#they’re so fucking stupid
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More sillies for all you silly people
Uhhh some of these are suggestive so be warned right now‼️
[tagging people that I think deserve this for a laugh
@koyarkive
@smashlovesscream
@fantasylandbitch
@blackwolfstabs
[reblogging is appreciated but not at all forced <3]
#funny stuilly posts#billy loomis#stu macher#scream#scream 1996#stuilly#randy meeks#tatum riley#sidney prescott#i love doing this#they’re so fucking stupid
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sleepy zosan cuddles please? maybe sanji crashing zoro’s catnap 🤭
this was IMMENSELY fun to write. i couldn’t resist adding in a flipped scenario with zoro crashing sanji’s bed,,, enjoy 😽
Sanji poked his head into the men’s quarters, biting his lip against a smirk. The night was still young; Nami and Usopp were outside, ensnared in some inane drinking game while Luffy egged them on. He, however, had much better things to do with his free time.
Such as bothering the one man currently asleep on the ship.
The wind whistled before he shut the door. It was going to get chilly, which was why he’d had the foresight to be here; Zoro put out heat like a bloody furnace.
The swordsman was belly-down on his bunk, arms splayed out, his broad back rising and falling in time with his breaths. Sanji was really banking on Zoro subconsciously recognising him here in order to not get run through with a katana, but better safe than sorry, he supposed.
He crept across the room in the soft lamplight, planted his feet, and announced “Marimo!” like he was summoning the man— before jumping and face-planting between Zoro’s shoulder blades.
Evidently he’d been expected, because the swordsman didn’t so much as startle even as the bunk swayed under their combined weight. “What,” he deadpanned, sighing into his pillow.
Sanji could feel it under his cheek, hear the soft whoosh of breath out of Zoro’s lungs. “It’s winding up to be a chilly night,” he sing-songed, stacking his hands to prop his chin on top.
“You’re so fucking annoying,” Zoro groaned irritably, scrubbing both hands over the back of his head and clearly grouchy at being woken. up.
Sleeping constantly, horrible sense of direction, grumpy all the time— “God, chéri, you’re such an old man,” Sanji complained, absentmindedly tracing patterns into Zoro’s shirt and watching the loose linen gather and twist beneath his finger. “And for someone with so much muscle, you’re not a very comfortable pil— Hey!”
“Up,” Zoro grumbled, uncoordinated and sleep-heavy as he pushed himself up and toppled Sanji off to the side.
“What’re you— Have of my efforts in trying to make you a gentleman been absolutely—” The cook squeaked as he was grabbed, muscled arms tight around his chest and waist as Zoro picked him up and rolled them over.
“Y’talk too damn much,” he muttered, the words pressed into Sanji’s hair as he adjusted, thumb rubbing up and down Sanji’s upper arm over his sleep shirt.
The motion was repetitive. Soothing. Sanji went quiet as bony ankles tangled with his; with his back pressed to Zoro’s chest, he could feel every breath the swordsman took, deep and ever-steady. Every single beat of his heart, clear against Sanji’s shoulder blades.
The cook slid a hand over the one around his waist like he always did and laced their fingers. He’d lied about Zoro not being a comfortable bedmate; Sanji never slept better than when he was with him, and on top of that— If there was one thing better than a comfortable bedmate, it was a comfortable boyfriend.
He had the vague awareness of a kiss being pressed to his crown before his eyes fluttered shut, sinking boneless into the thin mattress with a contented hum. Zoro didn’t sleep with a blanket, but honestly?
Sanji never really minded.
*
His bunk creaked, dipping under the weight of a new person, and Sanji jerked awake with a soft “wha?”
“S’just me,” Zoro muttered, sliding into the blankets behind him and kicking them away after a split second of consideration, pressing the line of his body to Sanji’s back. “It’s too fuckin’ hot.”
“You’re sticky,” Sanji whined, awake enough to protest against the feeling of damp skin and swat half-heartedly at the arm winding around his waist.
“Because I just took a shower, idiot,” Zoro hissed, which, ah. Explained why he was shirtless.
