i won in the first week

anonymous asked:

I’d also like read that whenever you finish it lmao

hello there to you and to other kastle peeps who just started following me! the outpouring of support for this little snippet that i’ve posted is amazing - i’m a long-time lurker in the kastle fandom and this’ll be the first time i’ve ever written for them, so it’s a little nerve-wracking since this fandom is filled with such talented peoples!

in terms of the full story, it probably unfortunately won’t be up til this weekend at the earliest, but more like mid-next week. i have two jobs and am in grad school and so it’s just a crazy time for me with finals coming out.

the piece has also gotten infinitely longer and more complicated since I’m now starting with frank and karen individually in the immediate after of the punisher season 1 and then going from there. the “everyone reacts to frank and karen” is the third act of what I see as a three-act story. i’m trying to decide whether or not to split each act up and post as they finish, or just to drop it on y’all at once (message me/let me know what you might prefer).

in the meantime, though, have this more fully fleshed out (though still incomplete) but un-beta’d scene of David, Matt and Frank learning that Karen’s been abducted.



“Frank. Frank! Stop. What are you doing?”

“I’m going to find these assholes. I’m going to find them and I’m going to rip them apart.”

“How? By checking out every black Suburban in the city? By shouting Karen’s name in the streets?”

“I don’t know.” He grips the edge of the couch tightly, though David can still see his hands shaking.  “I don’t - I don’t give a shit. I’ll tear this whole fucking city apart if I have to.”

Keep reading

There’s just something to be said for hard work and putting it in week after week, day after day, and she’s done that for season after season and finally, finally won and I got to be a part of that and it is the coolest thing. I don’t know how to put it into words.
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WT: Would have loved to put a little more color in the ending bit there, doing it up for the holiday. But I’ve had a rough day, another notch on a rough week. Hopefully I’ll be making up for it soon.

Also when i do asks I’m sort of jumping around the time period of about 5-6 months after my first story. So this thanksgiving answer is supposed to be before Clover met Cameron/ knew him well enough to go visit him for thanksgiving. I’m limited how far i can progress the blog timeline as long as I’m still working on LAW. I won’t be able to move further along until I get to Val’s story. I hate that it’s taking this long but I’m burning at all cylinders here.

Anyway, I hope you all have a fantastic holiday. And thank you so much for following the blog and sending in your asks!

Something New (Chapter 9)

A/N: I hadn’t planned to post this yet, but it’s a holiday week here in the US and I won’t have another chance for a while. Work safe this time! 

Originally posted by tobias-eaton


The next two sticks proclaimed the same news as the first: Sara was definitely, without a doubt, pregnant.

“How?” she breathed, staring down at the trio of tests on the bathroom counter.

Michael wrapped his arms around her from behind, drawing her against him. Her hips felt wider, her breasts fuller. He hadn’t been exaggerating earlier: he really had noticed these subtle changes days ago, as long ago as her holiday party even, exploring her body with his hands under the loose scrubs.

As he stared at her in the mirror, gladness pumped through him like adrenaline. He’d been honest about this, too: he really, really did want this baby. As much as he’d wanted Henry. As much as he’d wanted Mike. But. Oh God, but! The fear was right there, right under the surface, just below his calm demeanor. He had to work at it, no doubt about it, to smile at Sara’s reflection as he ran his hands lightly over her abdomen as he had at the start of her last two pregnancies. As he kissed her, on this Christmas Day. He knew she was scared too, that he needed to be the person she could lean on, and so he would be. He wouldn’t let his mind careen down the dark tunnel of fear that gaped, waiting for him, just on the other side of this happiness. He’d do whatever it took to stay in control, to banish the demons, to curb his always-recurrent PTSD. He’d set up more regular calls with Dr. Kate, he’d find a local psychologist, he’d take the prescribed medication he hated, if necessary. For the next nine months, he’d be a rock.

Keep reading

‘Learning Russian has given me a whole new life’ Mary Hobson: It took me about two years [to read War and Peace]. I read it like a poem, a sentence at a time. English writer and translator Mary Hobson decided to learn Russian at the age of 56, graduating in her sixties and completing a PhD aged 74. Now fluent in Russian, Hobson has translated “Eugene Onegin” and other poems by Pushkin, “Woe from Wit” by Griboyedov, and has won the Griboyedov Prize and Pushkin Medal for her work. RBTH visited Hobson at home in London to ask about her inspiring experience. 

RBTH: Learning Russian is difficult at any age, and you were 56. How did the idea first come to your mind? 

 Mary Hobson: I was having a foot operation, and I had to stay in bed for two weeks in hospital. My daughter Emma brought me a big fat translation of War and Peace. “Mum, you’ll never get a better chance to read it”, she said. I’d never read Russian literature before. I got absolutely hooked on it, I just got so absorbed! I read like a starving man eats. The paperback didn’t have maps of the battle of Borodino, I was making maps trying to understand what was happening. This was the best novel ever written. Tolstoy creates the whole world, and while you read it, you believe in it. I woke up in the hospital three days after I finished reading and suddenly realized: “I haven’t read it at all. I’ve read a translation. I would have to learn Russian.” 

