#took like ten tries and i was about to give up and grind to 42 or something but i got the urge to give it one last try and i'm so glad i did

[yoshifawful64]

YOOOOOOOOOOO I BEAT BOWSER X

[splendidlyimperfect]

Written for @stingueweek​ 2019; prompt: heroic

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Natsu Dragneel/Sting Eucliffe/Gray Fullbuster Characters: Sting Eucliffe, Rogue Cheney, Natsu Dragneel, Gray Fullbuster Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Polyamory, Established Relationship, Bad Days, Fights, Face Punching, Protectiveness, Rogue's having a bad day, Sting will not tolerate creepy dudes, Sting's just sweet and badass and protective, and loves his boyfriends a lot, creeps who can't take no for an answer, Tumblr: FTLGBTales, Stingue Week Series: Part 42 of i'm with them

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“How can they go from idiots to… that in the span of ten seconds?”

Gray shouted the question in Rogue’s ear as they sat at their table at the bar, watching Sting and Natsu on the dance floor. Even with Natsu’s infrequent lessons from Rogue, his dancing was still atrocious – except when he was grinding with Sting, apparently.

“Are you really complaining?” Rogue asked. Gray shook his head as he watched Sting slip behind Natsu, one hand pressed against his stomach, the other guiding his hips. A warm heat spread through Rogue as he watched Sting nudge Natsu’s head to the side and kiss his neck.

“You wanna join them?” Gray asked, hooking his foot around Rogue’s ankle under the table. Rogue shook his head and Gray frowned. “You okay?”

Rogue shrugged, trying to ignore the tense ache in his shoulders. “Just had a long day,” he said as a yawn caught him by surprise. Gray reached under the table and grabbed his hand, sliding their fingers together.

“We can go,” he said, nodding toward the door. They were at the bar for Gray’s work party – the latest project had gone well, and Gray’s boss had insisted on treating everyone and their partners to drinks. “Todd won’t mind,” Gray added, squeezing Rogue’s hand.  

Rogue thought about it for a minute, eyes travelling back to the dance floor where Sting and Natsu were still dancing. They were facing each other now, foreheads pressed together as Natsu slipped his hands into Sting’s back pockets and pulled him close.

“No, I’m okay,” Rogue said after a minute. “I could use another beer, though.”

Gray laughed, grabbing Rogue’s empty bottle and kissing his cheek before standing up and heading for the bar.

Continue reading on AO3

Rogue yawned again, shifting in his seat so he could keep watching Sting and Natsu. Sting had one hand on Natsu’s hip, guiding him gently while the other hand tangled in Natsu’s hair. Rogue was tempted to go out there and slip between them, let them soothe the stress and frustration of the day with gentle touches and soft kisses, and—

“Rogue?”

A familiar voice broke Rogue out of the moment and he frowned, looking up at the guy standing in front of him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and it only took Rogue a second to realize who it was.

“Brad,” he said, rubbing his face and sighing. He really, really didn’t want to deal with this right now. The last time he’d seen Brad was three years ago, when they had been working together at a restaurant and Brad had pestered Rogue to date him. Rogue had said no, Brad had ignored it and got his phone number from the work system, then had texted Rogue for weeks until Rogue ended up quitting the job and blocking his number.

“I haven’t seen you in ages, man!” Brad said, ignoring Rogue’s unimpressed scowl as he sat down at the table where Gray had been moments ago. “You here with someone?”

“Yes,” Rogue said, shifting further away from him.

“That’s too bad,” Brad said, raising an eyebrow and leaning closer. “You look… really good.”

The words made Rogue’s skin crawl and he suddenly wished he was still wearing his jacket. He could feel Brad’s gaze trailing down his chest and he was about to shove himself away from the table when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, babe,” Sting said, leaning down and kissing Rogue’s cheek. “You okay?” he asked in Rogue’s ear. Rogue gave a noncommittal nod and breathed a quiet sigh of relief when Sting sat down on his other side and rested a hand on his leg. Sting tipped his head at Brad, giving him a bright smile.

