March 2025

Master post for all things Milk Blog:

Metas

Analysis

Headcanons: #headcanon #headcanons

Essays

Rotten Meat Fanfic:

Archive of our Own link

I'm super excited to read Rotten Meat as soon as possible, thank you so much for taking your time writing it. I do really enjoy your blog and headcanons, I'm so happy to be able to express my thoughts here and to discuss, it's like I've found my people.<3

A little thing I did enjoy about the series Hannibal Lecter, apart the whole plot and characters, I'd say would be the clothing choice. I know it sounds so random, but I think they play an important role and speaks about the characters if this makes sense. I also just personally love people who have taste in fashion ahaha.

So I was wondering if Amara needs to have that elegance in clothing like her fathers? I feel like with Hannibal there's no doubts. But with Will? I don't know, it wouldn't be the same. But it would be curious to know if Mia have a 'dress code' as well or it's just pure casual. I do feel like I'm asking a nosense but I hope this somewhat made sense.😅

-🐛

Ahhh thank you so much for providing me with an excuse to just:

Amara:

Mia:

Savannah (you didn’t ask about her but I might as well include her):

Amara’s fashion sense is a careful, calculated game. She’s a mini Hannibal: elegant, poised, but still young enough to care about how others perceive her. She dresses with intention, blending classical style with youthful edges, always aiming to present herself as both alluring and unapproachable. For her, fashion is a weapon, an extension of her will to manipulate those around her. If she wants to gain something from Hannibal, she’ll wear pigtails or braids, and the color yellow, knowing it will invoke memories of his younger sister or of when she was more innocent. Each outfit is a silent negotiation, and Amara knows how to dress to reach her goals.

Mia, on the other hand, is a more unconscious force when it comes to fashion. Her style reflects the practical, nature-driven life she lives, but it is also, in its own way, a weapon, though one she doesn’t fully understand. She has been cast into the roles of maiden, mother, and wife by Will’s unspoken expectations, and her wardrobe echoes these pressures. Her clothes are cutesy and feminine, with pieces that have an innocent charm but often reveal more than she intends, reflecting the subtle imbalance in her relationship with Will. She’s rarely seen in pants, adhering to a stereotype of femininity that she didn’t choose but was shaped into. Her body, which she’s come to see as something used against her, has become her tool, her weapon of self-assertion, though she may never fully grasp how much power she’s wielding with it.

Savannah is the antithesis of both Amara and Mia. Reserved, introverted, and deeply self-conscious, she hides in loose, neutral-toned clothing that serves as armor against the world. Like Dolarhyde, Savannah prefers to not be noticed, and her style reflects this need for invisibility. She rarely shows skin on purpose and makes no attempt to stand out. Her clothes are her shield, keeping her hidden from the gaze of others, allowing her to exist without being noticed. In her world, being seen is a risk, one she’s not willing to take.

What would be the reaction of daddy hannigrahams of their daughter self-destructive behaviour?

We need to establish these behaviors first. Amara’s self-destructive behaviors could be subtle but pervasive, stemming from a life shaped by manipulation, expectation, and control. Likely a tendency toward self-medication. Raised in an environment where substances were used to control both victims and her father, she becomes well-versed in the art of using and hiding drugs. She’s under constant pressure to meet impossible standards, especially from her father Hannibal, so it makes sense she might seek an upper to stay alert and perform. Whether it’s a stimulant or something to dull the pain of her emotional isolation, she knows Hannibal would detect it, he would smell it immediately, so she’s learned how to hide it, to mask the scent with something else, some perfume or balm that covers the truth.

Will, however, notices everything. His sharp eyes don’t miss a thing. He confronts her, quietly, before he’d even think of telling Hannibal. He’d ask her directly, sensing the lie in her, but Amara, caught off guard, denies it. His frustration builds, and it becomes clear that while Will can tolerate almost anything, a lie to his face is the one thing that will rattle him. He grabs her by the arm, his grip firm, and with a whisper of exasperation, demands the truth. Amara, stunned by this side of Will, stutters. A part of her feels a strange satisfaction, dangerously thrilled by the attention, even though it’s born of anger. But she lies again, pushing the limits, testing how far she can go. Will looks her over, his gaze dark and disappointed, his disgust palpable. He lets her go, his silence more cutting than any words could be.

Amara, now free, takes a shaky breath, but Will is far from finished. He waits. The opportunity comes, and as she walks down the corridor, he appears behind her, grabbing her by the arm and pressing her into the wall. She stumbles, caught off guard. “What’s going on?” she asks, confusion in her voice, but before she can fully process what’s happening, Will shoves his hand into her back pocket, retrieving two white pills. He doesn’t speak, only glares at her, then turns to yell for Hannibal, summoning him.

Hannibal arrives, his eyes flicking to Will, then to Amara. Will tosses the pills toward Hannibal with barely restrained rage before walking away, leaving Amara standing there, exposed. Hannibal, ever composed, looks at her with a mixture of concern and quiet disappointment. He doesn’t lash out like Will does; instead, he tries to understand. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, his voice softer but no less intense. He tries to find the reason behind her actions, to offer solutions.

But Amara, despite his attempts, remains distant. She knows the answers Hannibal is seeking, yet she doesn’t offer them up. Perhaps part of her doesn’t want to be fixed, doesn’t know if she can be fixed. Not now that she finally got some attention.

mooncustafer:

maidenvault:

Not “Only my reading of canon is correct” or “Interpretations are subjective and all valid” but a secret third thing, “More than one interpretation can be valid but there’s a reason your English teacher had you cite quotes and examples in your papers, you have to have a strong argument that your interpretation is actually supported by the text or it is just wrong and I’m fine with telling you it’s wrong, actually.”

If the text says the curtains are blue you can argue about what that means; but if you’re going to claim they’re actually yellow you’d better have a really good argument.

Mia's sense of fashion looks like she's trying to draw attention to herself..🤔 Either from Will or from the people around her

You’re very right! Mia has a lot of complexities around her femininity, her role in her dynamic with Will, and with men in general. She grew up without a mother, so that also plays a big factor in her sense of self. She tries to fulfill every single gap in Will’s life, which comes from a deep set fear of abandonment.

About the question of Amara's self destructive behaviour...So Will is actually scared to find out Amara is doing this to herself? Or he left her with Hannibal so he can let out some anger for the whole discovery somewhere else?? You made me hold my breath here😭

Will didn’t trust his capacity to properly handle the situation. He’s the parent that finds out what’s wrong but not the parent that resolves the situation, that’s Hannibal’s talent. Will has a hard time pulling out of his own projections to actually see someone else’s perspective unless it’s sinilar to his, so he lets Hannibal handle that.

I think I already have a fave between the girls! What are their astrological placements?

What a fun question! I’d say Amara Lecter is very Air. Likely big Gemini or Libra influence. Mia Graham is very fiery, she could have major Aries or Sagittarius influences, and Sav is certainly Earthy, most likely a Virgo or Taurus.

I'm really interested in the three girls, can you tell us more about their upbringing or is that going to be explored in the fic?

