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amostimprobabledream · 7 days ago

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if heaven and hell decide (Tommy Shelby x OC) Part Two

I forgot to upload the next chapter, oops. Also available on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46860295/chapters/119762173

Abigail was correct about her father.

Laurence Bellamy had retired that evening after dinner and not left his study at all, probably drinking the evening away, if she had to measure a guess. Her little sojourn to London had gone unnoticed, much to Abigail’s relief.

She’d just have to take care that her father never spoke to Eliza for too long, as she feared her cousin might be liable to blurt something out that she shouldn��t thanks to a guilty conscience. Which was absurd – Abigail hadn’t done anything wrong just by singing at a club for some money, but she knew that her father wouldn’t see it that way. It would just be another thing for him to be disgusted with her over.

His ignorance over his daughter’s whereabouts the night before didn't stop him from sniping at her on the way to the races, though - she suspected the brandy had something to do with it, though if she were being truly honest with herself, her ability to hold a conversation with her father had dwindled over the past few years until they were more like prisoners who occupied the same cell than father and daughter.

“Are you listening to me?” he demanded of her as they drove through a blur of tree-lined roads. He had been complaining about people trespassing on his property again – Mr. Bennington, one of their tenants, had reported seeing some people walking across the fields but had not been able to make out who they were just from looking, not with the rising sun getting in his eyes.

“Yes, father, I can hear everything you’re saying.” Abigail said, flatly, who frankly couldn’t have cared less if a herd of elephants had been ‘trespassing’ – it seemed to her they hadn’t been bothering anyone and Mr. Bennington could well have been seeing things. He was a nice enough man, but he was old, and his eyesight wasn’t what it used to be.

Laurence exhaled through his sharp nose, irritated by her lack of a reaction. So, he picked a new topic, his tone deceptively casual.

“Oh. And by the way, Edward will be joining us later.” Laurence said, and Abigail’s reaction was immediate.

“Ugh! Why?” she protested, head snapping around to stare at her father, aware she sounded like a fourteen-year-old, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Because he is my business partner, and this is an excellent opportunity for him to network.” Laurence replied crisply, sending a rebuking stare her way, but Abigail got the distinct impression he felt somewhat gratified by her reaction, that he was still able to rattle her even if nobody else could manage it these days. Abigail regrouped quickly, however.

“I don’t know why that equates to him hovering around you like a midge,” Abigail objected, glancing at the driver in the rearview mirror, who was pretending to be deaf to this conversation, as he usually did whenever the Bellamy’s started bickering in the car. Abigail had the decided impression that her father disliked cars and missed horse-drawn carriages, but he couldn’t very well refuse to get one when all his friends had one, that would be unthinkable. “And even if he does come to mingle, he won’t fit in. He’s too loud and too boorish and too…”

She struggled for an appropriate adjective, brow creasing.

“American.” She eventually settled on. Then added, “He’s not like us.”

“Perhaps that’s a good thing,” Laurence replied, taking out his pocket watch and fiddling with it so he didn’t have to look at his daughter. “Americans know how to look to the future instead of being maudlin about the past. And I’m telling you he’s coming so you can think of some civil things to say to him when he arrives.”

Abigail clenched her teeth and turned her face away, so she was looking at the trees going by in a blur instead. They weren’t in full bloom yet – winter was reluctant to relax its icy grip on the spring, but spring was stubborn and pushing back against the stinging cold winds and dark nights. Abigail had noticed the garden was beginning to stir to life – in a few weeks the roses would be out again, and soon she wouldn’t be able to breathe for all the parties and luncheons and other social events that would fill her calendar up to bursting.

They drove the rest of the way to the races in silence, Laurence occasionally giving a dry cough that set her teeth on edge. A good daughter would probably advise her father to seek a doctor or offer to bring him tea with honey and lemon when they got home. Abigail just wished he’d be quiet. Derby Day wouldn’t start for a while yet, but it was common enough for the wealthy to gather anyway to scope out other venues, see what horses were available to buy or sell, and catch up on social events and business.

It was all so frightfully… boring.

Abigail wasn't sure exactly when, but the more of these events she attended, the further apart she felt from them. Sometimes she found herself being horrid just to entertain herself from the stifling dullness of it all, then she’d feel a tug of guilt over it later on. It was like she couldn’t help herself. Her time she’d spent not attending any social events had had more of an impact on her than she’d first believed – now it was like she was always watching everyone else from outside. Outside of what, she wasn’t sure.

