I Would Like To Propose A New Fanon Part Of Cwilburs Design: A Small Cut In His Face, From When Ctommy

[Passerine Spoilers please scroll fast and don't read if you haven't read Passerine yet]

Ok, I decided to go to Twitter to search for a Tweet that I like (I'm almost never on Twitter) and I stumbled through Thcscus tweet explaining she wrote Phil's wife as the Samsung Smart Fridge.

Now I already knew she had done this —It's not the first time she revealed this detail —but I read the replies to her Tweet and I can't breathe

[ID:

Tweets by Kyle (@thcscus):

so um is this a good time to say that i wrote the passerine mum not as mumza but as the. the samsung smart fridge

BECAUSE I DIDNT KNOW WHAT MUMZAS BOUNDARIES ARE REGARDING FANFIC SO I JUST *VAGUELY GESTURES*

THATS ALSO WHY SHES NEVER MENTIONED BY NAME LOL

Comment by Ender Mama (@EnderPandoran):

Sorry brain just thought of that scene where she cups Techno’s cheek and I just saw him getting smacked with a fridge door...

Comment by EM⁷ • Subscribe to Technoblade • 80% (@sleepybl4de):

I CANT FUCKING STOP LAUGHING. FUCKER JUST GETS HIT BY A FUCKING FRIDGE DOOR. I cant take this anymore 😭💀

Comment by CanonicalChaos (@BadlamBound):

Are you... Are you telling me I spent 15 minutes crying iver the death of a Samsung Smart Refrigerator??

Comment by dani 🇧🇷 🏳️‍🌈 ( ranboo art 📌) (@danithemoth):

i mean id also cry if one of them died. they're pretty expensive 😔

Comment by kae ✡ (@endrwalkr):

so does this make pass!tommy and pass!wilbur part fridge or

Comment by Sara :D (@Clayotic_):

Half-god half-kitchen-appliance hybrids

Comment by dolsu (@dandybrew):

so youre telling me pass!philza spent 10 years away from his family to figure out how to turn a samsung smart refrigerator back on?

Comment by prom🤡⚡ (@promsofa):

you’re telling me pass!phil abandoned his kids for ten years because his favorite sexy fridge stopped working

Comment by Dino (@dino_invisible):

One you said that I thought of the death scene and all I can image is

[Screenshot of Sad-is Sunsprite's Eulogy animatic where Tommy is crying at his mother deathbed. A photo of a Samsung Smart Fridge was put above the drawing of the mother.]

Comment by parker b. peter (@antifajasontodd):

the voices in wilburs head wasnt dream. it was bluetooth

Comment by chloe (0/9) (@mellqhis):

when she died did the light go out on the inside? did ice cubes fall from the water dispenser on the door? OH MY GOD.

Comment by Garzaa (@_AGweirdo):

"no... they take after their mothers[...]" tommy opens his mouth and a light turns on

wilbur randomly starts doing a sound similar to HMMMMMMM at random hours of the night

End ID]

Wilbur doesn't know why he knows the steps. It feels like a dance you remember only in a hazy state. Walking beside a small kid, careful not to trip into her stride feels right. He feels like something overtakes him to speak in a gentler voice of reassurance. To sing her a song goodnight is instinct, not just as a musician but as something else. It feels so strange all of a sudden that he of all people is so careful with a child he's never met until that day. When he heard he was possibly a dad, he simply dismissed it like minor news. Akin to hearing you have a spider in your home or it's raining in 4 days, he'll get to it but it's nothing really.

But now he cares so much, he'd wreak havoc if anything happened to Tallulah. It feels like deja vu, like looking through a mirror to another world. A world where he has a special place surrounded by redwood trees and by the riverside. That other guy he's looking at, he's building everything up just for his own kid, with the same face of care and concerns as his own. He's singing some lullabies as him, matching the cadences and lyrics even if hushed and mumbled. He's teaching how to shoot a bow and arrow to his kid just like him, explaining the steps the same as him. He's leaving the kid soon just like the other, but at least he's trusting someone else to take care in his stead.

There's another kid, he realises. And that kid looks sad, in spite of the beautiful scenery. That kid is looking at walls, just like Tallulah. He's not living in much comfort or glamour, just like Tallulah. He's learning how to fend for himself with a bow and arrow, Tallulah will be like that soon. He's seen the dance, the rhythm of a deadbeat. And now its up to him to change the paces.

