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Chapter Text

Memories of You

Written for Shipping Week
Prompt:  incongruous
Pairing: Siffrin/Isabeau

Disclaimer: In Stars and Time belongs to Adrienne Bazir (AKA insertdisc5). I own nothing that you recognize.

When did you decide that following the script doesn't matter anymore? Had you simply forgotten how to care, just like you'd forgotten about everything else? After countless loops, days and weeks passing in the blink of an eye, you had nearly forgotten yourself too. That is until the one person you cared about more than anyone else turned to you with a smile.

"Uh, you got something on your face there, Sif."

And that's how it began.

Sitting amongst your friends on the night before your battle with the King, you start devouring what could only be described as the world's largest tub of macaroni and cheese. You don't even touch the rest of the food, only the delicious pasta Isabeau provided for your journey.

Sure, it seemed out of place, incongruous with your surroundings as the others prepared to dig into the food Bonnie cooked for everyone. You look over and see Bonnie glaring at you, narrowing their eyes as you sit there stuffing your face with cheesy goodness.

"Frin, you brought a bowl of mac and cheese when I brought my own food and cooked it?!"

No comment. You don't really care right now. It's nice to just eat and relax for a moment, zoning out so you don't have to listen to what is happening around you.

Isabeau is sitting beside you, watching the scene and beaming with pride. He looks so happy to see his little buddy enjoying the food he made.

"Siffrin!" Louder this time, as Bonnie tries to get your attention. "Did you really bring a tub of mac and cheese?! And now you're eating it, even though I made an entire banquet of food for you!"

This time you finally snap out of it. Though by now your cheeks are so full of pasta and cheese sauce that you're starting to look like a hamster.

Isabeau covers his mouth to keep from laughing while you serenely munch your noodles. Feeling somewhat amused by his reaction, you poke your tongue out between your lips. You watch as he presses his fingers against his mouth, snorting and bursting into a fit of laughter.

Odile sighed dramatically. "Isabeau, kindly explain what is so humorous about our current situation."

"Well, you know, I saw Siffrin leaving the bakery with chocolate smeared all over his face. And he just kind of shrugged, saying that he was still hungry. I'm not really a cook or anything, but I uh..." Isabeau hesitated, his cheeks turning a dusky shade of grey. "I make a pretty good mac and cheese, if I do say so myself."

Maybe it doesn't matter that much, straying from the script, allowing yourself time to eat and finally get full. Tomorrow you will be facing the King with a belly full of macaroni and cheese, and you will die that way as well. But for now everything is fine. Just fine, perfectly fine as usual.

Chapter Text

Written for Shipping Week
Prompt: tread
Pairing: Siffrin/Isabeau

Tread lightly if you have to get up in the middle of the night. That's one of the first things you learned after meeting your friends and joining their adventure. Because if you make even the slightest sound and wake Odile when she's enjoying her beauty sleep, there will be hell to pay.

For now, all is well. With your belly full of macaroni and cheese, you drift off to sleep with Isabeau sharing the other half of the bed. It isn't until later that night when he whispers your name, his voice penetrating the depths of your dreamless slumber.

"Hey... Hey, Sif. Siffrin. Sifarooni."

"Hrm?" You roll over, pale strands of hair covering a portion of your face. You're just waking up when you hear a low rumble.

"Hey, do you mind if I eat this here?" Isabeau pulls out a big cheeseburger and takes a bite, ketchup squirting down the front of his shirt and dripping onto the sheets.

Okay, the macaroni and cheese is one thing. But where did he get a cheeseburger? What exactly did you do that caused the events of this loop to shift so dramatically?

Feeling rather perplexed, you watch him take another bite.

"Hey, Sif, you know what would go good with this? Some choccy milk. C-could you get me a glass of choccy milk, please?"

He knows you value your sleep, so this ... what did he call it? Choccy milk? This choccy milk must be really important. It's the least you can do after he was nice enough to make all that macaroni and cheese for dinner.

With a weary sigh, you sit up in bed and slide your feet over the edge of the mattress. A quick glance in Odlie's direction tells you that she's still asleep. Getting past her should be easy enough. So long as you don't -

"Whumpf!"

Your breath bursts from your chest in a sudden puff of air. It isn't the most dignified sound, but at least you didn't make your classic Siffrin cat noise. Only now your hip is aching from where it made contact with the foot of the adjacent bed. Stars, that hurt! Why do you always have to be so blinding stupid and clumsy?

