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keelywolfe · 3 years

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FIC: Keep Breathing (standalone)

Summary: Edge can handle this. He can. All he has to do is keep breathing.

Notes: I forget where I saw it, on twitter or discord, about Edge being unable to understand what he felt when he saw Stretch. This is what sort of evolved from it.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Papcest, Angst, Feels, LV Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence

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Read it on AO3

Read it here!

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Breathing, that was what was important. In, out, deep, slow breaths. It took a few before the icy Snowdin air seemed to help smother the fire currently burning in his chest. Edge kept it up, slow breaths, in and out, and he didn’t have lungs, but he still needed air, his magic greedily incorporating the oxygen as the sense of smothering he’d felt in the Swap brothers’ house faded.

His bones felt hot and achy, the snow beneath him melting and soaking into his trousers as he sat curled up on the ground behind the house, out of view of any passersby on the streets. Not far away he could hear the crunch of footsteps and words blurred by distance, pedestrians heading to the shops or perhaps Muffet’s for a treat. Their laughter was clearer, unknowing that he was close by and listening, and Edge buried his face into his updrawn knees and did not wonder at what they might think if they saw him here, if their concern would turn to fear with a simple Check.

It was rare that he made such a foolish mistake. If his brother’s lessons hadn’t taught him caution, then life in Underfell certainly had. One was cautious or one was dead, there was little room for error. Although foolish was far too sedate a word for this. Insanity might be closer, to come here to this softer world with his LV still sizzling in his soul. He’d thought it was safe, that it had settled enough or perhaps wished it so desperately to be true that he’d convinced himself it was.

He should have known better.

Bounty hunters were supposed to restrain themselves to the deeper parts of Snowdin woods where no one lived, only existed, those who lumbered about with their minds lost to their LV. Supposed to, but anyone willing to bounty usually had high LV themselves and the irony that they would probably become what they hunted in the end was not often lost on them. When they were teetering between hunter and hunted, anyone unlucky enough to cross their path could be the one to set them off and send them over the brink. Edge’s luck had been especially poor today to come across a hunting pair while checking the traplines and if he’d been only slightly slower, a fraction less dedicated to his training, he would have simply been more dust added to their growing pile.

He hadn’t killed them, though it had been a near thing. Only taken them down to one HP and left them panting in the snow to either drag themselves away to try healing or perhaps finish each other off. Either way, they were likely as good as dead, but he refused to take them over the line. His own LV was already high enough, he shuddered to think of the amount of XP that would come from killing a hunter, much less two. He hadn’t stayed to see which option they chose, only hurried back to Snowdin proper without trying to seem as if he was hurrying. The walk had seemed endless, fraught with peril as anyone who dared check him would find him vulnerable. No one did, their ingrained wariness of the guard keeping them from trying their chances.

He’d arrived home with no fresh XP, but his soul still felt as if it were lit on fire from deep within, crying greedily for more. He likened it to a voice in the back of his skull, one that grew louder with every LV up and made cold demands for more payment in dust. He’d learned to ignore it, mostly, except for these moments when his soul felt as if it was swelling in his ribcage, hovering hot and bloated in his chest, and wresting control back seemed to take longer every time.

He should have called Blue then to cancel their cooking lesson, offered his regrets and made plans for another day. He should have and hadn’t, selfishly telling himself that he had it under control because he hadn’t wanted to cancel. He’d wanted to come to their shared cooking lessons, wanted to be here in this world with its abundant supplies and residents that walked the streets easily without having to peer out their front doors before stepping out into crisp air that didn’t taste of bitter, lingering dust. The same air he was so desperately inhaling now.

Tacos were the order of the day, a simple dish with a thousand variations. He’d been helping Blue chop up the brisket that’d already spent the day roasting slowly in the oven and he'd absently reached for a scrap of gristle that would otherwise be heading to the waste bin, only to have Blue playfully slap his hand away.

"Ah, ah,” he’d laughed, his starry eye lights bright and amused, “you'll spoil your appetite."

And in that one split second, his control broke free of his increasingly tenuous grasp and he'd nearly struck back. He could still see his intention in his mind's eye, to slap this little aggravation out of his way, how dare they lay a hand on him when they should be cowering at his feet, how dare they, how—

He'd reeled it back in almost instantly, but the damage was done, the urge lingering. He wouldn’t allow it control. He couldn’t. Edge turned on his heel and walked out, ignoring Blue's confused calls for him to come back, he was only teasing, Edge…?

He ignored it all, hasty strides taking him out into the cold snow, fleeing as if the hunters were still scrabbling at his heels and not one small, confused skeleton. He’d gone, one hand clawing at the front of his shirt to let in some much-needed cold air and didn’t stop until he was around the house at the back door that led downstairs to the machine. His boots slid in snow hardpacked from so many others walking through it and he’d slipped, falling heavily to the ground. His flight back to Underfell paused as he crawled over to lean against the house and all he could do was heave in long, slow breaths to ease the aching burn in his chest.

Around him, lights were coming from the windows of the other little houses, cutting through the darkness. Artificial dusk had fallen at some point after he’d arrived, and those houses were filled with Monsters who had no idea who was in their midst. Their souls weren’t like his; they were innocent, as pure as Blue’s, and—

Blue.

He’d been so confused, apologizing profusely even without knowing what he was apologizing for. Edge would have to think of something to tell him, some excuse for his poor manners. Better for Blue to think Edge rude than the alternative; that he’d very nearly beaten him bloody in his own kitchen for the tiny sin of teasing. He needed to get and keep control over himself, and right quickly. Any moment now Blue might come looking at him, all innocent, solicitous concern.

He didn’t want Blue to see him right now, didn’t want anyone to see him. But the voice that suddenly came was from no one he’d considered at all.

“you okay?”

Edge whipped around to see Stretch leaning around enough to peer around the corner, his lower half still concealed by the house. One of his ever-present cigarettes was smoldering between two fingers, ash falling from the tip into the snow, so much like dust—

“What the hell do you want?” Edge snarled, his guilt suddenly swirling with the tension Stretch always brought with him. There was something about Stretch that had simply irritated him at first sight, something that he couldn’t put to words. It couldn’t be his lazy ways or his attitude or even his way of dress. Sans was much the same and he didn’t provoke the same reaction. But there was something, something in his enigmatic smile or the cant of his hips that made Edge’s soul stir in a way reminiscent of LV. Like now, fanning the already agitated heat inside him even hotter.

Stretch only shrugged. He’d always taken Edge’s dislike of him in stride, offering the occasional sly insult and little more. “just what it says on the box. are you okay?”

Someone of the science mind might find it interesting that all of them sounded so differently. Papyrus’s voice was surprisingly nasally for someone who had no nose, and Edge’s own ranged into higher pitch, almost a screech at times, and it took considerable effort to keep it to a lower tone. The low rasp of Stretch’s, like velvet polishing marble, was surely a sign of the Universe’s bizarre sense of humor; he didn’t deserve such a voice to use while he snored his life away.

“I’m fine,” Edge said shortly.

“uh huh. fine. you’re always fine, huh. bet your ass you are.” He exhaled smoke through his nasal aperture and it wreathed his face, his cigarette glowed brighter as he took another drag. The glowing ember briefly illuminating his face, giving it an eldritch cast and making his resemblance to Edge even more uncanny than normal. "even when you’re not.”

Did he know what Edge had been thinking? Difficult to say with him, there were times when Edge envied that carelessly bland expression, so difficult to read, even for his own brother.

“Am I supposed to be grateful for your concern?” Edge asked instead. “I see you looking at me. I know what you think of me.”

“yeah?” Stretch said mildly. “you think you got the inside scoop of what’s on my mind?”

Edge closed his mouth hard and turned away. No, no, he didn't and that was part of the problem, wasn't it. He didn’t know what went on in that head, couldn’t begin to guess. He only knew that despite sharing a face, it was nothing like what was in his own.

Stretch finally stepped around the corner entirely, sauntering closer and seeming not to notice Edge’s barely stifled flinch even as he snarled, “Get that filthy thing away from me—"

He trailed away as Stretch tamped out the cigarette on the bottom of his sneaker before he could finish, tucking the remaining butt into his pocket.

Stretch sat down next to him, seemingly equally unperturbed by the snow soaking into his clothes and Edge’s unwelcoming expression. Not touching, but close enough if one want to reach out a hand. Or a fist.

“what am i thinking,” Stretch mused, “hm. tell you what, let me give you a quick rundown. right now, i’m thinking that i wanted to check on you ‘cause you ran out of my house like you were getting chased by a bony bat out of hell. even my little bro’s most creative cooking ain’t that bad. i wanted to make sure you're okay.” He shrugged, an easy roll of shoulders. “that's it, it's not that deep.”

That was untrue. The fact that he came out at all meant something and Edge didn’t understand what. Unless his goal was to keep Blue away, a sensible choice if that were so.