Will doesn't know why he pauses in faint recollection when a memory doesn't exist. It's merely a dream from a bygone night, but what's a memory but not a dream you've seen before. Yet when remembers walking through the forest and a flash of red fur snickering, he doesn't understand why a pang of burrowing feelings hits him.

And that feeling turns to drive, a desire to be at least the best dad he can be for now. For Tallulah and for that lonely kid he doesn't remember.

¿Pero que carajos esta pasando? De la nada ya no entiendo a nadie, puta madre ya no se puede hacer la torre. ¿Quién chingados hizo esto? ¿Fue Dios?

Cabrón

hmm today i think i will build the tallest tower possible

god himself cannot save you people from my powers of lyric association. jayvik × Ezra bell edit be upon ye

Love is a simple thing, we are the ones who make it difficult by loving what can't be loved

But I don't regret loving you

catharsis

Will is a little nervous, coming in this room. Again. It’s always a different mix of emotions, but some key ingredients are the same: thrill, anticipation, sadness. This time the cocktail is a true masterpiece: thrill, anticipation, conviction, confidence, only a drop of sadness. The only really new ingredient in all of this is fear, and it kind of ties it all together, adds the needed spice to the mix. Will lingers for a bit, analyzing the taste of the imaginary cocktail. There’s something else. Just… a dash of uncertainty. It’s not about the act, but it’s in the air, ruining his experience. What a shame.

“Will. What are you doing?”

Phil’s voice sounds so, so familiar. Maybe decades ago he said this exact phrase in this exact tone, when Will was stealing something from the kitchen. Weird how some things don’t change. 

Will is glad to hear his voice. It means that it all goes according to plan. It means that he won’t leave this room. The uncertainty is gone. 

Will is deafened by the sound of the explosion, his breath is heavy and uneven, partially because of excitement, partially because the air is filled with dust, but right there, right then, he has a moment of absolute clarity. It all makes sense to him, all of his questions have answers, he comes up with a name for his cocktail — “catharsis”. It has a wonderful sweet aftertaste of satisfaction. 

There’s only one more thing to do. Will has done it a thousand times before, especially when Phil would catch him doing something he “shouldn’t be doing”. Ask nicely. Phil is surprisingly bad at saying “no”.

Weird how some things don’t change.

it just makes me soo like wilbur didnt want to be a father at first and now he's teaching tallulah to love because he believes it triumphs over everything...he wants to protect her with a thin wall between her and reality, from everything complicated, from fighting up close, in order to be safe. Safe enough to live, and to never face anything that could destroy love. It won't last forever, something will throw a wrench in that. Whether she runs into danger regardless, or she watches him from afar (just like he taught her, with the bow) dying for her. Whether her family is ripped from her, or she believes one day love isn't enough.

in case it wasn’t clear i love the people of yemen with my whole heart. may allah protect them and grant them victory

(via RNN)

If Will dies first, it is obvious Hannibal would cannibalize Will’s flesh. Hannibal mourned Mischa by eating her, and he would do the same for Will; to consume and eat and incorporate is part of grieving. But what would Hannibal do with Will’s bones? He’d eat the marrow, maybe make soup from them, but what of the calcified parts that remain, the parts that can’t be eaten?

I don’t really see him just keeping them around or displaying them, something stagnant and to be ogled. Burying them in the family plot in Lithuania makes sense because Will is family, but it also requires Hannibal to go back to a place he can’t go. Hannibal could cremate the bones, but then what? Spreading the ashes doesn’t seem like something he would do; he can’t know what happens to them. Keeping Will in an urn on his desk or a shelf also feels out of character, a memory collecting dust.

What if Hannibal had Will’s ashes pressed into pencil lead? There are ways to compress ashes into something that could be written with or drawn. What if Hannibal draws Will with his own ashes, commemorating him in a completed cycle. Sketching the man with his own remains. Remembering Will as he saw him, recreating moments they shared from Hannibal’s mind palace. Having Will live forever in depictions of himself. Hannibal would never be truly left behind. And Hannibal would sharpen the pencils as he always had; he isn’t unfamiliar with taking a blade to Will. Shaving off a layer but keeping him sharp.

Displaying and keeping art made from Will’s ashes would mean so much more than a reconstructed skeleton or an urn on a shelf or a plot that would become overgrown with weeds. He could draw Will in motion, alive, as he wished to remember him, and create moments and memories they didn’t get to experience together.