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hirukochan · 1 year ago

Text

Ambushed

A Severus SnapexFem!Reader Oneshot

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Severus Snape x former student reader

Summary: After your former Professor murdered Albus Dumbledore a few weeks after your one-nightstand you never expected to see him again.

Warnings: Smut, catcalling, blood, injury

Wordcount: 5000

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

Life has become significantly darker since the death of Albus Dumbledore. You hear rumours of the Ministry falling, about Death Eaters taking over and You-Know-Who rising. From the perspective of the public all that hasn’t happened. Everybody can feel the change and taste the misery hanging in the air between abandoned and destroyed shops in Diagon Alley.

The rich fuck you work for is paying you extra because you decided to stay. You aren’t going to let yourself be scared into running away!

You started evening courses at a small university in Aberdeen a few months ago. Enchanted Art. For what? Hell if you know, but art sounded good. You however aren’t…good. Not at all, but it’s fun. You enrolled a few days after what you now call ‘the worst mistake of your life’.

Severus Snape.

Death Eater.

Murderer.

Newly appointed headmaster of Hogwarts.

And you fucked him. Just three weeks before he killed Albus Dumbledore, a man who trusted him.

The Daily Prophet and the Ministry are framing Harry Potter for it. There is a large manhunt going on with a bounty on Potter’s head. The boy has disappeared from the face of the earth.

You saw him at the funeral in Hogwarts. Many former students came to say their goodbyes to Dumbledore. You went out of shame and guilt. It doesn’t make any sense for you to feel like that. Neither did you know what Snape was planning nor did you support him in any way. And yet, just knowing you had that man in your bed is eating at you.

You sway and stumble but can catch yourself on the side of an abandoned building. Death Eaters have been attacking Diagon Alley for months, even before You-Know-Who came to power, but never your shop. You guess it’s because a second-hand bookshop is absolutely useless. You don’t even have many customers! The shop is not profitable whatsoever.

You rub your eyes and push yourself off the wall to continue your less than straight way back to your flat. You’ve been drinking with the Weasley twins who run the joke shop a few streets away from yours. They are one of the few shops still open like you. They were three years under you and always good for a laugh though you were never friends with them. Now out of school and in the same boat you get along well.

And drinking alone is pathetic.

You are pathetic, but not that pathetic.

Not yet.

You squeeze through an alley. Just another corner and you’d be there. You’re too drunk to apparate and apparition can suck it anyway.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out all alone?” A male voice calls out to you. You ignore it. You are really not in the mood to be accosted now and your wand might just slip.

You grip it tighter in your pocket. One could not be careful enough these days. Perhaps you should have taken Georges’ offer of walking you home.

“I’m talking to you!” He sounds angry now. Just fuck off. Just turn around and fuck off or better come here and give me something to let my aggressions out on. “Stuck up cunt!” You are whirled around by your shoulder and thrown against a wall. The air is pressed out of your lungs and your back aches.

The blurry face of a sleazy looking man comes into view but in the next second he’s gone. You blink. Your alcohol drenched brain needs some time to catch up. Then a scream rips through the night and you recoil. Everything in you screams to run. To turn around and take off, to save yourself, but your eyes are glued to the man on the ground, writhing and screaming, his body shaken by endless, never-ending agony.

Steps echo through the night and your head snaps up. A tall, dark figure moves towards you. Black robes, dark hair- for a second you think it’s Snape and you don’t know how to feel at that and even less how to deal with the sting of treacherous disappointment when you notice he’s too slim and too short to be Snape.

Moonlight reflects off a silver mask. You grip your wand tighter, terrified of what’s going to happen next.

A Death Eater.

A real fucking Death Eater right in front of you! And you’re still not running. Why the fuck are you not running?

“Tsk tsk tsk.” He clicks his tongue and shakes his hand. The man’s screams have stopped, replaced by a strangled, gurgling sound that somehow sounds so much worse. Your blood freezes in your veins and you start shivering. This is it. This is how you die. Drunk and on your way home. Just a street away! Away from safety, though you suspect that it’s a false feeling. A lie.

There is no safety left in Britain.

“Has your mummy never taught you, you mustn’t touch what isn’t yours?” He shakes his head and clicks his tongue again. A green light illuminates the alley. It paints grotesque shadows onto the silver mask and the wall behind him.

You scream. Shock and pain are ripping the sound out of the wall of your throat and haul it into the night. You cover your mouth with your hands. Tears sting in your eyes. You don’t want to die here.

Your heart pounds in your chest, strong and fast, declaring it has many good years still left, refusing to back down but also trapped by a rich net, woven from terror and dread.

“You shouldn’t be out so late.” The Death Eater says. His voice is slightly muffled by the mask, but he sounds young. So terribly young. Perhaps around the twins’ age? Did he go to school with you? You don’t recognise his voice, but you are in shock. Right? Yes, shock. He just killed someone! Like it’s nothing! To think you might have sat next to him in the Great Hall or the library…

“It’s not safe. Best run along now.”

You blink. Confused. He is letting you go? Why would he let you go? He rips his sleeve up, revealing a jet-black tattoo on his underarm, one that you’ve never seen before but recognise regardless.

“That’s a fucking order!” You flinch. And then you’re running. Running down the street and not stopping until you’ve reached the door to your flat. Your fingers tremble so much you struggle to get the key into the keyhole. You use every single protection charm you know on the door after you’ve closed behind yourself. You’ve gotten good at casting them. You had to.

“What the fuck.” You whisper to yourself, back leaned against the wall and wand clutched to your chest. “What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck!” A Death Eater just fucking let you go! He tortured someone for attempting to assault you and then killed him.

He fucking killed him.

You watched someone die.

What the fuck.

Oh Merlin and Grímhildr and god and Jesus fucking Christ!

‘Mustn’t touch what isn’t yours’ What does that mean? You’re not some object to be owned!

“Maybe he has a crush on me?” You think out loud. Yeah…maybe that guy really did use to go to school with you? Maybe he- you have no idea but what other reason would there be? Would a Death Eater disapprove of assaulting women? Somehow you find that hard to believe.

The incident does not leave your mind. You become paranoid. Always checking your steps and looking around for that glimmer of light catching on a silver mask. Often you’d look out of your windows, watching the empty street but you don’t see the young Death Eater again. You expect him to come back any day to finish you off

One day you arrive at the Leaky Cauldron after your evening classes tired and hungry. It’s a little after ten and you decide to eat in the pub instead of cooking. An hour later you step outside and apparate onto the steps in front of the door to your flat. You secure the door with your usual spells and kick off your shoes before hurrying up the stairs. You want nothing more than to collapse into your bed-

Something isn’t right. It’s the faintest difference. A smell that is not quite right. A whisper of magic in the air that does not belong to you. The small hairs on your nape stand and your stomach clenches. You grip your wand tighter.

There is something on your floor. A large black something.