Not every single detail will be explored there, since this could lead to big info dumping paragraphs haha. I’ll tell you some things that might not be on the fic, then:

- Mia was raised by Will as a single dad. He says her mom didn’t want her, and left. We’re unsure how true this is.

- Amara is the daughter of a college friend Hannibal had. Hannibal made Amara believe she had to kill her mom at some point, because…well because Hannibal.

- Savannah likes girls.

sooo I really really really want to understand why Will has that oedipus type of dynamic with his daughter but Hannibal doesn't? kiss kiss milky

Good question! I think Hannibal actually would have the same type of lack of boundaries with his daughter or even son that Will does but it’s not tainted with perversion. It’s genuinely pure affection and intimacy while Will, because he represses so much, it ends up manifesting as a complex, you know? Hannibal has no shame, he doesn’t think of himself as evil and bad and dark and twisted, but Will does, he struggles with his self perception, and this ends up affecting the way his intimacy with a daughter is perceived and taken.

hello milk, will you keep the fic here or move it to ao3?

I might move it to ao3, because there’s a surprise collab coming so perhaps I can post there soon (since I haven’t applied for the login invitation to publish and those take awhile).

It's so satisfying to read a fic when the author has psychological knowledge and frames the characters accordingly and accurately and everything ties perfectly together. Chefs kiss for Rotten meat, can't wait to read the rest!

Thank you, this is a very kind comment. It’s almost inevitable for me to write it without taking into consideration the psychological implications haha.

Is there any sweet/memorable moments Amara or Mia had when they were young kids? after all of these headcanons we need to hear a little of sweetness 😭

Aww of course! We will be hearing some during the fic, but here’s a bit for you now:

- Will gave Mia a piano and they would play together in the evenings when she was a toddler. She’d sit on his lap and watch as his fingers moved across the keys, trying to follow with her little hands. The piano’s still there, dusting away but she plays every time she feels sad.

- Hannibal used to create elaborate plays for Amara during bath time, with all kinds of characters and plots, teaching her about mythology in a fun way. She still remembers the scent of chamomile from her shampoo, and how she’d fall asleep between foam and bubbles.

Amara would hug her fathers randomly during the day by surprise when she was a young kid, and so Mia with Will, change my mind

I will not change your mind because you are correct hahaha!

Amara Lecter-Graham would come barreling toward Will, colliding into him with all the force of a child who doesn’t yet understand restraint. He’d let out a startled laugh, catching her little head with his hands, wincing playfully as he murmured, “Ouch.” Then, with a gentle touch, he’d push her away, tapping her lightly as if sending her off like a wind-up toy, watching as she took off running in the opposite direction.

Lecter-Graham Will, accustomed to his own melancholic disposition, never quite knows how to handle Amara’s relentless sunshine energy. He’s awkward with it, hesitant in the face of such unfiltered joy. Hannibal, in contrast, takes to it differently, at first just as uncertain, but quickly adjusting in his own peculiar way. He’d scoop her up onto his shoulders, lifting her as though she were weightless, playfully twisting and maneuvering her as if she were made of clay. Amara, delirious with laughter, would cling to him, shrieking in delight as he spun her around.

This is what Will prefers. To watch them together. To stand at a slight distance, observing. His lips would curve into a quiet smile, something indulgent, something warm. And it would make him unbearably, inexplicably aroused. Hannibal, so controlled, so deliberate, displaying something so contrasting, so playful, was intoxicating. The sharp edge of his usual presence softened into something intimate, something Will found devastatingly attractive.

Mia Graham, on the other hand, would never run up and throw herself into Will’s arms. Not Just-Graham Will. Not Before-Hannibal Will. Instead, she would approach gently, silently, stepping behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her face against his back as she shut her eyes. He would pause, feeling her presence before responding, placing his hands over hers, grounding her there without breaking the moment. Sometimes, though, he’d shift, turning to pull her into him, smothering her with a flurry of tiny kisses until she was gasping, laughing, shouting between breathless giggles, pretending she was suffocating beneath his affection.

I'm curious to know how exactly the lack of boundaries manifests in Will and Mia and Hannibal and Amara or a hypothetical son!

For Hannibal, there is no perversion in his own perception of his nature. When he examines his daughter for breast cancer prevention, his touch is nothing but clinical, detached in the way only a man utterly at ease with himself can be. There is no lingering doubt, no moment of discomfort, just care, precise and untroubled.

Will, however, would feel wretched about that. It would gnaw at him, the difference between them, the unbearable weight of his own self-loathing and relentless self-judgment. Where Hannibal moves through the world unburdened, Will is trapped within his own mind, his every thought twisting in on itself, corrupting even the purest of intentions.

And so, Hannibal’s child can curl up in his lap without it meaning anything beyond affection and protection. There is no second thought, no underlying tension, just warmth, just closeness. But Will’s child cannot. Because the moment it happens, his repressed mind twists it into something else, something shameful, something dark. He recoils before the thought can fully form, but it lingers, poisoning everything. It’s why he keeps himself at a distance, why intimacy terrifies him, why he avoids relationships at all costs. It’s why, in season three, he saw Molly slaughtered. Because his mind sours everything.

Is Daddy Will the type who says I love you? Is Hannibal? /headcanon deliciousness

Aw, I think Will would be, I think it’s a validation he craves so he’d raised Mia to say it constantly. I think Hannibal is less concerned with spoken validation and would probably say it in important moments but not constantly.

Is it okay to ask if one of the girls experienced cs or csa? no need to answer if it's intrusive

We were discussing these topics so it’s natural to ask about it. But it will be touched on subtly on the plot.

there are a lot of asks about amara & mia's relationships with their fathers but can i ask would you want to share anything about the dolarhydes? i've never imagined francis in a parental role but the idea is very intriguing

Of course! Savannah was raised by her mother, the result of a fleeting, uncertain night between two people too young and too unsure of themselves to make anything more of it. Francis had been awkward, as had she, and though they had shared a kind of intimacy, it was never built to last. When she became pregnant, she didn’t tell him. She preferred solitude. And so she had Savannah alone, raising her in quiet isolation, with no family, few friends, and a life shaped by her own self-sufficiency.

She died when Savannah was sixteen, taken by cancer, but not before ensuring her daughter would have a place to go. She left her with Francis’ name. When the state tracked him down, Savannah had no choice but to go to him, she had no one else, no inheritance, nothing to tether her to the life she had before.

At first, they simply coexisted. Both quiet, both deeply introverted, they gave each other space, never intruding, never demanding more than the other was willing to give. But in time, comfort grew between them. Francis tried, really tried, to make her feel at home. She had always taken the bus before, but now, he drove her wherever she needed to go. He asked her what she liked to eat and made it for her. He ensured she was comfortable, that she had what she needed, that she felt safe. And she did. He was strange, but so was she. He respected her boundaries, and in time, she learned to respect his. She never opened the attic door. Never stepped inside his bedroom. Never went through his things. The complete opposite of Mia.

