Starbuck

        𝙄𝙏  𝙒𝘼𝙎𝙉’𝙏  𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏𝙄𝘾𝙐𝙇𝘼𝙍𝙇𝙔  𝙐𝙉𝙐𝙎𝙐𝘼𝙇  𝙁𝙊𝙍  𝙋𝙀𝙊𝙋𝙇𝙀  𝙏𝙊 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙀  𝙆𝙉𝙊𝘾𝙆𝙄𝙉𝙂  𝘼𝙏  𝙈𝘼𝙂𝙉𝙐𝙎’  𝘿𝙊𝙊𝙍  –  𝙄𝙉  𝙁𝘼𝘾𝙏,  𝙄𝙏  𝙊𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙉  𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙋𝙀𝙉𝙀𝘿  𝘼𝙏  𝙏𝙃𝙀  𝙈𝙊𝙎𝙏  𝙄𝙉𝙊𝙋𝙋𝙊𝙍𝙏𝙐𝙉𝙀  𝙊𝙁  𝙏𝙄𝙈𝙀𝙎,  𝙏𝙃𝙊𝙐𝙂𝙃  𝘼𝙇𝙀𝘾  𝙆𝙉𝙀𝙒  𝙄𝙏  𝙒𝘼𝙎  𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏  𝙊𝙁  𝙒𝙃𝘼𝙏  𝙈𝘼𝙂𝙉𝙐𝙎  𝘿𝙄𝘿  𝘼𝙉𝘿  𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏  𝙄𝙏  𝙒𝘼𝙎𝙉’𝙏  𝙇𝙄𝙆𝙀𝙇𝙔  𝙏𝙊  𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙀  𝙊𝙉  𝙃𝙄𝙎  𝘼𝘾𝘾𝙊𝙐𝙉𝙏.  he’d  grown  accustomed  to  strange  visitors  making  appearances,  though  they  didn’t  say  much  about  what  it  was  that  they  wanted  from  magnus  around  alec,  only  that  they  needed  his  services  and  they  were  willing  to  pay.  sometimes  he  felt  bad  about  the  fact  that  he  was  making  magnus’  life  harder  business-wise  because  his  patrons  were  worried  about  the  SHADOWHUNTER  hanging  around  the  warlock’s  residence.  alec  could  understand  where  they  came  from  in  their  hesitence,  but  alec  knew  where  to  draw  a  line  in  the  sand  and  it  wasn’t  over  any  spell  or  potion  that  magnus  was  likely  to  agree  to.

        he  was  in  gear  –  having  not  yet  changed  clothes  from  patrol  –  and  he’d  agreed  to  wait  for  magnus  to  return  from  the  shower  on  account  of  a  potion  that  had  required  hydrated  essence  of  guppy  that  had  belched  a  foul  spray  which  had  splatted  the  nearby  area,  including  over  magnus.  alec  had  to  admit,  there  was  still  a  smell  lingering  around  that  was  something  like  week-old  fish  with  the  potent  overtone  of  incense  and  rotting  wood.  it  wasn’t  the  worst  smell  that  he’d  ever  encountered  but  it  also  wasn’t  something  he  wanted  to  smell  like  when  he  inevitably  returned  to  the  institute  later.  he’d  deal  with  that  when  it  came  to  it.

        his  hand  closed  around  the  handle  of  the  door  in  time  to  hear  a  whimper  on  the  other  side  and  alec  frowned  in  response,  wrenching  the  door  open  to  find  a  brown  haired  woman  standing  on  the  doorstep,  pale  in  the  light,  and  certainly  worse  for  ware.  he  blinked  in  respose  to  her  words,  dark  brows  coming  together  in  confusion,  but  before  he  could  ask  if  she  was  okay  she  began  to  fall.  blue  eyes  widened  in  alarm  as  she  collapsed  and  alec’s  arms  reached  out  instinctively  to  prevent  her  from  hurting  herself,  catching  her  before  she  could  hit  the  hard  ground  beneath  her.  it  was  then,  with  his  arms  around  her  thin  frame  that  alec  realised  that  the  woman,  she  looked  about  his  age  in  truth,  was  bleeding  and  wounded  more  than  she  had  first  appeared.