“What the fuck?” You mutter and drop your hand to your side. “What the fuck? No no no- get the fuck up, Snape!” He doesn’t move. He is lying face down in a puddle of blood in the middle of your flat. Where did he come from? How did he get in? Why is he here?

You kick him.

It sounds like a logical choice in your head.

He doesn’t move.

“I have a Death Eater in my flat, on my floor. I have a dying Death Eater on my floor!” You panic. You are panicking. You kick him again. Nothing changes. “Shit shit shit!” You could just…kick him down the stairs and lock the door? How did he get in here?!

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-” What do you do? What can you do? Why is he here?

For lack of a better plan, you kick him again, but despite how gratifying it feels to let your aggression out on him you have to come up with a better idea. You can’t just keep kicking him!

Wary of the Death Eater on your floor you kneel down and press two fingers to the pulse point on his neck, ready to jump backwards at any point. His skin is burning up. What happened?

You can’t just kick him down the stairs. It’s tempting. He’d deserve it- but that isn’t you. Besides it would take the Death Eaters not even two seconds to figure out who left him there to die and they might come back to hurt you.

You heave him into your bed and peel the blood-soaked clothes from his chest. There is a deep gash across his side. Blood steadily runs down his pale skin. What happened to him?

“He’s a Death Eater that’s what fucking happened to him.” You scold yourself. “And you are fucking helping him- fuck! Why did you choose my flat to die in, Snape?!” You flick your wand at him, and his own wand comes flying through the air, landing in your hand. You shove it into your pocket.

Snape looks like shit. He’s thinner than a few months ago, his skin paler and dark, deep shadows have seemingly permanently attached themselves to the skin under his eyes.

The glorious Death Eater that defeated Albus Dumbledore.

You scoff.

“Good- that is that…disarming the Death Eater that is twice your size and can probably do wandless magic…or simply snatch them back from you because let’s be honest here - we aren’t a fighter!” You have no idea who you are talking to, but you feel hysteric and talking to oneself is what hysteric people do. Right? Right?

“Please don’t die here and start haunting me!”

“I’m not dying.” Snape grunts and you scream.

“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck- you scared the living shit out of me! What the fuck are you doing here?” Without bothering to answer you, he examines the wound on his side. He grimaces.

“I advise you against attempting that.” The deep, velvety rumble of voice makes you shudder in all the wrong ways. You keep your wand trained on him anyway.

“Get the fuck out of my flat!” You hiss, raising your wand higher, keeping it aimed at him.

“So hostile.” He tuts. “Did I leave you unsatisfied last time?”

“You’re a murderer!” Your voice is shaking, tears pool in your eyes and you have no fucking idea why you feel betrayed. You hadn’t spoken to Snape in five years before your one-night stand. But had you known…had you known he is a Death Eater you would have never let him into your bed.

“Yes.” Snape says and he somehow sounds bitter. What right has he to be bitter? “I heard you ran into some…trouble.” You shove your wand in his face and perhaps he sees in your eyes how serious you are, a faint promise of hexing him or something else, but he raises his bloodied hands slightly as if to tell you he isn’t a danger.

“Do you have a first-aid-kit? So I can get out of your hair.” You look at him, considering. You could make him leave. “I’m not a danger to you.” To you. To others, yes, but not you. You have no idea how to feel about that thinly veiled confession. You flick your wand towards your bathroom. Snape rummages through your first-aid-kit.

“Who the fuck doesn’t stock dittany?” He asks, glaring up at you while aggressively opening the fuckton of buttons on his robes. Who needs so many buttons?

“Why would I have fucking dittany? Sorry I did not expect you would choose my home to almost fucking die in!”

“I wouldn’t have died!” He sneers.

“Tell that to the puddle of blood on my floor. Why are you here?” He hesitates. His shoulders droop and he stops messing with his clothes. Something profoundly vulnerable flashes through his eyes.

“Where else would I go?” And that is that apparently. He peels back layers of blood-soaked clothes, and you try not to ogle him. He hadn’t taken off much of his clothes when he fucked you…

The moonlight hides the currently sickish undertones of his pale skin, making him look like one of those marble statues you’ve seen in a muggle museum once. His skin is littered with scars, a visual reminder that this man is a Death Eater - a fact your body is more than willing to ignore judging by the uncomfortable, damp spot in your knickers.

You watch him patch himself up from a safe distance, your wand pointed at him at all times. His fingers tremble, his skin is chalky pale and beads of sweat cling to his forehead, but his movements are precise and purposeful.

And yet-

You have never seen him like this.

Small somehow.

Vulnerable.

“I was told you were assaulted.” His voice is quiet, he usually speaks soft and quiet - a man like he never has any trouble getting a classroom full of hormonal teenagers to shut it. But today it’s different. There is something…inherently broken about the way he says the words and it gives you pause.

“So what? You decided to break in? Who do you think you are that you get to check up on me?” You spit the words at him because if you don’t, you might do other things and you really can’t afford that.

“That wasn’t-” He inhales sharply and impossibly enough pales even more. You summon a glass of water. “Thank you.” He whispers and downs the whole thing in one go.

“Wouldn’t want your cult friends to show up here because I let you die.”

“You should be careful what you say.” He doesn’t say it as a threat. He says it softly, with dread mixing into his worry.

“I thought you weren't a danger to me.”

“Plenty of people are.”

“Right…then. You know where the door is.” You nod towards it. Snape rises to his feet - far more graceful and steady than he has any right to with how shit he looks. He comes closer and you bite the inside of your cheek to resist the urge of stepping back. He comes closer still, his much larger frame hovering above you and any sliver of thinking Snape is small evaporates into thin air.

His silky hair falls into his face and hides it in the shadows of your flat, with only the moon illuminating the small space.

You take a shaky breath and attempt to ignore the heat between your bodies or the way your heart beats all wrong. His eyes have an intensity to them that makes you shudder and involuntarily recall how his hands felt on you…his breath dancing across your skin…the way he tastes-

“You still have my wand.” He says, his voice impossibly deeper and smokey and his eyes- these damn stunning stupid eyes that burn into yours, whispering promises of things you can’t even begin to wrap your mind around.

You automatically close your fingers tighter around your own wand. He is so close now the tip of it digs into his chest. He doesn’t even flinch. Like the threat of a curse does not even affect him, like he doesn’t give a shit that you could simply kill him right now or perhaps it’s arrogance. He believes you incapable of it - which is the truth but still! Is it asking too much to want him to be at least a little afraid?

Snape reaches out and his hand brushes over your side and you inhale sharply.

There must have been a lapse in the fabric of time - in the universe itself because suddenly you are kissing. You don’t know why or how but the wands clatter to the ground and Snape’s hands are on you and your body scream fuck the universe because this feels right.