Groaning, you lean forward with one arm around your waist. You wince, sucking in a deep breath. The pain is radiating outwards towards your navel. How hard did you hit the corner of the bed anyway? That was so stupid. You should have known better than to go running off in the dark like an idiot.

"Hmm?" Bonnie sits up in bed, yawning and rubbing sleep from their eyes.

Oh no, not Bonnie. It's not as bad as Odile, but you know that if Bonnie is awake, they're likely to cause a lot of noise and wake everyone in the room. Quietly, you take a step forward, moving towards the door on your right. You've almost made it when Bonnie lets out a shout.

"Monster!"

You are then assaulted by a flying pillow launched in your general direction.

"A monster?! Where is it? Lemme at it!" Isabeau screams in the dark.

There's only a sliver of moonlight spilling across the floor. Just barely enough for you to see, as you drop to the ground on your hands and knees to avoid a second airborne missile.

The scene around you quickly dissolves into chaos, pillows soaring through the air like a barrage of rotten fruit upon the helpless actor. You could have sworn you saw a flying half-eaten cheeseburger, but you can't be sure.

"Kill it! Kill it!" Bonnie calls out, leaping from the bed and swinging their pillow. They run at you with incredible speed, swatting you with their makeshift weapon.

Whack! Whump!

"Bonnie!" Instinctively you cover your face with your hands, lowering your head in hopes of shielding yourself from the blows. "Stop, it's me! I'm not a monster!"

By now Mirabelle has woken up and is panicking as usual. The light returns to the room, and everyone freezes in horror, seeing that Odile has risen and has one hand on the chain attached to the bedside lamp. Feathers are scattered across the floor, and there you sit, in the middle of it all, not really knowing what to say at a time like this.

"What the hell are you little bastards doing up at this hour?" Odile snarls, her aura radiating a deadly energy.

Thinking fast, Bonnie looks at the pillow in their hands then back at Odile. "Pillow fight!" They chuck their pillow at the researcher, hitting her in the face and nearly sending her glasses across the room.

Fueled by adrenaline and greasy burgers, Isabeau shouts, "Pillow fight!"

Feathers fly once more, and as you're sitting there in your nightshirt on the hardwood floor, watching the scene unfold in utter disbelief, you start thinking that it might be fun to join them. Not that your aim or depth perception is what it used to be since losing your eye, but if you're going to die anyway, then you might as well enjoy yourself before falling into another one of the King's tears.

Chapter Text

Written for Shipping Week
Prompt:  febrile
Pairing: Siffrin/Isabeau

The one time he finally reaches out, making contact and holding your hand, and you're barely conscious enough to react. There's movement on either side of you. Your vision blurs, darkening around the edges. Burning, burning, everything is burning, everything is on fire, but you're still so cold.

And... you hear voices. Fading and falling, you try to grasp the meaning of their words. You can just make out Odile's voice, stating that febrile seizures are not uncommon when someone skips the necessary cool down phase.

You close your eye, allowing yourself to drift for a moment. Isabeau is still there, standing beside your bed and holding your hand. You can feel... fingers intertwined with your own, so cold... is he... actually touching you...?

Why now, of all times? Maybe he's afraid that he's going to lose you. Or maybe he's afraid to let go. You're both trembling. And although your face is already flushed, your cheeks darken a little more. Yes, he's actually holding your hand. And it feels... nice? That's one way to describe it. Or maybe... maybe he's holding your hand because he doesn't think you'll notice. Your senses are dull, and your mind is lost in a haze of fever and confusion. Maybe... was it all a dream?

Isabeau wouldn't touch you. Not after what you've done. You're a disgusting, foul, loathsome excuse for a human being! And yet... you breathe in, shuddering as you feel his fingers close around yours, gently squeezing your hand. This time it's his choice.

Slowly, your eye opens, and although you can't see him, you know he's still there. His rough skin and callused hand snags the fabric of your glove, catches on the material before you begin losing consciousness once more. Something about his touch pulls you back. Breathing in, breathing out once more. You turn your head so you can see his face.

Maybe holding your hand is as comforting to you as is for him. Maybe he needs this right now. To know that you're alive, to know that he isn't going to lose you. Maybe... in this moment you are loved. Surrounded on all sides, a gentle murmur of voices. They care about you. And for a moment he catches you gazing up at him in a daze. He seems... a bit startled, flustered, perhaps. But he doesn't let go. He needs this right now. He needs you.

It's fine. Perfectly fine. Some day you might even learn to forgive yourself for what you did. Your lips twitch, the corners turning upwards in a smile. You squeeze his hand, too exhausted to form a complete sentence. It's enough to let him know what you're feeling. It's enough in this moment, and so are you.

Chapter Text

Written for Shipping Week
Prompt: cacophony
Pairing: Siffrin/Isabeau

ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴅᴀʀᴋ......

       ....Y  ₒ  ᵤ   c ₐ ₙ ' ₜ   ₘ ₐ k ₑ   ₛ e ₙ s e..... ₒf ₜₕᵢₛ wₒᵣₗd....

And everything around you seems to fall apart.

˙ʇɹɐdɐ llɐɟ oʇ sɯǝǝs noʎ punoɹɐ ɓuıɥʇʎɹǝʌǝ pu∀

A cacophony of voices, all of them yours. Twisted, inverted cries of death, unrecognizable... screaming into the void.

          ........Tₕᵢₛ ᵢₛ ₜₕₑ cₐₗₗ ........ ₒf ₜₕₑ ᵥₒᵢd....

Only one figure emerges from the shadows. It's you! Isn't it? No, wait, it is you, but dark. Changed somehow. Twitching and writhing, it gives voice to a series of disjointed sounds, broken and screeching in agony. You ask it how its day went. It cannot speak. Yet. It starts making noises recognized as sobbing. All around you your shadows are crying in unison.

        ......ₐ ₙ d  y ₒ ᵤ  c a n  f ₑ ₑ ₗ  t ₕ ᵢ ₛ  w ₒ ᵣ ₗ d  c ₒ ₗ ₗ ₐ ₚ ₛ ₑ....

      ........ fᵣₒₘ wᵢₜₕᵢₙ.....

You turn your head, watching in horror as the spectral entities bleed and convulse on the ground. Some of them are tearing out fistfuls of their own hair, which then turns to stardust at your feet. You are surrounded by your own torment. It's the only thing you and your shadow self seem to understand. It's the only thing you remember. All you know is suffering.

            .....Y ₒ ᵤ   ᵣ ₑ m ₑ ₘ b ₑ r........

Yes, of course! This you remember! This is your fault!!  Yᴏᴜ ʙʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ and you...... you deserve this, don't you?

It takes a moment for you to even realize that this shadow is speaking directly into your mind, confirming your belief that you are nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing! You are nothing!! Worthless!!

With tears streaming down the side of your face, you ask your shadow to stop crying. It stops for a moment, looking up at you in confusion. Then continues, softer this time. This monstrosity is you. Good job!

Trembling, you raise your right hand, clutching your dagger.

     .....Y ₒ ᵤ   c ₐ  ₙ ' ₜ . . .

It's going to end. It's all going to end.

Somehow, you smell sound. But you can't recognize the flavor. You argue with your shadow self about the adverse effects of croissant consumption. Don't do that again. You remember eating starlight, how it screamed when you took your first bite. Strange. Tastes like pie smells.

You hate this. ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴛᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ. At the top of your lungs you scream out into the void. ʏᴏᴜ... ʜᴀᴛᴇ... ᴛʜɪꜱ..!!!! You hate yourself!!! You throw your dagger at your shadow. It catches the blade in its barren eye socket and gulps it down. It looks... slightly happier?

．．．．．Ｓｍｅｌｌｓ ｌｉｋｅ ｂｕｒｎｔ ｓｕｇａｒ．．．．．

Falling to your knees, you grasp at anything you can recognize. Any fragment, any corrupted shape or distant remnant that's within reach. And suddenly... he's here. The fighter is holding you as you continue to scream. At first his touch is like electricity, lightning surging through your veins.

        ......Y ₒ ᵤ   s ₕ ᵤ d d ₑ ᵣ... . .. y ₒ ᵤ   g ₐ ₛ ₚ..... ʜʏᴘᴇʀᴠᴇɴᴛɪʟᴀᴛɪɴɢ.....

You're so cold, his touch is like fire. No. No no no no, this isn't real! This isn't real this isn't real this isn't real this isn't real this isn't -

"Do you care?" Mal du Pays whispers in your ear. "Does it matter?"

You wanted this. You don't deserve it, but you wanted this. Of all things. Lowering your head, you embrace the spectral form of your forgotten friend. You can't even remember his name, and yet you crave his touch.

