no one cares tho ):

hey. all concerts are good concerts but sign me the FUCK up for small venue concerts over big arena concerts any day

| Scars | Tadashi Hamada

“Gotcha!”

Hiro jolted, nearly jumping out of his own skin as hands covered his eyes from behind.

“Haha, very funny,” He mumbled, ignoring his aunt’s laugh in the back of his ears. His mind was already running a mile a minute, going over possible deductions of who could be holding him hostage.

Hand texture, usual smell, height advantage, time of the day, others are at the lab-

In only ten seconds he had a pretty good idea.

“Get off Y/N,” he wiggled in your hold. You squawked in indignation at how quickly he had figured it out. What in the world?

“Who’s that?” You lowered your voice exponentially, trying to keep him still.

He jabbed an elbow lightly in your side, distracting you enough to loosen your hold. His palms came up to skillfully push yours from his face, slinking out like a snake.

“Nice try,” He turned to peer up at you through a thick mess of tussled brown locks, wide almond eyes perusing your form.

You huffed. “Not fair, you mini prodigy.”

Hiro’s lips curved upwards into a smirk as he raised an eyebrow, but it was instantly wiped off when you took the opportunity to roughly ruffle his tussles of hair.

“Quit it!” He whined and you laughed.

“Yeah, yeah,” you let him go for now, glancing up the stairs. He caught your fast look and crossed his arms over his chest, giving you a knowing stare.

“What?” You broke his eye contact, unnerved. How a kid managed to do that to you was a mystery in of itself.

“He’s up there,” Hiro mused, starting to walk away. “How about you stop gawking and actually go say hi?”

Your mouth dropped open. “You little!”

You went to give him a lesson but he was already running away, snickers trailing through the air with him. You playfully shook your fist at his back, ignoring the slight pink tint to your cheeks.

“Brat,” you muttered with no bite in your tone, starting to head up the stairs.

He was indeed up there, you thought as you heard the familiar mumblings of his voice.

You paused, taking in a deep breath before continuing, lightly tiptoeing so that you could surprise him as well.

Your head peeked around the corner when you reached the top of the stairs-

And you nearly choked.

(In your defense, it was totally their fault their room didn’t have a freaking door.)

For a couple seconds your mind couldn’t process what it was seeing as you watched Tadashi Hamada lightly stretch, pulling his shirt up and over his head. Heat exploded across your face and you ogled helplessly, eyes fixed on the firm muscles of his back rolling underneath the skin, his pants dangerously low on his hips.

It was only when you saw his hands stray to his waist, probably to dispose of his lower article of clothing as well, that the choked noise escaped the back of your throat.

He stiffened, twisting around, confusion making his eyebrows furrow. When he saw your tense form he brightened for a second, just a second, before he went even more rigid, a shadow falling over his face.

As he was now faced towards you, you saw something you didn’t before, something that made any sense of a blush leave your cheeks.

Light patches of skin, lighter than the rest of his body crossed over his chest and splotched parts of his arms.

It was only a glimpse because Tadashi was shoving his shirt back on in no time, eyes darkened. However, it took only that glimpse to fill you with worry, especially now that he wouldn’t meet your gaze.

“Tada-” you began, only to be cut off when he turned away.

“Not right now,” he mumbled, shoulders trembling a bit. You stepped closer, concerned he may have taken your worry at his scars for disgust.

“But-”

“I said not right now, Y/N,” He repeated, firmer, a bitter tone to his words. They struck right through you and you pursed your lips together to keep them from wobbling.

Then your embarrassment, worry and shame all changed to anger.

“Fine then!” You narrowed your eyes. He met your gaze to see you walking towards him with purpose in your steps, eyes ablaze.

Tadashi backed up but stopped when you pushed a finger into his chest, teeth gritted.

“Try to push me away as much as you can,” you growled. “But don’t ever get the wrong idea about yourself mister.”

You slammed a fist onto the dresser beside you. “My house. Three hours. Come. Or else.”

Then you were swishing away, storming out the room and down the staircase again.

Tadashi stared after you blankly, your frustrated expression at the forefront of his mind. He didn’t know how long he was in space when he heard the footfalls of feet coming back up the stairs.

His mouth opened, ready to apologize but closed when he saw his brother round the corner.

