Work Text:
BZZT. BZZT. BZZT.
You slowly search for the mute button on your alarm clock, silently cursing at yourself when you accidentally hit snooze instead. If there’s one thing you hate, it’s straying from your perfectly crafter schedule – but, being the genius extraordinaire you are, you’ve already accounted for slight deviations in your plan, having a few minutes here and there in case something goes off course.
5:00 AM: Wait for the alarm to ring at 5:05 AM – in the meantime, tape glasses to the side of your head… wouldn’t want those slipping off at an inopportune time.
5:05 AM: Turn off your alarm properly this time.
5:06 AM: Enter the bathroom, taking in the view in your mirror – all those stray feathers from tossing and turning during the night… no matter what you did to try and calmly sleep, your body just did not cooperate.
5:07 AM: Start preening – a minute is enough to gawk at the mess. Make sure every feather is covered a few times – just to make sure you look as presentable as can be for the day ahead! Plus, no need for your kids to poke fun at your appearance…
5:39 AM: Heat up your crest feathers a bit, and put rollers in them afterwards – if there’s one thing you learned from your mother, it’s how to properly style them in the way you like… even if it may be a bit out of fashion. Not like anyone else’s opinion matters – they’re your feathers anyways!
6:07 AM: Crack the door of Ip’ip’s room just a smidge – just enough for the scent of your morning cup of coffee to drift in, waking them up just the way they like.
6:13 AM: Brew said cup of coffee, before whisking up some pancake batter for a morning stack. And yes, you use the premade mixes – you may have everything planned out, but you also need your beauty sleep! And fully homemade pancakes…? That would interfere with the sanctity of your much-needed rest!
6:23 AM: Start frying said pancakes – to get them to the golden brown, fluffy consistency that they’re a fan of, it takes about seven minutes, flipping about halfway through to get them that way. Speaking of seven minutes…
6:30 AM: Listen to the soft thumping of feet slowly walking down the stairs, a stifled yawn emanating from them as well before the scraping of a chair and a loud thump breaks through the silence in the kitchen – you’ve told them several times to heed mind because it could streak the floors, but once in a while they forget. It’s okay, though – the slight bit of extra time cleaning them is worth it for their comfort.
6:31 AM: Place two plates of those pancakes you just whipped up on the dining room table, watching as their eyes slowly open up at the smell, a little bit of drool leaving their mouth and down their chin – which you clear your throat at the sight of, causing them to turn a bit red before wiping it off with a napkin. A small “Thank you, mama” leaves their lips, brightening up your morning.
6:32 AM: Sit in a brief silence, slowly eating your breakfast while waiting for Ip’ip to begin their morning brief – one of the other few highlights of your day.
6:37 AM: Watch as Ip’ip slowly starts perking up while eating their breakfast, listening carefully to their schedule for the day – the pre-algebra exam that they meticulously studied for (and you would know considering you kept a good eye on them), their history presentation on an important figure in the arts (they eventually settled on Gerson Boom, the author of the Lord of the Hammer series, even after you told them everyone else was going to choose the same person… but it was better than their first option – no matter how many times they tried to explain who this… Tenna was, you could never recall anyone by that name), and last but not least, who they were planning on hanging out with at lunch – maybe one day you’ll actually be able to meet these fabled friends.
6:46 AM: Send Ip’ip off to get themselves dressed, taking both of your plates to the sink, putting on rubber gloves before washing them – you aren’t letting all that work earlier get ruined by some maple syrup and butter residue (though, the dish soap might add a little bit of a sheen to them instead… you put that thought in the back of your mind for now).
7:00 AM: Call for Ip’ip, knowing very well they won’t come down the first time you do. If you do it earlier the first time, when you do it for the second time at the ACTUAL time you want them down here, they’ll come down without any issue.
7:15 AM: Call for Ip’ip a second time, the footsteps more perked up than before, their perfectly ironed and pristine school uniform sitting neatly on their body, their backpack still adorned with the charms you would sometimes get them for a job well done when they were younger, each zipper having one on it. You suggested they leave at least a few behind at home before, but they refused, saying if they ever did lose one they’d search really really hard for it, because you’re the one that gave them to them.
7:20 AM: Step out onto the stoop of your home, turning around to double check if everything’s in place on Ip’ip – adjusting their slightly incorrectly folded collar before you see them hunch over a bit, pointing behind you, almost sheepishly so. You tilt your head a little before an ever familiar voice calls out from behind you, sending a shiver down your spine.
