(This is a commission. Both I and the writer are not English speakers so there could be mistakes. However, this is the story I want to share, story about a devil in disguise and a devilish judge (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡)
Tag: Claude Frollo x male!oc
His name is Helzon, Helzon Sullivan.
Even when he was crushing gypsies with the sole of his shoes like they were nothing but mere bugs, Claude Frollo still believed he was never in the wrong. If anything, he’d only have to worry about dirtying his outfit. But the archdeacon couldn’t possibly cloud his thoughts with such mundane matters. He had been tasked with jobs that overlooked the entire archdiocese of Paris. As one who belonged to God’s land, he’d wish the challenges he gave to humans could slightly stop being so tedious. Carrying himself properly along the streets of Paris, Claude held his head high in pride and dignity. Throughout the streets of this archdiocese, his presence was hailed like that of a ruler.
Humans, vile as they are, were born with their sins weighing on them. Only those who want to repent at God’s feet shall receive his salvation, and this of course did not apply to the Parisien who just caused a commotion in one of the most crowded places of this archdiocese. Claude had to be as careful as he could, so as not to stomp on any bystanders with Snowball the horse. He didn’t want blood on his hands anyway.
Today, the uproar was caused by a lowly thief, who was said to be an orphan who lived in the slums among the dirtiest waste. Claude’s nose could barely contain the foul smell of peasants, but it was his duty to reprimand the thief. Chasing the criminal throughout the streets of Paris with the guards going before him, Claude silently cursed his luck. Fortunately, it didn’t take long for the men of the church to capture their prey. The boy, who dared to lay his filthy hands on a piece of white bread, was cornered by Claude’s stern and calculating eyes. Injustice, he thought. The poor are always the cause of misdeeds in this city. No matter how many charities and donations are made for them, they would go back to their roots as lazy, unapologetic men who will not work a day as long as they can still play under the sun. More than once, have they been late with the payment of their taxes; being an establishment for worshiping God, the church literally had no means of income, and they had to rely on taxes. The nobles were too busy partying, and Claude had no interest in bothering those bluffing, blithering idiots. As he was busy chasing down and correcting those who called themselves God’s children undeservingly, an unexpected presence appeared in the corner of his eyes. He was standing in the way of Snowball, so Claude had to try his best to calm the horse down, so as not to stomp on him and cause an unwanted casualty. Even though everyone around him was scurrying around the busy marketplace, the man with cold silver eyes remained in his place. Calm but deep, his gaze was like the Seine flowing throughout Paris, but it was somehow piercing at the same time. As if his air was taken from him, Claude Frollo had to steady his breath, but that didn’t help much as the other figure towered over him. Determined to make himself look like he could stand a chance against the much bigger man, Claude frowned, his brows furrowed deep. With his cold and unforgiving voice, he demanded:
“Speak, brute. What makes you think you have the right to stand here? You’re in the way.”
The bloke, however, didn’t budge. His eyes intently stared, as if his gaze could match a thousand blades piercing through anyone who dared to look directly at him. It was a different kind of look from anything Claude had gotten used to. He seemed to be far from the other low-life Parisiens, but in the end the man could be anything but different from the crowd that Claude had so much disdain for. A sonorous voice, deep as the ocean, commanding like the voice of a god, grumbled from the man’s stomach. One may even think he was not used to speaking. Only a few precise, meticulous words came out from him, that Claude could have sworn they sounded like “monsieur de Paris”.
A gentleman of Paris, was what he called himself. A foreign-looking man, who did not fear the gaze of Judge Claude Frollo, who stood tall in the presence of the authorities. Oh how Claude despised this defying bloke who thought of himself to be greater than others! Arrogance was one of the greater sins for men to bear, and yet this person who didn’t even want to speak of his name was full of it. With a cane in his hand, Claude lifted his chin up. But his cane slipped, hitting him in the face. It appeared as though the man’s eyes narrowed in a heartbeat, but it was probably just Claude’s illusion. Somehow, it terrified him, even though his gesture towards Claude showed no malevolent intention. Quickly, he left, leaving Claude speechless with his henchman trying to get him back to his senses.
“I want to know… who that vile bloke is. Who does he even think he is, daring to oppose me like that.”
Back in the chapel of the Notre Dame, Claude tried to keep his composure as he ordered his underling to do his deeds. The trusted henchman scurried away with his orders. Alone in the chapel, Claude walked around impatiently. He could’ve sworn he borne nothing but disdain towards the bastard, but something different had sparked in him.
“My Lord, I have returned.”
“Then tell me, boy… what do you know about him?”
“From what I’ve managed to gather, his name is Helzon Sullivan.”
“That sounds quite foreign. Do you know where he came from? Corsica, is it?”
“Sir… It doesn’t seem to be Corsica. I asked all over, there was little to no information about him.”
“Really? What is he doing in Paris?”
“It remains a mystery still, sir. He does not seem to disclose his personal life to anyone, nor does he get close to any citizen. Oh but, it is quite likely that he is a soldier, who had made himself a frequent customer at the grand tavern.”
