gross tears


Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales International Trailer

Aka the one where Elizabeth Turner, née Swann shows up

Meta: Mikorei and the Weight of Responsibility

There is endless depth to the relationship between Mikoto and Munakata in K Project. Right from the beginning of the show we’re dropped into the thick of their dynamic, rough edges and power struggles and unfinished negotiations and all. It takes until the end of the first season to really make sense of what’s going on; but once we get there, I think the greatest tragedy of all is how responsible they both feel, and how inevitability those responsibilities lead to the conclusion they finally come to.

It’s a facet of their kingship. Being a King in K Project is a burden much more so than it is a gift; it comes with power, certainly, and some measure of control, but more immediately it comes with responsibility to your followers, regardless of where they come from. We see some of this in the way Homra speaks to and about Mikoto, and in the deliberate respect Scepter 4 offers to Munakata; it’s even there in Shiro’s reluctance to take on too many followers of his own, because once you have a clan following you you have certain responsibilities to them, and certain expectations that come with that role. Munakata is clearly very aware of these responsibilities, both to his clan and in his role as a keeper of the peace; but Mikoto’s actions throughout the show are ultimately premised on his same sense of responsibility, albeit to a different goal, and it is ultimately that which brings them to the inevitable conclusion of the show.

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Perfect - A Remus Lupin Imagine

A/N: This was mostly written as a personal / cathartic piece. I considered keeping this private, but then I realized someone else out there might need this as badly as I did. This is by far the most emotionally taxing piece I have ever written. The content is heavy and I cried while writing it, so be careful if you choose to read on. Please do not read if you are triggered by self-hate, (self) body-shaming, or similar themes. I would hate to upset anyone else…if you ever need to talk, I’m here.

Originally posted by nellaey

She trudged down the stairs, praying that her book would be right where she left it. She had little patience for side quests today. Thankfully, there it sat. On the table she’d been sitting at hours prior. Still opened to the page she’d been memorizing on Draught of Living Death. 

Hustling toward it, she scooped it up into her arms and turned to head back up to her room. Incredibly eager to fall into her bed and ignore everything for a while. Perhaps forever.

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anonymous asked:

(NSFW) What made the sex in the night you got back together so great? Who made the first move for it?

Draco: Make-up sex is always brilliant.

Harry: Hear hear. And I made the first move because this one was too busy crying and trying to convince me (mostly, himself actually) that he didn’t want me back.

Draco: I wasn’t crying.

Harry: Baby, you were literally sobbing; I remember because it made my chest ache just to watch.

Draco: Well, you’d been screaming at me like a maniac for ten bloody minutes and I was still down from having broken up with you in the first place, alright?!

Harry: Then why were you insisting you didn’t want to get back together?!

Draco: I don’t know?! *suddenly grins at Harry’s expression of incredulity*

Harry: Well, when I realised our little shouting match was getting us nowhere and we were about five seconds away from his neighbours reporting us, I just gave up and snogged him.

Draco: It was gross, I had tears and snot everywhere and was blubbering pathetically like a fucking–

Harry: It wasn’t gross; I was crying by that point too. 

Draco: I know, it was your fucking tears and snot I was referring t– *shrieks and thrashes as he’s attacked* Okay, I’m sorry, PLEASE! HARRY, FUCKING STOP–

Harry: *panting slightly and releasing him* And then we fucked all night and it was like I’d died and gone to heaven.

Draco: *grumpily smoothing down his hair* You, sir, are going straight to hell!

Harry: And what made the sex so great was that it was just right there, in that place between frantic and brilliant, and still almost overwhelmingly emotional–

Draco: Basically a reminder as to what I’d be missing out on if I didn’t take him back.

Harry: Rude.

Corset (Evan Hansen x Reader)

AN; Chubby reader! I feel like I wrote the beginning based off of how I feel about myself? I have never worn a corset, though.

WC; 1,635

TW; insecure reader, crying

Request: if you have time, pls do an evan x chubby reader where she’s super insecure and he just loves her and the squish… and everyone is friends and all love and support each other HNNNGG i love your writing !! :)

You slid on a baggy sweatshirt and pushed the sleeves up, sighing deeply. You glanced at yourself in the mirror, looking at your thick thighs and chubby face. You ripped the sweatshirt off, frustrated tears gathering at your eyes. You paced for a minute, not letting the tears fall. You ended up stopping in front of the mirror and looking at your shirtless torso. You raised your hand gently, running your finger across a stretch mark on your stomach. You looked at your chest, seeing fading stretch marks and new stretch marks on your breasts as well. You crossed your arms, thinking about what you could wear. A single tear fell, but the rest refused to fall.

Your face lit up slightly, and you stumbled over to your underwear drawer. You slid it open and dug your hand into the back, slowly pulling out a tight corset. You shuffled back to the mirror and gently wrapped it around your stomach. You took a deep breath and clipped it as tight as it would go. You slid on a tank top over it, and then a slightly loose t-shirt. You turned sideways in the mirror and looked at your figure, a frown still on your face. Nothing was good enough for you.

You shook your head and walked out of your room, into the kitchen and then outside to your front steps. You sat down, setting your backpack right next to you. You sat there for a few minutes, waiting for your friends and boyfriend to come pick you up. It was sunny, and you were sweating in your (jeans/leggings). You refused to wear shorts in school, because you felt like everybody would stare at the way your legs jiggle when you walk. Not even Evan has seen you in shorts.

A packed car pulled up, and you heard someone shouting for you to hop in. You stood up and approached Zoe’s convertible, slowing down when you noticed Alana decided to ride with you guys today. That meant you were going to have to sit on Evan’s lap.

“Ohohoh, this is great! Sit on Evan, (Y/n)!” Jared cried, a huge smile on his face. Jared was squished in the middle back seat, between Connor and Evan. Alana and Zoe were in the front together, giggling.

“You can- you can.. S-Sit on my lap. O-Only if you’re comfortable! You-You don’t have to!” Evan squeaked, his face bright red.

You shuffled, unable to think of an excuse to get out of it. You hesitantly stepped forward and climbed in, gently setting yourself on Evan’s lap. Everyone was giggling, and your face was bright red. You were tense and making sure you were holding yourself up so you didn’t have to put your full weight on Evan.

You felt Evan hesitantly wrap his arms around your waist, his hands hooking together in your lap. Your face was bright red as Evan gently pulled you into his chest, resting his head on your shoulder. The move was bold for Evan, and it was enough to make you die inside. He was so cute, but you were afraid you were crushing him.

Your friends returned to singing and talking after they had giggled and teased a bit. Evan rested on of his hands on your side, and you could almost tell he was confused. He gently rubbed up and down your side for a second, then whispered to you.

“What are you wearing under your shirt?” Evan turned red. “I didn’t m-mean that in a w-weird way.”

You shook your head, gently taking his hand off your side and holding it in your hands.

“It’s not a big deal, Evan.” You mumbled, looking at his hands.

“Is it a corset?” Evan blurted, making everyone glance at you two.

“A corset?” Alana said, turning to look at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“Why would you need one of those?” Zoe questioned, glancing at you in the rear view mirror. Jared was going to make a comment but decided against it. He had known you the longest, and he had remembered walking in on you crying in a tank top in your room once. You were in a ball in front of your mirror, and you had told him about every insecurity you’ve ever had.

Connor was looking at you with sympathetic and slightly mad eyes. He couldn’t believe you felt like you needed one. He knew how it felt to be insecure, and it was a horrible feeling. Everyone in the car knew that feeling.

“I-I, uhm, it’s- yeah, it’s a cor-corset.” You said nervously, glancing at your hands.

“(Y/n)..” Evan sighed, hugging you closely. It was quiet for the next minute, the radio playing quietly in the background. Zoe pulled the car up to the school and parked, turning it off.

You all climbed out of the car one after the other, awkwardly smiling. The bell rang, and you all said your goodbyes.

Evan walked you to your class like he always did, but this time he was very touchy. He held onto your waist as you both walked, and he was pressed into your side. When you arrived to your classroom he kissed you.

“Hey, I have something for you after school. Is it okay if I come over after school and give it to you?” Evan said, pushing your hair behind your ear gently.

“Y-Yeah, of course. I’ll see you then.” You mumbled, blushing.

You had taken the bus home to avoid any awkward conversations in the car. You had sat with your old friends Michael and Jeremy so you weren’t alone. You ruffled Jeremy’s hair and gently hit Michael on the back of the head as you got off the bus, earning a yell and laugh from each.

You walked up the steps with a smile, entering your house quietly.

“Hey, hun’, how was school?” Your dad called out, looking up from his newspaper.

“It was alright.” You said, heading upstairs towards your room.

