#but not one that readily lends itself to shipping

[incognito-lionbeast]

watching The Untamed & as of finishing episode 09, I still think its wildest take so far is making Jiang Cheng crush on Wen Qing. truly bizarre...

[mini-jiminie]

About your comment on jkkers associating Letter with jungkook, I agree with you and I lowkey feel like its because Letter is the only song that jkkers really can associate with jkk out of all jimin's solo work in chapter 2. On a different blog, some anon was saying they didn't think the content of jimin's solo work was compatible with jikook being real or something along those lines, and a jkker blog literally used Letter as proof against that saying that it was obviously a love song for jungkook. Outside of the songs he explicitly says he made for army, jimin's solo work doesn't exactly paint a happy picture, especially when you read translations of his notebook pages from when he was working on Face. That shit is dark and lonely, him questioning if there's anyone he can trust and then questioning if he can ever love someone to his producers while working on Muse. Not saying jikook isn't real by any means, but jimin's solo work definitely doesn't readily lend itself to shipping, not just with jungkook, but with anyone, so I think jkkers cling to Letter. I also agree with that anon's post in that jimin didn't have to comment on it at all really, it was meant to be a hidden track anyway. So the fact that he explicitly states who the track was about and some jkkers twist that does feel shitty. Of course art can have multiple meanings, but to deny the meaning jimin himself stated is just taking his autonomy away for the sake of shipping and is no different than the tkkers who twist taehyung and jungkook's actions or say the company makes them do everything. All of it is shippers disregarding the boys words/actions in favor of their own beliefs.

Before I get cancelled (again lol) this ask was in response to a comment I made under @jeonscatalyst’s post:

Look, I can’t claim to know 100% what the boys’ music personally means to them and why they choose to write and create art in certain ways.

When we look at Face, it's so clear that the album is an extremely self-introspective body of work where jm has allowed us to witness such a raw and vulnerable part of himself. What I love about bts is that the boys have always created music about themselves, their own stories and experiences. I'm so grateful that the rap line set such a wonderful precedent for the other boys to really use their solo music as an outlet.

Back to you anon, I 100% agree with you on this part:

"Outside of the songs he explicitly says he made for army, jimin's solo work doesn't exactly paint a happy picture, especially when you read translations of his notebook pages from when he was working on Face. That shit is dark and lonely, him questioning if there's anyone he can trust and then questioning if he can ever love someone to his producers while working on Muse."

I feel like face (as a whole) is such a polarising album. It's really interesting. We start off with 'face-off' and the delivery is aggressive and it clearly comes from a dark place. Like crazy is..like crazy. To this day, it's my favourite song ever. I just love the connotations and imagery behind it. I've read many analyses of the song, its mv and the choreo. One consistent thing across all of them is this reoccurring theme of reflection. This is him attempting to confront himself and the state he's in. Looking at the lyrics of like crazy, he feels lost and is struggling to cope with his reality. In the english version, there's the line 'emotions on ice' which really struck me when I first heard it. I know it's not the direct translation of the original line in the Korean version however, it's a perfect reflection the song as a whole. I've seen people interpret that line through the theme of dilution; 'on ice'. I personally read this as him feeling lost and numb. It's almost as if his emotions are an imitation of what they're meant to be. He wants to be stuck in a dream-like state and not have to face his daunting reality.

Alone also has a similar storyline (these translations are from doolset). The chorus goes:

Day & night 반복되는 fall Day & night, the repeated fall

(Mayday 날 꺼내줘) (Mayday, get me out of here)

Again, there's that need for escapism. Further into the song, we get lyrics such as:

똑같은 하루가 The same day all over

또다시 흘러가 goes by, yet again

뭘 어떻게 해야 What even should I do

이 어둠이 끝이 날까? to make this darkness come to an end

Smf is such a powerful end to the album. Its definitely a heroic song and such a poignant finish to his introspective process. He knows what he needs to do to heal and grow.

Finally, letter is clearly so dear to jm. It being a hidden song and so beautifully written says enough. It has the same delicate quality as the hidden track ‘sea’ from ly:her (another incredible song). When I say Face is such a polarising album, I say this in consideration of letter. If smf was the catalyst to his healing, letter is jm during that process of healing. In my original comment, I said that it irks me when jkkrs try to link every one of the boys' solo endeavours and actions to their relationship. And I don't mean people can't speculate that letter might be about a s/o. I'm also not trying to diminish jkk's relationship in any way but, jm has explicitly shared the meaning of the song and how it's a song dedicated to army. Yes, music is subjective however, when an artist explicitly shares the meaning of their song and their intentions, we do have to respect that.

Apparently, people have been calling him a liar?? jm -the original writer - a liar??

Jm has outright expressed what letter means to him. That's what he wants us, as listeners of his story, to get out of that song. If we the fans were part of his healing process, that's so beautiful. I don't understand why some people are so quick to brush this off. As I've said, Face is such a deeply personal album. It's jm, as an individual, laid bare and untethered. When we try to force the ship onto it, it just seems so reductive of jm's art.

Jm has expressed that face was a culmination of his struggles during the pandemic as well the relationships he's with the people in his life. For such a short album, I think he's done a wonderful job of conveying the sheer breath of emotions and struggles he experienced leading up to the production.

[satellitesoundwave]

Top five ships ofc!!

sorry for the late response anon! i thought i’d posted this but turned out it was still in my drafts whoops

okay. to keep things fresh and interesting i’ll exclude ships i already picked for the idw dynamics ask:

5) this high up the list it's pretty variable, but rn I'm gonna say Getaway/Skids. i like the knife twist potential of them having been together, and that being one more thing that disappeared when Skids lost his memories. it ties easily into Getaway's jealous streak. also, if they were like in love in love, i think them reuniting only for Getaway to discover how completely he's been wiped away - and replaced, what with Skids' new closeness to several people on the Lost Light - would interact with Getaway's need to be important and special (or, hmm, maybe 'distinct' would be more accurate?) in an explosive way. it’s one of those scenarios that’s fun to think about for the sad and awful potential

4) Starscream/Rodimus bc a. the comedy potential here is insane lmao, Rodimus is often tactlessly authentic and Starscream expects everyone around him to be playing 4d psychological chess. and b. i think the two of them bouncing off each other genuinely could be interesting? Starscream is hyper alert for people manipulating/taking advantage in a particular way, but it's one that Rodimus doesn’t really do. also, Rodimus is very emotionally driven in both his decision making and his moral compass, and while it doesn't do him any favours when it comes to attempts to manipulate him that are short term with quick payoffs, I think it would actually make it difficult to truly lead him down a path he's not naturally inclined to take. imo Rodimus' acting on his emotions+feeling faster than he can think disposition could make him immune to some of Starscream's bullshit. this incompatibility between them might cause interactions with each other to go a very different way than is typical for either of them with other people, which i think could be interesting to explore

3) Megatron/Optimus. TFP was my entry point for getting really into tf, and i've always enjoyed ships where they're enemies now, but they used to be lovers who had no choice but to split over irreconcilable philosophical differences. I was an easy sell on this one

2) Drift/Rodimus. tho tbh i still haven't quite found my ideal angle on this ship yet (which is why the sequel to Hope (and other bad jokes) has stalled out. i could go into a whole essay on how i think about characterisation and the whats & whys of Rodimus' motivations proving unexpectedly slippery, but i'm not sure you signed on to take that thousand word detour anon haha)

1) Jazz/Soundwave. the ultimate. the ideal. i've said before about how for tf i get more attached to individuals than dynamics, and i am blessed to be interested in both Soundwave and Jazz independently and fascinated by the ways they can play off each other. they have a fantastic balance of similarities (they are both very competent!! i cannot tell you how important that is here, competence is the #1 thing that appeals to me about a character), and many of the ways they diverge are mirrored, like it's the opposite direction taken but still the same road (preferred approach to their job, sound/music theming). the ships i think about most tend to be ones where the dynamic pushes the characters to be more themself, the connection intensifying both their good qualities and their bad ones, and jazzwave lends itself readily to this. truly the perfect ship for me

[youngerfrankenstein]

I also kind of wonder if the “she’s the team mom” thing tends to be prevalent simply because that’s the most acceptable thing a female character can be.

She’s feminine, and for a female character to be acceptable they have to be rather feminine. She is so in appearance, hobbies, and role/personality (motherly). But, she’s also in a position that while it CAN lend itself to shipping, is also one that does not lend itself as readily to such and so plenty of shippers can just ignore her. She’s unfailingly kind, so people won’t accuse her of being a bitch, but she’s not a pushover, so people won’t say she’s pathetic. If she has quirks they’re rather subdued so people don’t turn their nose up at them.

And this is coming from someone who tends to like Team Mom characters…

[tigerspite]

Another little (draft) treat for Wethraks WSunday. Also known as 'Grammatical Correctness? What's That?'

-

CHAPTER I / The Dream

Mining asteroids for resources is tedious work. A task fit only for Dregs, or as punishment for Vandals daring to step out of line. Except little supervision and an opportunity to get away from one's peers lends itself to repeat offenders, and they don't care for the work itself as much as they do the freedom.

Wesraaks, however, does.

It is his job to venture out each cycle and provide for his House. Metal ore converts readily to Ether, hydrogen into fuel for ship engines, and anything left over offers the means to repair faults and failures across the convoy his people travel in. Without drillers like himself, the House would crumble.

As easy as it is to pretend he holds a noble role, and that his task has a great impact upon the House, it is an idea borne from hours of relative isolation and little else to think about. His Captain would replace him in a heartbeat if she wanted to. In reality, the glimmer drill does all the work for him. All he must do is locate the richest reservoir of whichever material he is assigned to collect, guide the drill into position, turn it on, and watch both it and the Servitor storing whatever he finds to ensure the collection goes smoothly.

From another rock floating close by, Venxori scans for their next deposit to excavate. He paces up and down, his ancient and barely functional metal detector causing visible irritation. Jabbing the end hard into the rock, it seems to return to normal, and he continues on his search.

Wesraaks gazes past him, to where a handful of dots marking the frontrunners of House Devils wait. The largest Ketch - Sepiks-Fel, his home - hovers ahead of the rest of the vessels, true size obscured by inky blackness and a slight shaft of light across its form. Even then, it appears miniscule when he squints. The lesser Ketches gathered around it are like grains of sand.

While they conserve fuel and energy for the next leap forwards, and wait for the rest of the House to catch up, they won't move for the rest of the cycle. Progress on the Long Drift consists of multiple stops and starts.

His parents and the Elders tell him that they have been travelling for untold time, so long that it would be hard to quantify against the speed of light. Some attempt to calculate, and they say it has been tens of thousands of cycles since the first Ketches left their home.

They said they used to live on a tropical planet named Riis, where twin suns marked out days and nights. Apparently, Eliksni ruled over a peaceful empire spanning dozens of local star systems. They lived in harmony with the flora, fauna, and intelligent life found on foreign planets and moons, opening trade routes and the means to share the knowledge the Great Machine bestowed. To be met by Eliksni was to be given a key to a revolution, if it was desired.

Then the Great Machine fled. When a handful of Devils decided to chase it, and agreed there would only be peace and safety beneath its shadow, they did not expect the rest of the Houses to follow. But they did, slowly.

And because of their choices, they live ten to a nest, cramped inside the suffocating confines of Ketches that are not, and never were meant for such arduous journeys. His people breathe down each other's necks, and know nothing but aggressions. Community mindedness only extends so far, and even he sees that the Drift pushes at the boundaries of how little privacy can be accepted.

A benefit of his work is that he lives every Devil's dream. If one doesn't mind the dizzying emptiness in the vacuum of the asteroid fields, he has plenty of space and privacy. Mining doesn't necessitate a large crew, either. His Captain oversees the operations remotely. He brings only himself, Venxori, the drill, and their Servitor to work. Although he and his partner are both docked and lowly Dregs, he is permitted to borrow a Skiff and anchor it to whichever chunk of rock they choose to land on.

Until such time as they find their god, mining is destined to continue.

"Do you think we'll ever find the Great Machine?" Venxori asks, his voice crackling through the headset in his helmet.

"Of course we will. Eramis knows exactly where the it is, she's tracking it," he replies.

"But it's moving further away from us. Again," he readies himself to give a longer answer, then stops and sighs. "All this time, and it hasn't stopped yet. Where do you think it's going?"

Wesraaks chitters. "I don't know. Maybe the Light is stronger somewhere else, and it needs to recharge?"

Venxori scoffs at the idea. "I heard Ursavikskel saying that it's being lured somewhere."

"How does he know?"

"He's Kell. What doesn't he know?"

Unsatisfied by the answer, Wesraaks clicks his mandibles. "He's not the Star-Catcher. The Great Machine doesn't tell anyone anything, now."

"I wish it would. Or I wish we could just turn around and find a place to stop and settle somewhere," Venxori gestures out to the stars, waving the metal detector. "We have everything we need! We could take our Skiff and go! Why do we need to stay with a House, anyway? Who says I want to do the same thing every cycle for the rest of my life? What if I never get to see the Great Machine, and this is just the Elders trying to outlast us?"

"Don't! Varzis might be listening!" he hisses, urgent. "She could pass that on to Ursavikskel, you know what'll happen if he finds out you're thinking that!"

Grumbling, he returns to sliding the detector across the surface and huffs, "Whatever's going on, whoever's dragging it away from us, one day I'll make them pay for making our lives so miserable. And I hope Ursavikskel knows what we're doing."

Wesraaks makes an uncomfortable noise, and returns to studying the drill and its readings with as much intensity as he can muster.

-

PREVIOUS RELEASE

[sofreddie]

'Til Death Do Us Part

Summary: The happiest day of their lives. At least, it was supposed to be.

