#how to get some sleep

[puppyeared]

basement guys

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

finally at that age where i'm thinking i should get a tattoo. not bc i feel strongly about it, just seems like a waste not to. i've got so much skin i'm not using

[do-rey-me]

if murderbot learned what autism was i truly believe itd go "wow humans are so ridiculous they cant even agree on their own stupid human social rules" and then never think about that or its possible relation to its own behaviors ever again

[paperultra]

the liminal space.

Pairing: OPLA!Roronoa Zoro x Reader Word Count: 1,575 words Warnings: Swearing, mentions of alcohol use [A/N: written with the cooper!reader from mise en rose in mind. i don't know where in the timeline this occurs, though. lol.]

cingulomania (noun): a strong desire to hold a person in your arms

Living in close quarters can really change how you see a person.

Roronoa Zoro, for instance, had always struck you as rather aloof, having traveled alone for some time before you joined him, and unused to physical affection. He never gave any indication that he was one to enjoy it, and he never sought it out from anyone. That certainly wasn’t odd. You respected his tendency towards personal space, subsequently believing that it extended to his sleeping habits as well.

So when you wake up, hardly able to breathe underneath the hulking mass of a snoring swordsman, you are more surprised than anything.

“Zoro,” you wheeze, patting his back with the hand that isn’t crushed between his chest and yours. Nothing happens, so you swat harder. “Zoro. You’re crushing me.”

His arms squeeze around you as he stirs, inhaling sharply next to your ear. You stop moving as he lifts his head and opens his eyes just wide enough to register you beneath him.

He pauses.

Good morning, sunshine is what you want to say in a cheeky tone. You want to prove that you’re unaffected by the warmth of his body pressing yours into the mattress, the sensation of his breath across your cheekbone and the way his gaze transitions from something bleary into something sharp.

The greeting refuses to leave your mouth. All you can do is blink.

The next thing you know, Zoro’s rolling off of you and out of bed with nary an apology, mumbling something about going to the bathroom.

You hum distantly in response and stare up at the ceiling as he shuffles to the door. Once he closes it behind him, you reach up and fold your hands over your eyes, cheeks hot.

Great.

—

It all started because you and Zoro could only afford a single bed at the inn.

(You use the term “afford” loosely here. The truth of the matter is that you grossly underestimated how much a room would cost, and the owner of the one place willing to lend you a room for half the usual rate demanded physical labor to make up for the rest. Given that Zoro would be spending most of his time hunting down a bounty, the majority of the unpaid labor fell on your shoulders.)

(But you digress.)

The room is small and bare, which is fine, because you and Zoro don’t have much between the two of you anyway. The only problem is that there is only one bed. Zoro had expressed no qualms about sharing so long as you didn’t disturb his sleep, and you had readily agreed, not wanting either of you to sleep on the floor.

After the first morning, you’re not sure if that was a lapse of judgement on your part or not.

Zoro doesn’t mention it at all before he leaves for the day, and you don’t, either. However, when he comes back in the middle of the night and you’re already in bed, squinting and shielding yourself from the bright hallway light as he takes his slippers off and walks in, he sits on the carpet just a few feet away from your side.

“What are you doing?” you ask as he proceeds to lay down.

“Sleeping.”

He closes his eyes and folds his arms behind his head. You frown.

“Why aren’t you sleeping up here?” No answer. You lift your head from your pillow, indignant. “Hey, don’t ignore me! I know you’re still awake.”

“I’ve had a long day,” he grumbles, “so I’d like some quiet so I can sleep. Thanks.”

You huff.

The thought that Zoro might actually be just as embarrassed flits briefly through your mind, but you extinguish it just as quickly. He’s never seemed like the kind of guy to be self-conscious about those kinds of things. A more likely reason is that he’s decided that he wants his own separate space after all and can’t be bothered to kick you off the bed.

So, you kick yourself off instead.

“What are you doing?” The phrase now comes from Zoro as you throw the covers off and grab your pillow, kneeling on the ground beside him. His eyes open and his brow furrows.

“Take the bed. I feel guilty.”

“I don’t want the bed.”

“Everybody wants the bed.” You lie down on the carpet and cross your arms over your chest, stubborn. “I’ve already slept in it. Now it’s your turn.”

“You’re an idiot,” Zoro says.

Neither of you budge.