“If you keep coddling them like that, how do you expect them to become independent in the future? You know you’re setting them up to never leaving the nest, right?” the mystery visitor yells, a slight chuckle leaving their lips afterwards.
You scowl, turning your head a full 180 degrees to meet your heckler.
Kris Dreemurr, leaning against their dad’s old beat-up pickup truck. The sibling to Ip’ip, the parent to your other children, Byrdly and Jei.
If only they acted like it, you thought, considering how they left you a year and a half ago because they couldn’t handle the responsibility of raising three children – despite it being them that wanted the children in the first place. And who could forget how they tried to claw their way back into your life… no, into their lives again. They failed to fight their way back into your SOUL, but the courts awarded joint custody to the kids – if a single Friday evening every week could even count.
Your scowl grows, your eyebrows starting to furrow as well, which only brings on more laughter from them.
“Aww, c’mon, my little bluebird!” they croon, holding their hands above where their SOUL should be – if you can believe they even had one. “You wound me…! There’s no need for that face! It’ll only give you wrinkles in the future – you’ve seen Carol.”
“What are you here for?” you say, ignoring the flirtatious tone in their voice before trying to contain the anger that’s slowly building up in you – you don’t want to burst in front of them, and especially not in front of Ip’ip. “You know you don’t get the kids until they’re out of school.”
They laugh again – the sound grating to your ears, considering they shouldn’t be happy. They shouldn’t be finding joy in whatever’s going on.
“I’m here for the twins,” they say, slowly approaching the stairs to your home – the one they’re no longer welcome in. “I thought it’d be nice if you could call them out of pre-k and let them spend a bit of extra time with me – they always mention how much they miss me and how they wish they had more time with me.”
You think they’re bluffing. They’ve never mentioned that to you before – that would be something they mention to you, right? Well, at least Byrdly would, considering they’re the one that speaks for the both of them. A small scoff sounds out behind you, a slight shuffle of feet following.
You turn to Ip’ip, noticing their clenched fists, their head hanging down, eyes focused on the ground. You crouch down in front of them, telling them to go sit in the car – and they slowly nod their head without the need for instructions to be repeated, which only confirms your suspicions that they’re uncomfortable. They’re stressed. They’re upset.
They go without another word, Dreemurr just watching them as they drag their feet to the car, opening up the passenger seat door, buckling their seatbelt. Their head is turned away from you, their hand cupping their cheek – you’re thankful, because they didn’t need to watch what was going on anyways.
You turn to Dreemurr again, crossing your wings, one of them instinctively starting to stroke the feathers on the other. “What do you mean they said that? And besides, even if they did, we have instructions to follow. A schedule to follow.”
They cut you off with a wave of their hand, which only bristles your feathers – the feathers you tried so hard to keep in place this entire time. All that time wasted. And for what? This sorry excuse of a parent? Of a person?
“One day won’t hurt them. It’s not like they’re learning much there anyways.”
“They’re learning the fundamentals – reading, speaking… interacting with others. That last one is extremely important – Jei needs to break out of their shell, and losing that time isn’t going to help them.” Your scowl slowly starts quivering, their eyes now focused on your beak. “You can’t just… decide on something like this out of nowhere. It’s not happening.”
“Maybe you should let them decide then, hm? Or are you becoming like your own mother, keeping them on a leash like she did with you?” They utter, the smirk that crosses their face sending a shiver down your spine.
It’s not true.
That’s not true at all.
You… you weren’t like your mother. You’ve provided your kids with everything they would ever need. Love. Affection. Understanding. Nothing like the cold halls that filled your own childhood home, your mother’s frosty glare being the only constant. Things were better with her now, but you won’t forget how it once was. And hearing those words leave their lips… maybe your mother was right.
Maybe they were bad for you.
“They’re three, Dreemurr. You can tell them they can skip school to go to the fucking junkyard and I’m sure they’d be excited to,” you seethe, quickly covering your beak with your wings – they’ve gotten to you. You’ve cracked. You’re letting them win.
“You should really watch your language – who knows who may overhear,” they say, motioning their head to the car still parked in the driveway, Ip’ip now watching the entire scene unfold before their eyes. You motion your wing to make a circle, folding them together afterwards – but to no avail. Their eyes are now trained at you, glinting more than usual.