“Hey, I’m heading out in a few minutes, okay?” Your dad called out, hearing an okay from you.

You ripped your shirt off when you got into your room. You struggled to unclip the corset, so you just gave up and laid down on your bed. You had heard your dad yell goodbye and drive away. You stared at your ceiling while completely zoning out. There was a faint knock at your door and you slowly got up to answer, forgetting you were in your bra and corset.

“Oh, hey Evan.” You smiled halfheartedly, letting him come in.

“Y-Your- um, corset? I- Uh..” Evan stuttered, diverting his eyes away from you.

“Oh,” You mumbled. “I couldn’t get it off.”

Evan glanced at you, an odd sadness in his eyes.

“I can, uh, help you take it off?” He mumbled, keeping his eyes locked with yours. You nodded and stepped towards him, your face red.

He hesitantly raised his hands to the clips and started to slowly undo them, his face redder than a tomato. He let the corset fall to the ground, and you immediately wrapped your arms around your body insecurely.

Evan’s eyes were wide as he looked at you. He dropped a bag you hadn’t even realized he was holding.

“You’re-You’re..” Evan began.

“Fat, chubby, gross?” You snapped, small tears gathering in your eyes.

“No, no, my god, no. You’re gorgeous, you’re so gorgeous.” Evan said, stepping forward and hugged you. He wouldn’t let you know but he could cry right now. He didn’t know that was how you felt about yourself.

“But-but I have stretch marks and-and..” You stuttered, the tears falling slowly.

“Everything has flaws, (Y/n).” Evan whispered into your hair. “Our flaws make us unique, these beautiful unique people. Words fail when it comes to describing how gorgeous you are.”

You sniffled, hugging Evan. “I love you so much, Evan.” You whispered.

“I love you too. I also have something for you.” Evan gently pulled away from the hug and wiped your tears, smiling at you. Evan bent down and pulled a (fav color) dress from the bag.

“I saw this and thought of you. I could only imagine how cute you would look in it.” He gently handed you the dress and you unfolded it, seeing it was a knee high, sleeveless, (fav color) lace dress. You thought it was a cute dress, but you didn’t know if it’d look good on you. You were also slightly embarrassed Evan knew your clothing sizes.

“Here, I’ll help you.” Evan seemed to loose a lot of his anxiety when he was alone with you. He stepped forward and helped you slip it on gently. He walked around to your back and zipped it carefully. He spun you around so you could see yourself in the mirror.

“So?” Evan smiled sheepishly, wrapping his arms around you and setting his head on your shoulder.

“It’s beautiful. I’m beautiful.” You whispered, resting your hands on top of Evan’s.

“I told you, you were beautiful.” Evan pressed a kiss to your cheek.

anonymous asked:

Regina is so nervous and stressed that she throws up all over Emma's red jacket and she's worried that Emma will be mad at her

Thanks for the prompt :) 

TW for panic attack. 

“Oh god,” Regina whispers as she stares at Emma’s red jacket. She’s been over-stressed this week at work and finally today the exhaustion wore her down to the point where she headed home early. As she walked through the door the nausea and dizziness hit her and before she could stop it she threw up. 

It’s over her shirt and skirt but all she can see is the red jacket that got caught in the crossfire. 

Memories of her mother hit her immediately. Clumsy, disgusting girl…how will you ever be fit enough to be Queen? I need you to be a lady not some gross peasant. 

Tears fill her eyes and she feels her breathing begin to pick up harshly as she rushes to the kitchen to grab a scourer and soap to try and clean it up a little. She sobs, more tears rolling down her cheeks as she hiccups and panics. 

Her head snaps up as she hears footsteps coming down the steps. “Regina, are you home early?” 

Regina stays silent, just crying quietly and trying to scrub the jacket clean before Emma can find her. 

“Regina?” Emma asks as she walks into the kitchen. She frowns as she sees her girlfriend, in the throes of a panic attack, with vomit on her normally pristine suit. 

“Regina?” Emma repeats as she approaches the brunette who flinches and tries to hide what’s in her hand. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I’m so sorry…I’m so sorry…please don’t be mad…I’m sorry.” 

Emma’s worry only grows as she reaches for the item in Regina’s hand only to grab her favourite red leather jacket with a spot of vomit on the cuff. There’s barely any there but Emma can tell it’s what triggered the panic. Emma immediately sets it aside before placing her hand gently on Regina’s forehead, “Oh my god Regina, you’re burning up…come on let’s go get you cleaned up.” 