The next morning, you decide that the first morning was in fact not a fluke, as you awake with your face smushed against his chest and the smell of steel in your nose once again. He’s not on top of you, at least, but the way he clutches you while you’re lying on your side, one ankle hooked over yours, is somehow ten times more mortifying. You wake him up in the midst of untangling yourself and pretend like nothing happened.

Who’s the idiot now? (The answer is both of you. Both of you are idiots.)

—

The third night, you and Zoro flop onto the hard mattress with twin groans, heads spinning and feeling overall miserable.

“That was the shittiest booze I’ve ever had,” Zoro slurs next to you, face down in his pillow.

“But you got a lead, right?” you mumble.

“Yeah …”

You had been there in the bar when he’d gotten that lead, but you can’t remember what it was for the life of you. Another inn? Another bar? Ugh, you’re never drinking there again.

“I’m cold.”

There are blankets on the bed. Unfortunately, getting underneath them would require a lot of moving, and you are physically incapable of exerting yourself that much right now.

You shiver and turn onto your side to curl up. You’ll fall asleep at some point, anyway.

Zoro murmurs your name.

“Hm,” you groan, eyes screwed shut.

He doesn’t say anything in reply. But you hear the mattress squeak, the bedsheets rustle as he shifts closer, and your breath catches when the small distance between you closes. He does not wrap his arms around you, no, but your knees touch, and the heat from his skin melds into yours. You hear his breathing slow to a crawl.

Through your drunken haze breaks through a sudden need to draw him into you, to tuck your face into his neck and keep it there forever. You want – you want. But you’re exhausted, and your head aches, so you find yourself slipping into a deep slumber instead.

He’s already gone when you wake up.

—

A suspiciously lumpy gunnysack in the corner of the room catches your eye once you enter, hand over your mouth to stifle a yawn.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Eight million beri,” Zoro says from his seat on the bed. Cleaning supplies for his swords are strewn around him, and he sheathes the Wado Ichimonji as you close the door. “I ran into another bounty on the way back.”

“Eight mill –” You clear your throat. “Wow. That was pretty lucky.” Eight million beri. Sometimes you wonder if you’ll ever get used to how much bounty hunters can make. (God, that would’ve been more than enough to pay for the room.) “We’re heading out to a marine base tomorrow morning, then?”

“That’s the plan.”

He puts away his supplies, setting them and his swords against the wall near his pillow before standing up to pull down the sheets on his side. You turn off the bedside lamp and do the same, crawling in with a sigh.

The two of you simply lie side-by-side until you decide to break the silence with your big mouth again.

“Am I a burden to you?” you ask.

“No.” The plainness of Zoro’s tone is a small comfort, you suppose. “Why are you asking?”

“Well …” You already regret bringing this topic up as you trail off, biting your bottom lip. “I feel like I haven’t really done much. I mean, I help with navigating and searching crowds and stuff, and I’ve been getting better at fighting, but I can’t help you, you know?” You fiddle with your fingers. “You don’t actually need me.”

There’s a gap between you and Zoro that you’ll likely never be able to close. You had always known that, and so had Zoro; in fact, he had told you at the start that going with him was a bad idea, given your inexperience in bounty hunting and traveling in general. And although you’d like to think that your ability to read a map and fix things convinced him of your usefulness, there are times when you think Zoro regrets bringing you along. Like now.

Zoro grunts, turning to lay on his back. His shoulder nearly lands on your hands, and you draw them to yourself as you wait for his answer.

It is brief and straightforward.

“I’m not forcing you to go with me,” he says. “And if you were a burden, I would’ve told you a long time ago.”

“Oh.”

It is brief and straightforward, and yet, there’s a strange lump in your throat. You swallow it and nod, even though he cannot see you do so.

Nothing more is said. However, as the night goes on, you reach out, and you find him, and Zoro finds you, and the space between your arms fills up with warmth and an unspoken promise. And you sleep very well.

[dizzybizz]

ms jay herself (and apple)

[lotus-pear]

i think you guys are onto smth..

i unironically got invested in this HELP

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

rough day...