When she and her father entered the tent, Abigail immediately broke away, weaving through the sea of dresses in every hue of pastel possible and the dark suits of the men. Fortunately, Laurence didn’t bother following her. He had more important people to talk to. It was perhaps a little early to drink, but Abigail decided that an unpleasant car journey with her father (and probably a second to look forward to unless she could convince someone else to take her home) warranted it.

As she pushed past a pair of women in a pair of identical feathered hats that looked like they had once belonged to an ostrich, a voice reached her.

"Abigail!

"Adrian!" Abigail said, turning to the sound of her name. A red-haired young man came striding towards Abigail with a wide smile on his face. Adrian Moss had been one of Abigail's best friends for years and she'd missed him when he went away to America. Seeing him now was a soothing balm to her irritation. Abigail hurried up to him.

"Look how tan you are!" she exclaimed, giving him a quick hug, an unusually genuine smile spreading across her face. "Did you do any actual work in New York?"

"Work hard, play hard," Adrian winked, and could she detect a faint twang in his voice? She wouldn’t put it past Adrian to pretend to have picked up an accent just to sound exotic. He nodded theatrically towards the other side of the tent. "Drink?"

"God, yes."

Together they crossed the space, Abigail putting an arm on the crook of Adrian’s elbow. She didn’t like to walk arm-in-arm with anybody, not even Maude, so this was her version of doing so. A table with flutes of orange juice and champagne stood there and Abigail picked one up, taking a tentative sip.

“What is this?” Adrian said, examining his own drink with his eyebrows quirked up. He had very expressive eyebrows.

“I think it’s called a Buck’s Fizz.” Abigail replied, vaguely remembering Maude telling her about it when she was at a party in London. She swilled it about in her mouth to decide if she liked it. It was certainly a lot more refreshing than lukewarm Earl Grey.

"What have I missed?" Adrian was asking and Abigail rolled her eyes, gulping down the Buck’s Fizz and feeling the bubbles fizz down her throat.

"Oh, not much. Lady Edith got engaged and is showing off her ring. Mr. Dashville is bragging about a new stud he's acquired. That sort of thing." She recited, in a dry monotone.

Adrian glanced across the room, hazel eyes taking in both familiar faces and some that were new to him, and he leaned in towards Abigail.

"And who is that man hovering around your father?"

"Oh," Abigail said, scrunching her nose with displeasure. She had forgotten Adrian wouldn’t know him by sight. "Him. That's Edward Granton. Some American my father says is helping him with some overseas affairs. Something to do with the Stock Market, apparently."

Which was utter nonsense. Abigail knew why he was really hovering about the Bellamy household like a bad stench, but until the elephant in the room was addressed, she would feign ignorance until she went blue in the face.

Some ladies might not have seen the problem. Edward was not, Abigail had to admit, an ugly man. Light brown hair and brown eyes, he had an upfront manner that some of the more reserved of her peers either found alarming and rude or charmingly refreshing. His nose was rather big, and he had sideburns Abigail thought rather ridiculous, plus he looked like a man who might grow fat as he aged, but his appearance wasn’t the issue. The problem was that he was rude and boring and arrogant, and she knew exactly what kind of future she’d have to look forward to as Mrs. Edward Granton – nothing more than a prize for him to wear on his arm. Look, see this new trophy I won? What fine breeding stock she is. Unsuitable temperament, but I have her tamed – see how she comes when I call her?

No. Abigail would acknowledge they needed to find a way to replenish the money father had lost, sooner rather than later. But putting a ring on her finger proffered by Edward Granton wasn’t the way to do it. Not if she wanted to live a reasonably happy (or at least tolerable) life. She didn’t see why she had to pay for her father’s errors of judgement.

All this introspection on the Edward situation was making her restless. Plus, she’d just spotted Lydia Hoffman across the heads of people. It was like a collection of people she detested speaking to had all decided to converge in one place. But what did she expect? There was hardly any getting away from them if they all went to the same social events.

"I need a cigarette," Abigail muttered, turning to Adrian. "Cover for me?"

Adrian nodded and discreetly handed her a cigarette and his embossed lighter from his waistcoat pocket. Abigail waited until nobody was looking, then slunk out, sneaking around the back of the stands. She was glad she'd worn riding boots under her seafoam-green dress instead of heels - the mud sucked at her soles as she walked.

