Mar 7, 2025
fredsquared butchfemme. is this anything
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fredsquared butchfemme. is this anything
Finally! I feel like I waited a million years to post this! This is my contribution to the Esparza Exchange for @dandydevildog 😃 Her blog is amazing and you should follow her if you aren't already. I was torn between this and drawing a Barson piece, but this sketch was the one I hated the least so I went with it, I hope you like it! I'm so excited to see everyone else's content <3
Christmas was, in a word, annoying.
In a few words: really fucking annoying.
It was all green and red tinsel, pine needles in her shoes and glitter on her clothes. It was jingling bells and reindeer antlers, Christmas carols and overcrowded malls. It was smiling faces and ‘Happy Christmas,’ people raving over eggnog and sneak attack kisses under mistletoes (punching people under mistletoe). It was running out of Russian Red lipstick and losing the last tube to a mother of a teenaged daughter who did not deserve Russian Red lipstick.
Christmas was being forced to buy sticky cheap pink lipstick, and being guilt-tripped into donating to charities she didn’t care about. Christmas was a call from her parents. Christmas was painfully awkward pauses and pity-filled promises of meeting up before New Year’s that would never be fulfilled.
It was being forcefully volunteered, against every protest, dragged feet, and stomped foot, to play Santa’s elf in elementary school Christmas programs three years in a row because ‘Freddie’s short like an elf’ and ‘Freddie has red hair like an elf’ and ‘Freddie looks like an elf.’
Well, fuck you Mindy Thomaski.
Freddie hated Christmas, hated it with heart, gusto, and passion, with every wreath passed in cold hospital corridor, every note of overrated Christmas song over crappy speakers, and sympathetic glance from passing nurse working the night shift on Christmas Eve. She hated Christmas, hated hospitals, and that lingering smell of disinfectant. She hated Frederick Chilton, hated that she gave him her number, and his stupid misspelled text messages.
- Come here
- For what reason?
- Intervene
Veiw
Interview
??????
- Yeah, fine, I’m coming. Keep your gown on.
Freddie hated Christmas but Frederick on the other hand, “What happened in here?”
“Oh,” Frederick grinned up from the book in front of him, glasses hallway down his nose like he’d forgotten he was wearing them, before gesturing lazily to the shiny green tinsel taped around the room. “The nurses.”
Somewhere in the back of her head, she noted that Frederick didn’t look quite as close to death as he had the week before. She made another note of the glassy faraway look in his eyes and the dopy grin; painkillers, strong ones. ‘Great.’
“Why?” she asked, doing very little to hide her disgust as she eyed the cheap looking Christmas tree next to the dying poinsettias. “It looks like Saint Nicky exploded.”
“Isn’t it great, Freddie?” he smiled. “Oh, Gingerbread Fred!”
“Don’t call me that.”
Frederick talked, a lot.
Due from a strong hatred of silence, a love of his own voice, or the drugs, she didn’t know; thought she suspected that it might have been a combination of all three. She wouldn’t have a problem with this, usually. It was easier to get information out of people who spoke too much, easier to get information out of people buzzed on heavy-duty painkillers. She wouldn’t have a problem with it if he had been saying worth repeating in her article.
“Do you have a family, Freddie?” he asked suddenly, cutting off his own rambling about Tulips being the best flower, like ever Gingerbread Fred, ever.
“What?” she asked, shaken out of her own thoughts. “No.”
“You spend-“ he cut himself off, looking at her with big watery confused eyes. Oh god, don’t cry. “You don’t have anybody to spend Christmas with?”
“No.”
“I don’t either,” he muttered, fiddling with the remote.
“I thought you had a family.”
“They don’t know,” he spoke, voice suddenly light but it was forced, as if held up by balloons. He avoided her eyes as he flipped through the TV channels. “I didn’t tell them about this, uh, mishap.”
“You didn’t tell them you were disemboweled.”
“I will,” he huffed, rolling his eyes. “I just – it’s close to Christmas, it is Christmas! It’ll upset my mother and then I’d have to listen to Rafi – I said I had to work. But it’s fine, because you’re here with me, so neither of us are spending Christmas alone.”
