#maybe they'll have some time to reflect on what happened in hell and become good people

[adaines-furious-feast]

It's such a shame that the Bad Kids went in there and just started attacking the Rat Grinders when they were all sat in a circle with a talking stick ready to hear one another out and didn't all already have concentration spells up and prepped for battle.

[waynewifey]

The world on my wrist —

soulmate!au

Pairing: Oliver Wood x Slytherin!fem!Reader

Summary: When your soulmate’s favourite thing appears on your wrist, it can become a big confusion.

Warnings: fainting, oliver being a sweetheart, fluff

Words: 1400

A/N: Hello lovely people! I’ve worked so hard on this one, I intend to make it a series with multiple characters. Let me know if you’d like it! Oliver is my favourite character so I loved writing this. Anyways, good reading!

The myths about soulmates are known for thousand of years in the Wizarding World. It's told that the day a person turns 16, a word appears on their wrist. That word is their favourite thing and it's written on your soulmate's handwriting. By the day it appears, the person shall search for their soulmate everyday until they find it, or it would be considered a rejection and it could be fatal. I've always dreamed about meeting my soulmate. I couldn't wait to find out who my second half was. So when I woke up on my 16th birthday, the first thing I did was to roll up my sleeves and check the word "Quidditch" on it. Strange, there were so many possibilities. But I immediately thought of my teammate Scot Fearn. He was my left hand as I was the Slytherin Quidditch Team captain, of course, but I never thought of him as more than it before. The feeling was odd. My friends told me I was supposed to feel a very strong random emotion, but I didn't feel anything extraordinary. Maybe that was my random feeling: numbness.

"Hey, Fearn! Can I get a word?" I said by the end of that Saturday's practice. He followed me outside the changing room with a bag filled with a bunch of badly folded uniform. I stared at his eyes for a moment. He was indeed a good friend, maybe I always knew we completed each other.

"First of all, happy birthday. Second of all- Well, I don't know, you haven't said anything yet." Scot said, brushing a hand through his light brown hair. We both giggled. I took a deep breath and tried to say something.

"I’m sorry but um- What... What does it say on your, um, on your wrist?" I stubbled myself through the words, looking down at our feet. He didn't say anything for a second, but then gasped for air.

"Quidditch." His wrist was showing. The calligraphy wasn't exactly like mine, but it looked similar. I showed him mine.

"Mine too. Do you think we are think we are...?" I glanced at him, biting my lip trying to hold my anxiety.

"I think we are..." He smiled widely at me. I could feel the fresh breath against the top of my head. I smiled at him too, as he took me around his arms. I've found my soulmate, but something felt strange.

—

The month went by. Me and Scot were officially dating and almost everyone in Hogwarts knew about it, as it usually happened when soulmates met. I got sick at the first week of the second month, one day before our first game against Gryffindor. I spent the day in bed, trying to get better for the next day. Scot stayed with me the whole day, of course. He seemed sick too.

The game was about to start. We flew to our positions on the pitch while Madam Hoch prepared herself. I needed to greet the Gryffindor captain. I looked at the team: the beater twins on the right, the chasers: Angelina, Alice and Katie around the captain, the seeker Harry Potter was higher than everyone else, and Oliver Wood right in front of me. I stared at his eyes waiting for the game to start. As I continued to stare into his dark orbits, I started feeling dizzy and suddenly everything was a blur.

"... I think cinnamon? But strawberry tea is great too." I heard a feminine voice speak. I opened my eyes a bit, looking around. I was laying down a bed in Hospital Wing, two persons were sitting a bit far from me. I recognised Katie Bell and my boyfriend in their Quidditch Uniforms. I didn't had the strength to talk yet. "Um, do you want to go to the kitchen or something? I don't think they'll wake up any soon and it's kind of getting late." She continued and he only nodded once, grinning widely at her. I watched them leave, slightly uncomfortable. Their hands were interlocked.

"What?" The word left as a whisper from my mouth, as I tried to get up.

"Oh, you're awake." A Scottish accent filled the room. I then noticed Oliver Wood in the bed in front of me. "I've been pretending to be sleeping for a couple hours. It's good to finally have someone to talk to. Though I don't have good news."

"What happened? Why are we here?" My voice, again, failed me, too low that if there were a single noise in the room, he wouldn't hear me. He got up and walked to a chair beside my bed. The moonlight that entered from the windows reflected on his brown hair.