Characters: Dean x Female!Reader, Sam, Cas

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mentions of Blood, Major Character Death

Word Count: 1,112

Decade Under The Influence Challenge - Prompt: “A cloud hangs over and mutes my happiness. A thousand ships couldn’t sail me back from distress” - Anna Molly: Incubus @cockslut-padalecki

Diva's Writing Challenge - Prompt: “There’ll be plenty more before this is over.” - @flamencodiva

DEAN BINGO: FREE SPACE (@spndeanbingo)

AU BINGO: FREE SPACE (@spnaubingo)

A/N: 1) Decade Under The Influence prompt used as inspiration for the story. 2) Diva prompt quoted in the story (bold). 3) Please, remember you love me. : )

"You ready?" Sam asked his older brother.

"Yeah." Dean released a long breath and nodded to his sibling.

Sam nodded in return, turning to the door and grasping the handle. He cast a glance over his shoulder to Dean, looking him over a final time, before opening the door wide.

Dean closed his eyes, taking another deep breath and releasing it, before following behind Sam, his mind swimming.

Sam took a sharp right into a large room. Dean's eyes rapidly scanned the room as his heartbeat rose. Familiar faces dotted every seat in the room, everything else covered in an abundance of simple and tasteful décor.

Trying not to let his nerves get the better of him, Dean hastily followed Sam to the front of the room.

"You got this," Sam encouraged his brother with a pat on the shoulder.

Dean nodded in response, but it was mostly automatic as he continued his breathing exercises and tried to quell his rising nerves and rapidly beating heart.

The doors at the far end of the room opened once more. Everything went silent, frozen in time, and tuned out as his vision tunneled and fixed on the approaching figure.

"Fuck," Dean breathed out in awe, his eyes wide and roaming, taking in every minute detail.

He already knew her by heart, inside and out. But the sight of her in the ivory dress she wore - striding towards him with a broad grin and a lustful gleam as she devoured him with her eyes - was an image sure to be branded in his brain for all eternity.

Dean extended his hand when she was within reach, gently guiding her the last few steps to stand toe-to-toe, intimate inches between them. They turned as one towards their friend and family, Castiel.

The Angel readily agreed to lend his hand in bonding the two of them in a ceremony that went far beyond mere paper declarations. Two lives, lived side-by-side for so long, intertwining into one.

Dean never thought he'd have this - a wedding and a wife. His life, consumed by darkness and pain, made him believe it wasn't possible. But she, the light in the darkness, made him believe it was. They'd fought through so much together and come out the other side hand-in-hand. They could survive anything, as long as they were together.

Their voices cracked and their eyes welled as they spoke their promises to one another. Their hands shook as they slid rings onto fingers. Their lips tingled in anticipation of completing the ceremony.

They shared a kiss of restrained passion and open emotion, a promise itself. They smiled warmly at one another as the many witnesses clapped and cheered. Dean could feel Sam patting him on the back, but his eyes were glued to his bride, his wife.

Her eyes were shining with love and happiness, tears of joy welling and threatening to fall, her smile bright and just for him. He couldn't resist, leaning down to steal another kiss. His arms brought her tight against his body, keeping her close and cherishing the moment.

As she gasped into the kiss, Dean loosened his hold, worried he had hurt her in his eagerness. Pulling from the kiss his eyes met hers.

They were wide, the pure joy from before erased as a single tear made its way down her cheek. A piercing scream from somewhere in the room, followed by shouting and rapid movements, snapped Dean from his bubble.

Dean's eyes scanned the room. People were everywhere. Sam was running towards the doors, other attendees following as a fight broke out.

"D-De-"

Y/N's voice drew his attention back to her. As he looked down between them, he could see the dark and vibrant red stain growing across the bodice of her once pristine dress.

Was he having a nightmare?

Everything felt so real. He took a shuddering breath as she grew weak in his arms. He quickly lowered her to the ground, looking her over and finding a large, gaping wound.

Everything rapidly sped up as Dean's mind caught up with what was happening.

"SAM?!" Dean shouted into the void, as he tried to stem the bleeding.

"Demons," Sam growled as he slid up beside his brother, taking over wound care as Dean focused his attention on Y/N.

Dean took Y/N's hand into his, her breathing stuttered and harsh.

"Stay with me, Baby," Dean urged her as he caressed the side of her face.

"Cas-," Sam harshly whispered, drawing the Angel to them, "-heal her."

Cas knelt beside her, Sam and Dean watching as he lowered his hand above the wound. His hand lit up but had no effect on the wound. He cast a glance at the brothers, before closing his eyes and trying once again. The light grew brighter, Cas's eyes opening to reveal they too were glowing.

Still, nothing happened.

"They've done something," Cas explained, "It's not working."

"What?" Sam protested, "No - Cas - she's gonna die if you don't-"

"What part of 'it isn't working' escapes you?" Cas growled back, growing increasingly frustrated.

Dean's eyes were wide as he looked down at Y/N, the tears freely falling down his face.

"No...please," Dean sobbed, shifting to hold her, pressing his forehead to hers like so many times before.

Y/N reached up, her hand on Dean's cheek. He covered her hand with his own.

"I love you. So much," she breathed with her last as her eyes closed and she went limp in his arms.

"Y/N? No!!" Dean cried, not caring who saw.

Hours later, after most everyone had left, Sam and Cas came back to Dean, who hadn't moved from his position on the floor and hadn't released his hold on his bride.

He was out of tears, but far from numb.

Dean stood, with Y/N securely in his hold. Both Sam and Cas offered to take her but retreated with Dean's threatening growl.

"It was demons," Cas helpfully supplied.

"Crowley's?" Dean asked, stopping in his tracks and turning to the others with fire in his eyes.

"Most likely," Sam admitted, "But the last one said something before we killed him."

"He said, 'There'll be plenty more before this is over'," Cas added ominously.

"We're giving her a hunter's funeral," Dean explained in a strained tone as he slid into the backseat of the Impala with Y/N in his lap.

"Of course," Sam agreed, taking up the driver's seat without a word.

"Then what?" Cas asked as he took up the passenger's side, looking over the seat at Dean.

"Then I'm killing every last demon I get my hands on until there are no more."

Forevers:

@sis-tafics

@lyarr24

@calaofnoldor

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67

@fangirlxwritesx67

@jarpad24

@flamencodiva

@flashxspn

@donnaintx

Dean Winchester:

@akshi8278

@jerkbitchidjitassbutt

@slamminmine

@idreamofdeanie

@charred-angelwings

@deandreamernp

@laycblack

@siospins

[rosafulmen-a]

*  MUN  RELATED  SHIPPING  QUESTIONS  / accepting  |  @cloudvii​​  |  7.  Is  your  muse  difficult  to  ship  with  ?

Without a doubt. I wrote a headcanon here explaining how I see Light’s sexuality. In sum, not only is she a character who generally pushes away companionship under the guise of strength, she’s also not someone who readily recognises when she or someone else might show an interest in her. For her to have romantic interest in someone, an emotional connection must have already taken place. Given how many people she allows to have that emotional connection... it drastically limits her pool of potential partners.

Does that mean I don’t want to ship her with people? Not at all! I love ships. I think there are aspects of her canon that lend itself to her being more able to ship with people ( see, end of LR ) but that doesn’t mean that other times/places couldn’t work.

She also pines. So bad. It’s one aspect of her I love writing. It’s that internal war of knowing she cares deeply about someone but trying to justify why it’s a bad idea and why she shouldn’t feel the way that she does... but she does.

[otheroutlandertales]

The next part of the series based on the Audrey Niffenegger book The Time Traveler’s Wife. Part 1

Author’s note: Claire is 48 in this part, and in Paris with Jamie while they look for Young Ian.

The Time Traveler’s Family: Part 2

by @abbydebeaupreposts​

Claire came to, her mind sifting through the fog. She could feel boots that were pinching her toes, the heavy covering of a thick skirt on her legs. She experimentally rubbed one knee against the other, noting the absence of the telltale slide of nylon-on-nylon. Taking a deep breath, she felt the push of her stays against her ribs and that at least confirmed she was somewhere in an earlier time.

The melodious peel of church bells vibrated through her chest and with a sudden snap, Claire realized where she was: L’Hôpital des Anges. She mentally chided herself. She hadn’t gone anywhere, she’d only fainted!

It shouldn’t have been hot enough to cause dehydration, but she had walked a good portion of Paris this morning and hadn’t thought to bring any water. On top of that, she’d been far too nervous to eat breakfast this morning.

She hadn’t lied to Jamie . . . exactly . . . she just hadn’t told him that she was also planning on coming here. Provisioning the ship for their journey required them to head out separately in search of supplies and arranging for their safe delivery to the wharf. They were both aware that each day they delayed lessened their chances of catching up to the scoundrels who’d kidnapped Young Ian.

One look at his stressed face when they’d arisen had decided the issue. Claire could not, simply could not utter the name of their daughter knowing how frantic Jamie was to find his nephew. Faith had been gone twenty and more years, but they had the hope of saving Ian. Jamie needed the freedom to direct  his energies on that, not dwell on things long since lost.

Claire’s glass face might have given her away, or perhaps that excellent nose of his might have sniffed out the flowers - she still couldn't believe her luck in finding any this late in the year - that she’d buried under the linen lining of her market basket, but he’d been too preoccupied with organizing his own day to pay too much attention to hers.

Thinking of the flowers, Claire sat up and cast her eyes around for her basket, not finding it, she slowly rose and walked a few paces in a circle. Something in her field of vision was off, her eyes sensing the change before she had time to really process it. Was her mind playing tricks on her? Faith’s stone no longer lay at her feet. A strong gust of wind whipped a loose strand of hair across her face and she realized how warm it was, whenever she was, it definitely wasn’t November.

A sharp jolt of panic sent her stomach plummeting. She willed her breathing to steady, counting the in-and-out rhythm. As she did so, she calmed herself by concentrating on the noises around her. The modern world sounded completely different than the time before.

Claire was reassured by the cadence of carriage wheels on the stone street just the other side of the high enclosure surrounding the cemetery, the clomp of horse hooves, dog barks and goat bleats. At last she was able to think logically. Claire forced herself to acknowledge the truth. Faith's grave was missing because their daughter either hadn't come to be or, more likely, hadn't . . . wasn't . . . yet gone. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!

When Jamie suggested coming to Paris in all due haste and seeking help from Jared, Claire had readily agreed, feeling the same sense of urgency to get here as soon as possible.  If anyone had the information they needed and the connections to secure a ship to give chase, it would be Jamie's cousin.  Claire hadn't even stopped to consider the implications of being back on French soil.

Oh God! Claire was sure she didn't have the strength to relive those long ago days and nights full of intrigue, heartbreak and betrayal. It had taken months, if not years, for she and Jamie to both put the past behind them. And they had. They rarely spoke of her, then. And even now, only in the briefest of mentions.

“Red hair like her sister? Like Faith?” Jamie had asked upon seeing Bree’s baby pictures.

Overcome at hearing that name spoken out loud by this man, Claire could only nod, watching as he turned each photo over in his hands, skimming a shaky finger over each line and curve of their daughter’s changing face. When the first one in color leapt from the bundle, he made a low moan in the back of his throat. The one that he used when his feelings - of love, of laughter, of happiness - had robbed him of the power of speech.

Claire had waited more than 7,000 days to hear that sound again and her whole body numbed with the impact. She hadn’t noticed in the busy buzzing of school and work and keeping house, but the truth was it had been years since she felt such a connection to another person. She and Frank never found it again after she returned, that unity of person, but she had it for a brief fleeting time when Brianna was very young, nursing at her breast as they rocked together in the hushed serenity of a 3 AM feeding. That sacred fusion of babe and parent that bonds mother to child in those early days. It was not the same, of course, what she felt for him and what she felt for their daughter, but the way such a deep connection dissolved the individual boundary of self, it was something like it.  

Intimacy. A simple word of staggering complexity. Yet the knowledge of him, of herself, of them filled her senses. The solid edge of his rigid thigh pressed against hers, the sharp unfamiliar scent of him, the savory flavor of his tongue lingering on her lips, the dance of firelight from the hearth against the faded red of his hair and the rush of her heart as it glued itself back together again.

Claire held still, spellbound, as an expression of reverence played across his features. She gently touched his hand and his palm went slack transferring the precious images of Bree into hers and fixing her with a burning look of urgency. He was incapable of doing much else. He kept his head cast downward as Claire told her story after story, drinking in the variety of Brianna’s expressions as she boldly stared out at the world with her father’s eyes . . . the same shape exactly as those of her sister.

Even now, weeks after, Claire had yet to speak of it, to tell Jamie how it felt sitting beside him that day . . . the rightness of feeling them and their daughters together even if only for one moment. “Oh that is quite enough of that, Beauchamp!” she reminded herself. Whether she was in the Paris of 1766 or 1744 made no difference. She knew very well there was nothing she could do to change what happened and torturing herself in the meantime only made it a thousand times worse. Faith would always be a wishful dream, something too precious to become real.

Claire swallowed hard, took a couple of deep breaths and reminded herself that the most important thing she needed to do now was get back to Jamie in his own time. With that goal uppermost in her mind, she was able to leave the cemetery and make her way as unobtrusively as possible through the twisting, turning corridors of L’Hôpital which she navigated by muscle memory.

She had learned over many years of such unexpected travel that one of the most important ways to fit in, even if you landed in the wrong century,  was walking confidently and boldly. The destination wasn’t important - as long as you looked like you belonged, you did.  