Stretch didn’t wait for him to gather his wandering thoughts. "you think you know what’s on my mind? let me tell you something. you come from the wrong side of the multiverse and shit is rough for you, right? you think i don’t get that? you think that sitting here cushy in my slice of the universe means i don’t get what it’s like for you?” He tipped his head towards Edge, half a smirk lifting the side of his mouth and Edge wondered if he were being mocked. “well, you’re right. i don’t. but only takes one look at your face to guess that.” His hands didn’t seem to know what to do without their usual vice. They rested on his knees, his thumbs rubbing absent circles against the coarse material of his cargo pants. “i don’t know what it’s like to live in your ‘verse and you only think you know what it’s like in mine. we’re that much alike, ain’t we.”

“I have LV.” And you don’t was left unspoken.

“i know. but i’d be the last person to judge you about that.” His smirk twisted into something almost bitter, some humor that Edge couldn’t place. “the very last.” Stretch sighed and climbed to his feet with a groan, pressing both hands into the base of his spine as he arched. He held out a hand and after a moment, Edge took it. his gloved fingers against Stretch’s bare ones. ”come on, my bro’s been working hard on his weird ass tacos. ‘preciate if you could choke down a bite or t—hey!”

His yelp was loud, echoing then lost in the cavern overhead. The moment he was on his feet, Edge pushed Stretch against the house and finally that casual façade cracked, his sockets startled and wide as Edge pinned him against the wall. That hot, heavy feeling in his soul surged again, overwhelming the linger dregs of LV and all Edge wanted was to wipe away that easy smirk, touch the untouchable.

Only that startled expression changed into something else, unexpected and unreadable. “well, now, didn’t know this was already on the menu.”

“What?” Edge only managed that single word before Stretch kissed him, full and hard, right on the mouth. His teeth were already parted and Stretch’s tongue slipped smoothly between them, moving against his own. Edge might have expected the taste of cigarettes and it was there, a little, the slightest taint of ashy nicotine. That taste was quickly swallowed up, engulfed, transmuting into unknown honeyed sweetness and warmth.

Stretch’s hands were resting on Edge’s chest, his bare, bony palms flat against his uniform shirt, bleeding warmth through the cold air around them and it was too fast, too much. Edge jerked back and stared speechlessly into Stretch’s face. His eye sockets were half-closed and within them, lights burned, their normal pale hue tinged with a strange cocktail of orange and blue.

His mouth moved as Edge stared, reforming that lazy smirk before he said, “you wanna go right here or take this up to my room?”

The words made no sense to him, nothing but pointless yammering. Then he realized he still had Stretch pinned against a wall, pressed to him from chest to pelvis.

Oh. He thought Edge wanted sex. He didn’t, that wasn’t why, but the actual reasons were fuzzy now, distorted. Why had he pinned Stretch to the wall? He was no longer certain. That confusing roil in his soul whenever he saw Stretch only surged harder as if straining inside his ribcage, LV only a careless afterthought, drowned out by the taste of sweetness lingering on his tongue. He breathed in hard through his teeth, but the cold air didn’t deaden that tingle, the burn shifting from his soul to his mouth. He didn’t know, he didn’t understand, he couldn’t—

Edge backed off, almost stumbling as he stuttered out, “I…I didn’t…”

That easy sultry expression shifted, Stretch’s gaze narrowing. “no, you didn’t, did you. pity,” he murmured. He dusted himself off as if to sweep away any lingering traces of Edge’s touch, already reaching into his pocket for his lighter and cigarettes. “welp. on we go, then, to dinner and probable indigestion.”

All Edge could do was follow him, noting that his back was infuriatingly dry while Edge could feel his own snow-wet clothes clinging uncomfortable to his bones.

Stretch turned the corner and abruptly stopped, wariness dropping briefly across his face before it smoothed away. Edge didn’t think, pushed in front of him automatically to face whatever threat dared to invade this world and instead found his own brother standing there.

With his slouching stance and his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, some might mistake Red for harmless. It was a mistake few survived and even Edge was wary of that casual menace. Red’s gaze narrowed as he looked at them, crimson eye lights sweeping over them both. He ran his tongue over his teeth, the tip digging into the gold one. “heya, ashtray. whatcha doing out here with my bro?”

The lazy warning was unmistakable, and Edge stiffened, already bracing himself to take the brunt of his brother’s temper. Stretch only stepped around him, flashing that careless smile as he tucked a cigarette into the corner of his mouth. He cupped his hands around the flame of his lighter, breathing out a cloud of smoke as he said, “nothing i wouldn’t do with you.”

“that ain’t much reassurance.”

“heh. wasn’t trying to be.” He strolled on, skirting around Red with an extra sway in his narrow hips as if he was just another obstacle in his path and left Edge to deal with his brother.

The moment he was out of sight, Edge swung around to glare at Red.

It had little effect on his brother, it never had. He only offered his own shrug, the roll of his shoulders infuriatingly similar to Stretch’s. “just makin’ sure you ain’t gonna lose your head, boss.”

Edge narrowed his gaze, hissing out, “I don’t need your help!”

“no?”

The word was soaked in doubt and Edge stormed past him, ignoring whatever else Red said as he went back into the house where Blue was surely waiting. There were apologies to be made and tacos to be eaten. At least whatever it was that Stretch stirred in his soul had settled his LV, that heat was banked back, for now. He could handle anything else that came his way, he didn’t need help from anyone, not even his brother, and if seeing Stretch sitting at the dinner table made him inhale slowly through his open mouth, his mouth watering not from tacos but from a memory of sweetness, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if that taste lingered, if that strange feeling still sat heavy in his soul.

None of it mattered, so long as he kept breathing.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #underfell sans #underswap sans #standalone

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musesoftheminds · 7 years

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Scandal 6x10 - Alternate Reality

Hello world. For the past 29 hours I have been glued to my tv, rewatching this scandal episode that I feel I have memorized verbatim but every time I watch it I see something new or different that I didn’t pick up on from the last rewatch. But my heart is open and filled with love as Shonda dedicated this episode to our star crossed lover, Olivia and Fitz.

Me coming out of my room after remaining in seclusion. I feel lightheaded.

This episode was fundamental to the core of Scandal and what the story has always been, the evolution of Olivia Pope and her quest for life. This alternate reality did not disappoint me but left me optimistic and thoroughly sedated. For so long we have watched Olivia fall from grace that at times it appears as though we are looking at a stranger, but we are seeing a change, a slight turn on her axis. Bless you Shonda, for this episode. I never doubted the story or the quest to live a open, honest life.

Now. Let us say our Pledge of the Allegiance.

I pledge allegiance to United States of Olitz and to the republic for which is stands. One nation under Shonda indivisible with jam and love for all. Amen

We start the episode off with Olivia, Fitz and Jake in the oval. Fitz is trying to come up with a plan to free Cyrus but Jake is currently attempting to thwart his plan considering it's something they all want, Mellie to be President. But is that necessarily true though considering Abby told Jake in 602 that she knows he doesn't want Mellie to win. *hint hint* besides who actually wants to win an election that way and Fitz knows that they want Mellie in the White House for a reason otherwise why kill Vargas. Real Bitch and Penis did not stoop to those lengths just to support their fellow white lady. Nothing about this is right, hence Fitz wearing the light shirt and appeasing to Olivia's former self about doing the right thing whereas we have Stevie Wonder appeasing to Olivia's current side hence the dark shirt. A very obvious play of both good and evil, light and dark and of course the love triangle. Stuck between the two men she's been entangled with for a few years; and her lack substance in her gut Olivia is torn as if doing the right thing will be all that right. Olivia begins to side with Fitz but the second she does Jake attempts to bring them both down about 'something he knew 3 hours ago'

Hoe, how did yo Stevie Wonder ass tell time? Anyways ..ugh Jake brings up Defiance being a good thing and completely ignores Olivia's obvious discomfort and pain regarding that ordeal that took place 8 years ago. Fitz looks to Olivia for back up but she rebuffs and begins to talk about Huck dying and how many more people have to get hurt, but Fitz isn't agreeing with Olivia or Jake regarding them doing nothing and before he leaves he tells Olivia and Jake that he needs to know whether they are 'in or out'.

With Fitz out of the office, Jake turns to Olivia and ignores her pain but begins to talk about how life would have been much worse for Fitz had Olivia not the rigged election all the while Olivia's head is bowed in evident sorrow for all the pain she has caused to Fitz and herself. But before Jake walks out he reminds Olivia that her life would have also been worse too had she not rigged election. Cue the dream

But as Olivia flashbacks to the past, most of her prolific memories are shaped around Fitz. We see the most memorable moments for Olivia, good and bad.

Back on the plane with the original illuminati...I feel nostalgic at the sight of Hollis and that old hag Verna. Ugh. My heart’s feeling all warm and fuzzy. But as we all know in real life Olivia said ' yes' but in the alternate reality she says:

‘No. We are not fixing the election. Fitz can win. He can do this. He can turn this around. And when asked about them losing Olivia says 'At least we lose with our souls intact.'