“Oh,” he muttered.

Hiro blinked but gave it no mind, yawning as he walked past him to sit by his computer.

“Y/N told me to tell you to wear clothes you wouldn’t mind getting messy,” he drawled, starting up the monitor. Tadashi frowned and Hiro shrugged.

“No idea what that means, but I’m guessing you do,” he said.

Tadashi sighed, looking up at the ceiling. You would be the death of him one day.

He was knocked out of his thoughts when a fist connected with his gut, knocking the wind out of him.

He gawked at his brother, face an unmistakable expression of what the hell?

Hiro just smiled innocently. “She also told me to do that.”


Knock knock

Tadashi stood outside your door, nervously running his hand through his hair before pulling on his cap. When nothing happened after that fifth set of knocks, he contemplated just heading back.

Why had you asked him to come if you weren’t even home?

Before he could even consider leaving any further, frantic footfalls echoed beyond the door. You opened it with such vigour the hinge slammed against the door. You panted, staring up at your friend.

“Sorry!” You all but squeaked, trying to appear casual as you leant against the door, and failing. “Some of the paint spilt on me and I had to wash it off.”

You didn’t do much of a good job, Tadashi wanted to say but held his tongue, looking at the bright yellow stain of paint in your hair and streaking your chin.

Wait, paint?

“Come in,” you made a beckoning motion. He shuffled in, barely keeping up with you as you dragged him to your living room.

There were pillows placed strategically on the floor, a large, old white cloth lying on the tile. Bottles of paint and brushes speckled in between the pillows and around the blanket.

You plopped down with as much grace as a bear, rearranging your legs Indian style and patting the floor next to you. Tadashi hesitantly followed your suggestion and sat beside you, maintaining a little distance.

“Wha-”

You interrupted him by slowly reaching over to one of his hands. When he didn’t object, you swallowed and gathered your courage, holding the other and squeezing his weathered palms with your own, warmth traveling into your own.

You returned your gaze to Tadashi’s, who was staring back at you with something unrecognizable in those fragmented eyes.

Oh, Tadashi.

Intense distress settled at the bottom of your stomach. What had happened to him?

That was a stupid question, you chastised yourself. Of course you knew what had happened to him.

A memory of the same man before you flickered before your eyes, but this time he was in a bed, in a stark white room, gaunt, unconscious and barely breathing on life support. His locks spread around his face like a halo, a few gray hairs where there weren’t before, the equally white sheets about his form making him appear as an angel.

Six months. Six months he had been in a coma after the fire. He had barely survived, sustaining horrible injuries and leaving him unresponsive in a hospital bed for half a year.

At the time even the doctors where saying that they might have to pull the plug, it really didn’t seem that Tadashi was going to make it. Hiro had been devastated.

You didn’t like to think back to those dark days, the ones where the kid had become lost in his anger, hellbent on getting revenge. The debacle with Professor Robert Callaghan, where he had nearly destroyed half of the town when the portal gates had collapsed. Thankfully due to Hiro, Baymax and the rest of his friends from the robotics department, they had practically saved the day.

(You were the only one to know of their “secret identities” as Hiro could never ever lie successfully in front of you to save his life.)

But then soon after a miracle took place, the doctors detected brain activity that shouldn’t have been there.

Tadashi woke up.

It was only for five minutes, and afterwards he slipped back into his coma, but it was hope. Over the course of the next months he went in and out of full consciousness. Eventually your prayers were answered and he made a full recovery.

If you thought your heart had burst from joy, you couldn’t imagine to replace the emotion that passed onto Hiro’s face when he heard the news.

You smiled fondly down at your interlocked hands with said person, before it melted away.

Tadashi was different. Gone was the dork that annoyed you with his constant rambling of scientific discoveries, the kind soul who would drop anything to help a kid crying on the street, the cheeky grin that dimpled his handsome face when he stole your art supplies from under your nose.

He had come back broken.

Burn marks blemished places all over his body, the discolouration causing him to wear extra coverage at all times, the life sucked right of those honey brown eyes. The fire had not only caused trauma to his mental state, but it had also left its permanent stamp physically.

“I want to show you that you’re still beautiful,” you mumbled as an answer to his inquisitive scrutiny on you. Your thumb brushed lightly over a scar that peeked above the gloves on his hands that he now wore, a flush rising up your neck at your blatant words.

