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ravenwolfie97 · 2 months ago

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In Wishes and Memories: Chapter 1

Siffrin finished their quest, but they've still got some journeying to do with the rest of the party. What will they find, learn, and realize as they continue their travels? What else does the Universe have in store for them?

(after finishing the game recently, i was filled with thoughts and ideas and i needed to do something with them. i have an over-arching plan for this story though, so i hope you stick with it and enjoy!)

(cross-posted on AO3, but my main audience is here lol)

Reality was finally starting to settle in.

The timeloops were broken, and you were finally free from your curse, fulfilling the conflicting wishes and saving Vaugarde and your friends... your family... your loved ones.

And now, they'll continue moving onward in their journey together with you - the first step of which being returning Bonnie to Bambouche now that their sister was unfrozen.

…With an ulterior motive of finding your hat.

It blew away from the tippy top of the House after you returned back to normal.

And that hat meant a lot to you; it’s part of what little remained of your country, and you've had it for as long as you could remember.

As everyone travelled one last time through the village, celebrating and eating and merrymaking with the people of Vaugarde, you mostly tried to hang back, to come to terms with what had just gone down.

You still felt pretty Craft-sick, worn out and dizzy. Though, a full stomach packed with tasty Vaugardian foods made you feel a lot better.

You were really looking forward to a night of actual rest… with a brand-new sunrise awaiting you once your eye opened next.

☆☆☆

It was only about an hour into the celebrations when you saw Isabeau had noticed you sitting on the bench next to the library. He came up and quietly joined you on the bench.

"Hey, Sif." His voice was low and gentle. "How're you holding up?"

You didn't want to pretend anymore. "I'm pretty tired, still," you replied honestly.

Isabeau crossed his arms. "Makes sense. You have had quite a lot going on for yourself these last couple days." He paused. "Or, I guess, technically way more than that. Do you know how many times you looped, anyway?"

From the way you instinctively withdrew, Isabeau realized his curiosity had trumped his courtesy. "O-oh, I'm sorry, that's probably still a sensitive topic..."

"No, it's okay," you interjected. "It's just... not something I want to think about right now... Don't think I would remember, anyway."

Isabeau let out a nervous laugh. "Yeah... Alright, then."

You both looked out into the crowd: Mirabelle was chatting with other Housemaidens, including that stylish fan of hers; Odile was speaking with some of the older folk of the town; Bonnie was playing with some of the other kids.

Isabeau turned back to look at you. "It seems like the others are preoccupied at the moment, so... what would you like to do now, Sif? Do you wanna go back to the Clocktower and take a nap? We still have accommodations there for the night."

You nodded. "Can you come with me, too, Isa?"

Isabeau's cheeks darkened at an embarrassingly quick rate. "S-sure! Yeah, let's head over there now!"

He leapt up a little too energetically off of the bench but slowed down for you. "Do you need to lean on me again?" he asked, extending an arm out to you.

"I don't think so," you answered. "But... I'd like to hold your hand."

Without waiting for a response, you grabbed Isabeau's hand, lifted yourself up from the bench, and came around to his side. "Let's go."

"Okay, yeah, here we go!" Isabeau started walking towards the eastern side of Dormont, feeling the weight of your hand as you both lightly swung your arms back and forth. It was hardly big enough to wrap around his palm.

Isabeau had to try and maintain a slower pace to accommodate you, but it didn't seem like he was burdened by it at all.

It felt nice, not having to be in a hurry anymore. The two of you could just calmly walk together, hand in hand.

☆☆☆

Soon enough, you both reached the Clocktower. After taking your shoes off, you went right upstairs to the bedroom. Immediately at the sight of a bed, you lumbered towards it and faceplanted directly into the sheets.

Isabeau smiled at you from the stairwell. "Do you need any help from me? Or do you wanna be alone for a bit, or-?"

"No!" Your reaction was immediate. Slow down. Talk it out. "I mean... I don't want you to leave. And, um..."

You hesitated, through some cocktail of guilt and embarrassment and maybe… romantic inclination?

"I'd like your help with changing clothes."

"Sure! I can take care of that."

You could tell Isabeau was still pretty excited about being so close to you, especially after finally confessing his feelings, but it felt more like he just wanted to help his hurt friend out.