Grace's Secret was going to lose.

That was a given. These weren't his races. Not yet. This was where the toffs came to drink and bet and look down their noses at the commoners in the cheap seats. It gave Tommy a deep sense of satisfaction that he was going to rise past them one day and rub it all in their faces that a Gypsy boy from Small Heath could surpass them, but for today he was going to blag his way into their midst.

He didn't have a purpose in mind except for keeping an eye on Sabini's officers. For that reason, his Peaky cap was in his coat pocket and his suit was sharply tailored. And he had left John and Arthur behind – he could blend in when it suited him to do so, but being discreet was not his brother’s specialty. He was making his way toward the snob tent when he spotted blonde hair, twisted up but still trailing down a girl’s back. It stuck out among all the cropped and curled styles.

Something about the voice -

The girl turned to speak to her companion, and even just a side-profile had Thomas struck with recognition.

“Miss Imogene,” he said under his breath.

Well, wouldja look at that. The little songbird was delivering itself right to the cat. Tommy leaned his upper back against the brick wall, watching the "Miss Imogene" slip away from her peers, unnoticed, approaching through the veil of his smoke. No way was that her real name.

She strode toward him like she owned the very mud she was stamping down, the ends of her long blonde hair fluttering in the bracing breeze whipping by. It was a chilly day, and it was odd that she had not thought to bring a coat with her. So, she had been driven here, then, probably straight from her house. By her father or by a husband? Either way, her desire to be away from the crowd outweighed the inclement weather, it seemed.

“A'right?”

The girl was pulled up short at the voice and she stopped in her tracks. Cocked an eyebrow at him, obviously not recognising him from Adam. But then, why would she? He was simply a businessman from Small Heath. He didn’t know what she was, except a girl with a taste for danger.

She took up her own place against the wall, popping a cigarette in her mouth.

Before she could fumble her own fancy lighter, Tommy proffered his, a flame dancing inches from the end of her cigarette. She lifted her eyes to his, slightly surprised at his alacrity.

“Lady shouldn't have'ta light 'er own cigarette,” he drawled.

The dramatic irony of the situation amused him. There was no doubt in his mind she was Miss Imogene from The Blue Devil, and she had no idea he knew, or that he was Thomas Shelby. He noticed how blue her eyes were in the bright light of the flame – not the pale, chilly blue of his, more like peering into the depths of the sea.

Abigail raised an eyebrow, but she bent her head forward slightly to light her cigarette, cupping the flame in one hand and stashing Adrian's lighter away in her pocket with the other. She sucked in a lungful of smoke, considering the stranger before her.

He wasn't a stable hand or anything of that sort, that much was clear - his clothes were too fine and the manner he held himself was something Abigail instinctively recognised - this was a man of power. But he certainly wasn't an aristocrat either, none of them spoke with an accent like that. And somehow, there was something in his posture, his mannerism, that gave her a tinge of wariness. There was an edge to him that was leagues away from the pampered, soft men she disdained. (Men like Edward Granton, for example.)

Interesting.

"Much obliged, I'm sure." Abigail said, leaning casually against the wall too. She exhaled smoke out of the side of her mouth and asked. "I suppose you have a horse to put forward for the Derby?"

Or he was looking to buy, but if that were true, he'd be checking the wares right now, not loitering around smoking cigarettes. And she knew he wasn't making a social call either or he wouldn’t be lurking back here, he’d be off schmoozing with the other men.

Tommy took another drag on his cigarette before answering, smoke spilling from his lips in a way that Abigail found strangely pleasing to watch, a roll of it pluming around his bottom lip, which looked slightly chapped in the cold air.

“You suppose right,” he said, snapping his lighter shut. “Grace's Secret.”

She was canny. She'd used the disparity between how he spoke and what he wore to figure him out. A self-made man, with the self-possession of a dangerous one.

“And I suppose you got bored of all your landed and titled peers in that big white tent over there, didja?”

He let the burr in his voice deepen, noticing that when he did, she leaned in slightly as if she wanted to hear him better. She probably hadn’t noticed she was doing it. A girl of her social standing who went to a middling club like The Blue Devil to sing and dazzle the commoners and snuck out to smoke? She was definitely one of those bored haughty types who flocked toward rough, dangerous men.

He could use that.