Wow. Olivia believes in Fitz that he can win. But we know how this story ends and it ends with Fitz losing and Olivia being ashamed and heartbroken that she could have won this for Fitz and she chose to let him fall. Mellie makes sure to rub it in Olivia's face about all she had to say was 'yes' and so ironic how Olivia has used that same word when she declared her love for Fitz. But anyways, Olivia is feeling the pain and you can see her clearly wondering if she made the right decision at all. Now we know Olivia enjoys carrying the weight and burden but this wasn't her fault especially not in this world. But. It Hurts nonetheless .

Olivia is trying to escape and act as if she doesn't hear Fitz calling her name, but she stops and tells Fitz she wrote him a letter saying she's sorry for not winning the presidency for him. A letter, Olivia . Really? I understand you are hurt and you would rather do what you have always done, which is run. But don't you think Fitz is deserving of a goodbye or an answer even one as painful as the truth? But Fitz tells Olivia that she didn't let him down, and while America didn't chose him, she can.

Excuse me for a minute.

Okay. I'm back. But barely breathing. Olivia being Olivia bypasses Fitz's request and tells him that she is going to Washington to help Marcus Walker get a criminal justice bill passed. Puppy eyes and lips quivers couldn't begin to describe the yearning those two people feel every time they have to part. Fitz wishes Olivia good luck and Olivia wishes Fitz good luck with Mellie. Olivia leaves Fitz dejected and broken hearted . My eyes hurt from the light of their love, and my heart breaks for the star crossed lovers, and my thirst is finally being quenched after such a long olitz drought that I am edematous.

Olivia

Two months later after breaking up with Fitz, Olivia appears to be trying to fix herself by doing what she does best, staying busy working. Abby, Marcus and even Hobo Huck are all at Olivia's workshop. It's old, ugly and so very unlike our Olivia yet you can see the joy that she has with owning something that belongs to her and she's not some boujee D.C. Girl like she is today. She’s humble and appreciative of the hardwork they have put in to create this. Beautiful. That's pretty refreshing but I will tell you what's not and that is Olivia dating Leo. Yup I threw up in my mouth at the idea of them....but another parallel to help dig the knife even deeper into olakers heart is the fact that our Olivia did this exact same thing with Jake after Fitz found out about defiance. She went on a date and shared a bit here and there but deep down it doesn't erase Fitz, in reality or alternate reality, Olivia can't escape the inevitable that is Fitzgerald Grant. Wherever she goes, he is always with her.

The only difference about Olivia's date with Jake and her would be date with Leo is that Fitz showed up for her and stopped her from making a mistake. So you see olakers it wasn't necessarily Jake that was special it could have been ANYBODY even Leo! And before I hand olakers the final dagger, let me say that Olivia created this alternate world, and not once did she dream of Jake being in it. Olivia wishes she never met Jake, she wishes Fitz would have came to her and stopped her date like he did with Leo.

@dontfrget pic

Freshly defeated, Fitz shows up at Olivia’s apartment ready to ask for her hand in marriage. Unlike our scandal time we’re we see these two people both yearning to be with one another but because of time and circumstance they are always parted. Not in this world. Fitz isn’t going to wait to be with Olivia, he’s ready to be out in the open with her. Fitz showed up for Olivia even in her dream, he came back for her and stood on her doorstep telling her that he's just a ex presidential candidate asking his campaign manager to love him, and do him the honor of becoming his wife because he's so desperately in love with her and if she 'loves me half as much as I love you then it was worth the trip'

As Fitz professes his love for Olivia, softly in the background their song plays. 'Will You Still love me' the same song played when Olivia was arrested for releasing Rowan and we watched Olivia silently beg Fitz to still love her in spite of her short comings.

There is a reason why that song was played. Olivia was at her worse at the time and yet she still desperately wanted Fitz to see her and love her even though she was unable to love herself at the moment. Fitz's is requesting the same of Olivia except much different circumstances. But the message is evident and by the shutting of Olivia's elevator door just as Fitz had shut the door on them. But in this world, they don’t give up. They Fight. Olivia quickly opens the door and said ‘yes’ faintly with such overwhelming love pouring through her. The proposal is everything and more but again the one word Mellie said earlier comes back, all Olivia has to do is say 'yes'. Something she has failed to do often in her current life, and not to mention Shonda’s subtle mention of her own book. Yes.

@dontfrget pic

I cannot begin to describe the joy still festering in my heart at the sight of Olivia following her heart instead of listening to her head, the unsurmountable joy radiating from her. Seldom does Olivia make such drastic choices without thinking it over but this time she went full force something she was unable to do in the real world out of fear.

The parallels are uncanny Mellie told Olivia in the beginning she just had to say 'one word' and like in our realm of scandal when Olivia said 'yes' to being Fitz's mistress and effectively ending Fitz's and Mellie's marriage. Olivia done did it again, by saying yes to Fitz's proposal. And we see Mellie lurking in the shadows at their wedding but she's clearly over Fitz and not jealous of Olivia. I'm sorry my pettiness is flaring up. But Olivia stays ruining Mellie's life by getting her own life. You go girl with yo natural hair and backpack wearing self.

Now, back to Olivia and Fitz screwing the world so they could make their own.

@bananadome pic

Me watching olitz get it on. The whimpers. The moans. The eye contact.

Reunited and it feels so good. Ladies and Gentleman Fitz and Olivia are floating in space. Olivia done magically grabbed them keys from her purse and opened the door and left everything else behind. Olivia literally left her baggage behind but does that actually mean she left it behind? Yes and no. More on that later

Can I just say that I love that Olivia dreamt of all this. She dreamt of Fitz showing up and being her beacon of light and good. While Olivia has Huck, it doesn't replace the hearts hunger for love and affection that can't be suppressed. When the heart speaks it speaks. The attention to detail is a thing of beauty, Shonda truly out did herself with this episode, perfectly layering Olivia and Fitz’s relationship, once again reminding the audience and Olivia and Fitz that their love is real. For so long we have seen Olivia yearning but never actually tasting the sweetness that life could bring, the joy she will find in being ordinary, the fulfillment of reaching her goals without losing herself and the one she loves. This is the tender epilogue that these two souls deserves. They have suffered enough at the hands of others and themselves, it is time for Olivia to start claiming her life and taking it in her own hands.

The wedding

@dontfrget

We see Olivia in the dressing room with just Huck as they get ready for the wedding and Huck cut his hair and trimmed his beard for Olivia's wedding.(don't cry. Don't cry, okay cry) you can see the wedding jitters plastered on both of their faces but Olivia walks to Huck and gets him ready for their big day.

@dontfrget

As they walk another olitz’s greatest hit plays in the background. ‘You’re All I Need To Get By.’ This song was a turning point for Olivia and Fitz’s relationship, were Fitz finally earned Olivia and Olivia was accepting of being earned. The crowd is around her but all she can see is him standing there waiting for her. Olivia doesn’t appear frightened or scared about getting married but joyfully moved at the man waiting for her to cross over on the other side. Yes, he is all she needs to get by.

They exchange vows with their eyes remaining focused only on each other. With the chapel filled with roses we have set the scene to their very own rose garden. The church is filled with gold, roses, and lights that you get this feeling that this must be heaven.

@dontfrget

Rowan's clearly not happy with there union even in the alternate reality just as much as it displeases him in reality. The fact that Olivia chose love over power is an enlightening moment. Olivia is giving herself the life she genuinely wants and is becoming the person she feels she could be with Fitz by her side with Rowan staying in the shadows. Who would have known how much Olivia would have changed had Rowan never influenced her.

A year into their marriage and Oliva and Fitz are still happy and very much in love; with Oliva wearing Fitz's navy shirt these two are still newlyweds with Olivia keeping count of how many times Fitz brings her to climax. I know Olivia took that navy shirt with her when she left the White House, there's no possible way she could have left without taking a piece of him with her.

Even though Olivia and Fitz are married; Olivia still has her commitment issues as evident by her lack of compromise on moving and Fitz being lazy with his lack of effort in everything; but one thing is certain which is Olivia still feels the calling to be more, to create a name for herself, to be somebody whereas Fitz is looking to be a nobody.

Olivia wants to get this bill passed but because Fitz isn't President in this realm and she thereby has no real power and knows any of the Washington elite Olivia is once again powerless, a feeling she hates to her core especially when she has to watch her husband with all the power vested in him be a reporter instead of a leader that she knew he could have been had she rigged the election. Oh Olivia and Fitz.

We don't need to see Mellie and Cyrus and their pretense marriage and I began to ask questions about how Jake met Fitz and why now and most importantly I bet Rowan has him following Olivia and Fitz but I'm not going to do that because it's not real and Olivia obviously doesn’t care about jake or even find him to be even equivalent to a boyfriend or stranger. So I shall keep it moving. Jake's involvement is minimal to none and that's why this episode is perfect.

Ironic that Olivia has made a point to separate herself from the people she's been the closest too and the people who tend to bring out the worse in her (Rowan, Mellie, Jake) versus the people she's been the most distant with yet represent her moral values ( Marcus, Abby, Fitz) oh Shonda the subtle messages you are delivering in this episode has left me completely and utterly flabbergasted. Even subconsciously Olivia is aware that associating with her dad and Jake bring out the worse in her, which is why this episode is refreshing to see, Olivia is aware of the moves being played around her but in this realm because she is not morally compromised and is wearing the white hat she associates herself with the people who do as well. Olivia is basking in the glow of light and love my friends.