RBTH: Did you read War and Peace in the original language eventually? 

M.H.: Yes, it was the first thing I read in Russian. I bought a fat Russian dictionary and off I went. It took me about two years. I read it like a poem, a sentence at a time. I learned such a lot, I still remember where I first found some words. “Between,” for instance. About a third of the way down the page. 

RBTH: Do you remember your first steps in learning Russian? 

 M.H.: I had a plan to study the Russian language in evening classes, but my Russian friend said: “Don’t do that, I’ll teach you.” We sat in the garden and she helped me to remember the Cyrillic script. I was 56 at this time, and I found it very tiring reading in Cyrillic. I couldn’t do it in the evening because I simply wouldn’t be able to sleep. And Russian grammar is fascinating. 

RBTH: You became an undergraduate for the first time in your sixties. How did you feel about studying with young students? 

M.H.: I need to explain first why I didn’t have any career before my fifties. My husband had a very serious illness, a cerebral abscess, and he became so disabled. I was just looking after him. And we had four children. After 28 years I could not do it any longer, I had break downs, depressions. I finally realized I would have to leave. Otherwise I would just go down with him. There was a life out there I hadn’t lived. It was time to go out and to live it. I left him. I’ve been on my own for three years in a limbo of quilt and depression. Then I picked up a phone and rang the number my friend had long since given me, that of the School of Slavonic and East European Studies, London University. “Do you accept mature students?” I asked. “Of sixty-two?” They did. When the first day of term arrived, I was absolutely terrified. I went twice around Russel square before daring to go in. The only thing that persuaded me to do it was that I got offered the place and if I didn’t do it, the children would be so ashamed of me. My group mates looked a little bit surprised at first but then we were very quickly writing the same essays, reading the same stuff, having to do the same translations. 

RBTH: You spent 10 months in Moscow as part of your course. How did you feel in Russia? 

 M.H.: I hardly dared open my mouth, because I thought I got it wrong. It lasted about a week like this, hardly daring to speak. Then I thought – I’m here only for 10 months. I shall die if I don’t communicate. I just have to risk it. Then I started bumbling stuff. I said things I didn’t at all mean. I just said anything. The most dangerous thing was to make jokes. People looked at me as I was mad. I hate to say it, but in 1991 the Russian ruble absolutely collapsed and for the first and last time in my life I was a wealthy woman. I bought over 200 books in Russian, 10 “Complete Collected Works” of my favorite 19th-century authors. Then it was a problem how to get them home. Seventy-five of them were brought to London by a visiting group of schoolchildren. They took three books each. 

RBTH: You’re celebrating your 90th birthday in July. What’s the secret of your longevity? 

M.H.: If I had not gone to university, if I had given up and stopped learning Russian, I don’t think I’d have lived this long. It keeps your mind active, it keeps you physically active. It affects everything. Learning Russian has given me a whole new life. A whole circle of friends, a whole new way of living. For me it was the most enormous opening out to a new life.

3

Trying to cheer the Commander up!


Thanks to @dragonkrz for the prompt!! They won my follower giveaway and requested the veterans having fun, so I did my best to draw that within the confines of canon after chapter 50/episode 38. Hope you like it!

Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band is the eighth studio album by English rock band the Beatles. Released on 1 June 1967, it was an immediate commercial and critical success, spending 27 weeks at the top of the albums chart in the United Kingdom and 15 weeks at number one in the United States. Time magazine declared it “a historic departure in the progress of music” and the New Statesman praised its elevation of pop to the level of fine art. It won four Grammy Awards in 1968, including Album of the Year, the first rock LP to receive this honour.

Day One Hundred and Thirty-Seven

-Within the first fifteen minutes of my shift, I rang up both a metal fidget spinner with worryingly sharp angles and a children’s book about a zoo, the cover of which featured a boy dabbing. I did not expect to live in an era of such meme integration in our education and warfare.

-“I’m not comfortable with sharp turns,” a girl told her mother. “In fact, my sharp turns are quite wide for most people. If I’m not careful, I’ll never get my driver’s license.” I am proud of her, as it is always best to be aware of one’s shortcomings, and, as she is nine years old, she will have plenty of time to improve upon them.

-A man came by whose shirt displayed a bible passage quoting Jesus as telling his followers to sell their clothing to buy assault rifles. I expect the movie adaptation of this alternate reality scripture in theaters next summer, as The Crime Of The Passion Of The Christ is certain to be a box office hit.

-A mother explained that her seven week-old baby was wailing and squealing because she was hungry. The next woman came up once they had moved on and admitted in a hushed voice, “I make the same noises when I’m hungry.” This won from me an outburst of genuine, uproarious laughter, the likes of which the the average “I found everything… and then some!” could never dream of achieving.

-Today has been an endless parade of pocket-sized pooches and this was precisely what I needed.

