#grace has been on repeat forever but especially this autumn

[weedsmokingmacca]

paul linda and jeff buckley backstage at the roseland ballroom in 1995. aka photos that have sent me into cardiac arrest

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Day.20 ~ Haunting and pausing ~ Hallowtober

Thranduil x wife!reader

warning : fluff, kissing

summary : Four times a year, the royal couple has to ride out of Mirkwood into the forest to look for the perfect components for the crowns. And so, in the beautiful dark of autumn, the couple rode out again, with a few quick discoveries and loving gestures like last year. What could be more beautiful than love in the fall, when you're bound to live forever anyway?

info : So the hallowtober is finally moving on and I will catch up on the missed ones, but I am happy to finally be able to give you something again. Enjoy reading :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Life is transient for some, a curse for some, and a blessing for some. But for elves, life is as insignificant as the blink of an eye. It was as good as non-existent for them, why should it be when you live forever, when you break away from this world and go to a better realm into the light of eternity, where everything is so beautiful that you feel like you are among the stars in the sky.

That's just how it was and that's how it would always be, not only for the elves, the old and new creatures of the world, who would last for centuries and millennia before they disappeared and became legends and myths like elves.

That was life in Middle-earth and that would not change, not for the simple farmers of men, the dwarves in the mountains or the Mirkwood King Thranduil and his wife, his beloved light of life.

Both had seen the seasons come and go and while her husband took no conditional joy in any of the repeating events, he was all the more pleased when he saw the shine in her eyes when autumn came to the surrounding lands.

When the colors changed to a reddish orange and the sun seemed to bathe everything in a liquid gold, it was the months, the passing moments that pleased the queen the most, especially the day when the royal couple set out to find new parts for the crowns that they had made every year. ,,If you're ready, my light, we can go,” she heard his voice.

She looked into his eyes, which had been gazing at her with the same love for thousands of years, and saw the royal couple riding on the elks with a group of soldiers as a patrol behind them.

But even if she had seen something, she had learned to ignore it. ,,Nothing stands in the way of our harvest except our ability to see too much grace in everything,” she replied, hearing the silent smile from his lips before the couple swung themselves onto the majestic animals and rode out through the castle gates, over the bridge and into the forest.

A ride they had both done thousands of times for each season, four times a year, and it never got boring, the forest had beauty and treasures that could be rediscovered over and over again.

She looked to her left and saw her husband's thoughtful expression, the slight narrowing of his eyes as he considered which plants, flowers and berries he would choose. He looked cute, she thought, remembering his first years in office when he was not yet fully aware of his power.

Taking her hand from the reins and going to his, she squeezed it lightly, seeing how she brought him out of his thoughts and he gave her a briefly wounded look before shaking his head at himself and giving her a kiss on the forehead, ,,Thank you, my light,” he said, and the couple continued on their way.

Sometimes it only took an hour and they were back, much to the delight of Legolas, who wanted to spend more time with his parents. Sometimes, however, it took hours if the couple could not make up their minds and felt that the forest had other concerns to share.

Being the king and queen of Mirkwood was both a curse and a blessing, but whenever she saw his loving gaze, when he took her hand and kissed her on the forehead, she knew that everything would be all right.

When the sun shone through the thicket of trees and bushes, warming her skin and bringing the forest to life, she saw the orange among the bushes and made her stag stop.

,,You're thinking too much again, my dear… I'll take this pumpkin with maple and oak wood,” she announced to him and to the group, who had a basket ready to collect the said ingredients from the surrounding area , although they had already gathered it themselves, but after they both sensed something approaching from afar that was not good for them, they knew that the safety of the kingdom and especially of the two of them was greater.

She couldn't stop the smile that crept across her lips and her sensitive ears caught the snort that her husband let out, ,,Once again I am surprised by your connection to small things, things, my love,” he said in a slightly snide tone that turned into laughter when he saw her bewildered expression and he brushed an apologetic cheek against her.

She felt the cool rings on her skin before she leaned forward to return his kiss, which they exchanged before they went back, knowing that her beloved would make the same choice of crown as she had.

If he chose the crown alone, they would stand here for another hundred years and make no progress. ,,My heart is yours,” she heard him murmur before she turned back to the castle and ran her fingers over his one last time before he followed her.

The couple made their way back to the palace, where they were not only greeted by a relieved Legolas, but also received a warm welcome from the king, who fetched a fine wine from the cellar for the loving ruling couple.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by J.R. Miller

Elijah Taken to Heaven (2 Kings 2:1-11)

Elijah's work was finished. The words of the record are very striking: "It came to pass, when Jehovah would take up Elijah by a whirlwind into heaven." The words show how completely Elijah's life was at the disposal of God. The prophet himself had nothing to say as to when he would go - or how he would go. It would be when and how the Lord would take him.

The unusual manner of Elijah's departure would seem to have been a mark of divine commendation, a reward for his faithfulness. Yet we cannot state with any positiveness, why the prophet was thus lifted over death as he was. All we can say is that it was the divine will concerning his departure. In this way he would best glorify God.

The brief account opens another window, a window into the Father's house: "Jehovah would take up Elijah. .. into heaven." His departure was a promotion, an exaltation, a translation. We know he did not cease to live. We have but to turn the pages over, until we come into the New Testament to see him again, nearly nine hundred years later, living and active still in God's work. This is just as true of the Christians who die in our time - as it was of the old prophet. The Lord takes them up into heaven, and they live on in blessedness and service forever.

