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mistaeq · 3 years

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Saturday, 26th December

Romeo!Don Giovanna x Juliet!Reader: The Masque

TW // mafia is mentioned, please don't take it lightly. Mista x Trish is implied, but I've aged her up.

Today I offer you this, which I'm proud of, and it doesn't happen often. So I hope you all enjoy this.

A darker point of view on Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare.

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

Two households, both alike in dignity,

In fair Naples, where we lay our scene,

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life

Whose misadventured piteous overthrows

Do with their death bury their ancient strife.

The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,

Is now the two hours' traffic of my fic;

The which if you with patient eyes attend,

What here shall miss, my toil shall strive to mend.

"I will be honest to thee, if thou do not mind me saying so, Don Giovanna. But I am still struggling to understand why thou wanted to show up to the event." the golden haired signore slightly chuckled, after his councilor's words, who was now helping him with fixing the bow which perfectly fit his elegant braid. He never gave up on styling his hair the same way, and now that he was showing up to an event out of pure spite, he was not going to change that.

"It is not that I wanted it, my dear Guido." the Don said, fixing his cream colored jacket's sleeves, an amused grin animating his relaxed features. "They don't expect me to show up at all, all they did was inviting me, thinking I would have chosen to not to go. And make fun of thy lord's attitude. It would be rude of mine, to not to let them know how good I am doing, despite their several attempts to push me down."

"Indeed, signore. Thy reasonment sounds just right." the young councilor Guido Mista agreed with the Don, crouching to give a better look at the lord's image in the mirror and nodding in satisfaction when he made sure the bow was symmetrical as he wanted. "In addition to this, I am pleased to inform thee about my choice of asking Lord Diavolo's daughter's hand in marriage, as soon as she will turn eighteen. Lady Trish." Giorno's grin, if possibly, widened. His councilor marrying his worst enemy's daughter? Sounded just perfect, since she was gonna move in their mansion. By her own choice. She hated her father, and had agreed to the marriage. Great to hear.

"Thou spoke music to my ears, Guido. And I thank thee for thou fixed my bow properly." the golden haired Don stood up, and started walking towards the door, eyeing at his councilor's outfit. "Get ready, we are going." Believe me, he was about to touch the door handle, when a rough voice, who always allowed itself to speak too much, interrupted his actions.

"What about thy heart, signore? No love story nor marriage for thee?" The gunslinger dared to say, perfectly knowing his Don thought he had to keep on being focused on his own affairs, rather than have love related ones. He just liked to drop the question every now and then, but started being genuinely worried. Guido know how romantic Don Giovanna could get, and the thought of him getting old without getting married, weirded him out. At first, he used to think Giorno needed time to get used to his role as a boss in the neapolitan mafia - the biggest reason of his strife against Diavolo -, but now, years had passed, and it was getting worse.

"Tender is the way love might make this man change. Thy lord is not ready to face such a thing. Unless it is really worth a try." Don Giovanna's hand lingered around the doorknob, caressing it in an attempt to examinate a thin layer of dust. "Do me the favor to tell Ghirga that cleaning up every little thing, even the most insignificant one, is definitely not optional." the blonde said, finally tightening his grip on the door handle and exiting the room. Left in the whistling silence of the place, the councilor proceeded to get ready for the event himself. He knew his signore didn't like to make someone wait.

As soon as he came in the hall, everyone turned around him and his councilor, Guido Mista, who soon blended into the crowd, for his betrothed Trish Una gripped on his arm and pulled him somewhere else. "Bothering thy councilor is not my intention, Don Giovanna. I am asking for thy permission, to take him for a while." What else could the blonde man even answer, if not agreeing with it happening. Without any doubt, he was left alone so fast, he had now nobody to cover him, as his golden hair didn't blend at all into the crowd.

A pleasant smell of cooked food and wooden furniture penetrated the Don's nose, as he gripped a glass of wine from the servant who was walking around with a tray holding some. The man shook the crystal glass a little, before he smelled the alcoholic liquid, and took a sip from it. Then, he quietly snorted. "And this would be wine. I consider myself lucky, being these people's foe. This truly doth be terrible."

Giorno mentally commented almost everything in the hall, judging the furniture... "Outdated.", the people... "Seeing them stare at me pleases me. If they are willing to criticize my appearance and attitude, I will be even more pleased.", and the service as well. "These servants are just what Lord Diavolo likes. Being so useless, it pains me." he took the last sip from his crystal glass of wine. "Let me see how much will it take for some servant to notice."

No wonder, the signore was really full of himself, and he was right, for all the people's voices murmuring when he passed by, were coming from pure envy. Diavolo staring at him, from the top of a huge flight of stairs. Don Giovanna had not noticed him, for he didn't consider necessary the action of looking above his own head. Giorno knew he was the one to be already at the top. If so, it were others who had too look up to him. He had learnt he had to stand up to ferocious beasts too, and he managed, in his life, to dominate the worst out of all the beasts. Humanity.

Plus, he was extremely focused on what was happening in front of himself, for he could see, in the middle of the hall, several couples dancing. No need to specify, that was the place where Lady Trish had brought the councilor Mista. Don Giovanna couldn't help but slightly smirk. That man had always been so loyal to him, and he was genuinely proud of him for he had found a wife and helped his affairs at the same time. He watched at the curly, dark haired councilor moving his betrother around with grace, until they accidentally bumped into another couple who was dancing beside them. The Don was now elegantly chuckling, he was amused, he was...