Indulgence, Claude thought. A grave sin of men. He specifically sought God’s light of guidance because he did not want to fall under the sinful ways most men indulge themselves in. Women, alcohol, money,… all temptations are earthly bonds that imprison one’s spiritual being to the earth, bringing them closer to hell than to God’s kingdom.
“So he… is a drunkard, you say?”
“On the contrary, sir. He could control himself very well, and he is… popular with the ladies. Though, it seemed like he only frequented such places for some drinking activities, not for the purpose of… coitus.”
“That, I did not need to hear. You are dismissed.”
Claude did not realize he was taking his first steps into his own hell. Instead of ignoring the peculiar man, Claude found himself drawn to him. Nothing but fate’s cruel grand scheme bound them together. Just as the archdeacon thought he had escaped his silvery eyes’ grasp, he happened to see the brute again.
It was Lent when their next encounter happened. This time, he was donning a military uniform, standing alongside other brutes. That was just like the information that the judge received from his henchman. But as Claude was watching him on the way down from the belltower of Notre Dame, he seemed to be in a hurry. It was probably orders from the higher-ups that forced his presence to be at the archdiocese, guarding the church for this occasion. All the while, the archdeacon went on about his day, as usual. Or that was how he made it seem. Claude played his role perfectly, but that was his job. The people of God cannot rest well if they knew their leader was unwell. In the confines of the glass windows, he stood to catch a glimpse of the silver-eyed man. The way his wavy black hair draped over his shoulder was bewitching, and although Claude called him “brute”, the way he moved was far from that. His elegance reminded him of a noble, and he was sure that eye color was also very uncommon for vermin to have. Sure, he’d seen his fair share of dirty grey eyes like a mouse’s coat, but this was pure silver.
The brute, whose surname Claude remembered to be “Sullivan”, stayed guarding Notre Dame for about a week until Lent was over.
Claude did not realize he was deliberately looking for the man at every turn of the corner. But he did, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. The hellfire was scorching through his veins, burning away every last bit of his being. Alas! For a man of God to bear such thoughts with another man, he was to be punished. Going against God’s will was unthinkable for him. He should not lay with another man, per the holy words of the bible. His mind was once pure, unclouded by lustful thoughts. But in the shadows of this wretched man, he was obsessed. As he took a peek into his own reflection in the mirror, Claude was horrified to find himself changed beyond his imagination. His ashy gray hair framing his face, sunken eyes of a clergyman who’d devoted all his life to serve God that he even neglected his health. At least, he didn’t neglect the task of grooming. But Claude was conscious that he had become unrecognizable from the image of himself that he’d drawn in his head, every morning as he opened his eyes and led the way for Catholic Parisians like a bunch of loyal dogs who tremble in fear in his presence. He was not loved, but feared. Right. That ugly, wretched, poor Quasimodo probably feared him as well.
But the man with those silvery, mercury-like eyes that could pierce through one’s heart was… different. He did not fear him. That alone had made him stand out from the rest of the crowd, apart from his astonishing height of course. He was immovable, like the pillars that held the establishment Claude was standing on. Hecouldn’t forget about him, even if he tried to. He’d imagined the devil residing in a gypsy’s heart, and in the hearts of sinners, unsightly preposterous sinners. The man he’d seen carried himself with an air of poise and grace so rare that Claude could swear he’d only seen a handful of those people throughout his miserable life. No one had ever dared to oppose Claude, let alone planting the seeds of eros in him. How could I be led astray by that tramp, Claude thought to himself.
Unless, that was his salvation, sent by God?
Claude couldn’t do anything but pray. He prayed and prayed, asking God for peace of mind. At a point where this self-righteous man had found himself to be shaken by the thoughts of another man, he felt as if the ground under his feet could crumble at any time. Claude had never thought of serving or devoting himself to anyone other than God, ever since he was a young pastor, an inquisitor, a church boy. His life had been all for the Bible studies, for his acts of service for God and Mother Mary, who looked at him from high up above. He had never had a taste of love and affection with another person of his peers. Climbing his way up the hierarchy of the grand church was an unforgiving process that allowed him no friends. Allies, yes, probably, but everyone aimed for their own good in this world. He was used to being alone, fighting his battles by himself.
But it was precisely his loneliness that triggered the downfall in Claude’s image of the perfect man, one that he crafted for him to aim for. The imaginary hands on his shoulders of Helzon Sullivan were warmer than anything he’d ever felt. It made Claude’s entire body shivered in a sense of unwanted joy and shameful yearning. He did not want to yield himself to desires - Claude Frollo was known to have a mind of steel. But just with these thoughts, he was already deeper in this painful yearning more than he ever wished to.
Alone in the chapel of Notre Dame, Claude stared outside, dreading. The clouds have pulled themselves down like dark, thickened cobwebs covering the sky. A storm was coming, and it was coming his way.
(me too lazy to color or draw a new one so I'm gonna an old one)