“It’s too hot. Which is why you’re choosing to share a bed. And body heat. Okay,” Sanji yawned, his sleep-addled brain mollified as he settled back in, and Zoro huffed through his nose.
“You’re cold, it’s nice.”
“Hm.” The cook peered blearily over his shoulder before rolling over, tossing a leg over Zoro’s hip and shoving his head beneath his chin. “That’s the only reason you’re in my bed, huh?”
“Go to sleep, cook,” Zoro grumbled, something wry in his tone, “before I give you a reason to stay up.”
Sanji kicked him in the shin and fought down a sleepy grin. “Not so loud, they’ll hear you!”
“I’ve been awake this whole time, guys.” Usopp’s voice came floating from the darkness somewhere to the right, sounding a little traumatised, and Sanji sank his teeth into Zoro’s shoulder to stop himself from laughing out loud.
“Sorry, buddy,” he stage-whispered, still trying to control his residual chuckles. He could tell Zoro was laughing quietly from the rumbling beneath his cheek.
“S’fine. Just no funny business or I’ll get Nami… to…”
Their crewmate started snoring, and Sanji squinted up at Zoro’s face in the darkness. “Get Nami to what?”
“Can’t be anything good when that witch is involved,” Zoro sighed, shifting his arm up onto the pillow so Sanji could rest his head on his bicep. “Night, cook.”
“G’night. Don’t blame me when your arm falls asleep,” Sanji murmured, snuggling in with a shiver.
“Shut up.”
“Mhm. Love you.”
“…Yeah, whatever.”
“Marimo. You have to say it back.”
“Yes, okay, I love you, now please go to sleep.”
Sanji scoffed quietly. “You’re the one who woke me up.”
Zoro craned his neck to glare down at him. “I swear I will fuck off back to my own bunk.”
“…”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“Pissy asshole,” Sanji muttered into his shoulder, small enough that Zoro didn’t hear.
He fell asleep with a smile on his face anyway.
fin.
#zosan#op zosan#zosan fanfic#one piece zosan#zoro x sanji#they’re so fucking stupid#somebody please go save usopp#luffy’s out cold like the dead in the corner he’s doing peachy#but poor usopp is NOT#one piece sanji#one piece zoro#one piece#ask box#ino’s ask box
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“Woo-oof, Mullet. How has training every second of every day made you worse, somehow?”
Keith clinches his jaw, forcing himself to keep his attention on the gladiator in front of him, and ignore the taunting to his left.
He doesn’t understand what Lance’s problem is. A couple months ago, he was putting a soft hand on Keith’s shoulder and saying he trusts the Black Lion’s judgement, sticking with Keith even when he makes dumbass decisions, and now he’s back to that stupid — rivalry? Again?
What’s his fucking angle?
“I’m still doing better than you,” Keith grits out, because the high road is for losers. Unfortunately the jab doesn’t have the intended effect, and Lance only smirks.
“Not for long.”
Faster than Keith can fully process, Lance fucking back handsprings out of his gladiator’s range, widely avoiding its attack, and then he flips forward, using the momentum to hit the gladiator full force in the chest. As the gladiator stumbles, Lance wraps his legs around its shoulders and almost throws his own body to the ground, sending the gladiator’s head to the floor at frightening speeds. It cracks on impact, Lance scrambling a couple feet away, and then a low hum fills the room as a robotic voice announces: “Level 24 complete, Red Paladin. Congratulations. You are in the lead.”
Lance turns and smirks in Keith’s direction. He doesn’t even say anything, but the smugness drips off him in waves.
There’s absolutely nothing Keith can do to stop himself from what he does next. His fuse is short, he knows that, and Lance has fucking burnt it to a crisp. He feels something implode in his stomach, and he sees red.
He lunges for the gladiator, using his training staff to vault off the mat and throw himself right at the gladiator’s chest, just like Lance did. He twists his body, trying to wrap his legs around his shoulders and bend his back to get the right momentum.