Snape’s arms wrap around your smaller form and press you to his chest and you let him, weaving your hands into his hair while he claims your mouth with a feral hunger. You moan into the kiss and lean into his touch and try to smother the whisper in your head repeating the last two words you’d want to hear right now over and over.

Death Eater

You slide your tongue over his. There is a faint taste of iron in the kiss but it doesn’t matter. Snape’s fingers dig into your flesh like he is trying to devise a way to never have to let you go again.

He clings to you like a dying man to life.

Death Eater

He stumbles backwards and takes you with him, plopping down on the bed and pulling you into his lap. It feels natural. Your bodies fit together like two puzzle pieces and something somewhere in the universe just clicks.

You run your hands down his neck and over his shoulder, noting how much thinner he feels now compared to last time. You shove his frock and dress shirt down his shoulders. The feeling of his naked skin against your hands feels electrifying. A buzzing prickle seeping into your body through the pad of your fingers and spreading throughout your very being like blazing wildfire, pooling deep in your belly.

Death Eater

You moan into the kiss and grind against Snape, feeling his hard cock against your core through your knickers.

Death Eater

Two pairs of hands drop to his fly at one, frantically fumbling with buttons and stumbling over each other. Snape retreats and returns to thoroughly groping your arse under your skirt. You manage to free his cock and Snape helps lift your hips. You push your soaked knickers away and align his cock with your entrance.

“Fuck I forgot how big you are-” You hiss at the stretch. Snape kisses your neck and nibbles on your collarbone.

“Have you been with someone since-?” He leaves the question open. Further specifications aren’t needed. You are still slowly lowering yourself on his prick, until the delicious kind of stretch turns to a stinging stretch where you pause to give yourself time to adjust.

“-no.” You pant. Snape groans against your sternum and wraps his arms around you again, pulling you close. He kisses down your chest and over your breasts. Nuzzling you through the fabric of your blouse.

“Fucking hell-” You mutter once he is finally sheathed inside you. You’re out of breath and sweaty and so so full. His cock is throbbing against your inner walls, hot and thick and you need a moment to collect yourself.

“So good.” Snape groans and continues peppering kisses over your chest. You whimper in response. “You take my cock so fucking good-” He rips your blouse open and shoves your bra up, locking his lips around your nipple instantly. You moan and cling to his shoulders. Snape licks broad strokes over your nipple, alternates between sucking and kissing and grazing you with his teeth.

His lust-drenched sounds make you squirm in his arms and arousal leak over his cock, soiling his trousers.

It takes a little moment for you to get a hang of how to move on top of him, but once you’ve figured it out, you earn approving groans from Snape.

“Fucking missed you.” He murmurs against your skin.

“Did you now?” You raise a brow.

“I’m talking to your tits, dear.”

“You have issues.” You moan and sink back down on his cock.

“I thought we had already established that.”

“Yeah, when you decided my floor was the proper place to die!”

“Wouldn’t have died.” He groans and locks his lips around your nipple again. You cradle his head with your arms and rest your cheek against the crow of his head while bobbing up and down his length in an unsteady, unrefined rhythm.

Snape doesn’t seem to care.

And neither do you really.

The voice in your head shut up a while ago and you bid farewell to it, telling it to never come back.

Snape inhales sharply and you stop instantly.

“Did I hurt you?” You ask, unable to keep the worry out of your voice. Snape’s face is contorted in pain. He reaches for the footboard of your bed and his knuckles turn white under the force with which he holds onto it.

“Lie down.” You murmur and push against his shoulders gently. Snape looks at you both irritated and untrusting, but he eventually (less than gracefully) lowers his back onto the mattress.

You reposition yourself above him and lean back to brace your hands against his thighs right above his knees. Slowly you begin moving again. It feels awkward for a while but then you find the right angle and Snape presses his fingers against your clit, stroking tender circles over the throbbing bundle of nerves and pleasure overshadows any feeling of awkwardness.

“You’ve always been a fast learner.” Snape groans. “Such a studious girl.”

“When the subject interests me.” You chuckle and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“Am I an interesting subject?”

“Hmm…Certainly one I can’t seem to escape.” You raise your hips and sink back down, moaning in tune with the delicious stretch of his girth.

“Do you plan on almost dying on my floor in the future?”

Snape laughs, an uneasy sound accompanied by a concerning rattling sound coming from his lungs. “Are you planning on stocking Dittany in the future?”

“Nah, but I was thinking about getting a runner and- ow!” He slaps your thigh, not hard, but a pleasant sting runs through your flesh and the sudden slapping sound startled you. “Bastard.” You hiss and push yourself up, planting your hands on either side of his head, careful to avoid the dark strands of hair spread out around his head.

“Is that the thanks I get?”

“Thanks?” He hums. An expression of raw pleasure flickers over his face and it pulls you in, captures you like a fly in a sticky trap - and like a fly in a sticky trap you realise the danger you are in just by associating with Snape, not to mention by fucking him.

You never thought yourself to be a morally depraved woman but here you are, with the enemy quite literally in your bed.

An injured, weakened enemy.

As if you’d have a chance against Severus Snape no matter how weak he is! No, leave the heroism to other people, people that value their lives less or think the world will be grateful for their heroism.

You close your eyes and lean down to meet Snape’s lips, to get lost in the feeling of a warm body against yours, the mechanical workings of what a romance would feel like, to draw some comfort from a man that is willingly giving it to you when all other male specimens on this earth seem to not give a shit about you.

“Started University.” You murmur against his lips. Snape has put his hands on your arse and is helping your movement, pulling you and down on his cock, guiding your cunt or using it for his own pleasure or revelling in having a former student of his so messed up she lets him fuck her.

“I heard. I’m glad.” He mutters back and takes your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Keeping taps on me?”

“Only a little.” And it’s back to kissing. Wet, heated, burning kisses. And passion or maybe erratic obsession but if obsession feels this good what does it matter?

The heat of his tongue against yours, his hands squeezing your arse, his breath dancing over your face, his cock spearing open your cunt repeatedly, it collects inside you, runs through your limbs and veins and fills your whole body. You can feel it rushing alongside your blood, feel your body respond to it by picking up the pace of your heartbeat, sweet clinging to your skin, especially on your thighs that straddle Snape’s. It floats through your body and eventually pools in your lower belly and deep inside your cunt, welcoming Snape’s prick on each thrust by splitting into two and regenerating like cell division-

Heat grows and morphs and hardens into a brooding mass that threatens to rip free of you. It scratches against your insides, searching desperately for a way out, a way to release this pressure and then Snape presses his thumb down on your clit and it rips free of you. Snape thrust up into you in one hard stroke and he groans, his grip on your arse tightening and you collapse above him and he pulls you down by putting his arms around your torso - his wound long forgotten by both of you.

His cock throbs as he spills inside you, splatters of warm, sticky cum painting your inner walls and with a content hum you rock against his softening cock to relish the last flickers of your orgasm.