For a while, everything seemed fine. She noticed his moods…how sometimes he became more withdrawn, more tense, but he never let it spill over in front of her. Until one night.

She had fallen asleep on the couch. He came home late. She was barely awake when she felt him at her feet, sobbing. Confused, she asked what had happened. He told her he was fighting it for her, that he wanted to be strong, but he was afraid, afraid he wouldn’t be able to control it.

Immediately, she jolted upright, staggering back. It? Her mind went somewhere dark, somewhere she didn’t want it to go. She thought he meant her. That he meant something sexual.

And then he started walking toward her, still crying, howling, telling her the Dragon wanted her. Telling her to run.

She tried. She got to the door. But he was already there. He wasn’t Francis anymore. He was possessed. He grabbed her, held her too tight, and she screamed, but just as suddenly as it began, he broke. The thing inside him fractured, and he fell apart, collapsing at her feet. He spent the night sobbing in her lap, begging for forgiveness, telling her he could feel it, this creature crawling through his mind, twisting inside him.

She told him she could feel it too.

She didn’t understand why. She couldn’t explain it. But the way he touched her, the way he made her feel important awoke something in her that she didn’t want to run from. For the first time, she saw him not as a stranger, not as a distant, unknowable figure, but as her father. And she wanted more of that.

So she stayed. She tried to help him. And for a time, she thought she was succeeding. When he met Reba, she thought he was getting better. But then everything went downhill. And when it did, she saw the attic. And she ran.

Dolarhyde, in canon, is a reflection of Will, a man with immense capacity for love and care but no proper vessel for it. And when he finally finds one, when he finally feels it, it destroys him. Because the love they feel is too much. Too unbearable. Too all-consuming. And neither of them ever learned how to survive it.

We know that both Hannibal and Will doesn't want their daughter Amara to have any romantic relationships, is there some reasons why? Maybe Hannibal doesn't want his daughter to be 'distracted' or potentially getting hurt?🤔

And so with Mia, I see it difficult for her to find a lover if she mostly craves her father's attention.

I don’t think it’s a matter of them not wanting her to, but more so a fear of losing her, but also the fact that they have to be careful because she knows everything so they can’t allow her to get close to anyone without risking everyone’s safety.

Mia on the other hand can’t even get interested in other men. She had some controversial flings in the past, but even those are echoes of her complexes with Will.

Rotten Meat Chapter 3.

TW: Ed

Amara knelt before the toilet, fingers pressed lightly against the cool porcelain, and emptied the remnants of lunch into the water. Her body rejecting the food without fuss, as if it had learned its role in this routine. A simple expulsion of unwanted matter. She observed the bile swirling away, the acid having done its work, the muscles contracting just as they should. She wiped her mouth delicately, straightened her posture, and exhaled. Then she stood, smoothing her clothes, used the mouthwash and walked out.

The world beyond the bathroom was stale, thick with the scent of disinfectant and muted voices. She found Mia and Savannah in the recreational room, the air dense with static from the overhead lights. They were on the floor, cross-legged, heads bent over some board game.

Savannah glanced up first. “Oh great, there you are.”

“We were thinking about something,” Mia added, turning slightly toward her. Amara gave a single nod, encouraging her to continue.

“We need codes,” Savannah said. “We don’t know if they’re listening or not.”

Amara tilted her head slightly, interested but unsurprised.

They assigned colors first, mouthing the meanings.

Red for her father.

Green for Savannah’s.

Blue for Will Graham.

Yellow for Chilton.

Then some hand gestures—subtle, easy to fold into natural movement. The flick of a wrist, the tuck of a thumb against the palm, the absent-minded tap of fingers against an arm. Do you have any news? A tug at the earlobe. A casual scratch of the wrist. Small things that would pass unnoticed by those unfamiliar.

Amara watched Mia carefully as they worked through the signals. She was sharp. Too sharp. Her mind moved with a precision that was unsettlingly familiar. Strategic, methodical. This wasn’t just intelligence—this was learned behavior. A mirror of something inherited. Amara recognized it because she carried the same affliction. She knows too much. The thought nestled into the corners of her mind.

After recreation time, they moved outside, taking their usual places in the sun. The warmth stretched over her skin, dulling the sharp edges of her thoughts. It was almost pleasant.

Amara didn’t flinch as Nurse Kelly approached.

“Come with me.”

Her pulse didn’t shift, her expression didn’t betray the tension curling low in her ribs. She rose fluidly, neither slow nor hurried. The girls were watching. Savannah’s brows drawn together, Mia’s gaze slightly narrowed, concerned.

She didn’t offer them reassurance. She just followed.

The walk to the first floor was silent, the hallways unnervingly clean. She had already deduced what this was—likely a meeting, maybe legal, maybe clinical. The door opened, and she was led inside.

Byron Metcalf sat at the table, his briefcase at his side, suit crisp despite the dull setting.

“Amara, hi.”

She slid into the chair across from him. “Any development on the case?”

“Nothing new,” he said. “Chilton’s still agreed to contribute to the plea. But I do have good news for you.”

Her brows lifted, not eager, but attentive.

“I was able to get an authorization for visitations.”

She froze—not visibly, but internally. She had to contain it, the sharp rush of anticipation, the flood of something dangerously close to relief.

“When can I go?” she asked, voice measured.

“Soon. Not today, but tomorrow, perhaps. I came to get Chilton’s signature on it, actually.”

Her lips parted slightly, a question forming, but then—of course.

“Chilton’s…” she began, then exhaled. “He’s the jailor, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Right.”

She tapped a finger against her knee beneath the table, grounding herself.

“Yeah, about that…” the lawyer started.

She cut him off, her tone smooth. “Don’t worry. I’ll be mindful of what I say.”

“I’m sure you will.” He nodded, satisfied. “Don’t talk about the case or charges.”

“I won’t,” she said, attentive, controlled.

With that, they parted, and Amara walked away with the weight of something both exhilarating and dreadful pressing against her ribs. She was going to see him. After so long, after so much distance carved between them, she would finally sit across from him. She had missed him—terribly. But a tight knot of nerves curled in her stomach. The unknown of it. The strangeness of the circumstances.

She found the girls still outside, their anxiety tangible even before they spoke.

“So? Everything okay?” Savannah asked immediately.

“It’s fine. I might get to see my dad tomorrow.”

Savannah’s mouth fell open.

“What? Are you serious?” Mia’s brows lifted, exasperated.

“Yellow approved it under the pretense of analyzing me psychologically,” she explained.

The girls exchanged looks, absorbing this.

“They probably think interactions with him might provide further insights into your psychological state,” Mia said, expression unreadable.

Amara smiled faintly and nodded.

“So they think you’re stupid?” Savannah asked flatly.

“They’ll monitor the visits, most likely,” Mia added.

“Oh, I’m sure.” Amara’s voice was light. It didn’t matter. She just wanted to see him.

The thought settled into her chest, warm and consuming. She was picturing it now—the way he would greet her, the way his voice would wrap around her name like it always had. But before she could slip too far into it, Mia’s voice cut through the haze.

“You should prepare yourself.”

Amara blinked, subtly shaking her head, refocusing. “Prepare?”

“You do realize you won’t see your dad as… the dad you’re used to, right?”

The words slowed her breath.

Mia’s voice was calm, careful. “He’ll be in a prison suit. Hair cut off. Maybe even in chains. And he will be behind bars.”

A sharp ache bloomed in Amara’s chest, unexpected and vicious. Trapped. Powerless. The words struck something deep, twisting her stomach. Nausea flickered at the edges of her consciousness, exacerbated by her already weakened state. She sat down, pressing her fingers against her temple.

Savannah shifted, uneasy. “Damn.”

Mia settled beside her on the bench, rubbing her back in slow, grounding motions.

Amara swallowed hard. “I’m sure he will be just as graceful and elegant as he always is,” she said, but the words felt thin.

Mia watched her carefully. “Still… you seem attached to him. It won’t be easy to see him like that.”

Trapped. Powerless. The words echoed, nauseating.

Amara exhaled shakily, forcing composure.

Mia softened. “Sorry. I just… wanted you to be prepared.”

Amara turned to her, still fighting against the heat behind her eyes. Forcing the tension from her face, she gave a small, practiced smile.

“Yeah, no, it’s—” She inhaled. “Thank you, Mia.”




She couldn’t help the tang of jealousy she felt from Amara. She would get to see her dad. But then also, a quiet relief—because Hannibal was locked up and her dad was still free. That was some consolation. She wondered how long the separation would take before she actually preferred him to get caught. She stored the thought away.

They ate breakfast in silence. The anxiety sat between them like an extra chair at the table. The confirmation hadn’t come yet, but Mia knew Amara would get it. She was good at hiding her emotions, but Mia could see it boiling under her skin.

Nurse Kelly approached. Amara was already standing up before her name was even called.

“Mia.”

They all froze.

She pointed at herself. The nurse nodded impatiently.

She followed.

The first floor. A stale room. Jack Crawford sat inside. Mia strode in, the anger already stirring under her ribs.

“Jack.”

“Mia.” He held out a hand. She sat across from him instead. He stared, then smiled bitterly, sat down too.

“Don’t worry. We haven’t caught him.” His eyes flicked to her restless fingers tapping on the table. She forced herself to stop and exhaled. Thank god.

“We have a proposition.”

Her brow lifted. Skeptical.

“Tell us where to find Will, and we will work a deal for him if he helps us catch Francis Dolarhyde.”

The corner of her lips curled.

“I don’t know where he is.”

“You know where he could be.”

“I don’t.”

Mia. Families are getting brutally slaughtered—”

“I know. I share a room with his daughter, whom you exposed to the horrific crime scene pictures, by the way.” She leaned forward, smiling bitterly.

Jack sighed. “I do what I have to. Traumatizing one person with pictures is fine by me if I get to save many others.”

Mia scoffed.

“Oh yeah, no, I’m familiar with your moral compass, Jack. I know how much you don’t give a shit about individuals.”

Jack sighed again. Smiled back, forcefully.

“Mia, I am begging you.”

“Jack.” She interrupted. “I don’t know anything.”

His eyes squinted slightly. He wanted to yell but held back.

“How’s therapy?”

“With Chilton?” She scoffed.

“That ain’t therapy, and we both know it, Jack. He’s picking my dad’s brain through mine.”

Jack studied her.

“You talk about my moral compass, that I don’t care about individuals, but you’re the same. You’re allowing people to die for—”

“I’m not allowing anything, Jack.” She cut him off calmly. “You are. It’s your job to stop him, and you’re failing.” She smiled.

He sighed, loudly this time.

“Are we done?”

He nodded, looking away. Annoyed.

She stood and left.

Back in the room, she told the girls what had happened.

Savannah looked concerned. “The case is getting worse by the day.”

Mia nodded. “They’re likely going to push for the death sentence unless he gets an insanity plea.”

Savannah hesitated. “What does that mean exactly?”

“It’s a legal strategy that allows a defendant to claim that he isn’t guilty of a crime due to mental illness. It’s an affirmative defense, meaning the defendant admits to having committed the crime but claims he wasn’t mentally responsible,” Amara explained.

“Your dad’s trying for that, right?”

She nodded.

“How does it work?”

“The defendant has to prove insanity by a preponderance of evidence. A jury decides whether he’s proven his claim. If found guilty but insane, the judge may commit him to a mental hospital,” Mia explained.

The weight of it settled.

Amara’s voice was calm. “Do you want him to try for the plea?”

Savannah looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know.”

“You’re not very close to him, then.” Amara’s voice was even.

“Amara.” Mia’s tone was sharp.

“I am. Was. I…” Savannah trailed off.

“You don’t have to answer.” Mia cut in.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.“ Amara exhaled lightly. "To me, it’s not a plausible thought to desire justice on my father. I know he hurt people, but…” She inhaled, smile thin, eyes distant. “I simply cannot desire for him to be dead.”

Mia understood.

Savannah probably did too but didn’t know how to process it.

Almost five in the afternoon, Amara’s name was finally called. She moved calmly, but Mia could feel the tension thrumming under her skin.

“Good luck,” Savannah said, soft smile.

Mia motioned the code for mind what you say.

Amara nodded, inhaled deep, left.

Savannah exhaled dramatically. “Great. Now we’ll melt away from anxiety until she gets back.” She flopped onto the bed.

“It will be fine,” Mia said, mechanical. Mind already elsewhere.

Savannah hesitated. “Do you think he’ll get it? The plea, I mean.”

Mia turned to her.

“Didn’t wanna ask in front of her.”

“Right.” She nodded. “Yeah. I think he will. Chilton’s writing it. He’s interested in Hannibal. He’ll do what he can to keep him.”

She lay down. Closed her eyes.

Behind her eyelids, in the darkness, in the silence, there was only her father. Filling every empty space.

She tried sending something. A futile attempt at telepathy.

I got you, Daddy. Stay safe.

I think anon who said Mia's fashion seems like she's trying to call attention to herself is extremely misogynistic and shaming.

You’re not completely wrong. I said they were correct that she was trying to call attention and weaponized her body (because it has been used against her already), but I do agree that for someone to say that even though they don’t know the character profoundly can be a huge sign of a person who will shame women for wearing what they want. I noticed that too but preferred to just let it go haha.

Do u think there is any parallels between Hannigram and judas × jesus

The canonical one? Maybe. In terms of trust and betrayal. The AO3 version of Judas and Jesus? For sure haha.

What would you say the daughters of Will and Hannibal could be diagnosed as? Considering the vast amount of trauma they'd go through.

Will’s daughter could be HPD (histrionic personality disorder). Hannibal’s would likely have OCD.

Does Amara struggle with ed or was that specific to the bad food from the hospital?

You’ll find out haha

I rarely hear about histrionic disorder, can you expand on why Will's daughter would have that?

Her existence is tied intricately to her father’s presence, and her sense of self is fundamentally shaped by his actions, needs, and the roles she assumes in relation to him. From a young age, she was conditioned to see herself not as an independent entity but as an extension of his desires and a crucial part of his psychological and emotional world.

At her core, this character embodies a deep, unrelenting attachment to Will. She constantly finds herself oscillating between varying roles of a spouse, mother, and child, depending on how she perceives Will in any given moment. When Will is vulnerable or unwell, she assumes the nurturing role, stepping into the role of a mother. When he exudes power or dominance, she reverts to a child-like state of submission, and when he is distant or withdrawn, she may even feel a need to chase him for affection, embodying the dynamic of a partner seeking validation. This fluidity, however, is marked by an underlying eroticization of every role, a complex internalized sense of sexualized attachment that is tied to how she perceives Will’s affection and attention.

Her attachment to Will is not simply emotional but physical and constant. Her sense of self, her emotional stability, and even her physical well-being depend on his presence. Her constant need for proximity to him speaks not just to an emotional dependence but to a profound disconnection from herself when he is absent. When separated from him, she experiences a persistent hum of longing, an ever-present anxiety that she cannot escape. Her attempts to soothe this unease, however, are only temporary. She may engage in self-soothing behaviors like physical relief or relaxation, but these measures, while they may calm her body momentarily, do not resolve the deeper hunger for connection with him.

The character’s traits and behaviors align closely with the diagnostic criteria for Histrionic Personality Disorder (HPD), though it is important to note that this is a fictional character and not a clinical diagnosis. HPD is marked by excessive emotionality and attention-seeking behavior, both of which are key features of the daughter’s personality. Her entire existence is, in many ways, predicated on seeking validation from her father, and she expresses an overwhelming need to be the center of his emotional world.

The daughter is rarely comfortable when Will is not focusing on her, and she often seeks his attention through dramatic gestures or exaggerated emotional responses. Her sense of worth is intimately connected to his affection, and if he withdraws or becomes distant, she feels a sense of panic and anxiety, which only subsides when he returns his focus to her.

The daughter’s attachment to Will is not purely emotional or intellectual; it is highly sexualized. She eroticizes the roles she assumes, regardless of whether they align with what is socially or morally acceptable. Her behavior may not be overtly sexual, but her actions toward Will often carry an undercurrent of seductive behavior, especially in the way she tries to elicit emotional reactions from him.

She displays extreme emotional shifts, from intense affection to frustration and withdrawal. These emotional fluctuations are often used to maintain Will’s focus on her and are sometimes exaggerated to ensure that she keeps his attention.

Her sense of intimacy with Will is distorted, she perceives their relationship as more intense or emotionally significant than it may truly be. She may misinterpret his gestures or words as signs of deeper connection, leading to a constant cycle of expectation and disappointment.

The sexualized behavior that often accompanies HPD is seen as inappropriate, manipulative, or even immoral in certain contexts, leading to severe shaming of individuals who exhibit these traits. Women with HPD are often perceived as oversexed, dramatic, or attention-seeking in a way that dismisses their underlying emotional pain or psychological struggles.

This shaming often centers around the sexual behaviors associated with HPD. Women who show seductive, provocative, or overly intimate tendencies are often dismissed as “loose” or “manipulative.” These labels strip away the deeper psychological struggles at play, reducing a complex emotional experience to a simple moral failing. Women with HPD are often seen as ‘asking for it’, and their emotional needs are minimized or belittled.

Not really Hannibal-related, but do you know any other good series to watch that are somewhat intriguing as Hannibal Lecter? I'm having some troubles finding ones that can pick my interest

Nothing will peak your interest in the same way as Hannibal does because it is very specific. Specially if it had your interest in the relationship dynamic between two male characters. That’s even rarer. Some people like Killing Eve, and also Interview With a Vampire. I think those are the closest you’ll get to something Hannibal.

Can you explain how Mia was born? How did it happen, was it an accident?

The voice in his head sounds like his father. It always has.

“Will, you’re just like me.”

No. He isn’t. He wasn’t. He refused.

But there are things that creep in at the edges of refusal. Thoughts that slide in between the cracks, thick and oil-slick. No one ever tells you that running from something means dragging it behind you.

He remembers his father’s eyes—dull, wet, calculating. The way his voice would flatten out when he wanted Will to obey, to understand the weight of his disappointment. The way it could shift, too, when it needed to. When coaxing was more useful than control. There was a slow-burn seduction to his father’s affection, a give-and-take that made Will hungry in ways he didn’t know how to name. That hunger stretched out inside him like something cavernous, growing in the dark.

And then Joseph happened.

Joseph, who saw that hunger and fed it, but only when it suited him. Joseph, whose hands were steady and instructive, whose praise felt like a baptism—warm and thick and staining. Joseph, who made Will feel wanted. Special. Who could make pain feel like proof of something holy.

It taught him, in quiet, shattering ways, that love was not a soft thing. That love was a wound you tended to, that bled beneath your hands. That love was something to earn.

So he would build it. He would craft it from the ground up. A child. A child would love him as he had never been loved. A child would tether him, make him whole. But not a son. Oh no, no, no.

A son would be a mirror, and Will could not bear to look at himself.

A daughter, then. A daughter would see him as something perfect, untouchable, godlike. She would never look at him with the kind of eyes he had once had—the ones that searched for weakness, for an opening, for the moment love would be revoked.

Lilly. Pretty, ruined Lilly. The kind of woman that moved through life like a ghost, waiting to disappear. She had only daughters in her family, she had said, and once, a long time ago, she had had one too. A girl. She died as a baby. Not enough care.

That was the moment something clicked. Something old and starving and deeply, deeply quiet.

He laid his claim in sweat and tangled sheets and the way Lilly looked at him when he bought her drinks—like she couldn’t decide if he was salvation or damnation. And when the test turned positive, it was never a question of if the child would be his. Only when.

Lilly didn’t fight him. She was too tired, too lost, too far away even in her own body. The grief of loss had already hollowed her out. One shot away from overdose. When she left—faded away before Mia could even form memories of her—Will felt something settle inside him.

She was his. His perfect little girl.

And when she looked at him, wide-eyed, worshipful, with the kind of trust he had never been allowed to have, something in him sang. Something fit.

But there were questions, sometimes. Late at night, in the too-quiet hours, when the voice in his head got louder. When his father spoke, or Joseph, or someone else entirely.

“Why does it feel like this?”

He knows exactly why he empathized with Garret Jacob Hobbs.

Can we know more about Amara's and Mia's apparence? really curious to know😆

I kind of imagine Mia having her father's curls for some reasons😅

-🐛

Will had tried so hard not to have a son, to not have to stare into a mirror and see himself staring back. But Mia, is him but a girl.

Who has his face softened, refined, twisted into something impossible to look away from. The big blue eyes, the thick lashes that cast shadows. Rosy cheeks that bloom too easily, cherry lips that glisten wet. Plump. She is always plump. Soft, thick thighs, a body that welcomes the world instead of shielding itself from it. She does not harden herself, she cultivates her flesh, keeps it lush, keeps it something to be touched.

Her nails are always long, red or black, curling delicately when she gestures. Her hair, thick and dark, moves like silk in water, gleaming under light as if it has been spun from something richer than keratin. She smells too much, sickly sweet, sugared rot, something that burns in the back of the throat. Incense, old wood, something acrid beneath it all.

She looks like dessert filled with poison.

Amara is a thing sculpted rather than born, a composition rather than a coincidence. Where others stumble into beauty, she wears it like a garment tailored to her form. She moves with intention, with grace. When she enters a room, heads turn without command, breath catches without permission. She does not demand attention, she simply exists, and the world bows accordingly.

She is delicate but not fragile, tall but slight, something elongated and refined. Her hair, pale as light itself, spills down her back like silk thread, each strand impossibly smooth. Her eyes honeyed, are set beneath perfectly carved brows, her cheekbones high, hollowed, pronounced. There is an elegance in her structure, an artistry in her form. A porcelain doll, but alive.

She is Hannibal’s perfect creation.

And she knows it.

Obsessed with your characters 😭. Curious if there's something Mia does that drives Will insane, or a pet peeve?

The carelessness, the casualness, the way she does things without a second thought, like she isn’t living in a world full of men who watch too closely, who think too much.

She gets into cars with guys he doesn’t know that well. She throws herself into their passenger seats with that lazy, languid ease, her hair spilling over her shoulders, her lips glossy and parted just enough to make his stomach turn. She’s too trusting. Or maybe she isn’t trusting at all, maybe she just likes to see what will happen. He can’t tell which is worse.

She doesn’t pick up his calls at night. When she doesn’t answer, something ugly crawls up his throat. She knows better. She knows what kind of thoughts get in his head when she doesn’t answer.

She walks into the bathroom when he’s showering. Just walks in. No hesitation, no announcement. She’ll lean against the sink, talk about something unimportant, completely unbothered.

She opens the door for deliveries in those damn pajamas. Thin, little things. He sees the way the delivery guys pause, the way their eyes hesitate before they hand over the package. She doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she does. He’s not sure which possibility is worse.

oh mia hates alana doesn't she? lol

Mia thinks Alana is irrelevant but is susced out that Will likes a woman who has the same coloring as her.

I love the way you answer with narrative, I feel like I'm reading tiny fics!😩 Can I ask about Mia's first relationship or kiss and if Will knew that and he reacted? -🪿

Mia learned about love the way she learned everything else…through Will.

She was six the first time she saw him kiss someone. A redhead, the neighbor. Just a passing moment on the front porch, nothing serious, nothing deep. But Mia had stood there, frozen, eyes wide with fury, demanding an explanation like he had just betrayed something sacred.

Will had laughed. She was so dramatic. He told her that’s how adults kiss.

That seemed to satisfy her, until she saw a pair of teenagers tangled together in a park, mouths locked, hands wandering.

“You said that was for adults.”

He glanced at her, unimpressed. “They’re criminals.”

And she believed him.

For years after, she would point at couples making out in public and declare them outlaws, sometimes even scolding them outright. Will thought it was hilarious. Until she came home one day, around eleven.

She had seen a teacher kissing a student. Mia confronted the student, trying to make sense of it, and the girl told her that’s just what people do when they love each other.

So Mia had come home and told Will, with complete conviction, “You don’t love me.”

The absurdity of it made him laugh. But beneath the amusement, something curdled. What teacher? He had her tell him everything. What she said, what she saw, who it was. He handled it. It turned into a mess. The man was arrested. It should have ended there. But it stuck with her. The way she held herself afterward. The way she looked at people. The way guilt gnawed at her.

She never talked about it.

At thirteen, she kissed a girl friend. She told Will, and he told her not to do that in public because people were cruel. Then she kissed a boy, and he yelled at her.

She was confused.

He never answered. Just apologized, like that could undo it. He pulled her from school soon after.

She learned to hide things from him.

The first time she was with a man, she came home shaking, bile rising in her throat. She locked herself in the bathroom, threw up, cried until her face was raw. Then she found him and spat the words like they were poison—this is your fault.

He didn’t understand. Couldn’t. She wouldn’t explain. Just curled into herself like something had broken inside her.

Years passed before he found out.

When he did, it unraveled something in him so violently that Mia locked herself in her room for two days.

wow that description of the last ask...why did she blame Will and what exactly did he do that freaked her out so much?

The letters. The drawings. The picture of them.

It was all laid out in front of him like something profane. It should not exist. It should never have existed. His vision blurred at the edges, nausea climbing his throat in thick, wet waves. His body rejected it before his mind could. He turned, heaved, emptied himself onto the floor.

Then he found him. Ended the man.

But he let him live. That was the worst part. The cruelest part. He let him live so he could feel it, could know, every second, that Will Graham had peeled back his skin and poured something dark inside him that would rot him from the inside out.

Then he came home. Blood dried stiff on his shirt. He tore it from his body and threw it at her.

She flinched.

He had been drinking.

Way too much.

His hands found her hair. Her back hit the wall.

She gasped, but he wasn’t looking at her. Not really. He was looking at something inside her, something that was made because of him, because of all of it, and he understood now. Why she said it was his fault. Why she came home shaking. Why she hated herself.

His hands found her face.

He could barely see her through the static in his brain.

He would never know of anything she did anymore.

Does young Mia collects toys? Like asking Will, sometimes, to buy some specific toys because they are appealing to her? she seems a kid who observes a lot

I accidentally entered Will’s mind too much and thought about other types of toys my oh my. Anyhow,

It started with a gas station bear. Cheap, small, stiff-furred, with a red bow tied around its neck like a promise. He had been late, too late, and she had been curled on the couch, silent in that way that wasn’t silence at all. He placed the bear in her lap, awkward, guilty. Sorry, baby.

She stared at it. Then at him. Then at it again.

And then she smiled.

That was all it took.

So the next time, there was another bear. Same stiff fur, same glassy eyes, but this one had a blue bow. Then green. Then pink. He bought every color the gas station had. Then, when he ran out, he bought cat bows from craft stores, from pet shops, little satin ribbons in plaid, in polka dots, in floral prints. Late nights, missed dinners, words left unsaid, he tied apologies around their tiny necks.

By the time she was sixteen, her room was full of them. Shelves stacked with tiny bear bodies, soft soldiers lined up in silent devotion.

He still does it. Even now. When he misses her being small enough to fit in his arms. He still finds them, the little bears, still ties the bows, still places them in corners of her room like offerings.

She never says anything about them. But she never throws them away.

The mornings start the same. Always the same.

Will wakes early, before the sun stretches over the trees, before the world is fully awake. The house is quiet, still heavy with sleep. He showers quickly, lets the hot water burn the stiffness from his muscles, then pulls on his uniform—belt heavy on his hips, badge clipped in place.

In the kitchen, he makes breakfast. Simple, but good. Scrambled eggs, toast, some fruit. Black coffee for himself. Juice for her. The smell fills the house, warm and familiar.