“This is Brad,” Rogue said.

~

It took a second, but between Rogue’s uncomfortable shifting and the creepy look the guy was giving him, Sting quickly put two and two together. He kept his smile in place and gently squeezed Rogue’s leg. Rogue had told him just enough about Brad that Sting was tempted to dump a beer on him and tell him to go fuck himself.

“I’m Sting,” he said instead, reaching around Rogue with his hand out. “Rogue’s boyfriend.”

The look on Brad’s face shifted into something unpleasant as he shook Sting’s hand, and his gaze quickly moved back to Rogue. “You’re a lucky guy,” he said to Sting.

“I am,” Sting agreed, rubbing his thumb comfortingly across Rogue’s thigh. “You here with someone?”

Brad nodded, tipping his head back toward a group of people in the corner of the room that were crowded around the hockey game on the TV. “Just some work buddies.”

“They’re probably waiting for you,” Sting said, trying his best to keep his voice neutral. Brad looked like he was about to argue when Natsu appeared at the table, followed closely by Gray.

“Hey,” Natsu said, setting down the beer he was carrying and giving Sting and Rogue a puzzled look. Then he turned back to Brad and held out his hand. “Don’t think we’ve met. I’m Natsu.”

“Brad. Rogue and I used to work together.”

You mean you used to harass him, Sting thought, taking Rogue’s hand in his and sliding their fingers together.

“Let me grab another chair,” Gray started, but Sting shook his head.

“We don’t need one,” he said. “Brad was just leaving, right?” He gave Brad an icy glare, ignoring the puzzled glance Natsu threw his way.

“We were just talkin’,” Brad insisted, frowning at Gray and Natsu and then turning back to Rogue. “We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Rogue muttered.

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” Brad said, leaning forward on the table. “I just wanna catch up.” Rogue shifted closer to Sting, who quickly stood up and pulled Rogue after him. The mild irritation he’d felt when he heard Brad’s name was quickly turning to a hot, sparking anger.

“You should go,” Sting said, nudging Rogue back toward Gray and Natsu. When Brad pushed himself up out of his chair, Sting stepped between him and the other three. “Now.”

“Look, man,” Brad said, but Sting interrupted him.

“Don’t ‘look, man’ me,” he hissed, leaning in so that only Brad could hear him. “I know exactly who you are and what you did to Rogue, and I’m not going to let you make him feel like shit again. Now fuck off.”

~

Rogue couldn’t hear what Brad was saying to Sting, but from the look on his face, it wasn’t pleasant. The tension in Sting’s shoulders was clear and unfamiliar – Rogue hadn’t seen him angry in a long time.

“What’s going on?” Gray asked, slipping his hand into Rogue’s and looking back and forth between him and Brad. “Are you okay?”

“He’s just…” Rogue trailed off and leaned back into the press of Natsu’s hand on his back. “C’mon, let’s—”

“Seriously?” Brad shouted over the crowd, staring at Rogue over Sting’s shoulder. Sting said something else and Brad ignored him, expression turning uncomfortably vulgar as he looked between Gray and Natsu. “One guy’s not enough for you, huh? Gotta fuck all of—”

Before Brad could finish his sentence, Sting punched him square in the face.  

Natsu, Gray and Rogue stood in a stunned silence for a moment, staring at Brad and Sting. Then Brad stumbled back, cursing as he dropped his drink and grabbed at his bloody nose instead. “What the fuck?” he shouted, glaring at Sting through his fingers. “What the hell is your problem?”

“My problem,” Sting replied, hands still bunched into fists, “is that you’re an asshole.”

“Holy shit,” Natsu whispered from behind Rogue. “Our boyfriend’s a fuckin’ badass.”

Sting looked ready to hit Brad again, but the people around them were starting to turn and watch the scene. Rogue stepped forward and grabbed Sting’s shoulder, pulling him gently backward.

