pathological,

i did not evolve the ability to feel shame.

[tattler]

#tattler, a private and highly selective portrayal of freddie lounds from the nbc series hannibal. triggering content galore, proceed with caution. lovingly written by meg, 24, gmt. sideblog. pinterest. spotify.

       "nothing sells better than a survival story."

[tattler]

freddie saw a man get shot and killed right in front of her, she saw another man get most of his organs removed from his body and had to use a manual respirator pump to keep him alive, she almost died several times, all of which was as a direct result of her writing, and yet she decides to change absolutely none of her behaviour. name a bigger girlboss-icon-legend, i'll wait

[tattler]

i think the first time she's tried for libel, she does make an effort to treat it semi-seriously, but i just know that by the sixth time she's got a whole routine down that may or may not involve a cheap grocery store cake being attacked with a plastic fork in the parking lot of said grocery store, just a block or two over from the courthouse

[lambshriek-deactivated20240701]

she can almost see the wiggle of the bait in in the reporter's smile. careful starling. she finds herself searching her peripheral. was there a cameraman waiting for her signal ? a recorder tucked somewhere the garish patterns ? the last time she'd found herself swept up in the media, crawford had afforded her a fair amount of grace but she doubted he'd have the same for quarrelling with freddie lounds for all the hear.

clarice tries again. " miss lounds, " this time her voice sounds all right to her. steady. " my only interest is in securing this scene until baltimore authorities arrive. you may make your own inferences about the evidence when it becomes available to the public. "

[tattler]

"agent starling,"  she mimics the other woman, amusement written clear as day across those oh-so sharp features.  the ball's been in her court since she first set foot here, and she doesn't miss the way clarice subtly scans their surroundings, no doubt on the lookout for a journalistic accomplice, or a criminal case waiting to be built from the wings.  it's very smart of her, to be fair; freddie almost finds herself paying a begrudging amount of respect to the agent.

"at which point your bumbling colleagues will likely have already lost, misplaced, or contaminated a quarter of the evidence."  her head tilts to the side, much like a crow, right down to the beady little gaze.  hair spills freely over her shoulder, fiery red curls sharply contrasted against the teal fur collar of her jacket, wild and springy in this cold breeze that whips around them.  "and another quarter, well, we both know it'll be ignored, or worse, misinterpreted."

[lambshriek-deactivated20240701]

if there is another version of this story ... @tattler

" miss lounds, what exactly are you insinuating ? "

a thread of annoyance winds its way around her words. it curls in the stiff set of her jaw. the thin line of her lips all intended to portray some hue of neutrality, but she's never been much good at it. she'd been warned of the reporter. had her fair share of parasitic headlines. her name, her words, twisted or outright misquoted for maximum intrigue. but freddie was a beast entirely of her own. worming her way into whatever crack she could find. pilfering secrets, bartering dignity.

holding the woman's gaze, it's difficult to mask her disdain.

[tattler]

"i'm not insinuating anything, agent starling,"  a slow start to her rebuttal, freddie is careful to keep her voice steady, exactly gaze levelled evenly at the other woman, almost challenging her to push her further.  "i'm stating, plain and simple, that there's never one clean-cut telling of a tale."  the corners of her lips begin to inch upwards in a smug display of self-satisfaction, the trademark lounds smirk; she's got a carefully crafted lack of tact, and she's never been afraid to wear it as a badge, just as shiny as the one that clarice flashes from time to time.  "now, what i will imply, happily, is that the fbi has no problem painting a scene in a way that fits their narrative."  she does the same thing, of course, but she'll never deny it.  that's where their kinds differ.

[pesky--dust]

Freddie Lounds:

recognised a very specific brand of hostility in Will, which made her sense that Will might be the murderer

figured out that Abigail killed Nicholas Boyle

probably the first (besides Hannibal and Will themselves) realized how unusual relationship between Will and Hannibal is (and almost died because of it)

called Hannibal and Will “murder husbands”

Bonus quote:

“I think people hate Freddie because she tells the truth. But it’s like ‘if you don’t want me to call you Murder Husbands, stop being Murder Husbands!’” — Lara Jean Chorostecki when asked whether or not Freddie pronounced Will and Hannibal Murder Husbands just to spite them

[tattler]

becomeblood​.

freddie’s protest of the hilarity is expected, but it would be. to her. the list of things that taint her reputation is endless, fame found in questionable behaviour. alana says nothing. she thinks she ought to leave, but her hands are still in her pockets. the door seems further away than before. “it’s nothing.” a lie, an almost-apologetic lie. a pretence that is unsold, and has been crumbling to nothing since she’d walked into the room. (if she meant it— if she was being honest, she wouldn’t be there). “and it’s not right.” or professional. 

freddie’s business, and the name that she has made for herself in the tabloids, should never have been mixed with alana’s pleasure. despite how good it had felt. for that, an apology lingers on her tongue. it doesn’t come, instead replaced by a hard stare. futile, as the corner of her lip quirks as freddie pushes closer forward. “i shouldn’t have allowed it to go this far.” a reassurance that it had never been anything at all; she is still not devoid of any longing.

there’s a feline quality to the way that she slowly-but-surely continues forward, step by step.  her head cants a little, to the side, water droplets slooowly dripping from curls that have barely been towel dried.  “how can it be nothing if it’s not right?”  she queries like the smart alec that she always has been; from the child who knew more than her teachers and asked questions that they couldn’t answer to the woman who lets nothing get by, whip smart and razor sharp as ever.  it’s why she didn’t last long in college, and it’s why she’s never been able to work for a traditional type of paper: other people are too nice and too stupid for her, for her patience, and she isn’t the type of person to hold back.

she wanted to do some good at the beginning, she thinks, but she’s never been totally sure how to do good in a nice way, so she did it her way.  she did what she does best, and if good happens to come of it, then it’s a pretty swell bonus, but it’s not her end-goal.  nothing really is, nothing concrete, anyway.  what she wants more than anything is to gain information; she wants to know about the secrets that people bury deep down in their soul, wants to shine flashlights directly onto them for the whole world to see.  she wants to drag those people into the light, screaming and fighting while they go.  you can’t be afraid of them if you see them for what they are, after all, and freddie is not a woman for who fear comes easily.  “i don’t think it’s very fair that you’re the one who gets to allow these kind of things.”

[tattler]

BECOMEBLOOD.

coat remains on, tied at her waist. (usually it was retired to a hook somewhere, the back of the chair. it would only hinder freddie, anyway). typically, there would be no awkwardness. alana wouldn’t linger in the doorway for too long, but she does now; her hands remain in her pockets, one fiddling with forgotten-about loose change. “this isn’t funny, fred—die.” a nickname is too personal now. it should be unspoken in her mouth. she shouldn’t be here, and she never should have been. fraternising with freddie lounds, author of tattle crime and serial infiltrator of crime scenes, is on no account professional. the fbi would certainly be unapproving, as the number of jeopardised dna samples increases. alana isn’t stupid, she never discusses the details of cases and never has more than two glasses of wine in her company. still, she could never be sure (in a sleepful, or drunken or any other haze) that she would be able to stop the secrets from spilling. or that they wouldn’t become front-page news, sourced from a rambling about the horror of crime scene photos. “whatever this is— whatever you think this is, it has to end.” but the gap between her and the door is wider, a step taken further into the room, a clicking heel. the avoidance of eye contact stops, and she locks on to freddie. “this time, i mean it.”

“come on, it’s a little funny.”  they’re toying with faux-formalities now, she notes, though it’s clear that an effort is being made to stick to it, and not as successfully as alana might have first hoped.  a woman as intelligent as her ought know that it’s very difficult to backtrack when you’ve come as far as they both have, having crossed so much territory and red tape, especially where freddie is involved.  the faintest jingle-jangle of jewellery sounds out from beneath the sleeves of a cozy cardigan that she’s wrapped herself up in, arms crossing over her chest as alana clearly struggles and wrestles within; it’s amusing to the redhead, she won’t lie.  she could, but she won’t.

“whatever i think this is?”  she takes an almost dangerous step closer, bare feet treading over the awful carpet of this motel room and further shortening the gap that exists between them.  “what do you think this is, doctor bloom?”

[itolerate]

Freddie Lounds articles about Will and Hannibal post fall:

[tattler]

aleximedicus​.

not even the strong london wind could carry away the loud scoff that passed the surgeon’s lips. better company! she would do well as a jester. yanking his hat a little further down his forehead, he shook his head and quickened his pace even further. with any luck, he could simply tire her out of pursuing him — though with what he knew of her tenaciousness, that was rather unlikely. “ if you will forgive my bluntness, madam, a rabid dog would be better company than you. i have said that i will give no comment; you may print your title as ‘ornery surgeon refuses to speak to journalist’ and be done with it. ”

“now now, sir, surely you know by now that i’m not so easily deterred.”  she somehow has managed to almost his speed, only a step or two behind.  her legs may be burning, little as they are, but that’s a problem to be solved later on in the day, after she’s adequately terrorised her subjects, poked and prodded at them as though they’re creatures in a cage.  there is only so much mindless gossip that one woman can bear to write about; freddie has always believed that she is destined for greater things than sating the curtain twitchers of london.  “besides, do you even know what it is that i wish to ask you?”

[tattler]

aleximedicus​.