Snape grunts - a pained one this time - and you push your trembling body up and lift your hips to sit down on the bed next to him. His now limp cock slips out of you and you hate that you miss the feeling of it, hate the emptiness left behind. You pull your knees to your chest and lean against the headboard of your bed, staring at the window just to not look at Snape.

“I-” Snape begins but stops himself. With another pained grunt he sits up and does the many buttons of his clothes back up. He sighs and rubs his hands over his face, raking through his hair. “I will try to not almost die on your floor again.”

“Good.” You want to sound stern, but it comes out sounding exhausted and confused.

“Good.” He murmurs. A knock on your door rips you from your thoughts. Who would knock so late? Perhaps it’s your elderly neighbour…

You pick your wand up from the floor and fix your skirt and blouse and walk towards the door.

Still caught in a whirlwind of confusing and contradicting feelings and perhaps Snape’s presence has led you to let down your guard a little, whatever it is you forget to cast your detection charms before opening the door-

Silver glimmers in the moonlight. You recognise the mask. It’s the young Death Eater that killed the man who wanted to assault you. He is flanked by two taller Death Eaters. Whatever you had wanted to say gets stuck in your throat as it swells shut. Just out of their sight you grip your wand tighter.

“Miss.” The young one says. “Apologies for the interruption.” Why the fuck is a Death Eater addressing you so polite? Movement behind you catches your attention but you don’t dare move.

“Was I not clear enough when I said this shop is not to be disturbed.” Snape drawls and all hints of pain or injury have left his voice. He looms behind you, tall and menacing and you can actually see the taller Death Eaters shrink back.

“My mistake. Again, apologies, Miss. Your presence is requested, Sir.” The younger one says to Snape.

“Do not repeat it in the future.” Snape scoffs. He ignores them and closes the door.

You can’t seem to find your voice again.

“This all will be over soon.”

“How do you know?” You whisper, uncertain what Snape means. What will be over? The resistance? You-Know-Who? His presence in your life?

“I hope you won’t have to see me again.” His lips brush your forehead ever so slightly, his fingertips dancing over your arms.

He turns to leave.

“Snape-” You don’t know what to say. His eyes linger on you for a moment, you think to see something flash in them, a hint of some deeply buried emotion but then he turns, opens the door again and he is gone.

You lean your forehead against the smooth wood. You can still feel his touch lingering-

A sob tears through the silence and you press your hand to your mouth as you sink to the floor and you don’t even know why. You kneel on the floor in front of your door and sob and cry.

When you eventually regain your composure and return to your flat you are met with the sight of drying blood…

The next day you go to the apothecary down the street and buy a bottle of Dittany.

| Part 3 |

#severus snape x reader #ao3 fanfic #snape x reader #snape x you #severus snape smut #dividers by cafekitsune

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maniculum · 1 year ago

Text

An Excerpt from the Aberdeen Bestiary

I've started preparing the bestiaryposting, and have encountered one entry that doesn't really fit into what we're doing. Not only is it one of the longest entries, but instead of "let me tell you about this animal", it's taking more of a "we all already know about this animal, so I'm going to share some stories about specific ones" approach. But out of a sense of completionism, I can't just not post it, so here you go.

Dog

The Latin name for the dog, canis, seems to have a Greek origin. For in Greek it is called cenos, although some think that it is called after the musical sound, canor, of its barking, because when it howls, it is also said to sing, canere. No creature is more intelligent than the dog, for dogs have more understanding than other animals; they alone recognise their names and love their masters.

There are many kinds of dogs: some track down the wild beasts of the forests to catch them; others by their vigilance guard flocks of sheep from the attacks of wolves; others as watch-dogs in the home guard the property of their masters lest it be stolen by thieves at night and sacrifice their lives for their master; they willingly go after game with their master; they guard his body even when he is dead and do not leave it. Finally, their nature is that they cannot exist without man.

Also of the nature of dogs

We read that dogs have such great love for their masters, as when King Garamentes was caught by his enemies and taken into captivity, two hundred dogs went in formation through enemy lines and led him back from exile, fighting off those who resisted them. When Jason [Licio] was killed, his dog rejected food and died of starvation. The dog of King Lysimachus threw itself in the flame when its master's funeral pyre was lit and was consumed by fire along with him. When Apius and Junius Pictinius were consuls, a dog that could not be driven away from its master, who had been condemned, accompanied him to prison; when, soon afterwards, he was executed, it followed him, howling. When the people of Rome, out of pity, caused it to be fed, it carried the food to its dead master's mouth. Finally, when its master's corpse was thrown into the Tiber, the dog swam to it and tried to keep it from sinking.

When a dog picks up the track of a hare or a deer and comes to a place where the trail divides or to a junction splitting into several directions, it goes to the beginning of each path and silently reasons with itself, as if by syllogism, on the basis of its keen sense of smell. 'Either the animal went off in this direction,' it says,'or that, or certainly it took this turning.��

Again on the nature of dogs

Often, also, when a murder has been committed, dogs have produced clear evidence of the guilt of the accused, with the result that their unspoken testimony is for the most part believed. They say that at Antioch, in a distant quarter of the city at dusk, a man was murdered, who had his dog with him on a lead. A soldier had been the perpetrator of the deed, with robbery as his motive. Undercover of the growing darkness, he fled elsewhere. The corpse lay unburied; the crowd of onlookers was large; the dog stayed at its master's side, howling over his sad fate. It happened that the man who had committed the crime, acting confidently in order to convince people of his innocence - such is the cunning way in which men think- joined the circle of onlookers and, feigning grief, approached the corpse. Then the dog, briefly abandoning its doleful lament, took up the arms of vengeance, seized the man and held him, and, softly singing a pitiful song, as in the epilogue of a tragedy, moved everyone to tears; and the fact that the dog held that man alone, of the many that were there, and did not let him go, lent weight to its case. In the end, the murderer was at a loss because the evidence in the case was so plain; he could not clear himself by objecting that he was the victim of anyone's hate, enmity, envy or spite, and he could no longer rebut the charge. Because it was very difficult for him, he suffered punishment, because he could offer no defence.

A dog's tongue, licking a wound, heals it. A dog's way of life is said to be wholly temperate. A puppy's tongue is generally a cure for internal injuries. It is characteristic of a dog that it returns to its vomit and eats it again. If a dog swims across a river carrying a piece of meat or anything of that sort in its mouth, and sees its shadow, it opens its mouth and in hastening to seize the other piece of meat, it loses the one it was carrying.

