When you try to write, but all you are motivated to is Hetastuck angst that simply makes you more dead inside
The Seer hasn't left his room for six days. You leave him food outside his door, but he is either unwilling or unable to talk.
Six days ago the Page died. By terms of conditional immortality, death only applies if it is Heroic or Just. In this case, Heroic. He always joked about being a hero, even after the game took a darker turn. And though the Hero of Space is gone, and you can no longer breed a new universe, you still have hope of surviving.
But the Seer of Doom has grieved for what you think is much too long. He is an important part of the team, foretelling possibility of death and destruction.
⇒ Be the Seer
You are now the Seer of Doom, and you feel like this is a ridiculously long time to grieve. But the Page of Space wasn't simply a member of the team. He was your matesprit, and before that your best friend. With him gone, a bit of Void has taken residence in your chest. Endlessly heavy and completely empty.
You stay in your Respiteblock, what normal people would call a room, . You don't want to fall asleep, and be haunted by more dreams of your soon to be failed session, of becoming part of the SGLOBE coding and taking your ranks among the Ancients. You dreamed of the destruction of the Dream Bubbles, where his now dead self resides. The deaths of your teammates, of the recently joined Alpha session.
So you result to staring at the opposite wall in near silence, occasionally punctuated by either Katya or Yao bringing food, sometimes emotional support. You don't really touch the food, and shoo away their attempts to comfort you. You don't need comforting, you're just waiting for this session to fail.
Jegus fuck you miss him. You miss being greeted by the sky blue text when you talk to him on Hetachum, the childish excitement when you got him Ryuko Isogai's jacket five years ago. Five years ago when he pestered you into playing SGLOBE, when the game dropped you in the middle of the Land of Bone and Flowers, where you acted as medic for consorts dying from plague.
You guided him on his Land of Night and Eagles, as it was said that the journey of a Page was not easy. Tavros Nitram never ascended, his quest was harsh and bitter. You saw him halfway, and he completed the rest of it himself, while you went Grimdark on the Battlefield.
He was the one who brought you back. Every step of your gameplay had him by your side, you led him to ascension hand in hand. And though you aren't really one for being all romantic, you kind of really loved him.
Your internal monologue is interrupted by a knock on the door.
YAO: ivan, we need to talk.
You don't need to talk.
YAO: i'm serious, we gotta find someway to fix this session.
The session is fucked.
YAO: i'm assuming you're either temporarily dead or not talking.
He opens the door and enters, quite rudely if you say so yourself.
YAO: you know, i'm kind of glad the game doesn't let food rot, but it still disturbs me to see all that untouched food in the open.
YAO: jesus, you're a total train wreck. you really loved alfred, did you?
⇒ Sylph: Try to be sociable
You are about 2598% done with Ivan's shit now. But that figure is statistically incorrect, so you'll have to settle with 100. Sure, his boyfriend died. Yes, you miss him too but god Ivan's a total wreck and that isn't good if you're planning on redirecting the Alpha timeline. You need some Seery consultation and the Seer is basically mute.
YAO: ...
YAO: just do me a favor and tell me what we should avoid.
He shakes his head. Over the couple years, you learned that it either means 'no' or 'we're completely assfuck screwed'. In this case, 'we're completely assfuck screwed'.
YAO: there's no way we're completely screwed.
He looks at you, in such a way that expresses the resignation in his eyes. He hasn't slept for a few days, seeming almost buried in his dark green God Tier robes.
It occurs to you that he looks like a corpse.
YAO: look at me.
YAO: look at me straight in the eye and tell me we're fucking screwed.
The purple of his eyes are dull and bloodshot, holding eye contact as he shakes his head. You sigh.
YAO: you should get your ass outside. i'm not a doctor but i'm pretty sure this is pretty unhealthy.
IVAN: Hell no
YAO: let's go memelord.
IVAN: Nope
YAO: come on.
IVAN: Im spending my last days in solitary confinement thank you very much
YAO: nobody's dying, you asshat. arthur made scones and they actually taste pretty good, suprisingly.
It was mostly his boyfriend/ matesprit/ whatever that made them, but close enough really.
IVAN: No
You drag him by his collar, out the door and into the common room/ kitchen/ designated congregation area, Ivan muttering something about fraternal abuse the whole way. Ectosiblings, are you right?
Francis took up the couch on the other side of the room, Arthur sitting on his legs. Kat converses with Matthew at the table, where the large book, still bearing signs of the Penis Ouija Incident, lies. Ivan's kismessitude with Lovino was pretty stupid, now that you think about it, but it was also endlessly hilarious. A slight pity they broke it off after mutual acknowledgement of its stupidity.
⇒ Seer: Grudgingly comply
You suppose you can humor your ectosibling and everyone else for a while. Evidence of the POI still lies on the table, remains of a calignous relationship that was really gogdamn fucking stupid. You grab a scone with some sort of purple spread on it.
It actually tastes pretty good, leading to the conclusion that Arthur did not, or minimally helped in the process of making it. Though...
IVAN: This is grub sauce is it
FRANCIS: wéll
FRANCIS: it's high quality purplé grub sauçé from north altertalia
IVAN: So you guys are technically cannibals
FRANCIS: i supposé
IVAN: Interesting
Yao is nowhere to be seen. You assume more flushed shenanigans with Kiku. Leon and Emil are gone. You weren't that close with them, but something seems missing with two people out of the session.
But Alfred... Everything seems so morguelike. Without Space, there's no chance of a new universe. Without him, everything seems flat, without lines of sky blue text, or the glasses you loved to steal. He kept the group together. Without Space, there is only a Void, no longer any prospect of a new beginning. Without Alfred there would be no beginning, no ghostly flower crowns or midnight strifes. Without him the two of you would never be gods.
Your chest still feels empty, but you know he waits in the dream bubbles.
I hope that if you do feel dead right now, it's in an okay way. Reviews help keep the Hetastuckdom alive.