        all  confusion  had  evaporated  from  his  face,  replaced  by  concern  for  the  brunette,  his  eyes  lifting  to  sweep  the  area,  assessing  the  potential  of  an  imminant  secondary  attack  from  whatever  had  hurt  this  woman,  before  landing  once  again  on  her  face  and  locking  on  her  blue-grey  eyes.  he  didn’t  know  who  the  will  was  that  she  was  talking  about,  but  he  seemed  important  to  her.  “ it’s  okay,  you’re  safe  –  i’ve  got  you.  just  keep  your  eyes  open  and  on  me.  can  you  do  that? ”

   Warm, steady hands kept Tessa from stumbling any further, and for a moment, she allowed herself to sink into them, utter relief drawing a near delirious laugh from her lips. Of course she could keep her eyes on Will. She’d spent half her youth watching him. He’d asked her a question though, and so she nodded, eyes widening a bit with the effort. The poison was distorting her vision. His eyes weren’t quite the right shade, nor was the angle of his jaw, but then, neither had the trees looked as they ought to, nor the brownstones she’d passed on her way to Magnus’ place. She’d been urgent then, and something tickled the back of her mind to prompt her to stay alert now. 

       “I know.” She answered, immediately. She was safe now that she’d found her way home. There was no doubt about it, he’d know how to take care of this. William was as well read as he was experienced, and with Magnus in tow, they’d find a solution before nightfall. “Is he here?” She asked, stomach turning with her nausea at even the slightest movement. She’d endured worse, but Angel help her, she wanted the entryway to stop spinning for just a moment. She needed to tell him, tell them both, what had attacked her. She didn’t know it’s name, but she could describe it, if only the room would stop spinning for a few blissful seconds.  

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐆𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐃, 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐌𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 ;  dotted across an ink blotted sky, he could liken their brilliance and position only to that of illustrations in a book that had never quite left his memory: nor would ––– recollections far too precious to ever let go of. ramuh had tested them, to be certain, but the clarity of the night sky after such an onslaught seemed to be the astral’s reward ;  at least, for those of them that couldn’t wield the power of the runestones. the chill in the night air served as a reminder of the storm –– of the damp clothes that still clung to their skins ––– but it was nothing the warmth of a rice dish couldn’t fix. or so it was a comfort ignis would like to think he had provided.

a gentle peace seemed to fall over the camp, a rarity and a blessing both ;  perhaps far too exhausted after the tribulations of fociaugh hollow, or perhaps the calm before the inevitable storm of infiltrating an imperial base to recover the regalia. regardless, it was a peace ignis found himself luxuriating in, letting out a breath on a sigh as he listened to the crackle of the haven’s fire underline the quiet conversation not far off. 

it was a peace, then ––– naturally ––– that could not last.

one particular blond bounces into his view with all the energy of a cactuar hopped up on ebony with a set to his shoulders that reads: ignis, you will regret this. he can already imagine the ten different ways he’s going to end up cleaning up after some colossal mess. he ponders, if only for a moment, if every trial of self control he’s ever undergone has prepared him less for noctis, and more for prompto.    ❛ oh, will i ? ❜    the lace of his fingers over his crossed knees tightens, tendons of his hands flexing beneath the skin. clicking his tongue behind his teeth, he quirks a perfectly arched brow, shamelessly imperious.    ❛ you seem rather confident. ❜ 

     Prompto pauses for a blissful second of silence, his brows furrowing, lips twisted for a moment at the comment made by Ignis. “Well, yes.” He agrees, nodding his head. That was the intention, so why did it sound like Ignis wasn’t buying it? He shakes his head, moving on quickly before he does lose his nerve. “I need you to come with me,” He explains, as simple as the statement might be, he knows this is the first barrier he has to cross. Ignis is positively comfortable looking, and they’ve been moving endlessly for ages. Not to mention coming with him would require Ignis to leave Noctis for all of twenty minutes, and everyone knew that was unlikely. 