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋.  /  @tattler​.

wonderful. journalists. vultures of the city, in lewis’ estimation; nothing they published did not suit their agenda, and if the truth did not fit within that criteria, the truth was neatly snipped out. this one in particular had been more than a nuisance in the past, to put it lightly. stuffing his pamphlets into his coat, the surgeon began a hasty retreat down the pavement and called over his shoulder, “ i have no interest in speaking, thank you. ”

“you wound me, mr. anwyl.”  she wastes no time in hurrying after him, caring little for the grime that the hem of her dress gathers along the way.  her reputation precedes her, it seems, and that alone stirs up a smug little feeling of pride within her  –  though it’s certainly not the first time she’s harassed the good surgeon.  he’s proven to be a good target as far as her articles are concerned, so while she wishes he would slow down, she understands it all the same.  “am i not better company than the parliamentarians that you confront day in, day out?”

[tattler]

sanctamater​.

  were our lady a wiser woman, a softer woman - she could grant frederica lounds a begrudging respect; a distant sort of understanding. she should know, above all others, what it was to spit upon the rules and those who made them. she should know the value of whispers, and the danger of them. but the mother of all mothers is not a saint; isn’t an angel, either. she simply is; and the sainted lady could never quite look her reflection in the eye. all these small things she could easily ignore, all these inconsequential thoughts she could leave for another day. for what is the value of man’s will when the spirit is wanting? and what is the value of a woman’s word when all she speaks is barbs? 

  “ i am sure there is. ” look hard enough, and you can find fault in anything. her lips purse ever so slightly, a stern line to the curve of her mouth that doesn’t suit such features. they say our lady can tell a true believer from a heretic with but a word. she doesn’t need divine omnipotence to see that miss lounds is anything but a believer - but that is between frederica and god, not frederica and the prophet. not frederica and the prophet’s bride. as with many things, our lady remains silent. “ but as you pointed out miss lounds, the new eden is surely blessed given the state of contentment we live in. ” that the elite few live in, she thinks. how many suffer in that same silence - passed over for affairs and luncheon gossip. “ well. ” our lady says that often, now. well. “ i am sure, were we unfortunate enough to have stayed below in the sodom, that everything would be the same, and we would all be all the more miserable for it. ”

she makes no effort to sound as though she believes the words she says, the hum of agreement lacking in her usual fervour.  “and what a state of contentment it is that we find ourselves living in.”  if you’ve ever read her work, then you know the kind  –  it pervades every inch of the gossip columns that her words frequent, saturating the page with the brand of passionate nosiness that only freddie is capable of.  the truthfulness of what she writes is up for debate, just as it had been down below, but the mere fact that people hang on to every word she writes is reason enough for her to continue.  the truth is so subjective, after all.  what very few pick up on is the presence of the same intensity in some of the other published works to be found in columbia.  less respected than the scandal sheets that she’s known for, if such a thing is possible, and almost certainly a punishable offence if she were to be found out as the author  ...  but that’s never deterred her before.

“how very fortunate that we all left it behind, then.”  she picks, absently, at the kid leather of her gloves, the signature twitchy fingers of a journalist who goes without her notepad and pencil.  the art of timing is something that she has always found tricky, not leat of all because of an impatient nature; though, knowing miss lounds, it may also just be a lack of caring.  “it seems to me that all of us up here have things to repent for.  would you say that’s correct, ma’am?”

[tattler]

freddie is such a bitch 🙄 she made fun of will so many times which is unacceptable 😔 and she committed malpractice in her job which NO OTHER FICTIONAL CHARACTERS have ever done 😡 shes a literal JOURNALIST which is way worse than any serial killer slash cannibal i’ve seen 🥰

[mrspider-deactivated20221213]

murderers are so embarrassing like how does a grown ass adult have so much free time on their hands that theyre out killing and attacking people…. dont you have like a job or something 😕 idk just like pick a cuter hobby

[mrspider-deactivated20221213]

if i got attacked by a serial killer i would feel so embarrassed for them like thats so sad. youre like obsessed or something dont you have anything else to do

[this-thing-of-darkness]

“Humans are feral and ruthless; this, this watching through cool intent eyes and delicately adjusting one factor or another till a man’s fundamental instinct for self-preservation cracks, is savagery in its most pure, most polished and most highly evolved form.”

— Tana French, In the Woods

[tattler]

i have not known a moment of peace since katie said that there’s an element of peter pan to freddie’s aesthetic, not a single moment

[tattler]

a-lanabloom​.

@patholoqical​,   canon dialogue sc.

   ‘i wouldn’t be good for you, and you wouldn’t be good for me.’

❝  you should’ve told me we were having this talk again.  i might’ve made popcorn.  ❞