Title: A Heavy
Burden
Rating:
PG-13
Universe: One Piece
Theme/Topic:
Deliberate
Character/Pairing/s: SanZo
Warnings/Spoilers:
No spoilers I can imagine. Probably crack and OOC to watch out for
though. XD;;
Word Count: 831
Time: 32 mins (no
edits)
Summary: Crack drabble in the "CR" universe-
Sanji wonders about the last name gifted to him.
Dedication:
tsukishine- as requested on my other lj.
A/N: Haha I
was seriously, seriously stumped for the longest time as to how to go
about this prompt. This was the only thing that would come to me, and
I apologize for the stupidity of it. Sort of. XD
Disclaimer:
Not mine, though I wish constantly.
Distribution: Just
lemme know.
Sanji was on the verge of a breakthrough. He was just about to figure it (everything) out—find that one little easily overlooked thing that would make all of his married life thus far suddenly make absolute and irrefutable sense.
After all this time he was finally going to discover why—why—exactly, those stupid marines and the stupid world government and the stupid everyone else had automatically assumed it was "Roronoa Sanji" and not the other way around after the ceremony. Though to be honest, the other way around might have been confusing to some, but seriously. Sanji was not the wife. End sentence. Period. Emphatic period even.
And thus here he was, sitting in the galley by himself sipping wine (not drunk or even tipsy so much as say, getting the mental juices flowing) while smoking, just about to figure out why people were having that common (rather idiotic if he had any say in it)misconception. He could feel himself growing steadily closer and closer to the elusive thing called epiphany as he sat at the table with steepled fingers and concentrated hard.
He was almost there.
Really, he was learning that it could be the most seemingly innocuous thing that led to these sorts of misunderstandings in the long run, that ended up perpetuating what he liked to call "the wrong goddamned idea, dumbasses."
And a minute later, when it finally, finally hit him— the hint of an idea pushed over the edge of subconscious knowledge into actual, conscious, cognizant knowledge as it became a fully formed thought—he couldn't believe it was that a simple. That it always had been.
It wasn't the little gestures of possession like he'd initially thought it was, wasn't the way Zoro liked to sometimes snag him absently around the waist while he passed, the big caveman idiot tugging his spouse into his lap without a word of warning so much as a series of self-satisfied grunts. And it wasn't because Sanji could fit comfortably into the crook of the meat-head's shoulder, or that Zoro, when he wanted to, could wrap one big arm completely around the blond's lean waist as easy as one-two-three. It wasn't because Sanji cooked either, or because he dressed well and bathed frequently, wasn't because Zoro outweighed him by a good thirty or so pounds.
Nope, Sanji realized now, that it wasn't any of those things that had led to the common misconception that he was the quote-unquote "wife" of the relationship, as seemingly obvious as all those things might seem as indicators of such.
It was something more primal than that, something driven purely by the instincts of those looking at the fearsome pirate couple from the depths of their own little psychological mindset. A natural conclusion they got despite the fact that Sanji could crush two-ton iron balls with his toes and bend lead pipes with his very toned (and very manly) thighs.
No, he now knew it was something too powerful for such facts to overcome in the long run. Sighing, he realized that perhaps his fate was sealed then, because no show of physical strength or testosterone driven manliness could stifle this one, overwhelming irreversible natural fact.
Sanji was fucking gorgeous.
He was so much better looking than Zoro that it was just natural that everyone assumed he was the bottom of the relationship, because all those people had been socialized from an early age to see men with women, and women would always, always be prettier than the men whom they married.
And thus, the epiphany.
Sanji was, on his own, pretty damned good looking already. But next to Zoro he was like a fucking god.
He knew that now. Understood it.
It was just his fate, he supposed, his calling if you will, to always stand beside his great hulking muscle-bound idiot and come off as the naturally more beautiful of the two. And thus, and thus the misconception that he was the bottom, the "wife."
He sighed dramatically to himself at the thought, reached to light another cigarette.
Oh well. Now that he knew, there was nothing that could be done about it either way, he supposed. He wasn't in the habit of changing people's deeply ingrained socialized ideas, for one.
And for another, it wasn't his fault (and thus not his responsibility) that Zoro was ugly (and stupid, and smelly, and rude, and generally uncivilized), after all.
That thus admitted to himself, the blond squared his jaw and decided that all he could do from here on out was bear it with magnanimity, because no amount of divine intervention could ever—ever—reverse the situation (i.e. could ever—ever—make Zoro better looking than him).
This was the burden of the beautiful, he supposed.
Well, it was a weight he'd just have to carry, for both himself and the ugly idiot whose last name he'd been given.
Sacrifices, sacrifices.
Zoro was so damn lucky to have married him. Seriously.
END