#I’d love a pep talk from mk too | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dork-empress · 6 years

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You're Alright

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5 times Coach Lawrence gave Steve a pep talk and one time Steve gave one to him.

CW: Steve/Eli, 5+1 Things, Fluff, Emotional Talks, Internalized Homophobia, some transphobia, Trans Eli, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence

#1 Steve drummed his fingers on the table. He’d never done anything like this before. For a very good reason, a specific reason that he hadn’t seen in about...3 years? Wow, time really did fly.

That was his dad, of course. He and his mother had moved several thousand miles switching coasts to get away from him. Well, no, his mother had moved, and dragged Steve along. Steve was very angry about that at the time, and it had taken the entire three years for their relationship to recover.

The thing was, Steve actually looked up to his father. It took several years of forced therapy and a lot more detentions than was probably healthy before Steve could even admit that he wasn’t a good father. He’d never hit him, never physically touched him. Maybe he’d thrown him into the room with a bit too much force when he was working and Steve was playing too loudly. He had a guess that he might have hurt his mom, but she wouldn’t talk about it.

No, Mr. Palchuk was just...cold, really. Until he wasn’t. Silent, distant, and hard to get the attention of. And Steve tried, tried everything, which often got him in trouble. Mr. Palchuk didn’t care so much if Steve misbehaved as long as he wasn’t hurting his work, saying “boys will be boys” and leaving discipline to his mother. If ever he did something his father didn’t like though, or something his father even HINTED not approving of, he would yell and scream until Steve shuddered and was too afraid to move and swore he never did it again.

And here he was, about to admit to something that his father had yelled at him for. “Hey sport,” Coach Lawrence said, coming down the stairs, “Your mom’s gonna be home late tonight, so its me and you for dinner.”

“I know,” Steve said, not looking up, “She texted.”

“Ah, gotcha,” Coach said, taking in Steve’s obvious stress, “Hey, what’dya say we order some pizza in, put on some sports and have a good old fashioned guys’ night?”

Steve swallowed awkwardly, clenching and unclenching his jaw. This was it, this was his moment to speak. He couldn’t get his voice past his lips.

“Alright, I admit it,” Coach continued, cutting off the awkward silence, “I really just don’t feel like cooking. The only thing in the cabinet I can make reliably is the pasta, and that’s just not what I’m looking for tonight.”

“Mk,” Steve muttered.

Coach pulled a chair out and sat by him. “Something bothering you, sport?” Steve hesitated. Finally, he nodded. “You wanna talk about it?” Truthfully, no he didn’t but….not talking about it was starting to hurt more. “Hey, buddy,” Coach scooted closer, “You can tell me anything, you know that right?”

Steve actually nodded. He took a breath. Best get this over with. “I‘mgay,” he managed to spit out.

His eyes went back and forth between Coach’s face and the table. He was torn between wanting to see Coach’s reaction and being terrified of it. For a second, he was terrified that the Coach hadn’t heard him and he’d have to repeat it, but then Coach said “Oh.”

Steve’s eyes settled on the table. He shouldn’t have done this he shouldn’t have said this, he wasn’t even totally sure, like, Claire was nice enough, and there was that pretty troll, and sure neither of them made him feel the way some of the boys in his classes did but maybe he was just making that up in his head and-- “That’s great,” Coach cut off his stream of thought. “I mean, that’s great that you told me, thank you.” Finally, Steve’s eyes trailed up. He was shaking like a leaf. “You know it’s ok, right? There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s going to be good to have this out in the open. Alright?”

Steve nodded, though didn’t entirely feel better. He was still shaking, and felt tears welling up. This was going great and he still felt weird and awful. “Hey,” Coach said, opening his arms, “You want a hug?”

“Not..” he swallowed, “Not right now. I just.” He was shaking way too much to be touched in any way.

Coach nodded, “Alright, alright,” leaning back in his chair to give Steve some space. “What did your mother say when you told her?”

Steve swallowed, “I haven’t, uh…” he sniffled, holding the tears in, “I haven’t told her yet.”

“Oh,” Coach said again, “Are you planning to, or--”

“At some point,” Steve talked over him, “Yeah, I guess. I just.” He swallowed, “Look, Lawrence, if you left I’d….I admit I’d be sad. But like, I’d be ok, eventually,” he’d possibly never come out again to another living soul and live in complete heteronormativity, but he’d technically be ok. “But if mom...if she didn’t…”

“Your mom loves you,” Coach said. “She loves you with all her heart, no matter what. She has always wanted the best for you. That’s part of why I love her.” Steve swallowed, choking the tears down. “Steve….does...does ANYONE know?”