...Love-struck. The couple who Mista and Una had bumped into, consisted in a young lord and a beautiful creature who probably came from heavens above. The angel apologized to the pink haired Lady with a laughter, and bowed to Guido in apology. The angel... were you. Diavolo's niece/nephew had made the impenetrable heart of Don Giovanna fall in love. Could he talk about love? He wanted to. All in a matter of two seconds, the golden haired man imagined you dressed up for a luxurious wedding. What he did not know, was that there would have also been Diavolo in the crowd, watching his archenemy marry you. He had no idea you were related to him. As the same servant he had taken a glass from before passed by, Giorno gripped her arm, and pulled her closer.

"What angel is that, which doth enrich the hand of yonder knight?" he frantically asked, his tone was serious and imposing, as if he was ready to squeeze the information out of the poor servant. But she knew nothing about you, it was not like she was a family servant. She was just there to serve for the event. "I know not, sir", the poor waitress said, holding the tray on her chest and trying to go back into the kitchen. "I apologize. Uh. More wine?" The girl also asked, as Don Giovanna remembered he had ran out of wine. But he shook his head and left the empty glass in the servant's hand, moving towards you to have a better look, not noticing he was right under the flight of stairs where Diavolo and a follower of his were standing. Then, he started to talk to himself, contemplating you.

"O, they doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems they hangs upon the cheek of night." he moved his hands together, in a similar motion as one of a prayer. "Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear. Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, as yonder angel o'er their fellows shows." Don Giovanna's fingers intertwined with each other as he spoke. "The measure done, I'll watch their place of stand, and, touching theirs, make blessed my rude hand." with his intense gaze, Giorno's left hand moved to slide on the side of his body, as the right hand touched his chest. "Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."

He made the mistake to melt right under the sight of Diavolo, who smirked in seeing him so vulnerable for such a thing. Nobody was there to tell him that falling in love with you would have been his end. The pink haired lord was not irritated, for even if Giorno had tried to humiliate him, the golden haired boss was humiliating himself now, over a fleeting love. The man on the stairs wouldn't even have needed to do anything. Not that he wanted it in the first place. He would have behaved, to show his superiority off.

But Diavolo's loyal servant, lord Cioccolata, had other ideas. "This, by his voice, should be Giovanna. Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave come hither, cover'd with an antic face, to fleer and scorn at our solemnity?" the green haired man bent over the banister to take a better look to the supercilious Giorno, who, again, had no clue of what was right above him. "Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, to strike him dead, I hold it not a sin." Cioccolata murmured, but felt his arm get gripped from his boss.

"Why, how now, kinsman. Wherefore storm you so?" the servant's jaw dropped.

"Signore, this is literally Don Giovanna, our foe, a villain that is hither come in spite, to scorn at our solemnity this night." as the same servant who Giorno had talked to approached Diavolo and offered him a glass of wine, the pink haired boss smelled it and took a little sip from it. Then, grinned. He was not in the mood for violence. For now. So he had to keep Cioccolata back from every kind of bad decision. It wasn't easy, to keep such a man from murder. Out of pure honesty.

"Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone, Cioccolata. He bears him like a portly gentleman, and, to say truth, Naples brags of him to be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth." Diavolo explained. It would not have been good if something happened to that man in his mansion. He was part of Naples' pride. "I would not for the wealth of all the town, here in my house do him disparagement: therefore be patient, take no note of him. It is my will, the which if thou respect, show a fair presence and put off these frowns, and ill-beseeming semblance for a feast." was he asking his most violent servant to have... patience over his archenemy? Yes, he was, and Cioccolata was speechless.

"It fits, when such a villain is a guest. I'll not endure him." the angered man replied, trying once again to get his signore to reasonate and realize they could get rid of him so easily if they wished so. The councilor Mista was even too distracted by Diavolo's daughter to keep an eye on his boss. It could have been so simple, for Cioccolata, to...

"Am I the master here, or you? You'll not endure him? God shall mend my soul! You'll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop! You'll be the man!" the pink haired man slightly raised his voice - not enough for Giorno to hear - and made himself clear, so that if the green haired made any possible mess during his feast, he would have had to take his own responsibility.

"I will withdraw, then." the servant gave up on his ideas, but rudely. His one almost felt like a poisonous gaze. "But this intrusion shall now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall." he said, indirectly threatening an oblivious Giorno. Talking about him, during their conversation between the two men on the stairs, he turned unnoticed until Cioccolata left. When Diavolo looked down on him again, the golden haired boss was now in the middle of a crowded mess of people who was dancing, people who was eating and conversing. He was with you. Finally.

Giorno Giovanna approached you in a way you couldn't help but notice. He looked like the sun, a golden being, it caught your heart as well. Neverending seconds of staring at each other followed, until... "If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this." he gently took your hand in his. It felt warm. "My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss." as the man said so, he leaned in to leave a soft kiss on the back of your hand. His sweet scent overwhelming you as he moved. How gentle.

"Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this." you withdrew your hand and slightly chuckled, reassuring him it was fine. Someway, the two of you found yourself moving away from the crowd. In a more intimate spot. Diavolo couldn't even find you. "For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch..." your sweet voice was soothing the man more than you would realize. "...and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."

Giorno bit his lip in anticipation, and gently exhaled. "Have not saints lips... and holy palmers too?" he asked, leaning down right towards your soft mouth, before you moved aside and, chuckling like an angel playing in a field, avoided the gentleman's kiss, jokingly scolding his mind with a mischievous smile.

"Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer." You provoked him. Where had Giorno Giovanna's temperance gone? He had swore to his councilor, just before leaving his house, that he wouldn't have let love blind his senses. And there he was. Plus, you did not know each other. You did not know who you were. You did not know you should have not been there together. Due to this, he gladly accepted your game, and chuckled back. God, he was so ethereal and he did not even realize it.

"O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do." he begged, looking almost afraid of touching you, or your waist, or your own hand. How can someone fall so deep in love after having just met someone? Does love at first sight even exist? "They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair." Don Giovanna's tone sounded impatient.

