.
004. shipping isn't my main priority on this blog, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy a good ship. my main requirement is that there's chemistry present between muses and that we regularly talk ooc especially in regard to plotting. I love developed dynamics of all kinds, and I encourage you to plot those out with me because I tend to come up with better ideas and respond to things faster when I know what the vibe is.
005. my psd is by creationcolor and I made all my graphics. please do not take anything off of my blog.
The stage is set.... #finalacts @BL_Publishing @medwardsbooks
The stage is set…. #finalacts @BL_Publishing @medwardsbooks
My first book post for December may well be setting a trend for the month; it’s another lovely British Library Crime Classic, and as I hinted in my end of November post, I suspect there might be a number of them making an appearance on the blog before the new year! My love of Golden Age crime should be well known, and so I’m always pleased when a BLCC pops through the door; and they make the…
( JORDAN RILEY ): FAIRNESS IS FOR HAPPY PEOPLE. ' you ever actually meet a happy person? ' julian hasn't. unhappy or fake happy, those seemed to be the two categories. and as for fairness, well - nothing's fair. not life, not death, and definitely not whatever it is they're doing. not living, but surviving, julian supposed that's what they've been forced to do. they take a long drag from their cigarette, blowing the smoke up into the sky before they glance back down at the woman. ' pretty sure both of those things are made up. i've definitely never seen them, ' if they ever had, or if they ever did, though, the two would go hand in hand. which made them seem less real, in julian's mind. ' either way, people like us don't get them. we deal with real shit. might as well not even think about the other stuff, ' @finalact.
Ja ist den schon wieder Finale? … ja … ist. Und zwar zum sage und schreibe zehntenmal. Können wir selber nicht glauben, dass wir das schon 10 Jahre machen. Und das ganz ohne Fußballer und auch nicht in Katar. Das heißt: Du musst nicht mal darüber nachdenken, ob man das vielleicht boykottieren muss.
Also lass uns zusammen feiern, wenn die diesjährigen acht Finalacts des Munich Song Connection Song…