About the post of Mia's first relationships when she was young, why was Will more mad at her for kissing a boy and not so mad at her for kissing a girl?😮 Is there a particular motive?

Definitely. This phenomenon where a father reacts strongly to his daughter’s romantic involvement with a man is a well-documented psychological dynamic, often tied to unconscious notions of possession, rivalry, and control.

For a father like Will, whose relationship with his daughter is already marked by enmeshment, blurred boundaries, and an undercurrent of possessiveness, her interest in men can trigger an unconscious sense of loss. Unlike with a woman, whom he does not view as a direct rival, another man represents a tangible shift in his daughter’s affections. It is a perceived replacement, a symbolic transfer of emotional and physical closeness that he, on some level, resents.

A father’s jealousy toward his daughter’s relationships with men often stems from subconscious territoriality. While he may or may not consciously see his daughter as “his” in a romantic sense, he has always been the dominant male figure in her life. The introduction of another man disrupts that dynamic, introducing an external force that can challenge his influence. This is why fathers who exhibit these reactions often show more possessiveness toward daughters than sons (sons do not “replace” them; they are seen as extensions of the father himself).

Also, there is a cultural and psychological bias at play. Many fathers view their daughters’ heterosexual relationships through a lens of protection, often mixed with control. A male partner represents not only a sexualized presence but also a potential emotional and psychological threat. In contrast, a female partner is often perceived as non-threatening, almost neutral, because it does not disrupt the father’s role in the same way.

Specifically in Will and Mia’s case:

His daughter sees herself for him, her identity is built around him, and he unconsciously placed her in a conflicting triad of roles: maiden, mother, wife. His jealousy at seeing her kiss a man suggests that, on some level, he sees male partners as rivals, competitors for her attention, devotion, and even emotional caretaking. The fact that he does not react the same way when she kisses a woman is because he does not perceive female relationships as a comparable threat. In his subconscious, only another man can “take her” from him.

This reaction is not rational, nor is it consciously malevolent, but it is deeply ingrained. It is an emotional response tied to Will’s own possessiveness, unresolved emotional dependencies, and the psychological framework that has defined his and his daughter’s relationship. It is not about morality, sexuality, or even logic…it is about a primal, almost territorial sense of loss.

What are some signs in canon that you think would make Will prone to outbursts of violence/anger or did you headcanon for hos character in RM?

I got inspired by canon, yes! I think Will with Mason Verger is a great example (it’s why in the fic he kills him). And of course the hallucinations where he pushes Abigail into antlers, and some others where he has those bursts.

I'm curious to hear your thoughts on trauma bonding and how it relates to the different characters in Hannibal? Abigails storyline in particular makes me so sad!

So a lot of people don’t know what actual trauma bonding is and confuse that with “bonding through trauma”. I’m unsure which one you mean, but I’ll talk about trauma bonding, which is when an individual bonds with their aggressor. This happens in relationships where affection and abuse (or neglect) alternate unpredictably. This creates a cycle of intermittent reinforcement, which is the same mechanism that makes gambling so addictive. When rewards (love, approval) are unpredictable, the brain clings to them even more.

Instead of recognizing the abuser as a source of pain, the victim sees them as a source of relief from pain…because the abuser is also the one who provides moments of comfort.

Trauma bonding is one of the show’s most pervasive psychological dynamics, shaping the relationships between characters but also the show’s exploration of power, control, and devotion. Hannibal, as a master manipulator, excels in forging trauma bonds with those around him, binding them to him through a calculated mix of protection, intimacy, and destruction. But, his approach varies depending on the person. While his trauma bonds with Bedelia and Abigail are deliberate and controlled, his relationship with Will is far more chaotic, mutual, and ultimately self-destructive.

With Bedelia and Abigail, Hannibal enacts a textbook trauma-bonding strategy. He ensures that both experience intense psychological distress while positioning himself as their protector, creating a cycle of dependency. He forces himself into their vulnerabilities and secrets.

Hannibal orchestrates these relationships meticulously, knowing exactly how to push his victims toward dependence. He makes himself indispensable to them, ensuring they feel both indebted and trapped, thus securing their loyalty.

With Will, the dynamic is different. While Hannibal undoubtedly trauma bonds Will to him, inflicting suffering, ensuring his emotional isolation, and making himself the only person who truly understands him, he does so in a way that spirals beyond his control. Unlike with Bedelia or Abigail, Hannibal does not want Will’s loyalty to stem from coercion or manipulation alone. He wants Will to choose him.

This is why Hannibal does not use the same explicit tactics on Will as he does with others. He does not force Will into submission in the way he does Abigail or Bedelia because, on some level, he respects Will as an equal. More importantly, he wants Will’s love, not just his devotion or fear. While Hannibal undoubtedly orchestrates much of Will’s suffering in the first season, their bond becomes something beyond Hannibal’s initial “design”.

Whereas Hannibal carefully crafts his trauma bonds with others, with Will, the bond is mutual, volatile, and unpredictable. They both become aggressors and victims, binding each other through pain, understanding, and a shared inability to let go. Hannibal’s methods of manipulation may have initiated the cycle, but by the end, Will is just as much a participant. The line between who is controlling whom blurs, making their relationship a perfect example of how trauma bonding can evolve into something neither party can entirely dominate.

For both Will and Hannibal, their bond is simultaneously soothing and destructive. They are each other’s greatest relief and deepest wound, unable to exist apart but suffering when together. Attachment persists even in the face of undeniable harm.

Will makes the same choice as Hannibal: to sacrifice everything for the bond they share. Even when he could have walked away, he chose to stay, to become an aggressor rather than sever the connection. This is what separates Will from Bedelia or Abigail: he was not simply manipulated into dependence; he reciprocated, ensuring the bond became a two-way tether neither could escape.

Abigail’s situation is more complex due to the gaps in our knowledge about her father’s relationship with her. However, if her bond with Garret Jacob Hobbs mirrored the one she developed with Hannibal, then she is perhaps the most textbook example of trauma bonding in the show. Her survival was dependent on submission, compliance, and the internalization of her captor’s worldview. This pattern repeated itself with Hannibal, reinforcing the idea that, for Abigail, safety and danger were inextricable.

I could read about Mia and Will for hours on end. Will her childhood be explored in Rotten Meat?

Aw, they’re intriguing, right? It will be explored a bit but not that much. But I have a lot of content written. What would you guys prefer?

I think it would be better answering asks about Mia's childhood with Will, and if also possible with Amara. Maybe it's just personal preference, but what if we have more specific questions about one topic written in a fic or in Rotten Meat?🤔

I don't know if it's just me, but when I don't find answers I tend to have the feeling of questioning all the time😭😂

-🐛

Of course haha! I’m always open to answer questions about them :)

What if Mia when she was younger used to take care of Will when he was sick, or when he had a mental crisis? Since there's not a mother/wife figure in the house, I feel like Mia just happend to help Will with almost everything.

(what if she would help him sleep at night, when he has a nightmare, like giving him kisses on the forehead and sweet words?🥺)

Mia definitely dances around the roles.

Will lay sprawled on the couch, his body damp with fever. The house was dim, the only sound the occasional gust of wind against the windows. Mia sat beside him, watching him. She dipped a cloth into a bowl of cool water and pressed it gently to his forehead.

“You always let it get this bad before you tell anyone,” she murmured.

Will stirred, his voice hoarse. “Didn’t want to—” he coughed, wincing— “bother you.”

Mia rolled her eyes but softened almost immediately. “You never bother me. Almost never.” She teased.

She adjusted the cloth, letting her fingers rest against his temple for a moment before pulling the old quilt higher around his shoulders. Will let out a slow breath, his body unclenching just slightly.

“You should sleep,” she said.

His eyelids fluttered, heavy with exhaustion. “Stay?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Mia hesitated for only a second before curling up in the chair beside him, tucking one foot beneath her.

-

Will jerked awake, gasping for air. His heart pounded against his ribs as he stared into the darkness of his bedroom. The dream was already slipping away, but the feeling lingered—something thick and suffocating in his chest.

Mia sat up beside him, her eyes squinting from sleep. “Another bad dream?” she asked quietly.

Will didn’t answer. He pressed his hands over his face, trying to steady his breathing. Mia sighed and leaned down and pressed a kiss on the top of his hand.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re home. You’re safe.”

Will exhaled, his muscles still tense but not as rigid. Mia shifted, stretching out beside him.

After a while, his body eased. The house settled into silence, and they both drifted into sleep.

How do you think the dads of Rotten would react to the girls being insecure about their appearance (a normal teenage experience)?

Hannibal watches Amara from across the room. She stands before the mirror, her back straight, hands delicately adjusting a bracelet, but he recognizes the small furrow between her brows, the slight downturn of her lips. A silent hesitation in the way she examines herself—calculated, scrutinizing.

He steps closer, placing a warm hand on her shoulder, the weight of his presence immediate. “Tell me,” he begins, his voice smooth, measured. “What is it you see?”

She exhales, tilting her head, eyes scanning her reflection. “Imperfections,” she murmurs. “Things I should have control over but don’t.”

Hannibal hums, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “And what do you imagine would happen if you did?”

She doesn’t answer right away. He waits, patient. Finally, she sighs. “I would be satisfied.”

“Would you?” He turns her gently by the shoulders so she faces him instead of the mirror. “Or would you only find something else to perfect?”

Her jaw tightens. He brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Perfection is an illusion of the mind, not of the body. You are my finest work, and yet even I would not seek to fix what is already complete.”

A slow breath escapes her lips. The tension lingers, but it softens, just slightly. Hannibal presses a kiss to her temple, hands steady, anchoring. “There is no flaw in you that does not serve a purpose. You need only decide what that purpose is.”

She nods, barely perceptible.

•

Mia stands in front of the bathroom mirror, frowning. Will doesn’t notice at first—he’s too busy grumbling about some nonsense his students pulled that day. But when he catches her expression, arms crossed, lips pursed, he stops mid-sentence.

“Why do you look like that?” he asks, already irritated.

She hesitates. “Nothing. Just…” She motions vaguely at her reflection. “I don’t like how I look today.”

Will scoffs, actually scoffs. “Oh, okay.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m serious, Dad.”

“You can’t walk into a damn room without people tripping over themselves to stare at you.” He says, deadpan.

She shifts, crossing her arms tighter. “That doesn’t mean I don’t feel—”

“Mia, please,” Will interrupts, throwing up his hands. “You want a list of how many times I’ve had to glare at some idiot kid—or worse, their fathers—because they couldn’t stop staring at you?”

“Dad.” She groans, covering her face.

Will huffs, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded. “Stop being insane. You’re—” He pauses, jaw tightening. “—You’re fine.”

Mia peeks through her fingers, eyebrow raised. “Fine? Just fine?”

“Mia.” He pushes off the doorframe, shaking his head. “I’m not entertaining this.”

•

Francis notices before Savannah even says anything. She’s standing in the living room, the costume for the school play laid out on the couch, but she’s just staring at it. Her fingers graze the fabric like she’s considering it, but she doesn’t move to put it on.

He watches her in silence from the doorway.

When she finally glances up, he expects her to say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she shifts awkwardly, eyes darting away.

He steps closer. His movements are careful, deliberate. He picks up the costume, turning it over in his hands. “It’s…nice,” he says quietly. “Did you choose the color?”

She nods, but there’s hesitation in her expression.

“Do you not like it anymore?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. It just… looks weird on me.”

He tilts his head slightly. “Weird how?”

Another shrug. She won’t meet his eyes.

He wants to fix this, to make it better, but words don’t come easily to him. So instead, he folds the costume neatly and hands it to her. “Let’s fix it, then.”

She finally looks at him, confused.

He gestures toward the sewing kit on the shelf. “If something doesn’t feel right, we can change it.”

She hesitates, but after a moment, she takes the costume from him. He watches as her fingers smooth over the fabric, a quiet consideration in her expression.

“Okay,” she says softly.

hello its the person with the longwinded question about abigail and will and hannibal in daddy kinks the one whose dad died at 16

i have to be honest it took me so long to reply because wow you hit me dead on with every bit i was so shocked it hit me hard lol

yes i did mean he would call me daddy lol. i used to identify as a trans man then, it was a t4t relationship, but currently i socially detransitioned just because of social pressure so i usually get she/her’d. i don’t mind it i guess but i am happy to be referred to as he/they regardless of appearance. i would be more neutral if having a more feminine look didnt get me better tips at work lol

i can absolutely see my appeal in fantasizing about hannibal in a way that particularly softens emotional shortcomings and focuses on his intelligence and authority. his intelligence was something i admired and wanted to emulate to make him proud. ive been talking in therapy lately about how my intelligence is the only thing i find consistent and recognizable in myself, and i rely on it to identify myself because of the standards my father set so young. so damn u got me

this is probably tmi but you’re so absolutely right. i saw a guy recently and explored into more rough dynamics in bed, and i’m not even going to lie when he said i was making him proud, and how happy i was making him ??….. lets just say it totally broke me and i had a great time. i kept asking him to repeat it. this guy is a few years older than me but in a significantly more mature approach to life. so i felt like daddy issues central but i couldnt help the way it made me feel.

and man, i cant even begin ti start with how hard you hit me with the next couple paragraphs. i can see now you’ve connected the dots how my want for fatherly approval so easily connects to the nature of these characters and my relationship with him, especially because these characters have such a different perception and emphasis on death. makes me think about him anyway.

and i appreciate your piece particularly on humiliation and embracing it in a safe way for what it is; a desire seeking to replace a lack of something that is not abnormal to want. makes me feel a lot better about my personal exploration of these views whether it’s in fic or irl. i couldnt tell you how long jt wouldve taken me to put these things together 🫶

Aw hello, so nice to hear from you again. I’m so glad you resonated with my analysis. Yes, it’s wonderful to finally make that shift from pain to pleasure and navigate better the wounds of trauma. Sex is a powerful tool for healing and I’m glad you are feeling more comfortable and confident in your desires <3

Will's frustration when he mention about the times people would stare at Mia-😭 Imagine Mia going like "yeah so, that's my dad." to her friends/classmates, and Will is actually a handsome man in his own, so now they'll understand why Mia is such a pretty girl😂

You can't tell me Mia won't tease her father about her classmate saying he's handsome 🏃🏻‍♀️🙏🏻

Mia leans against the counter, idly twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she watches Will take his first sip of coffee. His usual grumpiness clings to him, but there’s always a sharpness beneath it, something alert, watchful.

“So,” she starts, voice light, teasing. “I think I might start walking home from school.”

Will doesn’t look up from his coffee. “No, you won’t.”

She ignores him. “It’s just getting unbearable, you know? Every day, the girls won’t shut up about you.”

That gets a reaction. His fingers tighten around the mug, but his expression stays neutral. “Mia.”

“I mean, honestly, they have no shame.” She lets out a dramatic sigh, tilting her head at him. “Do you know what Charlotte told me today?“ She makes a forced voice, "‘I think your dad is so hot. Like, unfairly hot. I would literally commit a crime just so he could put me in handcuffs.’”

Will finally looks up, jaw tensing. “Jesus Christ.”

Mia grins. “I told you…No shame. And then Emma goes, ‘Do you think he’d let me call him Daddy?’”

Will’s face twitches—something dark, unreadable flickering across it before he scoffs, shaking his head. “That’s disgusting.”

Mia just shrugs. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I told them all you’re emotionally unavailable and impossible to live with.”

“I am emotionally unavailable and impossible to live with.”

“Yeah, but that probably made it worse, though. You know how girls are about the whole damaged and brooding thing.”

Will exhales sharply through his nose.

She leans in slightly. “And now they’re all begging to have a sleepover at our house. I think we might need to move away, change our names—”

“Enough,” he interrupts, but there’s something else in his voice now, something amused. He shakes his head, looking at her with that expression she knows too well—half exasperated, half entertained. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I am enjoying it,” she admits. “Because it’s funny. And also because you’re not arguing about it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “About what?”

“That you’re hot.”

A slow, knowing smirk tugs at his lips. It’s brief, but she catches it. “Let them think I’m hot, so what?”

Mia gasps in mock offense. “Criminal—”

Will steps closer. His voice drops lower, quieter. “Maybe you should put me in handcuffs.”

The way he says it makes something curl in her stomach, warm and electric. Her breath hitches slightly, but she masks it with a roll of her eyes, forcing herself to scoff. “Shut the fuck up, get away.”

Will just smirks again, tilting his head as he studies her. “Don’t start games you’re too afraid to play, Mia.”

Mia huffs, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl and biting into it just so she has something to do. “Whatever. Just know if one of my friends breaks into our house one night, it’s your fault.”

“I’ll be sure to lock the doors.”

Mia narrows her eyes at him but doesn’t push further.

I headcanon Mia stopped bringing friends over because they'd all get crushes on Will lol

Mia stands at the door, her lips stretched into a tight, artificial smile as her friend waves goodbye. “Bye! Text me when you get home,” she chirps, voice dripping with fake sweetness.

The second the door clicks shut, her whole face drops. She exhales sharply, rolling her eyes as she turns around.

Will, still lounging in his chair, watches her with vague amusement.

She strides past him, arms crossing tight over her chest, face set like stone.

His eyes follow her. “Something wrong?”

“No,” she snaps, too quickly.

Will tilts his head, smirking. “Mia.”

She doesn’t stop, doesn’t turn.

“Mia.” His voice is lower this time, coaxing.

She lets out a sharp sigh, halting mid-step. Her fingers twitch at her sides, like she’s debating whether or not to say it. Then, finally, she whirls around, eyes narrowed.

“You know. It’s really weird when you flirt with my friends.”

