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sueniia · 4 years

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He pulled into his restaurant parking sooner than expected and after parking the car, walked around to the back entrance of the restaurant and entered inside.

Sanji’s restaurant served as a cafe during the morning, a restaurant at lunch, and occasionally as a bar. The interior was designed in deep red colors that spanned the entire wall area from the front entrance around the areas designated for the customers to sit, the display cases for their pastries, and the area for the register.

The bar was located upstairs but it was only opened on the weekends but never on Sunday, as that was the store’s general day’s off. Sanji always arrived first and took care of the morning’s shift food and today was no different.

Sanji arrived and soon after entering and turning on the light, he went to change and remove any non-essential clothing in case it were to get dirty or worse. He left them in his changing room locker and went to begin cooking the day’s pastries.

An hour or so after his arrival, Sanji was called up by one of his waitresses and he ignored it and washed off the bits of dough stuck to his skin before exiting the kitchen and heading to the front door to unlock it and let her in.

Sanji, when he’d hired his staff, had told them in case of the keys being misplaced or something happening to either them or the store he was going to always arrive first and they were to call him to inform them when they were outside for him to let them in. Sanji knew it was a weird request and he could just unlock the door when he arrived so he didn’t have to go through the process of walking to the door and unlocking it each time, but it was what he preferred as it provided an albeit peculiar, sense of comfort.

He moved aside and let her walk in and closed the door behind her before greeting her cheerfully. “Good morning, Rebecca!”

Rebecca began removing her bag and her outer coat and taking it to the changing room but not before replying to Sanji’s enthusiastic greeting. “Good morning to you too, Sanji-san!”

“Ah~” Sanji swooned and pretended to faint. “You look wonderful today as well, Rebecca!”

Rebecca put away her things and changed into the black and pale pink colored top designated for work before returning outside to the eating hall. She giggled at Sanji’s comment and said, “Thank you, Sanji-san.”

“Has no one else arrived yet?” Rebecca adds and Sanji shakes his head. “Not yet. You’re the first one here.”

Rebecca glances at the dark brown watch latched onto her wrist and nods. “Well, I am a bit early today. I’ll begin cleaning the tables downstairs first. Is there anything you need me to help you with?”

Sanji shook his head again. “No, I’m good on my own. Thank you for asking.” He begins heading back to the kitchen and adds, “I’m hoping you’ll open for the other when they arrive.”

Rebecca flashes a smile and Sanji swoons again. “No problem, Sanji! Get back in there! It’s going to be time for us to open soon.”

Sanji laughs and goes back inside the kitchen and continuing with the pastries. Eventually, he hears the bell fixed on the top of the entrance door ring once while he was doing the finishing touches on a cake.

The second ring follows soon after the first and Sanji assumes it was half of his morning shift staff. His assumptions are confirmed when he hears the clicking sound of Shirahoshi’s shoes on the tiles. She pops her head in the kitchen and sends him a quick greeting which he returns with almost as much flare as he did for Rebecca.

Caimie, his last waitress does the same and is rewarded with the same reaction. Sanji’s shower of praise and adoration is interrupted by Rebecca calling out for the two women and is closely followed by a threat from Rebecca for him to finish his work soon or they were going to be late.

Sanji took all the pastries he’d made and neatly arranged them in the display case. He made sure they had enough drinks and materials for the customers that would order a drink before giving Rebecca the okay signal and watching as she flipped the “close” sign outside to “open.”

LINE BREAK

Their morning rush was surprisingly more manageable than they all thought and they soon found themselves either resting on one of the empty chairs whilst waiting for either a customer or busy cleaning the bottom half of the restaurant for the umpteenth time.

The bell rang again but when Sanji looked up to see, he found out it was just his second cook arriving in time for work.

Sanji had hired several waiters and waitresses because he knew to manage the register, serving people, and making the food, although not impossible, would be tricky for him to do. So, he hired an extra chef to handle the lunch rush and sometimes the night one as well. It worked out well for him because he found a capable cook which meant he could relax and take a couple of minutes to himself.

“Hey guys,” Hatchan greeted when he entered, and like Rebecca, went inside to change out of his normal clothes. “Business is slow again?”

Shirahoshi nodded and lifted her head from where it rested against her palms on one of the empty tables. “The morning rush is getting slower and slower every day.”

Rebecca added, “I mean I’m happy I don’t have to deal with some annoying customers, but when it’s this slow, I would honestly prefer every annoying customer.”

Hatchan laughed. “Then, move your shift over to lunch. There’s more than enough annoying customers at that time.”

Rebecca and Shirahoshi simultaneously shook their heads. “No, thank you. I’ve seen how haggard Coby and Helmeppo look after.”

Sanji greeted Hatchan with a head nod and moved aside for the older man to begin cooking. He went back to the changing room and dug around in his coat before pulling out a small white box, barely past the length of his wrist to where his fingers ended, his phone and a gold and white lighter.

Sanji passed by the front again and interrupted their mini argument over which rush, morning or lunch, was worse to deal with. “I’m gonna be outside for a bit.” Sanji lifted the box up and tapped it with his finger once before heading outside and closing the door behind him.

LINE BREAK

Sanji’s life had been exciting, or extremely busy depending on how you looked at it. As a child, he had a dream to run his own place and make his own food for whoever wanted to eat, and as he grew up and became a teenager, he enrolled in his first-ever cooking school and spent four years, studying and learning, from some of the best cooks in their country.

When he graduated with flying colors, Sanji seeked tutelage. He had learned a lot being in the school but he doubted all he learned in class would be quite the same as being in a restaurant. He searched for someone capable, someone he would grow to admire and respect, someone that would help him further his skills, and fortunately enough, he was lucky to find someone he considered the best.

Throughout his life, post-graduation, Sanji spent it working under that man and although Sanji still considered his methods barbaric and boorish, he had enough pride to admit that he did learn something. That the five years, he spent there was the backbone holding his own restaurant in place and keeping it afloat.

Sanji pulled out one cigarette from the white pack and flicked open his lighter, and lighting his cigarette. Sanji took a deep drag from it and held it inside, letting the smoke swirl with his insides and nestle deeply inside his lungs before exhaling slowly and blowing it out.