In some ways preachers are like dogs: by their admonitions and righteous ways they are always driving off the ambushes laid by the Devil, lest he seize and carry off God's treasure - Christian souls. As the dog's tongue, licking a wound, heals it, the wounds of sinners, laid bare in confession, are cleansed by the correction of the priest. As the dog's tongue heals man's internal wounds, the secrets of his heart are often purified by the deeds and discourse of the Church's teachers. As the dog is said to be temperate in its ways, the man who is set over others diligently studies wisdom and must avoid drunkenness and gluttony in every way, for Sodom perished in a surfeit of food. Indeed, there is no quicker way for the Devil, his enemy, to take possession of man than through his greedy gullet. The dog returning to its vomit signifies those who, after making their confession, heedlessly return to wrongdoing. The dog leaving its meat behind in the river, out of desire for its shadow, signifies foolish men who often forsake what is theirs by right out of desire for some unknown object; with the result that, while they are unable to obtain the object of their desire, they needlessly lose what they have given up.

Some dogs are called licisici, wolf-hounds, because they are born of wolves and dogs, when by chance these mate. In India bitches are tethered at night in the forests to breed with wild tigers, by whom they are mounted, producing very fierce dogs, so strong that with their grip they can pull down lions.

#maniculum bestiaryposting #dog #medieval literature #medieval art #medieval manuscripts #illuminated manuscript

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scotianostra · 3 months ago

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August 23rd 1305 saw the Judicial murder of the Scottish patriot Sir William Wallace on King Edwards orders after a sham trial for treason, at The Elms, Smithfield, London.

Wallace is said to have accepted his execution without resistance and a brave heart. He even made a final confession to a priest and read from the book of Psalms before his punishment. His naked body was wrapped in an ox hide to prevent him being ripped apart, thereby shortening the torture, he was dragged by horses four miles through London to Smithfield.London. Bystanders pelted him with garbage and excrement and even hit him with sticks and whips.

The method of William Wallace’s “execution” was not unusual for the era, it was the norm for treasonous acts, the point is, Wallace was never an English subject, Edward was not his King so as he is said to have uttered at his trial in reply to the charge….

“I could not be a traitor to Edward, for I was never his subject.”

He was hung briefly but not killed, the executioner may have sliced off Wallace’s manhood and disemboweled him while forcing him to watch. His intestines were likely burned before his eyes. Miraculously, Wallace may still have been alive. As is the English execution custom, his heart would have been gouged out from his chest. If the executioner was skilled enough, it would have still been beating upon removal, and he would have yelled, “Behold the heart of a traitor!” Then, Wallace would have been beheaded post-mortem. His head was then displayed on a spike on the London bridge. The rest of Wallace’s body was chopped into four pieces, a torture practice known as “being quartered,” his limbs were sent to Newcastle, Berwick, Perth and Stirling as a warning to dissenters.

Three of these locations seem undisputed. But the fourth part is sometimes disputed, Stirling is my own assumption, the place of his greatest victory, Edward would have seen it as symbolic, but Aberdeen has been suggested, the Wikipedia entry for St Machar’s Cathedral says “After the execution of William Wallace in 1305, his body was cut up and sent to different corners of the country to warn other dissenters.

His left quarter ended up in Aberdeen and is buried in the walls of the cathedral.” But the wiki entry for Wallace says different as stated it mentions Stirling.

The Society of William Wallace tells us this…..

“Following Wallace’s execution and dismemberment, one quarter of his mutilated body was displayed on the repaired and rebuilt Stirling Bridge. No doubt this was thought by the English overlords to be a fitting place to show off their grim trophy. And this is where the legend starts……Wallace had links through his uncle to the monks at Cambuskenneth. At that time, the church was far more militant than nowadays, and many church leaders (and no doubt their subordinates) were fiercely loyal to Scotland and the cause of freedom. The legend states that a group of these monks issued from the Abbey one dark night and retrieved the remains of Wallace’s body, with the intention of giving it a Christian burial inside the grounds of the Abbey itself, and this they did, telling no-one outside the Abbey of their actions, which would have brought fatal recriminations upon the Abbey. Longshanks was known to be no respecter of the Church. ”

William Wallace died a brutal death. His name and fame did not. He lives on not only in Scotland and England but all over the world.

On the 700th anniversary of his execution at Smithfield ,David R. Ross, Convenor of The Society of William Wallace, walked from Robroyston to Londond and at St Bartholomew the Great Church st Smithfield, close to the place he was murdered, a funeral service was held for Sir William.

His memorial close by includes the words:

"I tell you the truth, son, freedom is the best condition, never live like a slave."

"Victory or Death."

#scotland #scottish #history #Judicial murder #“Execution”#London #Sir William Wallace

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critical-birb · 4 months ago

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Random things I feel people outside of Scotland should know about Scotland.

-Kilts are formalwear. You only wear that kinda thing to like - weddings and funerals and stuff usually, maybe a fancy party. You wear a sporran with a kilt, it's like a little pouch that's usually fuzzy.

-If you live in Edinburgh/Glasgow/Aberdeen you probably hate bagpipes because everywhere you go there's buskers with bagpipes. They just....appear. you'll be trying to work your 9-5 and suddenly there's a bagpiper on the corner by the office and for the next six hours you have to listen to it. There is only one song that is played on the bagpipes and it gets real repetitive real fast.

-I am ruining the joke for everyone but as an autistic person who would be super confused by this unspoken rule in another country I need to share - literally everyone in Scotland will try to convince you as a foreigner that the wild Hagis is a real animal that lives in the Highlands. Every single museum has a Haggis exhibition with like a weird taxidermy animal that's usually a mash up between like a hedgehog and a bird or something. People will, with a straight face, talk to you about how they were hunted to near extinction. Zoos and safari parks will have empty exhibits with signs saying there is wild Hagis living in there hiding. This is the most widely known Scottish joke that literally every Scottish person is in on.

-Haggis is lamb, fat and oats boiled in a sheeps stomach with a bunch of spices. It's unironically good actually if you give it a chance. It's basically fatty spiced meat.

-Other popular foods in Scotland include Cullen Skink, which is a rich cream based soup with potatoes and fish. Black pudding, a sausage made with blood - great for iron deficiency. White pudding, a sausage made from oats, grains, herbs and spices. Stovies, which is basically potatoes/onions/meat boiled together and usually eaten with bread, Neeps and tatties which is mashed potato and sweed. We are also known for deep frying anything, any corner shop chippy will deep fry a chocolate bar for you. Somehow we are obsessed with sugar and fat but at the same time we also put salt on our porridge.

-A Ceilidh is a group dance - a similar concept to square dancing if you're in the US. Except a lot more violent. Someone will usually briefly teach everyone the steps and then you are thrown into chaos and the music gets faster and faster. Someone will inevitably be thrown into you at high speeds and you will break a bone. It's extremely fun. Often done to accordion music. Lots of larger pubs do ceilidh nights you should go to one if you can, it's good if you go alone because they only work with an even number of people and 99% of the time they're begging for a single person to join to make up the numbers. You'll make a lot of drink friends and possibly get vomited on as you're thrown around at high speeds and kicked in the shins laughing like a loon.