There’s no noise, no crack or snap, but Keith feels something give in his lower back, and he drops to the ground , trying and failing to bite back a pained shout. The gladiator, obviously undeterred, raises its staff above Keith’s head, whipping it down so quickly it whistles. Keith throws himself out of the way, which hurts so badly his vision actually whites out a little.
“End training sequence! End it! Stop!” shouts a panicked voice. The robot voice confirms the instruction, and Keith hears the whooshing sound of the gladiator dematerialising, then footsteps hurrying towards him.
“Holy shit, Keith, are you okay?” Lance leans over him, brown eyes wide in concern, hand resting gently on his arm.
Keith scowls. He pulls his arm away and pulls himself up and out of Lance’s reach.
Well, he tries to. The second he tries to sit up the same agonizing pain from before radiates from his back, and barely manages to muffle his groan.
“Jesus, Keith, don’t move —”
“I’m fine,” Keith interrupts gruffly. He grits his teeth and drags himself upright, ignoring the way the pain makes his ears ring. “Leave me alone.”
Keith’s movement makes Lance’s hand shoot out on reflex, but he stops himself right before he makes contact. He meets Keith’s gaze, glaring heavily.
“Don’t be a dumbass. Let me help you.”
Keith bites back the urge to tell him what he thinks of his help, because he knows that’s a step too far, even though he really wants to take it. Some part of him, something mean and angry that he can barely keep a hold on, wants to hurt Lance’s feelings as much as Lance’s weird mixed signals have been hurting him, lately. Worse.
Keith has more control than that. He will have more control than that.
“I’m fine,” he insists again. “Training’s over. You won. Go brag to Hunk, or something.”
Lance does nothing for a moment, then he sighs, getting to his feet and walking away.
Keith’s heart sinks, even though he doesn’t want Lance’s help and he’s perfectly capable of handling himself. It’s good that Lance is leaving him alone. Keith doesn’t fuckin’ need him. He’s handled himself since he was twelve goddamn years old, thanks ever so, and that’s not going to change now.
Only Lance doesn’t walk out the training room door. Instead he walks over to where he’s discarded his jacket, digging through the pockets for a moment before pulling out something long and thin, rounded on the edges and an off-white colour. He shoots it at Keith, and before he can speak up to ask Lance what the hell he’s doing, a blue laser shoots from the white thing.
A scanner.
Lance runs it over Keith’s back and torso, then mutters something angrily to himself, too quiet for Keith to hear, and tucks the scanner on his jeans pocket, walking back over to Keith.
“You threw out your back, stupid,” he informs him. “That shit’s not going away. Let’s go. Can you stand?”
Keith wants to argue, but finds that he’s…exhausted. All the pain hits him at once and he barely stops himself from sagging forward so as to not hurt his back any further.
“Probably.”
Lance helps him anyway, putting one of Keith’s arms around his broad shoulders before slowly helping him stand.
It hurts like hell, and Keith lets him know it.
“Mother of fucking God that smarts like a cactus spike up the shitter fucking hell —”
“I am trying so hard,” Lance starts, voice shaking, “to be serious and helpful, dude, but I am going to lose my mind if you keep going. Please cuss like a normal person and not a cowboy that just got kicked in the nuts by a horse.”
“Hurts about the fuckin’ same,” Keith shoots back, but tries to reign it in anyway.
Lance helps him out of the training room, guiding him down the hallways until they finally make it to their rooms.
“Few more steps,” Lance says encouragingly. Any teasing attitude evaporated somewhere between when Keith hit the floor and when Lance helped him up. “You can do it, Samurai.”
They finally make it to Keith’s door, and he slaps his free hand to the lockpad and stumbles to his bed.
“Lie on your stomach,” Lance advises.
Keith furrows his brow. “Isn’t lying on your stomach bad? Aren’t you supposed to lie on your back when you hurt it?”
“Well, it’ll be pretty hard for me to massage the pain out of your muscles of you’re lying on them, dork-brain.”
Keith pauses. “Huh.”
Lance rolls his eyes. “Will you just shut up and do as I say, Commander?”