Sanji repeated the action four more times, and each time a bit more of his cigarette burned closer and closer to where his slim, bony fingers rested. Sanji was about to take another drag when he felt a low vibration in his back pocket.

Someone was calling him.

Sanji took his phone out and almost immediately, his face contorted when he read the name at the Caller ID. Sanji sneered at his phone and considered letting it ring until the phone call ended automatically but knew that wasn’t ever going to be enough to stop his insufferable elder siblings.

“What?” Sanji asked, his tone highly acidic and abrasive.

A harsh and cruel laugh sounded in his ears. “Is that how you greet your brother now, Sanji? I’m hurt.” His brother finished with a mock gasp of pain.

Sanji rolled his eyes but didn’t let up. “You are no brother of mine, Niji. What do you want?”

Niji simply laughed again and said, “Those are our words, dear brother. A failure like you simply cannot be one of us.”

Sanji grits his teeth and dug into the filter part of the cigarette. His grip on the phone tightened to the point Sanji wondered if it was possible to break a phone with his bare hands because right now, it felt like he could.

“What. Do. You. Want?” Sanji spat out each accentuated word and was punished with another sound of Niji laughing.

“You’re so tense, little brother.” Niji mocked. “It’s not like I want to talk to you either, you know. But because our father is becoming old and disgustingly sentimental, he wants to see you.”

Sanji scoffed and threw down the cigarette and stomped on it, the tip of his shoes digging into the earth. “He’s never wanted to see me for the past twelve years, what does he want from me now?”

“Ooh!” Niji made a sound and said, “You spent all that time counting if Daddy was ever going to come and get you back, Sanji?”

Sanji growled angrily and barked out. “If you don’t tell me what the fuck you want, Niji, I will hang up on you.”

Niji whistled and laughed again. “Okay, okay. No need to get your panties in a twist.” His voice became serious. “Dad wants you home for the Christmas holidays.”

Sanji scoffed again and shook his head. The outright audacity of his family, if he could even call them that, never ceased to astound him.

“No fucking way am I returning back to you and that man.”

Niji laughed again but it was filled with scorn and hate. “It’s not up to you, Sanji. He wants to see you, so you better be here before Christmas.”

“Listen to me very well, Niji, and make sure you tell this to that man as well. There is no fucking way I am going to come back there. You can all go and fuck yourselves.” Sanji hanged up after saying that and made sure to block that number.

His nerves were agitated after nearly a minute spent talking to one of his elder siblings and Sanji pulled out two more cigarettes and smoked them down to the end.

Sanji takes a bit longer to cool off before heading back inside and returning his phone, cigarette box and lighter into his coat. He exits the room only to bump into Shirahoshi.

“I’m sorry about that, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Sanji said but it lacked the usual enthusiasm and vigor. “Are you alright?”

Shirahoshi nodded and waved off Sanji’s concern, “I’m fine. I was just a little bit dazed.”

Sanji offers a smile but even Shirahoshi can see it’s forced and weak. He turns, about to walk past her and back to the kitchen when she grabs his arm and halts him from leaving.

Sanji turns to her and looks at her expectantly and Shirahoshi flusters and lets go of Sanji’s arm, crossing her own behind her back as she hurriedly spits out a lame excuse.

“Uh…I was talking to Rebecca and Caimie,” Shirahoshi began, “And since Christmas is in two weeks, we were talking about our Christmas plans and…”

Sanji tensed at the mention of Christmas but kept his face blank and neutral.

Shirahoshi, “I wanted to ask if you had any plans for Christmas, this year. Last year you stayed here by yourself, so I wanted to know if you had planned anything this year or not.”

Sanji could tell Shirahoshi’s question came from a good place and he did appreciate her worries for him although he felt bad for making a woman, especially a young woman like Shirahoshi worry about him, he couldn’t really tell her the truth about his family and why he was so adamant when it came to this specific holiday.

Sanji smiled at her again and did his best to make it look natural. “Unfortunately, I’ll be staying home this Christmas, Shirahoshi. Thank you for worrying about me though,” Sanji rested a hand on Shirahoshi’s shoulder, “I appreciate it.”

Sanji walked past Shirahoshi and went back to the kitchen and wholly immersed himself into making food in the desperate hope that the scathing words that were already etched into his skull from his elder brother would dissipate if he ignored it hard enough.

LINE BREAK

The next day, fortunately, was a Saturday, which meant Sanji only had to work for half a day and it was at night. Sanji groaned and turned over in bed, burying his head deeper into the pillow. He was about to fall asleep when he felt a vibration to his left and soon a ringing sound filled the room.

In his sleep-dazed state, Sanji groaned again and reached out for the noisy device. He felt his fingers around the small rectangular shape and grabbed it, his fingers automatically sliding the green caller icon to the right and answering the call.

Sanji slapped the phone onto his ear and made a weak sound into it that he assumed sounded like “What?”.

Sanji expected several different people that weren’t his sister to be calling him so when his sister’s stern yet kind voice filtered through to his ears, he immediately shot upright and grasped his phone in hand.

Sanji pulled the device away and looked at the ID and it was, in fact, his elder sister calling him at 7 in the morning. Sanji returned the phone to his ear and hesitantly responded, “Reiju…?”

Reiju scoffed and said, “Do you know anyone else called Reiju, Sanji?”

Sanji shook his head then remembered she couldn’t see him. “No, it’s not that. It’s just you almost never call me. Is something wrong?”

“I don’t call you because you’re never there to pick up my calls!” Reiju bit back and Sanji winced. She was right.

“I’m sorry…” Sanji replied meekly and he heard Reiju huff into the speaker. “But you didn’t answer my question. Is something wrong?”

Reiju paused for a moment before exhaling heavily. If Sanji wasn’t sure about there being a problem before, that sigh definitely confirmed it.

“Are you really not going to come this time as well?” Reiju asked, her voice uncharacteristically small and timid.

Sanji hesitates and runs a hand through his messy morning hair. “I...don’t know, Reiju... I don’t want to be anywhere near that man, not after what he did.”

Reiju sighed. “I know, Sanji and I don’t want to be there either. But you know how bad he can be if you don’t come. I told you what happened last time.”