“Is that why you texted me?”
“No one should spend Christmas alone, Freddie,” he spoke, avoiding her eyes as he flipped through the TV channels without really seeing them. “And well, I’m not getting out of here, oh hey, look How It’s Made.”
She tells herself that she stayed because she liked How It’s Made and because it was snowing and cold, because there was something hilarious about the opened mouthed awed expression on Frederick’s face as they watched the production of candy canes and holiday cookies. She tells herself that she was waiting for the painkillers to wear off so she could do her interview.
She tells herself that when his hand lay heavy in her own and he was snoring that she only stayed to gain his trust. That was the only reason.
“Ma’am, visiting hours are over.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“Merry Christmas, Ma’am.”
“Merry Christmas.”
He hasn’t woken up yet.
Jack told her on one of his visits to the safe house that the doctors said they’re just waiting for him to wake up, said that they won’t know the extent of the damage until he does. Jack said that’s all anyone knows right now.
It wasn’t good enough.
She told herself, as she slipped passed the FBI guards, as she snuck down wreath covered hospital corridors, that she was only there to snap a few pictures of the bullet wound. She tells herself that she was only there for pictures, for herself, for her first back-from-the-dead article.
There were flowers in the room, poinsettias from the gift shop and a little decorated Christmas tree with tiny hand-made paper ordainments. There were cards, a lot of them, with scribbled children drawings, addressed to Uncle Freddy and sighed with love. Signs that people had been here, that he hasn’t been alone, but they were all now long gone. She didn’t notice any of it.
He was breathing, still as death itself but breathing, pale as the sheets he laid on but breathing. It stole her breath away.
She hung up her own tinsel, made by hand from paper stolen from an FBI agent, put her own flowers – blue and white, out of season and a bitch to find, tulips because those were the best flowers, like ever – into the mix of cards.
She held is hand, too warm in her too cold ones. She watched How It’s Made, cracked jokes about hospital food and the FBI to no response.
They didn’t kick her out that night.
Have you wondered what's happening with the others while Will and Hannibal are off, being murder husbands? Wonder no longer! Freddie: congratulations on your miraculous recovery, Chilton. Chilton: thanks! May I offer you congratulations on your new book, _Murder Husbands_? Freddie: please do! Chilton: we're so awesome. Freddie: yes we are.
Chilton, 27 (who he shares it with is up to you)
Hannibal. Chilton/Lounds. 1569 words.
Bad leads, bad weather, and dessert in the wrong time of year.
“Do you really think I’m inclined to drop everything and come get you? I’m not your chauffeur, Miss Lounds.” | It’s raining and Freddie needs a favor.
Read it on AOOO.
Fred Squared.
Happy St. Valentine day! First piece of my Pairing Parade for this Valentine's day!
The other pairings of the same series
FredSquared (Freddie Lounds/Frederick Chilton)
Bederick (Bedelia/Frederick Chilton)
Freddielana (Freddie/Alana)
Brownham (Matthew Brown/Will Graham)
ChillyWilly (Chilton/Will)
Bella and the Beast (Jack/Bella)
Margot/Will
Katz and Dogs (Will/Beverly)
Bedannibal (Bedelia/Hannibal)
Willana (Will/Alana)
Preller (Zeller/Price)
Freddiebal (Freddie/Hannibal)
Mardie (Margot/Freddie Lounds)
Zeller/Lounds
Hannibloom (Alana/Hannibal)
Hannigram (Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter)
Also, for a good read and more fanarts, download (for free, of course) the Valentine's day special edition of this month issue of "Fannibals" HERE
can you imagine how arguing between the Freds would go?
"Freddie you can't read my files there's confidential and that's against the law."
"Oh yeah, tell me more about Mr.Psychic Driving."
"I have great judgement!"
"You befriended a cannibal."
"You pissed off a cannibal."
"So did you."
And then Rafael is just "you both suck, get out of my room it's three in the morning, how did you even get in here?"
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I FredSquared again. More flirty stuff, mostly. And bonus Alfredo Aldarisio!