Regina frowns as she whispers, “You’re not mad?” 

Emma shakes her head tenderly rubbing Regina’s arms as she reassures her, “I’m not mad…I’m worried about you…are you okay?” 

Regina shakes her head, “I felt sick at work so I came home…and then I threw up and I couldn’t stop it…and your jacket…”

Sensing Regina’s panic pick back up Emma shushes her gently, “Hey…I can easily get another jacket…you? You are irreplaceable to me.” 



This was requested by a follower, who asked me to base this fic on Peroxwhy?gens song “Presence”. However, I’m not great at song fics, so here you have this.

Word Counter: 1,157

Characters: Reader x Jeff Hardy

Style: Fluff

Triggers: Mentions of a death, an accident, sadness.


Originally posted by thehardyboyz

The drive home. It’s probably the worst time in the world to you. Being a multiple trauma surgeon, it’s hard on your mental stability. Some days you get a broken arm, some others you get irreversible brain damage. You keep your hands on the steering wheel and your mind in the clouds as the street signs light up green with your headlights as you pass them by.

McDougall St, you say in your head as you pass, last week’s ER visit from a man on a motorcycle who was hit by a garbage truck. You had saved his life, he had a perforated lung, a couple of cracked ribs, and bleeding on the brain.

You had wished so desperately from that thought, that people would just watch for motorcyclists. The man operating the garbage truck has come to see the man almost every day, because he completely felt guilty. You learned that the garbage man’s name was Arnold McGhee. He has a wife, two kids, and a puppy named Scooter. The man on the motorcycle, he’s Daemon Molina. He has a great paying job, a nice apartment, and a boyfriend of six years that he plans to propose to on their vacation next month.

You’re glad they’re both okay, and that your patient is alive, but every time you hear someone on a motorcycle has been hit, you instantly think of your boyfriend. The thought shakes you out of your head.

Your relationship with Jeff Hardy has been intense, wild, and a bit insane. You met him three years ago at a small RAW house show in Poughkeepsie, NY. You had hung out with him and a few others before going back to your home in Long Island, NY. A week after you meeting him, he managed to find your phone number and call you at three in the morning, effectively waking you up after thirty minutes of sleep.

It’s been love ever since. Hell, you even moved into his house in North Carolina with him a year after dating. He tried getting you into the wrestling profession to help with pro wrestling injuries, but you had said no because you enjoy being a trauma surgeon. He never fought you on the subject. You glance down to your wrist, a small blotch of dried red blood stains your skin. Your eyes tear up as you attempt to wipe it away. Tonight was hell.

You slow the car down as you pull into the driveway that is beautifully lit to the Jeff Hardy Manor. Even the sight of being home can’t stop your tears from falling. You step out of the car, making your way towards the door. The top of your scrubs still on your body, too tired to change before you left. You sniffle, drastically trying to keep yourself from falling apart. You turn the doorknob and enter the quiet, dimly lit home. The scent of lavender fills your nose. Candles.

As you follow the light purple candles with a knot in your throat, you begin to hear the strings of an acoustic guitar being played in the front room. You step into the doorway. Jeffs head shoots right up to look at you.

“Honey, you’re h-“. He stops instantly, looking at the drained color from your face and the tears falling down your cheek. Laying his guitar against the pillow on the couch, Jeff leaps up from the gray suede couch. He quickly walks over to you, wrapping you in his arms. You cling yourself to him, pulling your fingers into his shoulders.

“Talk to me”, he runs his hands through your messy hair, “what happened?”

Through gross sniffles and big tears, you finally speak, “I had to do a complicated surgery on a four year old today, she was hit by a car”, he pulls you tighter, “I had to tell her parents she didn’t make it”.

He places his hand against your head and squeezes you in a tighter embrace. Before you say a word, he scoops you up into his arms bridal style, carrying you to the bathroom. As you reach the bathroom, he sets you down gently, reaching over to run the bathwater. Jeff turns back to you, softly pulling your scrub shirt off your tired body. He places his lips against your shoulder blade, running his fingers down your arm before finally unclasping your black bra.

Jeff tugs at both your scrub bottoms and black panties, effectively pulling them down to your ankles and off of you. Ducking down, he softly kisses your forehead.

“Take your time, when you get out I’ve got a surprise for you”. Jeff turns and leaves, allowing you your bath time.

