#(gestures)

[candycatfalls]

I'm just yankin your chain man

[otternil]

the wonderful thing about being an artist is that i can draw whatever I want whenever I want.

[jjgg-art]

Some ballet gestures ✨

[creekfiend]

I think partially I just get really fucking sad thinking about the post wwi popular thought about war and how hopeful people were and how much it really truly felt like there had been a shift and things could be done differently

and then. lol.

it feels very much like the brief burst of hope many of us had directly after COVID began making people start to talk about what the role of the government actually was vis a vis having a responsibility to care for the populace, & how quickly (but ultimately briefly) inclusive many things became to disabled people. like a lot of people started thinking "huh. are we thinking about this whole government thing wrong?" but to actually GET ALL THE WAY THERE people would have had to go a couple of steps further in examining their own position in various Systems, and they shied away from that. and then all of that possibility was just fucking crushed under the boot of rightwing reactionary backlash and things got Worse Instead.

I try not to be a pessimist and I think I mostly succeed but like. yeurgh. we have had some bad fucking shit in the last century. some good shit also, obviously. but whew. it feels like there's so many instances of like *almost* being able to see a different way of organizing society... and then they clutch the reins tighter

[gondorunsessizbahcesi]

Which one?

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How do I write basic movements, I'm not a native speaker so it gets hard for me to define basic bodily movements. Even if it's as simple as reaching out and taking something off the counter

Facial expressions, gestures, and eye gaze are often identified as the 3 major types of body language, but other aspects such as posture and personal distance can also be used to convey information.

A few common gestures & their possible meanings:

Pursed lips. Tightening the lips might be an indicator of distaste, disapproval, or distrust.

Lip biting. People sometimes bite their lips when they are worried, anxious, or stressed.

Covering the mouth. When people want to hide an emotional reaction, they might cover their mouths in order to avoid displaying smiles or smirks.

Turned up or down. Slight changes in the mouth can also be subtle indicators of what a person is feeling. When the mouth is slightly turned up, it might mean that the person is feeling happy or optimistic. On the other hand, a slightly down-turned mouth can be an indicator of sadness, disapproval, or even an outright grimace.

A clenched fist can indicate anger in some situations or solidarity in others.

A thumbs up and thumbs down are often used as gestures of approval and disapproval.

The "okay" gesture, made by touching together the thumb and index finger in a circle while extending the other three fingers can be used to mean "okay" or "all right." In some parts of Europe, however, the same signal is used to imply you are nothing. In some South American countries, the symbol is actually a vulgar gesture.

The V sign, created by lifting the index and middle finger and separating them to create a V-shape, means peace or victory in some countries. In the United Kingdom and Australia, the symbol takes on an offensive meaning when the back of the hand is facing outward.

Crossed arms might indicate that a person feels defensive, self-protective, or closed-off.

Standing with hands placed on the hips can be an indication that a person is ready and in control, or it can also possibly be a sign of aggressiveness.

Clasping the hands behind the back might indicate that a person is feeling bored, anxious, or even angry.

Rapidly tapping fingers or fidgeting can be a sign that a person is bored, impatient, or frustrated.

Crossed legs can indicate that a person is feeling closed-off or in need of privacy.

Open posture involves keeping the trunk of the body open and exposed. This type of posture indicates friendliness, openness, and willingness.

Closed posture involves hiding the trunk of the body often by hunching forward and keeping the arms and legs crossed. This type of posture can be an indicator of hostility, unfriendliness, and anxiety.

The term proxemics, coined by anthropologist Edward T. Hall, refers to the distance between people as they interact.

Just as body movements and facial expressions can communicate a great deal of nonverbal information, so can the physical space between individuals.

Hall described 4 levels of social distance that occur in different situations:

Intimate Distance: 6 to 18 inches. This level of physical distance often indicates a closer relationship or greater comfort between individuals. It usually occurs during intimate contact such as hugging, whispering, or touching.

Personal Distance: 1.5 to 4 feet. Physical distance at this level usually occurs between people who are family members or close friends. The closer the people can comfortably stand while interacting can be an indicator of the level of intimacy in their relationship.

Social Distance: 4 to 12 feet. This level of physical distance is often used with individuals who are acquaintances. With someone you know fairly well, such as a co-worker you see several times a week, you might feel more comfortable interacting at a closer distance. In cases where you do not know the other person well, such as a postal delivery driver you only see once a month, a distance of 10 to 12 feet may feel more comfortable.

Public Distance: 12 to 25 feet. Physical distance at this level is often used in public speaking situations. Talking in front of a class full of students or giving a presentation at work are good examples of such situations.

Source ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs ⚜ Some Additional Resources:

Anatomical Movements

Types of Body Movements

Human Body Movements

Hope this helps with your writing! Definitely have trouble with this at times as well.