But you had accepted to play his game, and now you would have played it until the very end. You smirked, staring at the blonde man's trembling lips. "Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake." you said, implying the fact that you wouldn't have made the first step. It made sense, though. It was him, who had compared you to a saint first. Little did you know, you were playing with fire, for that man you felt love at first sight for, was your uncle's archenemy.

Giorno grinned, and hid you more against the wall, as your hands automatically wrapped around his figure. Though you didn't move in for a kiss. Until... "Then move not... while my prayer's effect I take.", said the man, grazing with his lips against yours, and finally pressing. You felt all your senses relieve and relax, as your hands grasped on the fabric of the Don's jacket. You didn't like your uncle's crimes. You wouldn't have liked Giorno's ones too. But you had no clue. And he had no clue you were Diavolo's niece/nephew. And you were in love.

His sugary sweet lips clicked against yours a last, neverending time, when he pulled back and thought staring right in your eyes was a good idea. "Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged." Don Giovanna whispered, breathing hard against your giggling mouth. He hadn't stopped playing, you noticed with a pleasant feeling.

"Then have my lips the sin that they have took...?" you slyly asked him, clearly wanting the kiss to continue, clearly wanting more, having no idea of how wrong it was. Having no idea of how dangerous is was. Though his eyes widened, and got even closer, so close to giving you what you wanted for the second time. You felt yourself growing so enamored.

"Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!" he paused for a second, before he bit his own lower lip. "Give me my sin again." Giorno whispered, grabbing your waist with his hand and kissing you, almost desperately, but romantically, against the wall. He had been so focused on anything else, that he had forgotten the true flavor of love, and living it all again after he had swore he wouldn't have done it, was way too intense. Way too beautiful. Better than the art he'd been collecting the latest years.

When he pulled back, you instictively smiled and raised an eyebrow, silently chuckling a little. "You kiss by the book..." you told him, caressing his neck gently and carefully. If it were for him and you, that beautiful moment could go on for hours, days, even an eternity. But beautiful things never last. The two of you almost had a heart attack, when the arm of a blonde, long haired man grabbed your right wrist, ripping your dream in half.

"Madam/sir, your uncle craves a word with you." he almost managed to get you away from Giorno, when the Don grabbed your left wrist, and pulled you towards him, not letting the man, Tiziano to be precise, bring you away.

"What's their uncle?"

At that question, the almond eyed man smirked, as if he was ready to drop a heavy bomb on the snooty Don. "Marry, bachelor, their uncle is the lord of the house, and a good man, wise and virtuous. I nursed his niece/nephew, that you talk'd withal." as if Tiziano had read into Don Giovanna's mind, he added something else, just for the sake of making it even heavier. "I tell you, he that can lay hold of them, shall have the chinks."

Then the blonde haired Don followed the two of you around the hall, until he saw you get pulled upstairs by Tiziano, and connected his brains to what he saw. Diavolo, waiting for you upstairs, and Tiziano holding your arm so that you wouldn't have been able to run away. Four painful words formed on Giorno's whispering lips. "Are they an enemy...?" he asked to himself, looking at you up there, until Trish didn't appear as well behind you.

Trish wasn't happy to be there, she loved Guido Mista, but apparently Diavolo had called all his family back. And your presence there, only confirmed his fear. You were about to step back towards him and say something, but Tiziano caught your shoulder just in time, and pulled you close enough to whisper you the words you would have never wanted to hear. "His name is Giorno." he added more details. "Giorno Giovanna. The only appearance you should match to your great enemy."

You stood there. Empty. You and your forbidden lover had understood what was going on. And both your hearts clenched. And both your hearts suffered. How could love be so beautiful yet so evil, to make a man live and die on the same evening. How...

We all know how this story ends, we know about the pain, we know about the sorrow. But what if this time it made sense. One of the lovers is dirty with criminal blood, running through his veins, and you accept him, in the good and in the bad. Is this right...?

Or is death the punishment, for the sin that in reality your lips hadn't purged at all?

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo part five #vento aureo #jjba au #jojo au #giorno giovanna #giorno x reader #diavolo #tiziano #cioccolata #trish una #guido mista #narancia ghirga #jojo fic #christmas time #don giorno giovanna #don giovanna

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saintheartwing · 5 years

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Undertale: Frost

Author's Note:

This was a story I had always intended to write, but never really found the time to. Now I've got more time to, having settled into my new job, working at a brand new hospital. With this story, I intend to be fairly historically accurate to the times the tale takes place in, and the cultures as well. I'll try hard to be respectful, and to be understanding, but I recognize I will make some mistakes. Don't hesitate to let me know what you think, and point out what you like and where I can improve. This story will be covering some very tough, hard subject matter, and I won't really shy away from it though I'll try to not create anything so dark it gets an M rating. Above all else, I want the story to FEEL real, and to feel like the people within actually, truly lived. If I can tell that story, and make you enjoy it, and make you perhaps think a little about the big issues within this story...I'll be happy.

Seriously, nothing makes a writer feel better than knowing people read their work. So please. Don't be afraid to comment or review. And so, without further ado, I give you my vision of the past. I give you...Frost.

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The sun softly lilted over the quiet city of Lincoln, England, the skies above filled with soft, lilting clouds as a gentle zephyr blew through the hair of those walking into the cathedral. It was the tallest building in the world, towering higher even than the Great Pyramid of Giza, with a magnificent central spire reaching to the heavens above in the center of the large church, and smaller spires at the front, its big, huge double doors open and letting all inside.

Even the monsters.

They passed their way into the cathedral's south entrance under the "Bishop's Eye", an enormous, beautiful stained glass rose window, a companion piece to the "Dean Eye" on the north where people would be exiting. This was, of course, deliberate, for the South represented the Holy Spirit, whilst the North stood for the Devil. The Bishop gazed out at the south, to invite in, whilst the Dean gazed out to the North to shun. The Cathedral, therefore, looked upon both Heaven and Hell…metaphorically speaking. All were welcome inside, but when they left by the North, they'd be reminded to be wary of the guiles of the evil one.

And there…there she was. One of the biggest reasons people had decided that perhaps letting the monster race into the town of Lincoln wasn't such a bad idea. She was clad in her plain robes, but her white fur shone beautifully, her eyes closed as she sang for the assembled crowds making their way into the church. The backup choir behind her harmonized along with her powerful yet soft voice, a voice likes that of an angel that instantly drew your attention. Though she had little tiny nubs for horns atop her faintly goat-like skull, and her finger's nails were somewhat pointed, the cute, large feet, the little sweet pot belly you could see, and her voice, the VOICE! All of that was disarming. Even her eyes weren't scary, though red in color, they were very close to brown, and came off as more soothing than sinister as Toriel, proud member of Saint Mary's Cathedral, sang for the masses, as Father White watched in his own soft robes not far away from the pulpit.

As Toriel sang, her cross necklace glinted in the light filtering in through the stained glass windows of the cathedral, and people were practically hypnotized as the words lilted through the air. Her words brought to mind soft grass in a valley, of the wind blowing through flowers, with petals dancing on the wind. It made you think of warm rays of the sun that faintly kissed your skin, and a tenderness that was rare to find on Earth.

"She's one of the good ones, without a doubt." Said Tobias's father as the young lad with the cute smile and rosy cheeks quietly watched her, blushing a bit more as he gazed at her face.

"She's, um…quite a lovely singer, yes." He finally murmured out.

"If only ALL the monsters had as fine a voice as this "Baphomine"." Tobias's father James commented with a sigh as he put his arm around his wife Marietta. Quite a few of the inhabitants in the church nodded at this quietly murmured remark, though Tobias flinched at this, and it comforted him to see quite a few people turning to give James a rather irritated and angry look. "Remember, Tobias. In the service of the lord, even beings as lowly and wretched as monsters can be made almost human. Truly, the church's mercy is a thing to admire that even such beasts can be admired in some way."

"Well…beasts can't talk…" Tobias muttered. "I've not ever heard a dog or cow or frog speak."

"Oh, they can imitate our language much like they imitate our songs, but I doubt they really understand it. Much like how a…PARROT can imitate human speech but not comprehend it. They're merely following our lead, my son." James reasoned. Tobias held his tongue, though for a brief, dark, horrible moment, he imagined kicking his father in the shins.

At last, Toriel had finished her song and bowed, as people clapped in the aisles, and Father White moved forward, nodding his head at Toriel, taking the young, teenage monster's hands in his. "Bless you, Toriel. Bless your heart. And bless all of thee for coming. The Lord be With You."

"And also with you." The masses repeated back.

"We profess our belief in the Lord, Jesus. For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, so that whomever believed in him should have eternal life. This is the Gospel of the Lord."

"Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ."

Father White's thick black hair fell about his face as he his slightly scraggly-bearded face looked out among the throng. His blue eyes flitted very briefly over to Toriel before he spoke, loudly and firmly. "Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees! Hypocrites! For thou are like whited sepulchers, beautiful upon the outside, yet inwardly rotten, full of dead men's bones and all uncleanliness. Though thou appear outwardly righteous, within thee is hypocrisy and iniquity! The Gospel of Matthew, one of my absolute most favorite parts of all the New Testament. Every one of thee should know it. Matthew, one of the 12 Apostles, wrote this fine Gospel primarily for a specific audience. Do any here know who they were? Come, please. Raise thy hands. This is a safe place for all who want to believe, and you won't be judged or mocked if you get it wrong."

Tobias slowly raised a hand up, before anyone else, and when Father White pointed at him, he spoke as clearly as he could, Toriel's eyes looking right into his own. "Was the gospel written for the Jews, Father White?"

"Yes. Matthew makes mention of more Old Testament sections than any other gospel, and he saw Jesus as King of the Jews, who fulfills the prophecies within the Old Testament. He wanted Jewish people to be able to welcome Him into their hearts, and to convince them with that which they themselves held dear, the holy words and prophecies and lessons they took to heart. By showing them this, and the miracles Jesus performed, Matthew hoped they would welcome Jesus. Let us pray upon this."

He bowed his head, the people in the Cathedral following suit as Toriel bowed her own head. Come about 45 minutes later, the service was over, and she was nodding as people left the Cathedral…before quickly rushing over to one particular person. Or rather, one particular monster.

"Careful!" She quickly ushered the burning, constantly-on-fire Pyrope away from a tapestry just in time. Phew. Now the depiction of Christ on the cross wouldn't go up in flames! The big, coal-like, large-mouthed monster's head hopped up and down on the coiled, rope-like chest, stomach and lower body of his frame, wearing fancy sandals as the fiery hair he had slightly flared up before it cooled down at the sight of her worried face.

"My apologies." Percival Pyrope remarked, the burning fire upon his round, black, eyeless face turning into a very thin layer of fire, his "normal" state when he wasn't excited. The Pyrope and monsters much like him who could accidentally damage the church had to sit rather separated from the throngs of humans. Didn't want them burning down the church!

"Its alright, really. You've been VERY well behaved, thank you so kindly." Toriel said warmly, bowing at Percival Pyrope as he left the church and Toriel, in turn, walked over to Father White as he looked over a big copy of the Bible at his podium. "You were very, very considerate to use Matthew in today's sermon." She said, as Father Michael took her hands again and shook them.

"Anytime, Toriel. You are as a shining light in our church, and welcome here anytime you desire. You'll never be turned away from here." Father White insisted kindly as he briefly peered over Toriel's shoulder, taking notice of the fact that…yes. There he was. Little Toby had stayed behind and was nervously rocking back and forth on his feet. "May I help you, Toby?"