"You don't remember either? Well, I spent some time trying to figure this out. I remember seeing you fall from your broom and then I felt sick and fell from mine too. I've been sick all week, actually." His gaze followed my motions as I got up and stretched a bit, feeling much better.

"Me too..." I furrowed my eyebrows a bit, hoping he wouldn't notice in the lack of light. "Are you feeling better now? Whatever Madam Pomfrey did to me, it worked. I feel like I could run a marathon."

"I am, actually. That woman is unbelievable good at her work. By the way, they replaced us and Slytherin won. Katie told me they played really well, I've always admired you." I smiled at him, as the realisation crossed his mind. "As- as a captain, that's what I meant."

—

Me and Oliver bonded throughout the following month. It felt good being around him. It made me feel more alive than I've ever felt. I only saw Scot during meals and our relationship was great, I just happened to make friend just like he became friends with Katie Bell. I was studying for potions exam with Wood, when I remembered I needed new strategies as the next game was near. I searched for a new piece parchment and dipped my quill on the ink. I started writing.

"Hell's bells! What's this?" Oliver exclaimed slamming his hand on my parchment.

"Stop! You'll stain it!" I slapped his hand, making him back away. "These are my strategies, which, by the way, you're not supposed to see. We're still rivals."

"No, no. The title." He pointed at the word 'quidditch' and raised his hand to me. "Look. It's the same calligraphy." He showed me his wrist and the word in it. "We're soulmates Y/N!" I laughed at him until I realised he was being serious. It couldn't be.

"Are you out of your mind? I turned 16 last month, we would be dead by now! It's just a coincidence, I'm sure Katie's handwriting is exactly the same as the one on your skin, mine is just similar." I explained to him in a quiet voice, since the other students at the library were already looking at us.

"Are you rejecting me?" The emotion in his voice made me shiver. Oliver seemed devastated for a second. I could tell he truly believed that.

"No, of course not! I can't reject you because we're not soulmates, Wood."

"I've been wanting to tell you that for a long time. Since that day in the Hospital Wing, I knew I liked you. I thought it was impossible and that my feelings were messy because I shouldn't be able to fall in love with someone else but this is it. You are my soulmate and I know that deep down you think I'm yours too."

"I don't th-" In a fast movement, his hand held my neck, pulling me into him. I couldn’t think fast enough to deny it nor I wanted to. Our lips met quickly as a electric current stormed inside my body. It was like every cell of mine was exploding at the same time, but in a very good way. From the top of my head head to the point of my toe, I was automatically euphoric. He broke of the kiss, staring deeply into my eyes, hands still on me, I noticed his pupils dilate as I saw my on reflect on them.

“Oh, so we actually are.” We laughed, kissing again. And again. And again. And many more times that evening and the following years.

[thebluelemontree]

So Sandor doesn't care about kings and mighty lords and stuff like that, but is possible that there's some kind of begrudging respect in him for Sansa's powerful family? Ned, Young Wolf, Blackfish and Jon, too (hopefully, they'll meet in the future) - all those guys are awesome and I'd like to think that Sandor agrees with that.

Hey sorry it took so long to get back to you.  I’ve been a bit overwhelmed and it took more time than I thought.  

Respect?  Errrrr, don’t hate me, but… no, not yet if we’re talking about what’s published so far, but we have reason to hope in the future.  The major block to recognizing traits worth respecting in individuals, let alone a whole family, is that deeply ingrained cynicism dancing up to the edge of nihilism.  The world is shit, the system is shit, and people are divided into either butchers or meat.  Most of the time he sounds like a smug, know-it-all teenager that stands on the sidelines pointing out everything that confirms his bias.  Yes, he has some buried idealism wayyyyyyyyy down in there, but it’s not as if they were equally-matched forces duking it out inside him for every word and deed.  It’s a worldview that has served him by making him feel strong and invulnerable.  There’s just no good reason at the start to dredge up those dreams of childhood, which he associates with vulnerability and helplessness.  It’s a security blanket.  Think of how hard it is to change someone’s mind about politics or religion.  The only way that usually happens is if someone has a lived experience that challenges their current beliefs.  Even then it can be a long process of wrestling with the new idea while it competes for brain real estate with the old idea.        

For him to even entertain the idea that someone could actually walk the walk of a real hero, a true knight, or lady, he needs to see what they’re made of with his own eyes.  His goal post is so far down the field, he actually makes it near impossible for anyone to live up to, which only confirms his bias.  Robb and Ned are definitely not the ones who make a dent in that.  Maybe he’ll reflect back on them in future books with fairer assessments, but not in the books so far.  He’s not impressed with a righteous cause or reputation anymore than wealth or titles.  