Carefully, Isabeau knelt down and unfastened the pins on your cloak, laying it gently over the foot of one of the other beds.

While he was up, he went into the closet where all their extra sets of clothes were.

As he did so, you sat on the edge of the bed and used your toes to pry the socks off of your feet, tossing them somewhere on the floor.

Lifting your head back up, you saw Isabeau had easily found your small, light pajama set, holding the clothes in his hands.

They were still folded neatly, since you hadn't slept with the others last night.

Suddenly, you noticed Isabeau freeze in place. And then, the realization hit you, too.

Undressing you was a level of intimacy neither of you would be used to, in a romantic context or otherwise. Definitely way outside of the boundary of "not liking being touched", which was what everyone else had assumed for so long.

Isabeau turned back around to see you now, as you were actively removing your gloves and placing them at your side. You attempted to lift the bottom of your turtleneck up, but…

Ow. Ow, that hurt. Your arms quickly began to ache in that position.

You didn’t expect to feel so worn out that you couldn’t even lift your arms and pull something as light as a shirt. It’s a good thing Isabeau had come with you after all, then.

Isabeau quickly hopped over to you. "Here, let me help you!" He put his hands on the hem of the sweater and looked up at your face. "Can you still lift your arms up?"

Slowly and methodically, you raised your arms up straight. It still hurt, but at least you just had to stay still this time.

Isabeau swiftly lifted your shirt up and pulled it over your head and off your arms.

You thought you would feel more uncomfortable, suddenly being shirtless in front of him. But maybe you were just too tired to care right now.

You had never gotten changed in front of anyone in a long time. Or maybe that was the time weirdness messing with your perception again.

Or maybe you just forgot. It wasn’t a super important detail to remember, anyway.

You looked at Isabeau’s face after a moment, noticing him staring at your chest. You knew it’s new to him, but what was so-?

Oh. You glanced down at yourself and saw... a star-shaped symbol in the middle of your chest. Its darkless shade was barely distinct from your pale skin.

You… don’t remember that being there before. Where did it come from? Or was it always there?

…You weren't even sure if you remembered what your body looked like anymore. Even when you would sleep in the Clocktower, there was no mirror to look at yourself in or anything.

You didn't want to be exposed to your own disgusting visage if you had any say in it anyway.

...Those thoughts were going to be pretty hard to get out of, huh?

You shook your head. No more of that talk.

Isabeau should keep going.

It looked like he just snapped out of his trance, too.

"AH! SORRY!" he yelped. "H-here, let's get this on, now!" He frantically reached for the pajama top and draped it around your shoulders, covering your chest up except for that star marking.

You slid off of the bed to stand, sliding your arms into the sleeves. "Can you help me with my pants, too?"

Isabeau's entire body tensed up and his face contorted into itself, in a stunned expression. That was cute.

"Y-yeah! I gotcha, Sif," Isabeau responded, his voice decidedly more high-pitched than usual.

You felt Isabeau's fingers brush against your belly as he unbuckled your belt and unfastened the button on your pants.

What an odd feeling, touching somewhere that private so lightly it hardly even counts.

But it did to you. Every little touch meant so much to you.

Isabeau delicately rustled his fingertips along the waistband on your pants and pulled them down. You stepped out of them easily, giving the ends a little shake off your ankles.

Quickly, Isabeau grabbed the soft pajama pants and slid them over your feet, bunching the rest of the legs around your ankles so that he could pull them all the way up easily.

You noticed his fingers linger at your hips. You supposed he had to be at least a little curious. But this was neither the time nor the place for it. He knew that too, and backed off after only a moment.

Isabeau looked up at you one last time, raising his hands to button up your shirt.

Warmth rushed to your cheeks. He didn't have to do that, but the softness and ease with which he slid the buttons through... Something about it made your heart flutter.

"Thank you, Isa," you sighed once he had finished.

"Of course, Sif," he replied, honey in his voice. He looked you right in the eye, full of gratitude, even though you were the one feeling grateful here.

Isabeau got back to his feet. "Is there anything else you need?"

You glanced away, embarrassed to say it. But you should. It would make him feel better to say it.

"Maybe not... need , but... I would like it if... you could stay here and sleep with me."

"O-oh!" Every little thing got Isabeau all flustered. It amused you. "Sure, yes! I-I'll go ahead and change clothes as well, then!"

