#turnandface

[joyousdefunct]

unusual muse associations

spice: basil, oregano, red pepper flakes. weather event / natural disaster: flash floods. street rivers. color(s): the cherriest of cherry red. black. plant: lily of the valley. animal: savannah cat. weapon: nail file. keys. pepper spray.  subject / major: throwaway electives / physical education (she’s walking the mile). gemstone / mineral: a big, fat pearl. makeup product: nail polish. dior rouge (some shade of red, rosewood, browns, etc). candy: jawbreakers (stealing this @turnandface), sour punch straws, pink and red starbursts, and those gross bottle pops. fear: having no options. method of long-distance travel: driving, always. art style: lofi pixel art ala this. historical period: the covid pandemic. 🚬 wood: driftwood. ebony. mythological creature(s): banshee. celestial body: the north star. romcom archetype: the charming con artist (who gets conned).

tagged by. @turnandface 🖤 tagging. @drahnovice, @7-inchez, @muutos, @all5horizons, @handspike

[4zune]

HE STAYS IN THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE ROOM, not too far from thjazi's body but his attention follows hal around. until a figure he hasn't seen in near a decade walks the threshold and suddenly he's not the only person that's grown since the rebellion. azune had not let his mind wander at the possibility of the funeral happening much less a reunion of this kind.

his arm extends to clasp their forearm, only the moment they touch azune is pulled into their arms. “ it's good to see you, ” he exhales against @turnandface. a tiniest bit of weight lifting from the heavy atmosphere. “ even under these circumstances. ”

starter call

[wolfclad]

✶ a small starter for @turnandface

Under the velvet weight of night, the courtyard of Jorrvaskr lay hushed. Ahead, Babel stood alone, their figure etched in soft luminescence, their head bowed as if caught in silent prayer. Farkas did not need to see their face to know the thoughts that clawed at them – he had felt that same turmoil once, long ago, when the beast had first slithered into his blood and whispered promises of power and ruin.

From the shadows he stepped, his boots crunching frostbitten leaves, scraping against the moon-struck cobblestones. Babel turned, their green eyes catching the watery light. Perhaps it was imagined – if there was anyone who regularly grasped the wrong end of the proverbial stick, it was Farkas – but it seemed to him that Babel wore their vulnerability openly. It clung to them like a shroud, raw and unguarded.

“The first few nights are always the hardest,” Farkas said, his voice low and rough as distant thunder. He came to stand beside them, letting the cold air wrap around them both. “You think the beast will take everything you are, tear you down, leave nothing behind.”

Farkas glanced at them, his silver eyes steady and unusually gentle.

“But it doesn’t. You’re still you – just with a little more bite.” A half-smile curved his lips as his hand came down on their shoulder, heavy and fond. “This blood is a gift. You’ll make it mean something. And you’ve got us. You’ve got me.”

[downs1de-has-moved]

SEND ME A ✐ FOR A RANDOM SENTENCE STARTER

for @turnandface

"Do you think I could spend the night at your place?"

[ischamoved]

❝ @turnandface / BEAU .

❝ JUS' SLOW DOWN. ❞ THERE'S ANNOYANCE IN the way that he moves, here. Reaper's set a fast pace, but Beau's got a head start and he's WINNING by a long shot. Rian's holding onto his hat, and hooves are slamming onto the cool soft dirt and grass. Yet this isn't like the morning, nor the afternoon, nor anything like their USUAL banter with quirked lips and a dance in their eyes. He feels like he's lost.

❝ Can' we jus' talk ? ❞ His steed is spurred by his heels squeezing into her side, and he's quick to grab the reins of Beau's horse. It's not smooth, and he nearly falls out of his saddle, but he's successful. They're face to face and the pain that's etched in his partners is ECHOED on his own.

❝ Don' RUN from me. ❞

[joyousdefunct]

@turnandface // taxi.

“i was here first!”

true or not, toni was slipping past and ducking inside and … was that a smirk? yeah. as far as she’s concerned, the door was open— that’s free real estate!

“c’mon,” he’s not fast enough. she reaches over, secures the door from the hot asphalt draft blowing her hair in his face. god, something about the back of a taxi … it’s almost nostalgic these days, even though she’d much rather be in the driver’s seat.

“where we headin’?”

[ritterlich]

✎

send me a ✎ and I'll handwrite your url. (Sütterlin scipture edition) | @turnandface/@frcmscratch

I did both urls actually 👀👀 I am also very rusty omg xD

[drwlf]

🌿🍒 w/Salvador 🥹🥴?

Kissing under the mistletoe is a peculiar tradition. It dates back to the 18th century, originating among the English serving class before spreading to the middle class, although it didn’t become a standard holiday practice until the Victorian era. 

All of this is to say that I should have expected to find mistletoe hanging in the doorway of the break room and that, by the hands of fate, I would find myself standing beneath it with Salvador, crossing paths as I was making my way out.

There’s a moment of hesitation as we both stand there, unsure whether we should honor the tradition and, if so, who would make the first move. The plastic cup of hot chocolate I had just poured myself is burning my hand, but perhaps it’s just my imagination, and it’s actually my skin flushing with anticipation as I wonder whether it is appropriate to act on my feelings in the workplace.

In the end, deciding to take the initiative, I lean in and place a firm kiss on the corner of his lips, right where longing mixes with friendliness, leaving any potential passerbys none the wiser.

"Happy holidays, Dr. Cruz."

STANDING UNDER A MISTLETOE