-The more North you go the less you will understand people. I'm from Edinburgh and live near Glasgow and for the fuck of me I can't understand a word anyone says here. I went to Aberdeen once and I swear they were talking gibberish. They felt the same about me. The dialects are too strong.

-We also have a rich history of language including Gaelic and Doric and a few others. Scots is what you probably think of when you think Scottish people - it is technically its own language but is very similar to English just with lots of different terminology. Our native languages like Gaelic were outlawed by England when they colonised us and it's only in recent decades we have started to try to reclaim them.

-We dislike England. Don't ever call a Scottish person 'British' rather than Scotish, it opens up a whole can of worms I am not about to go into right now.

-Iron Bru (the bright orange soda that tastes like a candy store) is more popular than Cola here. Scotland is the only place worldwide where Coke isn't the most popular carbonated beverage. Iron Bru is the lifeblood of Scotish people and it is literally everywhere.

Anyway there's your Scotland facts of the day

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what-if-queen-camilla · 1 year ago

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Chapter 39

31st August 1997

Around 10 am, a black Audi stopped in her driveway. Mark from Charles' security team got out of the car and greeted Camilla with a sorrowful face. "Ma'am.", he said firmly, opening the door for her. She had quickly dressed herself in the outfit she had worn at her mother's funeral three years ago; black seemed the only colour acceptable to wear on this through and through black day that would undoubtedly go down in history as exactly that. "Oh Mark…", she sighed, looking at him just as saddened as he had previously looked at her. Mark had been around for years, they knew each other well, and she'd always appreciated his discretion and politeness. "We'll take an RAF jet from Brize Norton to Aberdeen, Ma'am.", he explained to her as they drove onto the M4 and Camilla nodded understandingly. She wasn't keen on flying at all, not to speak of such a tiny little RAF jet but she just had to pull herself together now and stay strong for everyone else. She just hoped that Charles wouldn't have left for Paris already when she arrived. She needed to see him, even if it was just for a few seconds, she needed to look in his eyes, to hold his hand, to give him a kiss… she just felt like she needed to give him as much love as she could for him to carry with him and keep him going for that awful ordeal that laid ahead of him…

Thank God there were no paparazzi yet when they landed at Aberdeen Airport about an hour later. Camilla couldn't believe how much colder it was up here than it had been down in the South despite the early hours, but maybe it was just the nature of the situation that made her shiver. Outside of the airport, they got into another black Audi, driven by a member of Balmoral staff who didn't say a single word the entire hour plus twenty minutes the ride took, which made it feel endless. Camilla felt sick inside and though she was trying hard not to let show, she was incredibly anxious of any possible encounters with any member of the family apart from Thea and Charles. She knew the Castle, she had been here before, she and Andrew had been frequent guests here in the seventies and early eighties, and clearly these kinds of houses never really changed so it almost felt rather familiar when she was escorted through the entrance hall and up the stairs to the family's private apartments, where she'd hopefully just quickly meet Charles, take her daughter and could disappear again - but as always with those Windsors, it had to be as dramatic as possible. She hadn't entered Charles' apartment properly yet when she heard several people shouting at each other, including her Prince and both his parents, with his father sounding quite aggressive which made her shiver once more. Wasn't the whole situation horrible enough already? And where on earth were the children? A servant motioned for her to follow him into the next room, obviously some kind of a drawing room, and her heart stopped beating for a second when she finally caught sight of William, Harry and Thea, sitting on a chaise lounge, her poor little daughter between her brothers, holding their hands as if she was trying to comfort them, Harry was sobbing heartbreakingly and William's eyes just seemed completely empty.

"Mummy?", Thea reached out anxiously, and without thinking any further, Camilla just did what felt most natural to her, rushed over to the children and pressed all three of them against her as tight as she could. "Oh boys, I'm so very sorry.", she whispered, heavily gulping down her own tears. "I know your mother and I weren't quite the best of friends… but she loved you so very much.", she added, and for a few moments, they just sat there, holding each other, and Camilla hoped that her motherly heart was great enough to give as well some comfort to these poor boys, until the door flung open and they rushed apart, Camilla performing a deep curtsy in front of the Queen, who, followed by the Duke of Edinburgh, who's face had turned red in anger, and Charles who just looked completely lost, entered the room. "Your Majesty…", she said politely, her eyes fixing the ground, as she couldn't bear looking at Charles as she went on to greet his father and him as protocol required: "Your Royal Highnesses… My sincere condolences on the heartbreaking news…" "Darling…", she could read Charles' lips silently forming, but she didn't know what to do. "Mrs Parker Bowles.", the Queen greeted her without any emotion in her voice. "It's good that you're here. This is not a place for a child of Theodora's age under the given circumstances.", she added, motioning for Thea to walk over to her mother but both her brothers pressed her little hands even tighter and she refused to do what she had just been told. "Granny, please.", William said, and Harry cried even more. "First, I'm not allowed to accompany Dad to Paris and now you're sending off our sister.", he sobbed and Camilla covered her mouth with her hand as this was getting all too much. In some way, she thought it was touching and precious how Thea wanted to be there for her brothers - and how much comfort William and Harry apparently got from her little sweetheart, despite her young age, and it felt wrong to separate the siblings in a situation where they obviously needed each other. But this wasn't up to her…

"Goodness, Henry, stop crying, you're not a girl! Pull yourself together and behave like a man!", the Duke ranted and Camilla winced. How did he speak to a 12-year-old who had just lost his mother? Insecurely and disbelieving she looked from one to the other and didn't know what to do or say. Charles stood behind his mother, obviously in a state of shock, unable to do or say anything either. "Enough is enough!", Prince Philip declared, rushing over to the children, pulling Thea away from her brothers, tears streaming down her little face, as she fell into her mother's arms. "Mrs Parker Bowles. This is family business!", he said sharply. "And neither you nor your daughter will ever be a part of this family!" "Grandpa!", William screamed, horrified and disbelieving looking from his grandfather to his grandmother, then to Charles, and back to his grandfather, who then gave a challenging glance to his eldest son: "Charles! Tell her!" Camilla looked at Charles and it took everything in her not to rush over to him, pull him into her arms and take him and the children anyway, just far away from this awful and loveless place. Of course, he'd told her about his father's outbreaks and how he'd treated him when he still was a child but experiencing all of this first-hand would probably haunt her in her dreams for the rest of her life. He looked at her so desperately, beggingly almost, and she knew that the only thing she could possibly do to help now was to take Thea and disappear as soon as possible, though it broke her heart to leave him and the boys in this absolutely devastating moment… "Come on, Thea.", she said to her daughter. "We'll better take our leave." "But Mum!", she insisted, but Camilla took her by her hand. "No, darling, we have to go!", she hissed, turning to Charles and the boys one last time, praying they'd feel at least a little bit of love and comfort she had so wanted to give them but wasn't allowed to, before she went off.