 Specifics under the cut.  

The WF training yard is his first interaction with Robb.  Not that Sandor respects Joffrey’s boasting and jackass calls for live steel, but he’s not impressed by Robb’s “courage” with this nerf bat training in an adult supervised safe zone either.  He even takes a swing himself, just because Robb is so very easily goaded.

The burned man looked at Robb. “How old are you, boy?”

“Fourteen,” Robb said.  

“I killed a man at twelve. You can be sure it was not with a blunt sword.”

Arya could see Robb bristle. His pride was wounded. He turned on Ser Rodrik. “Let me do it. I can beat him.”   

At this point, Sandor probably thinks Robb and the Starks are just more of the same self-congratulatory nobility that he’s used to.  Maybe not as dysfunctional and ruthless as the Lannisters, but still part of the same system.  Like Sansa, he probably thought Ned was a bit of a naive fool that got in way over his head. He believes what passes for honor and righteousness are just fancy clothes people dress themselves in or it’s a fool’s tin armor.  It would be inevitable that the latter would get themselves eaten alive.  Only people like him that have The Truth™️ figured out survive.  It takes Sansa’s lived example right in front of his face to take a chip out of those ideas.    

She has it in her to be a real deal true lady, despite his first impression that she’s just empty-headed and superficial.  After Ned’s execution and Sansa is forced to look at her father’s tarred head, she’s determined to look without seeing.  She shows enormous strength of will to not give Joffrey one iota of the reaction he desires.  When he taunts her some more, she bites back:  “Maybe my brother will give me your head.”  I won’t glamorize her murder-suicide thoughts, but I think witnessing this scene shows Sandor that innocence, compassion, and vulnerability can go hand in hand with real strength and courage.  Just because awful people hurt her does not mean she is weak.  It just might move that goal post a tiny bit closer in that even a sometimes superficial, imperfect, childish young girl can still conduct herself in such a way.  It’s still a long way from reconciling what he’s just seen with near a whole lifetime of cynicism.  It’s a start though!      

When he smiled, she knew he was mocking her. “Your brother is a traitor too, you know.” He turned Septa Mordane’s head back around. “I remember your brother from Winterfell. My dog called him the lord of the wooden sword. Didn’t you, dog?”

“Did I?” the Hound replied. “I don’t recall.”

Sandor probably did say that back in early AGOT when he didn’t gaf and would crack jokes like that to amuse himself as much as Joffrey; however, it seems as though he’s regretting and distancing himself from that bit of immature ridicule for her sake, not so much Robb’s.  But let’s be real.  He’s not always respectful toward Sansa from this point forward, but he’s staying in the conversation.  He’s still fighting the ideas she’s challenging him with.  It’s only by his actions, not words, that we see him starting to test those waters by making different choices.  He wants to be proven wrong deep down, but he’s going kicking and screaming the whole way.  

The other Stark he’s spent a significant amount of time with is Arya.

“I’m not a boy! But Mycah was. He was a butcher’s boy and you killed him. Jory said you cut him near in half, and he never even had a sword.” She could feel them looking at her now, the women and the children and the men who called themselves the knights of the hollow hill. “Who’s this now?” someone asked.

The Hound answered. “Seven hells. The little sister. The brat who tossed Joff’s pretty sword in the river.” He gave a bark of laughter. “Don’t you know you’re dead?”

“No, you’re dead,” she threw back at him.

Against all odds, Arya is alive.  The little girl that bested Joffrey with a “wooden sword” no less and made a mockery “Lion’s Tooth,” a tale that probably amused him as much as it did Renly.  He’s not meaning “brat” in a truly insulting way here, but that he’s genuinely surprised she’s survived this long and that she must really be tough as nails.  The Wolf Bitch nickname he gives her follows that same line.   And he seems to appreciate it when she’s bluntly honest.  I think he does respect aspects of Arya because he can certainly relate to being an angry, scrappy kid.  This is up to a point, because he’s very annoyed that she is relentless in reminding him about his accountability in Mycah’s death.  Through their journey, he is mostly focused on how helping her serves his needs.          

If this Young Wolf has the wits the gods gave a toad, he’ll make me a lordling and beg me to enter his service. He needs me, though he may not know it yet. Maybe I’ll even kill Gregor for him, he’d like that.“

“He’ll never take you,” she spat back. “Not you.”