"Um…may I have confession, sir?"

"Of course. Come this way." Father White led Tobias off across the church and towards the booth used for confession as Toriel, in turn, made her way out of the church and towards the local inn to get lunch.

Though many of the townsfolk smiled a little at her, or bowed their heads, others quietly shuffled out of her way, a few muttering nervously, looking a bit pale as she entered the inn and sat down at a table, the innkeeper sending a server over to her as several people she'd not seen in town before glanced in her direction.

"…oh. Those. Let's…not stay. I'm not hungry at the moment." One of the men grumbled as his friends nodded, the bartender sighing a bit as he watched them leave, Toriel quickly digging into her robes pockets.

"Here, I'll pay a little extra to make up for your lost business."

"A pleasure doing business with you, then!" The innkeeper remarked with a big grin as he nodded at the server. "Hannah, give Ms. Choir Girl anything she'd like!"

"Not a problem at all…" Hannah said with a nod as she stood by Toriel. "So what do you want?"

"I'll have the usual." Toriel remarked as Hannah nodded, going off to get Toriel her salted meat dish she so adored, combined with a nice local ale as Toriel, in turn, took something else out of her pocket…silver shine polish for her cross necklace, a creation of her own design she'd made by herself. In fact, she made quite a bit of good money selling her artistic creations, and used a bit of the proceeds to help the church. It was only fair, she felt, given how they'd let her join, the first monster in Saint Mary's-

Toriel sniffed at the air, turning. Oh. A man behind her was looking over a pie that had been served to him and he tilted his head to the side as he examined it. "I wouldn't eat that if I were you, sir." Toriel spoke up softly as the man glanced up at her, then at the pie. "It smells…" She sniffed at the air. "Yes, I think whomever baked it didn't quite use proper butter."

"You can tell from smell?" The man asked. He HAD looked irritated looking at her but now his expression was one of wonder. "I had no idea. Is it because you Baphomine part goat?"

Toriel inwardly flinched, but she said nothing outwardly and shook her head. "No, no, my kind aren't part goat, we just resemble them somewhat. Much like how a statue only resembles a living being, but isn't truly one. And, uh…we'd prefer being called "púca", good sir."

"Pooka? That's…Irish, isn't it?" The man inquired, wearing a thick robe that looked quite fancy and having a short moustache and beard. He looked very nondescript otherwise as he sniffed the pie. "Well, I'll take your word for it. Thank you very much, Miss…um…your name?"

"Toriel."

"Do you have a second name?"

"Oh, no, we monsters don't always have that either."

"I'm learning so many things about your kind! My name's Hugh, by the way." He said with a small smile as, at last, Toriel's own meal arrived. "Please, sit with me. I'd like to know more about you and your kind. I don't mean to impose, but I've heard so much, and I'd like to come away from this knowing you and your ilk better."

Toriel nodded, and she moved her meal to his little table, sitting across from him. This wasn't the first time this had happened, and probably wouldn't be the last, but she didn't mind, not really. If it meant a better understanding of her people and of her, then this was fine. It reminded her of a story that Father White had said, of somebody seeing someone on the beach, picking up starfish and tossing them into the sea. The second person had admonished this starfish saver. "Look, there's hundreds of these, you'll never save them all. You can't think you're making a difference." But the other man had simply smiled, picked up another starfish, and tossed them off into the ocean, saying "It made a difference to THAT one."

Toriel would be that Good Samaritan. And Mr. Hugh would be yet another starfish. As she began to speak about her kind, she felt something almost familiar in him. Almost-

Ah. Now she realized. His hair. It was rather like that of her friend off in Wales. She wondered how he was doing.

As it were, winter was soon to settle in Wales, and the first quilting of clouds passed its way towards the ramparts of the castle on the hill. The sun's rays were being slowly but surely obscured by the greying blanket that was making its way over the inhabitants of the castle as the guard nonchalantly sat on its ramparts, keeping their eyes peeled. They had their weapons close at hand, ready to snatch up at a moments notice, bows had fresh drawstrings put in them, the spears had been finely shined and armor a-glinted in the few remaining rays of light that burst through the clouds above. A light wind ruffled through their hair as they looked about at each other, ready to make their move. The only question was…who would break first? Their opponent was crafty and calculating and-

"HA."

Lord Llywelyn Ap Iorwerth was smirking in delight, and he picked up the winnings from the men, shaking them about in one hand and looking supremely smug. His moustache quivered in that way it did whenever he was especially pleased with himself, his cloaked frame rising up as he put the winnings from the dice roll in his bag and shook it about in the air, his thick Welsh accent audible for all the men gathered about to hear. "Hear that, me lads? THAT'S the sound of success."

"Just wait." One of the men grumbled as his buddy scratched the bald patch in the midst of the spiky hair on either side of his head. "We'll get our money back soon enough. Another round!" He insisted, shaking his fist defiantly at their lord as his ponytail flopped off the side of his shoulder, his bowman friend adjusting the bag of arrows he had slung around his back. "How about it?" He asked as he turned to another pal.

"…I dunno, Arthus." The somewhat shorter, tubbier spearman shook his head as he plucked a bit at the stringed lute as had in his lap at the moment, humming a bit, his rather large chin slightly bouncing as he hummed a few bars, playing some more of the lute. "I think I want to cut my losses." He said, the slight wind in the air a-ruffling his somewhat poofy hair.

"Dylann is right. Ol' Bowen's up for anything…but not a second pounding at the dice." Bowen the Bowman said in his oddly low voice as he sighed and hung his head, shaking it back and forth. Sitting not far away two knights glanced at each other briefly as they stood on opposite sides of Lord Llywelyn, one with a half-visor esque helm who's lower half was slightly dotted with little holes, chainmail on his arms and legs as he hung his own head in dice defeat. His comrade, who wore a helm that was smooth and square-like and with a slightly jutting-out front with plate armor on his arms, but not his legs shook his head too.