Will blinks. Then, he scoffs, shaking his head. “I wasn’t flirting, are you insane?.”

Mia glares.

He leans back in his chair, sighing like this conversation is exhausting. “I was being polite, stop being crazy.”

She lets out a humorless laugh. “Polite? She was practically melting every time you so much as looked at her, and you knew it.” She narrows her eyes, voice dropping slightly. “You liked it.”

His brows lift, like the accusation is absurd. “That’s ridiculous. And weird.”

“Is it?” she challenges, stepping closer now. “You know when people are reacting to you. You love acting like you don’t, but you do.”

Will shakes his head, exhaling through his nose. “You’re overreacting.”

Mia crosses her arms tighter, fingers digging into her sides. “You think I don’t notice? The way you look at them, just enough to keep them hooked? The way you smirk when they get all shy and giggly? It’s disgusting.”

He laughs, low and quiet. “I think someone’s jealous.”

Mia’s glare sharpens. “I’m grossed out, not jealous.”

“Oh, of course not,” Will says, still smirking.

She clenches her jaw. “You know what? Forget it.” She turns to leave.

But before she can, Will grabs her wrist, stopping her. His grip is firm but not forceful. When she meets his eyes, they’ve lost their teasing edge. His voice is quieter now, measured. “Mia.”

She doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t soften either.

He watches her for a moment, then tugs her just slightly closer, enough that the tension shifts into something heavier. “I don’t care about your friends,” he says, voice smooth, deliberate. “You know that.”

Mia stays silent, staring at him.

He tilts his head. “You don’t have to throw a tantrum every time someone looks at me.”

She scoffs, ripping her arm from his grasp.

Nope! Not too much, it was actually really fun to read!😭 love it when they tease each other, just to get out a reaction. I wonder how much Mia does it during the day and in which occasions

Will is an inherently conflicted man, struggling between his need for control and his inability to resist being drawn into chaotic emotional dynamics. His relationship with Mia is one of carefully maintained instability…he lets her push him, but only enough to keep himself in a position where he can push back harder.

Will thrives in ambiguity because it allows him to remain in control while appearing not to be. He never directly engages in emotional vulnerability but instead twists interactions into something that maintains his dominance. When Mia teases him, he never simply accepts the bait, he redirects it, reframes it, makes her question who’s really in control of the game.

This points to manipulative tendencies seen in individuals with high intelligence but attachment-related trauma. Will knows how to read people, but instead of using that knowledge for genuine connection, he uses it to stay one step ahead.

His reactions suggest a fear of emotional surrender. He keeps Mia close by playing the game, but never lets her feel like she’s actually affecting him, even when she is.

Will’s refusal to take Mia’s attractiveness or desirability seriously isn’t just paternal dismissal, it’s a form of psychological denial. He downplays it because acknowledging it would mean confronting emotions he refuses to face.

When he scoffs at her insecurities, for example, it isn’t just frustration; it’s deflection. He is aware of how others perceive her, and it affects him, but his refusal to validate it is an attempt to suppress the part of him that is affected.

His possessiveness, though masked in protective instincts, stems from the blurring of roles between father, protector, and something more subconscious. He isn’t just protective of Mia in a traditional fatherly sense, he is also territorial about her attention, ensuring she remains emotionally anchored to him.

The Oedipal dynamic emerges in the way he negotiates her desirability rather than outright rejecting the idea of it, he teases, redirects, manipulates, but never truly forbids. There is no firm line drawn because part of him enjoys the tension, even if it’s unspoken.

He was never properly parented himself, leaving him without a model for healthy father-daughter attachment. Instead, he relates to Mia in a way that feels familiar: through a mix of control, unpredictability, and emotional push-and-pull.

His identity is fractured—between the caring father figure he consciously wants to be and the darker, more possessive instincts he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

Mia, on the other hand, is equally as entangled in this dynamic. Her provocations are not just about playful teasing, they serve as a psychological test to confirm her place in Will’s world.

Mia constantly teases and provokes Will not because she wants to fight him, but because she needs to feel his reaction.

If Will engages with her, it reassures her that she has power over him. If he ignores her, it creates a sense of instability, so she pushes harder.

Her identity is tied to how much she can affect others, especially Will. The more she gets a reaction, the more secure she feels in her importance to him.

Just as Will wants to keep Mia emotionally tethered to him, Mia wants to ensure Will is hers.

When she sees her friends or others paying attention to him, it triggers jealousy and territoriality.

She has been raised in an environment where her emotional role in Will’s life is primary. There is no mother figure, no wife, she is the most important female presence, and she clings to that.

When she provokes him about other women noticing him, it isn’t just teasing, it’s a challenge. She wants to remind him that he belongs to her in the way she understands belonging.

Mia struggles with clear boundaries, not just in relationships but in self-perception.

She needs Will to recognize her presence, to see her, react to her, confirm her.

This leads to this excessive testing of limits, as seen in children who have unstable attachment with their primary caregivers. They create tension to ensure the connection remains active.

Their dynamic is self-sustaining because both Will and Mia feed into each other’s insecurities.

Will is manipulative, but he is also trapped. Mia is controlling, but she is also desperate. They are both aware of the dynamic but refuse to change it, because despite its toxicity, it provides something they both crave: certainty.

The daddy content is offering me a healing vessel, thank you so much!

We’re a kink friendly zone <3

hii!! i’ve been seeing posts about Rotten Meat come up on my dash and i’m really excited to read the whole thing on ao3!! before i start, i was just wondering if Will is Mia’s dad in a literal biological way or a kinky way or a both way? sorry if this has already been answered or clarified!! hope you’re having a lovely day :D!!

Hello! Haha Will’s Mia’s biological father, he raised her by himself. The rest I think it’s better you answer for yourself by reading the fic hahaha 🤫.

I could read about Mia and Will for hours on end. Will her childhood be explored in Rotten Meat?

milkfordragons:

Aw, they’re intriguing, right? It will be explored a bit but not that much. But I have a lot of content written. What would you guys prefer?

Mia’s life with Will:

A fic

Answering Asks

A biography style post

See Results

damn haha, I should’ve just dropped the biography instead of asking, I am not good at writing fics ☠️

Hello! I got my friend to watch Hannibal with me. They commented that they were uncomfortable because they felt that the show pushed the notion that people with mental health issues are dangerous. I was wondering if you would like to discuss how mental health is handled in the show?

Criticism of media portrayals of mental illness comes from a misunderstanding of what representation actually means. When a TV show or film depicts a character with mental health issues as dangerous, it is not making a blanket statement that all mentally ill people are dangerous…it is simply exploring a real aspect of human psychology. While it is true that the majority of individuals with mental illnesses are not violent, it is also true that a significant number of violent crimes have been committed by individuals with untreated or severe mental disorders. To deny this reality is to ignore a crucial and often tragic aspect of mental health discourse.

The argument that showing mentally ill characters as dangerous reinforces stigma assumes that the media is creating this association out of nowhere. However, violent or erratic behavior caused by certain mental conditions is not a fictional construct, it is a well-documented reality. Disorders like schizophrenia with psychosis, untreated bipolar disorder in manic states, severe personality disorders, and dissociative disorders with aggressive alters have, in specific cases, contributed to acts of violence. This does not mean that every person with these disorders is violent, but it also does not mean that depicting the real cases where mental illness plays a role in crime is inherently harmful.

Is your friend also criticizing all shows who depict something negative?!

If a show portrays a serial killer with psychotic delusions, it is not saying that all people with psychosis are killers, it is portraying one possible outcome in an extreme case. Just as a show might depict a corrupt cop without implying that all cops are corrupt, or an abusive parent without implying that all parents are abusive, mental illness as a narrative element should not be seen as an accusation against every person who suffers from one.

Stigma does not come from representation, it comes from a lack of nuance in understanding that representation that your friend is a part of. A person who watches one depiction of a mentally ill criminal and assumes all mentally ill people are criminals is someone who already lacks critical thinking. The responsibility for that ignorance does not lie with the show: it lies with the individual who refuses to differentiate between fiction and general reality.

In fact, suppressing certain depictions of mental illness in media may actually do more harm than good. If stories only show mentally ill people as victims, misunderstood heroes, or entirely harmless individuals, it creates an incomplete and dishonest portrayal of reality. Some people do suffer from extreme cases of mental illness that lead to dangerous behavior, and pretending otherwise does a disservice to both mental health discourse and public safety.

It is not the job of media to sanitize reality to make people comfortable, it is the job of viewers to engage with media critically. A nuanced show does not simply present a mentally ill villain, it explores the complexities of their condition, the factors that led them there, and the impact of their actions. The presence of a dangerous mentally ill character in a story does not mean the work itself is stigmatizing, it is the way the audience interprets it that determines whether stigma is reinforced.

The stigma is perpetuated by those who refuse to think beyond surface-level portrayals. A well-written show that presents a mentally ill character who commits violence is not spreading misinformation, it is depicting one real possibility among many. The danger lies not in acknowledging that some mentally ill individuals can be dangerous, but in allowing ignorance to dictate how we interpret these portrayals.

Hii! i'm curious to know if Amara has blonde hair? I remember her hair colour being said somewhere I think? and do Savannah have dark hair as well?

This is what I picture Amara’s hair color :). Sav has dark, almost black hair, yes :).

I now headcanon Mia putting any kind of outfits and then asks Will what he thinks of them just to get a reaction from him🤔

Mia stepped into the living room, arms stretched out as if presenting herself on a stage. “Okay, what about this one?” She twirled in place, letting the short black dress she’d pulled from the depths of her closet flare slightly around her thighs. “Be honest.”

Will barely glanced up from where he was sitting, one hand absently rubbing at his jaw. “Too much.”

“Too much what?” She planted a hand on her hip.

He gave a dry, unimpressed look. “Too much you thinking you can walk out of this house wearing that.”

Mia groaned, spinning on her heel to disappear back into her room. A minute later, she was back, now in a fitted red dress, the kind that hugged every curve. She leaned against the doorframe with a slow smile, watching his reaction.

Will inhaled through his nose and exhaled slowly. “You look like trouble.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She clicked her tongue and turned away again.

The next outfit was a top and a short skirt. She came out with a faux-innocent look. “This better?”

Will scoffed. “Now you just look like you’re trying to piss me off.”

Mia grinned. “I’m just showing you what I got. Why do you care so much?”

He rubbed a hand down his face. “I care that you don’t get ideas. Or worse, give other people ideas.”

She tilted her head, enjoying the way his fingers tensed against his knee. “Daddy,” she sighed theatrically, “if you’re so worried about what people might think, maybe you should stop looking at me like that.”

A long, suffocating silence stretched between them. Will’s jaw locked, but Mia could see the way his throat worked as he swallowed, how his fingers flexed like he was resisting the urge to grip something—anything.

Then he let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “Go change, Mia.”

She lingered just a little longer, watching him.

Finally, she sighed dramatically and turned back toward her room. “Fine. But you’re exhausting, you know that?”

His voice followed her as she walked away. “Right back at you, kid.”

Ok but what about Mia costantly cuddling her dad? Like caressing his hair, a pat on the shoulders and hugs or kisses on the cheek?🥺 okay I'll just shut now...

She had always been like this. Soft, affectionate, without hesitation. As a child, she had climbed into his lap, pressed her cheek against his shoulder, wound her fingers into the loose threads of his shirts. And she hadn’t outgrown it. Not at ten, not at fifteen, not now.

Will barely looked up from his book when she settled against him, her body fitting into his side like it belonged there. Her arms slipped around his waist, her cheek resting just under his collarbone. She smelled faintly of shampoo, something light and sweet, something that still lingered on his sweaters after she stole them.

He sighed, flipping a page. Mia. A protest in name only.

She hummed, unfazed, fingers tracing absent circles against his ribs. She always did this—idly, without thought, as if some part of her needed the physical reassurance of his presence. And maybe it did.

Will lifted his arm to accommodate her, and she took it as invitation, curling closer, her breath warm against his throat. When he moved, just slightly, her hold tightened, the way it had when she was small, when she thought loosening her grip meant being pulled away.

He let his hand settle in her hair, combing through the strands slowly, the way she liked. She made another small sound, pleased, nuzzling into his chest.

Will exhaled, letting the book slip shut. She was warm, so terribly warm, and her fingers had stilled against his ribs, a slow, steady weight against him.

The way I felt my heart heavy when I read the tag 'lo-lee-tah' 😭 I watched the film some days ago because I was really curious about it, and honestly to me Mia always had the vibe of Lolita but I never said it because I thought it was kinda rude from me..🥴 Not saying it in a negative way of course, I actually love Mia, for the way she is and the way she's being written by you. Amara and Mia are my favorite so far<3

-🐛

You should read the book, the films are aesthetically appealing but did a disservice to the novel. This is one piece of art that requires a high level of literacy as it can be misinterpreted. But it’s actually such a great book, when you understand the unreliability of the narrator and how Dolores was essentially silenced.

When did Mia and Will's relationship start to shift into something more tense and complicated?

It was the summer the world took her from him, and in her absence, something in him soured, or perhaps ripened…who is to say which is the more dangerous evolution? Three months, an eternity stretched taut and thin like sinew over bone, three months of a house emptied of her voice, and presence. They had demanded it, the faceless bureaucrats, the men and women who pried into matters beyond their understanding. She must socialize, they said. She must be among others her own age, learn their rites, their banal little games. And so, under the blade of legal consequence, he surrendered her to the world.

And she did not return as she had left.

She stepped back into the house, with the same limbs, the same hands, the same face, and yet there was something minutely altered, like a painting restored with new, harsher pigments. The sun had touched her skin in his absence, bronzed her like a relic pulled from the earth, her hair lightened, her gaze deepened.

Something had grown in the dark soil of distance, something restless, gnawing, unspeakable. He had raised her for years with an arm draped in velvet but a grip of steel, shaping her world to orbit him alone, filling the silence of their home with his voice so that she had no need to listen for others. But they had taken her away, forced her into the company of girls who laughed in ways he could not control, of boys whose eyes lingered in ways he had not sanctioned.

And his Mia had returned with a knowledge that had not been there before, some glint in her eye that was not learned from him. He watched her for signs of what had been stolen, for what had been given in return. And she, sharp as she had always been, knew it. Knew he was looking. Knew he had been wounded by absence. And she wielded that knowledge like a blade, pressing just to see if he would bleed.

She did not have to run to make him chase her; she only had to lean just slightly out of reach. And he, fool that he was, let her pull him deeper into the dark.

ohh my, I wonder what’s the most uncomfortable moment they’ve ever had together? and does Mia ever test Will in front of other people, or is it something private?

It was the kind of night that invited indulgence, that slurred time into something thick and honeyed. The bar was dim, the amber light pooling in glasses, the low murmur of voices punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter. Mia, draped over the back of his chair, her chin on his shoulder, fingers idly toying with the collar of his shirt. And Will, weary, indulgent, letting her exist in his space as she always had.

A stranger, faceless in the recollection, reeking of whiskey and cheap bravado, clapped Will on the back, grinning with the familiarity of drunks. “Lucky bastard,” he slurred. “Snatched up a damn nymph, didn’t you?”

It was as if the world shifted, tilted, and Will was suddenly seeing himself through someone else’s eyes. Not as a guardian, not as a man whose hands had spent years pulling her out of nightmares and wiping her tears, but as him, the stranger, the lecher. The weight of her against his back, the way she curled around him, it was nothing new. It was familiar, comfortable. But suddenly, it was wrong. And the worst part, the most unbearable part, was the question that struck him like a knife between the ribs:

Did she see him like that too?

His stomach churned, nausea creeping up his throat. He wanted to peel her off of him, to shake off the sickly film of implication that coated his skin. But when he turned to her, she was already watching him, head tilted, that unreadable little smile playing on her lips.

And he, coward that he was, said nothing.

Mia’s most uncomfortable moment probably came in their home, in the thick, suffocating heat of a night. There was this sudden warmth seeping through cotton, the acrid scent already filling the room. A moment of disbelief, then horror, her body betraying her, reducing her to something helpless, infantile.

She sat frozen in the dark, throat closing up, humiliation burning her cheeks.

She looked like she wanted to disappear, to fold into herself like paper. Instead, she clenched her jaw, fists gripping the sheets as she spat, “Don’t. Don’t say anything.”

But Will, of course, didn’t. He simply leaned in, dropping a kiss on her forehead with the slow patience of a man approaching something skittish. He did not wince at the scent, or said anything other than “this is normal, it can happen”.

About testing: Mia had always been a little monster. A beautiful one, a clever one, but a monster nonetheless. She understood things before she should have, learned how to wield them before she had any business doing so.

She knew her friends watched him, whispered about him behind cupped hands, giggled when he passed by. He’s so hot. Your dad is so hot. She would roll her eyes, scoff, play at being annoyed. But then she would perform.

Drinking from his glass just to watch their eyes widen, their glances flicker between them. Sitting too close, draping herself over him, all casual, all innocent. A hand on his arm, a playful tug at his sleeve, a whine curling in her voice when she called his name. And Will, who knew, who always knew, would stiffen—just slightly, just enough for her to feel it.

She had the power to make them jealous, to make them envious. And she wielded it with a wicked little grin, with the knowledge that she could push, and push, and push—

And he would let her.

loooving all of this 🙊 do you think other father-daughter relationships in their social circle like mia's friends, highlight how different theirs is?

There are definitely moments, small, glistening things, that cast their world into stark relief against the lives of others. Instances where the mirror shifts and he sees, with unnerving clarity, just how different they are.

In a clinic once. The air is thick with antiseptic, with the low hum of nervous chatter and the occasional rustle of magazine pages. Mia sits beside him, languid, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. Around them, the room is a constellation of girls and their mothers with clipped voices, with reassuring touches, with the easy rhythm of women accustomed to these visits.

Will is the only man.

A woman, polished, blonde, the sort who smiles with all her teeth, leans forward, her eyes crinkling at the edges. “It’s nice to see a father here,” she says, her voice dipped in something too warm, too pleased.

Will shifts. Shrugs. “There was no other option. I’m a single dad.”

That should be the end of it. But it isn’t.

The woman’s laughter is airy, weightless. She tucks a curl behind her ear. “That’s wonderful. Not many men would—”

Across from them, a girl scoffs, arms folded, expression twisted in something between disbelief and distaste. “I wouldn’t want my dad here anyway. That’s so creepy.”

Mia tilts her head, appraising the girl with an expression too sharp for a place like this. “If you’re afraid of your own dad seeing your body but not a random male doctor, I think you should call the cops.”

The girl blanches, her mother gasps, and Will feels the weight of a dozen eyes flicker toward them. He exhales, slow, measured, and mutters, “Mia.”

She shrugs. Unbothered. Unapologetic. She was right.

—

Another waiting room, another stark display of difference. This time, it is Will who is unwell, a sluggish weight pressing against his ribs, exhaustion coiled deep in his bones. And Mia who should have been sighing, watching the television they had there, or looking pointedly at the clock like the other teenagers around them, is not.

Instead, she is pressed against him, curled in close like she belongs there, her fingers brushing against his wrist, tracing absentminded shapes against his skin.

She watches him. Not the television in the corner, not the nurses flitting back and forth, but him.

“You’re pale,” she says, and before he can deflect, she’s tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear, her brows knitting together in a way that makes his chest tighten.

Around them, fathers sit beside their children, silent, separate. Some of the girls glance up from their phones with vague disinterest before turning away again, while others tap their feet, sigh, check the time. An obligation. A duty.

And then there is Mia.

Leaning into him. Watching him. Worrying.

And he wonders, how many of these men have daughters who would look at them like this? Like something fragile, something precious?

Is obsessive questionnaire allowed?

What’s an example of a time Mia tested Will just to see how he’d react?

Has Will ever gone too far in one of their interactions and regretted it?

How does Mia react when Will tries to assert control over her in a more traditional parental way?

Does Mia ever fear Will, or does she feel completely safe with him no matter what?

It is welcomed!

1- It was summer when she did it. The sky was a bruised shade of violet, cicadas humming, the heat still clinging stubbornly to the air. Will had been inside, waiting, watching through the half-open blinds. And there she was Mia, his Mia, on the front porch, with some nameless boy, some pretty-limbed idiot who had no idea what he was walking into.

She kissed him. A lazy thing, effortless, as if she were offering nothing more than a passing thought. But Will knew better. He saw the way her fingers twisted in the fabric of the boy’s shirt, the way she angled her head, not toward the boy, but toward the window.

For him.

And something ugly, something ancient and terrible, ignited inside him.

He didn’t remember opening the door. Didn’t remember crossing the space between them. But suddenly, he was there, and suddenly, the boy wasn’t. He had stumbled back, some mixture of confusion and nerves flashing across his face, and Mia, standing perfectly still, that lazy little smirk playing at her lips, just watched.

She was waiting.

And it got ugly.

—

2- The regret comes like a shadow, slinking in the spaces between breath and bone.

He always regrets it.

It stains him. She stains him. A burden, a sickness, a beautiful, untouchable curse. He carries it for her. For the way the world would sink its claws into her, rip her apart if he let it.

It is his sacrifice.

And it burns.

—

3- She knows when to obey. It is an art, the way she slips back into place, the way she tilts her head, widens her eyes, plays the role she was made to play. His good girl.

But only when he forces it. Only when he grips her chin, when his voice drops into something hard and unrelenting. Then, and only then, does she listen.

But she is not afraid.

Not really. How could she be?

There are moments, fleeting, where she looks afraid, her breath caught in her throat, her fingers twisting against the hem of her dress. Moments where something inside her flickers, like a deer watching the flash of a hunter’s knife.

But she never runs.

Never from him.

Always to him.

oh god what was that uncomfortable moment for mia with the...was it pee? what happened???

I hesitated to answer this but. Sigh. Alright. TW.

When there’s pressure on the abdomen and bladder (like from thrusting, deep penetration, or clitoral stimulation), it can cause urine to escape involuntarily. This is common in SA. The autonomic nervous system (which controls involuntary bodily functions) can become overwhelmed, causing a loss of control over bodily functions, including urination.

Not sure if you're going to answer bc it might be answered in the fic plot but...I noticed Mia has something acidic in her body, possibly uti, or am I reading too much into it?

It won’t be directly addressed on the fic, no. The tags will be respected, and they say everything is implied and it will remain that way. So I will clarify this for you here. TW:

You are very observant! Mia does have an acidic issue. Forced or rough penetration, rough contact, or prolonged distress can irritate or damage the urethra, making it more susceptible to bacterial infections. Any pressure on the bladder during the act can also lead to inflammation, causing post-traumatic urinary discomfort.

Curious how would Molly be if she existed in this dynamic where Will had a daughter 🤔

Mia would beg Will to leave her the wolf trap house. He would say no. She’d ask him to sell it and buy her a smaller place. He’d say no. Him and Molly are selling their houses and getting one together. Mia ends up having to live with them. Molly thinks she’s too old for that (she’d be twenty in this context), but knows Will isn’t going to accept it. Wally is infatuated by her, Will is resentful but mostly pretends to ignore. Stiff still happens under Molly’s roof. She’s unaware because she has a bias. Thinks she’s spoiled. Is a typical boy-mom. They do not get along, but Molly tries. Mia sabotages everything she can. It’s tough.

I love Rotten Meat. It's really interesting and the dynamic that exists and is developing between the three girls is really interesting.

I'm really excited for the next chapter and hope you publish it soon.

But don't let us stress you. Take the time you need.

But could you maybe give a word count? Or a rough estimate about how long it is?

Hi! Not sure at all haha. We will have at least twenty chapters but unsure of word count.

It's so refreshing to see a darker story that actually depicts all sides and isn't just indulgence, thank you for providing this.

I understand what you mean. A lot of these fics that deal with triggering topics can seem like a sort of exploitation, without much purpose besides shocking. The point with Rotten is to actually elevate pain into a place where it can be dealt with in a pleasurable manner as well as actually providing a voice for victims, even if indirect or through nuances of the narrative.

I am thinking of buying the book, yeah! I don't know how to feel about the film...I did not like it for some reasons but maybe the book would be better.

Also about the three girls, I imagine both Amara and Mia having their hair long; Like their hair reaches their hips or even lower?🤔 I don't know why, but Hannibal just gives off the vibe of not letting Amara choose her hair lenght, because maybe he likes long hair on girls. Just a personal thought, tho!

-🐛

I think Hannibal would certainly choose how Amara looks but would do it in a way that seems like it was her own choice haha. Mia definitely has very long hair!

🍇what type of extracurricular activities do you think mia abd amara would be a part of? if Will even allow mia??

Amara probably all of the activities haha. I’m sure Hannibal would want her to be skilled in many different areas. Will has reluctantly agreed to let Mia be in dance classes. No cheerleadering of course hahaha. Just dancing in a closed room with girls only! He only agreed because he also gets to sow the seeds of that skill.

what would be the reactions of the dads at their daughter's first period? Especially because Mia and Amara never had a mother/female figure in their home life🤔

Interestedly I got about four asks for the same question haha.

It had to happen eventually, and yet, Will had never let his mind go there. He had worried, in the abstract, about raising a daughter—about protecting her, about keeping her safe from the sharp edges of the world—but this? He wasn’t prepared for this.

Mia was sitting on the closed toilet lid, hugging her knees, looking half-bored, half-amused at Will’s distress. She had come to him without much fanfare, unceremoniously announcing Dad, I think I got my period, and now he was here, standing in the bathroom with a box of pads in one hand, tampons in the other, feeling like a man staring down an unsolvable equation.

“You probably already know how this works,” he said, scratching his beard, eyes flitting between the instructions on the box and Mia’s unimpressed expression.

“Yep.”

“Right.”

Mia sighed, letting her head drop back against the wall. “Is this freaking you out?”

Will scoffed. “No. It’s just—” He gestured vaguely. “It’s a lot. It’s new.”

Mia stretched out her legs. “I feel like I unlocked a new game level. One with blood.”

Will pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus.”

A beat of silence. Then Mia smirked.

“You gonna give me some biological insight, Dad? You do have a degree in this.”

Will groaned. “You want to talk about uterine lining right now?”

Mia just wiggled her eyebrows at him.

Will sighed and handed her the box of pads, muttering something about supporting the local economy when she asked for chocolate money. But when she hopped off the toilet and wrapped her arms around his waist in a quick, easy hug, he decided he had done well enough.

