too sick for you

10

these r bad, but there u go 👌

  • [during sex]
  • Hinata: NARUTO!
  • Naruto: SASUKE!
  • Hinata: ...
  • Naruto: ...
  • Hinata: ...
  • Naruto: I can explain
  • Naruto: It's a habit
  • Hinata: What?
  • Naruto: No, wait. What I mean is- the only person who shouts my name like that is Sasuke and I usually shout his name too, like, when we fight
  • Hinata: Why?
  • Naruto: I don't know. It's kind of our thing. We've been doing it for years.
  • Naruto: Well, not doing IT, you know, not like we just did. But that name thing, 'it.' I'm not in love with him, I swear! At least, not the same way I'm in love with you.
  • Hinata: Naruto
  • Naruto: I mean, we only kissed once, and it was totally an accident.
  • Hinata: Naruto
  • Naruto: Or, twice, unless you count that other time-
  • Hinata: NARUTO!
  • Naruto: SASUK- Hinata, I meant to say Hinata, see? It's like a reflex.
  • Hinata: Go sleep on the couch while I think about this relationship.
  • Naruto: Fine, but can I ask you something?
  • Hinata: *hopeful* Yes?
  • Naruto: By 'this relationship,' did you mean yours and mine or mine and Sasuke's?
  • Hinata: Get out.

How can you say young girls don’t get it? They’re our future. Our future doctors, lawyers, mothers, presidents, they kind of keep the world going. Teenage-girl fans – they don’t lie. If they like you, they’re there. They don’t act ‘too cool.’ They like you, and they tell you. Which is sick.

WHEN WILL PEOPLE STOP MAKING EXCUSES FOR RACISM ESP. SLAVERY

“it was socially acceptable back then”
THAT DOESNT MAKE IT OKAY

“everyone had slaves tho"
SO EVERYONE WAS RACIST IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MAKE IT BETTER

“look at it from a 21st century viewpoint!“
IF YOU LIVE IN THE 21ST CENTURY AND THINK SLAVERY IS OKAY I THINK ITS YOUR VIEWPOINT, NOT MINE, THAT NEEDS TO CHANGE

“they didn’t know any better!”
IGNORANCE =/= BLISS

“just because they owned slaves doesn’t make them a bad person”
YES IT FUCKING DOES

Styles is aware that his largest audience so far has been young – often teenage – women. Asked if he spends pressure-filled evenings worried about proving credibility to an older crowd, Styles grows animated. “Who’s to say that young girls who like pop music – short for popular, right? – have worse musical taste than a 30-year-old hipster guy? That’s not up to you to say. Music is something that’s always changing. There’s no goal posts. Young girls like the Beatles. You gonna tell me they’re not serious? How can you say young girls don’t get it? They’re our future. Our future doctors, lawyers, mothers, presidents, they kind of keep the world going. Teenage-girl fans – they don’t lie. If they like you, they’re there. They don’t act ‘too cool.’ They like you, and they tell you. Which is sick.”
—  Harry saying that [teenage girls] are our future
2

Who’s to say that young girls who like pop music – short for popular, right? – have worse musical taste than a 30-year-old hipster guy? That’s not up to you to say. Music is something that’s always changing. There’s no goal posts. Young girls like the Beatles. You gonna tell me they’re not serious? How can you say young girls don’t get it? They’re our future. Our future doctors, lawyers, mothers, presidents, they kind of keep the world going. Teenage-girl fans – they don’t lie. If they like you, they’re there. They don’t act ‘too cool.’ They like you, and they tell you. Which is sick.

Grumpy Chat

This started out as one of those “I see no difference” deals.  I can’t help myself, guys.  I have NO SHAME.

Who’s to say that young girls who like pop music – short for popular, right? – have worse musical taste than a 30-year-old hipster guy? That’s not up to you to say. Music is something that’s always changing. There’s no goal posts. Young girls like the Beatles. You gonna tell me they’re not serious? How can you say young girls don’t get it? They’re our future. Our future doctors, lawyers, mothers, presidents, they kind of keep the world going. Teenage-girl fans – they don’t lie. If they like you, they’re there. They don’t act ‘too cool.’ They like you, and they tell you. Which is sick.
—  Harry Styles, spilling the truth

I love their friendship so much and I’m disappointed in myself for not drawing something for them yet.