"Gawain and I aren't interested in losing again."

"Iolo, come now!" proclaimed Arthus, looking rather mortified. "That's two week's pay you've lost!"

"And I don't want to lose another two weeks." The plate-mail having knight commented. "My dear "Artie"…one must know when to cut one's losses."

"Perhaps Elisud wants in?" Arthus asked as he and the others turned to the young lad who was looking out over the ramparts, who hadn't joined in the fun at all. Elisud, though being the youngest there at age 16, looked far older than he really was. He was already showing the beginnings of a five o'clock shadow with the faintest sign he was going to have quite the beard/moustache combination. He also had a bit of a receding hairline, his hair wafting about in the wind somewhat as he looked across the long stretches of grass to the east.

Elisud turned to look back at them, a slightly surprised…even annoyed…expression on his face. "Um…well, it is just…I mean, I've been told gambling is a sin, good sirs, and I don't want to sin. I AM going to be a Friar."

"Exactly. A Friar. You Franciscans have to take vows of chastity, poverty and obedience. Nothin' in there that says you can't GAMBLE, that ain't one of the 10 Commandments!" Arthus laughed.

"Besides, if you're concerned about the money…just give it back to these fine gentlemen. You can call that "charity"." Lord Llywelyn said with a smile at Elisud as he rubbed the back of his neck. Elisud had been training to be a self-taught Friar for weeks now, he'd read book after book about what it took and he wanted to establish a Franciscan monastery in Wales, there weren't ANY in the entire land and he wanted to be the first.

"Well…okay." He said at last before glancing back across the grass. "But are you absolutely sure we don't need to worry about them?" He wanted to know as he looked back over the long stretches of green at the distinctly white-skinned, odd mixture of ugly and cute that was sitting about 100 yards away from them. He'd been watching that froglike creature for a good ten minutes, and he'd been most unsettled at how it was just STARING at them all.

Froggits, they were called. They looked much like their namesakes, but there was…SOMETHING underneath their little bodies that peered out, some kind of bug of some kind that people suspected allowed the frog-like top to call forth flies to buzz forth and attack the monster's target. The fact that they were only about a foot tall made them a bit more worrisome to deal with than a normal frog, but still…

A frog monster with big stupid eyes that could summon a couple flies or so to buzz at you wasn't too intimidating. At least, the men clearly didn't think so as Dylann plucked at his lute some more and began to play a tune, the men sniggering all around.

"Elisud, it's a damn froggit. They're not scary!" Bowen said as he tapped his foot along to Dylann's tune, the others beginning to hum along as their Lord strolled over to Elisud to look over at the froglike creatures as well. "I mean, a good, hard shot from an arrow will send them scampering away."

"You could kick one into oblivion." Said Sir Iolo as Gawain nodded his agreement. "They're not as dangerous as the Melusine or the Baphomine race."

"Their magical skill's pathetic." Arthus commented. "All they do is summon flies."

Elisud glanced about. "…do any of you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Dylann asked as he stopped fooling with the lute, tilting his head to the side.

"Sort of a…buzzing noise?" Elisud murmured, looking over at the froggits, eyes a little narrowed. "Are they trying to summon their flies?"

"I don't see any over there." The lord remarked as he gazed upon the froggits as well, tilting his head somewhat.

"Really, don't worry, Elisud! The foolish froggits may have numbers but that is all they have. Should any attempt to get within reach of the castle, we shall let loose our arrows on them and they shall perish from the onslaught." Sir Gawain offered to Elisud. "Now come, come!" Gawain rose up too and clasped Elisud on the back. "Try a liiiiittle bit of gambling. You've got a good month to go before you leave us and get started on building the monastery. You can live a little."

"And it's of course an honor to build it with your permission…and money, Lord Llywelyn." Elisud added with a bow. "But if thee don't mind my asking, why did your wife want to help me set it up?"

"I suspect that papal decree from Pope Honorius III has gotten her very grateful towards the Church." Lord Llewelyn mused aloud. "Who am I to deny her? Now come, come! You want to win this gold, don't you?" He asked, shaking the bag about, making it jingle with its many coins. Elisud smiled warmly and sat down on the ramparts as his lord did the same, and Sir Gawain and Iolo began to hum merrily, Dylann beginning to sing as he so often did whilst Bowen and Arthus got out their own respective instruments from nearby bags, a flute and a viol, playing along with Dylann as he closed his eyes and sang joyously.

The song wafted through the air as Elisud and Lord Llywelyn rolled their dice, eager to keep the fun going as the minutes went on, the singing making the group practically glow with a kind of warm, soft light that brought a smile to Elisud's face. Still, even though he was enjoying their singing immensely, he couldn't bring himself to join in, whenever he tried to open his mouth to join in the revelry, he felt himself choke up, his neck tightening.

"If only I had a bit more bravery in me." He sighed sadly. Still, he didn't mind. It was just…nice…to enjoy his time with his wonderful, wonderful comrades here, and nice to have such a good, sweet lord.

"Alas. Snake eyes." His lord sighed as he hung his head, Elisud cheerily holding up the bag of gold he'd just gotten.

"Winning!" He giggled as he held the top open and, one after the other, poured out the winnings for everyone else to take hold of in their palms. "Here you are everyone. My sincerest compliments." He remarked before an idea came to him and he made his way towards the eastern rampart's wall, holding up the still-remaining coins in one hand. "Hello? Froggits?"

The frog monsters ALL turned to look directly in his direction.