"I'm so tired." Your own voice, hoarse, broken. It's all you can think to say. At least this time you know you won't die alone.

Chapter Text

Written for Shipping Week
Prompt: saudade
Pairing: Siffrin/Isabeau

Is there a word for what you're feeling? Gazing up at the stars beneath the infinite heavens, you are sure of it. There has to be something out there to describe this sense of longing for your home, your country, your identity, anything at all. Any fragment, perhaps a solitary star you can hold on to, which might be enough to remind you.

"Isa?" you whisper softly from beneath the brim of your hat. You tilt your head slightly, enough that your friend comes into view. "You asked me about that word I say... about stars and the meaning of it. Why I say it like that." You hesitate, glancing up at the night sky.

"Is everything okay, Sif?" Isabeau sounds anxious.

Stars, why does everyone always think that something is wrong? No, you can't start thinking about that now.

"No, it's just that... Well, you know how I forget things sometimes. I know there's a word for this, but English doesn't seem to fit. Something out there." Lifting a hand, you gesture towards the stars. Just say it. It's not like Isabeau will know what it means anyway. "Something..."

Your voice trails off into silence, your eye drifting closed. You can see it in your mind, in your memory of memories. It's still there, in those ancient textbooks you came across in the library. A forgotten language that consisted of curving symbols and shapes, interspersed with star and moon designs. It shouldn't feel so foreign, and at the same time it feels like home.

Without thinking, you open your mouth and begin producing a string of melancholic utterances.

"Anamar ehelis eġaiġ ķaeġe. Eţett ahiş ğea alalak šienel iţa ķielša ena ğağaik šuişyar, ik eşa šuişyar amaşyer aliġeţ iġakša eşa ğieţen aşik anamar em yara eġehğe. Alalak aşa ihaliţ yera eġyarim ihihaş ena etta inalim ğea šuişyar ehiġ."

"What?" In the darkness beneath the shimmering starlight, Isabeau stares at you, thoroughly confused. You smile at him, tears collecting in the corner of your one remaining eye.

"Saudade," you whisper, your voice cracking. "That's what I'm trying to say, Isabeau. It means... it means..." You struggle momentarily, searching your memories for the words you want to say. "It means that I would miss you if anything happens tomorrow. I would miss us... all of this."

Missing what you can't remember, forever searching for that which is forgotten. Yourself, your country, your friends, everything and all that you are. You don't want to lose them. You don't want to be forgotten.

You feel the urge to reach out, wanting to hold Isabeau's hand the way he held yours once. Mirroring your friend's actions, you unconsciously raise your right hand, reaching out but never making contact. It only causes your chest to ache. Stars, you pray that you can find a way out of the loops without losing everything you love, without losing yourself in the process.

Chapter Text

Written for Shipping Week
Prompt: macrosmatic
Pairing: Siffrin/Isabeau

You did it again. You forgot a basic word for something, and now Bonnie is yelling at you for your stupidity. Not that you're really listening to them right now. Your senses are being assaulted by a rancid odor wafting from across the field. The smell is so horrible it's giving you a headache.

Stars, what is that? Why can't you remember the word for that either? It's one of those animals with a stripe down its back. Mirabelle opened the window in the clocktower to let in some of the cool evening air, and now it feels like you're going to be sick.

"Hey, Sif, you okay there, little buddy?" Isabeau turns to you with a look of concern.

With both hands over your nose, you immediately nod. Yes, you're fine. You've been telling them that for so long now it's just automatic. No need to worry! It's just some stupid, smelly animal making its nightly rounds and -

"Frin looks like he's gonna puke!" Bonnie shouts, pointing at you.

Urgh... Maybe you shouldn't have eaten all that macaroni and cheese. It tasted so good during the previous loop, you just had to eat some more of it. And now this. Of course, it's punishment for your greed, your selfishness, trying to manipulate your friend as usual.

With a heavy sigh, Odile adjusts her glasses and asks Mirabelle to please close the window. Maybe the others haven't noticed the smell coming from outside, but she certainly has.

"Come now, Isabeau, you know how macrosmatic he is," Odile stated in her usual bland monotone. "There's something out there. And while I can only catch the slightest whiff of the aroma, it must be overwhelming for Siffrin."

Right. Odile notices everything. Nothing ever slips past her.

It takes Isabeau a moment for everything to click. "Oh yeah, I know what you're talking about! Like the time Siffrin could smell those croissants halfway down the street and acted like he was going to throw up!"