You scrub yourself with body wash, trying to scrub what just happened at the hospital off of you. After thirty minutes, you get out of the tub, wrapping a towel around you. You dry yourself, looking down at the sleepwear he picked out. Some silky shorts and a white cotton tshirt. You pull them on and step out, walking back down to the front room, where he again is playing his guitar.

“You’re beautiful”, he says without looking up, keeping his eyes to his guitar sheepishly, “would you like your surprise now?”

You nod, sitting on the comfy chair across from him. He sits up on the edge of the couch, messing with his guitar a little. Jeff clears his throat, as he begins to softly sing.

Wrote a poem to express my thoughts of you, and all the moments we have lived and made it through.

You stare at him with a smile on your face, watching him as he plays his guitar for you.

I’m combining raw emotion from the right and the wrong, To blend it in with all our possibilities holding on. So leave your worries with me.

What’s mine is yours, you know.

Your presence is a cure.

For me immediately.

You sit back, watching him get so wrapped into his song for you, his fingers move swiftly against the strings. His hair moving with every word that comes from between his lips.

Wrote a song to express my thoughts of us, and all the changes we have made and built through trust.

I’m combining pure emotion from the good and the bad, To blend it in with all our possibilities when passed, So leave your burdens with me.

What’s mine is yours, you know.

And your presence is a cure.

For me immediately.

As the strings on the guitar slowly trail off, he digs in his pocket, pulling out a small box. You slap your hand over your mouth.

“(Y/N), I love you. I always will, until I die. Will you marry me?”

The tears from your eyes spill over as you nod frantically. He grins as he pulls you over to him, slipping the ring on your finger, “guess I picked a great night to ask you”.


the final blow has been struck, Xehanort, despite all his cunning and his foresight, has been defeated by the 7 guardians of light. His ultimate form starts to dissipate and shrink until there’s just a crouching figure laying on the barren rocky ground of the keyblade graveyard. Kairi, Sora, Riku and the others stand still at the ready, not knowing what this new form might be capable of, but just then the smoldering figure raises it’s head of messy brown hair. The young keyblade wielders ready their weapons, muscles tensed for action, when a graceful hand lands haltingly on the shoulder of Sora, a simple command of cease fire.

Aqua’s heart is racing painfully fast in her chest, hardly daring to believe her eyes, but there’s no mistaking that curve of the back or those ridiculous billowing pants she herself had jokingly bought for him so long ago.

Terra sat up and turned around to look at the small crowd gathered behind him, all hard, determined faces ready to strike but then..


He wobbled desperately to his feet, magnetized by the tears welling her eyes. After so many years of not controlling his body, he only made about three steps until his knees gave out and he was sent plummeting forward, only to be caught in the arms of the sole person in the universe who had never given up on him.

Bracing himself against her shoulder, Terra couldn’t bring himself to look into Aqua’s stark blue eyes. He had been conscious the whole time, and had been forced to watch in abject horror at his own hands around the neck of the woman he loved more than anything. He couldn’t face her, not after what had happened.  

“Aqua..” he croaked, just then gaining faculty over his vocal chords, “I’m so sor-

and just like that she had her hand in his hair pulling his face up to hers for a kiss so passionate and needy that Terra thought he might collapse again. 

Behind those lips he had so often fantasized about flowed all the pent up grief, loneliness, anger, and sadness that had hardened like a shell around the keyblade master, dulling her usual glow like an old snakeskin. But as their mouths opened up to each other the skin was shed and the old Aqua’s vibrance began to radiate from her eyes.

Finally separating their embrace to gasp for air, but still in each other’s arms, the two suddenly became aware of their audience present that was no longer ready to fight and very confused.

For the first time in what seemed like decades, Master Aqua cracked a grin, 

                       “Everyone, this is an old friend of mine, Terra.” 

bogfrogribbits  asked:

i want coran to be shiro's father figure. shiro needs a dad in his life

listen you don’t need to apologise for sending me an ask like this Coran being Shiro’s father figure is literally all i want from life at this point. like the other day i read a short fic thing someone did about Coran comforting Shiro and ruffling his hair and i legit ugly cried for five minutes, i mean not even fake internet ‘i say i’m crying but i’m not actually crying’, i for real actually burst into tears and gross ugly sobbed about it because i just want Shiro to be looked after and taken care of and i want Coran to be his new dad and look after him