When you gathered enough courage to bring your eyes back to his you were blown away by the utter emotion that had rekindled on his face, slowly cracking away the mask he had built to block away the rest of the world.

He smiled, just barely, but a smile nonetheless. His hand squeezed yours back as he raised a brush at his side.

“Go ahead.”

You grinned.

“Thank you,” you breathed, inspecting his body in a way only an artist could, any lewd thoughts completely wiped from your mind. Then you scratched the back of your neck as you realized you didn’t have much to work with. “You’ll have to…”

Tadashi blinked before realizing what you were asking him to do. He grimaced, looking as if he had been stung, before taking in a deep breath and pushing away his fears. He rolled up his pants till they were at his knees, ignoring your protests as he shrugged off his jacket and unbuttoned his long sleeved shirt, putting that to the side as well. His gloves were thrown behind him to land somewhere on the couch.

The rest of the hour was filled with the whirring of the fan above your heads and a comfortable silence, interrupted only by your asks of what designs he would prefer you use. With every stroke of the paintbrush along his disfigurements and burns, it was as if you were healing a part of his very soul.

You created skies on his limbs, stars dotting the horizons of his chest, worlds in oceans on his wounds and heaven in a wildflower on his gashes. Entire universes were at the subject of your dexterous fingers as you dipped the brush in paint once more.

Eventually you took to flowers when you reached his shoulders, swirling the tip of your brush in water to remove the turquoise hue, dipping it in pink afterwards.

“Careful,” you mused as you returned the brush to the curve of his neck. “Pink might make you look girly.”

He chuckled, and you both gave wry smiles as you caught each others eyes. You knew he could care less, and that that was also a ridiculous stereotype.

Petals unfolded along his jaw, bending and curling up around his ears, expanding its beauty as you traced a blossom underneath a rather horrible burn splattering his left eye.

When you finally finished you exhaled a cool breath, observing your work and nodding in satisfaction.

“Stay right here!” You said, getting up in a hurry and rushing to your room, limping a bit from a dead leg, the blood rushing to it in pins and needles. When you returned, sitting back down, you held a handheld mirror.

“Here,” You offered him. He took it tentatively from you, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

He inhaled deeply once more, a motion you recognized as something he did to give himself courage, before lifting it up and from him so that he could see his reflection.

The clock ticked.

Both of you were reflected in the smooth of the silver, and you could see yourself peering curiously over his shoulder at his own expression. You grew anxious when he only stared, not reacting.

“Do you not like it?” You bit your lip anxiously. “I’m sorry, we can wash it off-”

“Y/N,” He interrupted you, facing you with his eyes glazed with something that looked suspiciously like moisture. “I love it.”

“Y-You do?” Your eyebrows went up before you laughed nervously, pushing his shoulder. “Ah I mean of course you do! I did it of course!”

He raised an eyebrow and you bit your lip again to restrain your utter joy.

“Thank you,” He said, and something must have really been wrong with you because simple words should not be able to have your heart doing flips. “I mean it.”

“You’re welcome,” You puffed out your chest ridiculously, and was gifted with the sound of his contagious chuckle again. Your pride switched to perplexity when he picked up a brush himself, plunging it in the red.

“What? Did I miss a spot?” You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to see any blank space you may have overlooked. He shook his head, and your heart jumped again when he scooted closer, lifting your arm.

“I just wanted to return the favour,” He mumbled.

“Oh? You don’t have-” You grew even more confused when all he did was swipe a small stripe of paint onto your forearm before putting the brush back down. “-to?”

When he was sure you were going to burst with questions, his lips tilted.

“I don’t need to add anything else. You’re already beautiful.”

You were one hundred percent sure you had died and gone to heaven.

Your face burned horribly and you pursed your lips when he lifted his hand to cover a smile.

Oh, funny was it?

“Wait,” You mock grimaced, peering at his face and pausing his laughter. “I think I painted this wrong. Verbena flowers have four petals right?”

“Actually,” he piped up. “They have five. And they’re not always pink. Some are shades of blue, white, or purple.” He licked his dry lips. “The genus was split somewhere along the European lineage-”

You just put your chin in your palm, watching fondly as he trailed off into scientific terms and ideologies you had no ability keeping up with.