-The Armed Apostle returned half an hour after his first purchase, buying only a drink this time. He tried to claim his twin brother had just been in, purchased too much, and forgotten his drink. I did not buy this for one moment. There is no way on this earth that the man before me is anything less than one of a kind.

-A boy told his mother that all she had to give his was a lifetime supply of Tic Tacs, an iPad, and an all-access pass to McDonald’s. At first blush, I thought this child amusing, to be so easily satisfied. Upon further reflection, however, I found a truth in myself. That truth is that if I had these things and nothing else, I would still consider my needs all fulfilled.

Wanna Bet? (M)

Rich Fuckboy!Jimin x Tutor!reader

PART II  |  PART III

Word Count: 2,782

Summary: Working as a private tutor at the most prestigious university in the region, you had to put up with a lot of bratty kids. Though none were as bad as Park Jimin. Just as your luck would have it, you’ve been assigned to be his full-time tutor for the year….great. After many failed attempts to get his grades up, Jimin comes up with a bet to raise his marks. What’s the worst that can happen, right?

A/N - This is my fic, just re-posting on my sideblog!


You were grateful for this job, you really were. Some days, it was just really hard to be grateful. You worked at the wealthiest, all boys university this side of the country. You’re a private tutor, working with a maximum of five students a year. Things have been going well for you, you’re known as the best tutor at the school, so parents are flocking to you to help their precious spoiled brats. Hey, at least the money is decent.

Your whole week, scratch that, year has gone downhill the moment you get a call from the Dean.

“Y/n? Yes, hello. We’re going to need you to take on a student full time at the start of the new school year. I know this is a lot, so the pay will be increased, and you won’t have to take any other students. You will be tutoring five days a week for this student. Can you do it?”

“Um, yes, I don’t see why not…” growing a little curious as to why the dean himself is contacting you, you ask, “who is the student, Sir?”

“Park Jimin.” Shit.

Keep reading

There Will Be Blood

I didn’t know my face was caved in, but I knew it wasn’t good.

I knew it wasn’t good from the sound my cheek had made when it hit the dasher above the boards. I knew it wasn’t good because the referee had blown his whistle so quickly. I knew it wasn’t good because our trainer, John Wharton, had jumped over the boards right away to check on me.

I saw the blood on the ice, but I didn’t know the right side of my face was caved in.

My only thought was, O.K., this is a bad one. How many stitches?

It was Game 6 of the ’96 Western Conference finals against the Colorado Avalanche. We had to win the game in their barn to keep the series alive. The whole series was a bloodbath. To say “there was no love lost” between us would be an understatement. I rarely ever use the word “hate,” but I’ll use it here. We hated them. They hated us. That’s just the way it was.

Moments before, I had collected the puck along the boards and made a pass, and I was drifting backwards right by our bench. The next thing I knew, I got hit from behind. I felt my face hit the top of the boards. Everything went black for a second. I was on all fours, trying to get up, but I couldn’t.

I looked up at our trainer and he was blurry, but I could see this look of horror on his face. I’ll never forget that look. He put a towel over my head to hide my injuries. The last thing I remember is him and Keith Primeau helping me to my feet and escorting me off the ice to the dressing room.

Then I blacked out.

The next thing I remember is waking up in the dressing room, and looking up at our trainers and our doctor, and finally feeling the pain. 

Then I blacked out again.

The next time I came to, I sat up and the pain was gone. I didn’t know it, but I was on some serious painkillers. So I started trying to put on my shoulder pads so I could get back on the ice.

Our team doc said, “Kris, what the hell are you doing?”

I said, “What period is it? Am I stitched up?”

He said, “Uh … Kris, you better take a look at this.”

And he walked me over to the mirror.

The right side of my face was caved in.

He told me the damage: Broken orbital bone. Broken cheekbone. Broken nose. Broken jaw.

That was not the worst news.

I asked, “What’s the score?”

“It’s 4–1. Colorado.”

O.K.

Then I asked, “Who hit me?”

“Lemieux.”


March, 26, 1997.

Say the date to anybody in Detroit or Colorado and they’ll know exactly what you mean.

March, 26, 1997.

Exactly 301 days after I broke my face.

It’s hard to believe that it was 20 years ago this month. But if I just tell you the story of that brawl, it won’t do it justice. A 21-year-old reading this right now was just a baby when it happened. If they’ve only seen the YouTube videos, they probably think we were all a bunch of animals. But the reason things got so out of hand on March 26, 1997, is because of everything that happened before and after that brawl.

See, we have to go back.

Everybody involved in that fight had a story. For me, you have to go back to Career Day when I was in sixth grade in West Hill, Ontario. The teacher went around the room and asked every kid what they wanted to be when they grew up.

Doctor. Lawyer. Teacher. Veterinarian.

Everybody smiled and nodded.

When it was my turn to go, I said, “I’m going to play in the NHL.”

I was a small kid, so there was some laughter in the room. After school was over, I was sitting outside on the portable step, and I’ll never forget this as long as I live: This kid (who shall remain nameless), came up to me and said, “Ha! You’ll never play in the NHL.”

