Lol, stupid (possibly discontinued)

STrAIGht 10 (Treetle request)

bruhuehre x literally broccoli (i couldn't come up with a clever name for bottle, sad)

(as always thanks @Rover_7452 for requesting!)

Slipping away

Tree was fucking heartbroken.

Lying with his back flat on the ground, arms outstretched to his sides, he could do nothing but wonder what went so, so wrong. His sullen eyes darted across the night sky, looking for a twinkle among the darkened clouds. None.

Tree, to his dismay, was left with a null void above him. No moon glistened softly because it knew he didn't deserve such a luxury. No sweet, mellow winds wavered the blades of yellowed grass, nor rustled Tree's evergreen leaves. The sun took ages to surge from the horizon, because Tree didn't deserve another day of perfect weather.

Everything came to a standstill: from the clouds drifting slightly aloft, from the usual mild drafts, and even the day-night cycle. They almost appeared like statues, completely halting in their places. Tree felt like being preserved in a temporary time capsule, trapped in amber almost. For these reasons only, Tree thought of himself slightly blessed.

At the very least, it appeared like Tree had all of the time in the world to think.

He tried remembering what it used to be like back in Death P.A.C.T.

Everyone seemed fine back then...they didn't voice any concerns about being in Death P.A.C.T., so why did they have to make it so inconvenient? We could have stuck together as the same team, but then...some people have to be incredibly selfish, huh? Selfish. Selfish, no, on second thought...

A place of temporary happiness, where Tree could dissolve into a carefree spirit, crumbled into another fiery train wreck. Then again, it was always the same regarding anything positive. You were never too content for long.

The overjoyed looks on everyone from before whenever they've accomplished something together, whenever they were just goofing off...Tree tried to piece back the foggy puzzle pieces. But they were already slipping away from the memory banks.

Where did all of those moments go? Had Tree paid not enough mind to the smaller details? Was he too focused on making his team members the quintessential death preventers, that he didn't catch their frowns of disappointment?

Too much redundant memories, already swept away into the endlessly streaming rivers of time. The worst part?

Time flies.

Tree may have lost too many pieces of a picture he tried piecing back together, but perhaps he didn't put too much thought into the puzzle pieces yet. Because if anything else failed to reach him, then Bottle's contrasting 24/7 giddiness did.

...Thinking about Bottle caused tears to emerge from the corners of his eyes again, just like hours earlier. Just like before, Tree became a weeping mess, tears descending onto immobile grass. They slid down the side of his face seamlessly, dabbling his leaves with a saddened luster.

Tree's head started to take its toll, his eyes becoming more weary by the minute. Though constant crying produced nothing of merit—actually making Tree feel more sickened—nothing else mattered at that point. Let the tears fall down, continue their performance, because they were all Tree had left. An invisible performance to be seen by no one, other than the director of it all.

I think this is what it means to be lonely. I think this is what Pen felt with us.

___