Lance is down with the flu and feeling extremely homesick; Hunk is the World’s Best  Friend and does his best to take care of him :’)

Long version under the cut:

Keep reading

modern! alarkling headanons:

- there are two windows on each side of the bed and his blinds are always down
- alina: ‘um why don’t you let some light in it’s a nice sunny day ou-’
aleksander: [laughs in that pretentious way of his like he’s been carrying the weight of the world for centuries] oh, alina, my dear alina, alina, alina… i’m ancient, alina……….. also, (alina,) it’s very aesthetically pleasing
- Old Married CoupleTM
- speaking of, they never actually marry but he tells her she has his heart and alina rolls her eyes in quiet acceptance and that’s kind of the same thing
- black sheets, dark gray curtains, glow in the dark stars on the ceiling
- he makes alina roll her eyes so much she actually develops a rare muscle tick no doctor can explain
- alina: i have this headache-
aleksander: *walks in*
alina: there it is
- they really want a pet but ofc they have to fight on this too so they end up with two: a white cat that’s the same colour as alina’s hair and a black pomeranian that literally looks like a ball of fluffy shadows
- nutella pancakes for breakfast, lunch and dinner
- alina has a perpetual frown and aleksander has a resting bitch face so you can bet there’s always a free seat for them on the train/subway
- he has nightmares too and they’re actually very violent and draining so alina just wraps her arms around him and presses her nose against his shoulder until he stops shaking and then she starts drawing lazy circles of light (warm and soothing by definition) over his naked skin to calm him down
- he’s the tall and brooding one but she’s the one people should look out for
- valentino dresses and armani suits
- aleksander praises himself on his newfound self-control and composure
- that is, until he sees alina with nothing but his shirt on and deadass forgets how to function
- sometimes he literally has to hook a finger into alina’s collar to hold her back bc yes she’s usually very quiet and patient and kind but the moment someone drives her over the edge she’s throwing hands and flip-flops (if necessary)
- everyone treats them like a married couple too?? even tho they’re not??
- shadow play!!!!!!
- snow angels
- he freckles in the sun and alina always makes fun of him
- + moles!! he’ll get like five new moles everytime he goes out so he has to walk with those giant ass rich widow hats (not all year round tho, july-august are probably the worst bc it’s just unbearably hot and sunny)
- he’s still very closed off and distant (especially in public) in front of other people but the minute he’s alone with his sunshine? he melts like an ice-cream cone on a hot summer day
- they never really say “i love you” but they just. know.
- she knows in the way he brushes her messy pixie haircut behind her ear and his hand lingers a moment too long, almost like he’s awestruck and he knows in the way she smiles at the shadows sometimes, like they remind her of him /they do/ and the extra spoon of sugar she puts in his coffee bc she knows him so well
- sometimes if alina is too tired from work she’ll make him read her fairytales bc he has a very soothing voice, simultaneously lulling her to sleep and making her acutely aware of his presence
- lush who?? they can make their own bathbombs using their grisha powers - he can make cool swirling shadows and alina can make the water look like liquid starlight
- and then they take a nice relaxing bath. together.
- he makes her shadow puppets when she’s sick (or upset/grumpy) and tells her stories his mom used to tell him when he was a kid
- alina: “*yanks curtains open* rise and shine you lazy ass it’s a beautiful day!!
aleksander: it’s literally -15 degrees and the sun’s nowhere to be seen
alina: ?? i’m here??
- (both) probably very into lana del rey

5

- “What do you mean, Sir?”

- “She looks happy, peaceful… in love.”

(100% inspired by this post by stuunalee)

Jihoon doesn’t care if Taeil is sick or if it might be contagious (x)

anonymous asked:

sick shiro? hell yes. maybe hunk made some space food that actually tastes like something that Shiro really liked at earth so he stuffs his face with it and he realizes too late that this stuffs makes him really nauseous...end off the story Shiro is just really stuffed and nauseous because it really doesn't agree with him and hunk feeling bad tries to comfort and take care of him?