Just the way he said it, with such certainty, always stuck with me. I used it as motivation. I’d picture his face, and just the way he said it, and I’d think, Oh yeah? I’ll show you.

My mentality was that I was going to do whatever it took to make it to the NHL, and for the first few years of my career, it was a real struggle. I spent four years in the Winnipeg Jets’ system, mostly toiling away in the minors before they traded me to the Red Wings in ’93, just as Scotty Bowman was taking over as head coach.

So one night I’m playing for the Adirondack Red Wings in the AHL, and I score a hat trick. I come out of the locker room after the game, and there’s Scotty with a few Red Wings scouts. I had no idea they were in the building.

I’m thinking, Finally, they saw the hat trick. Now they know what I can do. Now I’ll get my chance.

The first thing Scotty says to me is, “Do you know how many face-offs you won tonight?”

Face-offs were just starting to be kept as an official stat, especially in the AHL.

So I said, “No, sir, I’m not really sure.”

Scotty said, “You won 19 of 21. Can you do that in the National Hockey League?”


Six weeks later, I got called up to the Detroit Red Wings. The implication was pretty clear. If I wanted to be one of Scotty’s guys, I had to grind. I was 5′ 10″, 180 pounds and I was joining a team with unbelievable skill guys — Sergei Fedorov, Steve Yzerman, Slava Kozlov, Keith Primeau, Vladimir Konstantinov, Paul Coffey, and a young Nick Lidström. So my mindset was that I was going to be the biggest pain in the ass you ever played against. I definitely knew my place. But I didn’t know my exact value until we played the Sharks in the ’94 playoffs. After we beat them in Game 3, I was getting interviewed by a reporter from a San Jose newspaper. After he finished up, he turned to me and said, “Hey, not bad for a kid who was traded for a dollar, huh?”

And he started to walk away.

I said, “Excuse me … what did you just say?”

He said, “Yeah, a dollar. Winnipeg traded you for a buck. Now you’re playing in the Stanley Cup playoffs. Pretty good … Wait, you don’t know the story?”

I turned and looked at our public relations guy, totally confused.

He said, “Uh, yeah, Kris. It’s true.”

I’m like, “What? I was traded for future considerations.”

He says, “Yeah, well, you know, when Scotty called you up from the AHL, they still hadn’t worked out the considerations, officially. So Bryan Murray called Mike Smith and … well … you were traded for cash considerations.”

“A buck?”

“A buck.”

Whenever somebody tells me I was traded for a bag of pucks, I have to politely correct them — because a bag of pucks would’ve been a lot more expensive. But I loved it, because the whole story just added to my underdog mentality.

We ended up losing that first-round series to the Sharks in seven games, which was bitterly disappointing. Then in ’95, we felt like we were so close to the promised land, but we got swept by the Devils in the Stanley Cup finals. That’s when the questions started.

A lot of people don’t remember this now, but at the time, we were getting a tremendous amount of heat for not being tough enough to win a Cup. The media was questioning the leadership of guys like Yzerman and Fedorov, if you can believe that. They were questioning the way our whole team was built. The implication was that we were skilled but soft.

So we came out in ’95–96 with a gigantic collective chip on our shoulders. The first two months of the season, we were on fire. With our speed and skill, we overwhelmed teams. Then, on December 2, 1995, we went into the old Montreal Forum to play Patrick Roy and the Canadiens. That night, something happened that changed hockey forever.

We came out hot. Roy let in four goals, then five, then six….

For whatever reason, they wouldn’t pull him.

Seven. Eight. They still wouldn’t pull him.

We were all kind of looking at each other on the bench like, What’s the deal here?

At one point, the crowd did a mock cheer when Roy made a save. It was ridiculous, because he was such an incredible goalie.

Finally, after nine goals, Roy had had enough and just pulled himself. Later on, it came out in the press that when Roy got back to the bench, he turned to the president of the Canadiens and said, “This is my last game in Montreal.”

Roy was traded to the Avalanche a few days later. That was the moment when the whole rivalry between us and Colorado got its spark. He never forgot what we did to him at the Forum. From that moment on, he took it to another level when he played us.

It felt like destiny that we would have to go through Colorado in the playoffs that season. And, wouldn’t you know it, who was waiting for us in the ’96 Western Conference finals? Roy and the Avalanche.

This is the part of the story where things get a little crazy.

Most people think that the feud started when I broke my face in Game 6. But it started way before that. From the first drop of the puck of Game 1, guys were taking runs, slashing, grabbing, sucker punching, you name it. There’s no point in even going over every incident. We did stuff. They did stuff. If you played in the NHL playoffs back then, you were not coming out unscatched. I’m not glorifying it, but that was the way it was.

Early in Game 3, Slava Kozlov rammed Adam Foote’s head into the glass and cut him pretty good. Later on in the period, Claude Lemieux snuck up behind Slava and sucker punched him in the back of the head to get revenge.

Our bench went crazy. And then the whole game went crazy. And then the whole series went crazy. Everything turned into a battle. We were battling over loose sticks from the benches.