Sanji, “I honestly think the little tantrum was worth it. I can’t stand to be there knowing how much sick pleasure he gets from seeing me angry.”

Reiju, “It wasn’t just a tantrum, Sanji! Tantrums are what Yonji does! What he did was attack everyone that came within a meter distance of him!”

“He’s done worse and we both know it, Reiju.” Sanji countered.

Reiju huffed again and Sanji could see her running a hand through her hair frustratedly. “Anyway, will you come? Please? Don’t leave me here alone with them again, Sanji.”

Sanji faltered. He absolutely did not want to step a foot in that building his siblings called home, nor did he want to see that man he was supposed to call his father but he couldn’t stand to leave Reiju alone. He already felt guilty for doing it to her last year, doing it once more would be an asshole move even if it meant seeing his siblings and birth father in the flesh.

He sighed and said, “Okay. I’ll come.”

Reiju’s tone immediately became vibrant and happy. “Really? Thank you, Sanji!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved off his sister’s comments but a smile pulled on his lips. “But don’t tell the others I’m coming yet. I need to sort things out here first.”

Reiju agreed and after a few more words the call ended and Sanji sat there in silence. He looked down at his phone and cursed himself. He had just willingly doomed himself to almost a week in his elder siblings and father's presence. Reiju was a blessing and would definitely help to ease some of the animosity flying between them but Sanji couldn’t count on her to be there always. He considered getting Ace or Brook to come along but he knew they both had to already have plans for Christmas.

Sanji groaned and fell back onto the mattress. He covered his face with the bedsheets and blanket and tried to fall asleep. After all, he still had two weeks to try and come up with a solution. For now, he was going to sleep and internally wish he woke up when it was the new year already.

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elane-in-the-shadows · 6 years

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Red Queen Fan Fiction - The Necklace part III

A/N: Here’s the fic I talked about.Two people asked for making it two parts, and I actually to make three. This takes place during War Storm, after Mare and Farley return to the Piedmont base and before they travel to Montfort. This refers to other stories I wrote before and fills in some blanks.

Find this on Wattpad and AO3

Part I Part II Part IV

III

The knock showed an uncannily good timing, beginning exactly between finishing one bag and before Farley started the next. She bid the visitor into her room, then she realized who they probably were, and cussed under her breath. She rushed over, picked up Clara, and took a seat at the table, just as the colonel crossed the threshold, saluting. Farley had to swallow her grin, even more so with a wriggling Clara on her lap. She waived the urge to kiss the baby’s brow once more, and instead awaited her father as proudly as a Silver queen.

“I appreciate your timing, colonel,” she said. “We need to brief before my next relocation.” His face moved marginally, but that satisfied her. He was, after all, no one to display strong reactions, so she had to content herself with the small signs of displeasure. She asked him to sit and he did, while she shoved pen and paper in his direction. She couldn’t write with Clara on her lap, so he would have to do her the favour.

“The Monfortans invited the Barrows, me and several Silvers,” she announced. “There are matters to discuss where my presence is vital, thus you’ll have command of the base for a little longer.”

He nodded and they began to talk, to prepare the base and their troops for the next steps. The colonel offered information without prodding and his cooperation, with her as his superior, still felt astoundingly good, after she’d feared he would never comply.

It was a play with reversed roles that she enjoyed way too much. Focus on the cause, General, not your ego, she told herself. But he’d been the one to teach her, and she’s been an apt student. She issued orders that he, as her second in command, would have to implement in her absence, and informed him about the plans with Montfort, so he could feel appreciated.

“This stay is very temporary, since Montfort is waiting and those Silvers ... we had to bring them, but I would’ve preferred to have them fly the direct route.”

He refrained from his usual snarl against Silvers, to her surprise. She cleared her throat and shifted Clara to get up. “That’s all, Colonel,” she said, about to turn back to her packing.

“You’ll take the girl too?” he wondered in her back.

Slowly, she turned around again, glaring, and in a low voice, she said, “Mare’s bartered to bring her family. Clara’s part of her family.”

What a lie that was, as if she cared about that argument. Am I part of the Barrows? Montfort was safe, she had to bring Clara there either way. Clara stayed with her or with Ruth, not some stranger. She didn’t want her daughter away from her, the last days had been hard enough. She hadn’t ever been separated from Clara for more than a few hours before, not for a year if she counted the pregnancy. Now Farley didn’t intend to let go of her before duty and war forced her once more. She loved to see Clara smiling at her too much.

But no need to get sentimental in front of the colonel. Let him think she kept her so prominently in his sight to annoy him.

Farley broke the eye contact after she’d seen him swallow; she wanted him out. Putting Clara on display was one thing, tending to her in his presence another. She gestured to the door. “You have your orders –

He remained sitting. “Diana, wait – “

“Don’t – “

“Just a moment, please.”

Please was the only reason to allow him to stay. She stared at him while he searched for words. But he didn’t utter a sentence, and instead revealed a pouch he laid on the table and shoved in her direction.

“For your girl,” he said, and it irked her he’d said her unused name, but not Clara’s. Unnerved, she freed a hand and opened the pouch to peek inside.

There was a golden chain, a necklace like the one she wore. Her mother’s necklace.

She gulped, closing the pouch. “She’s too small for that,” she groaned. She tried to return it to him, but only so his hand could cover hers. She shivered.

His eye fixed her. “Thank you giving it back to me last year,” he said. “But it was your mother’s. Clara should have it.”

He couldn’t do this. Not now. Not after all those years he didn’t allow her to grief, or just to miss her mother and sister while they had to give all their energy to the Scarlet Guard.

How dared he making her cry?

She pulled her hand away from her father’s, shoving the pouch aside with the motion, and hugged Clara tighter.

“She’s too small for that …!” she repeated with a hiss. Clara moved and looked around curiously, but Farley’s hold was firm now. “Give it to her yourself when she’s older!”

She stormed out of the room, embarrassed she was the one to leave her own office and lean against its walls. Hopefully, the colonel could take a hint.

What did it mean, him thanking her, trying to give Clara that necklace? Did he think they wouldn’t meet again? Well, now he would’ve to make that happen.

