#philza minecraft and wilbur soot

[briarlovesclara]

The Clues of Tragedy as told by Philza Minecraft

ways to say i love you number 35: as a goodbye 💕(platonic)

this is a part of the 35 ways to say "i love you" writing collection. check out the rest!

PREVIEW/SYNOPSIS:

"At the present moment, noise is the ever-slowing drip of his son’s blood onto the ground as it sieves through Phil’s trembling fingers. If Phil had not been holding the body of his dead son, he would be thinking about all of this." (or, the cycle of tragedy as told by a man experiencing it himself for the first time)

content warnings: depictions of war and violence, blood, death/ corpse, grief

There is a rock on the ground that looks like a broken heart. This, if you are as old as he is, is the first clue of a tragedy. 

People always describe wars as large, sweeping events, numbers and heroes and bloodshed and tears. But when Phil remembers the wars he has fought, he remembers very little of those things. What he does remember: a child with only one shoe, trying to tie their shoelace for some semblance of normalcy; bakers handing out fire-resistant gloves to rescue workers, to help sort through charred rubble; a man tearfully volunteering his life’s worth of intricately woven blankets and scarves as burial shrouds. Right now, there are many small rocks shattered into frightful existence by the explosions, but only one of them looks like a broken heart.

There are still explosions echoing around in his ears as stray bits of gunpowder light below him. There are enough screams that poets might have called it a chorus, but he knows better. There is no poetry for screaming. Noise is another clue of a tragedy.

Sound never truly stops-- as true as it is that you will never hear true silence in nature, you will never hear true silence during destruction. After the first round of noise-- whether it be a single arrow whistling through the wind, a blade unsheathed, or a thump, those young enough to be naive will recall a vacuum of noise, the winds’ howls paused as the world collapses around them. But the winds do not stop for the end of the world, and those as weathered as Phil know that noise never truly stops. Noise is this: waves lapping at the shore of new rubble, groans of pain that no one remembers making, then the screams that they do; noise is reaction, and action, and inaction, and it is always making and being made, even when life ends. At the present moment, noise is the ever-slowing drip of his son’s blood onto the ground as it sieves through Phil’s trembling fingers. 

If Phil had not been holding the body of his dead son, he would be thinking about all of this. He was well versed in tragedy-- some civilizations even cited him as the birth of it. How ironic that he used to brush them off. Tragedy is inevitable, he would say to those who asked. I am simply passing by. But right now, for the first time in his life, he agreed. Tragedy was a cycle. A cycle that he was cradling in his arms, a cycle that he watched be born, take its first steps, write its first song. A tragedy that built mini-cities and tore them down, that smiled every time it saw a songbird, a tragedy who laughed when its father dropped its birthday cake instead of crying. A tragedy that was open windows and fresh breezes, and a serious look in its face as it learned how to play a song. Phil had never felt so ancient as he did, watching the cycle of a tragedy from birth to death, never felt more deserving of the title of God many had tried to conceive him as. This was a Godhood so human and tainted that he could never have imagined it, so innate that it was laughable he hadn’t seen it before. 

Grief, he thought, that is another clue of a tragedy.

His head whipped around as a new kind of explosion started, and the skies darkened as undead monsters grew their sinews out of soil and bone and soul. Silence never lasted in tragedy, nor was there any time for it. He gently set down the burned and torn thing that is-- was?-- his son, but not before kissing its head so folly it could have been a brush from one of his many feathers. 

“I love you.” He said before leaving, understanding at last the last clue of a tragedy.

A goodbye.

[hellothereimaloser]

Yeahhh 😭 can u guess why i love these dragon kids so much?

[piink-u]

I hope people understand that when I say "I miss the dsmp" that I don't mean some people, some story lines, some general things, the fandom... Hells, I barely miss the part of the lore or characters I liked.