You turn back to the human – or at least, whatever’s left of their humanity – and sigh. The kind of sigh you let out when you know you’ve lost. You tell them to wait. You’ll talk to the twins. They only exhale, rolling their eyes at you before walking back to their truck, leaning against it once again.
You motion back to the car, raising a single finger to Ip’ip, who once again only nods in response before turning back around.
You open the door to your home, noting the time on the clock.
7:52 AM. You sigh.
7:53 AM: You walk into the twins’ room, lightly jostling them awake, telling them its time to get ready. “Ready for what…?” Byrdly babbles mid-yawn, rubbing their eyes to get all the gunk out.
“Wherever you want to, my little fledgling,” you whisper, slightly caressing their hair with a wing, trying your best to hold it together when they almost immediately respond with a request to visit Kiwi.
“Who’s Kiwi?” you ask them, not expecting Jei to pipe up behind you.
“…Kris,” they mutter, their eyes that are normally plain looking seemingly glowing at the mere thought of their other parent.
“…Ah, of course,” you muster out, trying your best to keep a smile on your face – but the smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Thankfully, the children can’t see the sadness in them from the lack of proper light in the room. “You’re in luck then! They’re waiting for you outside.”
The children immediately both jump out of their beds to run to each other, celebrating the fact that they’re going to see them. Neither one of them heeds you any mind as you watch them slowly try to gather their things (they’re only three, so eventually you help them out after you give yourself time to compose yourself), get their clothes and shoes on, and walk them out the front door, them instantly letting go of your wings as they see Dreemurr standing by their truck. You watch as they hug them, watch as they jump up and down at the mere mention of what they’re going to do today. And your SOUL drops. They don’t show that kind of excitement with you. They don’t tell you the things about what they do with them. They… they don’t think about you when they’re with them the same way they think about them when they’re with you.
You grasp your robe that you should’ve changed out from a while ago, watching as Dreemurr puts the children in their seats, them looking at you afterwards before giving you a little wave – you wave back, but they don’t notice. They’ve already forgotten about you. Even if it’s only for the day, it still hurts.
It hurts that they don’t want to say goodbye.
They drive off, your mind now focused on the fact your car is still in the driveway, Ip’ip still waiting in the passenger seat.
You run to the car, once again still in your robe, and apologize profusely to them, but all they do is stare out the window. You pull out of the driveway, turning on the radio to break the awkward tension between the two of you. They don’t turn to you. They just keep looking out the window, and when you turn to look at them, you can see the wet streaks on their cheeks. You don’t ask about it, because you know exactly why it happened.
You pull up to their school, looking at the time.
8:09 AM: They leave the car without another word, not even letting you give them their kiss goodbye like you always do. They just… walk away. You stare ahead for a moment, thinking about your life so far before a honk from behind snaps you back to reality.
8:11 AM: Is it so bad I have a schedule for my children, you thought.
8:12 AM: It’s not like I’m that strict about it… and they’re three, you thought.
8:13 AM: …or am I, you thought.
8:14 AM: I mean, something’s wrong if they won’t tell me everything… right, you thought.
8:15 AM: I thought I was doing things differently, you thought.
8:16 AM: But maybe I just looped around back to being like her, you thought.
8:17 AM: Maybe I am like my mother. Controlling. Pacifying. The type to give in.
8:18 AM: You drive in silence, the radio now off, the only sound being the bouncing of thoughts in your head – the thoughts they put in there.
8:22 AM: You call your boss, telling him that you’re sick and you need the day off, which only surprises him since you’re normally very punctual. You weakly smile as you say that you’re just feeling under the weather, feeling tears well up in the corner of your eyes. Your boss says that even on short notice, he’ll grant you the day off – at this point, even if he didn’t, you wouldn’t have went into work anyways.
8:28 AM: You pull into your driveway, leaving your car and walking back into your home – the home that you now feel like a foreigner in.
8:32 AM: You walk into your room and lay down in your bed, covering yourself in your blankets as much as you can, knowing that once you finally let all your emotions burst, you won’t be able to do anything for the rest of the day.
But it’s okay – your schedule is already fucked up.
Your family is already fucked up.
Your life is already fucked up.
8:33 AM: So instead, you cry.
8:?? AM: And cry.
?:?? AM: You keep crying.
?:?? ??: You keep crying until you can’t cry anymore.