“Um, no,” Keith says. For whatever reasons his heartbeat has increased, and his palms are sweaty through his gloves. “I’m just going to sleep it off. You can go now.”
Lance crosses his arm. That stubborn look enters his face, the same one he gets when he knows he’s right and he doesn’t care who agrees.
Keith has never, not even one time, won an argument with him when he gets that expression.
“Bed. Now,” he orders. “Ditch the shirt. I’ll be back in five minutes, and if you’re not doing as I say I’m going to knock you out and shove you in a healing pod.” Without waiting for a response, he turns around, marching out the door and somehow making it slam behind him, even though the doors are literally automatic and Keith has never once seen them slam before.
Keith glances at his bed. He glances at his lockpad.
It’s not like Lance can strongarm his way through Altean lock security, right?
Keith takes one step towards the door. His back twinges, and he winces.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
He chucks off his shirt, wincing as the movement makes his back twist, and gingerly lays down on his stomach. He shifts until he finds a position that hurts the least, pillow tucked under his head and over his arms.
Whatever. He’s doing this because he doesn’t want to sit in a stupid pod, not because Lance ordered him to.
As promised, his door opens again five minutes later, and Lance’s near-silent footsteps approach the bed.
“See?” he mutters. “Doesn’t kill you to listen to me.”
“I hate you.”
“Uh-huh.”
There’s a shuffling sound, then a creaking as the bed dips, and the next thing Keith knows, Lance has a leg on either side of Keith’s hips and he sits gently on Keith’s thighs, right beneath his ass.
Keith’s face flames. He shoves his face into his pillow and prays for death.
(No one has ever been this close to him in his life, probably. It’s weird.)
“My hands a freezing,” Lance says apologetically. “Might feel weird for a sec.”
Cold fingers trace gently down the curve of Keith’s spine, covered in what Keith assumes is some kind of medicinal lotion. He shivers, goosebumps erupting all over his bare flesh. The air suddenly feels suffocating.
“Where’s the pain?” Lance whispers.
Keith swallows. His throat is so dry that it takes him several attempts. “Lower back.”
The cool fingers slowly move to the backs of his hips, one on each side. Then, without warning, they dig into his flesh.
“Fucking — ow, Lance!”
“Baby.”
Keith glances back at him incredulously, face still burning. “In what world is now a good time for pet names?!”
Lance snorts, a small smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. “I’m not calling you a pet name. I’m insulting you. Baby.”
Keith’s jaw drops. “You —”
“Shut up and let me focus, Mullet.”
Keith does.
But not because Lance tells him to.
Eventually he gets used to the hard kneading of Lance’s bony fingers. Every once in a while he winces as Lance digs into a particularly painful spot, and once he outright shouts in pain. Lance hurries out an apology, easing up a bit and moving to a different part.
“I suppose I should apologise,” he says after several minutes of silence, interrupting only by Keith’s various grunts of pain and relief alike.
“For being a dickhead?”
Lance laughs. Keith isn’t facing him, but he can picture his wry smile. “For goading you. I knew you were going to fuck up the takedown I did when you tried it, but I just thought you’d fall or something.” His voice gets solemn. “I didn’t think you’d get hurt for real. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m sorry.”
His hands have stilled, thumbs no longer pressing into the knotted muscles. Only his fingertips gently trace his skin.
His fingers aren’t cold anymore, but Keith still feels goosebumps come up again.
“I could’ve done that takedown thing,” he grumbles eventually. He’s full of shit and he knows it, but he’s sure as shit not about to admit that Lance is better at a hand-to-hand manoeuvre than he is.
Lance snorts. “Yeah, right. I’ve been in gymnastics and dance classes since I was two, bonehead. I’m bendy as hell. I’m good at contorting. I do it all the time when Hunk and Pidge haven’t slept in a while, and I need to make them think they’re hallucinating monsters from sleep deprivation. You have to be practiced at this sort of thing, Mullet.”
Keith opens his mouth, then shuts it again. “What have you been doing to Hunk and Pidge?”