Steve flinched. Technically, he’d never told anyone else, not in so many words. But that didn’t mean no one knew…. “Dad…” Steve barely breathed out. “So-sort of. I was talking about a boy in my class as a kid, and I think I said he had pretty eyes or something, I don’t remember, I just...he said not to be so….not to be a f--”

“Don’t say it,” Coach said, his voice between pity and anger. He took a deep breath to calm himself, his hand reaching out to Steve but not daring to touch until Steve allowed. “You don’t have to say it, Steve. You don’t have to listen to anything that man said.”

Steve was really sniffling now. “But he was right,” he said, “I am a...a…”

“You,” Coach cut him off again, “are a bright boy, a good athlete, with a good head on your shoulders. And...you’re an amazing son.” He swallowed, holding back tears of his own. “And you’re gay, and that’s just fine. That’s a part of you, and your mother and I love every part of you. Ok?”

Steve nodded, and couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. He leaned forward letting Coach Lawrence pull him into the hug. “It’s ok,” Coach said, holding onto him, “It’s alright, you can cry. Cry as much as you want, it doesn’t make you any less manly or...or--”

“Coach, you’re ruining it,” Steve mumbled into his shirt.

Coach nodded, “Okay,”

They ordered pizza (half pepperoni and sausage, half pineapple and ham because Coach Lawrence was a HEATHEN) and watched football until Steve’s mom got home.

#2 Eli had pretty eyes.

It wasn’t like Steve didn’t know that, even when he was deep in the closet he was ever aware of a handsome face, even if he ignored it with all his might and occasionally shoved it in a locker.

But like….his eyes were really pretty. And they got prettier every time Steve saw them. Or maybe not his eyes, but like...the way they shined above his cheeks...or framed the perfect little curve of his nose...and just sat in his face. Maybe his whole face was pretty. It didn’t help that Eli was currently in the middle of a growth spurt and said face was steadily getting closer on level to Steve’s own every time they met up.

And they were meeting up a lot more now. Now that trolls were revealed to Arcadia, he, Eli, Toby and Aaaargh were the main ones who helped with keeping creepers at bay. Toby at one point smiled, thinking of calling them ‘honorary trollhunters’ but he and Eli were insistent on continuing to refer to themselves as creepslayers. They already had the hand signal work out, no use trying to change it now. And it was summer, so they actually had time to do stuff without worrying about school work (although Steve’s mom kept hinting more and more she’d like him to get a job that pays….and that he could put on his resume….)

There wasn’t much to do now that Gunmar was gone and most of the trolls had left, but...it was important to keep up patrol. That’s what Eli said, anyway. Steve wasn’t complaining.

Steve hadn’t been out of the closet for long (or with anyone who wasn’t his parents) (yes he was counting Coach Lawrence as his parents but he wasn’t going to stop calling him Coach) but he recognized the signs of a crush when he felt it. Especially when he was wondering if it was a crush or not, and so decided to think about what it would be like to kiss him. And he liked it. He liked the idea a lot. “What are you staring at?” Eli muttered over his bite of leftover pizza.

Crap, he’d been staring. Steve had invited Eli over for a few minutes after their last patrol, and a few minutes quickly turned to a few hours. “Your hair’s growing longer,” Steve said, “Just noticed.”

“Oh yeah,” Eli said, looking up at his bangs, “My mom’s been meaning to take me in to get it cut, but she’s just been busy, you know?”

Steve chewed over his own pizza, trying to keep from staring again, “It’s not bad,” he said, “Gives you a bit of a ‘shaggy’ look,” He reached over to jokingly rub his hair, but before he could touch it, Eli violently flinched away, gasping just slightly.

Steve pulled his hand back, “Uh...sorry...I didn’t mean--”

“No no,” Eli said, shaking his head, “It’s fine, it was...it was me. Just uh, instinct. I guess.” Eli adjusted his glasses awkwardly. “Actually, you know what, my mom’s probably coming home soon, I’d better get going.” He stood up, gathering his trash.

“Oh, right. Sure,” Steve said, nodding and standing himself, “Do you want me to give you a ride?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine, a walk will do me good,” Eli said, trying to smile, but Steve could see hesitation in his eye. “See you tomorrow, ok Steve?”

“Uh, ok,” Steve said, seeing him out, “Bye.”