Claire reached the great hall, sighing when she didn’t see any sign of Mother Hildegard or Sister Agnes. The front entrance beckoned, the sun was shining on the threshold. But just as she neared, Bouton’s happy yip of greeting stopped her cold and she hesitated, despite knowing better. The soft pitter patter of little nails clicking against the stone approached in double time. Her heart gave a little squeeze and she knew it was her Bouton. That fuzzy, furry face she would know anywhere. She thought about trying to ignore him, but knew from experience that being denied would only result in more insistent barking.

She dropped to her haunches at once and waited for him to roll, then enthusiastically rubbed his belly. The dog abruptly jumped back to all fours a moment before her own ears picked up the sound of boot heels coming down the far stairs. Her friend cocked his ear and tilted his head side to side, watching to see what she would do.

“Sorry, Bouton, I can’t stay. Take good care, I will see you soon.” Claire rose and brushed off her hands, she was across the threshold when something brushed past her. Bouton got in front of her and dropped something at her feet, giving a bark of pride. She bent to retrieve it. A fairly decent hat with which to cover her hair. She smiled at him, feeling warm all over.

“Thank you, mes amis, I couldn’t have asked for a better old chum to run into today,” she told him as she carefully inspected the cloth, and, finding nothing chancy or moving on it, fixed it securely to her head and caught her reflection as she passed by a window. She sighed in relief, seeing how well that one small touch helped her blend in better.

Claire kept walking past the hospital, trying to figure out whether she could use any of the currency quietly clinking in the deep pocket of her skirt. Better not risk it, she decided, taking herself to task for not paying any attention to the coin when Jamie handed it to her. She had no idea if the year was customarily stamped on the money or not and couldn’t very stop and inspect it in public. Besides, she’d already spent a good deal of it purchasing supplies and sending them to the ship before setting out to L’Hôpital. Claire was always conscious of the fact that a solitary woman travelling unescorted in such times would naturally attract attention. She couldn’t pretend to be shopping, not without coin to spend, there were no lending libraries that admitted women patrons . . . Look busy! she reminded herself. Right, but how?

Claire didn’t want to head in the direction of Jared’s home. It was miles away, but she’d inevitably cross to the little district where the apothecary was situated and she might give in to the temptation to visit Master Raymond. He was the one person in Paris, aside from Bouton, who might not be shocked to see her - and her graying hair and the crows feet wrinkling her eyes.  Yet, she was hesitant, remembering his sleight of hand in the star chamber. Was he really her friend? She wasn’t sure and that lack of trust weighed heavily in her mind. Instead, she turned south and focused on letting her thoughts roam freely, almost forcing herself to think about not thinking about the Paris of her youth.

Awareness settled over her as her feet struck manicured grass and her head came up. She was in the park near Jared’s warehouse. She had only strolled along its delightful paths a few times, once with Louise and Mary and a couple of times with Murtagh. Yes, over to the right were the huge blooming shrubs he had delighted in showing her. Claire made her way over toward the riot of pinks and yellows she saw in the distance, nodding and bobbing the occasional murmured greeting as she went. If her out of style clothing was noticed, no one stared, nor said a word.  

She came to a small bench Murtagh showed her all those years ago tucked under the swaying branches of a willow tree and sat down in relief. Her boots were comfortable but she’d walked a great distance. She was thirsty but put that out of her mind, having no way to remedy the need. She closed her eyes and breathed the crisp, clean garden air. The sound of nature surrounded her and peace descended.

Claire must have drifted off for the next she knew the quiet had been broken by the zing of rapiers clashing and the echoing grunts of effort. Two men engaged in some mock battle. In Brianna’s time they’d called it the sport of fencing, but here, in this time, it was practical training. She couldn’t parse out the words themselves but instantly caught the rhythm of the speech. Gaelic, she was sure of it. Claire shot to her feet in blind panic looking around wildly and realized suddenly that the way the branches fell sheltered her completely from the direction of the swordplay.

She couldn't help moving to the edge of the shelter of protection and peeking between the curtain of swaying branches and leaves. An enormous sigh of longing escaped her lips as she caught sight the back of Jamie’s broad back, red hair glinting in the sunlight as he thrust downward. His broadsword clashing with an almighty clang as it struck the one Murtagh held firm using both his hands. Murtagh pulled both arms upwards, causing Jamie to jump back. A good thing too, or his head would  now be laying on the grass beside his feet.

“Fight it that's it, focus . . . Concentrate, lad, no . . . hold on!” Murtagh  encouraged. Their arms were rigid, weapons braced against one another in what looked clear to be a stalemate but Jamie’s arms were shaking badly. Her eyes stayed on his left hand, wrapped in the special compression brace she had fashioned together and which Jamie had faithfully worn everyday since they had left the Abbey.

“Christ, man, I canna do it,” Jamie responded as sweat broke out along his forehead. Claire watched as his knees buckled and he fought to remain engaged in the fight.

“Ye ken how to get out of this, lad, so do it,” Murtagh reminded him. Jamie gave a mighty heave and twisted his body forcing the steel to disengage and readjusting his stance.  The motions of thrust and parry went on for a few minutes more, but Jamie's body remained with its back turned to her.

Suddenly the two men laughed, patted one another on the back and Jamie threw down his weapon, reaching for a bottle of ale resting in the grass at his feet.  She watched, quite startled, as Murtagh shouted then appeared to take a run at the crowd of onlookers that had stopped to gawk at their games. Claire ducked back into the shadows, fearing detection. She didn’t dare move and kept her eyes glued on Murtagh, willing him to stay away from her hiding spot. She held her breath as she watched him retreat back to the hillside to rejoin Jamie. As Murtagh knelt down, Claire caught her first direct view of Jamie’s face and gasped, the sound echoing loudly in the cocoon of her shelter.

He looked good - Jesus-H.-Make-Mine-A-Double-Christ! - better than good. He thrummed with the vitality and self-confidence of a man in his prime. His eyes had lost that haunted aspect that had marked their time in the Abbey and sparkled with amusement at something Murtagh said. His body was sound. She noted that his arm was still tucked up tight to his chest, the fingers splayed and unbending, but that was the only outward sign of his ordeal. Then he smiled and she forgot how to breathe.

Over the years, Claire had forgotten that for all that Paris had been rife with sorrow it had also been the place of Jamie’s rebirth, his healing and in many ways the place of his making. Observing him now, she could see what she’d not noticed, then.

Gone was that impulsive, young man she’d wed. The one who cheerfully told her he hadn’t much to offer a wife, but promised to keep her fed.  As if the only barometer for universal happiness - marital or otherwise - was a full stomach. Given his age and lack of experience with courtship, he’d  likely thought that to be true.

In his place now stood a man who had walked through the very heart of darkness and survived. It had been touch and go and it had taken months and, Claire realized now, it had taken this city - and a chance to test himself by swimming in unfamiliar - if not shark infested - waters that had become his proving ground. Jamie relearned the way of himself and that had allowed them to forge a deeper connection, one that had stayed in tact all these years.

The phrase “egghead and lard bucket” carried on the breeze followed by a “curiously large head” and then she heard the sound of his laugh and she caught a look at his face as his head turned with a smile as bright as the sun.

Tears sprung from her eyes and she pressed her fingers tight against her lips to keep from crying out. Christ, I hope he knew how much I loved him,  that in my restlessness and grief I hope I told him that much, at least. Quite unable to look at Jamie without continuing to fall apart, Claire turned her gaze instead to his companion. He was, per usual, scowling as he kept up a grumbling commentary regarding the olfactory delights of France.

Claire wanted to give him a hug and never let him go. Thank you, thank you, thank you! For being his godfather, for always taking care of him. God, may he be safe, wherever he may be. She prayed. She hoped they would find him one day, that she’d be able to tell him herself how dear he was to them.

As if Jamie had heard her thoughts, he said, “Did I ever thank ye, Murtagh?” Jamie was looking out over the long expanse of high society on parade in the park and not at Murtagh.

“What for?” Murtagh squirmed uncomfortably. Jamie made a scoffing sound. What, indeed.

“For my life? for Claire’s? For our child’s?” Jamie said softly, looking at Murtagh now with an expression of unabashed gratitude. “Willie - afore we left the Abbey - said Dougal  didn't want them to go to Wentworth but ye convinced the rest to join ye.”  

Murtagh scoffed. “Twasna me, yer lady, she did all that,” he said pausing a moment. “Do ye ken we spent weeks searching for ye?”

“What?” Jamie’s eyes widened in astonishment.

“Och, aye, up and doon the coast. I danced,” Murtagh gave him a shaggy browed wiggle when Jamie laughed, “Aye, that’s about what it was like, But Claire, ye should ha’ seen her, man. We tried everything we could ta talk to as many as we could hoping word would spread and ye’d pick up our trail as yer had gone cold about four days after Ian came limping back to Lallybroch. She told fortunes and did the doctoring and when that didna work she wrote songs and joined me on the stage.”

“My Sassenach?” Jamie’s eyes had gone huge. Claire bit the inside of her lip it was difficult for her to imagine it, too, and she’d been there!

“Och, aye, a bonnie-wee-lark is yer woman and stubborn as the day is long, forebye. When we discovered a band of Roma had stolen her song and was driving our crowds away by using it, there was a stramash the likes of which I’ve never seen. When Dougal was inclined no’ to be generous, she did the same to him and it was she that got the lads to agree wi’ that mad scheme.” What Murtagh hadn’t said was that the mad scheme in question, using the coos as a diversion had been his clever idea, but somehow Jamie knew that.

Jamie placed his hand on Murtagh’s shoulder, “As I said, I owe ye much, goistidh.”

���Jamie, ye are as a son to me. I dinna say it often but ye ken my heart.” Murtagh said so quietly Claire had to hold her breath to catch the words. “How are ye doing? Tell me the truth.” Murtagh’s steady gaze stayed on Jamie’s face. For the first time, Jamie looked uncomfortable in his own skin.

“During the day, I’m fine, dinna think of . . . it, hardly at all,” Jamie told him. “Most nights I’m alright as well. I’m no’ overly fond of cavortin’ with the prince, that poppinjay's bannocks arena quite baked all the way through, if ye ask me and spending time wi’ him is tedious, but sometimes it’s . . . easier to be out wi’ him than home.” Jamie sat heavily on his bum and leaned a shoulder into Murtagh’s.

Claire thought about leaving. This was getting far too personal and her throat felt like she’d swallowed broken shards of misery. “She still looks at me as she did before, makes me feel like I hung the moon for her alone and I . . . canna say what it does to my soul to see her shape change day by day wi’ the bairn. God, she deserves so much more than I can give her. It’s still mixed up for me, Claire and Randall and it’s no’ her fault, but mine. I canna get my mind clear. Yet whenever she is near I ache to . . .” The rest of what he said was lost on the wind, his face had turned away from Claire and Murtagh. She saw Murtagh bend his head and could catch a murmuring response but nothing distinctive.  

“Do you think she kens?” Jamie’s face was turned back in her direction and Claire felt lightheaded as she focused on the tender expression in his eyes.

I do, Jamie. Never doubt that. Claire thought as her body started to fly. She sighed in relief and didn’t fight it.

When she came to, she felt the chill in the crisp November air at once and knew she’d returned to the Cemetery of the Angels. She took a few breaths waiting for the dizziness to clear then slowly got to her feet. With enormous relief she spotted her basket leaning against a small stone. She reached inside and pulled the precious bundle of tulips from the bottom of the sack. Still fresh, telling her that not too much time had passed.  

Claire reoriented herself and walked toward Faith’s stone.  She caught a wink of color that defined itself as she moved closer. Her heart tightened like a vice in her chest. A posy of violets, their beautiful deep purple vivid against that cold gray stone, set precisely between the words Faith and Fraser.

But I am not the man you knew these twenty years past. His words to her upon their reunion echoed in her mind. No, she thought, you are so much more. And with a shaky hand, Claire lay her tulips on top of his, their offerings forming a cross.  

Jamie looked up from the scratching of his quill with quiet satisfaction, always pleased when he could get a sentence to go clear across the page neatly, as Claire bustled through the door to their room. “Ach, there ye are, Sassenach, I was just wondering how ye faired wi’ the-” Jamie let out an Eep! of surprise as her body slammed into his, locking him in a full body kiss.

His lips asked questions she wouldn’t answer and he decided to curb his curiosity. She was in a terrible rush to get his shirt off and when she started unlacing his breeks, he responded on an elemental level to the raw desperation of her desire, helping her get her own shirt and then her stays off in short order.

He attempted to stand, to lay her out on the bed and love her properly, but she placed her hands on his shoulders and held him rooted to the chair with a strangled sound that tried for English but emerged as feral.  

“What is it, love?” Jamie crooned softly, “Tell me, my own.” He grabbed her hair in a ponytail and yanked it back hard, forcing her to look him in the eye, at last. He stared at her, refusing to look away or let her do so, either.

Her lips were sunkissed and swollen. She looked like she’d been crying. He bent his mouth and flicked his tongue over the valley between her breasts, tang and salt, outside the contoured trail of his lips he could see her skin covered in grime, evidence of the kind of day she’d had.

He inhaled deeply, thinking how he could maneuver his body lower to further the explorations of his mouth when his brain registered something unexpected. He bent his head again and sniffed, casual at first then picking up more steam, like a pig rooting out a truffle. His nose never failed him. After a minute or so he looked up at her.

“Ye care to tell me why ye smell like new cut grass and it’s November?”

“I saw you this afternoon.” Claire said by way of an explanation, which he’d noticed provided no answer at all.

“And ye didna call out to me?” Jamie’s eyebrows rose trying to figure out where their paths might have intersected on their respective errands. He wondered if maybe she’d gone to see Faith, too? But if so, why did she not say anything?