“Suppose it don't compare to The Blue Devil either,” he went on, blue eyes meeting hers. “Eh?”

Abigail merely gave Tommy a polite smile, the kind you'd give the postman. She flicked ash off the end of her cigarette, which spiralled down into the mud below.

"The blue devil?" She repeated, with a coy tilt of her head. "Is that the new stud horse I've been hearing about? It's tricky keeping up with these fancy names."

So, he'd seen her there last night, but that didn't mean she was obligated to confirm it. Abigail saw no benefit to telling a handsome stranger with a beguiling voice her indiscretions. Particularly if he were inclined to sell said discretions back to father.

"As a matter of fact, we're getting a horse to race too," Abigail went on airily.

Her cigarette was half burned out and Adrian could explain her absence for so long. The time limit to how long she could stay gave the conversation an extra little thrill for Abigail.

“Is tha' right?”

They both knew she was lying about being at The Blue Devil, and they both let it sit between them, unacknowledged. Tommy sniffed.

'Well, I'd say may the best horse win but we both know these things're fixed, don't we?'

Even the toffs knew that much. They were just placing bets on which horse had been chosen to win. There was no chance in it at all once you knew the arrangements going on behind the scenes. The toffs bet to show off, and the commoners bet because they were gullible and needed something to believe in. After all, Tommy had been doing the red dust trick since he was a lad to bring the money rolling in.

“Don't think we've properly been introduced,” he drawled, holding out a hand. “Thomas Shelby.”

Well, well.

Abigail was amused by the serendipity of the moment. A man at a bar where she shouldn't have been, meeting her where she suspected he shouldn't be. He didn’t seem terribly offended about the champagne, though Abigail hadn’t really thought about the man who was behind the glass that was sent to her at the time. It was just a gift from a faceless admirer, that was all. Maybe he meant it differently, but she wasn’t going to ask about it now. She inhaled her cigarette before she spoke, letting the smoke cast a veil over her face.

"Abigail," she said, simply, and shook his hand. His fingers were firm and strong around her own, which looked delicate in his gloved hands, pale skin standing out starkly against black leather.

If he wanted more than that, he could ask. She wasn't doing his homework for him, that would spoil the fun. She heard a shout and turned her head, a little irritated at the interruption.

“Abbie!”

Adrian stuck his head around the corner. If he was surprised to see Abigail talking with a strange man in a flat cap, he didn’t show it. Instead, he widened his eyes and jerked his head, indicating back inside, and Abigail knew what he meant, loud and clear. With a click of her tongue, she ground out the last of her cigarette on the bricks, leaving a little black creator that smouldered gently for a moment.

"I should get back," she said, as though she was returning to a job she disliked. "Good luck with your horse, Mr. Shelby."

She watched him bring his cigarette to his lips, pursing around the filter. She had to make herself turn and walk back the way she came, but knowing he was there, watching her leave, was like a gravity tugging at her.

Tommy watched her leave, making a note of the red-haired man. He’d called her Abbie, so they were friends. Or perhaps more than that. That was the trouble with women like her, their absence was never unnoticed for long.

Sometimes they were more trouble than they were worth.

But then, Tommy Shelby had never been shy of a little trouble.

#Tommy Shelby x OC #Peaky Blinders Fanfic #Fanfiction #Blogging

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amostimprobabledream · 9 days ago

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Bleach Men When You're Crying

I crumble completely when you cry~

Shinji Hirako:

Oh. Fuck.

Shinji tends not to be around crying people terribly often. The Vizard are a hardy bunch who accepted their unjust fates with an admirable amount of resilience and resolve. Generally Shinji is used to people who express themselves via anger over tears - Hiyori, Kensei, Ichigo, etc…

Thus, you crying may draw him up short. Whether you just have a suspicious wetness to your eyes or you're full-on sobbing, Shinji just stands there, a bit of a loss of what to do. Should he let you cry it out? Hug you? Offer to let you punch him until you feel better? Hide in the bathroom and blast jazz? The weepiest person he knows is Hinamori and even she doesn't cry in front of Shinji even if she has every reason to.

Eventually he gets over his discomfort and he tries to talk to you about it. "O-oi, c'mon, it ain't that bad…" His attempts to be comforting are clumsy but you still appreciate that he's trying. He's a pretty empathetic guy even if he doesn't look it with that deadpan expression he often has.

Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez:

What the fuck is this? Why are you making that annoying noise? Stop it, it's pathetic.

Look, I'm gonna level with you, Grimmjow is not going to immediately feel any kind of pity or empathy for you if you start crying. He's a Hollow, they're not wired that way. Where he comes from, the world is built on strength and showing "weakness" is an invitation to be killed. Initially, he'll be a little disgusted by your tears.

However, if you are important to him and you're upset, he will do something about it. If you're crying because someone else gave you a hard time, well, they can just kiss their ass goodbye. If it's because you're overwhelmed, he'll remove you from the situation. He prefers to have something to do over knowing what kind of words he's supposed to say to get you to stop. (He tried "Stop that" and "Knock it the fuck off", but unsurprisingly it made you cry harder.) He'll glare at you as you cry, but much like a cat who won't let you touch it but insists on staying in the same room as you, he won't leave your side. If you're crying because of him being…well, Grimmjow, he'll refuse to apologise, but you can tell he feels bad because he follows you everywhere at a distance. Eventually he gets sick of the heavy silences and just crushes you to his chest.

He does have a pronounced sadistic streak - again, typical for a Hollow - so yes, he is the kind of guy who finds crying in the bedroom hot. Not all the time because he chafes against boredom and routine, but let's say he's indulging in some predator x prey roleplay and you oblige him by letting him hunt you and shedding some tears of terror as he corners you? It gets him off, he loves having prey cowering at his feet. Don't worry, though - you'll be rewarded by orgasms. Many of them. And he won't stop until you do.

Shuuhei Hisagi:

The biggest pushover, honestly.

Shuuhei already gives you everything you want, this man cooks and cleans for you, but tears? Tears?? He cannot cope. If it's because of a movie or sad song, he'll anxiously ask if you want him to turn it off. If you're frustrated, he'll offer you so much to get you to feel better. If it's because of someone else, he'll get angry on your behalf and offer to go confront them then and there.

If you're crying because of something he said/did, it depends on what the subject was. Hisagi is pretty whipped when it comes to someone he's dating but he is a responsible, capable person as well as being a goofball. If it's something he doesn't feel strongly about, he's likely to apologise to keep the peace, but other things he'll stand his ground more on - he doesn't want to just apologise if he doesn't think the situation warrants it. He won't be dismissive or rude about it but he'll suggest you both take time apart to cool off. In particular I can imagine getting upset with him for his continued adulation of Tousen even after all the shit he pulled, or Hisagi putting himself in danger.

Ultimately it's a pretty healthy relationship though and he doesn't want to be in an argument with you for long. He simply wants you to be happy and safe, so seeing you upset is deeply upsetting to him too, but with communication there's not much you can't solve together.

Kensei Muguruma:

Kensei is one of those stereotypical guys who will argue with you all damn day and actually lowkey enjoys it if you match his energy and shout back at him. He's of the opinion that confrontation is necessary and if we're being honest, he enjoys a good argument every now and then. It clears the air and means people aren't sitting on a list of grievances.

Crying, though? That pulls him up short. He won't admit it but there's something sort of adorable about how you look when you're either trying not to cry or crying. He can't explain what it is but it makes him feel extra protective of you, even if you're crying for a small reason or if it's because of something he said or he's just being difficult. If you're crying because of Kensei, he'll scoff and double down at first, insisting he is right, you are wrong, end of! But in truth he hates seeing you sad more than anything so once his temper has cooled off he'll be more willing to discuss things maturely. He isn't great at verbal apologies, but he will either give you a bone-crushing hug or he'll cook you your favourite dish by lieu of saying the words.

By the way, do NOT try to manipulate Kensei with tears. If he thinks you're faking crying just to get out of an argument or being scolded, he won't take it well. It can be tempting to sometimes use dirty tactics to get him to back down, Kensei is difficult to reason with him sometimes, he's a very stubborn dude, but just be open with how you feel and he'll listen. He may be gruff and short-tempered but Kensei's a good guy under his aggression.

Oh, and if you're crying because somebody else thought it was a good idea to give you trouble, he is punching them through a wall. Nobody gets to make his brat cry!

Jushiro Ukitake:

Ukitake is a sensitive old soul. His empathy and compassion is one of his key characteristics. He's not going to be pulled up short by tears or be uncomfortable or embarrassed. Many of Ukitake's subordinates have cried in front of him, usually because he's such a calming presence that people tend to feel their barriers coming down in his company. He likes to chat to his subordinates and allies over tea and sometimes they end up telling him about something that's been bothering them and the tears happen. It's a common joke in Thirteenth that having tea with Ukitake is more effective than a confessional.

