#i have this strong image of the king and the adviser drawing on each others forheads. how fucking romantic is that

[ashes-in-a-jar]

The most romantic story I've ever heard is the Jewish Hassidic story about the king who went to his close friend and advisor and told him that he saw in the stars that next year's crops will be tainted and anyone who will eat from them will lose their sanity.

The advisor told him that they could save up some of this year's crops for themselves so they can remain sane for the next year while everyone else would not.

The king responded that if they did that, they will be considered the insane ones amongst everyone else, despite knowing the opposite.

The king went on to say that, since they can't save up good crop for everyone, they would also eat from the tainted crops but while doing so draw a sign on each other's foreheads so that whenever they look at each other at least they'll know together that they are both no longer sane.

#i have this strong image of the king and the adviser drawing on each others forheads. how fucking romantic is that #someone should paint this #Judaism #jumblr #Hassidic #mine #i love these stories so much #the jewish moral of the story is kinda condescending. it means that you shouldnt cut yourself off from modern society #but make yourself signs so youll remember youre better than it (ie believe in god) #but dont be alone in your signs because you will end.up.losing them if you do it alone #so yeah

[quirrrky]

🔮 @manursuki​​ —who will you marry? 🔮

DISCLAIMER: Please keep in mind that this reading is just for fun! If anything resonates, then it’s even more fun! 😊 Also, please don’t be mad at me if you don’t get your selfship characters 🥺

🔮 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲

the lovers, king of cups, 9 of cups, 3 of pentacles Your future husband is someone with a very jovial aura. He has a good heart a who knows how to enlighten any situation. He can be very lighthearted yet emotionally mature as well. This person could very well be your soulmate. I got this image of someone hyping you up. This person will be your hype man for sure. You will be what each other consciously or consciously wishes for in a partner. He knows how to work with you well and I can see him to be very adaptable on your own preference. While he may sound as someone , this person has strong work ethics and sturdy on his beliefs. Your person will pick up if you’re not feeling well or you feel upset and I perceive him to be someone you can cry on or who will lift you up in those moments. He will love you very much. I think you’ll find his goofy side both annoying and endearing at the same time. 

neptune BAHAHAHAH so I was asking for your person’s negative traits (like what I did for everyone) and it turns out that the deck was not laying out any cards and it kept falling from my grip xD I sense that your person might not want you to know about his negative side. Like, I’m perceiving, “Hey, don’t tell SR that!” Lol, he wants to look good in your eyes. Cutieeee sobbs,...I picked up a little though to give you, at least, a hint. So with neptune, your person can wear rose-colored glasses sometimes. This is the type who over gives and sometimes loses their identity out of being selfless to those they love. 

playfulness, separation, romantic feelings, give your relationship a chance What I’m getting here is that you and your person might have sort of a difference with each other. This might make you doubt whether he’s the right person for you, but you’re advised to give him a chance and try to look behind his strong man front, because beneath lies someone who’s quite deep, understanding and sensitive. There will be lots of lightheartedness and fun in your relationship. This person has the ability to make you laugh in the most unexpected moments. He will take care of your heart. He’ll be very romantic as well like you’ll feel you’re in a fairytale with him most of the time. Now, this might sound perfect, but as I’ve mentioned earlier, initially you’ll have differences that will make you doubt if he’s the one. Just trust the process 👌

 💌 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞

visual cards, taurus man,,,this date will be fated to happen. Like this date is meant to draw you both closer to each other. I’m picking up that this is around the get to know you stage. The date will be during daytime and some people might be around you. Y’know like a restaurant or a park. I can see your future husband trying to feed you....and uhm kiss you. I told you this person is very endearing!!! He has this goofy/clumsy demeanor that makes him so adorable. You might post this date in social media or you might go somewhere you’ll meet some of the people you know. I’m seeing that someone will be quite jealous of you and your future husband in this date. I’m sensing a third-person and it’s someone who might like you too. 

💍 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞/𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫

-/ I’m sensing a big energy of these two: the lightheartedness of kirishima and gentle nervousness of dekuuu 🙈

#🔮—future spouse #💌 manursuki

[orangeflavoryawp]

Jonsa - “Pelt of Furs”

Missing scene for 8x02, directly following Jaime’s trial.

Pelt of Furs

“At some point, it all becomes blurred.  This line between them, this world around them, this war raging through them.  At some point, it just whittles down to his chest breathing against hers, his fingers along her skin, her mouth at his ear.

At some point, it just becomes them.

‘I would wait for you, Jon, if you asked me to.’ And it’s the truest thing she’s ever known.” -  Jon and Sansa.  What they will never say.

* * *

“That was poorly done, Sansa.”

She slows her steps to a halt at his admonishment, fingers curling and uncurling at her sides.  Stiffly, she turns to face him.  He’s followed her from the main hall after Jaime’s informal trial, caught her in one of the hallways leading to her solar before she could fully escape.

Jon stares at her, his jaw clenched tight, shoulders rigid.

Sansa lifts her chin and winds her hands behind her back, a raised brow her only answer.

Jon huffs his frustration, wiping a hand over his mouth as he stalks toward her, stopping a few steps away.  “You can’t be counteracting her decisions like that.”

Her lips purse minutely, and she cocks her head at him, her cool gaze unbothered.  “I heard no formal declaration from her concerning Ser Jaime’s stay before I spoke – only elaborately veiled threats.  I counteracted nothing.”

“Don’t play games.”  He takes a step closer, his voice a hiss.  “You knew what you were doing.  You deliberately defied her.”

Sansa’s spine tenses at his fervent condemnation of her, the indignation rising hot and fierce in her chest.  “I am still the Lady of Winterfell, and those who seek to reside here are my responsibility.  I was doing my duty.”

“You were being reckless.”

Sansa’s nostrils flare, her hands tightening behind her back.  She doesn’t understand his ferocious defense of her, his unquestioning loyalty.  She steps closer, her eyes narrowing.  “Let’s make something very clear here, Jon. Daenerys doesn’t blame Ser Jaime for killing her father, a man who – let’s not forget – burnt our grandfather alive and brutally murdered our uncle.  She never even knew the man, and surely she’s heard the stories of his madness.  I can assure you there was no love lost there.”

Jon sighs, his shoulders still tight with tension, his stare still hard.  “What’s your point?”

Sansa can’t help the slight sneer that graces her face then, her hands slipping from behind her back.  “My point is that she wasn’t berating him like that because she felt some sense of familial need for justice.  It was because the very act put her in exile, because it forced her from her home, forced her to the other side of an ocean and away from a throne that was ‘rightfully’ hers.  She’s angry at Ser Jaime, not because he killed her dear old father, but because she was put at a great disadvantage from the very start because of his act.  And while I can empathize with some of that, it still stands that she may as well call it what it is and stop using her father’s death as an excuse to pass arbitrary commands.”