Olivia with Marcus...where's Harrison! Okay. Anyways. Olivia finds OPA and she buys it without Fitz knowing. Now, I'm not saying Olivia needs Fitz's approval but in a marriage their is this thing called respect and communication something even in this realm Olivia and Fitz still lack. You talk with your spouse, you communicate your plans and desires with your spouse and not leave them flying in the wind. Fitz made sure to make note that Olivia wasn't okay with buying a house but totally okay with buying OPA. Different reality but still the same damn olitz. Even married Olivia still suffers from commitment issues and taking the next step toward the unknown.

Sidenote: can I just say that I think it's really cute how excited Olivia is to be in the oval versus now. Our Olivia walks around the oval like she owns the place and she partially does but this Olivia is able to appreciate it in a way our Olivia never has. And Olivia taking a selfie with JFK's poster is the cutest thing ever but unfortunately as her and Marcus wait and wait for the President they quickly see that it was a mishap and they are never granted entry into the oval. Such a sour yet profound moment for Olivia. She wants power, she wants to make a difference but she is tied.

Upset and dejected Olivia comes home to see Fitz wasting away his potential with a glass of scotch. Oh this is going to hurt, the two begin to talk around one another like Olivia normally does when she doesn't want to fight but ends up going for the gutter...*cough 509* ...*cough breakup scene* Olivia and Fitz are having the same fight they had during the breakup, Fitz being selfished, Olivia constantly hiding, and the unforgettable blows under the belt they exchange.

Olivia references the 'big dog' again, how she looks at Fitz and she doesn't recognize him anymore but Fitz can't live with the fact that he failed Olivia not Olivia failing him. Fitz drinking this much is never a good sign. The thing about Olivia and Fitz is that when things are good they are great but when it's bad; it's bad. Fitz fills his glass of scotch while asking Olivia if she's screwing Marcus since he knows it's not him. Olivia fires back by telling Fitz he never had a chance of winning and that he was 'unelectable. Grant for the people? Pathetic.'

Always one for perfect timing; Olivia found that after insulting her husband she should then confess that the reason they are miserable is because she opted not to fix the election and she is the only person who could have given him the presidency.

I'm not sure what Olivia was thinking telling Fitz this now, oh I know it's called self sabotage something Olivia does frequently and the most recent being after her abortion. She creates these near impossible situations to come out unscathed just with the hopes of being able to walk away from it all. Olivia plants these moments of destruction because it is much easier to be the one leaving versus being the one left. Fitz tells Olivia she should have rigged the election and Olivia is shocked at hearing Fitz say those words but she tells him "you wouldn't have want to win that way." Fitz disagrees and Olivia tells him that defiance would have destroyed them but it seems that they have done that already with Fitz's final words being ' at least I would have been President.' Won't lie I was pretty nervous at this point. This was the 509 fight all over again and I found myself having flashbacks and ptsd of that unforgettable episode.

Five months later

Olivia and Fitz are still together but are they really? Everything about them is cold and distant. Big sigh and deep breath.

Instead of focusing on politics Fitz is now interviewing Lindsey aka Quinn aka the bachelorette. The idea of having to lower himself to such standards and with Olivia's words echoing in his head about being pathetic. Yeah. This is bad. And with Olivia's Bill headed to the floor she is gaining the power without the help of the White House, showing that it is possible to have power and not lose your soul but one part still remains, will she and Fitz get through this together? And with Abby handing Olivia her divorce papers. The chances of them coming out of this together are slim.

Olivia isn’t playing games, she is getting her life and leaving Fitz behind. It is safe to say that one way or another Olivia was going to make a name for herself but the thing is that being on the top alone isn't all that fun when you don't have anybody to share it with, welcome Abby. Abby is forever Olivia's voice of reason and truth(4x10) and it still saddens me how low Olivia stooped with slapping Abby and treating her the way she did when she clearly holds her to such high esteem. Olivia brings up Abby and David being happily married, but Abby tells Olivia that she never gave Fitz a chance, and she honestly never has. Whenever Fitz falls from her ridiculously high pedestal instead of lowering the legs and waiting for him to get back up she runs or makes excuses as to why they will never work. Before leaving, Abby reminds Olivia why she is still living in her apartment. Woah. In their current realm Fitz didn’t ask Olivia to move in to the White House but just took it upon himself, whereas this Fitz asked and pleaded and Olivia opted to stay put arguing that it was too big and cost too much. In both realities Olivia always had one foot out the door, she never gave them a chance.

Olivia has some resentment over losing the election and having to watch Fitz chose being a celebrity over being a hero, for chosing that lifestyle over her and their shared ideas and politics that were so fundamental to who they were and who they strived to be. Regardless of time or the exact definition of their relationship, Olivia and Fitz always seem to connect through politics and the ideals they envisioned. ( ex. Brandon Bill) their relationship was at one of its most tumultuous moments with Fitz going to war to bring Olivia back. It was that bill that connected them once again and Olivia was remind of the man she voted for. It must be hard a pill to swallow for Olivia and Fitz as they move in perpendicular roads . Fitz needs his ass kicked that's for sure but stick around Olivia to receive your reward otherwise someone else will. * cough Angela* *cough Quinn*

Quinn came into Fitz’s trailer to sleep with him and all I kept thinking was ‘don't do this Fitz’. Don't repeat Amanda Tanner cause this time you will actually be the father and Quinn would put you on child support before your pants drop. But Fitz and Quinn kiss and soon we find Quinn on her knees...yup...Amanda tanner style. The camera pans to Fitz looking at himself in the mirror as he attempts to drink his pain away but it doesn't work and he sends Quinn away but somewhat sobered he sees his reflection in the mirror again and this time it's stick. It's a chilling sight to see but a much needed moment of reflection as he looks at the stranger staring back at him.

Mellie and Cyrus staged marriage comes to a climax where Mellie once again finds herself on the losing end, having been betrayed by Cyrus and Rowan who I'm ignoring throughout this episode. Mellie having been deflated goes to OPA to meet Olivia and tell her once in for all that she was right about defiance and she hates admitting that Olivia was right about defiance destroying Fitz. The parelles and tone of this monologue. Mellie confessed that she did what she thought she had to do in order to win and now she is trapped and being controlled by Rowan and Cyrus the same way Olivia is being controlled by Rowan in our current scandal. Agreeing to defiance, Olivia did what she deemed necessarily but now she is the one trapped. One of the good things that came out of not committing voter fraud was saving not only her soul but Fitz's soul which is ultimately what hurted Olivia the most about Defiance. Hurting Fitz hurts Olivia.

Discussing Sally's husband's extra martial affair with James and the 'life of pretending' On the air Fitz stops mid sentence and walks away. Fitz had been pretending for so long in our scandal realm that he forgot at one time what it meant to actually feel. Remember, pretending is real. Fitz walking off the set is setting the tone that he no longer wants to pretend, he’s ready.

Fitz comes home to a clearly pondering Olivia. Immediately Fitz tells Olivia the truth that he didn't want the election, that he never wanted anything in life until he meet her. Cue the Olitz anthem 'the light '. I just want to reiterate that Fitz has said this before, Rowan even acknowledge Fitz being a spoiled rich white boy who never worked for anything but found Olivia and was suddenly ready to be a man. This is true. Olivia showed Fitz the man he could be, the man he aspired to become with her by his side. While Olivia helped Fitz turn into a man, Fitz gave Olivia the freedom to love, and she does.

Fitz's monologue is a thing of beauty but this wasn't just entirely Fitz talking. This was Olivia. Fitz said everything Olivia has wanted to say but could never bring herself to speak aloud.

"Saying no to defiance was the right choice. I know that now. You tried to give me freedom. You tried to give me the chance to find happiness and I squandered it. That was on me. Only me. That's why I'm sorry. I hadn't recognized it. I didn't understand it. I wasn't thinking. It took me far too long to realize .... I have things to figure out. I have work, a lot of work to due; if there're any hope of becoming the man I know I can be. The man you deserve. I still want you Olivia, if you'll still have me."

Olivia hands Fitz papers and Fitz timidly opens them expecting it to be divorce papers but it's actually an ad of their soon to be Georgetown complex. Fitz picked Vermont for them and Olivia picked Georgetown. You see, unlike 509 where they broke up and went their separate ways, here in this world Olivia is claiming her life and ready to put forth the work and work towards creating a better life for her and Fitz, the life they deserve. In this world instead of fighting each other they hope to fight for one another. There is something unequivocally satisfying at watching Olivia finally seeing the life and light she's been so afraid to have and to finally know now that it's possible. Olivia doesn’t have to sell her soul for power and sacrifice love in order to be victorious. Olivia can claim the life she wants, if she is willing to fight for it.

Now that Olivia has found the key, she comes back from her dream with the biggest smile on her face as she once again leaves her baggage behind to find Fitz but this time I think the baggage might stay away. Olivia walking out the oval and leaving behind her pursue and coat and other possessions signifies this significant change inside her, now all of her worldly possessions me nothing to her without him by her side. The power, the money, the jewels are all an illusion that kept her from seeing the truth. Love. This episode is only about love. Olivia has denied herself this amazing love for so long and it seems that it is just now hitting her what it truly means. Love comes with setbacks and downfalls, you won't always be happy but at least you know you have someone to fall back on if you fall.

But as Olivia walks through the corridor, she's not exactly walking to Fitz but she's running to him with such joy and vigor at what her life seems to have foretold. The mood is infectious and I feel we all have found ourselves rooting for Olivia and her pursuit of happiness as she runs to the balcony to find Fitz alone and at the same spot where she last confessed her love and desire to start a real relationship with him (4x22) . The balcony is a significant monument to Olivia and Fitz, it was here that Olivia came to Fitz after she removed her father (temporarily) from her life to create a new one with Fitz. As the camera pans on Olivia; we see her staring adoringly at Fitz with those little specks of light in her eyes. With this new found glow and light it is obvious that Olivia is feeling this extraordinary surge of love for Fitz and from Fitz. My God Olivia is in love and it feels as though she is just now realizing just how profound her love for him and the possibility of them is. Turning to Fitz she smiles at him happily as she tells him "I'm in." And she's not just referring to Cyrus being exonerated but she's 'in' with him. Olivia is 'in' her right frame of mind, she's 'in' love with Fitz, and she's 'in' this to win it. Olivia Pope is 'in'. I do not see Olivia making a complete 360 overnight but this is promising episode leading to a more satisfying ending.

For the first time in quite some time Olivia felt a tangible sensation she swore she lost long ago.

Hope.

#scandal #Olitz #olivia pope #olivia and fitz #my heart #truelove #Fitzgerald Grant #scandal commentary #hope

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chibi-writings · 7 years

Text

Ink 3/?

Characters: Frollo, Quasimodo (Disney)

"If you love me, you will keep my commandments." - John 14:15

Obedience

Hours had passed after that, some of the longest hours he could ever remember experiencing, and the only way he was able to tell the passage of time was how the light changed around him and the color of the sky. The journey of the sun across the heavens warped the city under it; shadows lengthened in some places and disappeared entirely in others, and the strange red color that painted the sky that morning had darkened into gray. At midmorning a wind had sprung up and the smoke had fled to the skies and still hovered over the city like a grim specter of death, but without it rampaging in the streets and choking people they seemed to forget all about it.

Long after that, when the day's gruesome work was done, it seemed like a watery blue sky wished to break through the the gray curtain of smoke and ash and dust. Frollo gazed at it as he made his way down the platform at last, his legs as heavy as wood underneath him. All of that standing and shouting and the rest of the excitement of the day had deeply exhausted him like he had never felt before. The fact that he had not slept yet did not help either.

"Sir!" one of the guards saluted him, his voice too loud and ringing in the minister's ears.

Frollo winced and waved him away, reaching up with his other hand to rub his eyes. "Go back to the Palace of Justice," he ordered. "Make sure the gypsy girl does not escape again."

Confusion met his commands. "Sir?" the guard repeated uneasily.

He snapped his head up and the guards shrank back from his glare. "I said go!" he snapped, his voice cracking them into action like a whip. "Not—" he interrupted among the flurry of movement, "—you two. You stay with me."

The two of them exchanged equally puzzled looks and Frollo grit his teeth. How in the world was he supposed to replace Captain Phoebus so soon? He would rather have a score of Phoebus's (albeit loyal ones) than the whole of his city guard. Phoebus had at least been competent. He swept past them in a swirl of robes and listening to their clanking as they tried to keep up with his long strides across the now-empty courtyard to the well. A group of four women were standing around it and gossiping, but when they saw him approaching with his scowl they scattered like sparrows before a raven. They left the water bucket behind, though, and when Frollo peered in he saw that there was still an inch or so of water left at the bottom.

Thankfully the two guards he picked to follow him weren't particularly talkative. He wasn't sure how much idle chatter he could take right now. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and dipped it into the water and began to gently clean his face with it. A small sigh of satisfaction escaped him as the cool water came in contact with his hot skin and he could see black smudges appearing on the cloth. Smoke, no doubt. It was on his hands as well and his robes reeked of it, who knew how long it would take to get them to smell fine again. He had to dip his handkerchief in again and again, wringing it out each time and washing his face again, along with his neck and hands until finally the water ran more or less clear. He needed a proper wash but for now it would do.

"Where is my horse?" he asked without turning around.

"Tied off, sir," one of his soldiers answered.

"Bring him here."

He heard clanking footsteps scurrying away, and leaned against the well, waiting for the steps to come back with hooves in tow. He wondered what time it was. The growling of his stomach gnawing away in his gut told him that he had missed lunch, but it was far past afternoon. Or was it? He tried to remember when he heard the noon bells, then a cold jolt ran through him as he realized that he had not heard the bells at all that day. He stood up straight, snapping up and turning as the guard appeared with his horse. With little ceremony he grabbed the saddle and hoisted himself into it, cursing himself softly for his mistake. No, he couldn't return to the Palace, not just yet.

Without a single word to his guards he turned and trotted down the streets, not to the Palace but the stores and markets. He heard a confused muttering behind him and ignored it. He didn't even have his basket with him, he would have to buy a new one.

Frollo felt the inquisitive and slightly fearful stares all around him, but he rode with his head held high and pretended they were all as insubstantial as air. His guards had no questions for him as he bought a wicker basket from a merchant and went to the baker and the butcher, the wine shop and the fruit stand, inspecting all of their items with a critical eye. A loaf of fresh bread went into the basket, along with a side of salted beef, a hunk of cheese, a square of butter, two meat pies, plums and apples, a tiny, precious jar of honey, and finally a bottle of fine Bordeaux, all of it covered with a simple, clean white cloth.

He rode back to the cathedral hastily, squinting his eyes and trying to see if he could spot Quasimodo from the ground. No luck, the sky made everything blurred and dark. How had they actually restrained the hunchback so he couldn't leave the bell tower? He supposed he would find out soon enough.

"Stay here," he said as he dismounted.

"Yes sir," he heard the affirmative behind him. Not without grumbling, and on any other day he would have snapped at them for it but now he was simply too tired and out of patience.

He took off his hat as he passed under the shadow of the entrance of Notre Dame. As always, the beauty and grandeur of the magnificent cathedral made him stop for just a moment, overwhelmed by the size and sight before him. How man could have built such a majestic structure could only have been achieved with the help of God, he was sure of it. He reached out and dipped his fingers into the holy water of the stoup, then crossed himself. Even that small drop of cold on his forehead was a relief, bringing his senses back into sharpness once more.

There were eyes watching him. As if sensing he had been caught, the archdeacon appeared from between the shadows of two pillars, his face a most peculiar mix of a scowl and grief. "Frollo—" he began.

"If only you were aware of how much patience I don't have for one of your lectures today, archdeacon," Frollo cut him off, his voice as pleasant as ever but his eyes taking on a flinty edge as they landed on the priest.

The archdeacon paused, if only for a second. "What in the world are you doing with that gypsy, Frollo? Putting her on the stake and then taking her off at the last moment? What do you mean she has 'recanted?'"

Frollo sighed through his nose, trying to control his breathing. "Recant means exactly what it has always meant, archdeacon. And I did not come here to talk about that. Where is Quasimodo?"

"I haven't seen him since your soldiers dragged him in here. And that is another thing—"

His eye twitched, shock flooding his body at the words, only to give way to anger an instant later. "What?" he hissed over the archdeacon's words, fury blazing in his eyes. "He is a soul taking refuge under your roof and you did not even check on him?! What if he has fallen off the tower or starved? His blood would be on your hands!" He pushed past the archdeacon, his robes rippling as he started taking the stairs two at a time.

"Why, Frollo," the archdeacon's voice followed him up the stairway, the owner traveling at a more sedate pace. "I had no idea you cared so much."

For one fleeting moment, the desire to turn back and throw the archdeacon down the stairs nearly overwhelmed him. Frollo tried to quash his anger, but such a bubbling, molten thing could not be suppressed by will alone and it burst out of his throat to become his voice: "It is not about me caring, it is about you doing your job!" He reached the top of the stairs and slammed the door behind him with a bang that had to echo through the whole cathedral and locked it behind him. There, blessed silence, for now. He leaned against the door for a moment and rubbed his eyes once more, then pushed himself away and started up the rest of the steps.

At the very least he was keeping in shape by going up and down these steps all the time, he mused to himself as he climbed and climbed in a tight circle that would have made him dizzy if he wasn't so used to it by now. The space was small and silent but he liked it, the quiet was peaceful and the corridor safe, and it let him think as he walked. Even with a moment of spare time, though, his thoughts invariably turned to Esmeralda.

He remembered how she looked up at him, so terrified and yet so willingly at the same time, throwing herself at his feet for his mercy. She chose him, him! His hand tightened on the basket, his heart thumping in his chest and his steps faster. She chose him! She was all his now, a little bird that might fly away at any moment but ah, he knew how to catch birds and keep them!