He hurriedly scrambled back to the closet to grab his tank top and shorts.

You sat back up onto the edge of your bed and just watched him.

Isabeau unbuckled his sash and belt, and then slipped out of his shirt. His shoulder and back muscles rippled as he settled back into a relaxed position.

You weren't... “into it”, per se, but… It was fascinating to watch.

Isabeau continued, shuffling off his big pants before putting on his sleep shorts. He then slipped the tank top over his head.

He turned back around towards you and flinched. “W-were you watching me that whole time…?”

You blushed. “M-maybe…” Quick, think of something funny to break the tension! “You just looked so… im-dress-ive.”

Isabeau couldn't hold back a belly laugh and snorted at your dumb pun. “Alright, that's enough outta you. Time for you to get some crabbing sleep!”

He rushed over to you, scooping you up before you knew it, and plopped you down on the bed. He climbed up on the opposite side not long after you came back to your senses.

You gingerly shuffled your aching body under the sheets and got settled, looking Isabeau in the face as he laid beside you.

You realized he was in the same position as when he almost confessed to you over so many timeloop nights in the Clocktower. And you realized that you never had that moment with him in this timeline. You took the time, through your tired eye, to appreciate every detail in his face, the freckles on his shoulders, the sparkle in his eyes…

“Hey, Isa…”

“Yeah, Sif?”

“...I love you.”

“...I love you, too, Sif.”

You paused for a moment, noticing your heartbeat pick up speed.

“Can I kiss you?”

Isabeau's face softened. “Of course.”

You felt Isabeau's hand curl around your cheek as you closed your eye and pulled yourself in. And waited.

His lips met yours. They were so gentle and comforting. Like a small hug. You wanted to stay there forever.

That feeling lulled you closer to sleep. You withdrew from Isabeau's face and nestled yourself into his body. His chest was soft and warm, more comfortable than any pillow.

Fatigue settled into your muscles, your bones, your soul. And you drifted off to sleep.

“Goodnight, Siffrin.”

☆☆☆

You opened your eye and rose from slumber in a half-awake state. You felt very groggy, and your body felt pretty sore, but you didn’t feel as sick now.

Wait. You didn’t immediately recognize where you were. The Clocktower? You looked down at your body to find you’d been changed into your pajamas.

Your brain was foggy. Was all of the last two days a bad dream? Did you reset back to the morning before defeating the King? But you never went back here before. So what-

THUNK!

You jumped as you heard the door downstairs slam shut, followed by someone’s stern voice shushing and scolding whoever did it. You couldn’t quite make it out. Something like, “Keep quiet! Siffrin is still asleep!”

Another, much smaller voice whispered “sorry” back to them.

You continued hearing their collective soft shuffling as you tried to organize your thoughts.

But suddenly, a scent caught your attention. You carefully breathed in… the scent of fresh, warm pastries, wafting up the stairwell.

They must have been a gift from the boulangerie… after defeating the King… and saving Vaugaude.

A whimper escaped you before you'd realized you started to cry. You tried desperately to hold it in so no one else could hear you or worry about you, but you couldn’t stop many loud sobs from exiting your mouth.

You, at the very least, curled up as tight as you could, hands covering your face, as you heard their footsteps rush up to you.

“Siffrin!!” You heard Mirabelle shout as she hurried to your side.

She sat down next to you, gently tapping your right hand and trying to hold it. You took it down from your face and gripped her hand as hard as you could.

Your cries echoed throughout the Clocktower, from deep within your chest, partnered with hot tears that ran down your face. Your whole body was tight, squeezing out every last ounce of emotion.

After what felt like hours, you finally ran out of tears to cry. Mirabelle offered you some tissues in the meantime, which you needed and generously accepted.

Once your eyesight cleared and you could breathe normally, you saw Odile and Bonnie sitting across from you on the other bed.

“Are you feeling better now, Siffrin?” Odile softly broke the silence.

All you could do was nod in response.

“What happened?” Mirabelle asked. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“We might have woken him up earlier,” Odile mentioned to her, before turning her attention a little harshly to the kid. “Because somebody was being loud downstairs.”