Game 3 was the moment when the rivalry rose to another level entirely. We wanted to win that series so, so bad. Colorado was not a team full of goons. That’s the thing. They were an unbelievable team that had everything you could want — pure skill with Sakic and Forsberg, grit and experience with Lemieux, Kamensky and Ricci. And, of course, they also had Roy.

They had everything we had. They were a tremendous team, and we didn’t like them one bit.

So when I looked in the mirror after I got hit from behind in Game 6, and I saw my broken face, I was kind of numb.

But when the trainers told me that Colorado had won, and that the series was over….

I was beside myself. I was so disappointed.

The doctors advised me to stay in Colorado to have surgery right away, but I wanted to be on the plane with the guys. I wanted to be back in Detroit. So I draped a towel over my head and walked out of the building, and I got on the plane and waited for the guys.

My teammates didn’t actually know how bad my injuries were until they got on the plane and saw me. So they had gone through the whole handshake line not knowing my face was caved in. That’s the backstory for Dino Ciccarelli’s famous quote about Lemieux: “I can’t believe I shook this guy’s friggin’ hand after the game. That pisses me right off.”

I still remember sitting at the front of that plane with the doctors, and all my teammates getting on and tapping me on the shoulder and telling me it was going to be alright.

When we got back to Detroit, I was in the hospital for four days. I couldn’t eat solid food for six weeks because my jaw had to be wired shut. Having your jaw wired shut sucks, but it sucked even more in 1996 because they didn’t have all the protein shakes and fancy smoothies in every store like they have today. For the most part, I was drinking Ensure. Sometimes I got lucky and they’d let me have a chocolate milk shake.

I wish this story could have Smell-O-Vision, because if you could only smell a vanilla Ensure right now, you’d know how miserable I really was. But the worst pain, by far, was knowing that the Avalanche were dominating the Panthers in the Stanley Cup finals.

I couldn’t stand to watch. It’s still the only Stanley Cup finals that I’ve never seen a single second of.

As I was sitting in that hospital bed, I promised myself two things:

  1. I wasn’t going to let the hit affect me mentally.  
  2. It wasn’t to change the way I played.

You have to understand what hockey means to me. It was always my joy in life. I was a small guy to start with, and I made it to the NHL by playing a certain way. If I took my foot off the gas even just a little bit … if I was even just a little bit timid because of that hit, I wouldn’t be effective. I’d be letting my teammates down. I’d be letting the city down. The people of Detroit were in my corner every single day of my recovery. I mean, the response from fans was so overwhelming that I had to get two hospital rooms: One for me, and one to store all the flowers, cards, and stuffed animals that people sent to me. There was so much that I couldn’t take it all home. I donated all the stuffed animals to the pediatric ward.

Detroit is such a blue-collar town, and they love their Red Wings so much.

We had to get back to the Western Conference finals. We had to beat Colorado. We had to win a Stanley Cup.

I would close my eyes and picture the weight room and think, Soon.

As I was leaving the hospital, my doctor gave me a pair of pliers.

“Keep these on you at all times,” he said. “Whenever you leave the house. Whenever you go to bed.”

I couldn’t speak. I just shook my head, confused.

“If you get sick and have to throw up, you’re going to have to cut the wires to keep from choking.”

So I went home with my pliers and my cases of Ensure. It was a long road. I ended up losing almost 20 pounds over the six weeks that my jaw was wired shut.

I’ll never forget the day they came off. My first meal was at Andiamo on the riverfront in Detroit. I ordered the angel-hair pasta. But I still had to have these restrictive bands on my teeth, so I sat there eating it noodle by noodle for like an hour. My friends were on dessert by the time I made it to the 10th noodle, but it was the best feeling ever.

That was the end of June. I had two months to gain 20 pounds back before camp. Whenever I needed motivation to drink an Ensure, I’d just think of The Joe on opening night, and the feeling of walking down the dark tunnel and taking that first step onto the ice.

To be 100% honest, I rarely thought of getting revenge on Lemieux. It wasn’t about that. Unfortunately, Detroit did not feel the same way. It was like the entire city took the hit personally. When the season started, and I was back in the lineup, all anybody wanted to talk about was our first game against Colorado. But, as fate would have it, Lemieux wasn’t in the lineup for our first two games. The third game in Colorado got very heated — you could feel the tension — but the referees were on top of it. Nothing major happened. But you could feel the hatred building and building….

Right up until March 26, 1997.

When it all exploded at The Joe.

I pulled into the parking lot of the arena that night and a TV cameraman followed me from my car to our dressing room. Camera guys never followed me. They’d always follow Yzerman or Fedorov. That’s when I knew: O.K. Here we go.

You could feel it in the dressing room before the game. You could feel it during warmups. They were 3–0 against us that season. They were No. 1 in the division. This was our last game against them going into the playoffs. It was a huge moment.

But the game was relatively tame for most of the first period. Until….