A small smile was making itself know across his face, and even his fatigue could not stop his steps from nearly flying up the stairs. She was in the Palace right at this moment, what was she doing? He knew she had gone through a very suffering ordeal but now her trials had ended and she was safe again. Was she sleeping, perhaps, recovering her spirit, or was she just sitting in her room, frightened and alone? But he knew Esmeralda, whatever fright she had would not last very long. She was simply not the type of person to dwell on things and let the past haunt her.

His staff had better take care of her, she was under his protection now. A scowl passed his face at the thought, his robes flaring out as his steps increased. No, they would no what to do, they had to. They would find a room for her and feed her, find her everything she needed, but it was those guards that made his fists clench. If he came back and found that she had escaped again he would flay them all alive in the dungeons. He would make them eat hot coals and--

Well, maybe he would do that afterwards. He would have to catch her again after all and he needed men for that.

He shook his head, rubbing his temples and slowing his steps. She would not escape, he assured himself of that. No one had ever escaped from the Palace of Justice before.

He was getting close to the top, now. He could smell the change in the air. On normal days it was cleaner and more pure from being so high off the ground, yet had a certain thin quality about it, like watered-down wine. Now, though, he could smell the smoke more thickly up here.

Finally, his eyes caught sight of the top of the stairs and he stepped gratefully onto the landing, leaning against the archway as he caught his breath. Paris stretched out before him, not near as beautiful as she usually was, but it was still an awesome sight to behold. From a half-dozen places he could still see smoke rising, but most of the fires had been put out, it seemed. Good, the faster everything went back to normal the better.

He crossed the bridge between the towers swiftly, darkness enveloping him as he went through the next archway and only faint shafts of sunlight illuminated the inside. The smell of wood flooded his nostrils and his steps now clunked against the floor instead of the sharp taps stone made. No doubt Quasimodo could hear him coming up the steps but he decided to call to him anyway. "Quasimodo!"

There was no response. Frollo blinked in surprise and hastened up the last of the steps to Quasimodo's sanctuary. Everything looked exactly as he had left it the previous night, the chaos of Quasimodo's ruined Paris included. A small sigh escaped through his nose as he beheld the sight in the daylight; it seemed more tragic now than it did before. But Quasimodo had disobeyed him again, he was absolutely right in punishing Quasimodo for what he had done, the only tragedy was that his charge had such beautiful things to destroy.

"Quasimodo?" he asked again as he stepped into the room, his eyes locking on the charred piece of wood on the floor that had once been Esmeralda's figure.

Silence greeted him. Now his heart began to thunder in his ears. Where had Quasimodo gone? Or, better yet, where had his guards put him? Perhaps they had him gagged somewhere or maybe they thought to make Quasimodo's stay more permanent. No! He did not tell them to harm Quasimodo, they would never do such a thing without his explicit permission! But then where was he?

He swept away the mess on the table and placed his basket in the freed space, then bent down to pick up the plates and cups that he had knocked to the floor in his rage. He couldn't remember at all causing such a mess, just that he had been so very angry and yelling and wanting to take every bit of rage out on Quasimodo for helping Esmeralda escape him. Well, the past was the past now and it was time to fix whatever he had broken and make amends where he could. It was easy with Quasimodo, the poor child often forgave him anything and even apologized when it was not needed.

Squinting, he tried to find Quasimodo's figure among the bells. He did love them so much, but he didn't think his guards would put him up there. There was nowhere to restrain him. The bells' metal skins glowed faintly in the light, hinting at mysteries and a beautiful music to come, but when so still they seemed to be nearly sleeping. The thought made him uneasy and he cast off the thoughts with a little shake of his head, like a bird ruffling his feathers. He really did not feel like climbing another hundred stairs to hunt for Quasimodo and peering into every corner, especially not today, so he took a deep breath.

"Quasimodo!" his yell echoed across the entire bell tower, even among the bells themselves, bringing a strange, somber note with it.

When the last vestiges of his voice faded away, he heard another sound at last, so soft that he would have missed it entirely if he had not been listening so intently. It was coming from...down? Back the way he came.

Puzzled, he took off at a brisk pace, climbing down the stairs loudly and bursting out into the day again. The red ribbon from his hat swished along the corner of his vision as he turned his head this way and that, trying to pin down the position of Quasimodo with his eyes, and yet he could still see nothing. "Quasimodo?" he tried again, wondering why his charge simply did not reveal himself.

He heard the sound again, a sniffle, and a pitiful "Master," that croaked beneath him. Below again? He leaned over the railing and stiffened when he saw the multitude of chains wrapped around the supporting columns below, and right in the center of them like a fly caught in a horrid web—good heavens! They had wrapped him head to toe in chains, where did they even find so many?

Frollo took off, scowling once more as he found the steps down and began to make his way there. He couldn't help but admire his soldier's dedication to their duty, dragging all those chains up here could not have been easy after all, but did they really need to go through all the effort? And why chain him between the towers of all places, why not the bell tower like he had said? Well, no matter, be free soon enough.

Coming to the foot of the steps, he set off for Quasimodo, slowing his approach as he came closer. What a sight he made, his deformed body held down by the chains; if one was good at pretending they could imagine his twisted shape could have been produced by how tightly the chains pressed his body instead of it being his natural form. Frollo's eyes darted around, looking for a place where the chains could possibly end, a lock where they all connected to. He found it past the very first column, with the key still stuck inside, as luck would have it. He supposed his guards had moments of brilliance equal to their moments of foolishness.

He reached out and turned the key, unhooking the chains from the lock and letting them fall away before he made his way to Quasimodo. The hunchback had not moved, still kneeling like Frollo had first seen him. Automatically, out of long habit, his hand reached out to gently brush against the hump on his back, then to his hair. Quasimodo trembled under his touch, ragged, sharp breaths leaving him as Frollo stepped around to kneel in front of him.

"Quasi—" was all he managed to say before he was suddenly being crushed, Quasimodo's arms embracing him with a grip that drove out all the air from his lungs. He coughed and felt Quasimodo's face press into his robes, shaking with loud sobs that startled nearby birds into taking flight.

Frollo's first, and strongest, instinct was to push him away in disgust. But his arms were pinned to his sides and as the seconds wore on he felt his harshness subsiding gradually. Especially when he started to make out words among Quasimodo's blubbering.

"I'm sorry, M-Master, I'm so sorry for everything! P-please forgive me, I won't disobey you ever again—"

His irritation cooled as he listened, a small smile twitching to life across his face before he composed himself. "There, there, Quasimodo," he spoke gently, raising up his hand as much as he could to pat him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Do not be so upset, it is all over now. Everything can go back to the way it used to be."

Quasimodo sobbed wetly and Frollo tried very hard to not think of the mess he could be leaving all over his robes. "I should have never left at all," Quasimodo whispered. "If I had never left then none of this would have happened."

At last he was learning. Frollo smiled wider and stroked his hair gently. However, he mused, if Quasimodo had never left his tower then Esmeralda would have never come to his attention. She would have just been another wild gypsy dancer. He certainly wasn't going to thank Quasimodo for that, though. "That's right," he whispered back, "you shouldn't have."

"I'm sorry. Please Master, I won't do it again, please forgive me." Quasimodo bent over even more, hiding deeper into his robes as he awaited his judgement.

Frollo considered the scene for a moment, mulling it over in his mind and simply enjoying the sight. This would be far easier than he had originally thought. He knew he could drill the lesson further into Quasimodo's mind, he was soft and hurting enough that this time it would sink in and stay there, as much as any barbed arrow could. But the wounds were already there, still raw and bleeding.

Wait between lashes. Otherwise the old sting will dull him to the new.

"You are forgiven," he said gently. This time he pushed Quasimodo gently, and the other understood and reluctantly loosened his grip. Frollo got to his feet and winced at the state of his robes; yes, they were wet and filthy just like he thought they would be. "You made mistakes, my boy, but that is why we confess our sins and beg for forgiveness in the first place, an honest admission is always deserving of forgiveness. God gave us free will, after all." He held out his hand to Quasimodo.

Quasimodo stared at it as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing, then, tentatively, he took it. His enormous hand engulfed Frollo's frail and delicate one, yet it was Frollo who pulled him and helped him to his feet. The chains fell from his body as he rose to his feet, wincing as his muscles finally got to stretched fully after being imprisoned for so long.

"Come, my boy," Frollo said, pulling him so he could step out of the chains. "I brought us lunch. Let us pray and ask God to take away ours sins and eat. Heaven knows it is a good time to do so."

Quasimodo still looked surprised, but he nodded and shuffled after Frollo as the other led the way back. Frollo took out his handkerchief and tried to wipe away the worst of the wetness on his robes, then he passed it back to Quasimodo. The younger took the hint and accepted it, wiping his face and blowing his nose with a noise that made the rest of the birds fly away.

"Master, do you—"

"No, you can keep it."