“’Arbitrary commands’?” Jon asks, his voice rising, the anger flush on his face once more.  “You agreed with her at the start, Sansa.  You condemned him just as easily.”

“Because he is a far more immediate threat to our family.”

He flinches minutely at her words, his gaze drifting vaguely past her shoulder, and she takes a moment to wonder at what it is that silences him so.  But it’s gone a breath later, his eyes flicking back to hers with that familiar irritation.

And seven hells, she wants to shake him, or maybe just bunch her hands in her hair and scream.  Something – anything – to make him see.

Because how can he not see?

Sansa stops, blinks, flexes her fingers at her sides.

(Or maybe he does see.  Maybe he sees better than any of them but then –)

Sansa licks her lips, eyeing him warily.  It’s a dangerous game he’s playing if she’s right. And she wants to be right. Because if she’s not, then he gave away their home for nothing more than a tumble in the sheets with the dragon queen. He gave away the North for a pair of pretty violet eyes and a warm hole to stick it in.

Sansa feels sick suddenly.

Not Jon.  It couldn’t be Jon.  And yet, she sees the way Daenerys slips her hand through the crook of his elbow with ease, and how her smile lifts just a touch higher when her eyes land on his, and how she inclines her body to his unconsciously when he speaks.

Sansa’s trembling suddenly, her skin strangely tight, her lungs clamping down on the air in her chest.  She can’t stop imagining his calloused hands on Daenerys’ thighs, his face buried in her treacherous white hair, his body pressed to her unburnt skin.  A hand slinks up to her throat unconsciously, fingers digging into her collar.

Jon eyes the motion, moving to step closer, but Sansa holds a hand in the air, stopping him.  “Don’t,” she whispers, almost seethes, swallowing tightly.

Jon’s shoulders slump slightly, his brow furrowing. “Sansa.”

She keeps her gaze cool and unblinking, her hand sliding from her collar back to her side, her palm in the air slowly lowering. She raises a brow in question.

“Why did you change your mind?” he asks cautiously.

Sansa considers him a moment, the dark features, the strong shoulders, the way he gives her his undivided attention, breath stalled in his throat – waiting, but she doesn’t know what for.

Sansa sighs, bringing her hands before her, glancing down the stone walls to a glimpse of early morning light breaking in through a far, small window.  “I’ve come to trust those in my service – in our service.”  She hopes the inclusion reminds him just how much a king he still is to her – even when he drapes the arm of the dragon queen like some precious ornament (maybe especially so then).  She licks her lips and brings her gaze back to his.  “Brienne has always been truthful and forthright.  She’s always acted in my interest.  I wasn’t lying when I said I trusted her with my life.  And that means I trust her with my home, with Winterfell.” She takes a slow breath, hands folding over themselves before her.  “I am not so narrow-minded as to turn away a possible ally when those I trust advise me as such.”  It’s a pointed dig, she knows, but she can’t help it.  It falls from her tongue too easily, and maybe this will always be the way between them.  Quick anger. Quick defiance.

Quick surrender.

The image of his lips, parted and wet, ghosting across her ribs, overtakes her.  An image she keeps tucked in the shadow of her mind, lingering behind her closed lids when she drifts her hand down beneath the cover of her furs at night, his name caught behind her clenched teeth when she presses her face to her pillow and pants her silent release.

The only kind of surrender she has ever considered.

Shame fills her at the thought and she takes a step back, widening the distance between them.

Jon eyes her with a hard gaze, a veil of hurt glancing over his features and then it’s gone, replaced by the familiar discontent she has grown to loathe as easily as she has their new queen.

“You said he attacked… Father.”  He stumbles over the words.  An oddity in the face of his apparent anger.

“Yes.”

“And yet you accept him?  At the word of Brienne?”

“As you seem to have accepted him.  ‘Every man we can get’, remember?”

Jon stays silent, eyes shifting between hers, his body still taut like a drawn bowstring.  “There were a dozen other ways you could have voiced your opinion, without drawing her ire.”

“My ‘opinion’, is it?” she asks scathingly, taking that step back toward him unconsciously.  “Is that what the Lady of Winterfell’s word has fallen to?  Simply an ‘opinion’?”

“Sansa – ”

“Oh spare me your platitudes, Jon, please,” she spits.

Jon takes a single swift inhale, closing the distance between them easily, his jaw working over his clenched teeth as he variably shakes before her.

Her mouth goes dry instantly at his sudden proximity, her body a tight, stiff line as she keeps his dark gaze – unwavering.

“You are dangerously close to treason here, Sansa, don’t you fucking see?”

Her chest heaves, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.  “All I see is a traitor king and his tyrant queen.  So please, tell me what I should be considering here, if not treason?”

“A ‘traitor king’?” he scoffs, his features screwing up in fury.  “You don’t even – you have no fucking clue, Sansa, no fucking clue what I’ve – what I’ve needed to – ”  He stops, licks his lips, tries to reign in his labored breaths, turning and stalking away from her, stopping in the middle of the hall, ripe with unspoken ire.

“Then prove to me otherwise,” she challenges, tentatively walking toward him.

Jon looks over his shoulder at her, his brows angled sharply down, his grey gaze darker than she’s ever seen.  He heaves a long, tight breath, seeming to consider his words before he lets them taste air.  “You have to be careful, Sansa.  Far more careful than you are now.”

She takes another daring step.  She could touch him if she wished, stretch her arm out and graze the fur of his cloak – the cloak she sewed for him those many moons ago in the midst of her floundering, fledging affection for a brother she hadn’t thought to need quite so desperately as she does now.

(And not so nearly like a ‘brother’, as she should.)

She presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth, leveling him with a steady stare.  “I’ve afforded her no less than the proper decorum required.”

“Aye, and no more either.”  He throws her a withering look, turning fully to her.

“And what more should I give?  What more can she demand when she already has my home and my people and my brother – my brother – and I… I…”  She takes another step, and without warning, they’re back to breathing each other’s air, and she doesn’t understand how they’ve managed to get to this point again, to this closeness, to this hesitant pulse of space between them – more than an exhale but less than a step – this tangle of air that seems to pull at their lungs, tugging, dragging – mauling them with its intensity –  until they’re steeped in each other’s scent and their skin is singing beneath the madness and every possible way she could touch him is right there in her grasp and –

“But I’m not your brother.”

The chasm has never been so wide.

Jon’s eyes widen at his unconscious release, mouth opening, and then closing, his gaze drifting down to the floor a moment.

