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.
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 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 :).
If it won’t be addressed in Rotten Meat, how did Amara first react to finding out everything about Hannibal? Did he slowly introduce it to her, or was it just normalized from the start? Wonderful writing by the way <3
Oh he raised her in it ahaha. Her psyche was modulated by his way of life and thinking.