The air was clear, the gentlest of winds ruffling their clothes and whistling between the columns and niches of Notre Dame, smelling of the Seine and the city below. All was quiet for a long minute. Frollo took the stairs first, his graceful steps climbing easily, if slowly, with Quasimodo in tow. But the bellringer's voice could not stay silent for long, but he did not so much break the silence as he cracked it.

"You...you executed them all, Master."

The horrified whisper made Frollo look back, realization dawning upon him. So that explained his location and his behavior, Frollo had been so surprised to find him there and too busy freeing him to put much thought into why his guards had chained him there in the first place. "Yes, I did," he replied, turning away again. "I executed a band of thieves, pirates, witches, and scum for their crimes against the people of Paris. Perhaps now the city will have some peace for once." His thoughts raced inside his head. Executions were held in front of the cathedral all the time, but never so many as today, and Quasimodo has seen it all. Ah, he had probably watched—

"Why did you free Esmeralda?" Quasimodo asked in a softly. He said it in a trembling voice, as if waiting for Frollo to turn and strike him for his impudence.

Of course he would want to know. Frollo knew he had an affection towards her, it was his gambling on that affection that led him to the Court of Miracles, after all. But, if that was his weakness then Frollo could use it in his favor. "She recanted," he responded. "So I spared her."

"What—what did you do to her after that?" Quasimodo asked. He seemed to be afraid of the answer.

The shadows covered them as they passed into the bell tower. Under their cover it seemed easy to tell the truth, and perhaps if Quasimodo knew that she was fine he would stop being so rebellious. "I sent her to the Palace of Justice," he said and heard a gasp at his heels. "Not to imprison her. She is my guest there."

"Guest?" Quasimodo repeated incredulously.

"Yes, guest. Now stop pestering me, boy." Quasimodo's cove opened up before him and he stepped into it, waiting for Quasimodo himself to appear. When he did, the kindling anger and hurt so plainly visible on the bellringer's face gave him pause.

Knowing he had been caught, Quasimodo looked down, but his voice spoke bitter words to his feet. "How can you have her as a guest? What is she to you after everything she has done to you?"

Frollo frowned at him severely. "I am not half as heartless as you might think, Quasimodo," he said, his voice taking on a low and dangerous tone. "Remember how I took you in."

Quasimodo winced and just like that his anger seemed to break with it. "I—yes, Master. I am sorry for speaking like that to you."

The minister nodded, picking his way over to the table and uncovering the basket with a`ceremonial air. He saw how Quasimodo's eyes widened at the feast he brought them and beckoned to him. "Do you know where your rosary is?" At Quasimodo's nod he continued, "Then bring it here and come kneel with me. Let us pray and eat. It has been a very stressful few days, hasn't it?" All he wanted, needed right now was some peace and sleep. Lunches with Quasimodo always provided him with the former, he had never in living memory ever left them in a foul mood. Irritated sometimes, but never worse than when he came in.

Quasimodo nodded and darted out of sight and Frollo could hear him rummaging through the various items he had collected over the years. While he did, Frollo took off his own rosary and stared at it in the light, admiring its cold brilliance and glittering gems under his fingers.

Yes, a small time of quiet reflection would do quite well for the both of them.

It was a little over an hour later when he finally left Notre Dame and began to head back to the Palace of Justice. His guards were still there, looking quite bored but not so much that he thought that they were doing absolutely nothing the whole time. They saluted him gratefully when he came into view and he nodded at them, mounting his horse easily.

When he turned to go, he heard the bells of Notre Dame. They clanged and sang from their tower, and Frollo looked back up with a smirk. It was not as beautiful as Quasimodo could usually make them sound, but that would change soon enough. Quasimodo was one to reflect on his past mistakes, but he loved the bells far too much to not put his heart into ringing them. "Back to the Palace," he said to his soldiers, who looked equally stunned to hear the bells pealing after an entire day of silence.

Evening was drawing upon the city as they rode back, a dark cloak wrapping around the streets like a kiss. Candlelight from the windows flared to life on occasion, and the spires of the Palace of Justice was a welcome sight to see after such a long day. It was not in Frollo's imagination that they were hurrying more than usual with Palace so close. All of the guard saluted him when they saw him riding up, and he had hardly handed away his horse and entered the Palace when his chief of staff came running up to greet him.

"Minister Frollo, we took care of the gypsy while you were away," the man said with a low bow.

Another set of good news. The day simply kept getting better and better. "Well done," he said with a curling smile. "Tell me, was she any trouble?"

The man shook his head. "Not at all, my lord, no. We gave her a room and food and she never complained, not even with the guard outside her door."

"Truly? What an unexpected change from her," Frollo mused, chuckling to himself as he listened.

"Would you like to see her, minister?"

"No, not right now," Frollo said with a wave of his hand. "Let her sit there. Take care of her needs but don't let her out."

"Sir," the man acknowledged and he brushed by him, heading for his quarters.

Now that he was back his exhaustion seemed to press on him twice as hard. His sleepless nights, chasing Esmeralda down, the whole day spent reading executions and being at the head of an enraged crowd, running up and down Notre Dame and talking with Quasimodo...even his steps seemed to stumble over one another. Once in a while his head would swim and he would have to take a deep breath to regain himself.

It couldn't have been soon enough that he made it to his own rooms, as comfortable of a place as he could possibly be. He didn't even bother to call someone to light the fireplace, he simply undressed himself and crawled under the covers of his bed. It seemed he had barely touched them before he was drifting off peacefully.

Now with the chase ended, all the cards in his hand, victory totally his, sleep claimed him easily. For once, he slept through the whole night.

#disney #fresme #hunchback of notre dame #frollo #esmeralda #quasimodo

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keelywolfe · 5 years

Text

FIC: Baby, You’re a Firework (baon)

Summary: Every year the city of Ebott has a 4th of July festival and Edge is taking Stretch. Please save him.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Domestic, Fluff, Edge Is A Good Husband

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

Read it here!

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Every year since Monsters came to the surface, and surely many years before that, Ebott city held a festival for the Fourth of July.

A carnival would set up in town and crowds of Humans and some of the braver Monsters would go to spend time with family and friends, a day filled with food, frenzy, and laughter for all.

As far as Edge was concerned, it was misery incarnate.

Nothing less than grease-coated nightmare to be endured and it was only his love for Stretch that had him sullenly standing in line at the ticket booth, ignoring the curious looks from the Humans around him.

It made him wish Jeff was further along in his recovery, because at least if he and Antwan were with them it would be a shared misery. But even out of the hospital, Jeff was still spending most of his time lying down, shuffling between the sofa and the bathroom while Blue fussed over him.

True to his nature, Blue had pointed out that he was the best option for Jeff, as he could take time off work easier than anyone else and was familiar with caring for a sick person. He’d run roughshod over any arguments to the contrary, mostly Antwan’s, and Jeff had been quickly installed into Stretch’s old room to be coddled by one rather short, very determined skeleton.

Not that it hadn’t been terribly amusing to watch Blue successfully argue the case for him being caretaker over a lawyer, it certainly was. If nothing else came from that awful night, he could find amusement in that and even Jeff seemed bemused by the various people arguing over him.

So it had been decided, mostly by Blue, that Jeff was staying with him for the time being as he recovered, and while Stretch usually chafed at his brother’s fussing, for now Jeff seemed to bask in it, along with Antwan and Stretch’s daily visits.

Ah, and there was something else curious to consider.

It was their turn at the ticket booth and Edge absently handed the Human several bills, accepting the paper wrist bands they held out in exchange. He fastened one to his own wrist before putting one on his impatiently bouncing husband. But his thoughts were still in their friends.

There was something going on between Jeff and Antwan that Edge didn’t quite have a bead on, something that left Antwan quieter than his normal self, often sleeping over at Blue’s on the sofa rather than walking the few minutes it would take to return to his own home. The sofa was at Blue’s insistence that Jeff was still too hurt for shenanigans, as he put it, and Antwan hadn’t argued. But he stayed and Edge didn’t blame him for it. Nothing could have torn him from Stretch if the situation was reversed. His unnatural quietness, though, that was a concern. Was it trauma from the incident, stress from the sudden increase in his workload, something else entirely?

Honestly, Edge needed to corner Antwan soon and get a few answers about that, but for now, he simply needed to survive the festival. The moment his wristband was secure, Stretch was off, Edge reluctantly at his heels over the muddy fairgrounds.

That alone was proof that even if they’d smuggled Jeff away from Blue’s hovering, he probably wouldn’t have enjoyed much from his constantly stuck wheelchair anyway. Edge could only resign himself to the day, sardonically grateful that at least his years in Underfell had given him excellent endurance.

From all appearances, he’d need it.

The normally enjoyable sunshine became welter of heat beating down on the tents and booths. Gratingly cheerful music poured from speakers that seemed to be everywhere, loud enough to be heard over the many chattering patrons.

Concession sellers hawking their wares shouted into the crowds about ice cold lemonade and beer, while others pitched cotton candy and corn dogs. The overwhelming smell of hot grease seemed to coat the very air, clinging stickily no matter where they walked. Each booth was covered with garish advertisements showing cobs of corn dripping with butter, ungodly desserts dipped into fry batter, and people crowded beneath striped awnings for whatever food on a stick they craved.