Sansa tastes bile at the back of her tongue. She nods, breathing deeply, trying to stem the wetness dotting the corners of her eyes.  “You’re right.”

Jon’s head snaps up at her words.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.”  She shakes her head, rubs at her temples, tries to steady her breathing.  “You’re right.”

Jon’s eyes are searching hers, his breath stilled in his chest, something desperate and hopeful seeming to hang at the tip of his tongue.

“My half-brother,” she corrects, and she watches as he closes in on himself instantly, his face a shuddered mask of war-worn exhaustion once again, the ire leaving him so suddenly it’s like a visible exhale of his body.

Her brows furrow, confused.  Why is this still between them?  Hadn’t she named him a Stark when she spoke to him atop the ramparts of their newly reclaimed home?  Hadn’t she told him, again and again, that he was pack, he was theirs – Bran’s and Arya’s and… and hers.

(Maybe especially hers, but she won’t allow herself to think it outside the secure blanket of night, where she can stretch her arm out across the empty space of her large bed and pretend.)

“Sansa,” and the way he says it has her raising her hackles once more.

She doesn’t want another warning.  She doesn’t want another reprimand.  She can’t take this burning chastisement any longer without wanting to grab him by the face and… and – shut him up in any way she can (even in ways she should regret but wouldn’t.)

“Don’t.”  If the word were tangible, it would be ice.

Jon heaves a single, weary breath.

It makes her bolder, makes her desperate.  “When did she start to matter more?”  She should be mortified at her choice of words, but she can’t find it in herself to care.  Not now.  Not when he’s right there in front of her – right there in front of her – and he looks like the Jon she used to know and yet, nothing like him at all, and she can smell him this close, gods, she can smell him (like soaked wood and harpseed oil) and somehow, there is still a dragon queen between them.

Somehow, Daenerys has wedged herself seamlessly and adamantly between them, and Sansa is left to stare at him from across the chasm, wondering at the distance, mourning his absence, even when he’s back where he belongs, back at Winterfell, back home.

Even when he’s staring back at her just the same.

The look flickers from his face before she can properly register it, but it wouldn’t have mattered.

(Never outside the secure blanket of night.)

“She doesn’t,” he says lowly, like a secret, like he’s afraid to bring it to air.

Sansa licks her lips but doesn’t say anything in response, too terrified to shatter this moment, too terrified he’ll take it back.

Jon closes his eyes and sighs, rubbing a hand down his face, and he is instantly older – unexplainably brittle.  “She’s our queen,” he says, as though it is reason enough.  “And I have already bent the knee.”  His eyes hit the floor and she should revel in it.  She should, but –

Her shoulders go rigid once more, a lance of resentment arcing up her spine in fine trembles.  “Before or after you fell into bed with her?”  She likes to think she keeps the sense of betrayal from her voice but it’s there all the same, rattling through her words like a Northern wind, breaking her down from the stem.

Jon’s head snaps up again.  He sucks a heated breath between his parted lips.  “I’m not having this conversation with you right now, Sansa.”

“Then when?  When she’s already burnt half the North to the root?  When you ride south with her for a pointless, bloody throne?”

He pulls his shoulders back, his jaw working. “How long are we going to keep repeating the same argument?”

“Until you start telling me the truth.”

She says it on a wild hope.  She’s just as tired of this argument, just as tired of this tearing, rending reminder of the threat he brought into their home, into their lives, into his very bed (and perhaps that last part shouldn’t matter so much as it does, but it does anyway, and she’s tired of pretending that it doesn’t.)

But she calls him out on his lying because she knows – she knows – he isn’t telling her everything.  And maybe that hurts more than she thought it would.

She knows he spoke to Sam the previous night. She knows because she had seen him exiting the crypts with his fists clenched at his sides, his brows drown low over his dark eyes, his very bearing, his furious, wounded gait, drawing her eyes easily even beneath the dark of night.  Sam had stood lingering at the entrance of the crypts hesitantly, and he seemed to be considering whether to follow or not.  She had made to leave her place along the ramparts to find Jon when her sweeping gaze caught sight of Bran staring up at her from his position near the gate, not far below her. Just the subtle shake of his head was enough to still her.

And it wasn’t simply last night.  Ever since Jon’s come home there’s been an added layer to the tension between them, and she’s had a singularly heightened sense of him, nerves at the ends of her fingertips – constantly – as though something lay thrumming beneath her skin, aching for release.

The way he can’t seem to hold her gaze for long.

Yes, there is something he isn’t telling her. Perhaps more than one ‘something’. And she will have it from him.

“Sansa – ”

“She burnt the Tarlys, you know.”  It slips out of her before she can question it, and then she instantly regrets it when she sees the pain etch delicately across his face.  But she swallows it back, presses on.  “Sam’s father and brother.  Burned alive with dragon fire.  Before their beaten and surrendered men.  Because they wouldn’t bend the knee.”

Jon swallows thickly but doesn’t answer her.

“Who else has she threatened to burn?”

Jon jerks his chin slightly, her name at the tip of his tongue, she’s sure, that warning look of his, that dark admonishment lighting his brow and she’s aflame with the righteousness again.

“Cersei, we know.  That’s hardly news.  Would she extend the same to Ser Jaime?  And what about the wildlings?  You know they kneel to no one.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Her throat itches with resentment.  “Has she threatened her advisors yet?  She’s been none too pleased with them lately.”

“Sansa.”  A deep rumble in his throat, his hand falling from his eyes as he levels his gaze on hers.

And there it is.

But she can’t stop.  She never could.  

Her eyes flick between his, her chest heaving. He’s so close, so unreasonably close (or maybe she is) and somewhere in the back of her mind there’s a thrum of danger beating quietly against her skull.

She licks her lips, tastes the sour air between them.  Something settles in her gut, heavy and sharp – not unlike terror (though she is loathe to admit it).  “And has she threatened to burn me yet?”

Jon’s breath catches in his throat, his eyes widening minutely, his lips parting.

And oh, suddenly – the air winded from her – she realizes.  “She has,” Sansa whispers tentatively, disbelievingly.

“Sansa, no.”  He’s quick to refute her, quick to step that breath’s distance closer, his hand reaching to lift her chin when she dips it down toward her chest, her breath coming heavy, but his touch is too hot right now, too jarring, and she steps back, his fingers slipping from her jaw and yes, yes this is better.

Jon swallows tightly, his voice held tight with a string she dares to call desperation.  “Sansa, she wouldn’t – I wouldn’t –”  He stops, licks his lips, tries again.  “I would never let her.”

“You would never let her,” she repeats hollowly, gulping down the dread.  “But she would otherwise.”