She didn’t look up as he entered the corridor and went in the opposite direction. Her focus remained on Clara and she took a deep breath, breathing in the baby’s sweet smell. Her little girl, the only family she had left.

He had stopped treating her like his daughter long ago, so she didn’t treat him like her father either. He couldn’t start with that suddenly, not after he as good as called her stupid for having Clara.

Farley waited until the shivering waned, until the sobs were swallowed, and Clara’s smile made her smile, too. For once, the girl was wide awake and lively, fortunately at day and not at night, nor during the flight to come if she was lucky. Her tiny fingers reached for her mother, they always did, and Farley craved to give Clara all she desired. She had to make her happy, even as her only parent. Then Clara found the necklace under her mother’s clothing and her eyes gleamed as brightly as the metal. Farley sighed.

She had hesitated to wear it for so long, didn’t want to put it on like her sister was forgotten, had never existed. It wasn’t hers. She only decided to wear the necklace because the threat of the chain breaking and having it stolen was smaller when it was around her neck than when carrying it in a bag that might get lost any time, given their way of life. Now she knew better. The necklace wasn’t her sister, but Madeline had loved it so much that Farley had to cherish for her sake instead of hiding it.

She’d only needed time to look at it without pain.

She returned to her room, gave Clara a kiss and placed her in her cot. “You should have that necklace,” she whispered. “One day.” She knew she was being hypocritical. She missed Shade all the time, wished Clara could meet her father, while she shunned her own. It was like a scar, a wound that couldn’t ever fully heal. I preferred to be alone, she thought. I rather lived in solitude than with the pain he reminded me of. But she was alone no more, had given that up with meeting Shade, Mare, their family, Clara.

“Maybe things will change again, dove,” she whispered to her daughter who became sleepy after all. “But sadly, this war is in the way, and I have to settle that first.” Travelling to Montfort was the first, important step to accomplish that. She smirked, despite the fear that always crawled under her skin when she thought of the battles t come since Clara had entered her life.

“I’ll change the world for you, dove. And once that’s done, we might think about your grandfather again.” She could give Clara a chance to know her grandfather, even if she didn’t know how to forgive him.

@clarafarleybarrow @carstairsjames @mareshmallow @marecalrandomstuff @redqueenfandom @inopinion @lilyharvord @selenbean-beany @eurydicel @hannaharies @elliemarchetti

#red queen #red queen fanfiction #diana farley #clara farley-barrow #shade x farley #colonel farley #red queen one-shots #the necklace #the necklace ch 3 #scarletguardsource

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sailorgreywolf-legacy · 7 years

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Legacy - Chapter 30

Mexico looked down at America’s hand, which was holding onto his thigh possessively. America spoke, more to himself than to Mexico “That bastard. I swear I should hurt him for this.” Mexico sighed, “This is the part where I remind you that all this happened centuries ago. I’m the only one who’s allowed to hold grudges for hundreds of years.” America moved his hand even farther up Mexico’s thigh. He looked concerned “So, did he come back that night?” The other laughed and put his hand on America’s “Of course not. I didn’t see him again until the next day. As usual, he apologized for losing his temper, promised he would wait for my consent, and we continued the dance.” America growled “Fucking pedophile. He took advantage of you.” Mexico didn’t have any love for Spain, but he still felt the need to defend him “He isn’t a pedophile. I was a teen, at that time it was perfectly acceptable. Had I been consenting, there would have been nothing wrong with us sleeping together.” The other looked down for a second, obviously not happy with being corrected. Then he changed the subject “Well, your work paid off. I got your letter.” _________________________________________________________________________________________

America looked around to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything important. Packing up the winter camp had been quite a production, but the new found discipline had made it so the army was able to reform into marching condition very quickly. Alfred actually felt like he was the one holding up the progress. There was something that had not ceased to bother him, and that was Mexico. He had received weapons from Spain, which meant that France must have talked to Spain. But, as far as he could tell, France had failed to give his letter to Mexico. America knew he should have expected as much from France. He had probably seen Mexico and decided that he didn’t need the American boy as competition. He turned around one more time and decided that he truly wasn’t forgetting anything. He walked out of the stark building, which was now empty.

It was then that a man, not wearing the uniform of the colonial militia, walked up to him. In another second, the mortal had a gun to his head. The one holding the gun was a colonial solider, the very same Virginian that America had talked to about letters. The solider said “I recognize Spanish colors. What do you want? In 5 words or less.” The unknown messenger glared at the Virginian before looking back at America “Mexico sends his regards.” America’s heart leapt into his throat, Mexico actually got the letter. Better yet, he actually read it. He addressed the solider “That’s enough, Lee. Let him go.” The man obeyed, although he looked like he didn’t quite trust the Spanish man. Once the gun was lowered, the messenger produced a letter, which was neatly folded and sealed. He handed it to America, saying as he did so, “I was instructed to give this to you and only you. You can trust that Spain knows nothing of this letter, or yours.” America took the letter silently and stared at it.

He expected it to vanish as soon as someone pinched him. At this point, it could be a rejection and he wouldn’t care. Mexico had taken the time to put pen to paper and write to him, and that was enough for America. He waited until the other two men walked away. He finally broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter. The first few lines made America feel lightheaded. It read “I have already forgiven you. I forgave you long ago. Don’t worry yourself over my situation when your own is so critical.”

He was forgiven. Everything he had been hoping for came true. He read the rest of the letter as quickly as humanly possible. He skipped over the little words like “a” and “the” in an attempt to absorb the letter more quickly. It wasn’t flowery or sentimental. The language was to the point and relatively brusque, it wasn’t hard to imagine Mexico speaking the words in his usual fashion. But, the message couldn’t be clearer: Mexico didn’t hate him; rather he wished America the best of luck in winning the revolution. The last words were, even with the complete lack of sentiment, the sweetest things America had ever read “I will think of you Alfred, enough for the both of us. You need not think of me. You have a war to win, now go and win it.”