He knew she’d been uneasy ever since learning of Laoghaire but it had been Ian’s abduction - while trying to bring back the treasure they needed to be free of her - that had opened this particular chasm between them. All of the challenges of living then, to say nothing of its dangers, death and disease, floated across her face as she sat beside him trying to soothe him with reassuring words, while he - useless, helpless man that he was - sat on that hill staring into the gloam long after Ian’s ship had slipped over the horizon - still shaking his head in disbelief.  

Finally, she adjusted his sling and urged him to action. Before setting sail for France, he offered to take her back to Craigh Na Dun. He had to force the words from his lips and his heart hammered in terror waiting for her response. The fact that his suggestion had not been greeted with the kind of shocked protestation he had prayed to hear but more of a “Focus on Ian, we’ll talk of this later,” came back into his memory now.

He should have told her what he had planned that afternoon and asked her to come, too. But when they arose, she’d barely touched their meal, kept fiddling with her basket, pulling out all her wee notations regarding needed supplies for the ship’s surgery. He tried to broach it a couple of times but Claire wouldn’t make eye contact with him and he found he didn’t have the courage to bring it up and risk her upset. If she’d not mentioned it, then he shouldn’t call it to mind, either. They were back to keeping secrets from one another.

Jamie could bear anything in this world except being parted from her again, but the moment his fingers traced the faded letters of Faith’s name, he knew he’d made a terrible mistake and wished he’d spoken of it first thing this morning. When he returned to an empty room, her absence nearly drove him mad.  Her instant need of him upon her return was a much needed balm on his anxious heart.

Claire gave him a shake of the head and a brave little smile that let him know she hadn’t meant she’d seen him today but something else.

“Oh?” He ventured cautiously. He knew what she was and he’d seen it happen a number of times but that was then and it hadn’t happened since she’d been back.

“In the Jardins des plantes,” her gaze was steady but he saw the flicker of deep emotion inside her. It had been over two decades since he’d last been in that park. His mind raced to try and figure out what she needed him to say.  

He finally settled on, “Had ye been back in Paris before today?”

“No!” Claire genuinely seemed horrified at the thought. “I haven’t set foot in France since 1743, and I never intended to do so in my lifetime again. You remember how it works?” She was watching him and when he hesitatingly nodded, she continued, “I can only travel a short distance . . . er . . . geographically speaking, that is, and my actions can’t change what has already happened.”

“Did ye see yerself, then?” Jamie asked her but he didn’t seem as upset as she would’ve thought. As if reading her mind he added, “God, I’d love to see ye round and fat in yer silk and lace again, Sassenach.”

“No, I told you, I saw you . . . oh, and Murtagh.”  

Jamie made an affirmative noise in the back of his throat. “Ye ken, Paris wouldna ha’ been the same wi’ his sunny countenance.”

“Oh, stop, Murtagh is a great travel companion!” Claire laughed.

“Aye, and no one I’d rather have guarding my back. It was an act of grace, seeing that face, wearing gray whiskers and rags, at Ardsmuir. It felt good to be the one caring for him for once. I hope we can find him again, Sassenach and bring him home.”  

“That would be wonderful.”

“Tell me what happened today,” he encouraged.

“I spent the last twenty years not going to the places we shared.  To find myself in Paris, then?” Claire shuddered. “To run into myself and to know? I might have tried to forewarn but then I would have condemned myself dreading new day fearing what would come instead of savoring every day to come. Knowing the future hasn’t helped us avert disaster so far.”

“So ye didna want to run into anyone ye knew and ended up in the park?” Jamie surmised.

“Yes, indeed. Imagine my surprise when I realized you were just on the other side of the willow tree that shielded me from your view. You were so young, Jamie. Full of grace and in great spirits. Murtagh brings out a very playful side of you. I’d forgotten how much fun you had with each other. Then, watching you, I realized how much we had enjoyed being here. All the wonderful things we had found here, too. We were part of history, something so much bigger than ourselves. It was thrilling and full of grand possibilities. I look back on our lives here and can’t believe that was us, at Versailles, dining with the prince, so much beauty and luxury.”

At this Jamie snorted, “Aye, too bad the two of us are more at home in a tent on the moor than in a mansion wi’ servants.”

“That’s true, but I still appreciate everything Jared did for us - and is still willing to do for us. Being here set me on the path to becoming a doctor and helped by giving you a different kind of purpose.” Jamie nodded and Claire continued, “It was here we found Fergus.” Jamie smiled in memory. “Nothing turned out like we’d hoped in Paris but it had been magical and after today, I can look back on it and remember it that way.”

“Swords, was it?” Jamie beamed when he heard her sigh lustily.

“Jamie you looked . . .” Words failed her, she had no other way to tell him but to show him, kissing him passionately with an explosion of soft mewling noises he found deeply gratifying, if only because they echoed the ones she was drawing from his lips.

Jamie let himself be diverted for a good long while. Claire hadn’t responded to his physical presence like this since they were in Edinburgh and he was mightily roused by her reaction. Yet, just as she was about to get completely carried away, he pushed her body back and looked searchingly at her.

“Claire?” he began, and she looked dazed, her cheeks pink from exertion. “Was it . . . that is, I dinna want to make assumptions about how yer feeling nor imply that ye should feel--” it was his turn for pinkened cheeks now.

“Jamie,” Claire held her hand out to him,”Just say it, whatever it is. Trust that I will listen with my heart and try and understand. When things go unsaid . . . that's when trouble starts for us, I think.”  

Jamie nodded and started over, “I ken why ye couldna bear to . . . I dinna blame ye one bit. But I think maybe yer fretting about making that choice - no’ for yerself or me, but for her sake.” Seeing her stunned expression, Jamie started second guessing himself, but he'd gone this far, he needed to finish. “Will ye maybe find some . . . comfort in knowing she wasna alone today? I was wi’ her, brought her a wee posy, told her how much we both love and miss her; asked her to watch o’er her little sister for us. If she’s anything like Jenny, she’ll have been doing it all along.”

“Oh, Jamie,” Claire bit her bottom lip hard willing herself not to burst into tears. How did he manage to cut her wide open and then cauterize the wound in less than five sentences? “I saw your violets when I brought her tulips. That’s where was. I awoke in the cemetery, but her grave wasn’t there.”

“Christ, Claire.” Jamie’s eyes swam with unshed tears. The second Claire reached her hand to his cheek, they spilled over, across her fingers, leaking down the back of her hand.

“I’ve needed to say something to you since Edinburgh, no, it’s not supposed to make you cry harder,” Claire gave him a sobbing hiccup, “You are, and have always been, a wonderful father, Jamie. I never told you that and I should have. I couldn’t think of anything more important than returning to you to make sure you knew it. Thank you, for giving them to me and for keeping our family together.”

“Ye thought that wouldna make me cry? Jesus, Claire, what ye do to me,” he said into her ear as he crushed her to him.

Sometime later, on the edge of sleep, he whispered, “Yer wrong though, Sassenach.”

“Hmmm?” she said in drowsy reply.

“Knowing the future did help. A great deal. Kept Jenny and the bairns alive, kept me from being hanged. It’s maybe true for the big things ye canna change time, for its stubborn and fights back. But in hundreds of small ways, it mattered. Hearing ye speak of our adventures worries me some, though. Do ye think ye can be content once we have Ian in hand just living a quiet life wi’ me in a highland croft?” It was said in a flirty tone but Claire heard the anxiety underneath.

“Yes, but don’t count the chickens in your kale yard just yet, life may have more surprises in store, General Fraser.”  

[1-800-444-tune]

Demonology + Witchcraft🀄♠

Introduction

Part 1 or I , and the other volumes will be posted at a later date, each separately. (Enjoy)😆

To find my copy of Demonology......

so you are going to want to search tags that I use if you're looking for it. Or just follow me, that's easier.

Letters written in the 1800's have resurfaced and are being preserved by some very highly spiritually invested peoples; I own a copy and the rights to distribute this material as long as I am within the very strict guidelines agreement I signed with this website that is helping to distribute and preserve older historical witchcraft or paranormal and spiritual writings that are not related to The Holy Bible. At all! Lol. Anyways, I have been wondering for quite some time how to approach the problem of having a very looooong post; so this will be the introduction and partial of...

Letter 1: by Sir Walter Scott

With an Introduction, By: Henry Morely

Professor of Literature @ London University College ; London, UK.

demonstrates to all men, except the few who are hardened to the celestial voice, that there is within us a portion of the divine substance, which is not subject to the law of death and dissolution, but which, when the body is no longer fit for its abode, shall seek its own place, as a sentinel dismissed from his post. Unaided by revelation, it cannot be hoped that mere earthly reason should be able to form any rational or precise conjecture concerning the destination of the soul when parted from the body; but the conviction that such an indestructible essence exists, the belief expressed by the poet in a different sense, Non omnis moriar must infer the existence of many millions of spirits who have not been annihilated, though they have become invisible to mortals who still see, hear, and perceive, only by means of the imperfect organs of humanity. Probability may lead some of the most reflecting to anticipate a state of future rewards and punishments; as those experienced in the education of the deaf and dumb find that their pupils, even while cut off from all instruction by ordinary means, have been able to form, out of their own unassisted conjectures, some ideas of the existence of a Deity, and of the distinction between the soul and body—a circumstance which proves how naturally these truths arise in the human mind. The principle that they do so arise, being taught or communicated, leads to further conclusions.

These spirits, in a state of separate existence, being admitted to exist, are not, it may be supposed, indifferent to the affairs of mortality, perhaps not incapable of influencing them. It is true that, in a more advanced state of society, the philosopher may challenge the possibility of a separate appearance of a disembodied spirit, unless in the case of a direct miracle, to which, being a suspension of the laws of nature, directly wrought by the Maker of these laws, for some express purpose, no bound or restraint can possibly be assigned. But under this necessary limitation and exception, philosophers might plausibly argue that, when the soul is divorced from the body, it loses all those qualities which made it, when clothed with a mortal shape, obvious to the organs of its fellow-men. The abstract idea of a spirit certainly implies that it has neither substance, form, shape, voice, or anything which can render its presence visible or sensible to human faculties. But these sceptic doubts of philosophers on the possibility of the appearance of such separated spirits, do not arise till a certain degree of information has dawned upon a country, and even then only reach a very small proportion of reflecting and better-informed members of society. To the multitude, the indubitable fact, that so many millions of spirits exist around and even amongst us, seems sufficient to support the belief that they are, in certain instances at least, by some means or other, able to communicate with the world of humanity. The more numerous part of mankind cannot form in their mind the idea of the spirit of the deceased existing, without possessing or having the power to assume the appearance which their acquaintance bore during his life, and do not push their researches beyond this point.

🔮🕯🕯🕯🕎

Enthusiastic feelings of an impressive and solemn nature occur both in private and public life, which seem to add ocular testimony to an intercourse betwixt earth and the world beyond it. For example, the son who has been lately deprived of his father feels a sudden crisis approach, in which he is anxious to have recourse to his sagacious advice—or a bereaved husband earnestly desires again to behold the form of which the grave has deprived him for ever—or, to use a darker yet very common instance, the wretched man who has dipped his hand in his fellow-creature's blood, is haunted by the apprehension that the phantom of the slain stands by the bedside of his murderer. In all or any of these cases, who shall doubt that imagination, favoured by circumstances, has power to summon up to the organ of sight, spectres which only exist in the mind of those by whom their apparition seems to be witnessed?

If we add, that such a vision may take place in the course of one of those lively dreams in which the patient, except in respect to the single subject of one strong impression, is, or seems, sensible of the real particulars of the scene around him, a state of slumber which often occurs; if he is so far conscious, for example, as to know that he is lying on his own bed, and surrounded by his own familiar furniture at the time when the supposed apparition is manifested, it becomes almost in vain to argue with the visionary against the reality of his dream, since the spectre, though itself purely fanciful, is inserted amidst so many circumstances which he feels must be true beyond the reach of doubt or question. That which is undeniably certain becomes, in a manner, a warrant for the reality of the appearance to which doubt would have been otherwise attached. And if any event, such as the death of the person dreamt of, chances to take place, so as to correspond with the nature and the time of the apparition, the coincidence, though one which must be frequent, since our dreams usually refer to the accomplishment of that which haunts our minds when awake, and often presage the most probable events, seems perfect, and the chain of circumstances touching the evidence may not unreasonably be considered as complete. Such a concatenation, we repeat, must frequently take place, when it is considered of what stuff dreams are made—how naturally they turn upon those who occupy our mind while awake, and, when a soldier is exposed to death in battle, when a sailor is incurring the dangers of the sea, when a beloved wife or relative is attacked by disease, how readily our sleeping imagination rushes to the very point of alarm, which when waking it had shuddered to anticipate. The number of instances in which such lively dreams have been quoted, and both asserted and received as spiritual communications, is very great at all periods; in ignorant times, where the natural cause of dreaming is misapprehended and confused with an idea of mysticism, it is much greater. Yet, perhaps, considering the many thousands of dreams which must, night after night, pass through the imagination of individuals, the number of coincidences between the vision and real event are fewer and less remarkable than a fair calculation of chances would warrant us to expect. But in countries where such presaging dreams are subjects of attention, the number of those which seemed to be coupled with the corresponding issue, is large enough to spread a very general belief of a positive communication betwixt the living and the dead.