What I miss is crimeboys making an alleyway simply because they wanted to play more together after the lore for the day was done. I miss Tubbo spinning around on the spot trying to find a giggling Wilbur. I miss Wilbur smiling to himself and writing on chat just for us to see that "Tubbo reminds me of myself when younger". I miss Techno getting into the server tired as fuck just cause one of his friends called him and wanted to do absolutely nothing in Minecraft with him. I miss Wilbur staying awake until ungodly hours to keep Techno company when my man was farming potatoes and try-harding. I miss SBI and friends crashing into Phil's hardcore streams to talk about nothing at all and absolutely everything just to be together and laugh and say shit. I miss Tommy trying to make sense of something and the smile on his face after Wilbur would laugh heartily and say "That's quote book, for sure". I miss stories about late night gameplays of fucking TF2. I miss chat crying to Phil, his sigh, his giggle and his "What did they do?". I...

I guess I just miss them.

[firexima]

Day 22: MCCbur

[sparkp18]

(crawls out of a hidden hole in the wall like a little cartoon mouse)

I… I potentially heard there’s a small little dsmp fandom revival happening…

So here’s a WIP I will absolutely end up coloring (no of course I’m not showing my true colors as a massive Philza enthusiast of four years what in the world are you talking about, nooo i would never scream about my Philza-verse headcanons to the heavens whaaat)

[eekonis]

silly burger… :)

[pamelloe]

maybe in another universe

[the-asexual-winter]

A group of friends sat around,

Playing games, fun galore.

Through roleplay and through music,

Never barred was any door.

At the time they seemed invincible,

And Yet There Were Four

The Blade sharp as ever,

In the daylight it gleamed.

But rusted from within,

It was not to be.

The Warrior's crown was passed on,

And Then There Were Three

The silent gathered strength,

And they'd take no more, they knew.

For their words shattered the silence,

And forever changed the view.

The Poet's silver tongue was tarnished

And Then There Were Two

Now the Boy and the Crow,

They are all that remain.

How much longer they'll be spared, I wonder,

From this sad refrain.

As this lament draws to a close,

A final message for the crowd.

Support Shelby and others like her,

For they've the strength to speak aloud.

--Lament for the Sleeping

[thepenguisalive7]

Peaceful times

(Inspired by a Malaysian Veranda, fondly known as ‘pondok’)

[anxxboyy]

[unit-ssn0va]

[m4ycrowave]

Can't wait to see Wilbur today!!

posting it now in case I end up posting another drawing after the Wilbur stream

all smiles here nothing will go wrong, nothing goes wrong on qsmp ever!! No sir!!

[ujungyu]

How the purgatory event & the JuanaFlippa trial went:

[pactw]

i've been thinking about tallulah's situation; being cared for by her grandparents, uncles, and aunties, everyone but her "actual" parent. everyone assumes her grandpa is her dad because he's the only one around. most people refer to her as philza's daughter

yet, while she spends most days with philza, there are days when she's passed from guardian to guardian. on those days she's not sure who'll be the one to feed her, to protect her, to sing her to sleep. and, y'know, that isn't an uncommon or outlandish experience for children of busy or erratic parents. it was mine. i'm sure many viewers see themself in her whenever she thanks her uncles for food or asks about her father; clearly forever did, in his stream today.

the thing is, i rarely see a nomadic childhood like hers depicted as it is on the QSMP -- as warm, loving, and gladly given to tallulah by the other parents. it is so heartwarming to see the love that everyone on the island has for tallulah. people choose to care for her even if it's an extra responsibility because they love her. QSMP shows us how a true community is there for the children who need them, without pause and regardless of filiation. these cubitos love all the eggs, not only their own. it's beautiful.

[mmoccachino]

Been making redraws of my old dsmp art :}

[ennunanaiurov]

(some) ⚔️QSMP members as D&D characters⚔️

Wilbur: human, bard (college of glamour) Quackity: half-elf, artificer (artillerist) Slime: changeling, sorcerer (wild magic) Phil: fallen aasimar, druid (circle of dreams) Forever: elf, paladin (oath of devotion) Jaiden: human, ranger (horizon walker) Bad: tiefling, warlock (the archfay) Cellbit: half-tabaxi, rogue (inquisitive) Roier: human, monk (way of the open hand) Etoiles: tiefling, fighter (champion) Fit: goliath, fighter (battle master) Baghera: aarakocra, sorcerer (divine soul)

// ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴜᴘʟᴏᴀᴅ //