hii! I have been reading your posts about Will as a father and I completely agree with all of them! but they also made me think about possible ways (or examples) of how Will would show his 'problematic' behaviour like you said, I hope this makes sense...Sorry english is not my first language!<3
Hello, yes, I think I did mention this in those essays? If not, then, I’ll say it again: I believe Will, without the intention to eroticize it, but with the full intention to reinforce attachment, would condition a child to be obsessed with him, and codependent on him. I believe he would also express his violent outbursts with this child. This is hard for fans to accept or imagine, but in a reality where Will has a child whom he has conditioned to love him unconditionally, is a reality that is completely different than canon, which is why I believe he would be violent. Rarely, yes, but he would. It would be the one person he knows he is able to do whatever he wants, and they would still be with him, and still love him. But again, it would be rare, and in outbursts, in specific episodes of rage and impulsiveness.
why do you think the fandom has the dad kink with hanni and will?
Haha, because Will is this dangerous character that looks like he has a soft spot but no one gets it except for the dogs, so the fans self insert into the show as (usually) a daughter, because of the societal idea that a father is more tender towards a girl, and they want to feel like they are the “only special one”, who gets the vulnerable and caring side of the grumpy and dark guy who seemingly dislikes everyone, but them.
Most likely individuals who have a hard time feeling loved and important. They probably have felt irrelevant most of their lives so they crave to feel like the most beloved and cherish, specially if it’s by someone who isn’t easy to impress. And Hannibal because it’s very comforting to know that he monster loves you. This means you have almost nothing to fear, specially if it’s a daughter he raised, as Hannibal wouldn’t have killed her as he did Abigail (he did not know her for a long time and did not develop a deeper attachment than he would if he had raised her).
Then others see Will as vulnerable in season one and want to nourish him but they are younger so they don’t want to self insert as a mother, and they are attracted to him but either have sexual trauma (so a daughter is the safe option because it allows physical intimacy but without it being sexually invasive) or don’t see themselves getting in between Hannigram so the daughter role is the one they choose.
And if you do kink them as daddies, and want to share why (in anon if you prefer), that would be very interesting to discuss and for us as a community who likes the show and psychoanalysis to have some unserious fun about serious topics :).
to answer you: yes, I have a daddy kink with Will and I think mine stems from the desire to experience intimacy that is only eroticized but there's still that safety of it being wanted and consensual and seen as tender and paternal. Am I took fucked up? lmao
Thank you so much for answering! And no! Oh my god, of course you’re not fucked up, you are very bright and self aware for knowing yourself like this, there is no shame, it’s a good thing that you are able to channel this into something fun and safe like fiction! And I know exactly what you are saying, it’s very common for those who have struggled with sexuality to feel more safe in fantasies where a figure of fear and/or disgust becomes a figure of desire. It’s a way of taking back the narrative and turning pain into pleasure.
Amara would hug her fathers randomly during the day by surprise when she was a young kid, and so Mia with Will, change my mind
I will not change your mind because you are correct hahaha!
Amara Lecter-Graham would come barreling toward Will, colliding into him with all the force of a child who doesn’t yet understand restraint. He’d let out a startled laugh, catching her little head with his hands, wincing playfully as he murmured, “Ouch.” Then, with a gentle touch, he’d push her away, tapping her lightly as if sending her off like a wind-up toy, watching as she took off running in the opposite direction.
Lecter-Graham Will, accustomed to his own melancholic disposition, never quite knows how to handle Amara’s relentless sunshine energy. He’s awkward with it, hesitant in the face of such unfiltered joy. Hannibal, in contrast, takes to it differently, at first just as uncertain, but quickly adjusting in his own peculiar way. He’d scoop her up onto his shoulders, lifting her as though she were weightless, playfully twisting and maneuvering her as if she were made of clay. Amara, delirious with laughter, would cling to him, shrieking in delight as he spun her around.