Lance ignores him. “Anyways. I won’t goad you into something like that again, no matter how funny it would be to see you fall on your face.” He pats Keith’s hip twice, then shifts off the bed. “All done. Try sitting up. Does it still hurt?”
Carefully, Keith pulls himself into a sitting position, expecting the same white-hot pain he felt when he sat up in the training room. But there’s nothing.
He looks to Lance with wide eyes. “Holy shit.”
Lance preens. “I’ve got magic hands,” he brags.
“Thank you,” Keith says sincerely. He can’t quite help the small smile he shoots in Lance direction.
Strangely, a light blush burns across Lance’s cheeks. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, Mullet. It’s not like you and your thick head were going to go into a pod, so.” Lance coughs, rocking back on his heels. He looks anywhere but Keith.
Suddenly, a vague memory pops up into Keith’s brain, of himself at around thirteen, venting to an amused Shiro about how one of the boys in his classes, Taylor, kept bugging him about test scores and insisting on some stupid competition.
“I don’t get it, Shiro!” he had said, frustrated frown pulling the corners of his mouth down. “I don’t want to compete! I don’t know what his stupid problem is!”
Shiro had smiled, ruffling Keith’s hair. “He’s pulling your pigtails, kiddo.”
Keith frowned. “I don’t have pigtails.”
“No, I mean —” Shiro had shook his head. “Nevermind. Just ignore him, he’s just getting a reaction out of you because he doesn’t know how else to talk to you.”
Adam had snorted before Keith could comment, reaching over and tugging on Shiro’s forelock without looking up from his marking. “Familiar with the pigtail-pulling strategy, aren’t you, babe?”
Keith hadn’t understood it then, why Shiro’s face had gone bright red or why Adam had laughed louder as Shiro got more flustered. He just remembers being disgusted by their blatant gross flirting, and forgetting about the confusing words entirely.
It hits him now, though, looking at Lance’s red face, thinking about every time he’s driven Keith insane and smirked when he finally lost it, gone against Keith’s orders just to be contrary, literally tugged on Keith’s hair just to piss him off, but why he always sits next to Keith at meals and reassures Keith when he’s sure he’s not fit to lead the team.
Why he offered to rub his hands up and down Keith’s back for a half hour instead of sticking him in a pod.
“Holy shit,” he mutters, more to himself than anything. He looks at Lance with wide, unbelieving eyes.
Lance glances back at him, and his expression only makes the Cuban more red, somehow.
“I promised I’d help Coran with something,” he blurts. He points vaguely at the door, stumbling backwards. “Right now, actually. Um, bye. Don’t hurt yourself again, dumbass.”
He’s out the door before Keith can stop him, so fast there’s practically a cloud of dust where he used to be, like a cartoon.
Keith sits down heavily on his bed, still staring unblinkingly in front of him. He thinks of the way he rises to Lance’s challenges, every single time. How he always pushes himself harder when Lance is watching, like he has to make sure Lance knows how good he is. How he, too, always seeks Lance out and sits next to him during team meetings or even movie nights. How he almost always assigns them as partners on missions.
How he shivered when Lance’s cool fingers touched his skin.
“Holy shit,” he whispers, a smile fighting its way onto his face. He yanks gently on his own hair.
Butterflies erupt in his stomach.
#i love making them stupid it’s so fun for me#vld#voltron#keith#keith kogane#lance#lance mcclain#klance#pre klance#pining lance#oblivious keith#dumbass lance#dumbass keith#they’re so fucking stupid#rivals to rivals#bamf lance#gymnast lance#brown-eyed lance#black paladin keith#red paladin lance#injury#my writing#fic#longpost
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People don’t talk enough about the wackass Tom and Jerry shit Henry and Bill have going on I think. Like Henry’s response to Bill trying to get in his restaurant is to program the robots to lobotomise him and Bill’s response to that is to tamper with the facial recognition. This is Jerry bending the shotgun back at Tom.