#king charles #queen camilla #royal baby #royal family #fanfiction #fanfic #prince william #queen elizabeth ii #prince philip #princess diana #prince harry #Balmoral

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sugdenlovesdingle · 1 month ago

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They made it to Aberdeen and back quickly...

And zak wanted to be buried within 48 hours??? For plot reasons so they can get the funeral in a thursday double I guess

#ed lb

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suekreandtheidiots · 8 months ago

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Her own.

Location // Characters: Aberdeen // Hallie and Sofia

June 2006 - Craig Abbott is no longer among the living. A fact so painfully sad and true, but Hallie and Sofia still manage to share a nice moment, sharing some lovely thoughts.

Status/Notes: unfinished/I always loved the thought that Hallie and Sofia had a real connection back then. Sometimes, some girl talk is all we need in our lives!

***

The front door opened, and Hallie looked right into Sofia Abbott's face.

A friendly face, but undoubtedly weary, too; Sofia's grief was plain obvious. Hallie felt a wave of sympathy but decided to not address it. The three remaining Abbotts most likely had enough people going on about their unfortunate situation, trying to make sure that they were okay, while it should be so clear that none of them was okay, not right now, not in a few weeks, maybe not ever. The least thing Sofia needed was another shallow remark, Hallie figured.

"Hallie, darlin'." Sofia welcomed her with a bright smile. A genuine smile, despite it all, Hallie could tell.

She smiled back, giving Sofia a little wave with her hand. "Hi! I, uh, believe I'm a little early…"

"Well, if you're here to see Lance, you are. He took an extra shift in the hospice but he should be back by five, I think."

"Ah, wasn't sure about that and I couldn't get a hold of him earlier. Now I know why." Hallie bit her lip. "Well, I guess I can come back later-"

"Or you can wait? If you want?" Sofia offered, making a welcoming gesture towards the open door.

Hallie thought about the suggestion. Heading home only to sit around for a few minutes and to come back later really seemed like a bit of an unnecessary hassle, when she could also stay and have a little chat with Sofia. Checking in on the Abbotts had become somewhat of a daily thing anyway, Hallie saw no reason to make an exception today.

"Uhm, as long as I'm not a bother?" she answered with a smile.

"Oh, you're a welcome distraction, dear." Sofia laughed. "I've got cake, too. Ali played chef earlier."

"What? Ali baked?"

"What can I say, we're all grasping for straws these days." The line was heavy with meaning, but Sofia uttered it so casually that it made Hallie wonder if the woman was trying to play it cool for her or if she really felt as alright as she sounded. "And that cake actually turned out amazing, there's just too much of it to eat all by myself. Come, dear. Come on in."

Hallie stepped into the house's hallway, still trying to wrap her head around the mental image of young rising football star Ali Abbott standing in the kitchen, possibly in a cute little apron, waving a whisk around… or whatever one needed to whip up some decent cake batter; Hallie wasn't particularly experienced in the fine art of cooking and baking herself. The house smelled delicious, though, Ali had apparently done a great job indeed.

"I am just looking through some old pictures for the funeral service." Sofia told her as she was guiding her through the hallway to the living room.

Wow. Hallie thought. That had to be tough.

"How's that going?" she asked, dropping her bag next to the door as she entered the living room. When she did, she almost tripped. The sight of dozens of photos spread on the floor took Hallie by surprise and she supressed a gasp.

Well. Apparently, that was how it was going.

"I'm biased, of course, I love them all." Sofia said. "You know what? It's really great that you're here and have a moment to spare, I can use a girl's creative opinion. My sons aren't exactly helpful in these matters."

"Not even Ali? Now that he shows some talent in the creative field, too?" Hallie laughed, crouching down to take a closer look. Dozens of Craigs in front of her, yet they all longed for just one. The real one.

"To be honest, I haven't even asked him." Sofia admitted, offering Hallie a cushion to sit on which she gratefully accepted. Sofia sat down next to her and went on. "Ali is not doing well. Of course he is trying to just keep going, but he hardly ever talks these days."

Hallie could hardly picture a version of Ali who wasn't an extraordinarily lively, happy and chatty little fella. "That's so sad."

"I'm trying to give him some room and let him come to me, you know? Lance as well. It hasn't been easy. To be honest… I don't always know what to do, or what to say to my sons." Sofia swallowed hard and for a few seconds it looked like she was lost in her own thoughts but she eventually snapped out of it. "Oh dear. I'm rambling again, love, I'm sorry."

"No! No, I mean, it's fine." Hallie answered quickly. She appreciated Sofia's honesty. So much, now more than ever.

It was one thing she had always loved about the Abbott family - they told things as they were. No false modesty, no sugarcoating, no glossing over things and no unnecessary drama either.

"That must be so hard for you." she went on. "I mean, I have no idea at all what you're going through, I just… I'm so sorry."

"Aw, nah." Sofia waved it off. "Nothing you should be worrying about."

"I am, though! I mean, I have known Lance for quite a while now, he's my best friend, and I don't always know what to say to him, either. If- if that helps?"

Sofia turned her head and looked at her, and after a few moments, the corners of her lips curled up into a warm smile. "You know what? I think it does."

Hallie felt another tremendous wave of sympathy for Sofia but decided to let the subject go for the time being. She bit her lip and nodded at the photos. "So what's with all of these?" she asked.

"Well, I need some nice photos. We have collectively decided that we're going to turn the house into a… well, let's call it 'Craig shrine'. We're going to create a walk down the memory lane of some sorts. Put up the photos, all his favorite items… so everyone can say their goodbye in their favoured surrounding."

"Like a museum of memories, but more rock'n'roll!" Hallie mused, and she could picture it right away. She liked that idea a lot.

Do not mourn the dead, but celebrate the lives they had lived.

Hallie had no idea where that thought had just come from, but it definitely sounded like something Craig would have agreed with.

"Exactly!"

"Collectively decided, you say?"

"Well, it was Lance's idea but Ali and I loved it. I have talked to Craig's old friends, too, they supported it as well. It's simple, but it's good. He'd love it."

"And what kind of photos do you want to put up?"

"The good ones."

"You might want to narrow that down a bit." Hallie laughed, looking through the masses of Craig portraits and snapshots in front of her. They all looked pretty charming in one way or the other. Not always flattering, definitely not, but they showed Craig as he was - a chaotic and loveable force of nature.

One image in particular caught her eye now. It had to be a fairly old one because it had the characteristic slightly red tinted look to it that many older photos developed over time. It showed a much younger version of Craig and Hallie just realised that she had never seen any pictures of him from back in the days. Craig looked clearly like Craig, but so different at the same time. He was sitting in front of what looked like the old Capitol building, posing for the camera with a light smile and the typical metal fork.

Hallie carefully picked the image up.

"That one's nice!"

"Oh, you tell me." Sofia instantly agreed. "Wanna know what this is?"

"Sure!"

"It's from February 28th, 1984 - the day I met Craig for the first time."

