#and i dont plan on posting them so ive got NUTHIN

[pigeonpalacade]

Can't believe they made Saturdays just for this show

[turntechcatnip]

Alright, so walking AND flying are non-negotiable. Which means you're pretty much trapped with what many people would consider the most controlling version of Dirk Strider (and that's saying something because we've got HAL) and that's worrying even if he IS trying to be better now, so umm… how you holding up, there? Need any help? *proceeds to send tons of cat toys to the apartment to satiate the boredom*

<View Mewssage History>

You check your phone, looking for the next message. And then the next. And the next. Your feet swing idly dozens of stories above the streets far below.

Okay fine. 

You’re going to actually do this.

You’ll start tackling these ones.

It was sort of inevitable anyway, especially with you droppin’ his presence into casual conversation like that

TC: im holdin up feline

TC: additional toys would be appureciated espurrecially if you can find a durable scratching post beclaws i can file down my nails but thats no fun if ya f33l me and like none of the others ive found short of just shredding boxes comes anywhere near scratchin the itch of a good ol fashioned cave wall or a tree and im starting to eye the concrete up here like damn

TC: bro never bothered to replace the TV or the xbox so like im criminally low on non internet based activikitties though i do wonder if my claws wouldnt get in the way them controllers are made fur human hands not troll and im purrty sure i have troll hands

TC: tho i gotta clear something up here

TC: i wouldnt say he was ever really controlling???

TC: not in a you better do shit this way or else im gonna micromanage everything you do way

TC: it was more a hes gonna do whatever he wants to do and you better deal way

TC: which to be fair isnt much better for a kid who doesnt really know any better or have any agency or ability to do shit his own way and younger me kinda took it as gospel and yeah i got shit to unpack that im kinda doing my best to ignore right now but

TC: pounce was kinda worse about that t33b33aych

TC: shed grab me by the flockin neck and drag me back inside the den by force if a curious kitten got too adventurous and ive b33n pinned and growled at fur bein reckless and yes threatened with t33th but it was her job 

TC: like i say he doesnt like me up here on the roof

TC: but does he stop me???

TC: no

TC: im turnin into a real life gargoyle and he does nuthin except make a passing comment about telescopes or helicopters the one time he was in the room as i headed up

TC: i could purrobably even leave if i wanted to go out walking tbh

TC: hed argue with me

TC: id likely drag the most words out of him in said argument than ive gotten in a w33k and purrobably the most f33lin out of him

TC: and if im being honest the semi-chaotic curious af kitten in me is tempted to actually pull that birdshit just to see what happawns

TC: but i sincerely believe he wouldnt stop me if i pushed back

TC: whether thats beclaws he doesnt care enough to stop me or beclaws were both avoiding the hell out of anyfang even remotely resembling confurtontation is up in the air though

TC: i dont plan on testin it beclaws i think hes right this time

TC: ...

Control huh.

TC: i dont know if bro ever wanted control of anything much less the life of another person

TC: the only thing he was remotely anal about was the training and...

TC: games done so thats a nonissue

TC: i havent s33n him draw his sword once since i got here

TC: not even when i managed to sneak up on him

In a twisted way you miss it. The training. And it isn’t something you like to think about. About how you’re pretty sure you loved him for it because that meant he’d pay attention to you you you.

Maybe some of that birdshit you spouted is the result of an internalized need to defend your brother. Maybe some of it is steeped in a cultural clash between parent and lusus. (Bro might be a shit parent but part of you wonders if he should have been a lusus instead.) Maybe some of it is just what you desperately want to believe, and you aren’t a thirteen year old anymore. You’ve died too many times. You’ve watched him die in front of you and you--

You didn’t--couldn’t think about him before. About that choice you made about the One Thing you could fix, and questions, so many questions that ate the hell out of you for three long years, kindling to your fires of self loathing.

Questions you could ask now, but don’t. And maybe that’s okay for now. You have time.

Time.

Stolen time. Locked away here in this world-that-should-be-dead.

Time.

For the longest time, you didn’t think he cared about you at all. You have some evidence to the contrary now, and that’s more than you’d ever expected to get considering in every glimpse you’d seen of that moment you always chose to leave him dead. Because it was your job.

...and yet here you both are. After.

Playing cluckbeast. Seeing how far you can push until one or both of you chicken out and dance away.