[mummer]

just saw asteroid city last night, pls explain the proposed significance of the kiss!!

answering this publicly hope thats ok! cant do a readmore im on mobile *****asteroid city spoilers below beware*****

i dont remember anyones names so this is gonna sound partly unhinged. okay so the edward norton playwright and jason schwartzman actor (not character, in the black and white parts) are lovers right. tbh i thought this was kind of a gag and forgot about it. but later we find out that the playwright died 6 months into the production. i didnt make the connection that THAT’s why the actor-jason has to suddenly leave the stage and freaks out backstage about how he’s not sure he’s Doing it right. hes not talking about acting!! because he himself is literally grieving his lover while he’s playing a character who’s grieving his wife written by his lover so obviously it’s too much!!! actor-jason is trying to find meaning in his death through his writing but there isnt any meaning in death [gerris drinkwater voice] which is what the play is trying to say anyway. he doesnt think he’s performing grief right even in his own life!!! (and tbh it’s the 50s so he wouldnt be able to perform grief publicly anyway!!!!) the play starts with a car accident… anyone would search for some hidden meaning there, some sign…. so when he talks to margot robbie outside it’s not really about finding the CHARACTER’s motivations it’s about the actor himself being able to process the playwright’s death! and adrien brody director was probably also dealing with that too (him and norton seemed to be good buddies) so the whole “sleeping backstage” thing gets a bit sadder maybe? maybe everyone else got this in the theatre and im just stupid lol but crazy making stuff to me!!! the whole story is about sublimated gay grief that cannot be expressed?!?!

the tweet that caught me onto this was here which posits that the playwright’s death was a suicide but i think that’s pretty stupid and unnecessary because the whole thing about the play asteroid city is that death is random and meaningless. im pretty sure that’s what the alien represents— a shocking and absurd event that isnt outright evil or menacing, not something anyone can predict or make sense of, it’s just a thing that happens to you out of nowhere, it doesnt mean anything. he’s a little black figure, he’s death! giving and taking! aagh

[humans-are-tasty]

[meatlessmcmuffin]

stop thinking so hard about it dude ur gnna get a headache

[moonlightandmarble]

[cubbyhole-for-flea-bee]

what if NMJ just poofs into an owl when qi deviations loom tho

Bonus from a later reblog:

FWUMP

[ivsleeptoken]

🎸

[monkeybebop]

They are in love guys, I promise

Nacho’s just waiting for Lalo to stfu

[solacium]

presence // aventurine

he'll never outrightly ask you what it is, not at the outset.

he might find you curled on the couch, quiet, trying to breathe out the something in your chest that writhes and constricts, or in tears, but he won't ask, only sit quietly with you, lean against you, the weight of him enough to reassure you of his presence. maybe you reach for him, curl into the hollow of his body, and he'll let you, hold you until the tears stop, or you can feel your hands again, or you fall asleep, to the steady rhythm of his heart.

you'll wake, or look at him, and he'll speak, then, maybe look back at you with those iridescent eyes that you love, as he asks, softly, if you're feeling better, if you want to talk about it.

he'll keep you company, either way, listening. there is a steadiness in the weight of his arms around you, in the even beat of his heart against your back. you'll have to move, eventually, one of your legs falling asleep under you, and you'll both laugh, and shift. he gently disentangles himself from you, to get you something to drink. you settle back down, curled around each other, talk quietly until the sunlight changes.

[crimeronan]

one big thing about polyshipping for me is, like. you know how some people will have their eyes opened to homoerotic relationships in media bc they'll realize, "wait, if these people were two different genders, i'd 100% assume they're into each other. i have a double standard that i never noticed"?

there's a polyamorous equivalent in certain media that's basically just. "if you didn't assume this character is monogamous, you would 100% believe they have crushes on & are dating all of their friends." OR, "if this character wasn't dating somebody else already, you would 100% interpret this new friendship of theirs as a crush/budding romance."

usually the creators of the media aren't thinking about polyamory when they make it! usually the creators of the media are thinking "i want this character's friends to be as important to them as their romantic partners, we don't get enough of that in media," which is great and true and also EXACTLY WHY IT WORKS AS A POLY NARRATIVE. people will be like you don't Have to polyship why can't you just let platonic relationships be important ugh 🙄 & i'm like i did my years in the "why can't two men just be friends why does everything have to be gay 🙄" trenches. you're not doing this to me. we're not doing it about polyshipping. we're skipping over that whole discourse cutscene because i am Too Tired For It. don't even start

sometimes characters are so full of love and affection and joy for so many people that i start gnawing off my hands about how polyamory isn't normalized. because i'll watch/read certain media and i'll be like. listen. this is a polycule. i know you don't know this because your creators don't know this and that is totally okay but you are a Wildly polyamorous person who's ambiguously trapped in the 2000s/2010s with Big Monogamy psyops eating your brain. please let me free you. please i can give you Everything .

PLEASE KISS YOUR FRIENDS