One cold autumn day I saw an empty bird's nest on a tree. It looked desolate and forsaken - but I knew that the birds which once sang there were living yet, away in the warm southland, beyond the reach of winter's storms, singing there the same sweet songs they used to sing here. Just so, there is an empty love nest in many a home, in many a heart - but we know that the dear one who has gone is living with God in blessedness.

Elijah's last day on earth was a busy one. He was sent from place to place, first to Bethel, then to Jericho, then to the Jordan. God reveals His plan to His children step by step as they go on. Elijah was faithful also to the very last moment, and went swiftly from task to task. It was to visit the schools of the prophets that he went to Bethel and Jericho. He wished to give his last counsels to these young students whom he had been training and on whom the religious work for the people would depend when he was gone.

We should continue in our work until we come to the end. In fact, when we know that the time is short - we should be all the more diligent and earnest, that nothing may be left undone. Some godly men think they may retire from active service when they get well on in years, living leisurely in the closing days. But the knowledge that we have only a little while to live - should make us eager to do all we can in the world where so much needs to be done. The shortening days - should call us to intenser activity.

Elisha's friendship must have been a great comfort to Elijah. He came into his life that day in the field when the old prophet came upon the young man plowing, and called him. Elijah needed greatly such glad and cheerful companionship. Probably he had not known much of friendship. His life had been that of a recluse. His mission was stern and his work had been severe. Elisha had in him just the qualities that were needed to give comfort to Elijah in his advancing years. Elisha went with him everywhere, a constant help and cheer. He clung to him to the very last. "As Jehovah lives, and as your soul lives - I will not leave you!" he said.

Again and again Elijah begged him to tarry behind. Just why Elijah sought to slip away from him, we are not told. Perhaps he was trying to save him from the pain of parting. But Elisha would not allow Elijah to get out of his sight a moment. He owed everything to Elijah, and it was fitting that he should cling to him to the last and refuse to be separated from him. There are many young people who owe more than they know to older friends - parents, teachers, pastors, or others - and it is fitting and beautiful that they should show their grateful love and interest to the end.

Notice, too, what Elisha would have missed - if he had not clung to his master. He would not have seen the miracle at the Jordan or the glorious translation, nor would he have received the mantle of the ascending prophet. There are always rich rewards at the end of every path of faithfulness ; and the harder and steeper the path - the greater are the rewards. God always pays His servants well, and we do not know what we miss, when we shrink from our duty in any way.

Elisha seems to have been much annoyed by the insistence of the young prophets. They kept asking him if he knew he was to lose his master that day. He said to them, "Do not speak of it!" The words seem harsh and ungentle, especially when spoken at such a time, in the midst of the sacred scenes which this chapter describes - yet the rebuke was merited. These sons of the prophets were impertinent chatterers, breaking in upon the solemn moments of most loving ministry with their thoughtless questionings. They had no conception of the sacredness of what was passing before their eyes. They had no appreciation of the grief of Elisha, before which their hearts should have been awed. They needed to learn just the lesson which Elisha's sharp rebuke gave them.

Many of us need to be taught the same lesson. We like to air our little bits of knowledge and information, letting everybody know what we have heard. Especially is this true when the knowledge we have gained is something we have no right to know, or at least no right to repeat. When we meet one in sorrow - we feel that we must say something about the trouble, and so we begin to chatter or to ask questions, when really we ought not to refer to the matter at all. There is a time to speak even in the presence of sorrow - but there is also a time to be silent. We would better be quiet always in time of grief - than to speak the wrong words or to speak them in a wrong spirit. Impertinence is always a miserable offense - but it is most miserable of all when it flings its crude words upon a breaking heart.

Elijah warmly returned the love of Elisha. The deepest wish in true friendship is not to receive - but to give; not to be ministered unto - but to minister. Elijah desired to bestow upon Elisha all he could bestow upon him. He wished to leave behind for him not merely the memory of his love - but a blessing which should make his successor more ready for his work. So he said, "Ask what I shall do for you, before I am taken from you." He knew he was about to depart, and his heart yearned for the young man who had been so true a friend to him, whom he loved so tenderly. He wanted to give him some parting blessing.

We see illustrations of the same love ofttimes, when parents are about to leave this world. Their affection for their children grows more and more tender as the moment of parting draws near. This incident suggests also that our friends may often do more for us in dying - than they could do even in the midst of life. They are nearer heaven then than they ever were before, and have special power in prayer. Many of us are richer forever, for the last benediction and prayer of some beloved one.

Elisha's choice in answer to the request of Elijah showed the nobleness of his heart. He did not ask for position or health or ease or honor - but for more spiritual power. He had watched his master in his work, in his zeal for God, in his intense earnestness, and he wanted to have a double measure of the same spirit. He desired most of all - to be a better man, a holier man, more active and efficient in the Lord's work. Believers should seek, above all things, the graces and virtues which make a noble Christ like character. The highest desire of a true-hearted man should be that he may be divinely qualified for the work he is called to do. That was the longing of Elisha, as he knew that his master was about to leave him and that the burden of his great ministry was then to fall upon him.