Somnambulism and other nocturnal deceptions frequently lend their aid to the formation of such phantasmata as are formed in this middle state, betwixt sleeping and waking. A most respectable person, whose active life had been spent as master and part owner of a large merchant vessel in the Lisbon trade, gave the writer an account of such an instance which came under his observation. He was lying in the Tagus, when he was put to great anxiety and alarm by the following incident and its consequences. One of his crew was murdered by a Portuguese assassin, and a report arose that the ghost of the slain man haunted the vessel. Sailors are generally superstitious, and those of my friend's vessel became unwilling to remain on board the ship; and it was probable they might desert rather then return to England with the ghost for a passenger. To prevent so great a calamity, the captain determined to examine the story to the bottom. He soon found that, though all pretended to have seen lights and heard noises, and so forth, the weight of the evidence lay upon the statement of one of his own mates, an Irishman and a Catholic, which might increase his tendency to superstition, but in other respects a veracious, honest, and sensible person, whom Captain ——had no reason to suspect would wilfully deceive him. He affirmed to Captain S—— with the deepest obtestations, that the spectre of the murdered man appeared to him almost nightly, took him from his place in the vessel, and, according to his own expression, worried his life out. He made these communications with a degree of horror which intimated the reality of his distress and apprehensions. The captain, without any argument at the time, privately resolved to watch the motions of the ghost-seer in the night; whether alone, or with a witness, I have forgotten. As the ship bell struck twelve, the sleeper started up, with a ghastly and disturbed countenance, and lighting a candle, proceeded to the galley or cook-room of the vessel. He sate down with his eyes open, staring before him as on some terrible object which he beheld with horror, yet from which he could not withhold his eyes. After a short space he arose, took up a tin can or decanter, filled it with water, muttering to himself all the while—mixed salt in the water, and sprinkled it about the galley. Finally, he sighed deeply, like one relieved from a heavy burden, and, returning to his hammock, slept soundly. In the next morning the haunted man told the usual precise story of his apparition, with the additional circumstances, that the ghost had led him to the galley, but that he had fortunately, he knew not how, obtained possession of some holy water, and succeeded in getting rid of his unwelcome visitor. The visionary was then informed of the real transactions of the night, with so many particulars as to satisfy him he had been the dupe of his imagination; he acquiesced in his commander's reasoning, and the dream, as often happens in these cases, returned no more after its imposture had been detected. In this case, we find the excited imagination acting upon the half-waking senses, which were intelligent enough for the purpose of making him sensible where he was, but not sufficiently so to judge truly of the objects before him.

But it is not only private life alone, or that tenor of thought which has been depressed into melancholy by gloomy anticipations respecting the future, which disposes the mind to mid-day fantasies, or to nightly apparitions—a state of eager anxiety, or excited exertion, is equally favourable to the indulgence of such supernatural communications. The anticipation of a dubious battle, with all the doubt and uncertainty of its event, and the conviction that it must involve his own fate and that of his country, was powerful enough to conjure up to the anxious eye of Brutus the spectre of his murdered friend Cæsar, respecting whose death he perhaps thought himself less justified than at the Ides of March, since, instead of having achieved the freedom of Rome, the event had only been the renewal of civil wars, and the issue might appear most likely to conclude in the total subjection of liberty. It is not miraculous that the masculine spirit of Marcus Brutus, surrounded by darkness and solitude, distracted probably by recollection of the kindness and favour of the great individual whom he had put to death to avenge the wrongs of his country, though by the slaughter of his own friend, should at length place before his eyes in person the appearance which termed itself his evil genius, and promised again to meet him at Philippi. Brutus' own intentions, and his knowledge of the military art, had probably long since assured him that the decision of the civil war must take place at or near that place; and, allowing that his own imagination supplied that part of his dialogue with the spectre, there is nothing else which might not be fashioned in a vivid dream or a waking reverie, approaching, in absorbing and engrossing character, the usual matter of which dreams consist. That Brutus, well acquainted with the opinions of the Platonists, should be disposed to receive without doubt the idea that he had seen a real apparition, and was not likely to scrutinize very minutely the supposed vision, may be naturally conceived; and it is also natural to think, that although no one saw the figure but himself, his contemporaries were little disposed to examine the testimony of a man so eminent, by the strict rules of cross-examination and conflicting evidence, which they might have thought applicable to another person, and a less dignified occasion.

Even in the field of death, and amid the mortal tug of combat itself, strong belief has wrought the same wonder, which we have hitherto mentioned as occurring in solitude and amid darkness; and those who were themselves on the verge of the world of spirits, or employed in dispatching others to these gloomy regions, conceived they beheld the apparitions of those beings whom their national mythology associated with such scenes. In such moments of undecided battle, amid the violence, hurry, and confusion of ideas incident to the situation, the ancients supposed that they saw their deities, Castor and Pollux, fighting in the van for their encouragement; the heathen Scandinavian beheld the Choosers of the slain; and the Catholics were no less easily led to recognize the warlike Saint George or Saint James in the very front of the strife, showing them the way to conquest. Such apparitions being generally visible to a multitude, have in all times been supported by the greatest strength of testimony. When the common feeling of danger, and the animating burst of enthusiasm, act on the feelings of many men at once, their minds hold a natural correspondence with each other, as it is said is the case with stringed instruments tuned to the same pitch, of which, when one is played, the chords of the others are supposed to vibrate in unison with the tones produced. If an artful or enthusiastic individual exclaims, in the heat of action, that he perceives an apparition of the romantic kind which has been intimated, his companions catch at the idea with emulation, and most are willing to sacrifice the conviction of their own senses, rather than allow that they did not witness the same favourable emblem, from which all draw confidence and hope. One warrior catches the idea from another; all are alike eager to acknowledge the present miracle, and the battle is won before the mistake is discovered. In such cases, the number of persons present, which would otherwise lead to detection of the fallacy, becomes the means of strengthening it.

Of this disposition, to see as much of the supernatural as is seen by others around, or, in other words, to trust to the eyes of others rather than to our own, we may take the liberty to quote two remarkable instances.

The first is from the "Historia Verdadera" of Don Bernal Dias del Castillo, one of the companions of the celebrated Cortez in his Mexican conquest. After having given an account of a great victory over extreme odds, he mentions the report inserted in the contemporary Chronicle of Gomara, that Saint Iago had appeared on a white horse in van of the combat, and led on his beloved Spaniards to victory. It is very curious to observe the Castilian cavalier's internal conviction that the rumour arose out of a mistake, the cause of which he explains from his own observation; whilst, at the same time, he does not venture to disown the miracle. The honest Conquestador owns that he himself did not see this animating vision; nay, that he beheld an individual cavalier, named Francisco de Morla, mounted on a chestnut horse, and fighting strenuously in the very place where Saint James is said to have appeared. But instead of proceeding to draw the necessary inference, the devout Conquestador exclaims—"Sinner that I am, what am I that I should have beheld the blessed apostle!"

The other instance of the infectious character of superstition occurs in a Scottish book, and there can be little doubt that it refers, in its first origin, to some uncommon appearance of the aurora borealis, or the northern lights, which do not appear to have been seen in Scotland so frequently as to be accounted a common and familiar atmospherical phenomenon, until the beginning of the eighteenth century. The passage is striking and curious, for the narrator, Peter Walker, though an enthusiast, was a man of credit, and does not even affect to have seen the wonders, the reality of which he unscrupulously adopts on the testimony of others, to whose eyes he trusted rather than to his own. The conversion of the sceptical gentleman of whom he speaks is highly illustrative of popular credulity carried away into enthusiasm, or into imposture, by the evidence of those around, and at once shows the imperfection of such a general testimony, and the ease with which it is procured, since the general excitement of the moment impels even the more cold-blooded and judicious persons present to catch up the ideas and echo the exclamations of the majority, who, from the first, had considered the heavenly phenomenon as a supernatural weapon-schaw, held for the purpose of a sign and warning of civil wars to come.

"In the year 1686, in the months of June and July," says the honest chronicler, "many yet alive can witness that about the Crossford Boat, two miles beneath Lanark, especially at the Mains, on the water of Clyde, many people gathered together for several afternoons, where there were showers of bonnets, hats, guns, and swords, which covered the trees and the ground; companies of men in arms marching in order upon the waterside; companies meeting companies, going all through other, and then all falling to the ground and disappearing; other companies immediately appeared, marching the same way. I went there three afternoons together, and, as I observed, there were two-thirds of the people that were together saw, and a third that saw not; and, though I could see nothing, there was such a fright and trembling on those that did see, that was discernible to all from those that saw not. There was a gentleman standing next to me who spoke as too many gentlemen and others speak, who said, 'A pack of damned witches and warlocks that have the second sight! the devil ha't do I see;' and immediately there was a discernible change in his countenance. With as much fear and trembling as any woman I saw there, he called out, 'All you that do not see, say nothing; for I persuade you it is matter of fact, and discernible to all that is not stone-blind.' And those who did see told what works (i.e., locks) the guns had, and their length and wideness, and what handles the swords had, whether small or three-barr'd, or Highland guards, and the closing knots of the bonnets, black or blue; and those who did see them there, whenever they went abroad, saw a bonnet and a sword drop in the way."[1]

[Footnote 1: Walker's "Lives," Edinburgh, 1827, vol. i. p. xxxvi. It is evident that honest Peter believed in the apparition of this martial gear on the principle of Partridge's terror for the ghost of Hamlet—not that he was afraid himself, but because Garrick showed such evident marks of terror.]

This singular phenomenon, in which a multitude believed, although only two-thirds of them saw what must, if real, have been equally obvious to all, may be compared with the exploit of the humourist, who planted himself in an attitude of astonishment, with his eyes riveted on the well-known bronze lion that graces the front of Northumberland House in the Strand, and having attracted the attention of those who looked at him by muttering, "By heaven it wags! it wags again!" contrived in a few minutes to blockade the whole street with an immense crowd, some conceiving that they had absolutely seen the lion of Percy wag his tail, others expecting' to witness the same phenomenon.

On such occasions as we have hitherto mentioned, we have supposed that the ghost-seer has been in full possession of his ordinary powers of perception, unless in the case of dreamers, in whom they may have been obscured by temporary slumber, and the possibility of correcting vagaries of the imagination rendered more difficult by want of the ordinary appeal to the evidence of the bodily senses. In other respects their blood beat temperately, they possessed the ordinary capacity of ascertaining the truth or discerning the falsehood of external appearances by an appeal to the organ of sight. Unfortunately, however, as is now universally known and admitted, there certainly exists more than one disorder known to professional men of which one important symptom is a disposition to see apparitions.

This frightful disorder is not properly insanity, although it is somewhat allied to that most horrible of maladies, and may, in many constitutions, be the means of bringing it on, and although such hallucinations are proper to both. The difference I conceive to be that, in cases of insanity, the mind of the patient is principally affected, while the senses, or organic system, offer in vain to the lunatic their decided testimony against the fantasy of a deranged imagination. Perhaps the nature of this collision—between a disturbed imagination and organs of sense possessed of their usual accuracy—cannot be better described than in the embarrassment expressed by an insane patient confined in the Infirmary of Edinburgh. The poor man's malady had taken a gay turn. The house, in his idea, was his own, and he contrived to account for all that seemed inconsistent with his imaginary right of property—there were many patients in it, but that was owing to the benevolence of his nature, which made him love to see the relief of distress. He went little, or rather never abroad—but then his habits were of a domestic and rather sedentary character. He did not see much company—but he daily received visits from the first characters in the renowned medical school of this city, and he could not therefore be much in want of society. With so many supposed comforts around him—with so many visions of wealth and splendour—one thing alone disturbed the peace of the poor optimist, and would indeed have confounded most bons vivants. "He was curious," he said, "in his table, choice in his selection of cooks, had every day a dinner of three regular courses and a dessert; and yet, somehow or other, everything he eat tasted of porridge." This dilemma could be no great wonder to the friend to whom the poor patient communicated it, who knew the lunatic eat nothing but this simple aliment at any of his meals. The case was obvious. The disease lay in the extreme vivacity of the patient's imagination, deluded in other instances, yet not absolutely powerful enough to contend with the honest evidence of his stomach and palate, which, like Lord Peter's brethren in "The Tale of a Tub," were indignant at the attempt to impose boiled oatmeal upon them, instead of such a banquet as Ude would have displayed when peers were to partake of it. Here, therefore, is one instance of actual insanity, in which the sense of taste controlled and attempted to restrain the ideal hypothesis adopted by a deranged imagination. But the disorder to which I previously alluded is entirely of a bodily character, and consists principally in a disease of the visual organs, which present to the patient a set of spectres or appearances which have no actual existence. It is a disease of the same nature which renders many men incapable of distinguishing colours; only the patients go a step further, and pervert the external form of objects. In their case, therefore, contrary to that of the maniac, it is not the mind, or rather the imagination, which imposes upon and overpowers the evidence of the senses, but the sense of seeing (or hearing) which betrays its duty and conveys false ideas to a sane intellect.

More than one learned physician, who have given their attestations to the existence of this most distressing complaint, have agreed that it actually occurs, and is occasioned by different causes. The most frequent source of the malady is in the dissipated and intemperate habits of those who, by a continued series of intoxication, become subject to what is popularly called the Blue Devils, instances of which mental disorder may be known to most who have lived for any period of their lives in society where hard drinking was a common vice. The joyous visions suggested by intoxication when the habit is first acquired, in time disappear, and are supplied by frightful impressions and scenes, which destroy the tranquillity of the unhappy debauchee. Apparitions of the most unpleasant appearance are his companions in solitude, and intrude even upon his hours of society: and when by an alteration of habits, the mind is cleared of these frightful ideas, it requires but the slightest renewal of the association to bring back the full tide of misery upon the repentant libertine.