“C’mon, love,” he said as Sting scowled at Brad. “He’s not worth it.”

“No,” Sting agreed, “but you are.” He turned back to watch a couple of Brad’s friends come over and hold out a towel for his bleeding nose. “If you ever try to talk to Rogue again,” Sting said, staring Brad down, “I’ll break more than just your nose. Got it?”

Brad glowered at Sting over the cloth but didn’t say anything, and after a moment his friend took him by the elbow and led him back toward their table. Sting exhaled sharply and Rogue wrapped an arm around him, leaning in and kissing his temple.

“Thank you,” he murmured, letting out the tense breath he’d been holding since he first saw Brad. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah I did,” Sting replied, turning and giving Rogue a quick kiss. “He had it coming – he was such a dick to you.”

“Okay, who are you and what have you done with our boyfriend?” Natsu asked, appearing in front of them. He reached out and grabbed Sting’s arm, inspecting his swollen knuckles. “Jesus, babe, I think you broke your hand, too.”

Sting looked down at his hand ruefully. “It hurts,” he admitted, wincing as he tried to flex his fingers.

“No shit,” Natsu said, shaking his head and grinning. “That was awesome.”

“Hopefully he’ll remember it next time someone tells him to leave them alone,” Sting grumbled. Natsu raised his eyebrows and looked at Rogue, who shook his head and reached into his pocket for his phone.

“I’m more worried about you,” he said to Sting. “C’mon, let’s get you to the hospital.”

~

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite patient.” Loke appeared in the doorway to the hospital room and raised his eyebrow at Natsu. “What’d you do this time?”

“Hey!” Natsu protested, gesturing at Sting, who was sitting on the bed with an ice pack on his hand. “It’s not always me.”

“I mean, it’s a fair assumption,” Rogue said from his seat next to the bed. “The last four times we were here it was your fault.”

“The car accident wasn’t my fault!”

“That was a year ago,” Gray interjected. “We’ve definitely been here more than four times since then.”

“You guys are mean,” Natsu grumbled, hopping up onto the bed next to Sting. “You love me, right babe?”

Sting mumbled an affirmation and leaned against Natsu, holding out his hand for Loke to inspect. “You really did a number on yourself,” Loke commented, making an apologetic face when Sting hissed in pain. “What did you hit?”

“A jackass,” Rogue said, reaching out and squeezing Sting’s knee. Loke gave Sting an impressed look.

“He totally hulked out,” Natsu bragged, wrapping his arm around Sting’s shoulders and kissing his cheek. “Punched some asshole at the bar.”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” Loke commented as he moved Sting’s hand. Sting gritted his teeth and hissed in pain, and Rogue took his other hand, letting Sting squeeze it tightly.

“He’s right,” Gray said, giving Sting a strange look. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get mad before. Not like that, anyway.”

“You should have seen him after the car accident,” Rogue said, running his thumb over the back of Sting’s hand. “When you—” he gestured at Natsu “—were…”

“In a coma,” Natsu supplied helpfully. A tiny flash of discomfort flickered across Gray’s face, but it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

“You were hurt,” Sting mumbled, turning and pressing his face against Natsu’s neck. “’n I was scared.”

The teasing expression on Natsu’s face disappeared and he kissed Sting’s forehead, murmuring a quiet, “I know, love.”

“Well, you probably fractured a couple knuckles,” Loke said, moving Sting’s swollen hand back onto the ice pack. “We’re going to have to get it x-rayed, but it might be a while. I’ll give you some painkillers for now, but you might want to get comfortable.”  

~ 

After an hour, Sting insisted on Natsu and Gray going home – both of them had work early the next morning, and there was no point in all four of them sitting in the waiting room.

“I’m sorry,” Rogue said, once goodbye kisses were exchanged and the other two had left. Sting frowned at him and Rogue sighed. “I feel like this is my fault.”

“No, love,” Sting insisted, shifting closer to Rogue. “It wasn’t your fault. He’s an awful person and he had it coming.”