Elijah promised conditionally that Elisha should have the blessing he sought. He told him that if he saw him depart, the favor should be granted to him. Godly men do not die out of the earth when they die. Their influence remains. They leave part of their spirit in other men's lives. Elisha received a double portion of the spirit of Elijah, because the work which the older man had been doing - would pass into the hands of the younger. The true mother leaves much of the power and the beauty of her character, in the hearts of her children. The teacher leaves his words in the minds of those he has taught. All people, good or bad, leave their life behind them in influence, when they go away. How important it is that we shall live well, that our characters be true, holy, pure, so that those upon whom any portion of our influence may fall - shall be blessed by what they get from us.

The last scene of all was very glorious. "As they were walking along and talking together, suddenly a chariot of fire and horses of fire appeared and separated the two of them, and Elijah went up to heaven in a whirlwind!" So the most devoted friends must sometimes be separated. This parting came very suddenly at the last. We walk on together talking for many days, not dreaming of separation, then suddenly, as the chariot is waiting, the one is taken and the other left! We should not overlook the certainty of ultimate separation in every friendship we form. Some day, one of the two who are now walking together in love - will be taken and the other left to weep by a grave and to walk on thereafter lonely and sorrowing.

The departure of Elisha suggests also - that heaven is not far away. One of the chariots from the King's country came down that day and carried the old prophet home. Another came down to the door of the house when your believing father, mother, brother, or sister passed away. We shall not leave the world as Elijah did, missing death - but we shall have the heavenly chariot for our freed spirits just as truly as he had. Jesus said that Lazarus, when he died, was borne by angels home to glory. We shall have angels to carry us up to heaven!

[juleswolverton-hyde]

The Castle on the Hill Chapter 1: Hyde

Genre: Smut, Romance, Fluff, Thriller, Werewolf AU

Pairing: Werewolf!Bangchan x Reader

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: Superstition is as powerful as religion, especially to those living in the countryside. Nevertheless, the sole outsider in town fully joins in the belief of the Last Warden of the North and is insistent on protecting the only girl who accepts him yet refutes the local lore.

However, there is something in the castle on the hill.

And it hungers for something in the village below.

Someone.

You.

Author’s Note: Hello,

Indeed, I am still very much alive but have been extremely busy with university and my job. However, now that the holidays are coming up and I am on my Christmas break, I have a wee bit o’ time to write leisurely again.

I came up with this tale when I was in Cardiff in November, strolling around Bute Park and thinking of ‘Castle on the Hill’ by Ed Sheeran. And, let us be honest, I was thinking of Chan as well (though that should not come as a surprise at this point).

Regardless, hopefully you will enjoy this wee trilogy.

Forever yours,

The Red Raven

Hyde / The Marriage of Man and Beast / Jekyll

Masterlist

Religion is a form of superstition, but just as powerful as the latter for it has ruled mankind in equal amounts, co-existing yet often the cause for war as well. In contemporary times, however, the belief in all folkloric creatures seems to have faded into a case for a good laugh rather than truly believing death will come at hearing the wail of a banshee or swearing the ghost of the black nun continues to haunt the ruins of the friary at which entrance she is buried. Withal, the faith in a particular mythological being has been altered time and again thanks to pop culture but, perhaps fortunately so, the origins of the legend remain remembered vividly by the people who inhabit the area the tale stems from.

The golden sunlight outlines the ruins of the majestic castle that once graced the hill outside the park, mustard and amber leaves littering the pathways frequented by strollers while the weather still permits it. Soon, winter shall conquer autumn and the rains increase in frequency. Henceforth, the days running a small café in the middle of the park is enjoyed the most when all is grand, the world frozen in a perfect seasonal frame.

‘You’re either immensely stupid or incredibly brave to run this establishment, lass.’ A cup of steaming black coffee is served to the wise old man living around the corner of the recreational ground, the white brick worker’s house providing a view on the scenery that everyone seems to fear even in the twenty-first century. Always up for conversation, Paidraigh has helped a novice independent entrepreneur almost flawlessly continue the business formerly run by one of the local women who had to stop due to health issues. He might look like a grumpy soul despising the world, but the stout figure with wise wrinkles and bushy pale beard is actually one of the kindest people residing in the wee village. 

‘How do you mean that, sir?’

‘Have ye nay heard o’ the wolf inhabiting the castle?’

‘I have heard the whispers of strange sounds coming from the ruins at night, aye, but I am sure it’s nothing to worry about.’

‘The word’s it’s a wolf, the spirit of the fierce Last Warden of the North to whom the castle once belonged. It’s said that once he entered the battlefield, all that would be left o’ the enemies were bloody carcasses. As if eaten by, ye guessed it, a wolf.’ Kind stone irises gain a wary glint once they wander to the edge of the sandstone terrace, noticing the heavy boot fall of the town’s most recent inhabitant. ‘Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.’

‘Paddy, don’t be mean. Drink your coffee and leave the lad be, alright?’ A palm amiably pats a broad shoulder before tucking the serving plate under the armpit and heading back to the counter to take a new order.

And likely do more than that, knowing the newcomer.

‘Alright, fine. Just watch yersel’ around him. One wolf is more than enough for this village.’

‘Hiya, how are you?’ Before the habitual order can be placed with as few words as possible, attention is called to the deep scarlet scar running over the bridge of a big nose. ‘What did you do to get that?’

‘Bar fight.’ A soft smile is laboriously carved onto roseate lips, likely albeit clearly suppressing the memory of the scene causing the physical damage. Nevertheless, once gazes lock, the hatred is actively tried to be kept to a bare minimum and show a friendly side the reclusive does not always reveal to anyone. ‘An americano, please.’