A/N: @bosstoaster for the Shiro hunger headcanons. Plus, I love this pairing, okay?

As the team’s unofficial chef, Hunk is very aware of everyone’s individual eating habits; likes, dislikes, specific allergies, and so forth.

For instance, he knows that Lance won’t touch anything that even remotely resembles a brussels sprout with a twelve-foot pole. He knows Pidge has a quirk about different foods interacting on the same plate; everything has to have its separate, designated space. Keith has to be coaxed, (sometimes forced), into eating even a little breakfast and he blatantly refuses food when he’s anxious before missions.

It took Hunk a little longer with Shiro. The night they had rescued him from the compound he hadn’t realized the extent of the damage; he’d assumed the poor guy was still suffering nasty side effects as a result of being drugged, not to mention starved for over a year.

Hunk had whipped up an impromptu dinner for everyone in Keith’s little shack, taking solace in the comforting sense of control the process of stirring, chopping, and searing had allotted, if only for a fleeting couple of hours.

Long after everyone else had cleaned their plates, Shiro had continued to eat. He’d mechanically shoveled food into his mouth like a ravenous robot, oblivious to his companion’s bafflement. At the time, Hunk hadn’t understood; hadn’t really thought anything of it. He’d seemed hungry, so Hunk had continued to feed him. And Shiro had kept eating. It was the grim concentration that had really freaked Hunk out. Shiro hadn’t enjoyed the food, either. In hindsight, Hunk realized his objective had been to inhale every scrap of nourishment as quickly as possible. He’d quite literally eaten himself sick.

Halfway through his fourth bowl of stew, Shiro had abruptly spun away from the table and vomited it all back up onto the floor, nearly giving Keith a heart attack.

Shiro never talked about his year in captivity. But Hunk was willing to bet his ass that food - if you could call it that - had been scarce and Shiro had been forced to fight for every morsel. He also guessed that prisoners were never fed regularly or sufficiently. Hunk had no idea if humans were even meant to ingest whatever the Galra considered food. It couldn’t have been especially pleasant. He couldn’t imagine forcing yourself to eat for the sole purpose of fighting to stay alive, not knowing when or if you’d ever be fed again. It made his chest ache when he thought about Shiro trapped in such a monstrous hell.

Shiro’s brain had undoubtedly been conditioned to consume every bite of whatever he was given, solely fueled by the most basic human instinct: survival.

Since they’d all been tossed together, Hunk’s taken it upon himself to meticulously monitor Shiro’s meals. The man has absolutely no concept of hunger or the parameters those triggers entail. Essentially, it boils down to making Shiro eat and then ensuring Shiro stops if he’s distracted. Hunk isn’t positive Shiro is ever going to be able to enjoy food like a normal person ever again. That realization makes him incredibly sad.

One of Hunk’s favorite pastimes is cooking for the team, (when Coran hasn’t beaten him to it). He’s grown exceptionally skilled at experimenting with the various foreign ingredients and creating dishes that taste nearly identical to some of his favorite foods back on Earth.

Still, he’s never seen Shiro actually enjoy a meal. Sure, their leader enjoys the company, the camaraderie and routine of sitting down to do something so mundane and familiar in the midst of their crazy lives. But from what Hunk can deduce, Shiro eats because he knows his body requires the nutrients and energy in order to function properly, not because he relishes the flavors or textures of whatever’s placed in front of him.

So the night he makes something vaguely similar to chicken spaghetti, (it’d been a rough mission; Hunk needed comfort food), and presents it to the group, he isn’t surprised when everyone digs in. What does surprise him is Shiro’s reaction after his first bite.

Oh,” Shiro pulls back for a moment, chewing slowly and giving a curious tilt of his head. He swallows, a strange smile playing at the corners of his lips. “This is…”

“Oh,” Hunk echoes, disappointment weighing heavily as his shoulders droop. “You don’t like it.”