Jon blinks at her, silent, mouth a thin line, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“This is who you brought into our home – into our home, Jon.”  She doesn’t understand the wetness dotting the edges of her vision.  She should be furious.  She should be shaking with the rage.  She should be loud and biting and vicious.  But she’s shaking for an altogether different reason.

Maybe it’s the way his face falls, his head shaking minutely, his mouth tipping open as though to speak but nothing comes. Maybe it’s the way he still wears her cloak, and the way her name on his lips sounds so wholly reverent, and the way she can still smell him, always smell him, as though her lungs were already stained with his presence.  

Maybe it’s the way she realizes – suddenly and irrevocably – that she’s in love with him.

“If Daenerys is what stands between us and the army of the dead, then – ”  He stops, takes a breath, keeps her gaze.  “Then let her.”

Sansa blinks at him, her lips pursing together.

“Let her,” he says again, this time rougher, this time with his whole chest, the breath raking from him.  “The pack survives.  And you have always been mine, Sansa.”

(She wonders if she is wrong to hear the words in an altogether different way – the way she craves, even when she knows she shouldn’t.)

Her mouth parts, and she isn’t sure whether it’s her own mind playing tricks on her or her own desperate yearning, but she swears his eyes trail to her lips – for only a breath – but it’s enough.

It’s enough.

“She has never mattered more,” he says, eyes fervent on hers.  “She never will.”

Suddenly, Sansa remembers his laugh when she had choked on his ale that first night at Castle Black.  And she remembers the way he had promised to protect her, his face a dark, longing shadow in the tent outside Winterfell.  And she remembers the warmth of his lips on her brow and the sigh he had braced against her skin and a million more times that he had told her, in soft, unspoken ways, that she was pack.  She was his.

(And is she greedy to want to stay his – only his?)

Jon sighs, rubbing a hand down his face, his tired, pain-etched face, that face she has grown to recognize, in shadow and in light, in her dreams and in her waking moments, in her longing and in her dread. That face that she knows – intimately – without ever having traced its lines.  The crinkle at his brow, and the crow’s feet at his eyes, and the scar stretching down past his left eye.  The dimple in his right cheek when he grins – both wholly and secretly – and the lightest upturn of his lips when he mouths her name – her name – like some dark secret, like some whisper of aching revelation.

(Maybe she isn’t the only one who reaches across an empty bed at night.)

It’s a dangerous thought, one she won’t let fully form, because if she did… if she did –

She finds herself reaching for him before she realizes she has moved.

He catches her wrists before she can brace her palms against his cheeks, before she can thread her fingers through his air. He stands staring at her, and she stares back, and she thinks she may have stopped breathing entirely.

“Sansa.”

“And what if I told you, you were mine?”  The words stain her lips, her air halting along her tongue before she catches it behind her clenched teeth, swallows it back.

Jon sucks a sharp breath in, blinking at her furiously, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.  His hands tighten their grip over her wrists.

But this is not the blanket safety of night, and she would rather have him as a brother than not at all, so she lifts her chin and blinks back the salt-sting at the corners of her eyes.  “You’re my pack, too, Jon.”

And maybe she was wrong, because something splinters across his face at her last words, his brow furrowing, his breath releasing from him in a deep, lulling pull.  She can see the clench of his jaw when he tries again for words.  “I promised to protect you.”

“And you have.”  She hates how her voice cracks.  “Can you not see why I would want to do the same?”

He closes his eyes, chest rising and falling stiffly, and if he hadn’t held her wrists in his grasp she’d have tugged him to her by now, buried her nose in the hollow of his throat, wrapped her arms around his wide shoulders, felt him breathe against her.

And then he drops his head to her shoulder, his breath raking from him in one long, uneven exhale, and she can do nothing but stand there against him.

“Sansa, please, I can’t – I can’t do this with you, not now.”

She licks her lips, tries to steady her breath, her eyes fixed to the grey stone wall across from them.  “Then when?”

He turns his head just slightly, enough that she can feel the hot puff of air he releases against her throat and she sags against him, unable and unwilling to keep the distance between them.

Jon stiffens, fingers curling around her wrists.

“I’m with you, Jon, I’m with you in this, but you have to –”

His soft chuckle startles her, brings her brows down in a sharp, confused angle, and then she’s scoffing, rolling her eyes even as her own chuckle rises in her chest.  “Don’t give me any of that ‘before the word but’ nonsense,” she teases, and it’s a strange fullness that anchors in her heart.

Jon goes silent, just breathing against her, his forehead still pressed to her shoulder, his eyes still closed.

Sansa tests his grip, slowly bringing one of her captured hands to brace along his neck, her fingers trembling as they glide tentatively into his curls.  He releases a soft hum of contentment she doesn’t think he’s even aware of.

“I am with you,” she repeats, this time surer, this time with steady fingers along the back of his neck and her cheek pressing against his ear when she leans her head against his.  “Always.”

Jon shudders against her, her wrists still beneath his touch, and when he swipes a rough thumb along the pulse point of her free hand, the slow, tender caress more intimate than any touch she’s ever felt before, she sighs against the shell of his ear, his name a breathless exhale.

Something brews in his chest that is not quite sound, not quite vibration, released in a low, throaty hum.

At some point, it all becomes blurred.  This line between them, this world around them, this war raging through them.  At some point, it just whittles down to his chest breathing against hers, his fingers along her skin, her mouth at his ear.

At some point, it just becomes them.

“I would wait for you, Jon, if you asked me to.”  And it’s the truest thing she’s ever known.

Another hot exhale against her throat, his lips just a whisper away from her skin, and she understands, suddenly, without knowing how – she understands.  “But you won’t, will you?”

You have always been mine.

She can’t do heat.  Heat is blood and fever and him.

No, give her cold.  Give her Stark cold.  She will wear the winter like a fresh pelt over her shoulders.

Her hand slips from his hair, his grip a loose clutch at her wrist as she steps back from him.

Jon keeps his head down, even as it slips from her shoulder.  He takes a deep breath, pulls his shoulders back, raises his gaze to meet hers.

This is the way between them now.  An aching chasm in the space of a breath.  The howls beneath their skin silenced and collared. This is what it means to love between Starks, between wolves.

She waits for the night, as she always has.

(A safe blanket to wrap herself in – needful and throbbing and fierce.)

“You said you had faith in me.”

“I did.”  Sansa swallows thickly, eyes never leaving his.  “I do,” she corrects.

Jon nods, his eyes thoughtful, tender.  “I won’t test it again.  I promise.”

Her heart clenches at the words and she can do nothing but stare at him, her mouth parted, her eyes stinging beneath the salt of tears she hasn’t even noticed gathering.

“And when this war is done…”  He stops, breath halting, words failing him.  He looks at the slender wrist still in his grasp, stares at it a moment, and then he brings her hand to his mouth, his lips pressing against the smooth flesh at the inside of her wrist.