"Look, if I were to give thee some coins, would thoust please leave?" Elisud inquired, the rest of his group looking a bit stunned by this, whilst his Lord sighed somewhat. The froggits glanced about at each other, and then "harrumphed".

"Mayhaps they don't have anywhere to put it. Ah well." Lord Llywelyn said with a shrug. "Not everyone welcomes the virtue of charity." He remarked as Elisud walked over to him, giving HIM the last bit of gold he had left, a look of surprise popping on the ruler of Wales's face.

"You didn't have to give me any of it back, I lost it, fair and square." Lord Llywelyn remarked.

"You're already giving me so much, sir." Elisud insisted with a beaming smile. "I could NEVER thank thee enough for that but at the very least I can give you a bit of coinage. Mayhaps use it to buy your wife a new dress with my compliments and deepest gratitude?"

Then he heard it once more. "There it is again!" He groaned, looking left and right. "That BUZZING noise. Don't all of thee hear it?"

The others glanced around, then Bowen sighed as he rose up, readying his bow and arrow and peering down over the ramparts, looking down the walls. "I don't see any silly froggit flies trying to climb up the walls." He called out. "You sure you're not a-hearin' things, Elisud?" He inquired as Elisud rose up, looking about, holding a hand to his ear and closing his eyes.

"The sound is coming from…over…there." He said, gesturing off towards the west as he quickly made his way to the far side of the castle, strolling over a connected pathway bridge, finally arriving at the other side…and his eyes bulged wide with horror. "OH MY GOD!"

Oh his God indeed, for now he saw what the buzzing noise was. The froggits on the eastern side had been a distraction, for a much larger frog that was a good three feet tall and with a crown upon its head stood there, eyes burning like coals, its mouth looking almost like it had been sewn shut, ready to burst open and let loose a horrific, soul-shattering croak. Underneath its body were burning, sickeningly bright eyes, and sweeping all about it…was a SWARM of flies that were sweeping along the grass, barreling towards the castle.

"SIRS! SIRS! We've got a MASSIVE, crowned Froggit to the west!" Elisud cried out. "He's unleashing a swarm of flies upon us all!" Elisud cried out as the men in the courtyard below and on the ramparts immediately bolted upright. Cries rang out as they took hold of their weaponry, Lord Llywelyn seeing the froggits on the east racing towards them.

"They are trying to ensnare us in a pincer movement! We must strike back! Ready your positions! Take aim with your bows, my bowmen and fire, fire, fire! Get me some boiling oil to keep them from getting inside the castle!" He roared out as Elisud reached into the folds of his robes, readying the small crossbow he had by his side as he got out his small little quiver of bows. He drew the string back, readying the bow as he took aim, then cringed. No, no, he could maybe hit a FEW flies but he'd never be able to do any proper damage.

"Light your arrows!" Lord Llywelyn yelled as he and others held up torches, the arrowmen lighting up the arrows they were ready to fire as Elisud did the same, nodding at his lord. "We'll be able to strike more down this way! Here they come!"

The flies had almost reached the castle, that horrific, foul, unnatural buzzing filling the air as the Final Froggit let loose a big, loud, ear-splitting GRRROAAAARRRKKKKK of a noise, and Lord Llywelyn cried "FIRE!"

THWOOSH-THWOOSH-THWOOSH! Arrows soared forth, rapped in burning flames, barreling down at the flies, others aimed at the onslaught of froggits. The screeches and cries of dying Froggits was oddly human in how they sounded, it was SCARY how much a frog's cry was like a man's. But down they went all the same as the bowmen kept firing, big, large, burning chunks getting torn through the ensuing flies. The horde broke again and again, the attempt to break through the castle defenses appeared to be failing.

But Elisud could see a distinctly smug look on the Final Froggit's face. He kept hopping leisurely towards the castle, and the flies kept coming. Elisud didn't know why he was so smug and cheery but-

Then he realized why as he reached into his quiver and found out that he'd run out of arrows. And evidently, so had most of his friends! The men were clearly out of arrows and now they were trying to pour down boiling oil as the flies soared towards them…but the flies could dodge these far more easily than the arrows, soaring up, away from the boiling oil to shoot down at the men.

"AGGGHHH!" Elisud could see his comrades being swarmed by loads and loads of flies. Though the Froggit assault from their front line had failed miserably, the Final Froggit's flies were succeeding very well. They tried to swat and slash and bat at the insects sweeping all about them, getting in their eyes, biting at their flesh, but though they knocked several of them down, it was proving nigh-impossible to kill the little pests.

Only those who'd put on armor had some degree of protection as they were being kept from being bit…until the flies got into their hoods, forcing folks like Gawain and Iolo to rip their helmets off as quickly as they could, spluttering, coughing, digging at their eyes, the flies trying to eat their eyeballs out!

Elisud gasped in horror, surrounded on all sides by his beset friends, the screaming of the dying and the hurt and the terrified all around him. He had to do something. ANYTHING! Anything at all! He had to get rid of all of these flies! He turned, seeing the Final Froggit now atop the ramparts, a distinctly smug look on its features as it stuck its tongue out mockingly at him.

"Not so high and mighty in your castle NOW, are you, humans?" It inquired as Elisud felt a shudder go over him, the frog-like monster gazing right at him as…something unexpected happened.

In fact…three things happened in quick succession.

PING! A big, green heart manifested in midair in front of Elisud, and the Final Froggit sneered at him again, Elisud's eyes widening.

A powerful, yet oddly soothing and tender balm of emerald light rose up around Esliud's frame as his vibrant verdant eyes sparkled.

And he covered his face and his head with his arms, flopping onto his knees, wanting the flies and the froggy monster to just go away, as an enormous, pulsating, throbbing shield of green light cascaded forth, shooting out from his body. THA-THWOOOOM! All of the flies around him, and the Final Froggit too, went sailing through the air, the other flies dissolving away in midair as the Final Froggit's concentration was shattered by the sudden burst of what could only be described…

As MAGIC. Pure Green Magic…from a Soul of Kindness.