“He is awful,” Rogue agreed, kissing Sting’s forehead and bringing his hand up to comb through Sting’s curls. “I just…” He swallowed against the sudden flood of emotion that welled up in his chest. “It’s just been a shitty day. There was this… we have this one customer who…”

Sting’s expression quickly turned troubled. “What happened?”

Rogue shook his head, cheeks flushing hot as the urge to cry hit him in the chest. “He’s just like Brad,” he managed. “Some stupid jerk who works at the bank across the street, and every time he comes in, he’s always just… the way he looks at me makes me feel...”

“Did he do something?” Sting asked quickly.

“No. He’s just always making these weird comments… like, he called my hair ‘exotic’ today and it just felt so gross.”

“God, I’m sorry, love,” Sting murmured, pulling Rogue in and kissing his forehead.

“I feel like I’m being stupid about it,” Rogue admitted, running his hands over his face. “Just like at the restaurant, with Brad, when I tried to tell the manager and he just said I was ‘misinterpreting things,’ so then I think maybe I’m just being sensitive, and—”

“Hey.” Sting ran his thumb across Rogue’s cheek and pressed their foreheads together. “If this guy makes you feel shitty, that’s on him, not you. Your boss at the restaurant was also an asshole, and I kinda wish I could punch him, too.” He looked down at his hand, which was already turning various shades of purple. “Okay, maybe not punch him because that hurt way more than I expected it to. But nobody should make you feel like that.”

Rogue nodded, quickly wiping at the tears that had, despite his best efforts, managed to slip out. “You make me feel safe,” he said quietly. “I know I’m an adult and I can take care of myself, but you standing up for me like that makes me feel really loved.”

“You are loved,” Sting replied, shifting back until he was resting his head on Rogue’s shoulder. “And you deserve to be safe. You should talk to Minerva about the guy at work – I’m sure she’d understand. You’re probably not the only one who thinks he’s a creep.”

“I’m not,” Rogue admitted. “Yukino doesn’t like him either.”

“Okay, if he’s making two of my favorite people upset, I might just have to punch him and deal with the pain,” Sting said.

Rogue let out a quiet laugh, bringing Sting’s injured hand up and kissing it softly. Sting yawned and curled up under Rogue’s arm.

“I’ll always keep you safe,” he said sleepily, pressing a soft kiss to Rogue’s neck. “We all will.”

“I know,” Rogue said as he wrapped his arm around Sting and held him close. “But I think you’ve done enough protecting for tonight. Right now, you should get some sleep.”

[mredwinsmith]

Coaching Peaks and Valleys Pt 1

Pat King’s article recently came across my news feed. Shortly after NYNY won the first of their five consecutive open titles (1989-1993), we got our hands on the VHS tape of that title game.

By late 1989, I had maybe eighteen months of playing under me, and I watched that tape nonstop for the better part of six months. Pat was Johnny Dawkins, Phil Ford, Skip Brown, John Kuester, Len Bias, and Jordan all in one. His passion and pace were unassailable. In the article, Pat mentions he’s coaching the men’s squad at Santa Clara University. Because this is a fact and because he was such an inspiration to me, I was motivated to look back at the eight seasons I coached and reflect on some of the moments you wish you could have back. I navigated mostly all of the peaks and valleys on the Frisbee terrain and my takeaway is all positive, yet still those times remain when you wonder how things may have transpired had the gamble gone differently. It’s pleasure and pain.

UNCW Seamen. 2011 Atlantic Coast Regionals. Wilmington, North Carolina.

The Seamen were a 3 seed behind Virginia and Virginia Tech and looking at a one bid region. On Saturday we defeated our opposition 39-12 and our first three games averaged an hour a piece. The next morning we opened with Towson at 8:30am. After our O made the score 12-4, we rolled 3 on defense in 4 possessions to close out at 15-4, but somewhere in those last three points the trouble started. Our defense started calling fouls on their receivers and the game grew real chippy. Towson resented this and rightly so. The game was essentially over and the calls were not calls our D had a habit of making and worse, they delayed the end of the game. On game point, Towson turned the disc over in our red zone and after punching it in we moved on to face Virginia Tech Burn in the semi-finals. Virginia Tech had a relatively easy go of Saturday as well, defeating their three opponents 39-17.