“I already said I was sorry!” Bonnie yelled indignantly before quickly reeling it back in. “D-did I wake you up, Frin?” They turned to you and stared with their large eyes. “I’m really sorry if I did.”

You mustered up a chuckle at them. “No, Bonbon. I was already awake for a bit,” you croaked. “It’s okay. And I’m okay, too, I promise.”

“So what were you crying about?” Bonnie wondered aloud. Typical kid question.

“Siffrin doesn’t have to tell us that,” Odile quickly tried to correct them.

“It’s fine, Odile,” you cut in. “I… don’t really know how to put it into words, though.”

“Were you remembering what happened before?” Mirabelle posited.

No, but now you remembered it all a little bit. All of the bad things you did and said recently.

You bit your lip. You didn’t want to start crying again.

“That’s not it,” you said. “It’s just that I realized… After you came back in, I knew, for sure, that today… was a new day.”

Suddenly, Mirabelle nearly headbutted you as she flung herself into you, giving you a big hug. “Oh Change, Siffrin! Now you’re going to make ME cry!”

Odile covered her emotional smile with a hand, but you could still see it in her eyes.

Bonnie gave you a big, excited grin. “Well, we just got a whole bunch of tasty snacks, so now we can have something good to eat to celebrate!”

You laughed and smiled back. “Yeah, we can celebrate! Just as long as it's not all croissants.”

Bonnie looked at you quizzically. “What's the matter with croissants?”

Right. You shook your head. “Long story.”

Suddenly, you froze as you noticed something. “Hey… where is Isabeau?”

The last place you saw him was… right beside you, in bed. That was hours ago, he certainly could have gotten up, but where would he have gone?

“We… aren't sure about that, either,” Mirabelle responded. “While the rest of us were out earlier, he broke away and said he needed to get one last thing before we left Dormont. He didn't say more than that, though, so we're all kinda in the dark.”

“Well, no use staying up here longer than we have to,” Odile sighed after a beat, standing up from the edge of the bed. “We’ve got some breakfast to make, don’t we, Boniface?”

Bonnie grinned at her with wide eyes. “Yeah!!!” They immediately darted off towards the stairs but stopped themself shortly before they went out of view. “Come and hang out with us when we’re done, Frin!”

Odile quickly followed behind them, and Mirabelle lingered beside you for just a little longer, holding your hand gently. “I’m glad you’re doing better, Siffrin.”

She got up and gave you one more sweet smile. “I’m going to join the others downstairs. Remember, if you have any more big feelings, please don’t hesitate to talk about ‘em, feelings buddy!”

You made a crinkled smile back at her. “Thanks, feelings buddy.”

As soon as Mirabelle headed down to the kitchen downstairs, you heard the door creak open again. Everyone clamored at the visitor - it sounded like they were being nosy and asking what they had.

A deep, hushed voice told them to back off. You could immediately recognize that voice.

Isabeau came back!

And as he was telling everyone else off, he mentioned your name. You started to get anxious.

Isabeau climbed up the stairs and flinched when he saw you upright on the edge of your bed. “Uh, hey, Siffarooni!” he greeted. “How’re you doing? Did you get a good sleep?”

You nodded, summoning a yawn and rubbing your eye. “What was everyone talking about just now? You have something for me?”

“Y-yeah! I, uh…” He shuffled his hands behind his back. “Well… y’know what, no.” His brow furrowed seriously. “What you said the other day… you were right. I don’t want to be a coward anymore. So… I’m just gonna give it to you.”

He extended his hands and showed you… a small gift box. It was wrapped with a cute silk ribbon.

You carefully untied it and opened the box to find… some lightless pearl earrings and a chain necklace.

You looked up at Isabeau curiously, and found him blushing hard and squirming in place.

“What are these for?”

“Well, I noticed that you didn’t wear earrings like the rest of us do, so um… A-and the necklace was for if you didn’t like the idea of wearing earrings! I knew a few people who moved to Vaugarde and pierced their ears later in life, and they said that it hurt a bit, s-so I just wanted to give you an alternative, in case your ears were too sensitive!”

You blinked. You knew the earrings were important to Vaugardian culture, but coming from him after confessing…

“Did you get these from the jeweler here in Dormont?”

“Yeah!” Isabeau beamed as he spoke. “She and her wife were so happy to be back together, and she gave these to me on discount!” He paused and got shy again. “Wh-what do you think? Do you like them?”