[aventurineswife]

hii !! i hope you’ve been well :) i’m genuinely such a big fan of your works, it’s clear how much love and dedication you put into your writing 🫶🏼 i feel it’s only right to show my appreciation before making a request ( ´ ▽ ` )♡

but for my request i’m thinking of dan heng IL, sunday, and jiaoqiu (he deserves so much more love ty for providing content, it is DRYY here in the jiaoqiu fandom🥀) in the scenario of the reader (gn) doing makeup on them. specifically eye makeup like dan heng’s eyeliner just to give an example. the reader is sitting in their lap while working and then stops to take a moment to admire the intimacy of the moment and just them all glamored up. and then continues with a cheeky sneak kiss.

separate btw ! again i adore all your works and please do remember to take breaks (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)♡

The Art of Stillness

Tags: Dan Heng IL x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Jiaoqiu x Reader, Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Gentle Intimacy, Soft Romance, Makeup Application, Eye Makeup Focus, Lap Sitting, Light Teasing, Affectionate Gestures, Sneak Kiss, Tender Moments, Trust and Vulnerability, Mutual Admiration, Comfort, Nonsexual Intimacy, Fluff.

Warnings: Mild Physical Intimacy, Emotional Vulnerability, Soft Touching, Brief Mention of Past Burdens.

The light in your shared quarters is gentle today — soft, diffused, brushing the edges of the furniture and the faint curve of his horns in muted gold. Dan Heng sits quietly where you asked him to, the sleeves of his attire rolled down neatly, his posture unerringly straight even now. You’re perched in his lap, legs draped to both side for balance, a small tray of makeup set on the table beside you.

He watches you gather the brush and liner, the faint sound of your movements the only thing that stirs the calm.

“Close your eyes,” you whisper.

He obeys without hesitation. His lashes lower like silk curtains, and the tension in his shoulders softens slightly beneath your touch. You rest your palm against his cheek, steadying yourself as you lean in. His skin is cool — not cold, but faintly like polished jade, smooth beneath your fingertips. The faint trace of his breathing grazes your wrist.

Tracing the line of his eyelid, you follow the natural curve with the brush, the dark pigment gliding easily over the edge. The liner catches in the dim light, the same deep red that frames his bright, otherworldly eyes when open.

“Hold still,” you murmur, almost unnecessarily — he’s perfectly still already.

The faint brush of your thumb at the corner of his eye earns a near-imperceptible tilt of his head. He’s always been patient — with precision, with silence, with himself. But under your touch, that patience turns almost reverent.

You pause to look at him.

He sits there, long hair pooling over his shoulder, horns gleaming faintly green, breath calm. There’s something almost sacred in the sight — a being of ancient bloodlines and immortal memories sitting obediently beneath your hands, trusting you completely. The world seems smaller around him, the air reverent, heavy with the warmth that lingers between you.

Your heart tightens.

“...What is it?” he asks softly, eyes still closed.

“Nothing,” you whisper back. “Just admiring.”

A flicker of a smile curves his lips. “You’re supposed to be focusing.”

“I am,” you say, brushing the corner of his eye again. “On how beautiful you are.”

That earns you a pause — then a quiet breath, a subtle shift in the air as the faintest color rises in his cheeks. You’ve startled him, just enough to make his composure waver. You finish the second eye with delicate strokes, and when you lean back, you take in the transformation — how the red liner makes his green eyes (when they open) glow like rare gems, how his features balance elegance and strength.

He opens his eyes when you tell him to. His eyes are bright, reflective, deep as a lake you could fall into.

“Well?” he asks.

“You look divine,” you say truthfully. “Not that you didn’t already.”

He tilts his head, the faintest hint of amusement threading his tone. “You exaggerate.”

You smile and set the brush aside. “Maybe. Or maybe I just see you clearly.”

He hums at that, eyes softened, gaze tracing your face — your expression, the way your thumb lingers against his chin. Then you shift slightly, the quiet intimacy of the moment pressing closer.

Your hand moves to smooth a strand of hair from his cheek. The world feels suspended — only your breath, his warmth, and the faint hum of the ship in the background. Without thinking, you lean forward and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He stills — but only for a moment. His eyes close again, lashes brushing his cheeks.

A quiet exhale. “You shouldn’t surprise me like that.”

“You didn’t seem to mind.”

“No,” he admits, a faint smile curving his lips. “I didn’t.”

You rest your forehead lightly against his, the soft scent of his robes surrounding you — ink, sandalwood, and something faintly electric. His hands, finally moving, settle at your waist, gentle but grounding.

“Thank you,” he murmurs after a while.

“For what?”

“For... this.” His voice is low, almost shy. “For seeing me. For the quiet.”

You smile, closing your eyes too. “Always.”

And in the stillness, the two of you breathe together — dragon and mortal, burden and solace, framed by nothing more than the faint line of eyeliner that, for a moment, feels like art drawn in peace.

You can tell he’s amused — though, as always, Sunday hides it behind that serene composure. His eyes half-lidded, his tone calm, he tilts his head as you settle into his lap with a soft brush in hand.

“This is rather unorthodox,” he says gently.

“Hmm?” you murmur, reaching up to brush away a strand of silver-blue hair from his brow.

“Allowing one of the fallen to wear mortal cosmetics,” he muses. “I might be breaking some celestial rule.”

“You’ve broken worse,” you tease.

That earns you a quiet laugh — a sound like the first drop of rain in still air. You take that as permission to begin.