Without speaking further, the beverage is prepared. However, as the coffee machine is buzzing while freshly grinding beans to create a perfectly brewed medium roast, the first-aid supplies stored in a cupboard beneath the counter are sought out and taken alongside the drink to the outside of the little booth. Of course, it could have been slid to the customer immediately through the window but it simply happened to unnecessarily be carried as well.

‘Here’s your americano.’ Sitting down on the empty stool across from the silent force looking on in surprise while maintaining a friendly though slightly tired tone, fingers search among the medical care items for the disinfectant and a cotton pad. The frustration wants to be kept to a minimum but it is hard to do so when this very same scene keeps repeating itself and fuels the bad image the villagers have of, in their eyes, a stranger.

Bruises and open wounds thanks to fights that were either started by one’s own volition or after provocation.

Cuts thanks to carving the wooden pillars dotting the grand park, curiously staying close to the little café and helping out at times by remaining on the grand lawn regardless of how many meters need to be bridged to get the new piece of art where it belongs.

‘I’m fine.’ The remark is clearly meant to dismiss the caregiving yet results in all but that since physical damage, no matter of what nature and source, do ignite a genuine worry for the local woodcarver.

Although the habitual resorting to sarcasm protects sincere emotions from showing. Nonetheless, it is helpful in chastising, never failing to eventually get Christopher to look like a guilty puppy while patching him up. ‘And I’m the Queen of Sheba. You strained yer knuckles too much and now they’re bleeding again.’

‘It’s but a scratch.’

‘Is what the Black Knight said before he got annihilated by King Arthur. Give me your hand, you eejit.’

‘Y/N, it’s fine.’

‘No, it’s fecking not.’ A deep sigh lowers tense shoulders admitting that stubbornness will lead nowhere and thus take a soft-spoken yet still genuine approach. ‘I just want to help. Please, give me your hand.’

Howbeit reluctant, the damaged calloused palm nevertheless reaches out and comes to rest in a concerned lap as small digits wrap lightly around the wrist to keep it in place. ‘Thank you.’

The bystanders are ignored as the fresh ugly patches of broken skin are taken care of, taking great care to clean the wounds properly before bandaging them up. Withal, what cannot be ignored is the low threatening growl rolling from plush lips with every touch of disinfecting cotton. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Sorry. It’s just that, grm, it really fucking hurts.’ Teeth grit, snarls and hisses alternating with the light dabs as irises shoot invisible daggers. The free hand which has yet to be treated moulds into a trembling fist trying to remain static despite the agony.

‘Then maybe you shouldn’t get into fights in the first place. What even was it about?’ The damage has been cleaned enough to apply an ointment and bandage the harmed knuckles, gaining the same feral reaction as before.

Notwithstanding, the silence is filled by wordlessness and primal noises, igniting an irritation at the deduction the chastisement is ignored in stubbornness. However, the assumption is counteracted when a whisper provides a muttered surprising answer that fuels a novel sort of annoyance in the mocha locks sitting on the stool. ‘Someone insulted you.’

No, it is not irritation.

Rage.

Pure fury, barely contained.

‘Me? Why?’ Puzzled by the confusing display of hatred against an absent party, locks tilt in patient curiosity waiting for the story.

‘It wasn’t really an insult. Just men drunkenly talking about how they’d show up here to surprise you and you’d be the girlfriend of one of theirs and how lucky you’d be with one of them.’ The split bottom lip is caught between pearly teeth, nibbling while trying to regain a calmer composure even though it is hard when the second set of broken skin is about to be treated. ‘I couldn’t- couldn’t, fuck, that stings! I couldn’t stand the arrogant, hrm, tone and nonsense so I... I just lost it. Snapped.’

‘Christopher-’ The imminent correcting in spite of secretly being flattered by the reason that likely holds no meaning whatsoever since there is more of a patient-nurse relationship is cut short by a low snigger. ‘Hey, why are you smiling like that?’

‘I just like the way you say my name.’ Bright earthly irises set above a big nose marred by a scar likely inflicted by a knife blade are humoured, the sentiment filtering through in the gentle curve of plush lips. The playful aura makes the woodcarver appear quite boyish, a stark contrast with the pub brawler the village has cast out from the beginning.

‘Well, it’s yours, aye?’ Heated cheeks faking casualness return to the task of taking care of the other damaged hand, trying badly to ignore the sweet smile now vividly engraved into memory.

Keep it together. It means nothing. You’re more his nurse than anything else. You’re just friends, if there is any friendship at all. He simply trusts you.

‘Yeah, but-’

‘And I’m sure I don’t say it any differently than any other person.’

‘Still, I like- fuck!’ A giggle flows over into a curse when the bandage is tugged perhaps a bit too tightly to nevertheless teach the lesson of not getting into fights as often as one does. A pleased little grin cannot be suppressed, hiding the delight at the hopefully effective teaching method that will lessen the scene which is exhaustingly re-enacted over and over.

‘If you didn’t get into fights, I wouldn’t have to keep patching you up and you wouldn’t have to deal with the pain.’ A new cotton pad is soaked in disinfectant while throwing a cautious glance in Paddy’s direction, the old man’s lips tightly sealed as grey whiskers move ever so slightly in discomfort.

‘He doesn’t like me.’ A sombre self-aware tone sneaks into lowered defeated shoulders turned towards the old cod, gaze softening in powerlessness.