He steps back into the room, where she is a tangle of limbs and blankets, face buried in her pillow. She doesn’t stir when he calls her name, doesn’t move when he nudges her shoulder. A sigh, then he lifts her, warm and boneless with sleep, and carries her to the kitchen. She curls up in his lap, head against his chest, eyes still closed as she blindly reaches for her fork.

She eats like that—half-asleep, slow.

After breakfast, the routine continues. She brushes her teeth, sat on the sink, eyes barely open, and he stands behind her, working a brush through her long, dark hair, gentle but efficient. She checks her bag like always: blankie, teddy, book, notebook, pencils, juice, fruit in a small plastic container. Everything in its place. Everything accounted for.

Then it’s time to go.

They leave the house as the sky softens to morning blue. The drive to the station is quiet. She watches the world through the window, half-lost in whatever stories live in her head.

At the station, she stays with Shayla—the woman in the copying machine room, who has a soft spot for Mia and an endless supply of lollipops. Will checks in, grabs his assignments. The day unfolds in shifts—patrols, reports, long hours of waiting broken by moments of chaos.

Mia naps around four, curled in one of the worn chairs in Shayla’s office, and if Will is there—caught up in paperwork, his eyes burning from too many hours in front of a screen—he pulls her into his arms. She sleeps against his chest, small, warm, the weight of her a reminder that the world isn’t all bad.

By seven, maybe eight, the day is done. He carries her to the car, her arms wrapped around his neck, breath soft against his shoulder.

At home, she doesn’t wake when he sets her in bed, doesn’t stir when he tucks the blanket around her. He watches her for a moment, something heavy settling in his chest, then changes, sits on the edge of the bed.

Tomorrow, they’ll do it all again.

What does Savannah look like?

Are there any other fankids showing up or is it just the trio?

She is small. Delicate. Fragile. She knows it, in the way she folds into herself, in the way she draped fabric over skin like a shield, in the way her hands curled inward as if to protect something soft, something breakable.

Her eyes are green, muted, secretive. Her skin was soft, pale in the right light. Thin, bony wrists disappeared into sleeves that were always too long, fingers twitching, grasping at nothing. Her hair is dark, long, hung like a curtain, veiling her, keeping her just out of reach.

She moves like someone who had learned not to take up space. And yet, she did. Even when she tried to disappear. Francis saw the trembling thing beneath the fabric, beneath the careful concealment. She could hide beneath all the layers in the world, but he would always see.

_

I think they will be the only ones showing up, but who knows haha.

Could I ask, what do you think would be a dynamic between Dolarhyde and a child of his with Reba in some world where the dragon can stay repressed just a bit longer?

Interesting thing to contemplate. I think if it was a boy, just like Will (they are very similar) he would project too much, see a mirror, be afraid the boy would turn out like him. A girl he would shelter way too much probably. See her as he saw Reba: precious and scared he could hurt. He would have a strange relationship with her. He loves her deeply but cannot connect on a obvious level or in the way he connected with Reba, through touch and affection. He would have a invisible connection with her, always there but not tangible, if that makes sense.

What do you think makes Will and Hannibal “identically different”?

If Will is the Moon, Hannibal is the Sun. Complementary, yet opposite. Identically different. They are two sides of the same coin. Yin and yang. Identical in their differences.

do you have a diagnosis for Rotten Meat Will?

RM Will has DID.

will we get Hannibal and Francis pov in rotten or just the girls?

We’ll get them, very soon :).

do you think will in rotten meat is very different than canon will?

He has canon Will’s personality and essence, but in Rotten we have his background and he also has a huge life changing difference which is Mia, who shaped a lot of who he currently is in the fic, so there’s that. And he has DID which canon Will plays into sometimes but doesn’t meet all the criteria for. But in general he’s very close to canon Will.

Correct me if I'm wrong but the vibes I get are: Will has Mia sleeping in his bed, and Hannibal had a fancy bassinet for Amara next to his bed. Will wakes up with tiny hands and lots of hair in his face, Hannibal falls asleep listening to baby Mozart

Hahahaha baby Mozart is funny. I will not correct you, the vibes are exactly that!

cannot stop thinking about single dads hannigram🙈 Will struggling to manage a baby and college/police academy, spilling milk all over his shirt, feeding mia in one hand, shaving in the other. And Hannibal chilling with four nannies and a nurse

This flashed in my head like a little montage hahaha.

Will was a mess. A complete, absolute disaster of a man.

The morning had started as it always did—Mia wailing at an ungodly hour, Will bolting upright in bed, disoriented, hair standing up like he’d been electrocuted. He barely had time to grab her bottle before she started making noises that could only be described as prelude to destruction. He held her in one arm, rocking her, while his other hand fumbled to pour milk into the bottle. His half-asleep brain miscalculated. The milk missed. Spilled down his uniform.

“Goddammit—”

Mia blinked up at him.

He sighed. “Yeah, yeah, watch the language.”

Still holding her, he shoved a spoonful of baby food into her mouth while gripping his razor in his other hand. He tilted his head, trying to shave without slicing his throat open, but Mia decided now was the perfect time to smack the spoon, sending mushy sweet potato onto his already ruined shirt.

“Great. Fantastic. Just wonderful.”

By the time he got to the academy, he looked like a man who had lost a fight with a blender. His shirt was wrinkled and vaguely orange. He had one spot on his chin that he’d completely forgotten to shave. His bag was barely hanging onto his shoulder as he lugged Mia inside, balancing his textbooks while muttering under his breath about how people shouldn’t have to choose between passing an exam and keeping a small human alive.

Meanwhile, across the country, Hannibal Lecter was having tea.

He sat in his pristine, art-filled home, dressed immaculately, a soft classical piece humming in the background. Mia was babbling nonsense to herself in Will’s arms, but here—here was Amara, quietly nibbling on a perfectly cut fruit arrangement prepared by one of the four nannies standing by in case she so much as coughed. A nurse stood nearby, making sure her little cardigan was perfectly buttoned.

Hannibal sipped his tea.

Will buying toddler clothes for Mia is something so funny and cute to my, I can't stop thinking about it 🙊

Will Graham had faced a lot of horrors in his life. He’d seen crime scenes that would make a grown man weep. He’d stared into the abyss of the human soul. He had fought sleep deprivation, emotional instability, and his own self-destructive tendencies.

But nothing had prepared him for the absolute nightmare that was shopping for toddler clothes.

He stood in the middle of the baby aisle, surrounded by an explosion of pastel chaos. Pinks, blues, yellows, tiny floral prints, polka dots, ducks. Why were there so many ducks? He rubbed his temples.

Mia was perched in the shopping cart, happily chewing on her own fist, completely unbothered by her father’s impending mental breakdown.

He picked up a tiny pink onesie with a bunny on it. “This is cute, right?” he muttered, showing it to Mia.

Mia blew a raspberry. Not helpful.

He grabbed a dress—frilly, full of lace, something that looked like it belonged to a doll from the 1800s. He held it up. “Nope. She’d kill me,” he muttered, tossing it back.