“Then I’ll take as much gold as I can carry, laugh in his face, and ride off. If he doesn’t take me, he’d be wise to kill me, but he won’t. Too much his father’s son, from what I hear. Fine with me. Either way I win. And so do you, she-wolf.

Eh, I’m not seeing respect for Robb or Ned here, grudging or otherwise.  Sandor is still not getting it yet, though his intentions are to find a way to get back to KL and rescue Sansa.  All this wishful thinking aside, he wants to look like a big hero, but do so by cynically playing on Robb’s sense of honor as a wedge in the door.  He wants it both ways.  To be a true knight in Sansa’s eyes, while keeping his security blanket right where it is.  

It’s really at his death scene where Sandor confesses to the point of overly taking responsibility and feeling remorse for even the things he didn’t do, that he really connects with his best self.  No more bullshit.  He’s thoroughly stripped down and vulnerable and finally open to someone like the Elder Brother coming along.  If we’re judging by the gravedigger’s humility and quiet, humble service, Sandor has learned quite a bit about respect for others.  Respect for people he would have one considered weak for their pious, peaceful life.  Stranger’s refusal to be turned into a plow horse or be gelded means he’s not meant to remain there nor will he abandon all of his personality.  He will return to the story, but I think directing his anger and biting criticism to individuals that truly deserve it.              

So I do have a lot of hope for the future though, because he does seem like a displaced Northerner and that can’t be for nothing.  I would be neat if he gets to meet some remaining members of Sansa’s family and hopefully they won’t try to kill him on sight.  There’s still the Saltpans matter to clear up.  I lean toward that Sandor will actually become part of this family one day, so I think at that point there’d be some honest to goodness mutual respect, not just grudging.  :)      

[asecondyelping]

Black Angus Steakhouse

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Ever wake up Sunday morning with the "steak starvies"? I'm sure you have. Abby and I woke up one Sunday morning in October and felt a particularly sharp craving for some of that true steak, the kind a real cattleman would fix over a desert wood fire, under a full coyote moon, sitting under a canopy of desert pricklies. Luckily for us, down the freeway from our church proudly stood a steakhouse made entirely out of wood (remember those?) like it could've been erected in the Old West by a herd of cattlemen. Don't forget- Hayward is an Old West Town in it's own right and tucked next to the H&R Block, a simple memorial to heavenly steaks and dusty cattlemen still stands. Abby and I got there early and eager, so we had to wait a few minutes. When the doors swung open at 11a.m., we swaggered in and were promptly seated.

We opened up our slippery menus (usually a good indicator of the juiciness of the steaks, trust me) and took a gander at the selections. I already knew what I was getting. I had to order a 16oz. cut of the Ribeye Steak. Medium Rare. Typically, I'd order up a Pittsburgh Rare cut of steak, but I've been having some health problems with my colon and my doc advised me to "Give up red meat or there would be hell to pay". I think Medium Rare instead of Pittsburgh Rare is a good enough step in the right direction. I only bring this up because I think it's proof that I would know what a good steak is having eaten enough to be officially prohibited lol. Along with the steak came a choice of two sides. I ordered the Traditional Baked Potato and Steak Soup. The missus ordered the Cobb Salad, which I wasn't expecting since we came in hungry for slabs of cow, but hey, we are all entitled to a change of heart I suppose. We handed the menus over to our delightful waitress who, after placing our order, walked back with a warm round loaf of native grain bread seeded with what looked and tasted like barley. This wasn't my first rodeo. I knew the deceptive friendliness of that loaf. I've made the mistake before of filling up on the delicious and complementary bread so much so I couldn't finish my steak. That wasn't going to happen this time, I vowed… as I mashed another buttered hunk into my mouth.

The soup came out first. A delightful little stew of barley, kidney beans, and cubes of beef. The aroma alone took me back to a campfire dinner I had with my family as a kid out on outskirts of Vista, California, putting cans of Campbell's Chunky directly on the coals to heat up. I had a few spoonfuls of the slurry before I had a thought: it tasted EXACTLY like Campbell's Chunky, just like my dad used to make on those camping trips back in the day! I believe that taste can be a powerful channel for nostalgia and Black Angus's Steak Soup was a slow flood of boyhood memories.