This is what Will prefers. To watch them together. To stand at a slight distance, observing. His lips would curve into a quiet smile, something indulgent, something warm. And it would make him unbearably, inexplicably aroused. Hannibal, so controlled, so deliberate, displaying something so contrasting, so playful, was intoxicating. The sharp edge of his usual presence softened into something intimate, something Will found devastatingly attractive.
Mia Graham, on the other hand, would never run up and throw herself into Will’s arms. Not Just-Graham Will. Not Before-Hannibal Will. Instead, she would approach gently, silently, stepping behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her face against his back as she shut her eyes. He would pause, feeling her presence before responding, placing his hands over hers, grounding her there without breaking the moment. Sometimes, though, he’d shift, turning to pull her into him, smothering her with a flurry of tiny kisses until she was gasping, laughing, shouting between breathless giggles, pretending she was suffocating beneath his affection.
I'm curious to know how exactly the lack of boundaries manifests in Will and Mia and Hannibal and Amara or a hypothetical son!
For Hannibal, there is no perversion in his own perception of his nature. When he examines his daughter for breast cancer prevention, his touch is nothing but clinical, detached in the way only a man utterly at ease with himself can be. There is no lingering doubt, no moment of discomfort, just care, precise and untroubled.
Will, however, would feel wretched about that. It would gnaw at him, the difference between them, the unbearable weight of his own self-loathing and relentless self-judgment. Where Hannibal moves through the world unburdened, Will is trapped within his own mind, his every thought twisting in on itself, corrupting even the purest of intentions.
And so, Hannibal’s child can curl up in his lap without it meaning anything beyond affection and protection. There is no second thought, no underlying tension, just warmth, just closeness. But Will’s child cannot. Because the moment it happens, his repressed mind twists it into something else, something shameful, something dark. He recoils before the thought can fully form, but it lingers, poisoning everything. It’s why he keeps himself at a distance, why intimacy terrifies him, why he avoids relationships at all costs. It’s why, in season three, he saw Molly slaughtered. Because his mind sours everything.
I rarely hear about histrionic disorder, can you expand on why Will's daughter would have that?
Her existence is tied intricately to her father’s presence, and her sense of self is fundamentally shaped by his actions, needs, and the roles she assumes in relation to him. From a young age, she was conditioned to see herself not as an independent entity but as an extension of his desires and a crucial part of his psychological and emotional world.
At her core, this character embodies a deep, unrelenting attachment to Will. She constantly finds herself oscillating between varying roles of a spouse, mother, and child, depending on how she perceives Will in any given moment. When Will is vulnerable or unwell, she assumes the nurturing role, stepping into the role of a mother. When he exudes power or dominance, she reverts to a child-like state of submission, and when he is distant or withdrawn, she may even feel a need to chase him for affection, embodying the dynamic of a partner seeking validation. This fluidity, however, is marked by an underlying eroticization of every role, a complex internalized sense of sexualized attachment that is tied to how she perceives Will’s affection and attention.
Her attachment to Will is not simply emotional but physical and constant. Her sense of self, her emotional stability, and even her physical well-being depend on his presence. Her constant need for proximity to him speaks not just to an emotional dependence but to a profound disconnection from herself when he is absent. When separated from him, she experiences a persistent hum of longing, an ever-present anxiety that she cannot escape. Her attempts to soothe this unease, however, are only temporary. She may engage in self-soothing behaviors like physical relief or relaxation, but these measures, while they may calm her body momentarily, do not resolve the deeper hunger for connection with him.
The character’s traits and behaviors align closely with the diagnostic criteria for Histrionic Personality Disorder (HPD), though it is important to note that this is a fictional character and not a clinical diagnosis. HPD is marked by excessive emotionality and attention-seeking behavior, both of which are key features of the daughter’s personality. Her entire existence is, in many ways, predicated on seeking validation from her father, and she expresses an overwhelming need to be the center of his emotional world.
The daughter is rarely comfortable when Will is not focusing on her, and she often seeks his attention through dramatic gestures or exaggerated emotional responses. Her sense of worth is intimately connected to his affection, and if he withdraws or becomes distant, she feels a sense of panic and anxiety, which only subsides when he returns his focus to her.
The daughter’s attachment to Will is not purely emotional or intellectual; it is highly sexualized. She eroticizes the roles she assumes, regardless of whether they align with what is socially or morally acceptable. Her behavior may not be overtly sexual, but her actions toward Will often carry an undercurrent of seductive behavior, especially in the way she tries to elicit emotional reactions from him.
She displays extreme emotional shifts, from intense affection to frustration and withdrawal. These emotional fluctuations are often used to maintain Will’s focus on her and are sometimes exaggerated to ensure that she keeps his attention.
Her sense of intimacy with Will is distorted, she perceives their relationship as more intense or emotionally significant than it may truly be. She may misinterpret his gestures or words as signs of deeper connection, leading to a constant cycle of expectation and disappointment.
The sexualized behavior that often accompanies HPD is seen as inappropriate, manipulative, or even immoral in certain contexts, leading to severe shaming of individuals who exhibit these traits. Women with HPD are often perceived as oversexed, dramatic, or attention-seeking in a way that dismisses their underlying emotional pain or psychological struggles.
This shaming often centers around the sexual behaviors associated with HPD. Women who show seductive, provocative, or overly intimate tendencies are often dismissed as “loose” or “manipulative.” These labels strip away the deeper psychological struggles at play, reducing a complex emotional experience to a simple moral failing. Women with HPD are often seen as ‘asking for it’, and their emotional needs are minimized or belittled.
Obsessed with your characters 😭. Curious if there's something Mia does that drives Will insane, or a pet peeve?
The carelessness, the casualness, the way she does things without a second thought, like she isn’t living in a world full of men who watch too closely, who think too much.
She gets into cars with guys he doesn’t know that well. She throws herself into their passenger seats with that lazy, languid ease, her hair spilling over her shoulders, her lips glossy and parted just enough to make his stomach turn. She’s too trusting. Or maybe she isn’t trusting at all, maybe she just likes to see what will happen. He can’t tell which is worse.
She doesn’t pick up his calls at night. When she doesn’t answer, something ugly crawls up his throat. She knows better. She knows what kind of thoughts get in his head when she doesn’t answer.
She walks into the bathroom when he’s showering. Just walks in. No hesitation, no announcement. She’ll lean against the sink, talk about something unimportant, completely unbothered.
She opens the door for deliveries in those damn pajamas. Thin, little things. He sees the way the delivery guys pause, the way their eyes hesitate before they hand over the package. She doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she does. He’s not sure which possibility is worse.
I love the way you answer with narrative, I feel like I'm reading tiny fics!😩 Can I ask about Mia's first relationship or kiss and if Will knew that and he reacted? -🪿
Mia learned about love the way she learned everything else…through Will.
She was six the first time she saw him kiss someone. A redhead, the neighbor. Just a passing moment on the front porch, nothing serious, nothing deep. But Mia had stood there, frozen, eyes wide with fury, demanding an explanation like he had just betrayed something sacred.
Will had laughed. She was so dramatic. He told her that’s how adults kiss.
That seemed to satisfy her, until she saw a pair of teenagers tangled together in a park, mouths locked, hands wandering.
“You said that was for adults.”
He glanced at her, unimpressed. “They’re criminals.”
And she believed him.
For years after, she would point at couples making out in public and declare them outlaws, sometimes even scolding them outright. Will thought it was hilarious. Until she came home one day, around eleven.
She had seen a teacher kissing a student. Mia confronted the student, trying to make sense of it, and the girl told her that’s just what people do when they love each other.
So Mia had come home and told Will, with complete conviction, “You don’t love me.”
The absurdity of it made him laugh. But beneath the amusement, something curdled. What teacher? He had her tell him everything. What she said, what she saw, who it was. He handled it. It turned into a mess. The man was arrested. It should have ended there. But it stuck with her. The way she held herself afterward. The way she looked at people. The way guilt gnawed at her.
She never talked about it.
At thirteen, she kissed a girl friend. She told Will, and he told her not to do that in public because people were cruel. Then she kissed a boy, and he yelled at her.
She was confused.
He never answered. Just apologized, like that could undo it. He pulled her from school soon after.
She learned to hide things from him.
The first time she was with a man, she came home shaking, bile rising in her throat. She locked herself in the bathroom, threw up, cried until her face was raw. Then she found him and spat the words like they were poison—this is your fault.
He didn’t understand. Couldn’t. She wouldn’t explain. Just curled into herself like something had broken inside her.
Years passed before he found out.
When he did, it unraveled something in him so violently that Mia locked herself in her room for two days.
wow that description of the last ask...why did she blame Will and what exactly did he do that freaked her out so much?
The letters. The drawings. The picture of them.
It was all laid out in front of him like something profane. It should not exist. It should never have existed. His vision blurred at the edges, nausea climbing his throat in thick, wet waves. His body rejected it before his mind could. He turned, heaved, emptied himself onto the floor.
Then he found him. Ended the man.
But he let him live. That was the worst part. The cruelest part. He let him live so he could feel it, could know, every second, that Will Graham had peeled back his skin and poured something dark inside him that would rot him from the inside out.
Then he came home. Blood dried stiff on his shirt. He tore it from his body and threw it at her.
She flinched.
He had been drinking.
Way too much.
His hands found her hair. Her back hit the wall.
She gasped, but he wasn’t looking at her. Not really. He was looking at something inside her, something that was made because of him, because of all of it, and he understood now. Why she said it was his fault. Why she came home shaking. Why she hated herself.
His hands found her face.
He could barely see her through the static in his brain.
He would never know of anything she did anymore.
Does young Mia collects toys? Like asking Will, sometimes, to buy some specific toys because they are appealing to her? she seems a kid who observes a lot
I accidentally entered Will’s mind too much and thought about other types of toys my oh my. Anyhow,
It started with a gas station bear. Cheap, small, stiff-furred, with a red bow tied around its neck like a promise. He had been late, too late, and she had been curled on the couch, silent in that way that wasn’t silence at all. He placed the bear in her lap, awkward, guilty. Sorry, baby.
She stared at it. Then at him. Then at it again.
And then she smiled.
That was all it took.
So the next time, there was another bear. Same stiff fur, same glassy eyes, but this one had a blue bow. Then green. Then pink. He bought every color the gas station had. Then, when he ran out, he bought cat bows from craft stores, from pet shops, little satin ribbons in plaid, in polka dots, in floral prints. Late nights, missed dinners, words left unsaid, he tied apologies around their tiny necks.
By the time she was sixteen, her room was full of them. Shelves stacked with tiny bear bodies, soft soldiers lined up in silent devotion.
He still does it. Even now. When he misses her being small enough to fit in his arms. He still finds them, the little bears, still ties the bows, still places them in corners of her room like offerings.
She never says anything about them. But she never throws them away.
The mornings start the same. Always the same.
Will wakes early, before the sun stretches over the trees, before the world is fully awake. The house is quiet, still heavy with sleep. He showers quickly, lets the hot water burn the stiffness from his muscles, then pulls on his uniform—belt heavy on his hips, badge clipped in place.
In the kitchen, he makes breakfast. Simple, but good. Scrambled eggs, toast, some fruit. Black coffee for himself. Juice for her. The smell fills the house, warm and familiar.
He steps back into the room, where she is a tangle of limbs and blankets, face buried in her pillow. She doesn’t stir when he calls her name, doesn’t move when he nudges her shoulder. A sigh, then he lifts her, warm and boneless with sleep, and carries her to the kitchen. She curls up in his lap, head against his chest, eyes still closed as she blindly reaches for her fork.
She eats like that—half-asleep, slow.