Then he made the mistake of looking at the sizes.

“12 months, 18 months, 2T… What the hell is 2T?” He squinted at the tag. “Who decided toddler sizing should be like reading ancient runes?”

A woman passing by gave him a sympathetic look. “How old is she?”

Will glanced at Mia, who had now stolen a pack of socks and was trying to eat the packaging. “Uh, almost two.”

“Then 2T should work!” she said cheerfully before disappearing down another aisle, completely oblivious to the existential crisis she had just caused.

He threw a couple of random outfits into the cart—some little overalls, a t-shirt with a weirdly aggressive-looking giraffe on it, a dress with strawberries because that seemed safe—and then he saw a tiny, soft, navy-blue hoodie.

It was the exact shade of his own favorite hoodie, the one he wore on days when he wanted to disappear into himself. It even had a little pocket in the front. She’d look just like him.

Without hesitation, he grabbed it.

Mia clapped her sticky hands together, delighted by absolutely nothing.

Will sighed, shaking his head. “You are the easiest part of this, you know that?”

She giggled. He took that as agreement.

When Mia enters highschool, what are the subjects she likes to study the most and why?

Same question for Amara, and if you want to share, also for Savannah!

-🐛

Mia loves literature, she has a teacher she really likes, he notices her penchant for the analytic. She’s good at understanding the depth of fiction or poetry. Amara loves any excuse to poke things, so she loves biology, she’s extremely competitive so she also enjoys sports, but she’s naturally good at history (great memorization skills) and philosophy (of course). Savannah likes English, she loves writing, and she’s a great artist, too!

Mia liking literature is so real, I love it as well!🙏🏻❣ So is Will expecting her to be good in all subject and to be cultured, like Hannibal expect with Amara?🤔

-🐛

Hi little worm 🐛 anon!

I think Will is less strict about school than Hannibal, but this doesn’t mean he isn’t strict…Just not as much as Hannibal (which is a lot). He makes sure he’s aware of her progress and demands good grades, and oversees her work, but he allows her to flourish naturally in whatever she excels at. She’s nerdy, though. No way she wouldn’t be.

Rotten Meat is officially on AO3.

Thank you @suchawrathfullamb

To read, just click on the title. It’s revised and full of new, amazing details by Lamb, so make sure you reread even if you already read all three chapters (there’s also a new part added).

hi Milk!! Huge fan of your essays and narrative writing. You have such a wonderfully unique perspective on everything. Im so fascinated by it, and it resonates very deeply pretty much all the time. Ive been loving Rotten Meat so far too! Im so compelled by the differences and similarities you've drawn between them all so far, as shown in the posts you've made expanding on the three girls.

I was wondering, just so I can sort of mentally gauge my expectations, what kind of story are you hoping to tell with Rotten Meat? Will it be a kind of twisted self-discovery like we see in the show for Will, but independently with each of these girls? Will it be them processing their fatherhood trauma together, messy healing and resisting? Enabling eachother, "getting worse," for a lack of easier terms? Is this more of a character exploration than anything else, letting the story unfold as you go now that you've laid the groundwork?

Thank you!! Keep up your amazing work!! I love checking your acc after a busy week!! You inspire me to write more myself!!

(P.S. - how do you feel about the idea of fan works such as fan art or writing, either loosely or directly, inspired by Rotten Meat?)

Thank you for your wonderful words, it’s so kind of you!

Rotten is a treatise on broken minds and how their shards wound those who hold them close. It’s a testimony of robbed girlhood, a commentary on human bonding, repression of desires, an exploration of the psychological fractures caused by the imposed construct of family, its inherent artificiality and the quiet violence it inflicts on the psyche. It is still a story about love, and how it shapes around trauma.

Hii Milk!🥺 Good to see signing me with the worm emoji was a great idea to make myself known even anonymously! I hope you don't hate me for the many questions I'm sending you haha.

This time not a question directed to Mia or Amara, but the old ask of the daddies' reaction to their daughter killing made me think of something else but I thought to wait a bit since we're all so hyped for Mia, Amara and Savannah😅

I don't know if you ever heard of a Yandere? A term used in mangas/fictional stories who talks about a girl/boy obsessed with someone so much that they go too far like stalking and killing anyone trying to get in their and their's crush way. But some cases of real yanderes existed, and the closest diagnosis of these 'lovesick' individuals would be BPD, ASPD and even DPD (according to Google and various symptoms).

Now, I'm not really into yandere stories because they are most of the time not well written and stereotyped to the bone. And also a personal reason of mine, because I had to deal with a lovesick individual myself. So this is why I tend to avoid these topic even if I'm finding them fascinating in some cases. And the case would be a thing I've been thinking a lot of times; What would be the reaction of the parents (who are equally messed up individuals, with a history of crimes behind their shoulders) to a potentional child that begans to show worrying signs as the time passes, and eventually finding the person, and everything begans to go low and lower?

So this is the question; What would be the reaction of Hannibal and Will, to a child (either male or female) who is showing problematic behaviour, especially when they grow and find the love of their life? Making them going extreme to get the person they adore?

Andddd I send an another long ask, sorry this sounds so sudden but y'know, the topics less discussed can turn in something interesting. I like to talk about my daydreamings/tales my brain suggest, so this is a warning itself.😭

-🐛

Hi worm 🐛, always nice to see you here!

I don’t think Will or Hannibal could judge their child for displaying lovesick behaviors hahaha. I think they would see a mirror of themselves. I think Hannibal would not discourage completely, and I think Will would let them know that it leads to very dark places. But ultimately they wouldn’t get in the way. They would be curious to see what happens.

Rotten will be updated tonight :)

milkfordragons:

Rotten will be updated tonight :)

It’s up.

Rotten Meat.

goodoldmoon:

What Hannibal does is not coercion. It is persuasion.

Hannibal persuaded Will to kill him.

We often think of Hannibal as a man devoted to life, one who indulges in every pleasure, who immerses himself in beauty, who explicitly rejects suicide, even declaring in the final episode, “Suicide is the enemy.” Yet, what we truly witness is a man who constantly flirts with death. He is too self-possessed, too vain to end his own life directly, but he is also not so attached to life that he avoids its risks like most of us.

And then Will entered his world. Love entered his world.

Before that, Hannibal had very little tethering him to existence beyond frivolous indulgences and superficial pursuits. But once love touched his life, truly touched it, the thought of living without it became unbearable. And so, he discarded his life entirely, surrendering himself with the full knowledge that it would likely lead to a death sentence. Even when he was granted an insanity plea, he rejected it. He wanted to die.

But even before that.

So many moments where Will nearly killed him, and Hannibal never fought it. He accepted it, welcomed it. He stood before Will not as Judas but as Jesus, embracing his fate with open arms and a smile. Because oh, what a sweet release it would be to die in the hands of an angel, the most beautiful angel of death. Finally here to set him free, to take this hollow existence and make it mean something.

In the end, he could never kill himself.

But he would never stop love from doing it.