“Close your eyes,” you whisper.

He obeys, wings folding slightly behind him. The left one twitches — a soft, involuntary flutter that brushes against your arm. You smile.

“Left wing,” you whisper teasingly. “That means you’re happy.”

“I wasn’t aware you were fluent in Halovian body language.”

“I learn quickly.”

His lips curve, faintly.

With his eyes closed, you trace the brush gently along the curve of his eyelid, applying soft gold shimmer that catches the light of his halo. It’s faint — barely there — but it glows when he moves, like sunlight filtered through calm water.

He sits still, letting you work. The air feels warm. His halo spins slowly behind his head, casting subtle rings of light across your hands. You realize that his trust runs deep; for a man who once held himself above mortal touch, he has allowed you closer than anyone else.

Your fingers steady against his cheekbone. His skin feels impossibly smooth, his warmth gentle.

After a long silence, you pause.

He notices. “Something wrong?”

“No,” you say softly. “Just... looking.”

He opens one eye, golden and soft. “And what do you see?”

You smile faintly. “A man who glows even when he’s still.”

His laugh is quiet, airy. “Careful,” he murmurs. “Flattery from you could make even angels blush.”

“You already are.”

The twitch of his right wing confirms it — the tiniest tremor betraying amusement.

You finish the last touches — a faint sweep of shimmer near the corner of his eye, a bit of light to match the faint glow of his halo. When you lean back, you take him in: the balance of light and shadow, the soft play of gold against the silver of his hair.

He opens both eyes, gaze steady. “Do I look different?”

“Only a little,” you whisper. “Like a dream made real.”

His eyes soften. “Then I must thank you for reminding me how it feels to be seen gently.”

You tilt your head, teasing lightly. “You say that like I don’t remind you often.”

“You do,” he admits. “But sometimes I forget I’m allowed to exist in small joys.”

You lean in before he can say more — a soft kiss at the corner of his eye, where your brush had just passed. The faint warmth of your lips lingers against his skin.

He breathes in sharply — then exhales, wings trembling softly behind him, both of them this time.

You pull back with a grin. “Both wings. That’s when you’re flustered.”

His laugh this time is open, quiet but real. “You’re incorrigible.”

You smile, pressing your forehead to his. “And you love me anyway.”

“I do,” he says simply, no hesitation, no weight. Just warmth.

The halo behind him turns once more, scattering light across your joined hands. And in that calm, you both stay — two souls who have long since fallen, yet find peace not in perfection, but in the gentleness of each other’s company.

You sit cross-legged on his lap, balancing a small mirror and your brushes on the nearby table. Jiaoqiu sits with his usual graceful composure, posture poised, eyes closed. His long fox ears twitch faintly as he listens to the quiet rhythm of your movements.

“Will this... take long?” he asks softly, his voice lilting and faintly teasing.

“Not if you keep still,” you answer.

“I can do that,” he says, smile curving his lips. “I trust your hands.”

You hum, your heart softening. You always forget how natural it feels to have him close — the brush of his tail curling lazily around your waist, the faint scent of herbs and lotus in his hair.

“Close your eyes,” you whisper, though they already are.

You start with the brush, gentle sweeps of color near his lashes. He doesn’t flinch, but you can feel how acutely aware he is — of you, of every motion, every sound.

“Feels... ticklish,” he murmurs, tone light.

“Endure it,” you whisper, smiling. “You’ve faced worse.”

He chuckles softly. “True. But none as pleasant.”

You pause, your gaze lingering on him — the serene line of his mouth, the faint rise and fall of his chest. Even with his eyes closed, there’s such peace in his expression. Yet beneath it, you know the weight he carries — the pain of memory, the scars unseen.

Your brush slows.

He tilts his head slightly. “You’ve stopped.”

“Just looking,” you murmur.

“Mm.” His smile deepens faintly. “Describe it to me, then.”

You blink. “Describe what?”

“How I look, through your eyes.”

You hesitate — then say softly, “You look like warmth. Like home, maybe. Your lashes are long, and the color makes your face softer. You look... content.”

He breathes out, a quiet sound that might be a sigh. “That’s rare.”

“You should let yourself feel it more.”

“I’ll try,” he murmurs.

You lean closer, your brush tracing the last edge of color. The light catches faintly on his cheekbone. You stop to admire him — his beauty, but also the serenity he brings, the quiet safety that never feels heavy.

When you finish, you whisper, “Done.”

He opens his eyes — just slightly. The slit pupils catch faintly in the light, his golden irises reflecting you.

“Did I make a mess?” you tease.

“No.” He smiles faintly. “You make beauty of everything you touch.”

Your heart melts at the simple honesty in his tone. You set the brush aside and lean in, pressing a soft kiss near the corner of his eye — your lips lingering a moment longer than you mean to.

He exhales quietly, tail tightening around your waist.

“Careful,” he murmurs, voice low but amused. “You might make me believe I’m something precious.”

“You are,” you say simply.

He laughs softly, a sound like wind through leaves. “Then I’m already healed.”

You rest your forehead against his. “You always were.”

And in that moment — with his eyes softly closing, the world hushed — it feels like peace.