      Stars. Glorious burning balls of fire illuminating a blanket of darkness. Prompto hadn’t seen a sight so glorious since Ignis’ dinner two nights ago. Forty eight hours was a long time to not be impressed by 1/5 of one’s senses and frankly, Prompto had had enough. A sort of contentment had settled through the small camp, Noctis perched near Gladio, conversation quiet and cordial, bowl balanced precariously against his knee. Ignis sitting straight, elongating his already tall stature with prim posture. Sickening. He needed to relax, if only for a few minutes. Nobody was watching him here, nobody was judging his form. Well. Sort of. Prompto’s lips twisted in thought as he realized he was judging Ignis’ posture, just not in the way Iggy might anticipate. 

    Pain. It was the only constant Tessa could focus on as she staggered toward the apartment near Greenpoint. She just had to get to the door, then Magnus would be able to take the pain away. She could be strong now. She had been a hundred thousand times before. She could endure. Her head spun, the colors of the city muted and wrong in response to the poison coursing through her veins. The trees seemed almost gray, not brown, their leaves boasting of a cream color instead of the crisp oranges of autumn. Just a few more steps. 

     To the passerby, Tessa looked every bit the part of a twenty-something New Yorker. Her jeans were torn at the knee, her sweater shredded at the back, but the style had been perfectly modern before she’d been attacked. Even her hair had been styled in a more modern fashion, pinned up in a loose bun, a few strands falling out of the pins to frame her face. The bracelet of pearls remained on her wrist, as did the jade pendant that hung from her neck. There was little to indicate she was anything but a college student. Well, beyond the grievous injuries. 

       She cried out as she made it to the door, her fist coming up to pound the knocker as she held herself up, shoulder pressed against the cool, rough brick. “Magnus,” she whimpered, needing him to hurry. She straightened as the door opened, relief flooding her veins for half a second before turning to steel. Ice danced up her spine. She gaped, frozen in place, as her blurry vision took in the sight of a young man near her age. His hair, the angle of his cheekbones. Tessa choked on a sob welling in her throat, her eyes too heavy, grays darkening as tears filled them. “Will,” She whispered, her hand reaching out for him. What was Will doing in New York? What had Magnus done? She didn’t understand. 

𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆  –––  trying to smack an i am not your ‘bro’ sign on wedge’s forehead, or attempting to appease the ravenous teeth and claws of deceptively fluffy felines. maybe if he hammered the point home with the blunt edge of his buster sword he could swing hard enough to get the message through. the thought sparked life in his eyes, a flash of amusement near imperceptible to adjoin the quirk of one eyebrow as he folded his arms over his chest, tapping a finger against his bare bicep.    ❛ yeah, sure, ❜    he says, shrugging one shoulder, the jostle of the metal of his gear a sound softened by the fall of night. 

mako laced eyes flit between the pointed pairs of ears, flickering and ever attentive as they were, before looking back up to refocus on wedge’s own gaze. the unbridled hope he found there was, as ever, disquieting: a weight pressing down on his shoulders that he quite stubbornly feels the urge to insist that he never asked for, and to stop looking at him like that. instead, he lets out a rush of breath on a sigh.    ❛ make sure you, uh––– ❜    his attention momentarily shifts to wedge’s belt, a grimace pulling at his lips.    ❛ –––ice it. ❜    it being your ass ;  the implication deserving no further clarification, or so he hoped.

     Wedge can’t help the smile at Cloud’s response. He’s not a man of many words, he’s learned, and the sure is enough to satisfy him for the time being. He knows Cloud has no reason to lie to him. Warmth settles through his chest, reassurance a welcome feeling as he pulls the cats close to his chest to snuggle. Thankful for their warmth, he welcomes their tickling fur before setting them down again. He watches as Reggie approaches Cloud first, too curious not to now that Wedge has let them out of his grasp.