Igor Larionov and Peter Forsberg, two of the most skilled guys in the league, got into a wrestling match by our bench. At first it was nothing — just a small scuffle. The refs came over to break it up. The building was quiet.

And then you just heard this incredible roar out of nowhere.

I look to center ice, and there’s Mac.

Darren McCarty, the guy who visited me in the hospital every day. Mac is reigning punches down on Claude Lemieux right in front of our bench. Lemieux’s helmet pops off, and he goes down on all fours, trying to turtle to protect himself.  

And then another huge roar — louder than the first one.

Patrick Roy leaves his net. Mike Vernon leaves his net.

They’re skating toward one another from across the rink, like a Wild West movie.

But then, out of nowhere, Brendan Shanahan intercepts Roy and they both go flying.


Next thing I know, Mac is dragging Lemieux over to our bench, as if to say, I told you I’d get him, boys.

Then Vernon and Roy finally make it to one another, and they start brawling at center ice. Not just tying up, but throwing haymakers.

In the middle of all this pandemonium, Marc Crawford, the Avs coach, is yelling at me, “You started all this, Draper!”

And then Scotty Bowman starts yelling at Crawford, “Don’t talk to my players! Don’t you ever talk to my players!”

When the refs finally got ahold of everybody, there were helmets and sticks and gloves and jerseys and blood all over the ice.

What can you say? You just say the date, and everybody knows.

March 26, 1997.

Exactly 301 days after I had my face caved in, my teammates stood up for me. We settled it. But this is what a lot of people don’t remember: For the players on the ice, that night wasn’t just about the fight. That night was about proving that we could beat Colorado on the scoreboard.

After the refs cleaned up the ice, there was still a game to be played. We were down 5–3 in the third. If we lost, and Colorado swept the season series, then the fight would have meant nothing. But we started chipping away at their lead, and we tied it up at 5–5 to send it to overtime. In OT, who do you think came out and buried the game-winning goal?

Darren McCarty.

We couldn’t have scripted it any better.

The brawl was one thing. But us winning that night changed everything. It gave us the belief that we could beat them in the playoffs. We knew we’d see them again in the Western Conference finals. We just knew.

When they dropped the puck in that series, the tone had already been set. The vibe was different. As soon as Lemieux turtled at The Joe, everything changed.

We beat them in six games, and I got what I really wanted — what I had burned for since I was in the hospital. I got the handshake line. I got to look every one of them dead in the eyes, and I got to shake their hands knowing that I was going to the Stanley Cup finals, and they weren’t.

In the finals, the Flyers were heavily favored to beat us. They were “too big, too strong, too fast.”

First shift. Game 1. Philly comes out with the LEGION OF DOOM. Lindros. LeClair. Renberg.

Everyone expects that.

But nobody expected who Scotty sends out.

The Grind Line.

Me, Joe Kocur and Kirk Maltby.

What a feeling. Almost exactly a year to the day that I was laying in a hospital bed with my jaw wired shut. Now I’m starting Game 1 of the Stanley Cup finals.

We came out flying. After finally beating Colorado, we were not going to be denied. We took Game 1 on our way to a sweep.

That first time you touch Lord Stanley, after so many years of burning for it, your life flashes before your eyes. Your whole journey plays like a quick film in your mind. I wanted that Cup so bad, for so many reasons. But mostly I wanted to prove to myself that one hit wasn’t going to define my career, or change the love I had for the game.

We won again in ’98, 2002, and 2008.

Now, we’re known as champions. But on March 25, 1997, we were called “soft.” Our leadership was questioned. Some people wanted to blow up the team.

Do we still win the Stanley Cup without that brawl? Maybe. But I know that it certainly didn’t hurt.


Over the years, Lemieux and I never spoke about what happened. He never apologized, and I didn’t need him to. They won Cups. We won Cups. Even if I didn’t like him very much, I actually respected how clutch he was as a player.

Then, a couple of years ago, I was at the 2014 NHL draft as a member of the Red Wings’ front office. My whole family was there with me — my wife and three kids. When the draft was over, we were waiting outside for a taxi to take us to the airport, when my wife’s face suddenly went pale. She was looking right through me.

She said, “Lemieux’s walking towards us.”

I wasn’t going to turn around. I didn’t think I had anything to say to him.

Sure enough, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn around and it’s Claude.

He says, “Oh, is this your family?”

My son, Kienan, has watched every single YouTube video in existance of the Wings-Avalanche rivalry. He knows the whole story. So he was looking up at Claude with these big eyes, like, Oh, my God. Here he is, in real life.

Claude bent down and shook his hand, and my son just kind of looked at him in awe. Claude politely introduced himself to my whole family, and shook everybody’s hand.

And that was it. We went our separate ways.

I’m glad we had that moment. For everything that we went through during that rivalry, the beauty of our game is that at the end of the day, as (much older) men, we are still able to shake hands.

Now that it’s the final year for The Joe, people have been talking about their favorite memories of the place. We won two Stanley Cups in that building, and yet every time I meet a Wings fan, you know what they want to talk about?

March 26, 1997.