It was strange to think it had been less than a year ago that Steve was shoving Eli into lockers. It had felt like Steve was always angry about something, usually his mom, but sometimes the fleeting hope his Dad would come for him, his teachers, counselors, etc. etc. It had felt….good to control something, someone. Picking on the smaller kids like Eli, Jim, and Toby helped with that.

And now he was friends with them. Well, Jim was off doing Troll things, but Eli was a better friend to him than any of the jocks on the football team, who only ever really interacted with him at practice and games. Now it turned out Creepslaying was a lot better outlet for that anger than bullying ever had been.

But Eli was still afraid of him. That….hurt.

Coach Lawrence walked back into the room, “Eli left already?” Steve nodded, feeling contemplative. “Everything alright?”

“I…” he frowned, “I’m not sure.” Coach had learned some tricks in dealing with Steve, the most important of which was letting Steve come to him. Steve wasn’t sure how he felt in being treated like a psych case, but he appreciated the distance on this one so didn’t object. “I think Eli’s afraid of me…”

Coach frowned. “You’re not still shoving him in lockers and stuff right?”

“No!” Steve said quickly. “I mean, it’s summer how would I...but even if it wasn’t….I mean I only did it for a while just to keep our cover with the creepslayers so I haven’t REALLY done it in a long time.”

Coach “hrm”ed at him, still scowling. “Who’s idea was it to ‘keep your cover’ that way?”

Steve frowned, “Mine…why?”

Coach nodded, and Steve recognized his ‘disappointed’ look. “And, what did Eli think about that?”

Steve shrugged, “He didn’t really say much. I guess he groaned a bit.”

Coach sighed and motioned for the table Steve and Eli just abandoned. They sat down. “You know, it was my job most of the time to get him out of those lockers after you left him. Your freshman year he always cried about it and told me everything.”

“I know, I remember the detentions,” Steve said. That’s how Coach and his mom met, going over his ‘disciplinary issues.’

“I’m sure, not that they did anything,” Coach said, “What scared me a lot more was when he stopped crying every time. When he refused to give up your name, so I couldn’t punish you.”

Steve blinked. “I...I didn’t tell him to do that!” Steve said, “I never...I mean, I didn’t threaten him.”

“No,” Coach acknowledged, “but every time you were punished you got angry. When you were angry, you took it out on Eli. So he learned.” Steve felt himself shrink under Coach’s eyes. “I thought that was as cruel as it got, but hearing that you bullied him even when you called him friend...that...that really takes the cake.”

“But it wasn’t,” Steve protested, “We were….I was just…”

“No.” Coach shut him down, “It was bullying, and it was wrong. Have you even apologized for all you did to that poor boy?”

Steve shifted uncomfortably. “Um….I…”

“And you wonder why he’s afraid of you?”

Steve bowed his head, for the first time actually really feeling shame for what he’d done. He hadn’t all those other times, but now that Eli was his friend….now that he wanted something more from him…

Steve mumbled something under his breath. “What was that?” Coach asked, accusatory.

Steve flinched. “Am I…” he said just slightly louder, “Am I a bad person?”

Coach’s face instantly softened. “Inherently? I don’t think so. You’ve done things I most certainly wouldn’t approve of. You may even have been a bad person before. But it’s not like your cursed to it.”

Steve still shifted, uncomfortable. “I just…” he took a breath, “I mean I spent so long trying to be like my Dad...and now…”

“Steven,” Coach said, using the full name not even his mother used, “if you don’t want to be like your father, don’t be.”

Steve frowned. “It’s not that simple.”

“Steve, you’re nearly a grown man,” Coach said, “You know right from wrong, and don’t tell me you don’t, because you’re the same boy who spent significant time trying to save the world.” Coach stood up, “You can start by apologizing to that boy. And maybe make an effort to mind his personal boundaries.” Steve nodded.

The next day, Steve invited Eli over and asked to skip the patrol, so they could talk. It was the most awkward talk of his life, but the way Eli smiled when he said he was sorry made it all worth it. He even hugged Steve after it was over

Eli’s hair smelled nice. God, Steve was fucked.

#3 “So, how’d it go?” Coach Lawrence asked when Steve walked in. Steve was supposed to be coming out to Eli today, as his best friend. Coach Lawrence had been encouraging him to do it for a while.

“Uhh….fine,” Steve said, very confused about the interaction he just had.

Coach raised an eyebrow. “‘Fine?’” Steve nodded. “So, he was accepting?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve said, “I mean…..yeah he was.”

“Mmhmm” Coach said, “And….”

