#my wet little meow meow who made me trans </3

[insecateur]

thinking about him a lot these days so here's an alexander mahone doodles dump from when i did my rewatch back in january 2021

[splendidlyimperfect]

Sting’s entire life changed when he was eleven years old and his best friend Rogue told a secret that he’d promised to keep. Taken away from the father who abused him and the best friend who’d tried to save him, Sting tried to start a new life with his uncle. But the trauma wasn’t easy to escape, and eventually Sting turned to drinking to forget the things that hurt.

Now he’s an adult, and he hasn’t been sober in years. But when drinking nearly kills him and a near-stranger saves his life, Sting has a chance to turn his life around, and maybe become the man that Rogue deserves to love.

Chapter Summary: Being back in Crocus is different than Sting expects, but it's made easier when he runs into someone very familiar.

Chapters (14/?): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Natsu Dragneel & Sting Eucliffe, Sting Eucliffe & Weisslogia Characters: Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel, Rogue Cheney, Gray Fullbuster, Weisslogia (Fairy Tail) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Past Child Abuse, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Trans Character, Trans Sting, Friendship, Childhood Friends, Sting-focused story, Sting is a disaster, Natsu’s a great friend, Rogue tries to do what’s right, Tumblr: FTLGBTales Series: Part 2 of i’m still standing

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re·​union | \ (ˌ)rē-ˈyün-yən noun : the act of being brought together again

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xii summer age twenty-one

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Uncle Wes offers to let Sting stay with him in Saint Portage. His room is exactly the same as he’d left it, bed made neatly and window open to let in the warm summer breeze. A lump swells in Sting’s throat as the memories wash over him and he sits down hard on the edge of the bed, running his fingers across the blanket.

“I wanted it to be here for you,” Uncle Wes says quietly, sitting down next to Sting. “Just in case.”

Lector hops up as well, meowing and rubbing his head against Sting’s arm until he scratches behind Lector’s ears. “I wanted to come home,” Sting whispers, trying to tamp down the guilt that swells in his chest. “So badly, but…”

He focuses on the feel of Lector’s fur under his fingertips and exhales, letting his mind skip over the memories instead of delving deep into them.

Just fuckin’ hit me.

I would never hurt you.

You should.

No. Never.

Continue reading on AO3

He thinks about apologizing again, but he knows words alone aren’t enough. Instead he digs in his pocket for the letter. It’s crumpled and stained from where he’d dropped it on the porch, but it’s still legible, and he hands it to Uncle Wes.

“I can’t stay here,” he says softly. “I’m trying to be better.”

Uncle Wes’ eyes widen as they scan the page, and by the time he reaches the bottom, his entire face has transformed into the warm, sunny smile that Sting remembers so well.

“You’re going to be amazing,” Uncle Wes says, eyes wet with tears.

“You don’t think…” Sting trails off, teeth worrying at his lower lip.

Uncle Wes shakes his head, setting the letter back down on the bed and taking both of Sting’s hands in his own. “You’re an incredible young man,” he says gently. “And you are nothing like your father.”  

~

Being in Crocus is strange, and a little bit overwhelming.

Rufus, Sting’s new roommate, is quiet and kind, but he isn’t Natsu. They Facetime as much as possible, but once Sting starts his courses at the academy, they only get to talk once or twice a week.

Uncle Wes being back in his life is new, too. At first Sting wants to see him every day, to make up for all the time they’ve lost. But he’d nearly had a panic attack the second time they’d seen each other, and Sting’s new therapist had suggested reintegrating into each other’s lives a little slower.

After a month, Sting starts to think about drinking.

“I found a meeting here,” he tells Natsu on the phone that night. “It’ll be weird to go without you.” He sighs, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. Little constellations of glow in the dark stars are stuck to the ceiling, and they bring back gentle memories of nights in the tree fort with Rogue, staring up at the stars.

“You can do it,” Natsu says, and Sting believes him.

The meeting is the same as every other one he’s been to. Even in a new city with new faces, nothing changes, and it’s comforting in a way. When he stands up and says, “I’m Sting and I’m an alcoholic,” everyone welcomes him warmly, and he feels the tension in his chest start to fade away.