We opened the semifinals holding serve on our fourth try. Sizing one another up for the next few points, we quickly pulled away and had 2 times to break for 7-2 but only managed a TMF. After Burn took three tries to cut our four-point lead to three, we rolled two to take half 8-3 and one hour in we were feeling pretty good. But you’re never up by enough. Pulling and down 4-8, Virginia Tech came zone on the second point from half and then person d on the next two points and our lead went from 8-3 to 8-6. Off the third pull, they came zone again and we were able to extend the lead to 9-6, but only after three tries and the energy expended in those three tries is impossible to regain. Adding stress to that loss of energy, Burn’s women and the Towson men’s team began crowding the sideline at this point, along with a handful other schools beyond Richmond. Their seasons over, yet their hardline heckling was just getting started.

Pulling at 9-6 our D earned a Callahan and a second TMF as well. The one sideline now packed end to end with college kids in full postseason revelry feasted on this. At 10-6 we feel like we have some breathing room, but maybe the moment fueled by unruly college kids thrilled by your every mistake was too big. Undaunted, Burn’s offense scores with a few passes and they get their D back on the field. That point took thirty seconds at best for Burn and it was clean, efficient and poised Ultimate when they needed it most.

Burn must have rostered four guys at six feet tall and taller that season playing in a 4 person cup. They came with that set the next 3 points to roll 3 breaks and knot the score at 10 even, game to 12. The women’s semi-finals began at the same time as the men’s. In those games the losing teams scored a total of 8 points to the winners’ 30. In the other men’s semi, Virginia Night Train made quick work of Delaware 15-9. In separate factions they all made their way to our field. Around noon, the locals, mostly rec league all-stars and UOA sympathizers, began arriving dressed for a picnic with their coolers and strollers in tow, though their interest wasn’t directed at the Seamen as much as the forthcoming women’s final between UNCW Seaweed and UNC Pleiades, featuring future Callahan winners.

From 8-3, we were outscored 7 to 2 in essentially thirty minutes’ time. Four out of their five breaks came on one possession and those same four came transitioning from their four person cup, after mostly uncommon and uncharacteristic doinks and mishandles. Maybe it was the chippy calls against Towson catching up to us, but I’d rather tip my hat to Burn’s defense. At 10 all and receiving for the fourth point in a row, the numbers were in our favor as a fourth consecutive break was unlikely, and Burn came down in person d. We scored quickly and when the hard cap sounded during the next point, Burn’s offense buckled and we broke for the win 12-10. We were outscored 7-4 in the second half and while we advanced to play in the finals, rarely was a victory so deflating.

Winning in the hard cap left us barely any time to readjust and get over their 3 and 4 point run. By 12:30pm we had played 42 points to Virginia’s 47, but the last half of our semi-final with the crowd pressing in and the stress of Burn’s four-person cup and one bid looming in front of us was on everyone’s faces. ‘No Weak Faces’ we preached. No palms up body language. Additionally, when you are the team everyone loves to hate, you learn to place your concern on the team in front of you and embrace indifference with the team and/or teams thus eliminated. There is a degree of the NYNY factor here: you beat up on some second or third tier teams on Saturday and Sunday morning, you exchange trash talk and call the game the way you believe the game ought to be called because after all, you are not the inferior team, and then those inferior teams, because they don’t want the postseason to begin just yet and because they for the moment possess an overblown sense of what they bring to the table, sit on half empty coolers with their women’s team and 2nd and 3rd tier friends. I’d rather be starving than sit at that table; however, seven years later here I am writing an essay in hindsight and the long journey to the middle is complete – My apologies to Lester Bangs for the device.