“And...he came out to me…” Steve said.

Coach paused. “Does he know you’re telling me?” he said immediately.

“Oh, yeah,” Steve said, “Well….no, but he said he’s out publicly, ish. Came out in middle school before I knew him. He was...kinda surprised I didn’t know, actually.”

“Ah,” Coach Lawrence said, “Well that’s good, isn’t it? You’ll be able to support each other.”

“Mmhmm,” Steve said, still contemplative.

“So….what’s the issue?” Coach asked.

Steve swallowed, “He’s...also apparently trans.”

Coach nodded. “Ok...and, what do you think about it?”

Steve swallowed, “I don’t...know.” He bit his inner cheek. “I mean...it’s fine! I know it should be, I shouldn’t….it doesn’t affect me so…” Coach waited until he spoke up again. “I mean...I mean I don’t want to like…” He clutched his head. He hated not knowing his own feelings and worse not being able to voice them.

“You want to be supportive for your friend,” Coach tried to help him out, “But...it came as a bit more of a surprise than you were expecting.”

“Yeah….” Steve trailed off. “I just. I don’t want to...to hurt him. But I don’t know much about...transgenders?” Coach shook his head. “Trans...people?” Coach nodded. “Right, see, I don’t know anything. I just came out as gay, I mean, so like…”

“It’s ok not to know,” Coach said, “Some of it you can learn, some you can ask, if appropriate. And if you mess up, you can apologize and make it up. It’s trying that’s important.”

“Right...ok, I can do that…” Steve nodded. He still seemed perturbed. “It’s just...I don’t know I still feel weird. Like, I kinda…” He took a deep breath. “I just...I...li--” he stopped himself. Despite thinking it a thousand times it was hard to say it out loud. “I liii--- I like---I…” He cleared his throat, “I---I--” Coach patted him on his back, “I like him.” he managed to say.

His blush overtook his face as he watched Coach attempt very hard not to laugh at him. “I see,” he said remarkably calm. “And?”

“And...am I actually gay?” Steve said, scratching his head, “I mean...I know, he’s a guy, but like his body or...something, God it sounds offensive when I say it out loud.”

“Yes it does,” Coach Lawrence agreed, “But like I said, it’s all right to make mistakes. And look, if you decide later your identity is different than you thought, that’s fine. But you can still like Eli and be gay.”

Steve took a deep breath. “You’ve been reading those ‘parents of LGBT kids’ books haven’t you?”

“Ah, yeah,” Coach said, slightly embarrassed himself. “I mean, I haven’t read as much of the Transgender chapters yet. You can read with me, if you want!” It was Steve’s turn to raise his eyebrow in disbelief. “Right, bad idea. The point is, it’s okay not to know things yet. Just...try to learn. To be honest, all I know as a gym teacher is that the kids aren’t supposed to wear their chest binders while exercising.”

“Their what?” Steve asked.

“It’s like a vest...thing. To flatten their chests. But it can constrict their ribs.”

Steve frowned. “Hold on one moment.” He walked into another room and got his cell phone out. “Hey, have you been wearing binder on creepslayers missions?.......yes, that is how I answer the phone because I just found out about it and it can apparently hurt you?.....No I….Look, I’m sorry, I’m just...I’m just worried is all…..no of course it doesn’t bother me, I just care about you.”

Coach Lawrence spied just a little through the door, seeing Steve blush again. He closed the door again and let them talk. Steve would be just fine.

#4 Coach slammed his papers on his desk. “Fighting?! Again?!”

Steve and Toby both flinched at his voice. “It was a misunderstanding,” Steve said.

“Sure,” Toby muttered, “A misunderstanding.”

“YOU started it, Domzalski!” Steve grimaced.

“Because YOU threatened me!” Steve said back, “I’m a trollhunter now, you can’t intimidate me anymore!”

“Enough!” Coach said over their bickering as he sat down. “Domzalski, what happened, I want every detail.”

“You’re not even going to HEAR me?!” Steve said, offended.

“I will,” Coach growled, “AFTER Domzalski.”

Toby glared at Steve. They had been getting along more recently, but there was always some friction there. “Steve came up to me while I was doing my stretching, and he told me to drop the homecoming competition.” For the second year in a row, Steve and Eli had been nominated for homecoming King, but this year Toby had been nominated as well.

“I didn’t--”

“Shush,”Coach cut off Steve, allowing Toby to continue.