After he finished reading the actual words, America found himself staring at the handwriting. It had a kind of elegance to it, but there was a restrained passion in the flourish at the end of each word. He ran his finger over the words; they left grooves in the paper where they had been written. America tried to imagine Mexico sitting down and writing this letter. In his imagination, Mexico was wearing a white undershirt and very tight black trousers. His black hair was held back in a ponytail. He also, for some reason had a smear of black ink across his cheek, which made him look amazingly sexy. America shook his head and the vision disappeared. The letter was still in his hand, much to his surprise. He had expected it to vanish.

Once the shock began to fade, America felt empowered. If he could get Mexico to write to him just through the force of his words, he could defeat England easily in battle. He folded the letter back up and put it in his pocket. He was going to hold onto this letter, most likely, until the day he died, which, considering the state of his army, wouldn’t be any time soon. He looked up at the horizon, which seemed to have turned incredibly blue, and said, to no one in particular “I’m going to go win my freedom.” _________________________________________________________________________________________

It had been a while since Spain and Mexico had their confrontation, and everything had returned to normal. Or at the very least, everything had returned to as normal as it had been before. It had been easier to spend more and more time with Puerto Rico. She was a soothing person to be around; she was uncomplicated and sweet. After all the drama and political scheming, Mexico was glad to have a little less complication. The only irksome thing was that Puerto Rico had started talking about wedding plans. Mexico didn’t want to be married for many reasons, most prominent among them being that he didn’t want to feel even guiltier about his infidelity. It was almost comforting to know that Spain was never going to actually let them be married. All the same, days spent with Catalina were days that Mexico barely saw Spain aside from the daily dinner, and even that had become awkwardly quiet.

It was a lovely morning in fall and Mexico could not stand being cooped up inside. Puerto Rico actually was the one to suggest they both go for a ride to enjoy the weather. It was a somewhat unspoken reason that they both wanted to get away from prying eyes. Colombia seemed to always walk in on them, and Mexico knew exactly why. Colombia was attempting to prevent any feeling of intimacy by making it feel like it was impossible to get a private moment. The time outside would give them solitude.

He met her in the front hall of the house. Her long hair was held back in a loose braid. She was dressed in a light dress, with a corset around her waist, in short, women’s riding clothes. He was dressed relatively lightly as well, as was fit for a casual occasion. He walked up to her with a smile, “Good morning, Cat. You look beautiful.” She blushed and looked down modestly. He walked forward a few more steps and put his hand softly under her chin and tilted it back up. Their eyes met and they both smiled at the same time. He smiled sweetly, an expression that was matched by Puerto Rico, and he said “You always look beautiful.” She replied “You would say that. You see me through biased eyes.” He could tell that this was false modesty, as was befitting a catholic girl, but he replied to it accordingly “I’m not blinded by love. Everyone can see how lovely you are. I’m just lucky you are mine to love.” She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek “You’re sweet to me. Shall we go? I had one of the servants prepare a picnic for us.” Mexico nodded and took her hand.

The horses were waiting outside, where they were already prepared. Philippines handed Mexico his reigns wordlessly. He could tell from her glare that she didn’t approve of him spending this time with his fiancé. However, he ignored it. It was not her opinion that mattered in regard to his love life. He mounted his horse, which Philippines had miraculously been able to saddle. With a flick of the reigns, Mexico’s stallion took off at full speed. Mexico greatly disliked riding slowly; it was like restraining the horse’s natural potential. Puerto Rico kept up easily. It was not lady like, but she understood that she needed to keep up with her fiancé.

The horses eventually slowed down as they tired. With the speed they were riding, they reached an open clearing, surrounded on one side by trees. At this point they both stopped. Mexico dismounted first and walked over to his fiancé’s horse. He helped her down by putting his hands on her waist and lifting her down. Once she was on the ground, she smiled up at him and said “You’re such a gentleman, Alejandro.” He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips before saying “Only for you my love.” She responded “Then I am a fortunate woman.” She returned his kiss more passionately. For a couple moments, there was nothing but the feeling of her lips against his. When they finally broke apart, Mexico couldn’t help but smile.

He wished life was really this simple. He profoundly wished he could tell Puerto Rico everything about his life, all the secrets he was keeping, but he couldn’t because she would not understand his hate. In the moment, he was stuck between two feelings. He wanted this simplicity and sweetness, but the need for vengeance kept him from being able to give his whole heart to her. She spoke “We should unpack the things and then we can talk.”

They set up the picnic under a tree so that they were protected from the sun. Although it was a nice day, the warm weather was a bit uncomfortable in direct sunlight. At first the conversation was light, mostly the gossip around the court. She mentioned lightly “I heard one of your couriers met a rather unfortunate end recently.” Mexico knew exactly who she was talking about. He couldn’t abide traitors within his own ranks, especially with so much at stake. He responded “It is sad, but some men should pick their bar fights more carefully.” That was not strictly true, but it was close enough. The man had died in a bar, but Mexico had personally been there. It had not been a fight; it had simply been a knife between the ribs. Puerto Rico didn’t see the incident as anything more than an unfortunate accident, which was the way it should be. From there, the conversation lapsed back into light discussion.

However, eventually Puerto Rico brought up something that seemed to be bothering her deeply “Alejandro, do you still love me?” He was understandably shocked “Of course I do, why would you ask me such a thing?” To emphasize the sincerity of his statement, Mexico put his hand softly on her cheek. Puerto Rico looked down for a second, as though looking for the right words to state her observation. She finally looked back at him and said, her voice relatively measured, “I feel that you are slipping away from me. When we first met, you looked at me with so much lust and passion that it was almost frightening. But now, I don’t see any of it. It is like I have been replaced by some greater passion, I know not what. I fear that if I do not reach out to you soon, I will lose you.” Mexico should have figured as much, Puerto Rico was seeing that he was not committed to the relationship. He couldn’t tell her why though, because that would require telling her about his revolution.

He came up with a response that was somewhat close to the truth, “Cat, I love you; I always have and always will. Partially, I have learned to temper my passions because I knew it scared you. I have also been distracted by recent events in the Americas. The revolution in the English colonies is close to my Northern border.” She seemed to be studying his eyes to see if the words were genuine, or perhaps she was looking for some spark of passion. Whatever she seemed to see in his eyes comforted her. She matched his hand on her cheek by putting her hand on his, “Don’t shut me out. Let me be a balm for your worry. I will do anything to make you happy.” She took his hand from her cheek and moved it to her thigh, which was covered in only light cloth. She repeated, her dark brown eyes looking directly into his, “Anything at all that would make you happy.” She moved his hand farther up her thigh.

Mexico was quick to stop that “You do not need to use your body to make me happy.” He pulled his hand away, “Sin is not the answer. We are not yet married, to consummate before marriage is a sin.” She sighed and took a small sip of wine “We are going to be married, so does the time matter? Our engagement is never going to be annulled. If this will rekindle your passion for me, I will do it.” Mexico was not as against sinning as he was saying, his affair with Brazil proved that. But, although he did feel lust towards Puerto Rico, he wanted her to be pure. She was one of the few truly innocent people in his life, and he didn’t want to corrupt that innocence. He also knew that when the revolution came, their engagement would be broken. If she was not a virgin at that time, then she would eternally hate him for his deceit. He responded again “You don’t need to, Cat. All I need you to do is be there for me when I am in need of a sympathetic ear.” She nodded and looked slightly relieved. Mexico touched her cheek again and ran his hand lightly down her face and neck. He leaned in again and kissed her lips again. His hands were more brazen now to show his passion. He let them roam over her chest. She pulled herself closer, using one of her hands around his neck. They were dangerously close to both losing control, but it didn’t matter.

The moment was broken by the sound of someone clearing their throat behind him. Mexico broke the kiss to turn around. A mortal messenger was standing behind him, looking at the two of them with a mix a fascination and envy. Mexico addressed him “I did specifically state that I did not want to be disturbed today. This better be very important.” The man spoke “Spain has summoned you. He said you must return at once. It is urgent.” The Aztec boy swore under his breathe, but he knew that he needed to heed the order. He looked at Puerto Rico and said “I’m sorry; I do not want to abandon you.” She responded “You have your duties, I can wait for you.” Mexico nodded and stood up. _________________________________________________________________________________________

The ride back was short, but it gave him time to think about things. He had no idea what could be so urgent, but summons from Spain were very rarely good. He reached the house and quickly found Spain in one of the larger rooms with Peru, Colombia, Bolivia, Chile, and Venezuela, the last of whom had come to Spain at the same time Mexico had. It must be a truly important matter if all of the big colonies were here to talk about it. Spain seemed exceptionally agitated; he was pacing rapidly. Once he had noticed Mexico’s presence, he said with a sweeping gesture “Good, everyone is here. You should all sit; I have a lot to say.”

Venezuela sat in the only available armchair. Predictably, Bolivia, Chile, and Peru all sat together on the biggest available couch. This left Mexico to sit with Colombia on a rather small couch. The other glanced suggestively at Mexico, who tried his best to ignore how provocative Colombia was being. Spain didn’t pay attention to the seating arrangements, which was lucky. Instead, he started speaking at once “I have received a letter from France. The 13 colonies have won the war for independence. He is now one country and he is calling himself the United States of America.” Everyone, with the exception of Chile, started talking at once, mostly to each other. Colombia turned to Mexico and said simply “So it is possible.” The Aztec boy responded “Not for anyone else, now Europe is on high alert.”

Spain quickly took control of the conversation, “Quiet, everyone. I am aware of how shocking this is. No one thought an upstart like him would ever be able to win. But I need to stress to you all that I am not England. We need to stand strong as an empire, not fracture. I will not tolerate revolution in my empire.” Mexico understood why Spain was resorting to bluster; revolution could spread now that it was proven to work. Spain, of all people, was scared of losing his empire. It was the only thing that had ever brought him prestige, and he couldn’t lose that. Spain continued to talk, “You are all strictly forbidden from communicating with the United States in any way. I will not have him corrupting any of you. If he attempts contact, I want to know at once.” He finally stopped pacing and looked directly at Mexico, “Alejandro, I want you to be especially cautious. Alfred has shown interest in you.” Colombia scoffed “Well that figures. Alejandro does seem to attract eyes.” Mexico glanced over at him. Colombia looked completely and utterly jealous. Spain concluded “That is all. Remember that revolution is the worst kind of sin, and god will not save your soul after I break your body. You are all mine, and that is not going to change, not now or ever at any point in the future.”

#hetalia #aph hetalia

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kitchsykitchenwitch · 6 years

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TW: Religion. My personal experiences with mental health, psychiatric hospitalization, and suicidal ideation/attempts. Some mild discussion of the current political climate.

So, this is a half-cooked essay I’ve had rattling around my head for a couple of years now, but hadn’t really found a good time to write it all out. After watching the Jesus Christ Superstar Live special today, I think now is as good a time as any to put this out in the world. Please not the aforementioned trigger warnings, and also be advised that this is probably gonna be a bit ramble-y and not the best written piece on the interwebs.

***PLEASE NOTE: THIS IS NOT A REVIEW OF THE JCS LIVE SPECIAL!***

Some background on me. I am an atheist who grew up in a Catholic family, and I struggle with C-PTSD and bipolar II disorder (which weren’t properly diagnosed until about four and two years ago, respectively), as well as chronic autoimmune and pain conditions. When I was a kid, every year during Lent, my mother (a theater junkie) would play both the soundtrack and 1973 movie of Jesus Christ Superstar. The original soundtrack has always had some sentimental value to be because of this.

A quick aside on my faith, or lack thereof. I never considered myself a very strong Catholic. Fortunately, I grew up in one the lucky few liberal Catholic families, and was always taught to think for myself and question everything. My questioning of religion first started when I was in fifth grade, and became very interested in Greek mythology, which soon expanded to Norse and Celtic myths as well. I loved the stories and fables, and it didn’t take me long to draw the parallels to Christianity and Catholicism. I began to think to myself, if these stories aren’t true, then why is Catholicism the one true way? I also struggled with prayer and forming that “personal connection to God” that my youth leaders insisted I must develop. I grew up in a turbulent, and at times, abusive home, and my pleas to find some peace were, of course, left unanswered. I struggled for years thinking that there must be something I was doing wrong, or something inherently wrong and broken about me as a human being. This added to the depression that I struggled with as an adolescent, but I kept my reservations to myself out of fear of alienating my family and friends in the Church. Eventually, I found myself sitting on the agnosticism fence, finally making the jump over to atheism about a year and a half after I graduated college. I discovered that I found more sense of worth and fulfillment in taking responsibility for my own actions and accomplishments, more agency and knowledge in the presence of evidence and facts, and far more comfort in the love of those here with me in the physical realm. For a long time, Jesus Christ Superstar and any other remnants of religious music fell off of my playlists for many years as I came to terms with my beliefs.

A couple of years ago, as I was building a Broadway playlist on Spotify, I decided to put the original soundtrack on and see how it played to me as both an adult and a critically thinking atheist. I was expecting to experience that nostalgia that I spoke of earlier, but I was not prepared to be emotionally bowled over at the realization that this is a story of not only faith, but of struggle with mental illness. I mentioned this to my mother after my revelation, and she told me that she wasn’t surprised. I didn’t know this, and some of you may not either, but she told me that when the show first premiered, there was a lot of push-back and anger because people didn’t approve of such a raw, radical and purely human portrayal of their Messiah, preferring the calm beatific and self sacrificing demigod of their scriptures. Listening to it now after being on both the loved one of someone who is mentally ill, and being a mentally ill person myself, I found myself relating to the characters in whole new ways that felt absent before, and it completely flipped the traditional Passion story on its head for me.

I’m going to take the soundtrack (nearly) song by song and give my thoughts. The ones that are irrelevant to the overarching themes I mentioned, I will skip over. I’ll also provide YouTube links to the ones I do delve into.

Heaven on their Minds

Even though I’m an atheist, and one would think I’d relate to him more because of this, this is the only song in the show where I truly sympathize with Judas. I look at this song through the lens of watching an older family member struggle heavily with bipolar I disorder, which was left untreated for many many years. This came into stark focus for me when I reached adulthood and the two of us became much closer. He is hands down the most intelligent and one of the most empathetic people I have ever met in my life, but the flights of mania, ego and rage and the crushing depression he experiences has a major impact on everyone who loves him. I struggle with this as well to a lesser degree, and being on both sides of this coin, I really do sympathize with those who love someone with this disorder. The struggles we go through can leave us hyperfocused on ourselves, forgetting that the people who care about us are also deeply hurt and concerned for our safety and well being. Judas is begging for Jesus to take a step back and look rationally at how his (in Judas’ perception) egotistical and selfish actions are harming himself and those around him, imploring that he still admires him and cares for him as a person, but eventually ends the song in frustration as he realizes that his friend will not listen to him.

What’s The Buzz/Strange Thing Mystifying

I had two major thoughts on this song, and I’ll go through them separately.

This song is where my sympathy for Jesus begins and for Judas comes to a screeching halt. Judas proves himself to be a misogynistic prick as Mary Magdalene attempts to provide some small comfort to Jesus as he is growing more and more frustrated with his disciples. The slut shaming rubs me absolutely raw, and if I had been in that situation, I would have jumped down his throat just as Jesus did.

The second takeaway from this is that this is where I see parallels to mental illness start to take root in the show. Depression lies. Depression will tell you that nobody in your life truly cares about you, and that they will all leave you alone in the end.

“I'm amazed that men like you Can be so shallow, thick and slow There is not a man among you Who knows or cares if I come or go!”

This, obviously, leaves his friends reeling, and they beg of him, how can he possibly say that about them? He doubles down with the final lash out of “Not one, not ONE of you!” I have similarly lashed out at those who mean the most to me when in the depths of a depressive low. Thankfully, my circle understands that when I say things like that, it’s not truly me, but the monster that lurks within me that I usually keep quiet and calm in the back of my mind.

Everything’s Alright

Judas, buddy, you really lose me here. He turns from slut shaming and goes into full on neurotypically ableist fuckery. The is implication that his friend doesn’t deserve a few small comforts because there is some greater cause that must be served, and that he should suck it up because there are people who have it worse.

Jesus, in response, reminds him that there will always be people in the world who have it worse and who are suffering. This is a concept I struggled with for years. I would always minimize my pain by saying “Well, it could always be worse.” This kind of thinking just led to more self-berating, beating myself up when I couldn’t pull myself up by my bootstraps and force happiness into my chemically-misfiring brain. And here he takes another emotional dig, saying that Judas better shape the fuck up, and leaves the vague threat of suicide hanging over his head as another lashing out, which I have also done in my worst moments of pain and despair.

Mary, bless her, proves herself to be the true caring partner as she swoops back in to attempt to soothe him to sleep, wanting to provide some form of comfort to the man she loves.

This Jesus Must Die

When this essay first started taking shape in my head a couple of years ago, I wasn’t planning on including this song.

Then the election of 2016 happened.

I won’t ramble on too much on this one since it doesn’t directly tie in to the overall themes I outlined earlier, but I’d feel remiss if I didn’t acknowledge the indirect connections.

The disturbing trend of othering, tribalism, and white supremacy that has taken hold in the US can be seen in the lyrics of this song. The willingness to outright harm and even murder those who are different because of ignorant fears of having their way of life destroyed is as much a problem today as it was then. This affects all who don’t fit this mold: POC, non-Christians, women, LGBTQ+ folks, the disabled, and, you guessed it, the mentally ill. It’s chilling to see these attitudes, which these types of Christians claim to revile when speaking of the priests and pharisees in the Passion story, so thoroughly inform their worldview and morals. It makes me feel physically ill to see this happening.

Simon Zelaotes/Poor Jerusalem

Oh Simon. You are that one “friend” or family member that every mentally ill person has. The one who thinks they have all the answers. The one who gives you all kinds of unsolicited “advice” and tells you how you should think and act, because that’s how things are gonna get better for everyone else (oh and I guess you too). This isn’t one of my favorite songs, so I’m gonna end it here for this one.

The Temple

This is more regarding the second half of the song, when the lepers are demanding that Jesus heal them. This one resonated deeply with me. I am a very empathetic person, and I also have a very hard time saying no to people. I want to help as many of my friends as I can and make them happy. The problem is, I don’t always know how to turn that off, and I end up overextending myself with either physical demands or emotional labor. When Jesus cries “There’s too little of me,” I felt that on a very personal level, as I have said similar things when I take on too much. He finally breaks down and snaps, screaming at them to heal themselves. Again, I have expressed similar thoughts when I reach my limits and break.