Sansa sucks in a breath at the motion.

His mouth lingers there, soft and wet, his thumb grazing up and over her palm as he kisses her skin.  And then he pulls back, his lips hovering over her pulse point for a moment, for a blinding, rending moment where she can feel the hot expel of his breath against her trembling skin, and then he’s standing straight, releasing her wrists, his hands falling back to his sides as he locks gazes with her.

“When this war is done,” he says, and never finishes.

Sansa understands regardless.  She nods mutely, her eyes never leaving his.

Because he will not ask her to wait.  He cannot ask her to wait.

And even still… even still…

Jon swallows back any other words lingering on his tongue, nodding once, taking a stalling, slow step back, and then he’s turning from her, walking back down the hallway where he came.

Sansa stands staring at the space he once occupied, one hand moving to cup the wrist he kissed, her skin still singing beneath his hot touch.

He won’t ask her, she knows.  He never would.

But she will wait all the same.

She will wear her fresh winter pelt like a true Northerner.  And when the sun bleeds through the snow-logged clouds, and the air warms with the coming of Summer, and wolves run free without the threat of dragons in their den, then maybe – maybe –

She may yet call him hers.  Pack or not.  Pack or more.  

For she has long been his.

When Winter has seen its last – she will open to an unending Summer.

Until then, she will wait for warmth.

She will wear her pelt of furs.

She will wait.

She will wait.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jon and sansa #jon snow #sansa stark #game of thrones #got #got fanfic #fanficiton

[meditativeyoga]

Finding Your Soul`s Purpose: The Four Purusharthas

Not I, nor anybody else, can travel that road for you. You have to travel it by yourself. It is not much. It is within reach. Perhaps you have gotten on it because you were born, and also did not know. Possibly it is almost everywhere-- on water as well as land. —Walt Whitman

The journey of yoga starts with a whispered question that lives within the quiet depths of our hearts, a wishing to know who we are and also why we are right here. Meditating deeply on these inquiries, old sages found four major pressures at play that greatly form our day-to-day lives and lead us on a course to significant fulfillment.

The Purusharthas, referred to in Vedic messages and also within the wonderful epics of the Ramayana and also Mahabharata, are equated in Sanskrit as the 'goals of human presence' or 'the soul's function.' These universal aims affect every thought and action of our lives. They are artha, kama, dharma, and moksha.

Artha is worldly well-being and the pursuit of the means we should survive and prosper within the complex political and also financial pressures of our times. Kama is desire, our encounter of pleasure, satisfaction, elegance, sensual contentment, love, and also delight. Dharma is right action in accord with natural law (Rta), service to the better good, and also the discovery of our true purpose, why we are right here. And, moksha is spiritual awareness as well as freedom.

Traditionally, yoga is most commonly comprehended as the search of moksha. Possibly a much more integrated vision of the four Purusharthas, and closer to their original intent, is that for such a total spiritual ripening to occur, we require to incorporate and also balance all four, the primary which is dharma.

Dharma

Why am I here?

Happiness is not obtained through self-gratification yet with integrity to a worthy function. —Helen Keller

An Indian tale recounts just how a king asked his aide to take place a long journey in order to acquire a record vital to the kingdom's survival. The young guy stated on his trip, excited regarding the prospect of seeing new locations as well as satisfying brand-new people. After two years he returned, anxious to inform the king regarding his myriad encounters and also to supply him all the uncommon things he located. The king patiently listened to his long tale when the boy was finally ended up, asked him, 'As well as where is the document you were asked to retrieve?' Stunned by the question, the assistant realized that he had actually completely failed to remember the objective of his journey.

This parable shows that despite the number of experiences we might have, if we don't comply with and also accomplish our life's function, the trip will certainly be vacant no issue just how seemingly complete. There are several significances for dharma, but in this context, dharma refers to one's life purpose. It is why we are below, the further lessons we've come to comprehend, and also the gifts we have actually pertained to supply the globe. In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna counsels a questioning and puzzled Arjuna: 'It is far better to do one's very own dharma, nevertheless imperfectly, than to do an additional's, however perfectly.' In Vedic times, one's function in culture was prescribed relying on one's caste, whether it was to be worker, warrior, merchant, or priest. In modern times, especially in the West, when such functions typically aren't laid outed, adhering to dharma obstacles us to pay attention to as well as follow our internal compass and the wise guidance of trusted spiritual friends.

Our understanding and technique of dharma adjustments throughout life and includes a continuous dedication to self-discovery. Dharma incorporates not only our responsibilities to our families as well as society, but likewise the inner lessons we've pertained to find out and also the high qualities we are right here to personify. It is our offering of self to the globe that no other individual can express in quite the exact same way.

Artha

What do I need?

Dharma is well exercised by the good. Dharma, however, is constantly afflicted by two traits, the desire commercial (artha) captivated by those that covet it, and also the wish for enjoyment (kama) cherished by those that are wedded to it. Whoever, without afflicting dharma by profit, or dharma by pleasure, comply with all some-- dharma, revenue and enjoyment-- does well in acquiring fantastic happiness. —The Mahabharata, Book 9.60

In many spiritual customs, product wealth as well as spiritual interests are opposed per various other, to pursue one, you should forsake the various other. The image of a trident-bearing spartan putting on a loin cloth could be distinguished with that said of a radiant queen living in a superb royal residence. Just how do we resolve these relatively other expressions of artha? When we assess our own lives, we might locate that sometimes we relocate much more toward renunciation (of the material) and at various other times toward life engagement.

The outer scenarios aren't necessarily indicative of what's really going on. A spartan may have deep accessory to the regard he gets from others for his renunciation and the queen could be able to renounce in a heartbeat the elegant display of her domain. What is one-of-a-kind regarding artha is that it supports as well as remains in service to our real dharma, whatever that might be.

However, for us, residing in a strong customer culture, we should know exactly how simple it is to be bewildered by the pursuit of product gain and the continuous chasing after convenience. How several square feet do we truly require to sanctuary ourselves? What does it cost? food do we require to remain healthy and balanced and fulfilled? There are a lot of methods which we could come to be hijacked into pursuing much more than our important demands. Our lives can labor in the constant cycle of getting and also spending. When we end up being clear about our dharma, then we can a lot more easily recognize just what we truly need as product support.

Kama

What do I want?