“We started arguing, and things go heated. Finally he said, ‘throw the competition or else!’” Toby cracked his neck. “So I punched him. Arrrrgh’s been teaching me how to do it right, if I need to.”

Coach took a deep breath, mouth pursed under his mustache. “Palchuk,” he said, nodding for Steve’s explanation.

Steve snarled at Toby, “I went over to TALK to Domzalski,” Steve emphasized, “Just talk. He misinterpreted what I was asking and...like he said, things got heated. And then he PUNCHED me!”

Coach frowned, “Did you ask him to drop out?”

“No!” Steve instinctively protested.

“Oh please, yes you did!” Toby said, frowning.

“I didn’t!” Steve said again, “I….I was asking if he, as a favor to me...would...like...lose the competitions….on purpose”

Coach frowned at him. “Palchuk, you know that’s an ethics violation. You could be pulled out of the competition for that.”

Steve actually hung his head, “Fine, do it then.”

Coach was staring at him thoughtfully. “You won last year. Why do you think you need to threaten your way into winning this year?”

“I didn’t do it to win,” Steve said. “I...I wanted Eli...to win…”

Toby blinked in surprise. “You didn’t tell me that part.”

“I didn’t get the chance, you just started yelling at me,” Steve said, frowning.

“Alright, alright,” Coach held up his hands. “I think I get the picture now.” He took a breath. “Palchuk, no matter what your motivations, you can’t threaten your fellow students, and you can’t ask them to throw a competition. Domzalski, I’m glad you’re feeling more confident recently, but that doesn’t excuse starting fights. Next time something like that happens come to a teacher.” He leaned back in his chair, “I can let you both off with a warning this time IF you both apologize to each other right now.”

Toby and Steve both mumbled apologies to each other and then were released. “Palchuk,” Coach called, “Wait just a second, will you?”

Toby left and Steve closed the door. “So,” Coach said, “You want Eli to win, huh?”

Steve nodded, as innocently as he could. “Just. You know, ‘cause he’s my friend. And to make up to him, you know? He deserves it.”

“Mmhmm,” Coach continued with an amused twinkle in his eye, “And it has nothing to do with the notebook you left downstairs with a step-by-step plan to ask Eli out at homecoming?”

Steve went through about 30 shades of red in less than a second, until his whole head was the color of a tomato. “You’re not supposed to be touching my things!”

“I was just picking up,” Coach held his hands up in surrender, “and it fell open. Complete accident.”

Steve was still angry. “Still, you...you can’t just...just pretend you didn’t see it!”

“I can do that,” He said, “Or….”

Steve waited patiently. “Or…?”

“I can help you ask him out?” Coach suggested.

Steve’s first reaction was to scoff. But then, he thought about it…”If...IF I were to accept,” he said slowly, “What exactly did you have in mind?”

“C’mon!” Steve said, pulling Eli along.

“Steeeeve,” Eli whined, as they trudged their way up the hill “Where are you taking me?”

“Trust me,” Steve said, “It’s going to be great.”

Eli groaned, unsure. “What’s in the bag, then?” Steve was lugging a large duffel bag

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise!”

They reached the top of the hill, and Steve took Eli by the hands, helping him stand as he was out of breath. “Alright?”

“Hikes aren’t exactly my specialty,” Eli said. “So...what’s this all this about?”

“I got something for you,” Steve said, “Well, not like, something you can keep, I have to return it, but,” He opened up the duffel bag and pulled out a telescope, “But I heard this is one of the best places for stargazing in Arcadia,”

Eli’s face lit up. “Come on, it’s only a few minutes before sunset!” he said, giddy as he helped Steve set up the scope.

Once it was set up, Eli eagerly showed Steve his favorite constellations, and the ones he’d been watching under suspicion of alien activity. Steve wasn’t sure he believed that, but who knew, he wouldn’t have believed in trolls a year ago. No one would have, except Eli.

Steve continually checked his phone for the time while Eli chatted along. Finally, he got the text he was looking for. “Hey, can I show you my favorite?”

“Hmm?” Eli said, “Oh, sure,” He stepped out of the way.

Steve instantly swung the telescope down to the Earth, making Eli incredibly confused. He focused it in on the football field, spotting Coach Lawrence running off to clear the space as he went. “Here,” Steve said, stepping back to let Eli look through.

Eli was confused, but cautiously looked through the scope. Steve watched his face soften as he read the letters Lawrence had spelled out on the field with every christmas light they had, and some borrowed from the neighbors, “will u go 2 dance w/ me?”

“Didn’t have enough lights for the full phrase,” Steve said, scratching the back of his neck, “but I think you get the gist.”

Eli pulled away from the telescope, wiping his eyes. “Are you…” Steve asked, “Are you crying? I...I’m sorry, it was just meant to be--”

The wind knocked out of him as Eli grabbed him in a tight hug. “You mean it?”

Steve hugged him back, “Yeah...yeah I do.” He swallowed, “So, uh...will you?”

Eli nodded profusely.

#5 Steve was tearing his room apart, trying not to mess up the rented suit he was wearing. “Mom? Coach?,” he called out to the house. No response.

Sighing, he made his way downstairs, “Coach, have you seen my bow--” he froze in place when he saw Coach Lawrence sitting at the kitchen table, arms folded, bowtie resting on the table….and beside it, an unopened condom. “I swear that isn’t mine,” Steve said as quickly as he could manage.

“I know,” Coach said, “Come here, sit down.”

Steve stared suspiciously. He approached like a feral cat. “Mom already gave me the sex talk,” he said, “Like, when I was 13.”

“I know,” Coach said, “But you have a boyfriend now, you’re going to a dance with him, it’s time for an updated lesson.”

Steve backed up a step. “It’s our first date, geez,” he said. “Besides, IF it were to come up, I think I’d know what to do.”

“Are you sure?” Coach said, raising an eyebrow, “Do you want to find out you’re wrong now, or later with Elijah?”

Steve flinched and groaned. “Please just….just make this quick and painless…..” Reluctantly, he sat down.

+1 Coach Lawrence took a breath and looked at himself in the mirror. This was it. This was really it.

The door opened and Steve walked in, dressed in the same tux he’d gotten for homecoming, just with a different tie and cumberbun. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah,” Coach said, beckoning him in, “How’s your mother, is she alright?”

“She’s about ready to cuss Grandma out if she won’t stop fussing over her hair,” Steve said, smirking, “But yeah, she’s fine. She says you’ve been texting her non stop, though.”

“Ah, yeah,” Lawrence said, scratching the back of his head. “I just...I’m just checking on her you know. Making sure she’s still like...ok with this.” Steve rolled his eyes as Lawrence motioned to himself. “And...that’s part of why I called you. “I want to make sure that you’re okay with it too. I know we’ve had our ups and downs, but...you’re getting a new family member too, so…”

“Are you trying to propose to me?” Steve asked, enjoying Lawrence’s awkwardness a little too much.

“No, I...not like that. I just…” He sighed, “I just want to let you know, if you’re not okay with this...with...with me...there’s still time.”

Steve rolled his eyes again. “C’mon, Dad, if you question yourself any more you’re going to sweat through your suit. Mom’ll walk down the aisle and you’ll look like you jumped into the hotel pool.”

Steve knew, though didn’t acknowledge, that Lawrence was still stuck on the ‘Dad’ thing. Steve had thought it before, but never called him that. Today seemed about a good a day as any. Still, his dad’s eyes were filling with tears and he was smiling like the damn joker. “Oh, don’t cry yet,” Steve said, “You haven’t even seen Mom’s dress yet. And I did not get dragged around to dress stores for you to ruin things now.”

His Dad nodded quickly, wiping his eyes as best he could, “Can I get a hug at least?” Steve sighed, and reluctantly embraced him. “Thanks, son.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said, but was beaming over his Dad’s shoulder. His Dad knows.

“Are you sure you don’t want to be my best man?” he sniveled, “It’s not too late.”

“Señor Uhl would be so offended!” Steve said, “Besides, I like my role in this whole shindig.”

“Ok,” his Dad said, “You better get back to Mom then.”

Steve nodded and backed away, “See you at the end of the aisle.”

A few minutes later, the music started and the doors opened, the bridal party filing in. Steve’s Mom gripped his arm tightly, and he gave her a reassuring smile.

Finally, it was their time, and Steve and his Mother walked in step down the aisle, between all of their friends and family.

Once his Dad was in sight, the tears had apparently broken loose as his eyes fell on his soon-to-be-wife. Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes a third time and decided to be happy instead.

At the end, Steve removed his mother’s veil and kissed her on the cheek before going to sit down.

He looked back for just a moment at where Eli was sitting with his mother. Eli had a handkerchief ready himself. Steve knew Eli was one to get emotional, and would probably be in tears by the time the vows were read.

Afterwards, Steve would make a speech at the reception. He’d dance with his mother. Then he’d dance with Eli, preferably to the end of the night if they both had the energy.

For now, Steve turned his attention back to his parents, looking at each other full of love, and wondering maybe if he would cry at his own wedding someday.

#trollhunters #Steve Palchuk #coach lawrence #eli pepperjack #Steli #Steve/Eli #trollhunters spoilers #fic #laura writes

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weloseeveryweek · 7 years

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season review

Champions of Europe.

That, ostensibly, is how any United fan will start a 2016/17 review. I say that. I know, just like everyone else, we aren’t, really. We’re champions of second-tier Europe, winning a competition by beating sides like Rostov and Zorya and Anderlecht. We won the most mickey-mouse trophies of them all - the Community Shield and League Cup - and we finished where we’d spent most of our time in the league, marrying sixth place in a love story still better than twilight.

Not, perhaps, the most illustrious for a team who hadn’t spent a single season without European football before Fergie left.

We’ve been in a transition period ever since 2013 when last we won the league, and I don’t know how much longer it’s going to be. It seems forever since Moyes took over and aspired his way to seventh; whenever the conversation turns to bad football experiences, watching MK Dons thrash us 4-0 at 3am in the morning always ranks up there. While it’s gotten a little better (Van Gaal, in particular, was an expert in lifting spirits with his near-impeccable record against Liverpool) it is by no stretch of the imagination where we ought to be.

I remember our twentieth time in vivid detail. It was way past my bedtime, and at that point I was still living with my parents and studying for exams so I was supposed to be asleep. I woke up at about 4am to find out that we’d beaten Villa and the party was in full swing. I remember my phone literally burning up with how much I was using it (all data, because my parents used to switch off the internet at night), reblogging photos and watching videos of the celebrations, Carrick wrapped in his flag, Evra and his rubber arm, the lads lined up in a row bouncing up and down singing that old refrain.

It was the best I’d ever felt about United. I can’t even begin to describe what it feels like to win a league title (sorry, Liverpool fans). It was better than the Europa league, and I hadn’t even watched the game. If I had known that I wouldn’t have that feeling for the next three years, and god knows how long after this, I’d probably have treasured it even more.

But that’s the thing - no one knew what would happen after Sir Alex left. There were other departures that hurt us too, of course. Losing Scholesy was a huge blow, as we’d already found out after his first retirement. Losing the backroom staff was a catastrophe almost on the scale of Sir Alex. But nothing was worse than losing the manager himself, the force of nature who had conditioned the players to perform far above their quality, such that we would always, always win regardless of circumstances, of players, of odds.

And we’ve been floundering since. Moyes was an unmitigated disaster, although in fairness to him he was sacked too early and following directly after Sir Alex was always going to be an impossible job. Giggsy was at best a stepping stone. I so desperately wanted to like van Gaal, especially with the knowledge that we could not become a sacking club, but even though he delivered big results and the FA Cup it was not the kind of football that United fans were paying (or not paying - don’t tell anyone) to see.

When Klopp was announced for Liverpool I almost cried. I’d hoped so desperately for him and we ended up getting Mourinho instead.

Mourinho.

Chelsea’s Mourinho, who led them to the worst title defence in history before Leicester trumped that this season. Real Madrid’s Mourinho, who left after underachieving / wrecking the dressing room / driving out their most important player. If you search through my tumblr you’ll probably find a bunch of acerbic jokes about him and his legion of glory hunting rent boys.

I was by no means overjoyed with the decision. In fact I was basically begging for Pep to change his mind and realise that it was the wrong side of Manchester, even though he would have come with his own problems. Mourinho wins trophies, but not much else, and his youth record worried me the most.

How do I feel now, a year and three trophies later? I don’t know. It’s certainly been our most successful post-Fergie season, and he has invested in some youth (although the last game and four debuts came as more of an afterthought, to be entirely honest). If this is a turning point, it feels much more like one than any of the rest that have come before. And believe me, there’ve been a lot. They existed under Moyes and van Gaal, but this is the most protracted spell of Things Are Possibly Going To Get Better thus far.

I suppose that would mean I’m well satisfied with this season. Certainly it gives me great pleasure to point out to errant heathens that we’re the second most successful club bar Chelsea, and I do acknowledge that Mourinho is trying to fit himself into the United philosophy - I suppose it’s different when it’s a job you’ve wanted for ages. At the same time, though, we’re Manchester United. Enough with the complaining about number of games and all that bullshit; look at our squad, our reserve squad is probably (on paper, anyway, you don’t have to tell me about underachieving) better than half of the league’s. The ‘99 treble winners hardly ever changed personnel during their long, hard, game-stuffed slog. Gary Neville started 54 games in that season; Marcus Rashford made 53 appearances this season and 23 of them were substitutions. Jose needs to get his shit together if he wants to make something of his time here, because winning the Europa was a breath of fresh air, but things can go stale very quickly if the window slams shut again.