The pictures were awful enough but to see the other patrons stuffing such monstrosities into their mouths with relish was enough to make Edge choke back a gag.

Stretch loved all of it, of course.

He fit in entirely too well with the crowd, carrying a bag with goggle-eyed goldfish covering it slung over one shoulder, filled with stars-knew what. His tank top was scrawled with ‘I Flexed and the Sleeves Fell Off’, which prompted many a glance at his slender, skeletal arms. Unremarkable baggy shorts showed off similar legs, with bright green crocs on his feet, easily Edge’s least favorite item in his wardrobe. His own sedate jeans and a plain t-shirt garnered no looks past the fact he was a Monster, but he was well accustomed to those glances.

The real chore of the day was keeping Stretch in sight, a surprisingly difficult task considering how they both towered over most of the crowd. Keeping an eye on Stretch was second nature by now, but adding in Humans who’d consumed stars only knew much alcohol upped the challenge. Stretch’s eagerness was also an effective escape mechanism, and he could be surprisingly eely in a crowd, weaving through without so much as brushing elbows while Edge was forced to push onward with muttered apologies, a steamroller chasing after a dirt bike.

The easiest way to slow him down was to overcome his distaste long enough to fill Stretch’s arms with things to carry. Soon a bag of somewhat mangled pink and blue spun sugar hung from one hand, a corn dog dripping with honey gripped in the other.

There were downsides to that technique; the extra sugar didn’t offer any benefit to slowing him down and while Stretch knew better than to offer Edge any, he could never help himself when it came to grabbing Edge’s arm in excitement whenever he saw something of interest, and the row of sticky handprints trailing down his sleeve to his arm was evidence of that.

Stretch never had qualms about stopping to chat with Humans who knew him from Twitter. Pausing for selfies. Offering the dogs roaming the fairgrounds with their masters a biscuit hastily dug from his bag, even as they strained eagerly for the remains of his corn dog. Or perhaps it was an attempt to nibble on his finger bones, either was possible.

It was difficult to stand back and watch, but Edge did, his awareness of how close these unknown Humans were to his husband battling with the softness in his soul at Stretch’s laughter.

Eventually, they made their way down a pathway that led to a crowded row of so-called games where gaudy prizes dangled temptingly from booths. Years of experience with traps and puzzles made it obvious to Edge’s shrewd eye lights that every game was rigged and very few of those large prizes would be ending up in anyone’s arms.

Why anyone would want a sawdust-filled Spongebob knockoff was past Edge’s understanding anyway…so of course Stretch announced, “i need one.”

Unfortunately, his skill with crane machines didn’t translate well to tossing rings or throwing darts at balloons, and the sag in Stretch’s shoulders as they walked away from yet another game without a cheap prize made Edge reluctantly offer, “Would you like me to try?”

For one, he didn’t have any qualms about cheating in an unfair game.

“no,” Stretch said stubbornly. “i can win my own prize.”

That prophecy refused to come true until they reached a booth with a kiddie pool. Swirling through the flimsy plastic pond was a flock of bedraggled rubber ducks, paint flaking from their faces. A young Human who looked as greasy as the corn dogs called them over, waving a hand at the pool.

“Easy, peasy, pick a duck, win a prize, duck down and try your hand,” he warbled. Edge wondered idly how anyone could talk that fast without breathing. “Everyone’s a winner here!”

The bill Stretch held out was quickly tucked into his apron, and Stretch crouched low, studying each duck with fierce intensity. Next to him, a toddler chose a duck and crowed in delight as he was handed a toy that probably had a list of warnings longer than Edge’s arm.

“rubber ducky, which is the one, gonna pick one and have some fun...” Stretch sang under his breath. Finally, he plucked one dripping from the pond. A number scrawled on the bottom in faded sharpie had the Human digging in to a bucket and soon Stretch had a keychain of a ghastly plastic cactus dangling proudly from a belt loop.

Ah, well, at least it wasn’t a clown. Or Spongebob.

Then there were the rides. Just looking at them was chilling and Edge could only wonder when they’d last been properly maintained. Parents who would never dream of allowing their children to step a foot outside of a crosswalk were eagerly shuffled them into these death traps managed by teenagers who looked as if they’d graduated high school as recently as that day.

Still, Edge would have gone on those horrors himself, if only to keep Stretch in close reach, but simply watching the twirling cars was enough for nausea to lurch in him.

If a shortcut could send him dashing to the nearest toilet, Edge wasn’t about to press his luck with something called ‘The Zipper’.

It left him as both observer and coat rack, holding Stretch’s bag as he stood in line for each one, bouncing on his toes and chatting with the people surrounding him, taking selfies with many of them.

Watching Stretch on the ride was nearly as bad as being on it himself. Usually the sound of his delighted laughter raised Edge’s own happiness. Today, it was an effort to force himself to watch, swallowing back nausea as he stared at swinging ships and whirling platforms.

He was even forced to beg off on the bumper cars, watching as Stretch was crammed into a tiny car, his knees bent nearly to his skull. His attempt at driving brought a great deal of understanding as to why he’d chosen not to get his license.

A low-key headache was starting to throb faintly as he followed Stretch through the crowd after the last ride, a grim march onward to the end.

It wouldn’t be for much longer; the sun was going down, taking with it some of the heat, and the rides were starting to come alive with lights. Soon, the fireworks would begin and after that was the blissful quiet of home.

That headache was looming ominously. Perhaps he could persuade Stretch to step to the outskirts for a moment? If he suggested a smoke break it would be suspicious, but perhaps—

“let’s hit up the 4-h tent, babe, check out the animals?”

Or they could do that. Edge sighed inwardly and followed him mutely along to his doom.

Inside the stifling tent was the overwhelming smell of animals and their waste, along with groups of children either squalling to pet something, squalling from exhaustion, or simply squalling to add a new layer of pressure to Edge’s incipient headache.

The last one was probably untrue but it certainly felt that way.

Normally Edge was fond of children, but those ice-pick shrieks were everywhere, the crowds keeping them from catching more than a glimpse of any animals. It seemed too much for even Stretch and they exited quickly on the other side of the tent.

Edge took a deep breath of slightly cooler air as they stepped out. There was a hand washing station set up nearby and more parents grimly scrubbing their children clean of accumulated filth. The water was tepid but Edge didn’t care, stripping off his gloves to scrub past his elbows, indulging in the bliss of soap.

That Stretch willingly stood next to him and did the same meant either he was finally managing to impart some cleanliness standards into him, or possibly that Stretch simply loved him enough to do it without being asked. Edge would be happy with either.

Better was Stretch digging through his bag and pulling out a fresh pair of gloves for him. Edge pulled them on with a sigh of relief while Stretch rolled up the sweaty pair into a ball and stuffed them away.

“are you having fun?” Stretch asked. He scrabbled into the bag again and came out with a bottle of relatively cool water, handing it over.

Lying was not a skill that came easily to Edge, but he couldn’t bear to rupture the hopefulness of that expression. He stalled, taking a long drink from the water bottle before he temporized, “I always have fun with you.”

The lopsided smile said he was less than successful, but the soft kiss he was granted meant the effort was appreciated.

“yeah, no. you’re sweet, but i can almost see the dust from grinding your teeth.” Stretch caught hold of his elbow with a freshly washed hand. “c’mon, let’s get out of here.”

Edge resisted. “You wanted to see the fireworks.”

“and you are gonna get a headache if we stay longer. i had fun today, babe, let’s end it on a good note?”

He hesitated. Leaving sounded like a gift, but the day was never meant for him. Yet if they stayed and he ended up with a miserable headache, the misery wouldn’t be only his. “All right.”

The walk to the car was a quick one and so was their exit. There were few other cars on the streets; it seemed most of the city was still at the festival. The cooler darkness was already easing away his headache, the rush of the wind soothing.

Next to him, Stretch sprawled back in the seat, staring lazily up at the darkened sky where stars were beginning to twinkle above them. Soon it would be filled with fireworks, sprays of color painted against the velvet night, and Stretch was going to miss it.

Or...

With the top down and the sun finally gone, the breeze was glorious but they didn’t experience it for long. Edge turned into the entrance of a Jamba Juice, parking in the furthest part of the lot away from the straggle of other cars.

“did you want a drink?” Stretch sat up, confused.

“No. Just wait.”

His timing couldn’t have been better. In the distance came a boom, then the crackle of fireworks exploding across the sky, soaring overtop the trees. The cacophony was muted but the show was no less brilliant.

Nor was the soft delight on Stretch’s face, and Edge’s attention was split between the sparkling sky and his husband’s quiet enjoyment. Slender fingers caught his own and Edge squeezed them gently, then blinked in surprise as they pulled insistently, until he was tugged over the gearshift to the passenger side.

They were slim enough to fit together in the seat without too much discomfort and was worth it to have Stretch snuggle back into his arms.

He sat back and watched the fireworks, breathing in the sweetness of his husband’s scent as he held him, a lovely ending to a long day.

But tomorrow, there was going to be a chat with Antwan and Edge was in no mood to take no for an answer.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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