As he did, the fire and passion returned to his eyes just as they had before his tragedy, and his voice became animated in the way only his could. His hands couldn’t keep still as he gestured and his body language told the story. It would have been better if you had baited him to talk about some kind of engineering or robotics, but this was just as good - he was a nerd in everything it seemed.

As he talked you saw a man without the pain in his eyes, without the burns, a genius of his own right making his mark on the world. Then you stopped seeing the past and saw the same man, now only hardened by life, the same generosity and cold cut intelligence in his voice, this time covered in scars and flowers.

And you realized you loved both.

“- had longstanding use in herbalism and folk medicine, usually as - ”

Tadashi paused, coming back down to earth when he noticed the look on your face. His lips pursed in a pout. “You’re not listening at all are you?”

“Nope,” you didn’t even try to argue, smirking. When he registered that you had tricked him, his eyebrows came together in frustration before a smirk curled his lips.

“I was wrong,” Tadashi said. “Actually, you do need a bit more paint.”

Before you could weave through the intentions of that statement he had dipped his entire hand in the paint and smacked you right in the face.

It didn’t hurt of course, but you were left stunned, his snickers in the background as you no doubt had a great red handprint on your visage.

You leaped forward in retaliation slamming both your hands in the paint and having every goal of giving him a new makeover.

He laughed loudly as you attacked him like a rabid animal, trying to escape. In your movements, you knocked off his cap and it went tumbling to the floor.

“Ha!” You said, straddling him as you reached to push your fingers in his face. You froze when his melted chocolate eyes crinkled in happiness, entirely more noticeable now that the hat was gone, his disheveled strands of hair accentuating them even more.

Tadashi stopped only a little after you did, and you realized too late your position.

You blushed and went to remove yourself. “Ah, sorry, so sorry-”

Your voice trailed off when he placed a hand on your hip, preventing you from moving.

Your breath hitched.

“I u-uh-” you stuttered, uselessly struggling further as he leant forward, nose touching yours and when had he reached so close? “What a-are you-?”

“You talk too much,” He murmured, ending your prattle successfully by closing the distance between your mouths.

Your raised hands dropped, going limp.

They regained life later only to clutch at his shoulders when your back hit the floor, paint spilling all around the two of you.

[MasterList]

What more does Kyungsoo have to do to prove that he deserves a solo R&B album??? Like, he gave us ‘Tell Me What Is Love’, he took Justin Biebers song 'Boyfriend’ and made it 'Boyfriend’ by Do Kyungsoo, his cover of 'Billionaire’…Do I even have to say more? His vocals in every exo song just gets better and better…kyungsoo’s vocals in 'The Eve’? C'mon…and he took 'Sweet Lies’ by the throat…so my question is: why doesnt he have his solo R&B album????????????

nobody wants WoW2 more than me LIKE OK LOOK I think WoW made a lot of good stuff happen with Legion!!  but the more I explore other MMOs the more I realize Legion is just a shiny coat of paint on a very old barely-running junk car, and that hurts me to say because I’ve loved this game DEARLY for 10+ years, but like.. how many coats of paint are we gonna get before the engine drops out yknow?

if Blizzard remade WoW they’d come out with the nicest visuals and most polished gameplay of any MMO ever made, like full HD high quality Good Shit all around, and maybe even a comprehensive immersive story!!! MAYBE!! just something so good other MMO developers will struggle for YEARS to come close to such a masterpiece JUST IMAGINE

but for reals even if WoW2 never happens and we’re still driving that junk car into 2020+, at least expand player customization… it’s time.  :U

6

t.v shows: buffy the vampire slayer

i guess i just realized how amazingly screwed up [humans] all are. i mean, really, really screwed up, in a monumental fashion. and they have no purpose that unites them so they just drift around, blundering through life until they die ⏤ which they ⏤ they know is coming, yet every single one of them is surprised when it happens to them. they’re incapable of thinking about what they want beyond the moment. they kill each other, which is clearly insane. and yet, here’s the thing ⏤ when it’s something that really matters, they fight. i mean, they’re lame morons for fighting, but they do. they never ⏤ never quit. so i guess i will keep fighting too.

3

i wasnt feeling okay for a while