Wedge meets life with humor and good natured jabs, but that doesn’t mean he’s without insecurities or that he doesn’t feel those discrepancies very personally. It also doesn’t mean he’s just comic relief. Wedge is an integral and important part of the Avalanche crew, and is very clearly unconditionally loved by them. However, he puts conditions on himself. He sees Biggs and Jessie and Barret, and wants to fight alongside them no matter the risks. He is also, however, at times clumsy, slower to react, and injured. He also has real and valid fears (i.e. heights) and needs a push to overcome those shortcomings (thank you Cloud for flat out saying no and throwing them off the ledge, appreciate that), but when he is pushed, he tries so very hard to rise to the occasion. You also see him adapt in real time (like when he embraces the fall, and recognizes the beauty of their vantage point), but he’s not always successful. I love that FF7 lets Wedge fail and feel those failures deeply.

When he thinks about the others in his found family, he does NOT want to be the reason they fail. Nobody is sitting there putting conditions on him. He’s invited to every meal. Their worries for him are clear and genuine. Then you get Cloud, who comes in and is everything Wedge believe he’s not. He’s a soldier, expertly trained, incredibly fluid and adept. He is not afraid of heights. He is not slow to react and trusts his instincts. He fights alongside Jessie, Biggs, Barret, Tifa, without any struggle. Wedge welcomes him with open arms (I got you bro), but he’s also fully aware of their differences. I think it’s extremely telling that he apologizes to Cloud, though not to him directly, when faced with loss and failure. He feels it deep in his soul, and he’s terrified, but he doesn’t give up. I think it implies that in that moment, Wedge draws strength from Cloud. Cloud, who has told him to be proud. 

Wedge doesn’t always believe he has something to be proud of but he DESPERATELY wants to. He says time and time again that people can count on him, that if you need someone, he’s your man. He says this knowing he has faults but with every intention of following through. His confidence isn’t a complete farce, he does feel proud at times. But, he’s also gone and gotten himself injured, he’s often the one told to stay behind and protect (which is a vitally important role, one he embraces at times and dreads at others), but it still boils down to not wanting to let down those he wants to be reliable to. Cloud is an unbiased outsider at first who has no reason to gas him up with false kindness and pleasantries to soothe his bruised ego (or his bruised ass). It’s why Wedge suspects the words must be genuine, because Cloud has literally no reason to lie to him or be nice just for the sake of it, and even then, Wedge recognizes that Cloud isn’t that type of person. So toward the end of the game, when Wedge faces loss, when he faces the consequences he’s been afraid of all this time, he apologizes to those he loves, and to Cloud, because Cloud believed in him. He’s letting him down, because he can’t overcome his faults, but he’s not going down without a fight. 

And I love him so fucking much for it, and even more afterwards which is a discussion for another day. 

@deusidvult

Achilles Achilles Achilles come down, won't you Get up off Get up off the roof?

You're scaring us And all of us Some of us love you Achilles, it's not much but there's proof

Completing for: Wedge (FF7 Remake)

𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬. being unable to stop smiling. laughter. bear hugs. happy tears. waving arms around. dancing. contently sighing. eyes twinkling. laugh lines. childlike playfulness. skipping. talking more. affection. cracking more jokes than usual. gesturing more when talking. higher pitched voice. squealing. jumping around. clapping.

𝐒𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬. tearing up. self-hugging. one-arm cross. an aching chest. scratchy throat. a runny nose. turning away. deep breaths. quivery smiles. crying. infantile sobbing. hands gripping each other or an object. covering mouth. puffy eyes. eyes appear red. voice breaking. a distant or empty stare. monotone voice. asking for comfort. faking a smile. crumbling. shaking. whimpering. depression. abusing an unhealthy habit. withdrawing from others. big teary eyes. doing something even if it could hurt them.

𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫. furrowed brows. baring teeth. passive-aggressive comments. avoiding eye contact.sarcasm. headache. sore muscles. hiding clenched fists. irritability. jumping to conclusions. raising voice.going silent. demanding immediate action. keeping it all in until exploding. body tensing. making risky decisions. middle finger.

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐫. wanting to flee or hide. what-ifs.images of what-could-be flashing in mind.uncontrollable trembling. rapid breathing. screaming. a skewed sense of time. irritability.keeping silent. denying fear. turning away from the cause. pretending to be brave. nail-biting. lip-biting. scratching skin. a joking tone but a voice that cracks. fainting. insomnia. panic attacks.exhaustion. substance abuse. tics. rushing adrenaline. face draining of colour. hair lifting on the back of the neck. feeling rooted to the spot. making body as small as possible. staring but not seeing. crying. a shrill voice. whispering. gripping something or someone. stuttering.flinching at noises. pleading.

𝐄𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. constantly yawning. blurring words together. dark circles or lines under eyes.mood swings. hallucinations. calling people by the wrong name. dizziness.denying they’re tired. slow blinking.trouble concentrating. stumbling. leaning on a doorframe for support. sluggish movements. falling asleep someplace that isn’t a bed. becoming irritated by the smallest things. “i’m awake, i’m fine.” shaking so bad they spill their drink. fall asleep in their clothes. lay their head on the table because they’re so tired. passing out.

      𝙸𝚃  𝚆𝙰𝚂  𝙰𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂  𝙵𝙾𝚁  𝙳𝚄𝙲𝙺𝚂  𝚃𝙾  𝙱𝙴  𝚂𝙾  𝙵𝙰𝚁  𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼  𝚆𝙰𝚃𝙴𝚁,  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝙸𝙽𝚂𝚃𝙸𝚃𝚄𝚃𝙴  𝙸𝚃𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙵  𝚆𝙰𝚂  𝙵𝙰𝚁  𝙴𝙽𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷  𝙰𝚆𝙰𝚈  𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝚃𝙷𝙰𝙼𝙴𝚂  𝙰𝙽𝙳  𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁  𝚂𝚄𝙲𝙷  𝙱𝙾𝙳𝙸𝙴𝚂  𝙾𝙵  𝚆𝙰𝚃𝙴𝚁  𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃  𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚃𝙷𝙵𝚄𝙻  𝙼𝚁  𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙾𝙽𝙳𝙰𝙻𝙴  𝙷𝙰𝙳  𝙻𝙴𝙵𝚃  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝙸𝙽𝚂𝚃𝙸𝚃𝚄𝚃𝙴  𝙵𝙾𝚁  𝙰  𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙾𝙻𝙻,  𝙷𝙴  𝙷𝙰𝙳  𝚂𝚃𝙾𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙳  𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳  𝙸𝙽  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙴𝙴𝚃.  not  more  than  a  few  jaunty  steps  from  the  iron  gates  of  the  london  institute  did  the  shadowhunter  encounter  a  sight  that  should  well  be  thought  upon  with  great  suspicion  –  enough  so  that  even  the  sight  of  gabiel  lightwood  may  not  have  disturbed  him  from  his  stare  down  with  the  feathered  beast  that  had  made  itself  at  home,  settled  in  the  middle  of  the  public  footpath.  blue  eyes  had  narrowed  marginally  as  he  assessed  the  creature,  wondering  whether  the  beast  might  disappear  if  he  took  the  time  to  rush  back  into  the  institute  to  call  for  jem  –  his  parabatai  all  too  familiar  with  will’s  hatred  of  ducks  to  miss  the  opportunity  to  see  one  face  the  shadowhunter  on  the  street.

      as  it  was,  it  happened  to  be  tessa  that  happened  upon  him,  stood  like  a  statue  of  his  usual  self,  shoulder  rested  against  the  wall  beside  him,  arms  crossed  over  his  chest.  a  picture  of  ease,  had  his  face  not  been  so  fixated  on  the  mallard  only  three  metres  ahead  –  he  didn’t  even  turn  his  head  to  greet  tessa,  though  he  acknowledged  her  with  his  usual  air  of  nonchalance.  “ 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴  𝚈𝙾𝚄  𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁  𝚂𝙴𝙴𝙽  𝙾𝙽𝙴  𝚂𝙾  𝙵𝙰𝚁  𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼  𝚆𝙰𝚃𝙴𝚁? ”      //      @agentscullied​

    He looked every bit a statue, carved from marble. The angel hidden beneath stone. Tessa wasn’t certain William had become aware of her presence, but if he had, she prayed he had not noticed the warmth across her cheeks as she pulled her attention to the mallard at his feet. She should not find William as alluring as she did, not when the same sentiment was so opposite in return. He was disgusted by her very being. She could not permit herself to forget such truths, no matter how it rang hollow in her chest. She tilted her head, grey eyes flicking between shadowhunter and duck. He seemed almost caught in battle with the little beast, so much so that Tessa could not help the laugh that fell from her lips. 

        “Are you so bothered by his presence, Will?” She asked in disbelief, finding that highly unlikely. This was the same man who stood down clockwork creatures, demons, and the Consul without so much as a moment’s hesitation. Surely he was teasing her? Yet he seemed utterly fixated on the mallard, as if unwilling to let it out of his sight and risk losing the upper hand in battle. She already was beginning to think too much like the Lightwood brothers, whose training left her sore and disoriented more often than not. Her hand fisted into the fabric of her skirts, hoisting it up enough that her crouch would not leave her skirts dragging in the dirt collecting on the public path. 

          𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒  𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐂𝐇  𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐋𝐘  𝐀𝐓  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓  𝐎𝐅  𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍,  only  so  many  times  a  flight  tracker  can  be  checked  before  its  purpose  becomes  defunct.   (   spidey  related   )   excuses  given  to  avoid  greeting  at  the  airport,  instead  he  utilises  old  set  of  spare  keys  to  execute  his  surprise,  letting  himself  in  to  mj’s  apartment  and  commandeering  the  kitchen  to  keep  dishes  warm  until  she  arrives.

          soft  flicker  of  candle  lit  flame  illuminates  the  vase  of  flowers  in  the  centre  of  the  table  set  for  two,  peter  resorting  to  polishing  silverware  in  a  bid  to  occupy  his  hands,  glass  of  wine  half-empty  beside.   the  click  of  the  lock  breaks  him  from  his  revery  and  quick  steps  are  taken  to  be  visible  ;  fingers  smooth  habitually  at  shirt’s  collar,  smile  already  in  place  as  door  swings  wide  to   —   ❛            welcome  home   !   ❜

𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁   :   @agentscullied​​   /   for  mj.

     Mary Jane’s eyes are heavier than she cares to admit as she makes her way up to her apartment. Suitcase handle gripped tightly in one hand, the other moves to shake her keys straight again. Her camera bounces gently against her neck, protected by the thick padding of her case. It’s been too long of a journey, two delays and a reroute leading to endless position changing in hard airport chairs to try to steal a few hours of sleep. She’s so close to her own bed she can barely focus on the simple task of unlocking the front door.  At last, it swings wide open to reveal Peter, standing in her entryway. 

      Be proud. Cloud had told him to be proud, for taking one for the team, for doing enough. As happy as it had made him in the moment, as relieved as he was, he still couldn’t shake the voice in the back of his head telling him he had nothing to be proud of. Still, his smile spread, broad and eager, as he spotted Biggums, Reggie, and Smalls. At the end of the day, he knew they could rely on him, and he could rely on them in return. “Brought a friend for ya,” he cooed, crouching down despite the ache in his backside. He really was only a little sore, but he knew he’d still be tender come morning.