Those gongshow days are gone now, and it’s probably for the betterment of the game. But ask anybody from Detroit, and they can tell you exactly where they were when that brawl went down. Long after that arena is torn down, people will still remember that night.

It defined a rivalry, and it defined my career for a lot of fans.

But for me, when people ask about my favorite memories of The Joe, I always give a boring answer. And I do it because it’s the truth: It’s the Stanley Cups. The sacrifice it takes to lift one Stanley Cup is almost beyond words.

I went on to win four of them with teammates who I consider brothers. They can never take that away from us.

So, to a certain sixth grader in West Hill, Ontario, from a very long time ago, I’ll say it again: Oh yeah?

KRIS DRAPER 
RETIRED / DETROIT RED WINGS 

First Kiss with Seventeen

Originally posted by junhoontrash

By the way, by first kiss, I mean you’re first one with them, not like, in your life, tbh i don’t know, it’s more of some kiss with seventeen.

with svt in the gif lining up to kiss you. 

S.Coups:

  • probably after like three dates
  • soft but passionate (???)
  • kind of reminds me of plushy bunnies
  • probably gave you a really big smile that doesn’t show is teeth with the dimple and all, afterwards
  • kinda like this ٩(◕‿◕。)۶
  • probably in your bedroom or in a park or like backstage before one of his performances

Jeonghan:

  • lazy
  • he kissed you within the first month of you two dating
  • was probably first somewhere on your face, that isn’t your face, then your lips
  • he possibly kissed you again
  • you guys were probably lying down before, maybe even during it
  • he probably giggled a little afterwards
  • kinda random

Joshua:

  • soft
  • probably asked for your permission
  • or he kissed you then was like
  • “oh, sorry, are you okay with that? can i do it again?”
  • something like that
  • afterwards he shyly smiled

Jun:

  • okay, apparently he had his first kiss with his mum’s friend’s daughter when he was like five
  • so you two were like dating for a week
  • and then probably pulled you close
  • then peppered your face with kisses
  • then unexpectedly kissed your lips
  • and you were really flustered
  • well played junnie

Hoshi:

  • probably got an award or something exciting
  • then like ran to you and kissed you
  • probably didn’t realise he did
  • he was so excited like, *kisses you* WE WON (Y/N)! KJFBSDOB
  • very honestly, it was so random you didn’t even have time to realise he was kissing you after he kissed you

Wonwoo:

  • you might’ve had to kiss him first
  • i just feel like he would like to take things slow
  • so you kissed him
  • then he was like
  • ‘I wanted to kiss you first,’ >:(
  • so you let him kiss you, or he just did it
  • or he was really shy and sheepishly smiled for the rest of the day

Woozi:

  • he was probably being stubborn and you were not dealing with him and you were kinda mad
  • and he was like, ‘o shit,’
  • so you gave him the silent treatment and he was like
  • ‘whhhyyyy?’ all whiney
  • then he was like, under his breath, ‘fucking hell,’
  • then kissed you
  • you were slightly less mad
  • then kissed you until you weren’t mad from earlier, just him kissing you 1210238 times
  • or like wonwoo, you kissed him first and he was mad and flustered (he was very flustered to be very honest) so he kissed you

DK

  • like those kisses were he pulls you close, holds you face, then kisses you
  • was kinda out of nowhere but you kinda were expecting it
  • he probably smiled at you afterwards and giggled a little
  • pure and innocent is probably the best way to describe it
  • was probably extra smiley for the rest of the day

Mingyu:

  • i don’t even know if you guys were a thing
  • he probably did that move where the dude pushes the girl to the wall all smooth and is like ;;;)
  • then says some dumb pick up line
  • kisses you
  • then makes you his
  • or he wanted attention and was like (y/n) LOVE MEEEE
  • then kissed you

The8:

  • super soft and sweet
  • just like him
  • so you were at seventeen’s dorm and you guys were just playing around and built a fort
  • you guys probably sat under it giggling and talking
  • then someone kisses someone and everyone’s blushing and giggling and coups is probably watching with a tear falling from his eye like, how cute :,)

Seungkwan:

  • very shy and nervous about this
  • won’t let you know that though
  • so you were probably teasing him about it,
  • and he was like excuse me, i’ll show you \\٩(๑`^´๑)۶//
  • then kisses you
  • ‘yeah, that’s right, boo’s the best kisser and you know that !!’

Vernon:

  • he’s kinda shy, so guess who made the first move?
  • YOU
  • so one day you two were on your super domestic ideal date
  • and you just kissed him bc you can
  • and he was like FLUSTERED™️
  • if you searched up ‘define flustered’ a photo of hansel after you kissed him would appear
  • he would probably smirk a little after

Dino:

  • wants to be a man so he decided he would prove this to you by kissing him
  • he was actually really nervous
  • probably asked Jun and Hoshi for some useless advice
  • so he was like
  • ‘let’s go out,’
  • and you were like sure, so you guys were on a date and he was like shaking and you were like,
  • ‘you okay?’
  • ‘yeah,’ (he’s really not),
  • and unsurely you said, ‘okay,’
  • and then he was like quietly but loud enough for you to hear
  • ‘goddamnit chan, just do it,’
  • then kissed you and it was cute and you two were a flustered mess

this is kinda messy, but i wanted to write something 

- admin jola 🌱

Don’t miss our next Snotgirl merch release with Big Bud! In-store first, online a week after.