The minor and major factors leading up to the finals vs Night Train created a perfect storm and while they advanced and took the one bid, I don’t feel that they were better that season – they won when they had to. They finished 1-3 in pool play at Nationals and 3-3 overall, and while we may not have fared better, the shadow of that one moment is still there. After receiving and going up 1-0 on our second try, we had one chance to break for a two point cushion but missed out. With six total possessions between both teams and the score even at 1s, the Ultimate didn’t get much better, or prettier. It mirrored the crowd. With their O getting 1 on the board, their D line rolled two for 3-1. We managed an easy O point for our second goal and then easy took a back seat to grind. Again, our D gained possession and we had one shot to tie at 3s but had no such fortune and a potential tie game was quickly a five-point deficit. Down 2-6 and having suffered two quick breaks, our O was put to task on the ensuing point and we fought off four break chances before turning it over in Virginia’s red zone, giving up a third straight break and to go down 2-7.

For an instant, the clouds parted and we managed a quick O point and our D was back on the field. Certainly, if our D could get a third try at a break we’d get one, and one could lead two. Pulling at 3-7, we earned a quick one and cut their lead to 3. As a coach, which way do you want things to go here? A quick point to keep up the pressure, maybe cause some finger pointing, or longer uglier points to keep their O on the field and your O off the field getting much-needed rest? If you are a guaranteed a break, you want it ugly perhaps, but there are no guarantees here, except the one that says you have one another’s back. Down five and the game beyond a picnic, we are now down two at 5-7 and pulling for the third point in a row and Night Train is looking to take half for the fourth consecutive point.

Freeze. Give me these 70 seconds back. Rest on the line and call timeout at ‘ten seconds to pull’; send all but the pulling D line to the shade, and following the timeout, turf the pull, concede the point and get off the field and in the shade with the others, with water and food and wet towels and music and a well-timed joke, recharge and refocus for the next 45 minutes. A three-point deficit and pulling at half is not insurmountable and after all, it was our home field. More often it’s not about the lead nor the margin you trail, it’s energy and keeping that energy. Up to that last point of half, the finals saw 12 points scored on 31 possessions. 19 turnovers in less than an hour. Seldom is it in Ultimate that you’re served an opportunity on a platter to bend it in a particular way to where you don’t suffer an earful from Frisbee cognoscenti adamant the game must be played this way at all times.

We aimed for the third break. Our D line was foaming at the mouth, fired up after two breaks. No bread was ever broken between these two teams and Virginia stewed for a year over us knocking them into the backdoor bracket in 2010, a game where the observers marked the score incorrectly and we had to win twice. A few passes into the point, we get hit with a TMF for backpacking. Virginia scored, spiked the disc and took half 8-5. The bulk of that half was squandered quarreling over what just happened instead of what was going to happen. Minutes later, it was 12-5 Night Train. We managed only 2 more in the second half; 2 points on 8 possessions. Virginia scored 7 on 9 possessions, both turns by their defense, keeping our O on the field. Overall, our O received 14x, scored 5x, and played defense 13x. Season over. Now leaning in with a certain alacrity only identifiable if you lived here long enough, the hometown crowd eventually enjoyed their picnic as the Seaweed dismissed Pleiades 15-3 in a game that was never close.

Unlike the next year when Georgetown rolled four on our three-point lead to knock us out in the quarters of another one bid region – Towson first on the scene and no filter on the schadenfreude, there was no road trip home with a 5th year player where you try and offer something, some perspective to assuage the emptiness. But what can you say? This year they departed as they arrived. All alone or in twos and with no practices to look forward to. Who is to say what might have transpired had we bent half-time and turned the game into something else? Would our fortunes have faded so quickly? I do know that the handful of fifth-year boys we had, boys who are now men and who went on to have decent open careers with Ring and the Flyers, deserved better than that, on that day. And that’s the trick to coaching: You want to win and you want so much for those trusting your authority and decision making, but often it’s not about scoring points.

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