"But what is that?" you ask, turning your attention to the window. "It's... it's..." Stars, what do they call it? You're desperately reaching, searching your mind for that one word that escapes your memory. "It's a fart squirrel!"

Bonnie suddenly bursts out laughing. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you watch them topple over onto their back, laughing uproariously.

"Fart squirrel?" Isabeau echoes. Even Mirabelle, who got up and closed the window, places a delicate hand over her mouth to stifle a fit of giggles.

"I believe the word you're looking for is skunk, Siffrin," Odile gently corrects.

Oh yeah, skunk. Yeah, you knew that all along! Sure, you did.

"I like fart squirrel better," Bonnie chimes in, tears of mirth rolling down their cheeks. "Can we start calling it that from now on? Hahaha fart squirrel! Fart squirrel!"

Glancing over from beneath the brim of your hat, you notice Isabeau tap Bonnie on the shoulder. After a moment they nod, offering him a bottle of ginger juice. For just a moment, a solitary second in this neverending repetition of fate, you feel your spirits lift. You didn't do anything to force or control his actions this time. You don't even feel like you deserve this. And yet when Isabeau turns to you with a comforting smile, offering the ginger to ease the nausea in your belly, you accept his gift, muttering a word of thanks before taking a sip.

Chapter Text

Written for Shipping Week
Prompt: no prompt today
Pairing: Siffrin/Isabeau

Written for The Never Ending Prompt Compendium
Prompt 36: Write about trying on clothes

You finally did it. The nightmares and pain are starting to fade, though you aren't even sure how you made it out alive this time. You don't know how many months have passed, but somehow, after a very long and difficult journey, you finally escaped the endless cycle of loops.

Congratulations! You are now free to move about the stage and do as you please.

So... what do you do now?

Your wish was to wear clothes that Isabeau made. It sounds like such a wonderful idea, but you're so exhausted you don't even have the strength to stand up right now. You sleepily joke about wanting to lie Dormont for a while (haha, dormant, or maybe doormat as you collapse at the building's entrance, falling flat on your face as usual). This time Isabeau's touch barely registers in your tired mind, a strong pair of hands lifting you onto your feet, helping to guide you past the threshold.

Gradually, your body begins to adjust to the normal rhythm of the day and night cycle it was accustomed to prior to entering the loops. However, you're still very tired one morning when a gentle knock at the door rouses you from your slumber.

You, groggily aware of the noises coming from down the hall, manage to slip out from under the covers and open the door. Isabeau is there, a sketchbook tucked under his arm, filled with drawings and designs he's been working on. He's smiling at you. And... is that a cardboard box he's carrying?

"I had some time to think while you've been recovering from our adventure," he says, grinning at you in the pale sunlight. "And I came up with some new designs, inspired by the stars you spoke of."

You cover your mouth and yawn, standing there in your faded and patched nightshirt, listening to him talk about clothes. Wait, did he just say that you inspired him to create something? 

Curious, you step aside, allowing him to enter. When the box is placed in your hands, you're pleasantly surprised to see that it contains a new nightshirt. Though instead of a darkless shade like the one you're currently wearing, this new garment is pure lightless with a star pattern meticulously embroidered into the fabric. There's also a comfortable sleep robe, the material a contrasting shade of light with dark stars sewn into it.

You aren't sure what to say. It's... it's beautiful.

Your fingers trace the pattern of stars on the nightshirt, taking a moment to appreciate the amount of time and effort he put into making this for you. With trembling hands, you lift the nightshirt from the box, holding it up to the light. The lightless fabric shimmers slightly, as if it had captured the essence of the night itself. You slide it over your head, feeling the coolness of the material against your skin.

The sleep robe is next, and as you put it on, it feels as though you're being enveloped by the night sky. You wrap the softness around your body, the warmth spreading from the robe and mingling with the comfort of the nightshirt. Hmm, feels nice.

"Thank you, Isabeau," you murmur, your voice thick with sleep. "These are... incredible."

You couldn't help but feel a warmth in your chest as you looked at him. The journey through the loops had been isolating, a solitary battle against time itself. Yet, here was Isabeau, offering you comfort in the form of clothes he had crafted with his own two hands. It was a gesture that seemed to bridge the gap between the two of you, a silent declaration of friendship, and perhaps love as well. You're already starting to fall back asleep when his arms close around your fragile form.

You'll always remember this.