Shiro shakes his head, “No, I…this is really good. It tastes like…I don’t know. Something my mom used to make, I think.”

Shiro’s never bothered mentioning his family. The comment sends Hunk sputtering while the other paladins gape at Shiro, noisy sounds of chewing abruptly halting as forks poise listlessly in the air.

“I, uh,” Hunk stammers, still taken aback by Shiro’s compliment. “I was going for chicken spaghetti?”

“Yeah,” Shiro hums after a thoughtful moment before digging into his meal with renewed enthusiasm. “That’s it. That’s what she used to make.”

Shiro moans around another mouthful, closing his eyes as he swallows. “Hunk, this is incredible. I don’t know how you do it.”

Hunk beams with the praise, smiling from ear-to-ear as he watches Shiro reach for the serving bowl to ladle out another helping. He’s eating with gusto, relishing every bite.

“Well, it’s not exactly spaghetti, but I guess it had the general shape,” Hunk chuckles, swirling a bite around his own fork. “So I figured I’d give it a try.”

“It’s awesome, Hunk,” Lance agrees, cheeks ballooning as he struggles to speak through an obscene amount of…space spaghetti?

Shiro nods, barely pausing to breathe as he practically inhales his second plate.

Pidge and Keith contribute their own compliments, quickly finishing their portions and heading to the showers to wash off the day’s grime. Lance lets out an unapologetic, thoroughly satisfied belch before announcing he’s wiped.

“You want some help?” Lance offers lazily, slurring around a sleepy yawn.

Hunk rolls his eyes, “No, no. I’ve got it. You’d only screw up my system, anyway. Yes, there is a system, Lance.” He begins gathering up the empty plates, feeling the grueling exhaustion beginning to take its toll. That’s when he notices that Shiro hasn’t moved. Come to think of it, he hasn’t moved for a good five minutes.

The older boy is hunched over the table, head bowed, arms braced against the surface and hands clenched into tight fists. His eyes are squeezed shut, upper body swaying gently as his throat works with convulsive swallows.

“Shiro?” Hunk frowns, crossing over to place a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Shiro jerks upright, blinking at Hunk with hazy, unfocused eyes as his throat bobs with another thick swallow. He’s alarmingly pale, skin clammy with sweat and hair matted to his forehead.

“Yeah,” he pants, tongue slowly licking over his upper lip. “‘M fine. Jus’…just tired.” His slurred words end with an audible shudder that visibly ripples down his spine. His hand strays to hover over his abdomen, lips parting to pant softly as he struggles to stand.

“You sure?” Hunk glares skeptically, keeping his hand on Shiro’s shoulder as he rises. “‘Cause you look kind of -“

Hunk is abruptly cut off by an odd gurgling sound. Shiro’s eyes widen as he frantically presses a fist to his mouth. A wet burp rumbles in his throat, causing his chest to jolt.

Hunk takes an involuntary step back as Shiro cringes, suppressing another deep belch. “Um, Shiro?”

“E-excuse me, I -” Shiro blushes furiously, hand rubbing over his stomach as he takes a few steps away from Hunk. “My stomach feels…sorry. I don’t know what’s -“ he cuts himself off with another gurgly burp, cupping a hand firmly over his mouth before stumbling away from the mess-hall, breaking into an awkward jog. “I’ve..gotta go.”

Baffled, Hunk really has no choice but to follow. Something is seriously wrong and he has the sinking suspicion that it’s his fault.

He catches up easily. Shiro’s hunched over in the hallway, one arm gripping abusively around his stomach and the other bracing his weight against the wall. He’s panting, broad frame jerking with sharp hiccups that he’s obviously desperate to stifle.

Hunk can’t help resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Shiro flinches, but doesn’t push him off, just curls in harder on himself.

“You’re sick,” Hunk says matter-of-factly, leaving little room for argument. “You should have said something.”

“I’m not -“ a muffled retch interrupts his protest. Shiro presses his fist against his mouth so hard Hunk’s afraid he’s going to crack his jawbone. “I’m just…so full. I can’t remember ever feeling so…oh, my stomach -“ Shiro’s voice catches on another hiccup and Hunk braces his palm against the other man’s chest, attempting to steady him.