TRHROMPH. He hit the ground, groaning, the men gazing in amazement, fear and wonder at Elisud as he looked down at his hands, which slightly glowed with the same green light as the shield, the Final Froggit quickly hopping away from the castle as fast as his little legs could carry him, not wanting to stick around to fight a MAGE as Lord Llywelyn approached Elisud, and the obvious question came from his lips.

"Elisud…how in the name of everything holy did you do that?"

"I haven't any idea." Elisud whispered. "…what did I just DO?"

"That's MAGIC, my boy. Magic, right there. No doubt about it!" Gawain whispered, bite marks all over his cheeks and left side of his face, whilst poor Bowen was missing one of his fingers, nibbled off by the flies as he had his hand wrapped up, and was cringing in pain. "I've only heard stories of the wonders of the mages."

"Does anyone know anything of what green magic does?" Dylann inquired as Iolo rubbed over his eye. He had a VERY nasty wound, the flies had tried to eat it out of its socket and had eaten the eyelid away.

"It's healing magic. Shielding magic. The sign of a compassionate and kind soul." He whispered as Elisud's mouth fell agape. "Perchance he could heal our wounds."

"I can…try." Elisud murmured.

"Try to think of how you used it just now. What was going through your mind?" Lord Llywelyn asked, putting a hand on Elisud's shoulder as he bit his lip.

"I…just wanted that monster to leave us alone. That thought flared in my mind, in my heart. I just wanted him to GO, and…and something erupted up inside me."

"Concentrate then on…Bowen, for starters. Bowen, your wound!" Lord Llywelyn proclaimed as Bowen raced over to Elisud, the others watching on in awe, as Esliud held onto Bowen's hand. "Think only of healing his wound. Try to picture his healed hand in your mind. All of you, stay silent! Let him focus. Let him breathe. Let him feel the swell of healing light within." The lord reasoned as Esliud took in deep, long breaths, as he closed his eyes, his hands feeling over Bowen's injured hand, picturing the flesh growing back.

Slowly but surely, he felt the surge a-swelling up in him but…no, no, it was more like a soft ripple. A gentle wave, a balm that soothingly slid from his hands in a tender green aura, as Bowen's finger began to grow back, good as new, right before their eyes.

"Tis a miracle." Bowen softly whispered, tears brimming in his eyes. "Tis truly a blessing from God himself that you'd gain this power, at our most dire hour! There can't be any other explanation!"

"Now, now, Elisud has other wounds to treat. But once he has finished, we celebrate." Lord Llywelyn proclaimed firmly as he gently patted Elisud's back. "Esliud, your hands were meant to heal, that much is true. And we'll celebrate tonight with a glorious feast in your name."

"I don't know if I deserve it, sir. Anyone with my gift would surely do the same." Esliud said humbly as he blushed somewhat.

"Then we'll celebrate to God's grace, that allowed us to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Sound better to thy ears?" Lord Llywelyn asked as Esliud warmly smiled back.

"I don't think God would mind that at all, sir. Nor would I. You all honor me with your faith in my new skills, I only hope I can do right by you." He insisted with a bow of his head.

Meanwhile, the Final Froggit had made his way far across the expanse to the west, and had found refuge within the forest, a deep, dark woods indeed. The lack of sun from the quilt of clouds above made the only light from within be illuminated all the more as a burning figure stood in powerful armor, sitting on a big, gigantic dolmen, surrounded by a host of other creatures, all of whom were radically different from each other. There were creatures with only one eye and nasty, foul horns, the eye in the center of their gigantic head. It would blink every once in a while, and shift, and the one eye became two tiny ones with a little, smirking mouth. Another being would have been adorable in its tiny little winged armor, save for the coldness that emanated from its helmet as it spun a spear about. A big, hulking, horned knight of a monster had a gigantic Morningstar resting upon its shoulder, and it turned to the burning, humanoid being in armor, clearing its throat.

"The Regimental Leader of the Froggit Squad's Welsh Platoon 1 is here, sir."

The Final Froggit was allowed to pass by the towering behemoth of a monster as the burning being folded his arms over his chest. Upon examination, the being was…just barely an adult. He looked eighteen, really, with fire for skin, for hair, and lacking a proper face, save for two yellowish, intense spots that resembled eyes.

"How did it go?"

"…miserably." The Regimental Leader sighed. "I'm very, very sorry Lord Grillersby. They had a mage with them. One blast of his shield scattered my flies and sent me flying, and my divisions…well…I have no divisions. They crumbled from the onslaught of arrows, and are now but dust in the wind."

"That is very unfortunate." Grillersby, better known as "Grillby" to his friends, sighed as he hopped off the dolmen and paced back and forth. "Still, we need a good foothold in Wales and killing their king would finally teach the humans they can't keep pushing us around. He's the weakest and easiest to get to of all the rulers of these islands. If we can't get to him, we certainly won't be able to get any of the others!"

"What of the one they call Cu Chulainn, sir?" The Regimental Leader asked as everyone else drew in a deep, harsh breath. "Has Melusine not proven effective against him?"

"You would THINK." Grillersby grunted. "…you would think. Unfortunately, it would seem the rumors are true. He's as a demon on the field of battle. Sigh." He hung his head. "I'm going to have to write back to poor Asgore and let him know the bad news. And that means he's going to have to give his Father the bad news. And I'll have to deliver it myself to ensure the letter isn't intercepted before it gets to our dear skeletal friends in England..."

#undertale #fanfiction #fanfics #fanfic #fantasy #racism #bigotry #toriel #grillby #wd gaster #drama #prequel

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