Wherever Appeal peeped out, Love showed up alongside it, anywhere Appeal beamed in a glowing cheek, Love lit his lantern from that flame. ―Jami

In Indian mythology, Kama is often shown as the god of love holding a weapon intended to resuscitate the sunken hearts of those in anguish and lure the magnificent. Kama's arrows are flower-tipped as well as his bow is called the mightiest in the world, though it is made just of a sugar cane reed as well as a string of humming bees. At Kama's appearance, expecting tornado clouds arise from the horizon, blossoms unravel their flowers, and lightning divides the sky. Intoxicating fragrances envelop the land, and also human beings do the earliest of rituals, the dance of fertility.

All that is born stems from kama. Nothing from birth to death happens without kama. It is the yearning that draws us to the limit of the holy place and the intense love that aids the yogi transform destructive expressions of wish. Kama is powerful and double-edged: his love arrows can open a shut heart or ruin even the most self-displined and accomplished of ascetics.

Kama could likewise be the cause of so much suffering. Wish in its unrefined facet could be a pressing appetite. When it is perfused with our dharma it is the natural experience, without too much clinging as well as accessory, of enjoyment, love, and also the wonderful elegance of the globe as well as the bounty of our relationships. Kama is healing because it renews our detects, softens the hard emphasis of the mind, as well as brings a loving twinkle to our eye. It is the resource of our creative thinking as well as the fullness of love that normally desires to assist all those that enter into our lives.

Moksha

Who am I?

The heart of deep space with every throb hurls the flood of happiness right into every artery, vein and also veinlet, to ensure that the entire system is flooded with tides of delight. The plenty of the poorest place is undue: the harvest can not be gathered. Every sound finishes in music. The edge of every surface is touched with prismatic rays. —Ralph Waldo Emerson

Moksha is the full awakening to our genuine attribute and also the liberation from suffering. In the practice of Patanjali and very early Buddhism, moksha is a last yogic achievement revealed as the release from ignorance and an extrication from this globe. In the tantric custom, moksha is being complimentary during the cacophony of the globe, a proceeding revelation as well as open up to the perpetual depths of knowledge and also love. At its root, moksha is the universal need for recovery, well-being, spiritual understanding, and also the experience of our real nature. It is the covert understanding, the unexpected whisper we could hear when things have actually gone most incorrect in our lives or when we are absolutely receptive, reminding us of our boundless magnificent heritage.

Balancing the Four Purusharthas

The technique of a world-changing yoga needs to be as consistent, sinuous, client, all-including as the globe itself. If it does not handle all the troubles or possibilities and very carefully deal with each necessary aspect, does it have any chance of success? —Sri Aurobindo

Like the threads woven with each other to develop a combined tapestry, every aspect of our lives could end up being an opportunity to practice yoga. The Purusharthas look directly right into what relocates us, the varied demands and possibilities of our lives, and also advise us that our yoga exercise practice ought to leave absolutely nothing out.

#healing #meditating #practice yoga #spiritual #Yoga

[junker-town]

The 9 dumbest mistakes from a surprisingly good QB Week 3, ranked

Kim Klement-USA TODAY Sports

A lot of backups played this week, but it was the coaches who screwed up most, thanks to ill-advised draw plays and penalties taken (Bruce Arians) and timeouts not taken (Pete Carroll).

Week 3 in the NFL was all about the quarterback. That’s nothing new; almost every week in the NFL is about the quarterback. Yet on a day when Patrick Mahomes and Lamar Jackson were trying to out-video game each other, it wasn’t the already established stars who stole the spotlight. Instead, this Sunday belonged to guys who began the season riding the bench (or in the Jets’ case, on the practice squad).

Six quarterbacks made their first start of the season on Sunday, some due to injury and some due to crappy play from the former QB1s. That seemed like the perfect recipe for a disastrous afternoon of silly goofs we could poke a little fun at on Monday morning.

Then — the nerve! — they went out and performed admirably. As a group, the new starters went 3-3, and the ones who lost couldn’t be blamed for their team’s defeat. Some were even the reason their team won (take a bow, Daniel Jones and, ugh, Dave Gettleman we guess).

Fear not, though. Sunday still provided us with enough dumb mistakes to laugh about the next day. In fact, here are nine of them:

9. Deshaun Watson threw the ball away ... backwards

Deshaun Watson is a great quarterback. But even great quarterbacks do some very dumb things. Even though he got the win this week, Watson’s blunder was pretty up there, when he fumbled the ball against the Chargers. It wasn’t just that he fumbled, though. It was how he fumbled.

With Joey Bosa bearing down on him on a second-and-7 from Houston’s 39-yard line, Watson looked to Duke Johnson for a screen pass behind the line of scrimmage. But Johnson had Desmond King coming at him with a full head of steam and, not wanting to put his running back or himself in unnecessary danger, he threw it away.

Problem is, he threw it away behind the line of scrimmage — and backwards.

from earlier today proof that even great quarterbacks can forget the rules of football pic.twitter.com/YUnkNJTew5

— James Brady (@JamesBradySBN) September 23, 2019

Yup, that’s always a fumble. This one was recovered and advanced by the Chargers, who took a 7-0 lead on the ensuing possession.

On one hand, Watson choosing to not take a sack AND to not put Johnson in line for a massive hit from King were good decisions. Too many quarterbacks dump the ball without looking at the position their potential receiver will be in once they’ve caught it. On the other hand, MAYBE throw it somewhere else next time.

8. Luke Falk threw a pass with a 0 percent success rate

The Jets still had a puncher’s chance in the third quarter of their game against the Patriots. Sure, they trailed 20-0, but Falk, making his first NFL start, still had the chance to instill hope in an otherwise miserable season in New York.

This did not happen. Instead, Falk treated the world to this image of Devin McCourty making an interception without a single Jet close enough to him to get picked up by CBS’ cameras:

Per NextGenStats, the nearest receiver was Robby Anderson ... who was 12 yards away. New England drove -2 yards on the ensuing drive and settled for a field goal to make it 23-0 in Foxborough.

7. The Patriots gave up their first touchdown in nearly 9 months in a very stupid way

New England played Super Bowl 53 and its first two games of 2019 without giving up a touchdown. That streak was still going strong late in the third quarter of Week 3 against the Jets ... until one muffed punt from an undrafted free agent gave Bill Belichick something to grumble about.

Shoutout @arthurmaulet_ for the hustle.#NYJvsNE | #TakeFlight pic.twitter.com/HAyT5FPqFP

— New York Jets (@nyjets) September 22, 2019

Gunner Olszewski’s botched return kept a 14-quarter TD-less streak from stretching to 15. Fortunately for the Patriots, they were still playing the Jets. New York added a fourth quarter touchdown when backup Jarrett Stidham threw a pick-six to Jamal Adams, but the New England defense failed to let an opposing offense into the end zone for the fourth straight game in a 30-14 victory. They’re the first team in the Super Bowl era to ever get through the first three weeks of the season without giving up a touchdown on defense.