“I know,” he says, voice gentle. “Don’t worry. You’re okay. It was just a little too much, I guess.”

Shiro grunts, trying to detangle himself from Hunk’s grip as another violent gag erupts from his throat. He staggers into the shared bathroom, knees bruising against the floor as he drapes himself over the toilet. He clenches the edges of the bowl, legs writhing as he struggles to regain control of his rebelling body.

“What the hell is - ulp - wrong with me?” Shiro demands, shoulders shuddering brutally as saliva drips over his bottom lip.

Despite his own mounting nausea, Hunk squats down behind the older boy, placing a warm hand against the center of his back. He begins rubbing slow, methodic circles, hoping to help in one way or another. He has no idea what he’s doing, but Shiro isn’t pulling away, so it must be all right.

“Your body isn’t used to so much,” Hunk reasons, wincing sympathetically as Shiro convulses wretchedly at the mention of food. It’s true; he hasn’t seen Shiro eat that much since their first encounter and he feels awful for allowing it to go so far. “I think you may have overdone it a little. I’m sorry. I should have -“

“Don’t be,” Shiro gags, spitting uselessly into the bowl. “Wasn’t your - urp - fault.”

Of course it wasn’t. Nothing is ever anyone’s fault but Shiro’s. Goddammit.

Hunk takes a deep breath through his nose, wrapping his arms in a sturdy embrace around Shiro’s waist as he muffles the shaky words, “Yes it was. Don’t be such a fucking hero.”

It’s angry and stupid and selfish but it gets Shiro’s attention.

Shiro glances up from the bowl, eyes momentarily softening as he regards his friend.

“Hunk,” Shiro barely manages to choke out the name before he’s curling forward with a full-bodied heave, burping up a stream of brown bile. Hunk winces, automatically increasing the pressure of his hand against Shiro’s back. His other unconsciously presses against Shiro’s contracting stomach.

“Don’t worry,” Hunk reassures, tightening his grip as he feels the other boy’s determination waver, muscles bunching and coiling in desperate anticipation. “I’ve got you.”

Hunk feels like his insides are disintegrating when Shiro’s self-control finally gives out, sending him lurching over the bowl with a belching gag that results in a flood of pre-digested liquid spewing from his mouth. Shiro coughs and wheezes, desperate for a breath of air as crippling waves of nausea threaten to suffocate him.

“Take it easy,” Hunk coaches. His nose brushes weakly against Shiro’s right shoulder blade as the older boy hiccups pitifully, grasping onto the supporting arm that Hunk’s encircled around his waist. “Breathe.”

Shiro tries to follow the order and ends up retching, another harsh belch ushering up a watery flood of sick. He slumps over the toilet, panting raggedly as the fit eventually wears off.

Hunk is kind of freaking out. It’s almost as bad as the first time it happened. Except this time, he knows it’s his fault.

Shiro coughs, tainted drool dribbling languidly over his bottom lip as he struggles to regain some semblance of control over his own body. Then his hand strays to Hunk’s, long fingers brushing against his skin.

“Hunk,” he slurs, voice breathless. “Wasn’t you. Stop…stop thinkin’ so hard.”

“W-what?” Hunk stammers, voice catching.

“I can hear you,” Shiro chuckles, a little deliriously as he slumps against Hunk’s chest. “So loud.”

“Well, stop it,” Hunk demands, readjusting Shiro’s weight against him. “It’s weird, okay? Reading people’s thoughts isn’t normal.”

Shiro simply nods, offering a woozy smile as he goes limp against Hunk’s chest, exhaustion sluicing through his body. He slides down onto Hunk’s thigh, nuzzling contentedly as his labored breathing evens out.

“Ah, geez,” Hunk groans. In spite of his initial irritation at being reduced to a human pillow, Hunk continues to drag his fingers over Shiro’s back, humming soothing sounds whenever he stirs.

“You’re all right,” he whispers when Shiro whimpers softly in his sleep. “You’re gonna be all right.”