#asks and prompts

[resolutedefender]

"What was your most recent nightmare?"

Dusk signaled the hours of debauchery within the Sister of Sin’s brothel, where whores and entertainment milled about on the lower floor. The music kicked up a notch, champagne was flowing, someone was drunkenly commandeering the piano. For once, Castellan found himself at ease, atop the second floor, just underneath the catwalks.

That familiar voice drew him from whatever thoughts had been drawing his attention, likely some inner judgement or consideration of what was incurring. The depths of his stalwart gaze swayed away from the woman clattering away on the piano to observe none other than his charge, the Madame of the den.

“I wish it were something easy, and comical, like most may offer. I had to fight without my armor, or I forgot my lines during a play– maybe my crush turned down the offering of my heart.” Castel offered her, a soft voice hinted with only the barest touch of amusement before the crushing reality of it all was offered.

“No, it was last night… when sleep finally came.” Thin lips pressed into a line, as his gaze dragged away from her visage, hesitantly. Like the world would open up and swallow him whole if he blinked. Both hands rose in tandem to run through silver locks, careful to adjust their strands as he found the words to describe his terrors.

Susan had likely caught the cold-sweats, and the whimpering that often occurred in the Knight’s sleep. He wondered if this was true from that realization, and knew that above all else, really, she deserved an explanation. 

“I relived the Culling, the minutes before people were being slain in the streets. You were coming home from the bakery, with fresh rolls- wearing a simple gown, blood red. Earlier that week I had asked your father to marry you. I– I know I don’t know anything about your life, in that regard. But, my mind has its own agenda, it seems.”

A sculpted jaw tensed, at the conjunction of flesh and muscle, and then again while teeth ground into one another. Fists clenched, into tight holds, before releasing again.

“They dragged you to me, and slit your throat from behind while I watched, helplessly.” A breath, then, as his gaze shifted to consider her again. There, in the depths, nothing but untold fury remained. A rage that Susan had yet to fully see from the man.

@susan-gampre |

[faustinebellamy]

The Hero's Aspect - Faustine Bellamy

( BOLD always or almost always applies  | |   italics are situational or occasional )

accepting | adventurous | altruistic | amiable | benevolent | bold | brave | caring | charitable | cheerful | chivalrous | compassionate | courageous | courteous | courtly | daring | decent | disciplined | doughty | dutiful | dynamic | empathetic | energetic | enthusiastic | erudite | fair-minded | faithful | fearless | forthright | gallant | generous | genuine | gritty | graceful | gracious | gutsy | happy | honest | honourable | incorruptible | innocent | intelligent | intrepid | jovial | judicious | just | kind | knowledgeable | likable | lionhearted | loyal | loving | magnanimous | merciful | mighty | mild | moral | nice | noble | non-judgemental | obliging | open-minded | orderly | philanthropic | polite | principled | proper | quick-thinking | quick-witted | quixotic | rational | realistic | refined | reasonable | reconciliatory | reliable | sagacious | saintly | seemly | shrewd | self-reliant | self-sacrificing | sensitive | smart | sophisticated | spirited | stalwart | steadfast | stoic | strong | suave | sympathetic | teetotal | tenacious | thoughtful | tireless | tolerant | tough | trustworthy | unassuming | uncomplaining | understanding | unflappable | unyielding | useful | valiant | virtuous | vigilant | warm-hearted | whimsical | wise | witty | worthy | xenacious | xenophilic | yielding | zealful

Tagged by @sundered-souls Thank you for the tag! Gonna post it to Faust :D

Tagging: @argentrenard, @oh-take-this-longing @luck-and-larceny, @dumb-hat, @thefreelanceangel, @the-sycophant, @starforger and anyone else who'd like to do it!

[cats-are-grey]

🐢

🐢 - a mental health headcanon

Thank you for the ask! Slowly getting to these lol. Ley most likely has some level of ADHD. She is able to live more or less as she wants, so it mostly doesn't hinder her too much, but one of the things she struggles with is keeping long-term relationships with people. She is somewhat solitary and spends a decent amount of time far from civilization, and 'out-of-sight-out-of-mind' creeps in. It's not that she doesn't miss people, it's simply that she doesn't really think about them very much when she's not around them. Combined with the fact that she struggles to connect to people in general, she often doesn't build too many lasting connections. Her family is generally very similar to her, and she occasionally meets up with one of her sisters, or with the tribe, and it never causes much conflict there, but with new people, it's often a bit more of a struggle.