He could learn. She’d make sure of it.

-

Hannibal had known before she told him. He had seen the signs, the shift in hormones, the slight change in her scent—a biological inevitability approaching like the turning of a season.

Still, he let her come to him.

Amara stood by the fireplace, arms crossed, expression tense. She had always been difficult to read, even for him. A product of both nature and nurture, of sharp intellect wrapped in something softer, something more hidden.

“I think I’ve started,” she said plainly.

Hannibal nodded once. “How do you feel?”

She shrugged. “Fine.”

He studied her, noting the way she held herself, the faintest trace of unease beneath the surface. Not fear, not embarrassment—Amara was beyond such things. But there was something unspoken there, something unsettled.

Without a word, Hannibal moved to the sideboard, selecting a small box wrapped in dark red silk. He had prepared it long ago, knowing this day would come.

She watched as he placed it in her hands.

“What is it?”

“Open it.”

She did, carefully unfolding the silk, revealing a collection of items: finely crafted cloth pads, a small vial of herbal oil for cramps, a book bound in soft leather. The book, she opened first. Inside, handwritten notes filled the pages—medical insights, historical observations, even personal reflections, all written in his measured, elegant script.

She ran her fingers over the words.

“You knew.”

“Of course.”

Amara looked up at him then, sharp-eyed, thoughtful. “Did you make this for me?”

Hannibal inclined his head. “A father should provide his daughter with knowledge.”

A long silence. Then, with deliberate care, she set the box aside and stepped forward, resting her forehead against his chest in a gesture so fleeting, so subtle, that another man might have missed it.

Hannibal did not.

He placed a hand on the back of her head, fingers threading lightly through her hair. “This is nothing to be ashamed of, Amara. Or scared.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

And that was all. No fuss, no uncertainty, just understanding.

-

Sav had already gotten hers when she went to live with Francis :).

What about really bad cramps? Or a pregnancy scare? /rotten meat trio

Mia was curled on the couch, wrapped in the thickest blanket she could find, looking every bit like an exhausted cat after a long, losing fight. She had buried herself under layers—sweatshirt, socks pulled to her knees, heating pad clutched against her stomach—yet somehow still managed to look miserable.

Will crouched next to her, coffee mug in hand, but when she only groaned in response, he set it down and ran a hand over her hair.

“Is this a ‘leave me alone’ groan or a ‘do something’ groan?”

Mia let out another groan.

“Right. Helpful.” He pressed the back of his hand lightly against her forehead, not for fever, just habit, and muttered, “Could’ve warned me my genes would do this to you.”

“You should feel bad,” she grumbled, eyes still closed. “Your sperm did this.”

Will sighed. “Okay, I’m leaving.”

“No.” Mia reached out, grabbing his sleeve in a loose fist, her grip surprisingly strong for someone so dramatically ill. “Stay. Suffer with me.”

So he did. He settled on the couch beside her, let her use his leg as a pillow, and absentmindedly traced patterns over the blanket-covered curve of her back. Eventually, she sighed, tension easing the smallest amount, and that was enough.

-

Amara was not one to show weakness, but pain had a way of betraying even the most disciplined body. She sat at the kitchen table, knuckles pressed against her temples, body unnaturally still, as if holding too tightly to control.

Hannibal placed a porcelain cup in front of her. Dark, herbal, its scent earthy and sharp. She didn’t reach for it immediately.

“This should help,” he said, voice measured, certain.

Amara finally lifted her gaze, searching his face, as if gauging whether accepting help was an admission of fragility. But he had always taught her that pain was not weakness—only information. A problem to be solved.

She took the cup.

The tea was bitter, but it was warm.

-

Francis wasn’t good at this.

Savannah was curled up in bed, wrapped in layers of blankets, a heating pad pressed against her stomach, and he—useless, uncertain—stood at the doorway, holding a glass of water like it was a life preserver.

She peeked at him from under the covers.

“You don’t have to stand there like that,” she said, voice thick with exhaustion. “I’m not dying.”

Francis hesitated. “You sound like you are.”

She huffed a laugh, then winced.

He came closer, setting the glass on the nightstand, then, awkwardly, lowered himself onto the bed. He didn’t know if she wanted him there, didn’t know if this was something she wanted to be alone for, but she shifted, pressing her forehead against his arm, and he figured that meant stay.

So he did.

And after a while, when she muttered, “Your hand’s warm,” he pressed it against her stomach without thinking.

She exhaled, some of the tension bleeding from her body.

He had never thought his hands could be good for something.

But Savannah seemed to think so.

How would the rotten dads react to the girls being drunk? 🐰

Will knew she was drunk before she even opened her mouth. The way she stumbled through the door, her coat sliding off her shoulders, the lazy, lopsided grin—dead giveaway.

He sighed, locking the door behind her. “Mia.”

She turned, looking at him like she was seeing him for the first time. “Daddy,” she drawled, pointing a finger at him with great importance. “You’re very… here.”

Will ran a hand down his face. “Yeah. You, on the other hand—”

Mia took two unsteady steps forward and collapsed against his chest. He barely reacted, just let her weight settle, arms loosely wrapping around her out of habit.

“Mm,” she sighed. “You feel nice.”

“You reek.”

She hummed, utterly unconcerned, pressing her face against his shoulder. “S’fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Will muttered. “You need a shower.”

Mia groaned dramatically, letting herself go limp. He caught her easily.

“Nooo,” she whined, pressing a hand against his chest like she could physically push the idea away. “Too much effort.”

Will rolled his eyes. “C’mon.”

She didn’t fight when he led her to the bathroom, just stood there, swaying slightly as he reached for the shower knobs.

“Can you—?”

Mia, already halfway undressed, raised an eyebrow at him. “Will.”

He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Forget I asked.”

Mia grinned. “You’re such a prude.”

“Just get in the damn shower.”

She did, eventually. Will sat on the closed toilet lid, arms crossed, waiting. When she finished, he towel-dried her and threw one of his old t-shirts at her and helped her into bed.

She curled up immediately, grabbing his wrist before he could pull away.

“Where you going?” she mumbled into the pillow.

Will just huffed, pulling the blanket over her. “Sleep.”

-

Hannibal was waiting when Amara arrived, the quiet disapproval barely visible in the crease of his brow, the slight tilt of his head.

She wobbled inside, attempting to appear composed and failing spectacularly.

Hannibal didn’t comment, merely stepped forward and caught her arm before she could sway too far.

“You’ve had quite the evening,” he observed.

She huffed a small laugh, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad,” he assured, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. “Though I do wonder what led you to believe drinking yourself into near-collapse was a wise decision.”

Amara groaned. “Not a lecture.”

Hannibal said nothing, merely guided her toward the bathroom with gentle insistence.

She leaned against the sink as he turned on the shower, testing the water.

“Can you manage?”

Amara, now pressing her face into his shoulder again, made a vague noise of agreement.

Hannibal smiled, steadying her. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

By the time she emerged, warm and drowsy, he was waiting with a robe. She let him wrap it around her, let him steer her toward bed with quiet efficiency.

As she curled up beneath the covers, she mumbled, “Sorry, daddy.”

Hannibal smoothed her damp hair back. “Rest.”

-

Francis hadn’t expected the call. Hadn’t expected to have to drive out and pick her up, weaving through the night streets with a tension in his chest he couldn’t quite place.

By the time he arrived, Savannah was barely upright, mumbling something to herself as she squinted at the passing headlights.

Francis sighed, running a hand down his face before stepping forward. “Let’s go.”

She blinked at him, then grinned. “Dad.”

“Yes,” he muttered, carefully looping an arm around her waist.

The drive home was quiet, Savannah swaying slightly in her seat, humming some tune under her breath.

“You’re mad,” she finally said.

Francis exhaled. “Not mad.”

She turned, looking at him with exaggerated seriousness. “You look mad.”

He glanced at her. “You scared me.”

That seemed to quiet her.

By the time they reached home, she was practically asleep against the window. He hesitated before touching her shoulder.

“Come on.”

She groaned but let him help her inside. When he murmured something about a shower, she sighed dramatically but didn’t argue.

Francis stood outside the bathroom, listening for any signs of trouble. When she finally emerged, wrapped in an oversized sweater, he just shook his head and guided her to bed.

Before he could step away, she grabbed his sleeve.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

Francis hesitated, then nodded. “Get some sleep.”

Rotten trio falls asleep in a car ride, what's the vibes for each dad? (obsessed with the oneshots btw)

the drive home was quiet, the soft hum of the engine blending with the low murmur of the radio. Will glanced sideways and saw Mia curled up in the passenger seat, legs tucked beneath her, head pressed against the window. Asleep.

Will exhaled through his nose. He kept his hands steady on the wheel, careful with every turn, every stop. The road stretched ahead in the dim glow of the streetlights, and for once, the silence didn’t feel empty.