"No way!" Hallie gasped. "That's how it started? That is what he looked like? Did you take this?"

"Oh no, his friend Cyril took it, and he gave it to me a while later. But yes, that is how it started, that is what he looked like." Sofia smiled.

Hallie just remembered the day she had met Craig for the first time, about five years ago. He had looked young, younger than most dads she knew, but he had still looked like a dad, somehow. She remembered the encounter very fondly; Craig had managed to make her feel welcome and her shyness had eased so quickly as he was talking to her like he was talking to an old friend. The little crush she used to have on him for a while was very innocent, Hallie could tell from her nowadays perspective, but it was bound to happen.

It's strange. Hallie thought. Those Abbotts really have a way of knocking you flat, when you least expect it. Her thoughts wandered to Lance for a moment. One way or the other.

She looked back at the picture in her hands. "Gosh, he was a fox." she gasped out.

Sofia let out a hearty laugh. "Pretty much what I thought. He was beautiful. Not at all my type, but gorgeous. The shabby attire just added to it, for reasons I could never quite understand."

Hallie knew all too well what Sofia meant. Some people can simply pull shabby off, and Craig was quite obviously one of them. He had to be in his very early twenties on the picture. If she were to meet that guy, she'd immediately fall for him, too, Hallie was sure of it.

She also wondered if Lance had ever told her about the way his parents had met, but she couldn't recall anything. She had sure been curious, but the opportunity to ask either Sofia or Craig themselves had never really presented itself until now.

"Don't get me wrong." Hallie started. "It's just… I mean, I always wondered what would bring the two of you into the same place."

Sofia gently took the photo out of Hallie's hands, stroking the slightly tattered rim. While she looked at it, her expression changed and Hallie could tell that she was reliving that particular memory once more. Not because she had troubles remembering the details but because she did remember them, and because it was a much happier place than reality could ever be these days.

"It was a Whitesnake concert." Sofia eventually said.

"Whitesnake?! Oh god." The story would be very eighties, Hallie thought to herself. As eighties as it can get.

"I didn't really care about the music, I just went to keep my then-boyfriend company. Left the concert hall to get some beer. Stood in an endless queue for what felt like hours… and all of a sudden, there he was." Sofia smiled. "Smiling at me from one of the little standing tables. Gosh, I don't even know what happened to me in that moment. I wasn't able to take my eyes off him."

"That's so cute!"

"Hallie, I tried, believe me, but I just couldn't. I couldn't help it. I was entirely aware that my boyfriend was inside the hall, and I felt a little bad for staring but truth is that I had never seen a man that gorgeous before. When I saw Craig Abbott, I saw… life. It was like I suddenly saw the life I was missing out on at the time."

"Oh my god, and he wasn't even your type." Hallie breathed out, entirely taken by Sofia's voice and the way she was telling the story.

Once again, her thoughts wandered to Lance. The way she had fallen for him was so different from the way Sofia had fallen for Craig all those years ago. Sure, Lance and her had only been twelve years old when they met; one could most likely not expect a rush of impure thoughts at only twelve. But even now that Hallie was so sure about her feelings, there still weren't any actual… flying sparks. Or anything of that sort. She sure had her moments when she wasn't able to peel her eyes off Lance, his face especially, but she blamed that on his pale blue eyes, as they had always fascinated her, after all, even when she wasn't trying to become his girlfriend.

Hallie tried to find the right words to address what was going on inside her mind, without giving it all away.

"So… you knew right away? That Craig was the one for you?"

Sofia put the photo away, smiled and let out a little sigh. "Well, at least it dawned on me that night that Ethan, my boyfriend, wasn't the one. All those other things… well. It's a little more complex."

"But it does happen, doesn't it? Love at first sight, I mean?"

"You know, Hallie, I believe that the thing we usually refer to as Love At First Sight is actually just attraction at first sight. That happens all the time, sure."

"People keep talking about it, though. That they knew right away, once they laid eyes on their partner. That they were the one for them. And I always figured that those moments are the real deal, you know? Can't get any more real than just knowing, right?" Hallie looked at Sofia for a few moments, and decided against adding something along the lines of 'I always wanted that for myself.'

"That's all easy to say in hindsight, don't you think?" Sofia laughed. "Sounds more like a fantasy to me, though. A nice one, sure, but the reality of a relationship - it's a little different than that."

"What do you mean?"

"Falling for someone is easy. Attraction is a thing. What's much more important, though, is the way someone makes you feel. The way they treat you in the long run. Don't you think?"

"I think so...?" Hallie shrugged, looking down at her hands in her lap.

"Craig and I were a good match, I give you that." Sofia chuckled, giving the impression that she had picked up the slight disappointment in her voice. "He was incredibly cute and funny, he had charmed me right away. To answer your question, though - no, I did not know that he was the one for me. How could I have known? I'm not psychic."

"Huh. When you put it that way?"

"I had a good feeling about him, though. Craig being the way he was made our start a lot easier. I mean, one usually doesn't go on dates with someone they can't stand."

"Makes sense." Hallie nodded. "Think I see what you're getting at."

"If it had turned out that Craig and I hadn't gotten along as well as we had, though, I wouldn't have stayed with him, just because things started so well between us. Just because of the idea of us."

"I see. That really makes a lot of sense." Hallie's thoughts now wandered back to her ex-sort-of-boyfriend, Simon. Three weeks of whispering sweet nothings to each other… and that had already been it. What had felt like love at first sight had turned out to be nothing at all.

"Craig had a way of making me feel like I belonged." Sofia went on. "It's hard to put into words. He never took me for granted. He made me feel like spending time with me was the greatest thing in the world. He was so in love with our boys, too, and he never made a huge deal out of the things that many other, older men got squeamish about. Craig never felt threatened."

"Threatened?"

"Well, I was a little older than him, after all. I had studied veterinary medicine, had a promising career that I had never even considered giving up, even when Lance and Ali were born. I always made my own money, I was my own woman and never the average stay-at-home-wife. Men of my time usually did not like that a whole lot, to say the least."

"I think they still don't." Hallie made a face. Well, there were exceptions, though. She could think of at least one.

"Craig loved every bit of it and he always encouraged me to keep going. He was happy on his own, because he had made the right choices for himself, even before we met. It wasn't all… how do you young folks say? It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows but we were good together. And knowing that I was one of the people in Craig's life who made him even happier fills me with joy and gratitude. It sounds cheesy, I know."

"No, it sounds wonderful."

"Look, Hallie, it's none of my business, of course, and you are still so young; you will meet a lot of people in your life. Times have changed, too, I know that. Speaking from my personal experience, though… you are so smart, creative and so, so kind. You may want to look out for how a person makes you feel. If someone makes you feel like shite, let them go. If someone makes you feel great about yourself, keep them around."

(... to be continued!)

#idiot writing #hallie henderson #sofia abbott #the teenage saga

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