She would never consider herself lonely, she fairs well on her own, but she *is* somewhat isolated.

[maxparkhurst]

BLOOD. -What types of injuries has your muse sustained? What was the worst? 

Injuries are not an uncommon occurrence. Either sibling has sustained superficial hurts incurred by their alchemical hijinx. More often than not, they are peppered with cuts and burns. Alchemy, after all, is quite hazardous to an individual’s health. If a cross-section were to be taken of a Parkhurst's lung, you’d be forgiven in thinking it was charred. Years of inhaling caustic chemicals have turned their insides a tad softer and a pinch blacker than they should appear. All of this is to say that the Parkhursts value their health as a gambler values their life’s savings. And while some injuries are worse than others, such as Max’s missing eye or Augustine’s disfigured hand, none of them are deemed the worst. No. That title is saved for a chilled evening deep in Drustvar’s taiga. There, the eldest sibling danced intimately with death itself.

Augustine fumbled with the clasps, hands shaking and head buzzing. He couldn’t understand why anyone decided to wear a coat with marble-enameled buttons. Wooden ones were just as serviceable and far easier to undo with blood-slick fingers. After so many failed attempts, he spat out a curse and yanked the dagger from the man’s sheath. Damn all this courtesy to the dead. He sawed away at the fabric with amateur precision and wretched the dismantled coat aside, revealing a bandoleer that housed a variety of vials. Relief warmed his chilled veins as he plucked three unscathed.

“You won’t be needing these,” he murmured, “Will you?”

The corpse once possessed a name- as all dead things do. In life, the man was callused and cold. His steel-sharp gaze haunted every corner and all of Augustine’s waking moments, plucking him from the shadows with predatory ease. Even with the light snuffed from them, that gaze still found him in his most guilty moment. Bulging and wide. Set in an unsettling amalgamation of horror, shock, and amusement. The man once named Abel Eloi died with a smile etched on his lips. Humored by the notion that prey had claimed predator; that this meek kit possessed fangs and claws of his own. Augustine rose to his feet and stumbled under a wave of vertigo. Whether the headiness was from disgust or elation, he had not decided. He wiped the blade clean on the shredded coat, shoved it between his belt and pant loop, and then kicked past the corpse and its revolver empty of the last bullet. Material items held no value to the dead, after all. Streaks of gold and maroon gorged the sky as dusk crept over the horizon. Night would fall soon. Pines and oaks, their leaves ethereally sanguine, scraped at the firmament of the Crimson Forest. Smaller plants like aspens and alders added a lush depth that filled the air with dense pockets of silence. In the distance, Augustine heard the yip and howl of hounds drunk on the hunt. He scanned the wilderness. There was no one besides them, the wind, the quiet brush, and the occasional spindle-limbed shade - remnant wraiths sewn by the hands of the Heartsbane Coven, unliving and forever burning- that shambled through the gloom. If there were men concealed in the boughs, they harbored no interest in showing themselves. His shadow, stretched long and dark, guided him to where his sister laid limp like a doll.

Augustine had read these kinds of scenes in novels. They described blood like it was a painting, idyllic in nature and otherworldly charming. Authors had the penchant for glossing over the fact that blood was messy. It so rarely pooled stagnant. Her blood had mixed with his blood, which had mixed with the dirt and mud and grass and whatever the hell else until he wasn’t even sure who or what was crusting under his finger nails. It all made his stomach churn with unrest. He swallowed hard, stealing a glance at the venous red that stained the undergrowth, and clawed at his sister’s shoulders.

Max gasped, ragged and wet, as she was rolled onto her back. She pressed a hand firm against her stomach. Between her fingers seeped crimson threads. A futile attempt to keep herself from unraveling. She bristled, overtaken by a coughing spasm, before spitting up crimson gruel onto her chest. A dark needle pierced his heart as she grew still and quiet.

“Max…?” Augustine whispered as he gathered her in his arms. Her skin felt as cold as glass. He tried to shake a bit of warmth into her, and to place a bit of strength in his voice. Though to his ears, he only sounded lost and small. “Maxinora?”