Though I knew I had a massive platter of steak on the way, I basically inhaled that stew in 2 minutes flat, which is remarkable now that I think of it considering it seemed like the recipe called for 8 ounces of everything in the kitchen roughly blended together with a stick of butter throw in. It was not light. At this point, I was seriously doubting that I could manage to finish a 16 oz'er along with potato. As I glanced around nervously for the waitress touting my impending meal, my eyes landed on a television screen hung above our booth; an infomercial for the Copper Chef was on! In fact, it was playing on all the TVs hung on walls of Black Angus! Imagine that… at a steakhouse, watching the Copper Chef fry up steaks, hot dogs, corn on the cobs, and potatoes au gratin in the same pan. Actually, a few minutes of watching Copper Chef was all I needed to regain my "zeal for the meal". Just as though my stomach had sent out a specific frequency only audible by experienced waitstaff, our server appeared around the corner with our plates followed by an older lady that seemed like the owner of the establishment.

Abby was looking dumbfounded at the size of her Cobb Salad. I love gazing across the table and seeing Abby's face light up like that. It happened at Romano's Macaroni Grille, and it happened at the Nordstrom Cafe. Just typing this part makes my heart swell :' >. This is why you should take your lady to decent restaurants, fellas. I looked down at my own plate with tantamount dumbfoundedness. The ribeye had a beautiful cross-hatch char on it and the potato was split in the middle and in it burbled butter and sour cream. The presentation was incredible. Turns out, the older lady that looked like she was the owner was one of the most special members of the staff: she came out from the back of the Black Angus whenever someone ordered the 16 oz rib to personally deliver it. She took a special silverware setting out from her back pocket and placed the knife in my right hand, the fork in my left hand, and unrolled the napkin onto my lap. "Sir, would you mind slicing into your steak to confirm the doneness for me?", she said. Just wow. This had never happened to me at a Black Angus before. I cut into my steak (with some difficulty admittedly, the knife was really not very sharp I think) and it indeed was cooked to a perfect Medium Rare. She nodded and a proud smile broke discreetly onto her face. "Enjoy you steak sir, and madame, I hope you enjoy your Cobb Salad."

Everything after that was a blur. Bite after bite went into my mouth and I chewed every piece as if I was gnawing through a rope that bound me to a sinking ship. I ordered extra butter upon extra butter and drowned my potato in it. Steakhouses probably have access to really good butter, now that I think of it. I couldn't recall now, but it seemed that Abby was grimacing at me through the haze. She says now that she was smiling, so maybe I am just projecting, but I was unashamedly just devouring my meal like a nasty scoundrel. To tell you the truth, I don't quite remember the taste of the steak. I knew it must have tasted good, since I was tearing it to bits, but I honestly was more spurred on by the act of chewing the meat. "Steak Starvies" really means "I am starving for steak". I just remember my vision had dimmed to a tunnel that framed everything with a lurid glow. I should wrap this review up here actually, I'm sorry it's so long! I'm getting hungry again ahaha!! Anyway, if you're ever looking for a traditional American Western restaurant for the domesticated cowboy within, hop on your horse (or get in your car) and mosey on over to the Hayward Black Angus where they'll treat you right and ask you if they're doing a good job. It's right off the freeway! Oh, and I finished the steak and potato :)

Abby’s take: you know it’s going to be a good Sunday when the day begins at Black Anus. Unfortunately, they do not yet have a country breakfast menu, but they do open at 11am ! Perhaps true steakmen don’t see a need for labels when it comes to steak, unlike us city people. To the true steakman, steak is steak no matter the hour or gender. It seemed we were not the only patrons who wanted to begin Sunday in the atmospheric American darkness of a high-end ranch house. A fine way to escape the fast paced city life, slow down and take some notes from the locals! It really is a different way of life over at the steakhouse... I myself have always dreamt of country living. Blame it on my freckles, or my collection of Kenny Chesney fan fiction, I have always wondered if I was meant for the farm.

I ordered the vegetable Cobb, curious to try a “Country” take on a “City” classic. It was delectable! The cuisine equivalent of the musical masterpiece “Old Town Road”. I’m hoping Kenny Chesney is able to hop on that horse as well, perhaps accompanied with the always masterful Marshall Mathers (M&M). Those two on a musical horse would be quite the sight and sound!

The hubby, perhaps in an attempt to impress the locals, ordered a steak, medium rare, with no cityman dizzle-dazzle-add ons or subtractions. I for one, was impressed with his restraint, and took the moment to reflect. How accustomed have we city people become, to custom orders - “no tomatoes, no gluton” even picking and choosing particular Kenny Chesney songs to purchase from the ITune store, instead of purchasing the whole album. While I so enjoyed the cob salad remainders we took home, this lesson may have been my most valuable “takeaway”.

Local tip: “No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problems” is a great starter album for the Kenny Chesney novice.