After breakfast, the routine continues. She brushes her teeth, sat on the sink, eyes barely open, and he stands behind her, working a brush through her long, dark hair, gentle but efficient. She checks her bag like always: blankie, teddy, book, notebook, pencils, juice, fruit in a small plastic container. Everything in its place. Everything accounted for.
Then it’s time to go.
They leave the house as the sky softens to morning blue. The drive to the station is quiet. She watches the world through the window, half-lost in whatever stories live in her head.
At the station, she stays with Shayla—the woman in the copying machine room, who has a soft spot for Mia and an endless supply of lollipops. Will checks in, grabs his assignments. The day unfolds in shifts—patrols, reports, long hours of waiting broken by moments of chaos.
Mia naps around four, curled in one of the worn chairs in Shayla’s office, and if Will is there—caught up in paperwork, his eyes burning from too many hours in front of a screen—he pulls her into his arms. She sleeps against his chest, small, warm, the weight of her a reminder that the world isn’t all bad.
By seven, maybe eight, the day is done. He carries her to the car, her arms wrapped around his neck, breath soft against his shoulder.
At home, she doesn’t wake when he sets her in bed, doesn’t stir when he tucks the blanket around her. He watches her for a moment, something heavy settling in his chest, then changes, sits on the edge of the bed.
Tomorrow, they’ll do it all again.
Will buying toddler clothes for Mia is something so funny and cute to my, I can't stop thinking about it 🙊
Will Graham had faced a lot of horrors in his life. He’d seen crime scenes that would make a grown man weep. He’d stared into the abyss of the human soul. He had fought sleep deprivation, emotional instability, and his own self-destructive tendencies.
But nothing had prepared him for the absolute nightmare that was shopping for toddler clothes.
He stood in the middle of the baby aisle, surrounded by an explosion of pastel chaos. Pinks, blues, yellows, tiny floral prints, polka dots, ducks. Why were there so many ducks? He rubbed his temples.
Mia was perched in the shopping cart, happily chewing on her own fist, completely unbothered by her father’s impending mental breakdown.
He picked up a tiny pink onesie with a bunny on it. “This is cute, right?” he muttered, showing it to Mia.
Mia blew a raspberry. Not helpful.
He grabbed a dress—frilly, full of lace, something that looked like it belonged to a doll from the 1800s. He held it up. “Nope. She’d kill me,” he muttered, tossing it back.
Then he made the mistake of looking at the sizes.
“12 months, 18 months, 2T… What the hell is 2T?” He squinted at the tag. “Who decided toddler sizing should be like reading ancient runes?”
A woman passing by gave him a sympathetic look. “How old is she?”
Will glanced at Mia, who had now stolen a pack of socks and was trying to eat the packaging. “Uh, almost two.”
“Then 2T should work!” she said cheerfully before disappearing down another aisle, completely oblivious to the existential crisis she had just caused.
He threw a couple of random outfits into the cart—some little overalls, a t-shirt with a weirdly aggressive-looking giraffe on it, a dress with strawberries because that seemed safe—and then he saw a tiny, soft, navy-blue hoodie.
It was the exact shade of his own favorite hoodie, the one he wore on days when he wanted to disappear into himself. It even had a little pocket in the front. She’d look just like him.
Without hesitation, he grabbed it.
Mia clapped her sticky hands together, delighted by absolutely nothing.
Will sighed, shaking his head. “You are the easiest part of this, you know that?”
She giggled. He took that as agreement.
Mia liking literature is so real, I love it as well!🙏🏻❣ So is Will expecting her to be good in all subject and to be cultured, like Hannibal expect with Amara?🤔
-🐛
Hi little worm 🐛 anon!
I think Will is less strict about school than Hannibal, but this doesn’t mean he isn’t strict…Just not as much as Hannibal (which is a lot). He makes sure he’s aware of her progress and demands good grades, and oversees her work, but he allows her to flourish naturally in whatever she excels at. She’s nerdy, though. No way she wouldn’t be.