6. The Broncos gave one of the league’s most dangerous passers a free play

There are two things Aaron Rodgers absolutely excels at: throwing deep bombs and taking advantage of a defense’s stupid mistakes. Green Bay’s first touchdown Sunday against the Broncos was a serendipitous combination of the two.

never, ever give Aaron Rodgers a free play pic.twitter.com/1DppKeAd8g

— Christian D'Andrea (@TrainIsland) September 22, 2019

A hard count lured the Broncos offside, but Denver’s biggest issue on second-and-6 may have been leaving Marquez Valdes-Scantling in single coverage. The young wideout easily got inside leverage and sprinted downfield on a play where Rodgers’ short and intermediate routes were never an option. One easy pitch-and-catch later, the Packers led 6-0.

And once again, a defense had to learn the hard way to never give Rodgers a free play.

5. The Browns went for it on fourth-and-9 ... and called a draw play

The Browns were always going to be a work-in-progress with a first-time head coach and skyrocket expectations, but Freddie Kitchens is catching some heat for a decision he made on Sunday Night Football.

Trailing by four points with nine minutes to go, the Browns were facing a fourth-and-9 at the Rams’ 40-yard line. They left the offense on the field, and the Rams gave them a lot of space. Everyone got a little excited about what Kitchens could call in that situation. What creative thing would he do?!

this was Freddie Kitchens' 4th-and-9 play. it was not very good pic.twitter.com/jzm3vbfeGr

— Christian D'Andrea (@TrainIsland) September 23, 2019

Oh. He ran a sad draw play that went nowhere. Nick Chubb even looked like he wasn’t sure which way he was supposed to go. Despite having playmakers like Odell Beckham Jr. and Jarvis Landry, they went with that draw.

I get it — draws are relatively safe plays that teams run in long situations for their potential to catch a defense napping and convert the downs. But in the fourth quarter, against that Rams defense, you run a draw on FOURTH-AND-NINE, something no team has done in at least 12 years?!

At least Kitchens admitted (many times) after the 20-13 loss that it was a “bad call.”

Sometimes, you just gotta know when not to run it — and when to run it:

First and goal from the 4 with three timeouts. No touches to Chubb. No touches to OBJ. Football isn’t this hard.

— Dawgs By Nature (@DawgsByNature) September 23, 2019

4. The Eagles managed to blow it even more than the Lions

The Eagles were down three late, at home to the Lions. They had the ball at their own 22-yard line, facing fourth-and-8, and decide to go for it. Doug Pederson is notoriously ballsy with fourth downs, but they still had all three of their timeouts and the two-minute warning. And the play was a Carson Wentz scrambled that came up a couple yards short.

That should’ve sealed the game for the Lions, but remember, their offensive coordinator is Darrell Bevell. They ran three plays, gained zero yards, and took 39 seconds off the clock. At the very least, they could get a field goal, right?

Nope, the Eagles blocked that and returned it to the Detroit 40-yard line, though a block in the back moved that back 10 yards. Facing another fourth down, the Eagles threw it and Wentz completed it for a first down, only to see that get wiped out with a pass interference penalty.

One play later, Wentz’s final pass fell incomplete and the Eagles — a Super Bowl contender coming into the season — had to leave their home turf with a loss to the same team that blew an 18-point lead against the Cardinals two weeks prior.

3. The referees didn’t flag a near-decapitation

The good news is Miles Sanders is OK after getting his helmet spun around 180 degrees and popped off his head:

NO FLAG?!! Okay NFL refs... pic.twitter.com/21OB2tkr0T

— Warren Sharp (@SharpFootball) September 22, 2019

The bad news is this somehow didn’t lead to a penalty. In a year where seemingly every play goes off under a microscope and ticky-tack fouls are called more often than any other time in the past decade, this actually dangerous play went off unchallenged by the officials.

2. The Seahawks wasted a huge play by DK Metcalf by sitting on timeouts

When Seattle started a drive on its own 21-yard line with 29 seconds to go there were two ways to handle the situation:

Run out the remainder of the clock and go to halftime down, 20-7.

Try to drive into field goal range with the help of two timeouts.

The Seahawks went for neither strategy. The team threw a short pass into the middle of the field, but decided not to call timeout. That left only 10 seconds when the next play started and time in the half ran out when Russell Wilson found DK Metcalf for 54 yards.

this ludicrous play was ultimately meaningless because Pete Carroll left 2 timeouts in his pocket to end the first half pic.twitter.com/huR3QB8Q8n

— Christian D'Andrea (@TrainIsland) September 22, 2019

If the Seahawks planned on throwing and trying to score, they absolutely should’ve used a timeout after first down. Instead, Seattle cost itself a 33-yard field goal attempt.

1. The Bucs took a delay of game penalty and missed a game-winning FG

Tampa had the ball left with 13 seconds to go against the New York Giants. The Bucs were in field goal range after Jameis Winston connected with Mike Evans for a terrific 44-yard pass play.

Then head coach Bruce Arians inexplicably took a delay of game penalty to move the ball back five yards. Arians tried justifying it by saying he thought Matt Gay kicks better from longer distances?!

Video: Here’s Bruce Arians explaining that he took a delay of game penalty “on purpose” before final field goal to back up rookie Matt Gay, who had already missed one extra point and had another blocked in the same game. pic.twitter.com/h4WIwaVdq7

— Greg Auman (@gregauman) September 23, 2019

Yikes. Gay had already missed two extra point tries in a game the Bucs were trailing by one point. To the surprise of no one, his 34-yard potentially game-winning field goal sailed wide right as time expired.

Arians might be new to Tampa, but he should’ve known better. After all, the Bucs’ kicking game has been cursed for years.

[agraphicdesignernamedjessie-blog]

Evaluation

The first puppet making workshop took place on day one and was led by 2017 BCU graduates from the collaborative illustration group, ‘We agree on Eggs’. This workshop instructed each of the newly formed groups to create one puppet as a team. This puppet did not have to have any thematic significance  as the main aim of the task was to create a functioning puppet collaboratively. I believed this would be important for our group to decide on a theme straight away and make a puppet prop that we could utilize for our final performance. I thought this because Jo had mentioned in a previous presentation that our narrative module was fast paced, therefore required immediate creative action. We productively brainstormed many ideas holding the 1968 focus and we all seemed to agree on the idea of portraying a summarised narrative of the life story of Martin Luther King Jr, the movement he created and the legacy that he left behind.

 To kick of the group research and get moving with the project, we each had a look into different approaches to puppetry. Shadow puppetry seemed to be the one approach that we all agreed on and saw the most potential in.

