10 Works by pecann
Listing Works
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Tubbo likes his job, ignoring the ichor and gore under his fingernails. He can deal with the way death clings to his clothes, stains his skin, leaving red rusted on his steel-toed boots. Honestly, the worst part is how animals flee from him. It doesn’t matter how hard he rubs his eyes, what he wears, how light he steps across the forest floor.
What’s dead is dead, and animals will always be able to smell the difference.
OR IN WHICH Tubbo is a necromancer with an uptick of new clients he can’t seem to get back. His newest, Purpled, might be his key to solving it.
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“You’re wearing your shoes in the house.” Minute says, breaking the icy silence with the most condescending tone he can muster. His hands are shaking.
“I don't think you can talk about making messes, princess,” Hannah tilts her head at the growing crimson pool, slowly inching towards the carpets of their living room, “we’ll never get those stains out.”
“I bet you could. You're obviously not new to cleaning up messes.” He should’ve known better. It’s too late for that thought now.
Her trigger finger twitches. This is where it ends.
OR IN WHICH They have the perfect arrangement: Hannah leaves the country for a couple days, Minute kills a couple people and orders takeout while she’s gone. Surely she doesn’t come home early, right?
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“You were in the way,” Tubbo says to the blond boy with all the casualty in the world, all the casualties he’s caused, the casualty this boy could’ve been. Maybe should’ve been.
“I thought you didn’t save civilians.” His voice is pathetically small. It’s halfway between disgust and awe. “I’ve never seen you save a civilian. What— why? Why me?”
“I don’t save civilians,” Tubbo repeats, pausing to digest the words like he’s hearing them for the first time, “I don’t. I’m not a hero.”
OR IN WHICH Tubbo is a villain. Tommy is a civilian. It gets more complicated from there.
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Purpled knows Tubbo, in the same way a sword would know a shield, or the truth would know deception. They’ve met, since everyone has met Tubbo. He’s unassuming at first look. He’s a happy second place, always just a couple steps behind in the final leg of a race, but never out of breath. It’s like his losses are purposeful.
They both attend the same school for “gifted young students with unordinary abilities”, they’ve both been described as “unpredictable”, and they both want the same scholarship.
OR IN WHICH Purpled is convinced Tubbo is a threat, despite his friends not understanding why. There’s nothing a quick chat can’t clear up.
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To Make a Home by pecann, poetandink for Witchy_Lee_Hibernates
Fandoms: Dream SMP, QSMP | Quackity SMP
08 Sep 2024
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"Techno? You alright, mate?"
He looks up to Phil, the man's face lit by the crackling fire separating them, dancing shadows cast on his face. His dark blonde hair falls over his shoulders, tied in a half up-half down style, a few strands falling out and grazing his chin. Grey has threaded through him, wrinkles barely visible beneath his eyes.
The man is his father in all but blood, the only other person who stayed with him since the start. Phil is his rock, his best friend, his companion, and he would be damned if anything happened to him. He doesn’t need to know Techno’s condolences for those he’s killed. He does it for him, to keep them fed, to keep the fire burning.
"Eh, 'm fine."OR
some fluffy sbi apocalypse talks around their fire :3 -
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“You sound jealous, totem.”
“Totem?” They say it like a pet name. It catches him so off guard it’s like he’s been knocked out of a stupor. He was mad, and now they’re joking with him.
“Well, you’re built and golden. Green eyes, too. Was I far off?” No. But they’re the last person to need to know that.
“So what, I can just call you flashlight eyes? Since it’s not totally incorrect.” They giggle. It annoys him that they’re finding joy in this, even more so that the sound is cute, deep and mirthful like waves crashing on a beach. Their eyes continue to glow, almost ominous as they stare at him.
“You can call me Eret.”
OR IN WHICH Foolish has an annoying customer who comes to his mom’s restaurant way too often. He might be wrong about them, though.
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“You— you actually came.” Tommy gasps, bracing himself on one raw forearm. His head is pounding, a pang of guilt echoing through his body like a plate dropped in a silent room. Everything hurts, but how could he focus on the pain when Techno is right here, standing in front of him, protecting him like it’s the simplest thing in the world?
“Of course I did.” Techno glances back, his eyes relaxing as soon as they land on him, gaze soft unlike his bruised knuckles. “You called for me. I’ll always come when you call.”
OR IN WHICH Tommy is disabled in a world of witches and familiars, literally years behind in bonding with his stoic boar companion, Techno. A not-so fun surprise from some of his classmates forces him to ignore the crushing self-doubt he feels and call on him anyways.
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He would think perhaps Tommy is a little young to be a target of hero society’s attention, but he knows better. He was nineteen when he met Tubbo, only thirteen with bruised knees and scabs kissing his face like a mother, both weathering the political climate with hair shaved down to the scalp. They were too young then, Tubbo’s too young now. It’ll never change. Quackity wouldn’t know how to handle if it did.
The killers of each generation just seem to get younger and younger, never quite adjusting to the change of handling smooth coloured pencils to the biting iron of a shotgun. How can you? To be safe is to create, not to draw needless caution in colouring between the lines, not to fit between paper-thin cracks of the pavement that is the ruins of L’Manberg.
OR IN WHICH Quackity makes a decision regarding his casino. Tommy gets accused of having ties to a certain brutish hero, risking both losing his job and Tubbo’s safety. Luckily Quackity has a soft spot for the boy he came back to life with…
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Tommy stared at himself. It was like looking in a mirror, until he noticed the clawed fingers and open chest cavity and antlers growing where there should be eyes, and slowly the form became unrecognizable, alien to the reflection he thought he first saw.
He blinked. Did he hit his head and meet Bigfoot? Did he accidentally take shrooms? What the fuck is that.
OR IN WHICH Tommy gets trapped in a never-ending forest and meets something he wasn’t meant to ever see. He forgets not everything is a friend.
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“Hey, you should reply when someone talks to you,” they yelled, angry this time. Privileged asshats that can’t be told no, just like almost every white man in this town.
Ponk flipped them off. At least Sam was better.
OR IN WHICH ponk gets in a fight “on accident” and sam swings by just in time.