Everything’s Alright Reprise

I Don’t Know How to Love Him

The story now shifts the focus from the mentally ill individual to the partner/spouse/caregiver of the one who is ill. This is SO important. It’s very easy for our caregivers to stay silent and power through for our sake, while they slowly burn out trying to help us and to continue to live their lives. They tend to stay in the background, shouldering enormous tasks, and very rarely do they receive help that they badly need.

Mary does her best to calm Jesus, keeping on her smile until he falls asleep. Once her job is complete for the evening, she goes off by herself to vent her fears and frustration into the ether. She loves him, but at the same time, he deeply frightens her. That monster that lurks in us is scary, and not just for the person who is ill. It reaches out and threatens everyone that the person loves, and for those who don’t know what it’s like to have that in your head 24/7, it’s terrifying. But who does she tell? Who else could possibly understand? So she just lets her fears out to no one but herself, and at the end, collects herself and goes back to work.

Damned For All Time / Blood Money

Some of my sympathy for Judas comes back in this one, but only but so far. Being the friend who realizes that someone they care about may truly be out of control and a danger is a terrible position to be in. Do you call the police and have them involuntarily committed? Or do you keep trying to fix things yourself? It is never an easy call to make. He handled it EXTREMELY poorly though.

The Last Supper

This is where everything goes to hell and falls apart. Jesus and his friends gather together for one final meal, but his mind is already far afield with self destruction and suicidal ideation. Right off the bat, he makes throwaway comments about his friends’ apathy.

“For all you care, this wine could be my blood. For all you care, this bread could be my body.”

His own apathy launches back into anger as he spits:

“I must be mad thinking I'll be remembered - yes I must be out of my head! Look at your blank faces!

My name will mean nothing Ten minutes after I'm dead!”

The group immediately launches into rebuttals and reassurances. Judas is finally fed up with his friend taking his anger out on everyone and speaks up, telling him that he has alerted the authorities. Jesus doesn’t care and goads Judas into blowing up at him and basically telling him to stop being a dramatic asshole. This is behavior I have both witnessed in others and done myself in my angry/manic swings. You think so little of yourself that you think you have deluded your friends into thinking you are a good person, so the addled logical next step is to make them understand just how bad of a person you truly are and shove them away, violently if necessary. Judas takes the bait and flees, while the rest of the group tries to placate their friend with, what we would perceive as empty, platitudes and optimism.

Gethsemane

The similarities to this song and my own inner dialogue when I struggle with suicidal ideation are staggering to me. The exhaustion, the “Am I really this worthless?” and “Maybe the world would be better off without me” statements, looking to lay the blame on someone else, wanting someone else to do the deed for you because you don’t have the guts to do it yourself, rage at a spiritual figure that you feel either doesn’t exist or doesn’t care. That was like a swift punch to the gut. I never thought that as an atheist, I would relate so heavily to the character of Jesus, but this song drove it home for me that I really do, and that it’s not a bad thing, and that I can relate to him as a person without it having to be a religious experience.

Pilate and Christ

Short blurb for a short song. I view Pilate as the role of the medical professional who is dealing with a particularly difficult case. In this first appearance, he takes on the role of the apathetic doctor that all of us neurodivergent individuals fear we will get, someone who really takes no interest in your problems and instead kicks you to the mercy of another office or the insurance company.

Could We Start Again Please

This is another one that speaks to me on a deep, personal level.

“I've been living to see you Dying to see you but it shouldn't be like this This was unexpected, what do I do now? Could we start again please? Could we start again please? I've been hopeful so far Now for the first time I think we're going wrong Hurry up and tell me, this is all a dream Or could we start again please? Could we start again please? I think you've made your point now You've even gone a bit too far to get your message home Before it gets too frightening, we ought to call a halt So could we start again please?”

These are very similar to what my husband said after my suicide attempt. He told me that he felt like the whole thing was a nightmare that he couldn’t wake up from. He told me that he was terrified, and that he wished there was a way to do a hard reset on everything. He told me that he wanted to help me, but that he didn’t know how to even begin to do that. Fortunately, with lots of therapy, we have been making it work, but that was his first experience with serious mental illness. When I was in psychiatric hospitalization, these points came up yet again, as he had never experienced this and didn’t know how to handle someone he cares so deeply about be committed and see the bad and good that goes with it. It’s all scary as fuck, and this is why our caregivers need support and love and someone to talk to as well.

Judas’ Death

Again, keeping this one short. The regret train rolls into the station as Judas realizes that maybe he made a mistake. I’ve heard fellow patients in hospitalization say this about loved ones who had them involuntarily committed. When they make the call, they think it will be a few days in the hospital and bam! You’re cured! They end up coming to the horrible realization that psychiatric hospitalization is difficult, scary, and at times, dangerous. Some people step up to the plate and help their loved ones through it, while others balk at what they’ve done and bail completely.

Trial Before Pilate

We come back to the doctor/patient metaphor with this song, this time with Pilate taking the role of the doctor who genuinely wants to help a patient, but the combination of the patient’s complete apathy/desire for self destruction and pressures put on by outside forces (like overwork, various bureaucracies, and bullshit from insurance companies) force their hand into making the harsh call of commitment. Pilate realizes that since Jesus refuses his help and also refuses to help himself, he has to make the hard call. I have been in the position of having a doctor ask me questions to help, and I basically told them to fuck off. Doing so forced the issue of hospitalization (which, by the way, I’m not directly comparing to a death sentence, just pointing out connections that I see).

This is an inelegant collection of the thoughts and emotions that this show creates within me. I’m not really sure how to close this out, now that I’ve finally written down the comparisons and analysis that has been in my head every time I’ve listened for the last couple of years. It feels good to get it out, even if the writing doesn’t flow very well. So there you have it. How a mentally ill atheist can still find meaning and their own story in a work of entertainment based on religion.

#jesus christ superstar #broadway geek #mental health #mentally ill

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