It’s easier to say, now. The first few meetings in Danston, he’d refused to speak. Natsu had encouraged him, but he’d stayed hidden in the back, watching everyone else talk about their life while he tried to convince himself that he didn’t belong there.

He hadn’t wanted to admit that he’d turned out just like the person he hated most.

“I’ve been sober for just over two years,” Sting says, playing with the beads of the bracelet he holds between his fingers. It’s not a rosary – Natsu had called them mala beads, something monks used to help them focus and meditate. He had given them to Sting a week after he’d left the hospital, and Sting hasn’t taken them off since.

“I just moved back here,” he continues, glancing up at the group. The unfamiliar faces are overwhelming, but he forces himself to smile. “I had a lot of trauma here… shitty stuff with my family. It really messed me up, so I’m gonna be here a lot.”

The rest of the meeting goes by in a blur of new faces and other people’s stories. Usually Sting’s good at paying attention, good at connecting with people, but it’s hard to focus tonight.

He closes his eyes, breathing slowly as he runs the beads between his fingers and counts backward from fifty. Being back here is a good thing – he’s doing it for the right reasons. He’s a better man that his dad ever was, and he’s going to prove it.

The meeting is almost over when a very familiar voice starts to speak.

“I’m Gajeel, and, uh…” There’s a pause. “I’m an addict, I guess. This is my first meeting.”

Sting’s eyes snap open and he stares across the room at the man sitting with his elbows on his knees. His hair is longer, and he’s got more piercings than Sting remembers, but it’s definitely Gajeel.

Sting’s chest tightens as a million memories come flooding back to him – afternoons with Rogue watching Gajeel’s football games, Gajeel teasing the two of them when they stood in line for the newest Harry Potter book, Gajeel driving them to movies when he got his license.

Then Sting’s gaze slips past Gajeel to the man sitting beside him, and Sting stops breathing.

It’s Rogue.

Sting stares, eyes wide and heart pounding. Rogue’s hair is long, almost to the middle of his back, and it’s pulled back in a messy ponytail. He’s got his ears pierced, and his face is leaner now – he’s not a little boy anymore, and something in Sting’s chest splinters.

There’s something wrong with Abbey.

She’s gonna hate me.

I promised I wouldn’t tell.

Sting doesn’t realize he’s crying until the woman next to him touches his knee and hands him a tissue. He wipes at his face quickly, trying to breathe around the tightness in his chest. So many feelings are warring inside him right now – hope, anger, betrayal, regret. Love.

“Fuck,” he whispers, swallowing hard and pushing his chair back.

Rogue looks up at him.

Sting freezes, then realizes that Rogue’s already seen him and doesn’t recognize him. It’s not surprising – Sting looks nothing like eleven-year-old Abbey, but there’s a part of him that wishes Rogue could see past all that to his best friend.

Chairs start to scrape along the floor around Sting and he blinks, realizing the meeting is over. He stands up slowly, trying desperately to decide whether to run away or walk over.

Fuck it, he thinks. There’s been too much trauma and anger and regret in his life already, and if Rogue’s here, there’s no way Sting’s going to lose him again.

He walks over before he can change his mind, and when Rogue looks at him curiously, Sting reaches out and touches his arm.

“Hey,” he says, hand trembling against Rogue’s sweater. “I, uh…”

There’s nothing Sting can say to describe how he’s feeling. If this is a dream, he doesn’t want to wake up, but he’s pretty sure it’s real. Rogue is real. Rogue is here, alive and breathing and frowning as he searches Sting’s face.

“I’m sorry, do I—” Rogue freezes mid-sentence, eyes widening in realization. “Abbey?”

A silence hangs between them, heavy and uncertain, and then Rogue grabs Sting’s arms and pulls him into a hug.

“Holy shit,” Rogue whispers as he holds Sting tight against him, pressing his face into Sting’s shoulder. Sting can feel Rogue shaking, heart picking up as he starts to cry. “I never thought—fuck, I’m…” He leans back, reaching up and touching Sting’s face. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean… I just—”

“It’s okay,” Sting says, tipping his face into Rogue’s hand. “It wasn’t your fault, none of it, and I wanted to—I didn’t get to say goodbye, I…”

Sting trails off, tears running down his cheeks and over their hands. Nothing else exists except this moment – the rest of the conversations around them are just dull, background noise to the heavy slamming of Sting’s heart.