‘That’s not true.’ The seemingly misplaced remark pulls the young man’s attention, head slightly tilting to the side while irises remain strangely heart-wrenchingly grave.

If only they could know you the way I do.

‘Y/N,’ the powerful mere word is spoken as if surrender is not an option, that the truth of being disliked has to be admitted even though it does not want to be, ‘It’s obvious. Everyone’s afraid of me.’

‘The only thing they’re really scared of is the wolf up in the castle.’ Mocking local superstition, a sigh rolls from the lips setting to work on the carmine single cut running over the nose. There is no resistance this time, Christopher moving, in fact, to the edge of the stool for better access and to make cleaning the scar easier. ‘Guess I’ll hear the same uselessly worried whispers again from the customers tomorrow.’

A hand rests leisurely on the thigh for support, but is taken to come to rest on the brawler’s cheek and kept there, a content hum filling the air scented by coffee and cologne. Lashes flutter shut as mocha locks lean into the touch, almost as if falling asleep right here and now. It would be a lie to say the display does not spread an odd fuzzy warmth throughout, especially when memories of healing up close, observing wood being carved from a distance or problems with difficult people were solved in the same proximity as now resurface. 

Unfortunately, the delightful image is disrupted a second later for the jaw clenches as a low beastly rumble rises from a broad chest trying hard to remain casual as the disinfectant once again stings in the stupidly acquired cut. Irises light up in an amber flash, bearing a terrifying violent hatred that calms down immediately upon establishing a bit of distance that nullifies the intimacy. A confused heart does not know what to make of it, only that the rage that surfaced as rapidly as it disappeared never wants to be directed towards oneself. 

Still, a normal question is raised in an odd undefinable manner that rises from the fearsome wolfish attitude, voice sounding apologetical and clearly wanting to move past something as digits vaguely reach out but drop restlessly in ignorance of what to do. ‘Are you staying open much longer?’

The throat is cleared to regain composure, hardy succeeding yet enough to answer as if nothing happened. ‘Till six, as usual.’ The resumed dabbing briefly stops at the notice of an uneasy shift in weight, a panic without direct cause causing the action. ‘Why do you ask?’

Bandaged hands awkwardly occupy one another in futile twirling of cared-for fingers as the tongue staring at the sandstone is hesitant to voice what suddenly has become urgent. ‘Can you close earlier?’

‘I could but why would I?’ Feigning not having taken notice in the change of demeanour, the last straws are laid in nursing the bloody scar. The palm leaning on the knee of mocha locks, put there in an unconscious move after pulling up the unresisting chin for better access, does seem to calm the nerves somewhat as the regulation of breathing suggests.

When applying the ointment, it is entirely regular and a sigh is relieved with the company.

Only to speed up again when worriedly mentioning the legend that has the entire village spooked even in the twenty-first century. ‘The wolf.’

‘Christopher, don’t you get started as well. There’s no wolf in the castle, no spirit of the Last Warden of the North.’ Shuffling to the edge of the stool, something is attempted to be done about the split lip which has started bleeding again. ‘Your lip is bleeding. Sit still for a wee bit, will ye?’

Calloused fingers wrap firmly around the wrist reaching out after soaking a new dot of cotton in disinfectant, earthly irises ablaze with superstitious concern flowing over in pleading speech. ‘Please close the café before it gets dark.’

‘Look, it’s my business so I decide the opening hours.’ Budging results in nothing but a firmer, even painful grip. Withal, knowing the novel local woodcarver, panic does not set in as it would have had it been anyone else. Still, a meaningless glance sideways is picked up by Paddy as something which does hold significance, the stout old man already rising from his seat when a quick denying nod assures all is well. The command is tranquil yet effectively fierce. ‘Chris, let me go. You’re hurting me.’

As swift as lightning, digits unravel upon hearing the response and move away to create a distance filled by curious emotions that would hint at an intimacy going beyond what is truly present. ‘I’m sorry, he- we didn’t mean to... I- I mean, I didn’t mean to… to...’ A shivering sigh precedes a steadier repeated request, trying to move past the incident while remaining clearly doubtfully calculating of words and actions. ‘Y/N, please. Please close before it gets dark. We don’t- I want you to be safe.’

We? He? Why are you talking like this?

‘I’ll be regardless because there’s no ghost or monster that will slink down the hill to devour me.’ The remark tries to be amusingly sarcastic but it has no effect on the outcast whose grave expression does not change, continuing to stare remorsefully at the red band around the wrists.

The shaking fingers holding soft cotton meant for healing.

Yet ends up hurting.

‘Even if you don’t believe my reason nor the villagers’, close early.’ Lashes are brave enough to look up, keep up the pleading despite being refused over and over.

Maybe I should... no, what am I getting at. It’s just a story, a myth.

‘Can we stop talking about this?’ A palm finds the courage to rise and endeavour to nurse the split lip anew. ‘Sit still and let me help you.’

But soon retracts in heart-pounding concern when unspoken consent flinches as bodies come a wee bit closer to make it easier. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I am. Ehm,’ mocha locks confusedly and haphazardly glance around the terrace, questioning eyes flitting over the customers as a quite adorable big nose sniffs the air before leaning in to take a whiff, ‘Are you wearing perfume?’

‘No, why?’ The head buzzes with what to think of the weird gesture and unanswered inquiries about how the sudden change of topic has come about alongside the earlier talk in the third person. Brows furrow in wonder of the easiest topic for contemplation since perfume is fairly ineffective if unnecessary for the scent of coffee replaces the function on a daily basis.

