I Could Make Him Better This, I Could Make Him Worse That. Well I Could Trap Him In A Terrarium And Call

“I could make him better” this, “I could make him worse” that. Well I could trap him in a terrarium and call him little skrunkly, but whatever.

I feel like collectively as a fandom we don’t talk enough about just how weird the whole Abigail situation is? Like don’t get me wrong, I’m a major murder fam truther and I still sob violently every time I think about what could have been but like… imagine you are practically an adult woman, who has just undergone one of thee most traumatic experiences, at the hands of your father, an insane man, which has more than likely left you with some trust issues toward men in general, but then along comes two more also insane men who were not only THERE when the aforementioned life-altering experience occurred, but were both DIRECTLY involved in the death of your parents. And these men, who you’ve known less than a month and quite frankly are pretty freaky and definitely psycho-sexually obsessed with each other, are trying to adopt some sort of warped surrogate-parent role, and fantasise about some suburban dream-life where they take you fishing and teach you harpsichord without even asking you, you who is a practically grown woman. and then suddenly insane man #2 has fostered some kind of dependency with you after he helps you hide a body, therefore involving him in ANOTHER life-altering experience, but oh don’t worry! he’s totally fine and normal and definitely is not like your dad, but then suddenly he is and you are faking your death, and you’re holed away from society except for insane man #2, who you love in a weird strange way, and who will look after you, and you trust him, and you trust him so much that when he beckons you toward him in the middle of a messy pseudo-divorce between him and insane man #1, you walk right into his arms and you know what’s going to happen, really, but you let it happen anyway because maybe you really were just destined to die on your father’s kitchen floor.

absolutely loathe when people ask me why I watch hannibal. like dude, the answer is obvious. I love murder.

your honour he’s just a mischievous little scamp

collecting pathetic, mentally-ill, middle-aged, poor little meow-meow men like my grandfather collects stamps.

liking a fictional male is like yes I would curbstomp you in a mcdonald’s parking lot if you were real but also on all levels except physical we are married