You smiled. Of course you liked them. They were gifts from Isabeau.

Although… “While I'm not too certain if I'm comfortable with the earrings… I really like the necklace. Thank you, Isa.”

Isabeau smiled wide, his eyes bright. “You’re welcome, Sif. I just thought it would be, like, a nice souvenir from the town! So you can remember it once we go travelling elsewhere.”

You’re pretty certain that wasn’t the only reason he gifted you these things, but you thought that it would be nice to have something personal to remember Dormont by. Something outside of your timeloop journey.

“COME ON DOWN HERE, IT’S TIME FOR BREAKFAST!!!”

Bonnie’s loud shrill voice echoed throughout the Clocktower.

The smell of freshly cooked eggs and toasted bread along with the buttery pastries already made you aware of the oncoming morning feast you were awaiting.

Isabeau excitedly headed towards the stairwell. “Come and join us when you’re ready, Sif!”

As he descended, you looked down at the jewelry he got you. Even at a discount, it probably cost quite a bit more than you’d ever be able to pay him back.

No. It’s a gift for you. You don’t have to pay him back. Just accept it.

The chain necklace was a little bit weighty, but the links were still thin and intricate. You slipped it over your head and let it rest on you. It was quite comfortable, and it would make a fun sound as you played with it between your fingers.

Not exactly as fun as a thing that goes “ding-ding” when you walk, but… close enough.

You changed out of your pajamas and into your trusty cloak. You decided to show off the chain necklace outside of the collar, too. You slipped the gift box with the earrings into your pockets. Maybe one day you’ll find something to do with them.

But, for now, it was time for a big breakfast with your family.

#my art stuff #in stars and time #isat spoilers #do not read unless you've completed the game! or it won't make sense!! or do read it if you don't care about that!#fanfiction #isat siffrin #isat isabeau #isat mirabelle #isat odile #isat bonnie #i'll add character tags as i go. so far those are the only ones relevant #anyway uhhhhhhh i'm really excited about this and it's going to be really fun :3 #i'm trying to get into actual book-writing mode for my latest original story too so i'm trying to. remember how that goes #that said the structure of this is very reliant on the text boxes in-game #anyway yeah hope you like :3

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sasster · 1 year ago

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Blow Out

Can you believe no one asked who his doctor is?

[Here’s the doc!]

Trollkind is remarkably advanced across a variety of fields, but all that galaxy-spanning innovative thinking must have stopped just outside the doors of every medical waiting room. The one the purple blood sits in is no different than any other one on or off of Alternia.

The fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling buzz in time with a bare gray wall that seems to pulse with the heart rate of a patient circling the drain. If not for a television that droned on some news channel rattling off its heavy dose of fleet propaganda, muffled by distance, and the sheer veil that covered his face, it would have all been entirely too much for Retcon to handle. It is all quite the scene for the waiting room’s three denizens; The one receptionist and the two worse for wear psions awaiting their teal blooded savior to deliver them from their respective agonies.

In the furthest possible seat from the other two, Retcon fidgets idly with a loose string that juts out from the uncomfortably firm chair he occupies. He works hard to focus on the diluted voice that comes from the television, but can’t seem to make the information fit into his head in a way that even pretends to make sense. To say nothing of the tinnitus like ringing that has plagued his ears for the last handful of days.

In some attempt to prevent feeding into his migrane, which interestingly throbs at the same pace that the lights and wall move, he delegates his attention to the loose thread that he twirls around his index and middle digits. He allows this to be his tether to the breathing waiting room.

Across the room, suddenly louder than the droning of the news channel, the receptionist belts out an unintelligible string of words. Through the filter the ringing in his ears has become, it sounds more like someone in the middle of drowning calling out for help.

Retcon’s attention stays on the stray string. He coils it around his fingers tight enough that their tips begin to pale from the lack of blood flow.

The receptionist speaks again, an even louder version of her best impression of a fish out of water, but an anchor on the TV says something about a rebel syndicate taken down a few days ago and issues a warning to anyone that has ever rubbed elbows with them.

The lights buzz louder.

A door opens.

A conversation joins the choir of noise that slams into him like a truck, about five hundred miles away, at the receptionist’s desk.

