Prayer

prayer

YES

I am a firm believer in the idea that if a movie or hell even art in general is made out of a love for the art that is being created, it is good.

No matter the supposed “quality” of the project or what if it is made out of true passion and love it is always good 100 percent of the time.

He wonders if Wilbur’s carried it around too—knowing they should’ve died there, that now something is wrong with them both because they didn’t. That they’re two corpses walking and it’s a matter of time before it catches up, not a matter of if it ever will. He wonders if Wilbur knows that in the end, it will drag them back in, and they’ll never, ever be free.

( devil town, chapter eleven )

Hehe

Boom

Philza’s Crows

The flock, or “Murder” as he had lovingly named them, followed him everywhere. Creeping black feathers hidden in nearby trees as he fights or scattered across the snow biome, doing their best (or worst) to stay out of his way as he built something new.

Wherever he was, they seemed to follow. Little chirps of their crow language. They could only understand English, not speak it, so no one else understood them.

Donations are when the crows bring him something nice or shiny that they most definitely did not steal no way. Philza’s murder would never.

(“Lucky. You only got those birds.”

“How?” Philza laughed as he carefully took a diamond one “found” from its beak, whispering a thanks. A few sat on his wings, chirping for his attention. They had picked up “pog” from Phil translating techno back when they didn’t understand English, and loved the word.

“Least you can lock the doors, and they bring you shit. Be nice if they brought me stuff.” Techno huffed, then flinched when the voices got loud. “Bruhhh calm down I don’t hate you guys.”)

Tommy and Wilbur like them when they were younger. Back before the Smp Earth days. When they’d mess with their hair and play with them. After they shifted to an omen of death. And inhabited the pit that was L’manberg when the tent stopped falling.

Philza earned the name Angel of Death when the sky was painted black with crows, hoping to feast on the carnage their Angel leaves behind. The murder was a fitting name.

They also seemed to like Ranboo, even thought he boy never understood him. They’d sit on his roof like black snow when Philza closed his windows and blinds for a bit of rest. They liked the tall child, and squawked in disapproval whenever something bad happens, or follow him as a cloud of feathers when he starts enderwalking.

If Philza or Techno couldn’t find him, you just have to look to the sky. And there were al least twenty birds overhead. You know, in case he trips (or someone needs to be Prometheus-ed)

There's no fish on the moon!

L'moonberg fishing