There was a long beat of silence that made Augustine question if she’d heard him or not. Then came her gossamer soft reply, “Auggie…”

Max’s eye fluttered open, her gaze slow to find her brother. She peered through him with a vacancy that belied uncertainty. She was unsure. Unsteady.

“I’m here.” Augustine forced a thread-bare smile despite the heat collecting in his throat and the sting threading his eyes.

Clarity warmed her gaze a beat later than he’d have hoped. Max wheezed a tired laugh as she lifted her hand and revealed her wounds. Her blouse bloomed red from where she’d been unseamed at the stomach. She cupped his chin, directing his eyes away from the gray stuffing that fell out of his rag doll sister.

He could barely hear her speak those last words. Such dense words that ushered a silence thick enough to smother the taiga’s timberland.

Her smile turned his insides cold.

“I’m sorry…”

And for a moment, the world shattered beneath Augustine as his sister grew still and quiet in his arms.

Thank you for the ask @nixalegos!

[kestrelvylbrand]

14 Associations

About | Kestrel Vylbrand

Tagged by: @luck-and-larceny and @the-wanted-man Thank you for the tags! This is so fun to read, and I really enjoyed filling it out!

Animal:

I also have two animals I associate with Kestrel: Kestrel - It's in her name so probably pretty self-explanatory lol. Kestrels are fierce predators despite their relatively unassuming size, which fits Kestrel. It's not that she's particularly small, but in a world full of magical armor and super-sized swords, a girl with a bat probably doesn't come across as particularly threatening. Raccoon - Cute, chaotic, and kind of a mess. Grabby hands. Would definitely steal your doormat.

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Color: I tend to associate Kestrel with a sort of pecan brown. It's interesting enough not really a color that shows up too much with her, aside from the tips of her hair. Her clothes aren't typically brown. She probably wouldn't paint her walls brown. I think it's more about a vibe? 

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Song: Tough question! But London Calling was the first song I added to her playlist!

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Number: 7. She probably couldn't tell you why, it's just the first number that pops into her head when asked.

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Day or Night: Either! Kes' schedule is usually a mess, there's very little in terms of routine and she sleeps when she can and when she feels like it. She enjoys both the sprawling activity of daytime and the quiet intensity of night.

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Plant: Burdock. An invasive weed that hard to kill and will leave your clothes in a mess.

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Smell: Thinking about it like "If there was a perfume that invoked the idea of Kestrel, what would the notes be": Musk, smoke, petrichor, amber, leather. Deep, rich, and a little bit musty, but not necessarily in an unpleasant way.

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Gemstone: Hematite, for no reason in particular.

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Season: I'm gonna steal Malika's answer and say Late Autumn

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Place: Her apartment in Limsa Lominsa, the light streaming in through the cracked window at someone she cares about sleeping in the bed beside her. A rain-wet cobblestone street, splashing through puddles as you run laughing from the city guard, leaving a trail of the jewelry you just stole behind you. A small pub in the Brume a lifetime ago, with a crooked door where you all should along badly to a song you've heard too many times before, and for a short time forgetting your bruises.

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Food: A loaf of dark bread, rustic and simple, yet one of the most satisfying things when it's fresh and warm and eaten with just butter.

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Eorzean Deity: Kestrel doesn't have a great relationship with the gods and doesn't really care about them.

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Eorzean Element(s): Earth and Lightning (I'm gonna pick multiple too!)

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Drink: Whiskey or dark beer

Tagging: I don't know! I've been kind of bad at keeping up with Tumblr and really any community stuff for a while. So if you want to do it, please consider yourself tagged!

[ashcremated]

continuing with the reposts of my old art in this new blog 🤡 this one was for uhhh. zuko's hot moisturized glowing umbothered girl summer.

[wardensantoineandevka]

is that piece of media actually bad, or is it just not following the blueprint you projected onto it? is that work actually not good, or are you just demanding something from it that is absolutely antithetical to its themes, genre, tone, and narrative goal? is that story actually poorly written, or do you just dislike that it is not the specific things you wanted from it that it never set out to be, never was, and never is going to become? is it actually bad, or is it actually well-executed and you just dislike the story it chose to be because it isn't catering to your specific desires and expectations?

[aedearly]

✎ㅤ. . .ㅤ𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑵 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑺.

₊˚⊹ ㅤa collection of character analysis/headcanon questions to learn more about your character and your partners'! writing/headcanon prompts requested by anonymous. feel free to edit these as you see fit.

[ 🖐️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat do their hands feel like: soft, calloused, trembling ? [ ☂️ ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they crave touch or fear it ? [ 🎐 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a sound, like a song or voice, that they associate with peace ? [ 🕊️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen did they feel the safest ? [ 💤 ]ㅤ.ㅤhow do they sleep ? curled up, sprawled, holding onto something ? [ 🦇 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a fear they never talk about ? [ 🔒 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a secret they’ve sworn never to tell ? [ 🪢 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen was the last time they broke a promise ? [ 🫳 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho do they feel they owe, but never paid back ? [ 💼 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat do they always carry with them ? [ 🧨 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat’s the quickest way to set them off, even if they hide it well ? [ ⛓️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat does guilt feel like to them ? [ 💢 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho have they never forgiven and never will ? [ 🩸 ]ㅤ.ㅤis there something or someone that, if lost, would break them ? [ 🌧️ ]ㅤ.ㅤis there a pain they refuse to heal from ? [ 🪞 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen have they looked at their reflection and hated what they saw ? [ 📿 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat superstition or ritual do they cling to ? [ 🌊 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen was the last time they cried ? [ 🐾 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo animals like them instinctively ? [ 🪶 ]ㅤ.ㅤhow do they laugh ? [ 🫀 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho taught them what love is ? did it hurt ? [ 💭 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they believe they’re worthy of being loved ? [ 🎀 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is their main love language ? [ 🔦 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho do they search for ? [ 📜 ]ㅤ.ㅤis there a story they love sharing with others ? [ 🌒 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a dream or goal they have given up on ? [ 🕯️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat memory do they replay when they’re alone ? [ 🌪️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat’s the one choice they regret (not) making ? [ 🧩 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat’s a truth about themselves they refuse to admit ? [ 🍻 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of drunk are they ? [ ✉️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of letter would they write but never send ? [ 🗡️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a scar that they have but never talk about ? [ 🕸️ ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a favourite lie they like to hear ? [ 🪦 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat would they want on their gravestone but never admit aloud ? [ 🎱 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of future do they crave, and who’s in it ? [ 🌀 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a recurring dream or nightmare ? [ 🍃 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they feel like they belong ? [ ⚓ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat does “home” mean to them ? [ 🧭 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhere would they go if they could disappear tomorrow ?

[novelbear]

"please give me a hug, oh baby" - adorable affectionate gestures for your otp

a prompt list by @novelbear

gently resting a chin on the other's shoulder (and in turn, they lean their head on theirs)

firm squeezes on the shoulder or hand as a form of encouragement

holding hands while walking (and doing that little swinging thing)

wrapping their arm around their neck/shoulder and gently pulling them in

occasional kisses on the cheek

swaying back hugs while standing and waiting

pressing foreheads against one another smiling.

cuteness aggression taking over and they can't help but just mess up their lover's hair, sniffing and nuzzling all the while.

hopping onto their back and clinging on (with or without warning)

(soft) bites on the shoulder, arm, top of their head

catching them staring and sending them a teasing wink

^ making little noises to accompany the gesture

connecting at the ankles and swinging feet together

knowing that their lover is ticklish and giving them slight pokes in certain spots.

short and sweet kisses (that may or may not have been induced by a quick pout)

playing and scratching in their hair while they lay down as if they're in bed

plopping down on their lap like they're a portable sofa

lovingly poking their cheeks, nose, stomach

hugging them, pulling them closer their chest, taking in their scent, smiling as they stare into one another's eyes.

blowing kisses every other minute

pulling them close and whispering sweet nothings into their ear

giving them a little massage on their hand or shoulders

[dippingmytoesin]

The Realm's Greatest Actor

Danny didn't mean to lie. He really didn't. Or, well, he did. But he didn't want to! He had no choice.

He wasn't great at lying, but he was amazing at acting.

So that's what he did. He acted, playing the part of a thousand-year-old king stuck as a kid. It was easy because it wasn't fully an act.

Danny had died. When he died, he was fourteen. His ghost stayed fourteen forever. His human half stopped noticeably aging at 18 or 19-ish. He has been a ghost for... 240 years? 245? Maybe a little more. And he has been the Ghost King for 235.

So, he acted the part. When he was summoned, he pulled out the theatrics. Chill the room, frost the floor and walls, maybe a little of the ceiling. Fancy cape, fancy crown, fancy fantasy king clothes. Presentation of what most expect.

But he was forever fourteen, so he needed a little... something more, if you will. Floating around, randomly appearing behind people, the occasional echoing giggle. A fae-like trickster, if you will.

So was his act. He would get summoned, decide whether to do the thing or not, maybe have a mostly harmless twist. Like making people make him food, or he turning the big bad into a squirrel, or whatever. A childish trickster, with the powers of a god.

He set up some rules for himself he didn't actually have to follow.

Don't go into a room before invited, but after even the slightest invitation, he could go whenever he pleased for the rest of eternity.

Shake hands to 'seal a deal' or, if they're really gross, snap. And when you shake, do way too much; fast and eager.

Whenever someone asks him to do something, ask for something in return. If they say no to what he asked, just huff and do the thing they asked anyway.

Laugh at random comments, and make random comments that make no sense. i.e, "Wow. The walls are so hungry here! You should probably paint them blue.

Sprinkle a little ice on random things, and anything he eats or drinks. Don't explain it, and maybe do it for some people he likes.

Randomly stare at things, and tap/poke a door knob before opening the door.

There were a few smaller things, but that was the gist of it. Random rules to throw people off his scent. Leave them wondering and curious.

So, when Danny is summoned to help with a world-ending threat by a bunch of heroes that remind him of when he was a kid watching cartoons, he helps. And he stays. But how long can he keep up this charade?

(Prompt- you're here!) (part 1)

[mumblesplash]

i’ve started getting so unreasonably cranky at those posts that are like ‘i’m sick of [aspect of popular media] someone should make [opposite thing]!!!’ by people who don’t seem invested in the idea they’re pitching as anything beyond a subversion of the norm. like ok. i see where you’re coming from but where are you actually going. look me in the eyes and give me one good reason you think that story concept is possible to pull off

[resolutedefender]

"What do knights dream of?"

The question caught him off guard, their respective silence a common comfort these days. Day time hours were spent apart, and just lately, a couple of minutes have been spared in between the bustle of the madam’s profession, and the brothel’s ongoing antics.

What indeed?

“There’s the easy answer- a princess, a charge. A woman to woo, pine for, bleed for- to come back to. Maybe a man, or simply a person to feel like home.” A breath, as golden hues stared downwards towards the lower floor of the Sisters  in Sin. The whores were milling, preparing for the early regulars, which put their time on a short leash.

Castellan’s voice rose, to address Susan again in the growing volume that would be a cacophony soon to come. “A purpose, a higher power to defend- maybe a kingdom, a family, something to be chivalrous to. Someone to acknowledge what all the sacrifice is for.” These vows were read off from the inners of a well versed mind, intricacies of a brotherhood that had been divined far before his feeble existence.

“There has to be a higher justification to bleed for. A reason for all this pain.” This confession stung a bit, but it had to be said. His brothers spoke often of the cause when the nights felt long, and their beds respectively cold.

“Me, though?” A pause, as the weight of a familiar stalwart gaze fell upon her visage. He stared at her, for longer than a breath, and maybe longer than what was comfortable. “You know what I dream for, my lady.”

@susan-gampre |

[faustinebellamy]

What type of villain are you, Faust?

Then Let Me Be Evil

You never wanted to hurt anyone, but the world never gave you a choice. You did the best you could with what you had, but every innocent mistake you made was held against you when it counted, every crossroads led you down the wrong path no matter which way you went. No matter what you did, the odds were stacked against you. It wasn't fair, and you are sick and tired of being told what a monster you are for things out of your control. Well, fine. They want a monster? YOU'LL GIVE THEM A MONSTER!

---

Quiz || [ What type of villain are you? ] Tagged by || No one, I do what I want! Bonus Villain Song || [Brutus]

[cats-are-grey]

What is Ley's favorite kind of book? Spells, fiction, or something else?

That is a very good and tough question lol! Thank you for the ask!

Ley really enjoys gaining new arcane knowledge, the more obscure the better. She finds a secret level of enjoyment in tomes or books that are considered powerful, dangerous, or even forbidden. That's not to say she's gonna attempt to curse someone or summon a primal or anything like that, but she finds it fascinating to investigate, and if you are looking for possibly forbidden knowledge, her store may be a decent place to start.