For me, the simplistic aesthetic of the shadowed figures was significant for our groups focus in particular. We wanted to highlight a visual tension between Black and white significance that would bestow a solemn and serious message. This is why the age old characterised approach to puppetry such as stuffing/painting may have looked inappropriate. We wanted the silhouettes of our puppets to be simple enough not to be overly decorative, but detailed enough for the audience to know and understand what each image would represent. It was all about getting the right balance.

 We moved on from this by allocating and delegating our roles. We began to find out each other’s strengths and also what we each enjoyed doing. I believed it was very important for everyone to have a role that they felt confident in, as the more you enjoy doing a task the more confident your craftsmanship becomes - therefore the more accurately the work develops.

 Myself, Mikayla and Jada made all of the handmade puppets individually. I did all of the detailed illustrations for characters as illustrating is my strong point, also something I enjoy doing. Jada made the Martin Luther puppets in order to keep the individual stylized effect and Mikayla cut out all of the large scale handmade puppets.

I wanted to start the story boarding process quickly, partly to get a head start and partly because this is the way that I most effectively go about creative projects. If I have an image to work with or a picture in my head, it’s best for me to get it down on paper in order to re-affirm the strength of my original ideas. It also helps me to communicate to the other team members. Additionally,I  found that when you are trying to explain a creative concept to other creative people it is important to describe an idea with as many visuals as possible.

 Deciding on a Narrative

 We put our heads together and brain stormed by researching  some of the most significant events revolving around Martin Luther King Jr’s movement and life story. We initially picked far too many events to re-tell, so with some difficulty managed, to reduce them. The one thing that we all agreed on, is that we wanted the events that we picked to somehow intertwine and flow like a narrative.

I wanted to create a professional level story board, but knew that carrying out this process for every single frame would take up too much time. Instead I decided to pick a key scene, the ‘I had a dream scene’ and mock up how I wanted it to look.  I did this digitally on the tablet which allowed me to directly transfer it onto my blog. I found that this illustrative way of working was useful, so continued to draw on the tablet throughout the rest of the process. Once we had each scene sorted, we knew who would create what.

 Thinking about how we would perform

On the Tuesday of the second week, Jo asked each of the groups about what approach of puppetry they planned to take forward. This short talk became very significant to the progression of our project. We found out that the majority of the groups planned to do shadow puppetry.

This meant that we had to have an idea that would make our show different from the others. At the start of the module, tutors said that we shouldn’t limit our aspirations for the project and encouraged us to ‘Think Big’.

I had an idea to create an enlarged version of our original theatre. I thought that the scale alone would be very impressive, but alongside that we could get members of the audience to partake and get active with the props that we would make and provide for them.

We have picked two key scenes from our final performance and plan to make ‘human size props’. We plan to set up a tripod at the front of our enlarged theatre so that any member of the audience can film themselves, or their friends experimenting with our props. The concept of the large theatre challenges the audience to ‘physically’ and ‘metaphorically’ take a stand and get involved in the movement that we are exposing them to.

 Practitioner research

 During this process, I came across the Altered Scale Theatre Company, a progressive puppetry and theatre company founded By Artistic Director and performer Austin Mitchel Hewitt in March 2014. I know Austin Mitchell through mutual friends and contacted him and informed of our brief. Austin has worked on many projects around the city of Liverpool, hand crafting puppets and performing with them for a number of collaborative shows. I corresponded through email with Austin a couple of times, asking him questions about how to progress with our project, asking about the work he has done and just enquiring about general tips and tricks of the trade.

Austin proved to be very helpful and some of the work that he sent me further progressed some of our original ideas.

On  my first email to Austin I expressed my concern about background and how I  would go about padding out the screen. This was during the making stage of  our puppets and we hadn’t actually had time to experiment in the shell with  all of our puppets and props. All we had done in terms of experimenting with  the shadow theatre, was using the frame that Lee had set up in our work  space. Austin advised me that “SIMPLICTY is the key to puppetry… if  you have too many visuals all at once… the audience finds it difficult to  follow…"

Once  my group had practiced and experimented with our own theatre space and used  all of our puppets and props in conjunction with one another, I completely  understood what Austin was advising. 

We really wanted to try and portray the  significance of the message and story of Martin Luther King’s movement and if  we were to over complicate this with overly elaborate puppets and props, this specific significance would be lost. 

 I think at first, we thought that shadow puppetry would prove to be simpler than it actually is. We have also found that it takes a lot of time to make something so small. We have decided to incorporate human shadow puppetry for some of the scenes to add a different medium and to reduce the number of puppets that we have to make.

At times, we thought we had created a background prop that would work,  but we realised that it had blocked out some of the major detail in Kings body. When Kate and Sam came back we discussed the possibility of using the laser cutter and vectors to create some puppets that had proved to be difficult with paper. We did eventually do this and it did work effectively.

The filming process

On Tuesday 27th of Februarys from 5-9 we had booked the shell, to perform and film our smaller scale shadow puppetry that we are going project onto our cinema screen. We managed to work really well together and naturally found the roles that best suited ourselves. Kate took charge filming, Mikayla, Jada, Sam and I performed with the puppets.

Because we had planned out how we wanted each scene to flow, it was actually a really fun experience. During the process, we found that some angles worked better than others and some original ideas had to be scrapped, but anticipated that.

We were very glad that our filming did not include natural sound, as an essential part of us effectively working together was down to the fact that we could speak to each other from different sides of the theatre and instruct one another on what was working well/what wasn’t. 

Despite the fact that we had a really long day and were all tired, I actually really enjoyed the filming process. I learnt skills that I otherwise wouldn’t have known doing my graphics course.

  The sound track process

 On the Thursday after filming me and Kate stayed back to begin the editing process. We decided from the beginning that Kate would edit the video footage after it had been filmed and once she had done so, I would refine the sound track/sound effects that I had put together on Logic Pro.

For a long time the career path that I wanted to pursue was music, in particular film score writing. I have studied music for a number of years and have learnt how to compose music digitally. So, from the start of this process I put myself forward to do this task. The thing that was so important about our sound track, was that we had no script, therefore wanted the music to relay a narrative. I didn’t want to just put a song together, I wanted to convey a message, so I decided to combine facts with music.

I found a number of significant news reports from the scenes that we re-enacted through puppetry and combined them with music that I considered appropriate. Before starting on the sound track,  I instantly knew the tone and mood that I wanted to create and how I would go about writing it. However, I knew I needed the footage next to me when refining timings. 

One of the most difficult things I came across when creating the sound track, was getting the timings for sound effects right. For example, the scene in which Martin Luther is assassinated, Sam stands behind the screen and shoots our gun puppet that we made on the first day. It was really hard to time this action with the sound effect of a gunshot simultaneously.