The Best Proof I Can Give Of Hannibal Being An Exceptional Show Is The Fact That I Hate Horror. I Dont

the best proof I can give of Hannibal being an exceptional show is the fact that I hate horror. I don’t watch it and I don’t enjoy it.

BUT

Hannibal is the exception. I literally stopped halfway through the first season when I was watching it for the first time because I struggled with the gore and intense scenes. but I couldn’t resist and had to come back. I literally couldn’t stop thinking about it. And then I stopped again before Trou Normand because I saw a photo of the totem pole and was like this is too much. Then I was like I HAVE TO WATCH IT EVEN IF I HAVE TO COVER HALF OF THE SCENES WITH MY HAND BECAUSE OTHERWISE I’LL GO CRAZY. so I continued and I finished it and then I had to immediately watch it again.

By my second rewatch I was able to watch all of the gruesome and bloody scenes and even started appreciating them.

Now I love the scenes as much as every other scene in Hannibal. I love the show’s combination of gore and beauty and romance and symbolism and humour so much.

And I still don’t enjoy horror as a genre but oh my god how impressed I am by Hannibal because of this experience.

tragedy lovers when the tragedy impacts them deeply: this is FUCKED UP. do it again and again forever please

some Terzo for a project

Is this the moment of just letting go?

I can't begin to describe the feeling of seeing the vision I had for this come to life on paper. I have put an elaborate description of the details I put into this (with the meaning I personally intended for them) as well as the reference that inspired it below the cut!

Please don't repost this!

The pose is based on the 1560s version of Repentant Mary Magdalene by Titian. However, unlike in that painting, Copia isn't looking up to the sky or heavens but rather forward/slightly down, perhaps mostly inward in reflection. He is sitting there in the foreground on one of his cloaks, nude - completely stripped of his vestments, clutching one of his chasubles to his chest to cover most of his torso and his legs as the fabric drapes over them. He is literally holding onto who he was or presented himself as, but he knows that he cannot be that same person again.

Copia's skull paint is smudged - based on the markings on his face and his fingertips, it can be assumed he has been desperately clawing at it without having the energy to properly wipe or clean it off. To the left, there is a rat sitting on the cloak looking up at him, his mitre lies folded on the right, no longer of use. He acknowledges neither, too lost in thought. There are three semi-transparent hands grabbing onto Copia's shoulders in support and comfort, one lighter than the other two, indicating these to be the hands of the three Emeritus brothers that came before him (the lighter hand belonging to Terzo due to his white gloves). They have never taken the steps he has; they haven't had to or haven't had the choice to. But they can be here for him now in those moments when he feels there is no one else.

In the background, there is a large bookshelf on the left, reaching to the middle of the drawing both horizontally and vertically. From top to bottom, the left part of the bookshelf displays: a plush rat and a plush goat (a reference to on-stage shenanigans), a foldable picture frame showing the silhouettes of eight people in the large rectangular middle frame - Copia's ghouls - and one pair of people on either side - Copia with his father and his mother, respectively. This picture frame is intentionally placed at eye level so that Copia can always comfortably look at his family. Below are an inverted cross, two candelabras and the Grammy award won for Cirice in 2016. The rest of the bookshelf is stacked with books. In one place, a human skull is used as a bookend, a reminder of his mortality.

On the right side of the background, slightly further back in the room, there is a work desk in front of a stained-glass window with a pentagram in the middle, a curtain is gathered to the left of it. Almost out of frame, in the front and to the right of the desk, there is the tricycle Copia has been gifted, covered in cobwebs, not having been used in a long time. He hasn't put it away or covered it, be it because he didn't have the heart to or because he intends to dust it off at some point. On the work desk, there are slightly messy stacks of paper, a mug and an inkpot. Additionally, there is an open book on the desk, on top of which is another book. This book has been open just before the end but stopped from closing entirely by what's supposed to be the quill belonging to the inkpot. This book stands for Copia's story. It is unclear if he was the one who has stopped it from closing, if he wants to delay getting to the last page, if this book has been written by him or if it has been written by others for him.

Perhaps a combination of both. Either way, he is in charge now. There is also a vase on the left corner of the desk, containing flowers that are wilted in the vase except for one, signifying a new beginning and the cycle of life, growth and death, but also the way that time seems to slip when we find our minds clouded by pain - life and our obligations don't stop for grief, but we mustn't be hopeless.

primo crochets costumes for copia's rats