“I missed you so much,” Rogue says, voice breaking as he runs his thumb across Sting’s cheek. He pulls Sting close, pressing their foreheads together, then kissing Sting’s cheek. “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I was so scared, and I didn’t know what to do.”

“I know,” Sting says, pulling Rogue close again and holding him tight. He can’t let go or the moment will end and he’s so scared that this isn’t real. “I know, and it wasn’t your fault.”

Rogue digs his fingers into Sting’s shoulders like he’s keeping him from floating away. Every time he starts to say something, the words dissolve into tears again, and neither of them can do anything but hold each other through wave after wave of emotions.

Eventually Gajeel coughs awkwardly next to them, and Sting reluctantly lets go of Rogue’s arms.

“Hey,” Sting says weakly. “It’s, uh… me. Abbey. Well, Sting, now. It’s been a while.” He wipes his cheeks and forces himself to make eye contact with Gajeel. There’s a familiar, haunted look behind Gajeel’s eyes, and before Sting can stop himself, he pulls Gajeel into a hug too. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” Gajeel says, voice rough and uncertain as he pats Sting back. “Same.”

The three of them stand there for a moment, then Gajeel gives Rogue a knowing look and nods toward the door. “I’m gonna get Jeff to gimme a ride home,” he says. “You two’ve got a lot to talk about.” 

~

Sting grips Rogue’s hand tightly as they step out of the building and into the night. It’s warm and muggy, and the air smells like lilacs.

“C’mon,” Rogue says, tugging on Sting’s hand and nodding down the street.

The treehouse is still standing in Rogue’s parent’s backyard, and they sneak up into it together, shuffling awkwardly until they’re lying in the same place they did when they were little. Their legs are a little too long, but neither of them complain as Rogue pulls Sting close and kisses the top of his head.

It’s like Sting never left.

“Sting.” Rogue says his name curiously, testing out the sound. “I knew, y’know. I mean, I didn’t know what to call it—that it was thing, that you could be a boy, but I knew.”

“I know,” Sting says, resting his head against Rogue’s shoulder. He feels so surreal, like he’s existing simultaneously as a child and his adult self, and both of them are safe and warm and loved. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Rogue doesn’t say anything, just runs his fingers up and down Sting’s arm with a slow, purposeful tenderness that makes Sting feel so alive. There aren’t many stars above them – the lights pollute the sky and hide them, but Sting knows they’re there, dancing in constellations behind the fake city brightness.

“I tried to find you,” Rogue says. “It makes sense that I couldn’t – you changed your name. But mom and dad tried so hard. They went to the hospital – they’d called the police, they wanted to make sure you were okay, but nobody would tell them anything. All they’d say is that you were safe, and you were leaving.”

Sting sighs, closing his eyes and cuddling closer to Rogue. “It was bad,” he says softly. “I was angry for a long time—I thought that things would have been okay if you hadn’t told your parents, but it was really bad.” He flexes his fingers, thinking of the cast he’d worn for weeks. “He broke my arm.”

“Oh my god,” Rogue says, turning until he can pull Sting closer and wrap both arms around him. “I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t want to admit that he was hurting me,” Sting says, swallowing back tears. “But he…” Sting lets out a shaky breath. “He could have killed me. You saved my life.” He presses himself as close to Rogue as he can, shivering as a cool breeze tickles the hair on the back of his neck. “I just wanted him to love me.”

Rogue’s quiet for a minute. Then he whispers, “I love you.” The words sink into Sting, filling the cold, lonely places inside of him. “I always have.”

A warm glow flows through Sting, heating his cheeks and making him feel dizzy. He leans back, pushing himself up on his elbow and brushing a stray hair out of Rogue’s face with shaky fingers. This feels so right. All the broken pieces in Sting are shifting, putting themselves back together with each gentle touch. Rogue’s eyes shine in the dim light of the moon, filled with tears, and Sting knows, now, why he has to keep going. Why he has to be better, stay sober, keep trying.

“I love you, too,” he says again, then leans down and presses a gentle kiss to Rogue’s lips.