When they pulled into the driveway, he cut the engine and sat there for a moment. Mia didn’t stir.

Will sighed. He leaned over, hesitating just a second before brushing a few strands of hair from her face. Her breath was slow, deep, mouth slightly parted.

“Come on,” he muttered, undoing her seatbelt. She made a quiet, content sound but didn’t wake.

Will got out, moving to her side. He opened the door and crouched down, resting a hand on her arm. “Mia.”

She grumbled something unintelligible and buried her face deeper into her arm.

Will huffed a quiet laugh. “Alright.”

Carefully, he slid his arms beneath her, lifting her with ease. She mumbled again, curling instinctively toward his warmth, her forehead pressing into his shoulder.

Will carried her inside, his grip firm but gentle. By the time he laid her down in bed, she was already half-awake, blinking drowsily.

“You could’ve just left me,” she muttered, voice thick with sleep.

Will pulled the blanket over her, ignoring that. “Go back to sleep.”

Mia hummed, already drifting again.

Will watched her for a moment longer before turning off the light.

-

Amara, always sharp, always watching, had grown quiet beside him in the car, answering in low hums and slow nods. He had known even before glancing over—before seeing the way her head lolled slightly with the movement of the car, eyes half-lidded, lost in that weightless space between wakefulness and sleep.

By the time they reached home, she was completely gone.

Hannibal parked with smooth precision, then turned to her, taking in the softened lines of her face, the slow rise and fall of her breath.

There was no need to wake her—not yet.

Instead, he reached over, adjusting the scarf around her neck, smoothing down the edge of her coat. His fingers brushed lightly over her wrist, checking the steady, slow rhythm of her pulse.

She shifted slightly at the touch, a barely-there murmur slipping from her lips, but did not wake.

Hannibal allowed himself a small, private smile.

Then, with the same quiet care, he unbuckled her seatbelt and, without disturbing her further, lifted her effortlessly into his arms.

-

He had noticed the way Savannah’s words had grown slower, her voice softer. He had seen her head dip forward once, twice, before finally resting against the window, arms tucked close to herself.

He didn’t say anything. Just kept driving, careful with the turns, slowing at every bump.

When they arrived, he hesitated.

He could wake her. She would grumble, probably swat him away, drag herself out of the car half-asleep.

Instead, he reached over, nudging her shoulder lightly. “Savannah.”

A small, muffled noise. She shifted, but didn’t wake.

Francis sighed. He reached for the blanket in the backseat, draping it over her.

Then he leaned back in his seat, settling in for a while longer, watching the steady rise and fall of her breath in the quiet of the car.

💐Going back when the girls were little girls, what if they were classmate? And they would play and talk together whenever they see each other?

In some AU where they were classmates (cause let’s be honest, Amara is in a very expensive private school and Mia and Sav are not), they would not been friends at all, considering their personalities. Mia is the pretty but weird girl who the popular girls hate, because she gets attention, but she doesn’t really act on that attention, she’s usually alone or with one other girl or two. Amara is the textbook popular girl, Blair Waldorf vibes, and Sav is the alt weird girl everyone thinks is weird and is always alone in some corner with a sketchbook.

I can just imagine Mia blasting Eminem's songs at home and casually rapping along to the lyrics of "Rap God" or "Godzilla" without being left behind the fast pace of it (really impressive) just to annoy Will lol. There are probably lots of curse words in some of those songs. Maybe something vulgar like "Love me" by Lil Wayne -🦋

Hahaha, I don’t know if Mia listens to that, I think she’s a niche girl, specially growing up being homeschooled and mostly alone with Will, I think she listens to southern gothic music, or some variation of that. But that’s so funny!

I'm thinking about Mia needing to see an obg for the uti, my poor baby how is she going to do that without Will being involved? :(

Yeah. The first time she had to go, which I wrote about, was already stressful. The doctor kept trying to get Will to leave so he could talk to Mia alone. Will did end up leaving the room, it was a little chaotic because Mia ended up crying from fear of saying something wrong, and yeah. Let’s just say she never wanted to go back. But unfortunately around nineteen, she had to. That happened a little before where we pick up in Rotten Meat. He was stressed, she went on her own, he nearly passed out from anxiety until she got back, then he questioned her, or better yet, he took the bag she was carrying from the drugstore and took a look at what she bought. It was tense, but mostly silent this time.

“Should’ve told me.”

“I did.”

Hii Milk!! Wanted to ask which one of the RM girls is more likely going to commit murder and why?🤔

-🐛

All if them haha! Amara is used to it, murder is but another thing she sometimes must engage with. Mia is ruthless and unstable, she does what she has to, and if that’s murder then so be it. Savannah is Francis’ child, those “terrible genes” are there haha.

What if Will have been drinking too much, how will Mia react?🌷

Depends on what kind of drunk Will is that night. If he’s angry and mean she’ll lock the door and stay inside her bedroom. He can’t open it when he’s drunk, and he’s rough when he’s that way. Better to leave him be. If he’s sad then she’ll hoover, but she learned early that pity corrodes him. So she doesn’t speak softly. Doesn’t ask him if he’s okay. Drunk Will is one hell of a night.

Will Graham as an agressor is something most people aren't exploring a lot in fiction and it's so clear it wasn't explored in canon simply due to television restrictions which they were already crossing the limits, hemce cancelation. Since it won't be explicit in your fic Rotten Meat, do you mind answering about the daughter's SA and from what I gathered Will is the aggressor, right? Curious to know how it started and how this happens, if it stopped or what made it happen? Not asking for details on the act just the context around it.

I don’t mind, I’ll put it under this little read more safety bar haha. TW:

Will does not allow himself to perceive an aggression. He raised Mia in such a way that he will always remain the victim, and her, the temptress, the sacrifice. That’s textbook abuser.

He twists reality so that he feels obligated to express his affection for her in such a way, otherwise “she will leave, she will look for it elsewhere and get hurt, she will distance herself from him”.

He encouraged and reinforced the oedipus stage of her development and lingered on it instead of offering healthy boundaries. He placed her in many roles, including the role of spouse, but in a way that mixes spouse/child/mother, not in a way that has a clear distinction and switch from each.

He has DiD in this fic so he switches for the act, and switches back after awhile to compartmentalize the shock and trauma.

It technically started early on with a lack of boundaries regarding the physical body. Then around six with secondhand assault of hearing and witnesses Will with other people. Then at thirteen with subtleties and things that could be passable as harmless intimacy and grew into wandering hands, bodies pressed into one another in ways that shouldn’t be. She didn’t see it as anything other than affection.

And because of having seen Will dating, she grew a fear of abandonment, planted into her head by an older friend who told her she would be “replaced by a woman who could meet all of his needs”. She also told Mia that “those disgusting boys will never care about you like your dad does”. Things that began like little leafs and turned into full blown ivy in the depths of her mind and heart.

At sixteen was the first time it became something she couldn’t turn away from. It latched itself onto her in a way that a line crossed that erased all trsces of any lingering limitations.

It was fine, she’d say. I liked it, she’d say. He’s all mine now, she’d say. Ignoring the strange burn in her womb, the way it felt like someone had opened a drawer inside her body and left it messy. He cried, drank, went away, locked himself in his room for days. “Stay away from me, how could you do this to me, look what you made of me?”. Then he’d come back, ask her if she’s okay, she’d say yes. At first it was messy like this, a cycle. Then it just became…Normal. That’s just “how they were”. He was the poor victim, trying so hard to resist, but she was the Devil. “Why are you so wet, why are you like this, you’re evil”, he’d chant. To her it was just…Claiming. Keeping him. Love in a strange way. Desire. That’s what held her on that. She felt so desired, so wanted. He wants me so much he sacrifices his integrity for me.

I wanted it to be realistic. That’s how the story goes for countless girls.

Got curious at the post you were talking about Mia when she was 13, if you want to, can you tell us more about how was living with Will in that age?🍄

Bellow the milk lies dangers (they’re just triggering themes haha but you were warned!)

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Living with Will when Mia was thirteen was different than before. She had spent three months in a summer camp, nearly obligated by law, otherwise Will could lose his guardianship (due to accusations of keeping her from socializing). There, she learned that her father wasn’t the beginning nor the end of the world. She met boys, she met girls. The universe began to open for little Mia, and she wanted to taste it. She was naturally drawn to the counselor, an older man who kept the camp in order. He stayed mostly in his cabin, but Mia liked him better than the rest of the kids. She made some friends, though. Learned how fun it was to whisper things to girls in the middle of the night, and that the darkness wasn’t only made of secondhand nightmares and silence. But she missed him. She missed the constant weight of him.

Everything changed that summer, she stopped being a child. Or he stopped treating her like one. Maybe because she grew out of her clothes, because her tongue was sharper and her body was different. She doesn’t know. Doesn’t matter. “You even smell different”, he told her the day she came back.