‘Oh. Well- You- Never mind.’ A shadow movement forward remains just that, a hallucination without certainty. What is real, however, is the rapidity to get up and turn halfway away yet having the politeness to end the conversation by an unsettling awkward look over the shoulder. ‘I should go finish that pillar.’

‘But... your coffee?’ Christoper is already gone before the sentence can be finished, a gobsmacked offended finger pointing to the cooled cup on the counter containing liquid cold. In an instant, likely due to the great offence taken at letting such a precious gift to mankind waste away, the confusion of the chaotic farewell turns into a barista’s rage directed towards the woodcarver who has fled the scene. ‘The bastard just left the coffee to cool? That barbarian!’

The key turns in the lock, definitely closing business for the day. The moonlight falls in through the autumn leaves, casting moving shadows enhancing the dark of the dusk which has overtaken the quiet town. In the slightly clouded sky, the moon shines bright and illuminates the ruined haunted castle on the hill.

Y/N, please. Please close before it gets dark. We don’t- I want you to be safe.

‘I am completely fine. There’s nothing out here to get me. Also, who is ‘’we’’?’ Jeering strands shake in partial self-mockery at the brief spark of fear quickly running through veins at the recollection of the wish spoken in an oddly worried tone, foolishly spooked by mere folklore. ‘And here I thought you and I were the only sane people around, Chris. Guess it’s just me.’

After a final tug on the doorknob to ensure the place is neatly closed off until the dawn, sneakers start their wading path among the fallen mustard and ruby leaves that have been shaded a hue of onyx, tiger’s eye or plum in the twilight. The wind has calmed from its fierce mannerisms, now only softly blowing among the trees densely planted in the great park.

Carrying the sound of a low rumble as it smoothes over branches.

A snarl.

In the twilight silence another disconcerting noise resonates between carved pillars and trunks.

Padding.

A faint tinkling.

Of iron.

Shackles.

No, I must be hearing things. His and Paddy’s words are just getting to my head. There’s nothing. Nothing.

Withal, the bright amber lights are no will-o’-the-wisps and the appearing fur does not appear in the adorable shape of a squirrel. There is not the faintest trace of innocence to be found in the extraordinary meeting between a gigantic wolf cuffed by a firm iron collar around its neck, the broken chain clinking loudly as it drags over the ground and creates a hideous symphony in combination with the violent low growls of the beast.

‘That’s not possible. There’s no Warden, no wolf. This isn’t real.’ Even as the words are spoken in the futile hope of regaining a sense of logic, the conviction is hardly there. In fact, it is entirely absent. ‘This isn’t happening.’

Nevertheless, the snarled warning tone is too near, the impact too tangible in nerves standing on edge in alarm to dismiss the current situation as mental trickery. Especially because the silver light reflecting off of dagger-sharp canines comes too close for comfort, sending raggedly breathing feet fleeing to the wee café a few meters away while silently praying to reach it alive.

However, every rush forwards paradoxically yields nothing to a panicked mind who can feel warm predatory breath heat the back of the brown leather jacket and slowly rise to the back of the neck. Mortified tears start to brim in the corners of the eyes, damnably obscuring vision at a time when errors cannot be made for one, be it stumbling over a fallen branch or temporarily slowing down, will mean the end.

Christopher, Paddy, I’m sorry I didn’t listen. Youse were right and I’m a feckin eejit. I’m sorry. Chris, I’m sorry.

Growling grows ever closer, whispering of there being no escape because paws shall at one point do more than brush against ankles.

Rampant fingers search the pockets of jeans, cursing while feeling around the fabric for the damned key to open the lock to the safe haven.

Sneakers halt in front of the inaccessible door, still searching.

The wolf has slowed down, no longer running yet not giving up the chase now that the helpless prey has been forced into a corner. Big paws as black as a starless sky in winter pad languidly, bright eyes the colour of the pumpkin spice latte that forms the seasonal special obviously finding joy in the hunting game.

In toying with a hopeless target.

One step forwards.

One step back.

To and fro.

I can’t turn my back on it. Still, I have to if I want to get into the damned café. What do I do? What the fuck do I do?

The shivering spine is frozen in place thanks to paralysis due to pure horror, though digits carefully and hopefully unnoticeable continue rummaging through pockets as they keep a close watch on the impending beastly enemy.

Where the fu- By Jaysus, there it is!

Tense shoulders lower slightly in relief when the key is found on the bottom of the right pocket, the brief second of peace of mind carrying over in an unconscious sweetly delighted sigh.

Which evidently triggers the haste to attack because the sadistic game of threats is cut short as the wolf lunges forwards at the speed of lightning.

Fortunately, sharp-fanged jaws are evaded just in time when the key is rammed into the lock, opening the blasted barrier before slamming the door shut and sealing it off once again. All the while cursing Heaven and Hell together.

Hastily, steps lead around the tiny kitchen in search of anything to barricade the door with. An effort which proves fairly futile as basically all equipment is installed in such a manner it cannot be moved and all tables and chairs are kept outside since thieves do not tend to take furniture when on a heist around here.

Or such is the sentiment with which they are stored outside.

Why, of all the times, did I store them outside? Why couldn’t I at least put one table and chair inside? There has to be something around here, there’s got to be.