Now someone somewhere in the room sighs.

Not being paid enough for this, the woman then says something that sounds suspiciously like someone shouting “Webcam,” from the bottom of a well.

He winces at the sound and focuses instead on the light gray the tips of his fingers have become.

Miraculously, a familiar voice strikes through the white noise that the world has become.

“Ten forty-nine?”

Within a second of his identification numbers hitting his ears, Retcon’s attention snaps up to find the source. Partially obscured by the sheer of the veil, he can just make out the shape of the doctor, staring directly in his direction with a smile on his face.

“There he is, come on back with me.”

He stands.

Somewhere between ten seconds and three hours pass in how long it takes him to traverse the twenty-five feet that separate him from the doctor.

Alaska waits patiently; his unwavering smile makes it impossible to tell how long that wait actually is. In the meantime, he does turn his attention to the news broadcast very briefly before giving a thoughtful hum and switching the channel to something a little easier on the brain.

Soft instrumentals fill the waiting area, quickly alleviating some of the pressure building up behind Retcon’s eyes.

When he does get to the doctor, a hand claps gently over his shoulder and leads him the rest of the way to the examination room and onto a table.

The doctor takes his own seat on a very lively rolling stool that he scoots over to the counter his bag is on and starts to dig into it for his equipment. “Talk to me, Retcon,” he says from within the depths of the bag.

“It’s too loud in here.” The psion manages, indicating the harshness of the much brighter light in this room than the previous one.

“I can’t exactly work in the dark here,” he replies, wheeling back over to him to hand off a pair of light filtering glasses. “Did you lose the last pair?”

Retcon nods and lifts his veil just long enough to put the glasses on and drops it again.

“Is that better?”

“It’s better.”

“So, I take it you overdid it again?” The question is more like a statement of fact delivered with a soft chuckle.

He does not wait for a response as he starts to set his instruments in a prep tray next to him. Odds and ends Retcon wouldn’t be able to name in his right mind, let alone his current condition, clang into the metal tray despite the doctor’s best efforts to lay them in gently.

Retcon winces.

“I think I broke it again.”

“You think?”

“I definitely broke it again.”

Alaska nods, his demeanor does not shift. He takes a second to inspect the blade of a tool that Retcon does not know the name of before turning to fully face him again. “Do you remember what I told you that your limit is?”

“Twenty, twenty-five. Depending. I could get away with thirty if I don’t do them all at once.” He recites what must have been his mantra for the last couple hundred sweeps as easy as breathing air. “More if I spread it throughout a week.”

“Right. How many did you do this time?”

“Fifty.”

“Fif--” The doctor swipes a hand over his own forehead, the motion largely conceals it if his expression shifts on any perceptible level. “Fifty? All at once?”

He nods.

“You definitely broke it.” Alaska echoes his earlier sentiment.

Retcon swings his legs idly and watches the floor pulse toward and away from his feet, choosing the nausea that comes along with it over tuning in to the lecture he is about to receive.

The chiding will no doubt be a gentle one, but when you’ve been someone’s patient for long enough, after the first half century, the lectures start to sound the same. They always seem to sound to the tune of: You’ll fry your brain. The device does not have the memory for that. We really need you to stick to these restrictions. Are you listening?

Are you listening?

Retcon is brought back by the doctor snapping his fingers just within his field of view.

“Ten forty-nine, can you hear me? Remind them of your limits next time.”

“Can’t you just make it stronger? That’s what they want.”

Alaska’s gaze turns into a sympathetic one.

“We’d both like it if I could just slap a fifty petabyte block of memory in your head, but the technology’s not there yet Retcon,” he starts, gentle hands moving to assist him in laying back. “Frying your brain every couple of perigees doesn’t look good on applications for funding towards it, either.”

The doctor wheels his chair over to the usual blindspot, and quips something obligatory to Retcon before pushing a needle into the soft spot behind his earlobe. Retcon hardly reacts as the sharp pain starts and then subsides, his head flooding with a numbing agent he must have heard the name of some sweeps ago.

“I need you to help me help you, alright? Now, hold still.”

#coko writes sometimes #retcon #uhhh #long post #uhhhhhhh… thankies spec for helping with typos and grammar edits :3 #uhmm… yeah!#you guys know that doctor guy!!!

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