She also has a weakness for adventure and romance novels. It's not so much a guilty pleasure as one she just doesn't really discuss because she really doesn't want to answer questions about it. She'd generally be happy enough to talk about it, but is always a bit concerned that a specific author is going to be brought up.

[maxparkhurst]

PRIDE. -What is your muses biggest flaw?

“DAMN.” Questions for Muses.

There are a lot of things wrong with Max Parkhurst. A cursory glance could tell a stranger that much; she is a hard-knuckled and deeply flawed woman. Mistakes and shortcomings burnt to brittle ash are left in the wake of her trail-blazing path. Those unfamiliar with the Alchemist may see that misfortune often follows in her wake. Just a woman down on her luck, flying by the seat of her pants.Those who know Max intimately understand how close she dances with misery. It is not an unannounced guest, but a partner she actively courts.

Max is comfortable being miserable. Fear and self-loathing have become familiar friends. Paranoia is a way of life that drives her to accept the abnormal, the severities and cruelties of life, as a perverse normality. They are accepted and deserved. For no amount of happiness can be obtained without a substantial degree of sacrifice - or so she tells others. In truth, she isn’t sure how to exist peacefully. Who is Max Parkhurst without rage, misery, or fear? What person does she become when the sky, open and vast, no longer harbors an accusatory glare?

These unanswered questions have burnt more bridges than she would ever care to admit. And as the years unfold, she comes to realize something important: Some unseen force may hold the matchbook, but she is the one to strike the first stick.

Thanks for the ask @safrona-shadowsun!

[unboundprompts]

body language descriptions please?

(eg: she cocked her head)

thank you 💗💗💗

Body Language Descriptions

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

Anxiety/Nervousness

She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, her fingers tugging nervously at the fabric as she struggled to find the right words.

They bit their lower lip.

He looked away, unable to meet her gaze, a clear indication of his guilt.

She absentmindedly rubbed her neck.

He chewed his nails, a nervous habit that he couldn't seem to quit.

They rubbed their hands together nervously.

He tightened his jaw.

She felt beads of sweat forming on her brow, betraying her calm facade as her heart raced.

Frustration/Impatience

Their fists clenched at their sides.

He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the table, a clear sign of impatience as he waited for her to finish.

He rolled his eyes, the gesture full of exasperation as he dismissed her words.

She let out a heavy sigh, the sound heavy with resignation as she faced the inevitable.

He threw his hands up in defeat.

Curiosity

He leaned forward in his chair, eager to hear more, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

She raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical as she questioned his intentions.

She tilted her head slightly.

He watched intently, his eyes wide with wonder as he took in every detail of her story.

Confidence/Assertiveness

He stood tall with his shoulders back, projecting confidence even in the face of uncertainty.

They sat on the edge of their seat.

She gestured wildly, her hands moving animatedly as she tried to express her excitement.

He stood with his hands on his hips, exuding an air of authority and control over the situation.

They held their chin up high, projecting self-assurance even in the face of adversity.

Defensiveness/Resignation

He crossed his arms over his chest, a defensive posture that spoke volumes about his discomfort.

He braced himself against the wall, a protective stance.

She folded her hands in her lap, a sign of restraint as she fought the urge to speak.

They shrank back slightly, their shoulders hunching as if trying to make themselves smaller in the face of criticism.

He held his breath momentarily, steeling himself for the inevitable conflict he sensed was coming.

She covered her face with her hands, overwhelmed by the situation as she tried to block out the world.

Thoughtfulness/Concentration

She furrowed her brow in concentration, her mind clearly racing as she tried to solve the problem at hand.

She nodded slowly, processing the information, her expression thoughtful and contemplative.

He stared blankly into space, lost in thought as he processed what had just been revealed.

He drummed his fingers on the table, the rhythmic sound a sign of his deep contemplation.

She tapped her foot lightly, her mind racing.

Eagerness/Excitement

He paced back and forth, his restless energy manifesting in the constant movement as he considered his options.

She bent forward, her elbows resting on her knees, a sign of intimacy and engagement in the conversation.

She swayed slightly from side to side, a subconscious display of her nervous energy as she waited for the verdict.

He bounced on his toes, his excitement palpable.

She jumped up and down, a spontaneous display of her joy that couldn’t be contained.