#they’re so fucking stupid#fnaf#five nights at freddy's#william afton#henry emily#yelling about the bear#helium
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literal idiots
#henry saying both lmdoaoajsshsj#oh god#obsessed#they’re so fucking stupid#rwrb movie#taylor zakhar perez#nicholas galitzine#red white and royal blue
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Hey Frank, can I get a chip?
#they’re so fucking stupid#i love them#ls dunes#can i get a chip#frank iero#tucker rule#from tucker’s instagram story 2/4/23#vid
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https://youtu.be/O-ZdWoKXa4c?si=J_JKVt7wUZlrwSsD
The apprentices are having a lil too much fun lol. Hoffman’s on the trike, Amanda’s filming, and Lawerence is in the background laughing. John heard the commotion and walks in revealing his apprentices all laughing on the ground. He rolls his eyes, sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“I have idiots for apprentices,” John says to himself as Amanda and Mark continue laughing in the ground and Lawerence tries to compose himself once he notices John. I also cannon that John actually finds this endearing but he’s annoyed at the same time.
WEEPING YES. John is the epitome of “I don’t get paid enough”
#they’re so fucking stupid#they hold a special place in my sad little hesrt#saw#horror#slasher#saw vi#mark hoffman#john kramer#jigsaw apprentices#jigsaw#billy the puppet#amanda young#lawrence gordon
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The Stones themselves didn't seem to make much impression on Charlie in the very early days: 'I used to play with loads of bands, and the Stones were just another one. I thought they'd last three months, then a year, then three years, then I stopped counting.' He remembers them travelling together in a small van: 'Me and Keith were in the back, on a ledge, under a blanket. Brian conned his way into the front on account of his asthma.’
The Guardian, Interview with Barbara Ellen (2000)
#they’re so fucking stupid#Brian as to sit in the front b/c of his asthma?#and I remember that Bill somehow got the other front seat by saying he had hemroids or something#where is Mick in all of this?#the rolling stones#charlie watts#keith richards#old married band#young married band#quote
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things I really like writing so far: sam taking tommy’s flirting as an intimidation tactic, reacting accordingly, and tommy taking sam’s reaction as flirting back
#they’re so fucking stupid#barking#oh also the shelby bros being assholes. like im doing the opposite of woobifying what is that called
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sorry. they will be the death of me
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A scene note I have for my skk fic:
A good cop/bad cop exchange with someone they’re supposed to do business with, except it’s them so it’s bad cop/worse cop and they’re both competing to be the worse cop.
#they’re so fucking stupid#and so stubborn#and competitive#and I love that for them honestly#skk#Soukoku#double black#bungo stray dogs#bsd
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Another little story time. Bcuz yes.
I was hanging out with my friend and my stepmom/ my dads gf came in and my friend was joking around saying she was going to be sent to an insane asylum after her most recent therapy session, and my stepmom went “if you’re going to an insane asylum bring me too!! They have bouncy walls!” And my friend laughed her ass off
So silly such sillies
#They’re so fucking stupid#I love it#silly wowza ramble#Did I forget to mention my friend is her niece?#small world mf
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OC art posting while everyone’s asleep.
[more under cut-off if you’re curious]
They’re cringe. :)
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Y’all what the fuck 😂😂😂
#yakuza#lost judgement#yagami takayuki#kaito masaharu#they’re so fucking stupid#I can’t fucking believe Yagami’s a lawyer#I can’t believe this game is real
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Can’t wait until my contract is over because fuck these assholes
#I fucking hate my employers#they’re so fucking stupid#and I hate news#and I hate politics#just let me write my little stories and produce my little movies
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Epigraphs are a waste of time. Fucking stop writing if you think you need an epigraph. It’s annoying to the reader, they just see it as you bragging about how much you’ve read. And they likely haven’t read that book. So they don’t have any context and they don’t care to get it. And now it’s a waste of your time if one out of every ducking thousandth reader understand it. And even for them it’s usually useless. They’re about to read the tucking charpter! They don’t need to know what it’ll be about. And it pressures other writers into thinking they need epigraphs because it makes you seem smart of whatever the fuck. It’s just so stupid and annoying. You’re helping no one by adding this.
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