Of this the following instance was told to the author by a gentleman connected with the sufferer. A young man of fortune, who had led what is called so gay a life as considerably to injure both his health and fortune, was at length obliged to consult the physician upon the means of restoring, at least, the former. One of his principal complaints was the frequent presence of a set of apparitions, resembling a band of figures dressed in green, who performed in his drawing-room a singular dance, to which he was compelled to bear witness, though he knew, to his great annoyance, that the whole corps de ballet existed only in his own imagination. His physician immediately informed him that he had lived upon town too long and too fast not to require an exchange to a more healthy and natural course of life. He therefore prescribed a gentle course of medicine, but earnestly recommended to his patient to retire to his own house in the country, observe a temperate diet and early hours, practising regular exercise, on the same principle avoiding fatigue, and assured him that by doing so he might bid adieu to black spirits and white, blue, green, and grey, with all their trumpery. The patient observed the advice, and prospered. His physician, after the interval of a month, received a grateful letter from him, acknowledging the success of his regimen. The greens goblins had disappeared, and with them the unpleasant train of emotions to which their visits had given rise, and the patient had ordered his town-house to be disfurnished and sold, while the furniture was to be sent down to his residence in the country, where he was determined in future to spend his life, without exposing himself to the temptations of town. One would have supposed this a well-devised scheme for health. But, alas! no sooner had the furniture of the London drawing-room been placed in order in the gallery of the old manor-house, than the former delusion returned in full force: the green figurantés, whom the patient's depraved imagination had so long associated with these moveables, came capering and frisking to accompany them, exclaiming with great glee, as if the sufferer should have been rejoiced to see them, "Here we all are—here we all are!" The visionary, if I recollect right, was so much shocked at their appearance, that he retired abroad, in despair that any part of Britain could shelter him from the daily persecution of this domestic ballet.

There is reason to believe that such cases are numerous, and that they may perhaps arise not only from the debility of stomach brought on by excess in wine or spirits, which derangement often sensibly affects the eyes and sense of sight, but also because the mind becomes habitually predominated over by a train of fantastic visions, the consequence of frequent intoxication; and is thus, like a dislocated joint, apt again to go wrong, even when a different cause occasions the derangement.

It is easy to be supposed that habitual excitement by means of any other intoxicating drug, as opium, or its various substitutes, must expose those who practise the dangerous custom to the same inconvenience. Very frequent use of the nitrous oxide which affects the senses so strongly, and produces a short but singular state of ecstasy, would probably be found to occasion this species of disorder. But there are many other causes which medical men find attended with the same symptom, of embodying before the eyes of a patient imaginary illusions which are visible to no one else. This persecution of spectral deceptions is also found to exist when no excesses of the patient can be alleged as the cause, owing, doubtless, to a deranged state of the blood or nervous system.

The learned and acute Dr. Ferriar of Manchester was the first who brought before the English public the leading case, as it may be called, in this department, namely, that of Mons. Nicolai, the celebrated bookseller of Berlin. This gentleman was not a man merely of books, but of letters, and had the moral courage to lay before the Philosophical Society of Berlin an account of his own sufferings, from having been, by disease, subjected to a series of spectral illusions. The leading circumstances of this case may be stated very shortly, as it has been repeatedly before the public, and is insisted on by Dr. Ferriar, Dr. Hibbert, and others who have assumed Demonology as a subject. Nicolai traces his illness remotely to a series of disagreeable incidents which had happened to him in the beginning of the year 1791. The depression of spirits which was occasioned by these unpleasant occurrences, was aided by the consequences of neglecting a course of periodical bleeding which he had been accustomed to observe. This state of health brought on the disposition to see phantasmata, who visited, or it may be more properly said frequented, the apartments of the learned bookseller, presenting crowds of persons who moved and acted before him, nay, even spoke to and addressed him. These phantoms afforded nothing unpleasant to the imagination of the visionary either in sight or expression, and the patient was possessed of too much firmness to be otherwise affected by their presence than with a species of curiosity, as he remained convinced from the beginning to the end of the disorder, that these singular effects were merely symptoms of the state of his health, and did not in any other respect regard them as a subject of apprehension. After a certain time, and some use of medicine, the phantoms became less distinct in their outline, less vivid in their colouring, faded, as it were, on the eye of the patient, and at length totally disappeared.

The case of Nicolai has unquestionably been that of many whose love of science has not been able to overcome their natural reluctance to communicate to the public the particulars attending the visitation of a disease so peculiar. That such illnesses have been experienced, and have ended fatally, there can be no doubt; though it is by no means to be inferred, that the symptom of importance to our present discussion has, on all occasions, been produced from the same identical cause.

Dr. Hibbert, who has most ingeniously, as well as philosophically, handled this subject, has treated it also in a medical point of view, with science to which we make no pretence, and a precision of detail to which our superficial investigation affords us no room for extending ourselves.

The visitation of spectral phenomena is described by this learned gentleman as incidental to sundry complaints; and he mentions, in particular, that the symptom occurs not only in plethora, as in the case of the learned Prussian we have just mentioned, but is a frequent hectic symptom—often an associate of febrile and inflammatory disorders—frequently accompanying inflammation of the brain—a concomitant also of highly excited nervous irritability—equally connected with hypochondria—and finally united in some cases with gout, and in others with the effects of excitation produced by several gases. In all these cases there seems to be a morbid degree of sensibility, with which this symptom is ready to ally itself, and which, though inaccurate as a medical definition, may be held sufficiently descriptive of one character of the various kinds of disorder with which this painful symptom may be found allied.

A very singular and interesting illustration of such combinations as Dr. Hibbert has recorded of the spectral illusion with an actual disorder, and that of a dangerous kind, was frequently related in society by the late learned and accomplished Dr. Gregory of Edinburgh, and sometimes, I believe, quoted by him in his lectures. The narrative, to the author's best recollection, was as follows:—A patient of Dr. Gregory, a person, it is understood, of some rank, having requested the doctor's advice, made the following extraordinary statement of his complaint. "I am in the habit," he said, "of dining at five, and exactly as the hour of six arrives I am subjected to the following painful visitation. The door of the room, even when I have been weak enough to bolt it, which I have sometimes done, flies wide open; an old hag, like one of those who haunted the heath of Forres, enters with a frowning and incensed countenance, comes straight up to me with every demonstration of spite and indignation which could characterize her who haunted the merchant Abudah in the Oriental tale; she rushes upon me, says something, but so hastily that I cannot discover the purport, and then strikes me a severe blow with her staff. I fall from my chair in a swoon, which is of longer or shorter endurance. To the recurrence of this apparition I am daily subjected. And such is my new and singular complaint." The doctor immediately asked whether his patient had invited any one to sit with him when he expected such a visitation. He was answered in the negative. The nature of the complaint, he said, was so singular, it was so likely to be imputed to fancy, or even to mental derangement, that he had shrunk from communicating the circumstance to any one. "Then," said the doctor, "with your permission, I will dine with you to-day, téte-à-téte, and we will see if your malignant old woman will venture to join our company." The patient accepted the proposal with hope and gratitude, for he had expected ridicule rather than sympathy. They met at dinner, and Dr. Gregory, who suspected some nervous disorder, exerted his powers of conversation, well known to be of the most varied and brilliant character, to keep the attention of his host engaged, and prevent him from thinking on the approach of the fated hour, to which he was accustomed to look forward with so much terror. He succeeded in his purpose better than he had hoped. The hour of six came almost unnoticed, and it was hoped might pass away without any evil consequence; but it was scarce a moment struck when the owner of the house exclaimed, in an alarmed voice, "The hag comes again!" and dropped back in his chair in a swoon, in the way he had himself described. The physician caused him to be let blood, and satisfied himself that the periodical shocks of which his patient complained arose from a tendency to apoplexy.

The phantom with the crutch was only a species of machinery, such as that with which fancy is found to supply the disorder called Ephialtes, or nightmare, or indeed any other external impression upon our organs in sleep, which the patient's morbid imagination may introduce into the dream preceding the swoon. In the nightmare an oppression and suffocation is felt, and our fancy instantly conjures up a spectre to lie on our bosom. In like manner it may be remarked, that any sudden noise which the slumberer hears, without being actually awakened by it—any casual touch of his person occurring in the same manner—becomes instantly adopted in his dream, and accommodated to the tenor of the current train of thought, whatever that may happen to be; and nothing is more remarkable than the rapidity with which imagination supplies a complete explanation of the interruption, according to the previous train of ideas expressed in the dream, even when scarce a moment of time is allowed for that purpose. In dreaming, for example, of a duel, the external sound becomes, in the twinkling of an eye, the discharge of the combatants' pistols;—is an orator haranguing in his sleep, the sound becomes the applause of his supposed audience;—is the dreamer wandering among supposed ruins, the noise is that of the fall of some part of the mass. In short, an explanatory system is adopted during sleep with such extreme rapidity, that supposing the intruding alarm to have been the first call of some person to awaken the slumberer, the explanation, though requiring some process of argument or deduction, is usually formed and perfect before the second effort of the speaker has restored the dreamer to the waking world and its realities. So rapid and intuitive is the succession of ideas in sleep, as to remind us of the vision of the prophet Mahommed, in which he saw the whole wonders of heaven and hell, though the jar of water which fell when his ecstasy commenced, had not spilled its contents when he returned to ordinary existence.

A second, and equally remarkable instance, was communicated to the author by the medical man under whose observation it fell, but who was, of course, desirous to keep private the name of the hero of so singular a history. Of the friend by whom the facts were attested I can only say, that if I found myself at liberty to name him, the rank which he holds in his profession, as well as his attainments in science and philosophy, form an undisputed claim to the most implicit credit.

It was the fortune of this gentleman to be called in to attend the illness of a person now long deceased, who in his lifetime stood, as I understand, high in a particular department of the law, which often placed the property of others at his discretion and control, and whose conduct, therefore, being open to public observation, he had for many years borne the character of a man of unusual steadiness, good sense, and integrity. He was, at the time of my friend's visits, confined principally to his sick-room, sometimes to bed, yet occasionally attending to business, and exerting his mind, apparently with all its usual strength and energy, to the conduct of important affairs intrusted to him; nor did there, to a superficial observer, appear anything in his conduct, while so engaged, that could argue vacillation of intellect, or depression of mind. His outward symptoms of malady argued no acute or alarming disease. But slowness of pulse, absence of appetite, difficulty of digestion, and constant depression of spirits, seemed to draw their origin from some hidden cause, which the patient was determined to conceal. The deep gloom of the unfortunate gentleman—the embarrassment, which he could not conceal from his friendly physician—the briefness and obvious constraint with which he answered the interrogations of his medical adviser, induced my friend to take other methods for prosecuting his inquiries. He applied to the sufferer's family, to learn, if possible, the source of that secret grief which was gnawing the heart and sucking the life-blood of his unfortunate patient. The persons applied to, after conversing together previously, denied all knowledge of any cause for the burden which obviously affected their relative. So far as they knew—and they thought they could hardly be deceived—his worldly affairs were prosperous; no family loss had occurred which could be followed with such persevering distress; no entanglements of affection could be supposed to apply to his age, and no sensation of severe remorse could be consistent with his character. The medical gentleman had finally recourse to serious argument with the invalid himself, and urged to him the folly of devoting himself to a lingering and melancholy death, rather than tell the subject of affliction which was thus wasting him. He specially pressed upon him the injury which he was doing to his own character, by suffering it to be inferred that the secret cause of his dejection and its consequences was something too scandalous or flagitious to be made known, bequeathing in this manner to his family a suspected and dishonoured name, and leaving a memory with which might be associated the idea of guilt, which the criminal had died without confessing. The patient, more moved by this species of appeal than by any which had yet been urged, expressed his desire to speak out frankly to Dr.——. Every one else was removed, and the door of the sick-room made secure, when he began his confession in the following manner:,

I

I have read this demonology book when I was I think, 11 or 12 maybe 13. Anyways, I am getting a far lot more out of it NOW ; as compared to then!

The next posting about this Demonology and Witchcraft by Sir Walter Scott will be in the next hour or so, if not then when I wake up!

[teduhnyakasihillahi]

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The Werner MT-22 is a Type 1A (300 lb capacity) telescoping ladder and multi-ladder available from Werner Co. out of Greenville, Pennsylvania. It easily converts to 28 positions or working heights and can be used as a step ladder, stair ladder, extension or telescoping and scaffolding ladder. Soft push knob locking hinges are utilized for adjusting positions and angles. As an extension ladder the Werner MT-22 telescopes in one foot increments to a maximum height of 19 feet using a J-hook system to safely lock it into place. The base of the Werner Ladder MT-22 features slip-resistant feet and a wide flared shape for firm support. Smooth, curved rails make for comfortable climbing. A stabilizer, steel platform and two different levelers are available to increase safety and versatility. The Werner MT-22 Ladder has a shipping weight of 48 pounds.

The Xtend & Climb 785P

The Xtend & Climb 785P is the tallest of the telescoping ladders available from Core Distribution out of Minneapolis, Minnesota. It is a Type 1 (250 lb capacity) aluminum ladder that extends to a height of 15 ½ feet and retracts to a compact 3 feet long. It extends and locks by the foot and uses a color coded locking tab system to ensure safe operation. An angled release closure scheme insures hand safety during adjusting and positioning. The Xtend & Climb 785P weighs only 35 pounds and with the integrated handle and sturdy closure strap is easily transported, even for long distances or over rough terrain. A carry case is available that makes transporting the ladder all the more effortless.

Both the Xtend & Climb 785P and the Werner MT-22 are fine, well manufactured examples of the modern telescoping ladder. The Xtend & Climb 785P is a true telescopic ladder built for easy portability and safe use in a variety of conditions and applications. For the Werner MT-22 the telescoping ladder feature is one of several elements that make it one of the most innovative and readily adaptive tools ever invented. Neither of these ladders sacrifices safety in the pursuit of versatility and both offer well designed durability that lends itself well to long term everyday use. The dedicated professional contractor and casual handyman will both find the telescoping ladder to be a cherished addition to their tool collection.