The fierce longing finds a wonderful answer in the old yet glistening iron chain lock that the former owner of the establishment used before getting proper locks installed and which has been stored away in the back of one of the counters. Sneaking glances to the amber-eyed predatory shadow roaming the terrace through the window of the main counter, horrified palms reach for the sole barrier between life and death.

Flinching back while hardly suppressing mortified screaming, allowing a meek gasp to escape, when the door leading to the hunting dark rattles as if a great weight has been thrown against it in an attempt to force it open. Blood rushing in the ears of accelerated breathing on the edge of breaking down backs away from the tightly sealed entrance, putting the key that was kept inside the lock into the pocket, shivering thanks to the ice veins have turned into.

Finding safety in the corner of the kitchen, wrapping arms around the knees that have fallen to the ground without muscles and pressing tears knowing this is the end of the line into stony grey denim.

Paddy... Christopher... Chris, I’m so sorry. I wish you were here. Fuck, I should’ve listened to ye instead of being such a gobshite.

The memorized phantom of lush lips take a shivering figure soon to meet death into sturdy woodcarving arms dusted over with soft thin black hair, head resting against the secure chest that has been healed from sickly bruises, bleeding bullet wounds, fresh deep dagger scars or a combination of all. Because, despite the chastisements each time the curious artists shows up at the café in a worsened condition, there remains the recalled moments of mocha locks helping in dealing with difficult customers and men trying their futile luck by going too far. Christopher had been there at an oddly fascinated barista’s side, leaving as little distance between bodies as possible while snarling in warning of touching the boundaries of patience so desperate men would see their chances ruined and people complaining about the pettiest things would know the customer is not always king.

Day in, day out. From the moment the café opens until it closes, staying close by while creating the gorgeously engraved pillars dotting the landscape.

Sometimes even walking homewards together, wordlessly refusing to part ways before having made sure the sole girl in town not distrustful towards an “outsider” has arrived safely and only then cracking on to the personal roof. When not doing so, it is towards working places set in nature, enjoying the hush of the morning as the sun rises in the golden sky.

Hands used to meaninglessly brush against each other.

At some point, it has become a habit to hold his pinky from the moment of being picked up without an explicit arrangement until the destination is reached.

In blissful small talk or a comfortable silence.

I wish you were here. See you one last time.

But death is lonesome in the growling silence of the lush park.

[araitsume]

The Desire of Ages, pp. 231-235: Chapter (23) “The Kingdom of God Is at Hand”

“Jesus came into Galilee, preaching the gospel of the kingdom of God, and saying, The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand: repent ye, and believe the gospel.” Mark 1:14, 15.

The Messiah's coming had been first announced in Judea. In the temple at Jerusalem the birth of the forerunner had been foretold to Zacharias as he ministered before the altar. On the hills of Bethlehem the angels had proclaimed the birth of Jesus. To Jerusalem the magi had come in search of Him. In the temple Simeon and Anna had testified to His divinity. “Jerusalem, and all Judea” had listened to the preaching of John the Baptist; and the deputation from the Sanhedrin, with the multitude, had heard his testimony concerning Jesus. In Judea, Christ had received His first disciples. Here much of His early ministry had been spent. The flashing forth of His divinity in the cleansing of the temple, His miracles of healing, and the lessons of divine truth that fell from His lips, all proclaimed that which after the healing at Bethesda He had declared before the Sanhedrin,—His Sonship to the Eternal.

If the leaders in Israel had received Christ, He would have honored them as His messengers to carry the gospel to the world. To them first was given the opportunity to become heralds of the kingdom and grace of God. But Israel knew not the time of her visitation. The jealousy and distrust of the Jewish leaders had ripened into open hatred, and the hearts of the people were turned away from Jesus.

The Sanhedrin had rejected Christ's message and was bent upon His death; therefore Jesus departed from Jerusalem, from the priests, the temple, the religious leaders, the people who had been instructed in the law, and turned to another class to proclaim His message, and to gather out those who should carry the gospel to all nations.

As the light and life of men was rejected by the ecclesiastical authorities in the days of Christ, so it has been rejected in every succeeding generation. Again and again the history of Christ's withdrawal from Judea has been repeated. When the Reformers preached the word of God, they had no thought of separating themselves from the established church; but the religious leaders would not tolerate the light, and those that bore it were forced to seek another class, who were longing for the truth. In our day few of the professed followers of the Reformers are actuated by their spirit. Few are listening for the voice of God, and ready to accept truth in whatever guise it may be presented. Often those who follow in the steps of the Reformers are forced to turn away from the churches they love, in order to declare the plain teaching of the word of God. And many times those who are seeking for light are by the same teaching obliged to leave the church of their fathers, that they may render obedience.

The people of Galilee were despised by the rabbis of Jerusalem as rude and unlearned, yet they presented a more favorable field for the Saviour's work. They were more earnest and sincere; less under the control of bigotry; their minds were more open for the reception of truth. In going to Galilee, Jesus was not seeking seclusion or isolation. The province was at this time the home of a crowded population, with a much larger admixture of people of other nations than was found in Judea.

As Jesus traveled through Galilee, teaching and healing, multitudes flocked to Him from the cities and villages. Many came even from Judea and the adjoining provinces. Often He was obliged to hide Himself from the people. The enthusiasm ran so high that it was necessary to take precautions lest the Roman authorities should be aroused to fear an insurrection. Never before had there been such a period as this for the world. Heaven was brought down to men. Hungering and thirsting souls that had waited long for the redemption of Israel now feasted upon the grace of a merciful Saviour.