He kept asking, relentlessly, about everything she did, everything that happened. She told him, was used to doing so. Up until that point, that is. She told him about Ryan, the counselor. “Why? What about him made him so interesting?” he asked. She shrugged, thinking but not saying that she wished Ryan would’ve slept next to her, because he reminded her of Will.

He had to put her in school that year, just for two days of the week, in the beginning. He was furious, had been since that summer. He was sure it was a neighbor who’d done it. Called someone and had them snoop around in their life. Vanessa, the woman was. She was a social worker. Met Will and Mia on the park one time, then other times around the neighborhood. Would always try to struck up conversations. Looked at Mia with a concerned look on her face. Will was sure she was the one who got the hounds after them. “But why?” she asked, “because men do bad things to girls when they’re left alone with them.”

“Not you!” she shot back immediately and Will gave her a strange smile. Almost painful. “No, I love you”, he said.

Then, one afternoon, they were laying on the couch, both reading their books. She got bored, climbed on his lap, to get attention, to entertain herself with his face. Something harmless. Or so it seemed.

He didn’t react much so she started playing with his hair. She was distracted, absentmindedly moving to a beat inside her head, when he grabbed her by the waist and pushed her down. “Get off, you can’t do that kind of stuff, you’re not a child anymore, Mia!” he sounded angry. Annoyed even. She was hurt, and confused.

“What? Cause I’m heavy now?” she asked, naively. He just shoot her a look and went back to his book. There was no way in the world he was telling her she wasn’t welcomed in her favorite place anymore. It was so unlikely that she climbed back, hopeful and taking it as a joke. She jumped on his lap with force and he grabbed her by both arms, throwing her back beside him, and got up, exasperated. Leaving her there, discarded.

It all came back within seconds like a wave, drowning her, you will be replaced by a woman, the echoes of a voice she’d heard awhile back came rushing in.

That night, she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, naked, and noticed how her waist curved in ways it didn’t before, all the way down her back, where it lifted her bottom. How her breasts seemed more perched and she suddenly felt ashamed. She tried to scrub the feeling off of her body, but it followed her into her bed, where she felt this nauseating sensation creeping up from her inner thighs all the way to her head, like wavy unease. She wasn’t a fresh daisy anymore, his little, pure girl. She felt disgusted at herself.

The next day she decided she wasn’t going to wear shorts or skirts or dresses anymore, so she put on a big t-shirt and sweatpants.

“It’s fourty degrees, are you sick or something?” he asked, spreading butter on the toast. She didn’t answer. Didn’t know if he was still angry.

She melted away for hours in those clothes, until he found her draped on the ground.

“Why are you wearing these? Take it off. Now.” he sounded annoyed again. She really wasn’t his little angel anymore, was she? It seemed like she was starting to become a burden.

She changed, but stayed in her room all day. He called her eventually, she yelled a “yeah”, but refused to go downstairs. At some point he got yet again annoyed and went up.

“What’s the matter with you? Been calling you for ages.”

She stood by her bed, in a red, flowery dress, and covered her legs with the blanket when she hesrd him coming. He noticed.

“Are you sick?” he went to her, pressing his hand to her forehead. “What’s wrong with you? You cold?”

She hadn’t learned how to lie to him at at point yet, so she didn’t say anything. She could tell his patience was wearing thin.

“Well, get out of this room, come downstairs.”

She remembers walking to the living room like it was her funeral. Slowly, almost trembling. She sat on the couch, far away from him, almost falling out of it. Hands on both knees. Stiff, awkward.

“What’s up with you?” he asked, touching her knee, and she instinctively flinched. That caught his eye. “Mia”, a warning.

She didn’t even know what to say. Couldn’t even comprehend what it all meant at the time. Not really. She just felt awful. Just felt. Couldn’t explain, or articulate. So her body did it for her and decided to cry.

He got worried all of the sudden, what’s wrong, what’s wrong, baby?

“I’m not a baby. You said I’m not a baby anymore.”

“Mia.”

She tried to run, humiliated by her tears, but he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back down. “What’s this about?”

She had no clue. How could she? She was just a kid. Then suddenly she wasn’t anymore. She remembers the belittling feeling of saying “you don’t me to sit on your lap anymore” through sobs.

She could hear the unspoken “oh my god…” he was letting out through his sigh. “That’s not what I…” he decided to stop talking, just scooped her up unto him. What a burden she was, how difficult she was. Because of her, who she was, the body parts she was born with, people were bothering him, investigating, snooping. Because of that, he was being suspected of hurting her. Because of who she was, her body, he was afraid to touch her. What a terrible thing she was in his life.

“I’m sorry I’m not a boy,” she told him as the tears threatened to pour again. He looked at her, confused, asked her what she was talking about.

That had been such a strange couple of days. That entire interaction, the whole thing. It left a permanent stain on her psyche. Like a haunted place in her mind.

He began to date more. She was seeing just how she’d be replaced.

“Replaced? Are you insane?” he asked when she confronted him.

“Because I’m not enough.”

“Enough? Mia. What the hell are you talking about? No one’s replacing anyone.”

“Then why are you seeing them? Why are you leaving? Why can’t you stay here like you used to?”

“So now I’m supposed to be stuck here with you all the time? I don’t deserve to have some fun, to relax? After raising you for thirteen years, I don’t get to have a life?”

That cut like paper. Thin and painful. But she didn’t even cry. That cut so deep it went straight through her body, down to her soul. She just glared at him before walking out. “Leave, then.”

He didn’t. She stayed in her room, he stayed in his. Late into the night he came into hers, laid on her bed, reeking of alcohol, held her tight, and she could feel the tears shaking from his body. “I didn’t mean what I said, I made you, I wanted you, a girl, my girl, I wanted a girl, and I chose you, I chose you to be mine, and I don’t want anything else I’m sorry I’m so sorry I’m sick and I don’t know how to protect you from my sickness”, like a river he just kept pouring words into her ear.

She turned around and wiped his tears, “you should go out, and have a life”, she tried. That made him worse, “no no nono, I don’t want to, all I want is to be here with you I don’t need anything else I want to be here but baby it’s so hard I’m so afraid all the time I’m so afraid that my sickness is going to destroy everything and I don’t want to…I don’t”, he trailed off. She held him, he held her back and something in his groggy hands and mind wandered a little too far. Affection. Desire. She thought. So she leaned into it. Afraid of being left, she leaned into it.

Living with Will at thirteen was a tangle of thorns.

The last lines of the post about Mia being 13 and Will being drunk at night, so when Will is drunk he's less in control of his mind and actions? And if the actions tends to get too far, Mia won't say anything? 🍄

Milk Safety Bar

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Will has DiD, dissociative identity disorder, he gets triggered by his own feelings of inadequacy and guilt and splits. Alcohol just makes it worse.

The way he manipulated everything made Mia completely unaware and unable to even distinguish between affection and abuse. He made her feel as if she wanted it, asked for it, tempted him, bribed him to do it. It’s a common tactic to revert the blame to the victim.

He’d always do it in a way that made it look like he was making a sacrifice, like he was saying “fine, you want me? here, have it”, “if I don’t do this you will leave me, won’t you?”, “you’re such a bad girl, look what you are forcing me to do”, “I love you so much that I’m tainting myself for you”.

She thought it was pleasant but it felt physically overwhelming. The pleasantness came from pleasing him, not from the act. And the body reacts, and so he would take that as a her asking, wanting, enjoying. But the body just reacts. She didn’t know how to be present, she just accepted it, told herself little stories in her head until she felt empty again. Until it was over. But she didn’t realize what was happening. It was just another way of showing love. It was what she made him do. Right? As she got older, more experienced, sharper, and bad, she learned to enjoy it. Take what little control she had available. Might as well.

Help the last post you made about Mia when she was 13...😭 I felt my heart ache for her...Left me wonder if from there she'd start to "replace" him with someone else? As if a sort of revenge or a way to be seen again by him? Like every time she finds out he's dating someone, she would do kind of the same?🤔 and would do this only when she was 13, or everytime and every age? hope this made sense!

-🐛

Drink the milk to get to the dark side. TW.

🥛

It started at thirteen, went all the way at sixteen, never stopped until a little after Will met Hannibal. Hannibal was able to save Mia, by showing Will was making love was supposed to feel like.

And yes, Mia started dating to provoke Will. Some random boys. It got worse when she got involved with a teacher. Much older, bad guy, trouble. Got her into things she had a hard time getting over. Then got punished for that for a long time.

At some point Mia meets Hannibal??👀👀

Yes! Well, she will in the next chapter of Rotten, but if you want to know this specific plot without necessarily following along with the fic, here it is:

Rotten Meat Spoilers

Will and Hannibal fall in love, Hannibal being Hannibal begins to notice something is off in Mia’s relationship with Will, he finds out what it is. Will stops what he does to Mia when he notices how different it is with Hannibal. He gradually begins to untwist himself from that delusion and Hannibal helps him with the alter. There’s no happy ending, I wanted to be “realistic”, but there’s that, I guess.