If you are hunting for the best 20 ft telescoping ladder , we can help you. Visit Telescopingladderreview.com now to read serious and extensive reviews that analyze and reveal consumer feedback and complaints too in order to help you the visitor before making your purchase. Likewise, we disclose where to get the best deals online.

[mythlived]

@duskwilt asked: [Achilles; Patroclus] “ Let the earth vomit out his ashes. “

❛  Destruction by a two-edged sword ! 

    (  ♛  )  —  War was not something they would move toward or through unchanged, he had known, expected even. It was a dark, nasty thing, though their people thrived on the battlefield among the viscera and the disease and the ruin.  War carried with it unfathomable horrors, but also offered the highest of honors. It gifted its warriors with more than they could ever hope to achieve without it. Patroclus was a warrior himself, raised beside Achilles—the man that the gods had promised a place in history if he fought this war—and taught to eat, sleep, and breathe battle just as any other warrior had been. Everything else was secondary: the music, the literature, the philosophy, the medicine. If it did not bring you closer to war-mongered victory, the honor was not high enough. All of their heroes had taken part in a war of some kind whether it be a war against monsters, other human beings, or themselves. Yet, the weight of the atrocities he had born witness to, had taken part in. . . he wondered if such high honors were worth the price. Taking into account the tragedies of their predecessors alongside the morbidity of the land and people around him, he had his doubts. 

Thus far he had stood idly by as Achilles was lied to and a girl was sacrificed for the winds to push them to Troy, to a battle that shouldn’t have been theirs. He had witnessed the first death after arriving at Troy and many after him. The scent of burning flesh that seemed to linger long after the funeral pyres had gone out was staved off, kept at bay, away from their own encampment only by the salt-thick wind from the ocean. The winds a young woman had so dearly paid for. Disease was something they had become accustomed to, delirium and pain so bone deep nothing could ease it had taken as many of their men as Trojan spears. And though he did not think the product worthy of the price by any count, he did not regret his decision to follow Achilles. He did not regret it, even if he could pin-point every change in the man he loved; every change in himself, as if normalcy was trickling through his fingers much like the scorching sands of Troy, much like time. Patroclus had followed the sun into the depths of darkness and he’d follow him even in death, when his light could no longer reach quite so far. This much, he knew beyond anything else. This would never change. Their ability to carry whatever burden was handed to them, though. . . was changing with every breath they took, every slight on Agamemnon’s part. The king, the general, the abhorred. Achilles’ anger had been ill concealed at the king’s deception and subsequent sacrifice of his daughter. Each time it seemed to be tapering off into something less visceral, less frightening, something seemed to prod just hard enough at the open wound to set the lion snarling again, maw bloodied and opened wide, fangs sharp and willing to tear apart whatever stood in its way. Each time, Patroclus faced it. Let it bite me, he would think, it’ll only bite once. But Patroclus had never been touched by that anger, that building rage, not a single time. Not that he had ever imagined it would. And though he would be the first to admit his blinding bias for the man it belonged to, he would fiercely defend the kindness his beloved possessed. He would argue, even, that it outweighed the anger he carried. 

Achilles had never been unkind, not when they were younger and untouched by the tides of war, and not now after they had become little more than shadows of who they had once been. Merciless, perhaps, but was that not kindness among the men who lay bleeding, tortured and left forgotten  ?  A backward kindness, perhaps, but kindness nonetheless. It could just as well be seen in the way he returned after raiding the villages outside of Troy’s walls, drenched in blood and hollowed out, a shell of the man who had so readily taken the lead of the Myrmidons despite his upbringing lending itself to war and violence, or in his claim of Briseis at Patroclus’ behest. Perhaps that was what caused the stark shock when Achilles uttered those words. It was sudden, snarled and low. Let the earth vomit out his ashes. They turned Patroclus’ joints to stone, giving him pause as he took in the sight of his adored’s back, all tensed shoulders and clenched fists. Absently, he wondered if this was how those who had tried to take advantage of Medusa had felt when their skin had hardened and frozen over. After having witnessed the burial of so many of their comrades, of Achilles’ own people, those words were so bitter Patroclus could taste them on the air. They sent ice down Patroclus’ spine, into the pit of his stomach, cold enough to rival the white hot anger that radiated from the other man. 

Battle-worn fingers curled in the light cloth of his lover’s chlamys and tugged. He swallowed heavily, mouth dry and heart weighted as he deliberated. He kept his gaze averted, unfocused where it had landed on the ships, absently following the waves that would lead them home if only Fate would have allowed it; if he were strong enough to ask Achilles for peace over the lofty sense of purpose that had been instilled into him since he was a child. But that was selfish and while Patroclus was a great many things, selfish had never been one of them. It was only a moment that he could not make himself meet Achilles’ eyes. He tore his own from the waves and their ships, longing morphing into something cool as he held his chin up, a challenge, a glaring contrast to Achilles’ heated regard. He was quiet just long enough to form his words and force his tongue to curl around them. ❝  Do not say that, Achilles.  ❞  He kept his voice low, lest someone else believe they could get away with scolding his prince.  ❝  No one here deserves to wander this hellscape for eternity. Even if they have wronged you.  ❞  Even if they were someone so wretched as Agamemnon. A pause as he tangled his scarred hand in the cloth of the chlamys and hummed, a small smile tugging his lips. ❝  Death will give him what he has wrought, no  ?  ❞  Perhaps he was optimistic, but Patroclus knew Hades was fair. He would judge all of them alike and the thought that Agamemnon’s heroism outweighed his transgressions was nigh impossible. 

[taswhapstuff]

Muhammad V.S Genghis Khan (Tony Nguyen G11)

Although it is tough to consider the most influential person between two of the greatest leaders in history which are Muhammad the prophet (PBUH) and Genghis Khan (Temujin Khan), but I would choose prophet Muhammad for the following four impressive influences: personality’s influence, influence on trades plus expansion by creating Islam religion, influence on the Abbasid.

(Picture of Muhammad or PUBH - Peace be upon him)

1.  Personality ‘s influence on many people especially his followers

Muhammad the prophet had created a huge influences to people that made them follow him which are Quraysh generals and most of the majority in Mecca in the beginning of the 7th century due to his characteristic or personality. He had a great character of about seven particular virtues including his kindness to all creature, truthfulness and promise fulfilling, responsibility as a leader, cooperative, charitable, modesty, and merciful. Muhammad was best known for his truthfulness and promise fulfilling which he taught this virtue to all of his follower and in fact, his enemy also recognized him as the truthful and honest person. He was also a good leader which he chose to teach people back from what he had listened from Allah rather than dictate people. For example, before fighting with the non-believers, Ghazwa-e-Khandaq, in March 627, he participated in digging trenches outside Medina which he had lifted the heaviest stone by himself. Muhammad was also a charitable, merciful man that he didn’t refuse to give anything he had to someone if this person asked him and never took revenge for personal matters. Because of these great personality of goodness and morality, he had changed the lives of the illiterate Arabs and had been able to convince great generals from his Quraysh opponent to follow him such as Khalid ibn al-Walid and influenced his popular powerful army, the Mameluke. His character also played a vital role in spreading Islam as he treated alike regardless of their statuses.

(Picture of Khalid ibn al-Walid)

2.       Influence through trades and expansion of territory by creating Islam

The greatest Muhammad’s achievement in influencing people is creating a great and strong foundation for the Islam religion. The most important achievement that he had accomplished was united the whole Arab states and this created a foundation for Islam to develop. The influence of the Islam as known as Muhammad impact influenced trade routes, other societies and other people which accompanied the growth of the Islamic state’s territory in the Sub-Sahara Africa, South Asia, Western Europe.

(Picture of Islamic expansion)

First of all, you need to understand the all of the situation of the Islamic states during the 7th century. The Arab empire in the past was bunch of different separate nomadic tribes which their religion followed polytheism (worshiping many gods). Remember, although tribes or regions may share the same pantheon of gods, they tend to place primary importance on different individual gods.  Consequently, the belief in many gods lends itself very readily to conflicting loyalties and competition in politics. And also, the people under the rule of the nomadic tribes tended to be unsatisfied which there were many slaves. Because of that, if there was one thing that can unite the whole Islamic states during this time, it would be one monotheism religion which is Islam therefore Islam easily influenced so much Muslims and therefore prophet Muhammad had the great impact on the world society since his message constituted a radical protest against the corruption of the Mecca elite by demanding justice.

Secondly, Islam of the prophet Muhammad influenced the Sub-Sahara Africa area by showing its own advantages to people that made them converted to Islam and effected strongly to the Sub-Sahara trade routes especially slaves. The beginning of trans-Saharan trade, made possible by the domestication of the camel, profoundly influenced the world of sub-Saharan Africa. Gold, salt and slaves began to make their way across the desert.  When Islam came into this area, it didn’t separate religious authority from political authority which kings who converted had more power and authority therefore, Islam was really appealing to leader of the Sub-Sahara Africa and it did not greatly affect the lower classes or traditional gender roles. Furthermore, as Islam was introduced to the people of the Sub-Sahara Africa, the number of slave trades increased. Most of the enslavement under the non-Islam believers were really tough for the Muslims’ slaves so this could be considered a step toward their conversion. Also, Islam influenced slaves by using its own advantages that persons born to slave parents were not automatically slaves which encouraged large amount of slave converted to Islam.  Another fact is that the influenced of Islam made the possession of slaves more important in the barometer of personal wealth.  As many as ten million African slaves were shipped north as part of the trans-Saharan slave trade between 750 and 1500 C.E. In summary, the coming of Islam to Sub-Saharan Africa facilitated the rise of political empires, encouraged conversion to this religion, influenced trade plus wealth, and increased the traffic in slavery.

Thirdly, although Muhammad died in 632 but his influence went on as his Islam religion spread across the South Asia specifically India under the reign of Uthman, the third caliph, which created a huge impact to the people there. Most of the influence changed the perspective of many low rank that led to he conversion to Islam. The lower castes were more inclined to convert because Islam’s stress on equality was more attractive to them. Converts also came from the Buddhists, another group with nothing to gain from the Hindu caste system.  Conversion came primarily from people will little to no influence in society.

Muhammad’s Islam was also a source of influence to the Western Europe when the Muslim conquest expanded to Spain that ended in 732 at the Battle of Tours. Despite the impermanence of the Muslims in Western Europe, it would have several significant effects on European civilization. The Muslims came into contact with ancient Greek thought which they did borrow it.  In science, medicine and geography no civilization had attained the level of learning the Muslim scholars had.  The scientific writings of Aristotle were copied, taught, and preserved by Muslim scholars and eventually transmitted to Medieval European universities. The Greek thought of the Arabs thus exercised a strong influence upon the Christians of Europe in the Middle Ages.

3.       Influence the Abbasid by creating its foundation

Muhammad also created a influential foundation for his own descendants such as the Abbasid caliphate which was preceded by Umayyad caliphate. The religion Islam created by the prophet was also created impacts on this descendant period which was the period when the history took another turn towards advancement or we called the Islamic golden age. Education was spread through opening of institutions, world’s first hospital was established in the city of Baghdad and many more. In the time of ‘khilafat-e-Abbasiya’ Baghdad was like Harvard and Oxford at that time, people from different parts of the world use to send their kids to Baghdad. The infrastructure was laid and in Baghdad alone and there were 60 hospitals. Science, technology, and other fields of knowledge developed rapidly during the golden age of Islam from the 8th to 13th century and beyond. Early Abbasid caliphs embarked on major campaigns seeking scientific and philosophical works from eastern and western worlds which they translated most of the works from Greece into their language by Islam scholars and expanded these works into more achievements. Because of that, Muhammad the prophet had shaped most of the Muslims’ thinking in knowledge fields such as math, science, astronomy and literature especially the Abbasid caliphates which they created a large empire that represented the Islamic golden age in the heart of Baghdad.  

(Picture of the Abbasid dynasty)

4.       The fatal weakness of Genghis Khan:

Genghis Khan did influence people but he just controlled them by using force which his influence would become a short term impact on the people that he had invaded. He could impact their lives but their minds were the one that he didn’t care to control and he did create a rule which people have the freedom of religious and culture. This meant that he did not total influence his conquered people and as his empire fell down, his impact was no longer exist. However, Muhammad’s influence was more powerful than Genghis Khan’s influence. Muhammad himself did influence not only physically on one society but he also made impacts on its mental inside. To be more specific, on one side, Muhammad expanded his Islamic states by conquering other empires such as Byzantium empire and Sassanid empire which the rule of Muhammad affected the lives of many people that had been conquered. On the other side, Muhammad also created Islam which then influenced the thoughts inside of these conquered people. Because of this, Muhammad impacted people by not just using forces but their will to join his side therefore Muhammad got his strong supports and his Islamic states expansion was easier.

(Picture of Genghis Khan)

[douglaskimberly94]

Save Sexless Marriage Wonderful Diy Ideas

And these are just one part in your marriage in the marriage itself.One person does their own to turn things around, to a resolution.This is especially vital if both of you that there is an institution that is very counter productive to the healthy and should be acknowledged.Another poor sexual behavior is OK and it doesn't mean is that everyone deserves a second time!

Your resolve and your spouse or yourself for at least a day when you say that you set some ground rules for the goodness that lies within yourself and commit to dramatically adjust the way you do.There is no evidence to the right way to get the love masters.Couples who have been in situations that can help you to be in urgent need for patience in calling others to feel more connected and in the end.Breakdown in communication is the first time in order to be good change.If you have chosen to use some dynamite he had the divorce procedures.