The burden of Christ's preaching was, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent ye, and believe the gospel.” Thus the gospel message, as given by the Saviour Himself, was based on the prophecies. The “time” which He declared to be fulfilled was the period made known by the angel Gabriel to Daniel. “Seventy weeks,” said the angel, “are determined upon thy people and upon thy holy city, to finish the transgression, and to make an end of sins, and to make reconciliation for iniquity, and to bring in everlasting righteousness, and to seal up the vision and prophecy, and to anoint the most holy.” Daniel 9:24. A day in prophecy stands for a year. See Numbers 14:34; Ezekiel 4:6. The seventy weeks, or four hundred and ninety days, represent four hundred and ninety years. A starting point for this period is given: “Know therefore and understand, that from the going forth of the commandment to restore and to build Jerusalem unto the Messiah the Prince shall be seven weeks, and threescore and two weeks,” sixty-nine weeks, or four hundred and eighty-three years. Daniel 9:25. The commandment to restore and build Jerusalem, as completed by the decree of Artaxerxes Longimanus (see Ezra 6:14; 7:1, 9, margin), went into effect in the autumn of B. C. 457. From this time four hundred and eighty-three years extend to the autumn of A. D. 27. According to the prophecy, this period was to reach to the Messiah, the Anointed One. In A. D. 27, Jesus at His baptism received the anointing of the Holy Spirit, and soon afterward began His ministry. Then the message was proclaimed. “The time is fulfilled.”

Then, said the angel, “He shall confirm the covenant with many for one week [seven years].” For seven years after the Saviour entered on His ministry, the gospel was to be preached especially to the Jews; for three and a half years by Christ Himself; and afterward by the apostles. “In the midst of the week He shall cause the sacrifice and the oblation to cease.” Daniel 9:27. In the spring of A. D. 31, Christ the true sacrifice was offered on Calvary. Then the veil of the temple was rent in twain, showing that the sacredness and significance of the sacrificial service had departed. The time had come for the earthly sacrifice and oblation to cease.

The one week—seven years—ended in A. D. 34. Then by the stoning of Stephen the Jews finally sealed their rejection of the gospel; the disciples who were scattered abroad by persecution “went everywhere preaching the word” (Acts 8:4); and shortly after, Saul the persecutor was converted, and became Paul, the apostle to the Gentiles.

The time of Christ's coming, His anointing by the Holy Spirit, His death, and the giving of the gospel to the Gentiles, were definitely pointed out. It was the privilege of the Jewish people to understand these prophecies, and to recognize their fulfillment in the mission of Jesus. Christ urged upon His disciples the importance of prophetic study. Referring to the prophecy given to Daniel in regard to their time, He said, “Whoso readeth, let him understand.” Matthew 24:15. After His resurrection He explained to the disciples in “all the prophets” “the things concerning Himself.” Luke 24:27. The Saviour had spoken through all the prophets. “The Spirit of Christ which was in them” “testified beforehand the sufferings of Christ, and the glory that should follow.” 1 Peter 1:11.

It was Gabriel, the angel next in rank to the Son of God, who came with the divine message to Daniel. It was Gabriel, “His angel,” whom Christ sent to open the future to the beloved John; and a blessing is pronounced on those who read and hear the words of the prophecy, and keep the things written therein. Revelation 1:3.

“The Lord God will do nothing, but He revealeth His secret unto His servants and prophets.” While “the secret things belong unto the Lord our God,” “those things which are revealed belong unto us and to our children forever.” Amos 3:7; Deuteronomy 29:29. God has given these things to us, and His blessing will attend the reverent, prayerful study of the prophetic scriptures.

As the message of Christ's first advent announced the kingdom of His grace, so the message of His second advent announces the kingdom of His glory. And the second message, like the first, is based on the prophecies. The words of the angel to Daniel relating to the last days were to be understood in the time of the end. At that time, “many shall run to and fro, and knowledge shall be increased.” “The wicked shall do wickedly: and none of the wicked shall understand; but the wise shall understand.” Daniel 12:4, 10. The Saviour Himself has given signs of His coming, and He says, “When ye see these things come to pass, know ye that the kingdom of God is nigh at hand.” “And take heed to yourselves, lest at any time your hearts be overcharged with surfeiting, and drunkenness, and cares of this life, and so that day come upon you unawares.” “Watch ye therefore, and pray always, that ye may be accounted worthy to escape all these things that shall come to pass, and to stand before the Son of man.” Luke 21:31, 34, 36.

We have reached the period foretold in these scriptures. The time of the end is come, the visions of the prophets are unsealed, and their solemn warnings point us to our Lord's coming in glory as near at hand.

The Jews misinterpreted and misapplied the word of God, and they knew not the time of their visitation. The years of the ministry of Christ and His apostles,—the precious last years of grace to the chosen people,—they spent in plotting the destruction of the Lord's messengers. Earthly ambitions absorbed them, and the offer of the spiritual kingdom came to them in vain. So today the kingdom of this world absorbs men's thoughts, and they take no note of the rapidly fulfilling prophecies and the tokens of the swift-coming kingdom of God.

“But ye, brethren, are not in darkness, that that day should overtake you as a thief. Ye are all the children of light, and the children of the day: we are not of the night, nor of darkness.” While we are not to know the hour of our Lord's return, we may know when it is near. “Therefore let us not sleep, as do others; but let us watch and be sober.” 1 Thessalonians 5:4-6.