More than that, though. More than the basics of the week-in-week-out trials and tribulations, the countless draws and ridiculous conversion percentages that make me want to smack someone with a big stick (volunteers welcome). More than our mess of a transfer policy and the ultimate will-they-won’t-they saga that is David x Real Madrid.

When I first came to England I was freaked out of my mind. I talked about this in my first prompt response, but really - I can’t even begin to explain what kind of stabilising effect football had on my life. If nothing else, I was finally in the country where it all began; I was walking on the same soil as my heroes, I could take a train up to Manchester any time I wanted (you think I’m kidding? I hopped on a train the day before my final exam to catch us lose 1-0 to West Brom). It was the kickoff I looked forward to every week, congratulating myself that it was at 3pm and not 3am.

I watched the final of the Europa League in a bar in Belgium with my friend. We had our United kits on, and we were screaming our heads off while the Ajax fans next to us grumbled and this big group of Americans in the same bar looked completely confused. After the game I slumped back, completely emotionally exhausted, but still absolutely fucking buzzing from the fact that we’d managed to pull something out of the bag after all.

It was only much later that I realised the importance of it all, and it hit me so hard like a sucker punch that I just stopped in the middle of the street and got weird looks off people. I was in Brussels because it was part of my graduation trip. I’m no longer a student; I’m going off to the world of working rat racers and stuffy offices. I’m going to be leaving London in two weeks. And, I don’t know, but it felt like such a huge, symbolic moment, that. I, too, am at that proverbial turning point, stepping off the island (in this case literally).

For all the terrible beginnings I have grown to love London so very much. If I had a choice in the matter I wouldn’t even be leaving. Every day I think about the fact that I move out in two weeks and my heart gets heavy and I cry just a little bit more. My fingers are crossed that I’ll be back one day, but if I’m not, then that’s the last game I’ll ever watch at Old Trafford. The last game I’ll ever watch at Wembley. The last time I’ll ever walk down the Thames, looking at the way the London Eye lights up in the evening, Parliament sitting pretty just beside.

So I suppose this season was about endings, beginnings, everything in between. There was some kind of strange, spiritual handover between my life and my team’s. The Mourinho era has begun. God knows what will happen. More trophies, more dressing room fallouts, Wayne Rooney being sent off to China somewhere. There was drama for people who wanted it, boredom for people who weren’t so keen, and while there wasn’t quite as much entertainment as the Louis Saxaphone van Gaal seasons, Fellaini played enough to get a laugh. I, meanwhile, went for two games, caught almost every single one but the last (I even leeched off public wifi in Glasgow central to watch us fuck up 2-0 to Arsenal), integrated Carrick’s testimonial into my graduation trip.

And then it was over; and then we packed up and thought about next year; and then I packed up and thought about leaving.

Unless you achieve something spectacular in that year, a season doesn’t really matter. It becomes a footnote. A wikipedia entry to tell you that your club still exists. Even though we won the Europa - champions of sodding Europe - 2016/17 feels like one of those to me; one where we were not spectacular but firmly middle-road, where any attempt to pretend that we were ever challengers would be delusional. If we aren’t fighting for the league there seems to be no point.

But that’s what it is, isn’t it? Hindsight and the way football plays you for a fool with it. There’s this quote from Nick Hornby in a book I’m reading now, where he goes to watch Cambridge United draw nil-nil with Grimsby, forsaking the comfort and company of Christmas in his parents’ home. On the way back, he says, he realises how incredibly pointless it all was; but on the way there all he could see were the floodlights and the promise of the three points that were rightfully theirs. That is a season - the promise of something. Not all promises will be made good, but just the fact that they are there makes you pick yourself up, rejig the telly, put on your kit one more time.

United, the rock to which I tied my ship, will go on. As will I. We’ve both circumvented the crossroads and who knows what’s going to happen from here on out. I don’t know if the rest of my life is just going to be a string of footnotes. I don’t know if the rest of United’s seasons will ever return to league-winning wikipedia section entries. But there’s one thing I know - the rock will always be there, and as long as it is, my ship cannot sink.

#manchester united #mufc #lmao this got long #football #soccer #prompt response #submission

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