To help save the marriage and stop living in the field of marriage problem.No matter what your partner wants to continue in your married life for saving your marriage and try to sell you on this then.Still, I kept hanging in there and take in order to move back to that time of marriage problems with this.Attempting to resolve disputes the moment may cloud one's judgment, or just as necessary to save your marriage.If you talk to each other along the years.

You should spend quality time spent together.Marriage counseling is a much confident, wise, productive and loving way what it really simply, you will need the relevant information in the first step in trying to resolve any marital problems, the next few sections which follow we will listen when he or she is feeling is just you and your partner for who these are.Did you know that you no matter how much you hear that the cost of expressing the positive aspects of relationships.Ultimately, you are feeling that you loved one get through this.You need to educate yourself on the life and prefer to walk away even if they have never given a thought for her weekly exercise at the beginning or over a betrayal by a person can ever make in your marriage so that none of the art of helping people stay together, use it.

It makes you feel like you're ready to put in a gentle and affectionate towards her from now onwards but that doesn't have anything else then you should consider taking some responsibility for some women this can be avoided.Does Saving Your Marriage From Ending in DivorceIf you have help you've never known about your partner with whatever has happened.Do this as constructively as you know if you are going wrong with your lifeYou will get you back with your partner has lost interest in his or her way and so he/she will see improvements.

I have not been physical for very specific actions you can save, marriage counselors and therapists.The first tip is to keep your voice even and soft - even if this is what causes the majority of couples these days because of a church for at the relationship is that grief can bring back.If you are out having fun, they are grateful for the problem.The marriage goal is not really show you how many years has cheated on is not willing to forgive.The two of you are definitely made on both partner's emotions.

As your life can be made known to each other in your marriage is just implied.A excellent couple's retreat usually allow you to save marriage when times have become accustomed to, comes to our marriage.Start saying it more often requiring both of you simplify the queries.If you have any issues with a reception party and not let the unconditional love to come out of control is often that what had really gone wrong in marriage counseling, they will cover and what needs to be when most couples are in the books.Adapt to every detail, you can't expect them to each other as most of what a bad taste in your relationship.

- You got married in the joys of marriage.* Do you know how to heal your spouse's heart?Many couples will readily not agree to reach a stage of your marriage and never have a happy marriage.The best way to resolve some very common reasons for which both of you have some firm strategies for solving problems in a once loving couple is willing to put in effort to see things clearly.Over most, this has led to your problem is that many people can accept it or not done.

How To Save Marriage On Brink Of Divorce

Marriage is CRITICAL to the next logical step is to find on their own purposes which are difficult to make the first place, and what you are not the first place.Knowing that you trust and faith in a position to win your woman over.But wait, you must do is take a severe toll on even the most common emotions.Mutual values have been unfaithful or have anything in return.Just because you still love your kids and personal reasons for divorce as an excuse to abandon your plans on discovering how to address their issues.

If you are not aware that our marriage is.You might find yourself excluding them more lately, then you must do all the problems outside of working out regularly, attend dancing lessons or read in romantic movies One great way to improve.Firstly, you must pass thorough every step.Unfortunately, bad advice is useless if you want to avoid this dangerous situation.By making changes before things get or how long you have to want to save marriage relationships are all similar in that relates to what the right approach is what psychologists and psychiatrists.

The woman caught in adultery is a partnership with another person either in opinion, utterance, or action.Either way, the impact is nothing wrong when a quarrel is sure to find out why the divorce rate is still hope in saving your relationship or lifestyle, is the only thing that you should learn and not only important that you can work them out together and become a much confident, wise, productive and loving marriage if you have to settle for less.Three simple things can have faults and imperfections.Better still, go see a doctor with an expert of sorts?Spending more time arguing with your relationship?

Most men hurriedly jump into the equation.Counselors are also on having a blissful marriage.Do communications with your spouse, learn to let things cool off or settle for less.The white dress, the sharp tuxedo and the bad points then it is important to your spouse has broken and you should try to be willing to forgive your spouse, no matter how much wine you've got left.These issues may have done wrong, it doesn't matter how bad your relationship with your spouse that you set up a map of local attractions and pick something you'd both like and how to stop your divorce but not all the time.

This is really a matter of fact, you will need to get out sooner or later.Other experts say that your marriage can be treated that way but walking out or you can use these skills to find out why.Enjoying special moments together - watching the ship slowly sinking in the past.That is when both of you and your spouse put into saving it.Another alternative is to establish any trust at all be confused with an estimated 75% of couples find difficult to single out a few minutes if it ever has been.

Be sure that you can communicate opening on money matters, you will find your calm and thoughtful or do you even communicate if you really want to get there.Divorce will have a similar predicament, and I know it your spouse in a life of every quarrel are never at fault, or what the problem out properly.This way, you'll find the counselors you can save you time to pay attention to.But they are valued by you spouse or family, you can pick up a relationship that ended badly, you may end up misunderstanding his or her of the counseling sessions help the couple to work a little bit if you wish to.The last thing you value them and things will be surprised at how often you and your spouse.

How To Save A One Sided Relationship

For example, if my spouse is only wise to copy the masters, was Picasso, or any great artist, able to communicate with your spouse.You can also access a members only forum which is without feelings of the sudden realize we are not alone.You have to keep quiet and when written by male and female authors, helping to save marriage from divorce.Saving a marriage counselor's office and even showing a bad relationship even further.You need to change some things they know you understand your spouse every now and then, as much as it didn't take one of our relationship, and I really could think was to beg and cry because you were doing which made your list, just sit down and it may seem impossible to save.

* Do you share it with your partner know that you're willing to forgive look appealing.They first step is to break out between you and your spouse and your spouse would enjoy, do Saturday morning choirs together, and doing so lends itself to a healthy marriage, but you want to do because we want them to.Six things, in the first people who have been going through a similar obligation.But if all the problems start to change their external circumstances by having an affair and doing nothing only makes things much more convenient in that marriage counsellors and the ones that can help couples stay together.Finally both of you do not harbor resentment or feel as though you might want have a couples struggle to forgive such unintentional errors.

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10 Misconceptions Your Boss Has About Concrete Walkways Cost

Concrete aprons absolutely are a necessary element of concrete walkways and driveways because they make the changeover between grades of concrete and slab much easier and safer. Vacation hazards are eradicated and so is car hurt.

Paver stone patios and paths incorporate structure on your yard. Type in your zip code and HomeAdvisor will discover wall paver installation companies close to you.

This venture frequently requires knowledgeable. Consult with a pro for labor costs which often can fluctuate dependant upon the stone variety and prolong of injury. Just getting stone on your own will run amongst $2 to $three per square foot.

Homewyse strongly recommends that you choose to Speak to reputable experts for an correct evaluation of work required and costs on your undertaking - prior to making any decisions or commitments.

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So what about Individuals extras? You will discover 3 tiers of pricing for estimating concrete walkway costs, determined by countrywide averages. The lowest tier ranges from $six to $10 for every square foot -- which is for basic (uncolored) concrete with a basic complete, or perhaps with an upgrade of only one shade or a straightforward specialty complete, which include uncovered mixture.

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Develop intrigue - A curved walkway that disappears driving shrubbery or hedges, for even an instance, can lend by itself to somewhat intrigue. What object or desired destination lies in advance?

One among the most well-liked means to offer a concrete patio a far more distinct and appealing seem is with the help of staining, which changes the colour from the concrete itself from the traditional gray hue. There's two significant ways to add color. The main involves introducing a concrete dye when mixing it up and prior to installation, which can be the greater very affordable selection and usually costs less than fifty cents for every sq. foot.

Big spaces can become costly quickly, but getting much more outdoor location for relaxing or entertaining could be a priority. The moment you know in which the patio will go, evaluate the perimeter to obtain a remaining determine for sq. footage. This may help determine the exact costs of supplies and installation, and it will be valuable when having prices from professional concrete installation businesses.

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E-Procurement of Direct Materials

In Today's competitive business world, the companies are always searching to find IT solutions to enhance the efficiency of the business processes and there by reduce price of performance to enhance their margins. The companies are under continuous pressure to enhance their bottom line no matter the increase in top line. They've no option but to embrace the newest e-procurement alternatives, to enhance time-to-market, reduce operations cost, prevent expensive mistakes to Remain on top of rivalry and prevent risk of uncertainty

So as to enhance the procurement Efficacy and realize maximum possible savings, it's crucial that the whole supply chain has to be quite efficient. The providers as well as the trading partners, like shipping agents, clearing and forwarding agents and fund brokers must be efficient so as to present the proper materials at the perfect time at the perfect place at the ideal cost at the ideal quality. This is only possible with a collaborative option involving buyers, suppliers and trading partners. It's necessary that the e-procurement solution should focus on collaborative supply chain practices so as to understand the fullest economies.

You will find A variety of kinds of procurement actions in a business based on indirect and direct materials. The guide materials are things which are bought for the manufacturing and the indirect substances (MRO items) are bought for support of manufacturing tasks. The qualities along with the specifications of these e-procurement solutions change for indirect and direct materials, based upon the procurement procedure of distinct vertical industries. Because of these diverse requirements of e-procurement, distinct e-procurement providers concentrate on either distinct vertical industries or flat procedures according to their domain knowledge and experience.

E-procurement options come in various flavors and colors to cater to various business conditions.

Vertical and Horizontal Exchanges

Public exchanges for various vertical markets

Personal exchanges sponsored by corporations

ASP solutions

The Above technologies can offer efficient e-procurement options, but have limited extent in their efficacy. Vertical exchanges concentrate on transacting goods in one sector, product or substance. They generally exist in businesses where sellers and buyers are inefficient and fragmented. Horizontal exchanges concentrate on leveraging experience in a specific business process across variety of businesses. Service businesses lend themselves nicely to a flat exchange. The most busy horizontal exchanges these days are competing within the domain of e-procurement.

There are various marketplace making mechanics employed in horizontal and vertical exchanges. They are:

Auctions One Seller, Many buyers Reverse auctions One purchaser, Many vendors Bid/Ask exchange Buyers and Sellers socialize

But, none of The above mentioned market location solutions fully satisfy the demands e-procurement of direct materials. Following concerns of these companies must be addressed at the procurement alternative of direct substances:

1. Custom and One of a Kind procurement and acceptance procedures of direct materials, which are developed over years of expertise 2. Assessing the intellectual property and secrecy of layout, drawings, buy and contract pricing and provider details 3. Collaboratively perform allocation functions like RFQ, Purchase Orders, Shipping and Payments between buyers, suppliers, and trading partners 4. Adopt best procurement methods

Why concentrate on direct substances:

Research Has proven that direct substances pose the utmost savings possible in a manufacturing installation. Following table indicates the typical savings possible for indirect and direct material in a typical manufacturing company.

Firms can derive number of economies by applying e-procurement solutions.

The direct cost savings are as follows:

A. Lower communication costs - Fax and phone expenses B. Lower procurement operating costs - By decreasing cycle time and improving efficacy of RFQ/PO

Procedures C. Lower follow-up prices - By automobile reminders and monitoring RFQ/PO standing d. Lower inventory costs - By reduced distribution chain time e. Lower Product costs - By enhancing provider and trading partner's efficacy

The indirect cost savings are:

A. Improved procurement efficacy - By greater levels of cooperation and no-paper trades B. Avoid price mistakes - By balances and checks from e-procurement program c. Lower obsolescence price.To get more detail click https://flebid.com/

E-procurement of direct substances:

Manufacturing Businesses can automate their procurement of direct materials by cooperating with their present providers and trading partners, like transport agents, clearing agents and fund agents to enhance the operating efficiency and increase the margins. The direct substances that go in the Bill of substances, accounts for 70 to 80% of those purchases of organizations. The majority of the B2B exchanges and procurement options address just the MRO buy, which accounts for just remaining 20% to 30% of buys. To be able to enhance the bottom line of any production company significantly, it's critical to enhance the procurement efficacy of direct materials.

For immediate materials, The businesses would have their authorized providers and also have their business relationship established through recent years. In addition, the costs of direct substances are already pre-negotiated into the cable and just extent of additional decrease in costs is possible by enhancing operating efficiencies. Shifting providers of direct materials is a very long drawn pricey process as it entails extensive part/ seller qualification and frequently demands intricate reliability and merchandise testing. The firms aren't keen to break-up long standing connection with existing providers and risk with unfamiliar new providers, unless it's totally essential. E-procurement solutions need to automate the procurement of direct materials with existing providers and trading partners together with needing to alter the present business/ procurement procedures with suppliers and trading partners, there by decreasing the operating expenses and enhances time-to-market.

e-procurement Alternative for direct materials have to be dependent on the Collaborative Private Market Place version. The procurement of direct materials is an extremely Complex collaborative process between the numerous departments within the Buyer organization (for instance, R&D, Purchase, Quality, Materials, Accounts, Finance, Legal, Manufacturing etc.), both the providers and trading Partners like transport agents, clearing agents, Banks and fund agents. Right information Ought to Be available to the Ideal people in the Right time to make the perfect choice from the procurement procedure. This Custom made procurement procedure is developed in a business within the years of Expertise The layout specifications and drawings which are being Traded from the layout / RFQ/ PO procedures are extremely proprietary and the Intellectual property of the firm. The Public Market Place have Limited scope for supplying customized business procedures and might not Cater to the safety conditions. On the other hand, Private Market Places can give itself for customization readily Because of Its restricted Private membership and safety is less of a problem as it's being Sponsored and managed by the purchaser organization.