Snotgirl #8 is out November 22 and we’ll have copies at the opening party if you need to pick it up! (Support your local comic store btw)

(I won’t be able to attend the party because I’ll be away in Tokyo… I’m going to Tokyo for the first time…)

8

top fifteen rucas episodes (as voted by my followers) ☼ number one 

girl meets ski lodge part 2 (3x09) - i choose you riley, and i really want you to choose me. i do. i always did. 

Stargazing II pt. 1

Jimin x reader

genre: angst!, fluff, smut, boyfriend!jimin

word count: 15.5k


He was your first love, your soulmate who shaped your heart, covered it with scars no one was able to erase..except for the one causing the indentations deforming the once beautiful muscle that still longed for the part that was torn out on a day in late autumn.

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  • People in the Youtube comment section: Do you actually think Lucas Steele should've won or is just because he's hot?
  • Me, not sure they actually watched the performance: Lucas is literally dancing the jig, playing the violin and singing some tenor notes that my first-tenor boyfriend can't hit on most good days. He does it eight nights a week, works an amazing set that I can only imagine could easily trip up an actor if they aren't careful. Might I also mention that he's literally been in the cast since 2012 which is the literal beginning for the show? He is Anatole. Being hot is just a nice bonus to this triple threat that definitely should've received the Tony.
Babe

“Baby.”

           Bitty stirs at the sound but doesn’t open his eyes. Jack is solid behind him and hasn’t moved a bit, with his arm still draped over Bitty’s middle.

           “Baby,” Jack says again, sleepily.

           “Hmm?”

           Jack doesn’t respond. Bitty thinks he may have just spoken in his sleep. He taps at Jack’s hand.

           “Jack?”

           Jack tightens his grip and slips his hand under Bitty’s shirt to rest on his chest.

           “Good morning,” he slurs, and rubs his nose into the hair at the back of Bitty’s neck.

           Bitty laughs into the pillow. He doesn’t bother turning around—it’s too early for moving—but he leans further into Jack’s chest.

           “Good morning.”

           “Mm. Morning.”

           “Yes, honey. It’s morning. Are you getting up?”

           “Hmm. No.”

           Jack breathes in deeply and ducks to press his forehead between Bitty’s shoulder blades.

           “You smell nice,” he says.

           “Thanks honey.”

           “Mmmyou’re welcome babe.”

—–

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7

This is an old manga I did with an old friend of my school for a national manga contest. aboout telling a plot of a story in just 6 pages, This is the result.

We won the 7th place. But after that contest I refused to participte in another one anymore, because I discovered in that contest you could have more chances to win the first place if you paid an specific amount of money, also, the winner was a friend of the contest’s owners…so..yeah…that was one of many reasons to giving up and forget all about drawing in those years.

I found the comic deep in my files this week, so I decided to translate it and share it with you.

I KNOW.

THAT FREAKING PHANTOM BOY…LOOKS LIKE CROSS!CHARA…I DIDN’T REALIZE OF THAT UNTIL TODAY HOLY COWS ;_;
I feel kinda… bad now…really I didn’t noticed the similarities between they two…aaagh darn…i don’t know if that’s ok or not..DX.

Anyway…this is how I used to draw 4 years ago. With this short comic I learnt how to use the patterns in Manga Studio and also a bit of perspective…so it wasn’t a waste of time, after all.

“His Wedding” Part 8

Summary: Modern-Day (AU) Bucky and you are exes. He moved on but you couldn’t since you both are still friends, he asks you for a favor - a ridiculous one. You reluctantly agree, not thinking of the future consequences you’ll have to face. You just hope everything will be fine. But it doesn’t always work out, does it?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (lol told ya’ll not to get used to it)

Word Count: 2

Warnings: i !!! did !!! that !!! this is where the real angst begins

Author’s Note: a question: who do you picture Lily as? I have always thought of Emma Stone. let me know in the comments! :)

there might be some typos since i edited this in a hurry :0

‘His Wedding’ Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Things turn up the way they do for a reason. And when after that eventful night, Steve kissed me and said he’d call me later to fix a date, I couldn’t help but feel anxious. Nonetheless, I was pretty excited too. 

Our first date was pretty subtle. Spending a whole day at the Coney Island with Steve. As cheesy as it sounds, we both thought it was perfect. Of course like a good date, Steve won me a giant stuffed elephant (which took up most of the part of my living room and had Nat nagging me about it for at least a week now). We shared popcorn and cotton candy, and like two little cheeseballs, even make out a bit on the top of the Ferris wheel. Steve didn’t let go of my hand for even a second. It was perfect and I could see more of these kind of dates happening in future.

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