Ukitake has a solution for seemingly everything. He's been around for a very long time and he's often had to reel in Kyoraku and be the sensible, reasonable one beside him or trying to talk down some of Yamamoto's more militant strategies with running Soul Society. He hasn't always been successful but he's very grounded and wise.

He can be a little wishy-washy and too nice for his own good. He's one of those people who tries to encourage you to be positive or not to let your grudges/anger/etc cloud you, which is sound advice but not necessarily the most wanted or practical for when you just want to vent or indulge in your unsavoury emotions. Sometimes you might cry either because Ukitake is so kind it can be frustrating seeing other people take advantage of it and you're upset on his behalf, or sometimes he can unintentionally make you feel bad for wanting to vent and don't want to rise above it right now.

Of course, he's horrified by the thought that his own goodness might make you feel bad in comparison to him. He'd list the qualities he admires in you and assure you he doesn't think less of you for having bad thoughts or dark feelings. They may be shinigami, but you're still human. He'll (predictably) offer you tea and invite you to sit beside him as you watch the koi pond together.

Ulquiorra Cifer:

Crying confuses him. Ironic considering that he already has those tear markings on his face, but when you first start crying he's all up in your business and touching your face like he's examining a scientific sample.

He thinks there's something attractive about the way you cry, the way your eyes shimmer and the way it collects in your eyelashes and the change in your face. Not so much if it's the "heavy gulping and snot" variety, but you get what I mean. The vulnerability, the "weakness" of it interests him, it's not something he's accustomed to witnessing and once Ulquiorra has seen something with his own eyes, the more he wants to know about it.

He demands an explanation for your tears and probes you about it. You may end up so distracted by his questions you stop on your own, or you may cry harder because he's overwhelming sometimes. Ulquiorra will touch your face, brushing at the curious wetness on your cheeks. Though he's intruiged by the sight of your tears, your distress becomes…bothersome. If you're crying because of him, Ulquiorra is stubborn and will be condescending and tell you that he is right and your irrational emotions just don't understand. Which is, you know, typical Ulquiorra but I don't blame you for wanting to punch him. He has a lot to learn about feelings.

Eventually he'll cup your face, stare deeply into your eyes with his unsettling green ones and command you to stop it. Though his tone is flat as always, his touch is oddly gentle for his standards. And whatever it is he said/did to upset you, you notice he doesn't do it again after that.

Mayuri Kurotsuchi:

Oh dear.

Mayuri is another one who simply isn't around crying people much - Nemu never utters a word of protest despite how horrible to her he can be, he suspects Akon does not have tearducts and in general his squad are good at rolling with the punches (or bombs). To see you crying is a bit of a curveball - you'd have to be made of stern stuff to put up with this man's bullshit on the regular, so he's rather intruiged by this new development. He's mocking and abrasive about it too, like, "Oh? Has your emotional imbalance completely eroded away any common sense in you?"

He'll "helpfully" suggest giving you an injection of some mood-boosting pills or offer you a sedative. The latter might be of some use if you're overwrought and need to sleep it off, but in general, Mayuri is focused on the practicalities of how he can solve sadness instead of giving you any emotional comfort. Which isn't unexpected, and he knows you know he isn't the kind of person who is going to let you cry on him. If you're crying because of something he said/did specifically, he gets sooo defensive and insists you're overreacting and then flounces off in a sulk. The more petulant his response, the more upset he actually is. The next day, he'll give you some tsundere compliment about how your latest work "wasn't lacklustre", which is close to an "I'm sorry" as you're ever getting.

What he does do besides mockery and drugs is dissect your problems as easily as he would a specimen on his lab table. If you say you're crying because of an unpleasant encounter, he'll ask why you're giving even a single thought to someone with the intellect of a passing moth. If you're sad because of doubt or uncertainty, he'll reason it away with ease. Funnily enough, by the end of the conversation, he's verbally shrunk your problems down so small you wonder why they ever bothered you at all.

Kenpachi Zaraki:

Another one who is baffled by crying. Kenpachi is surrounded by hard-headed, burly men obsessed with fighting all day and a little girl who didn't even cry as a baby. I think if anyone in Eleventh Division cried in public they'd probably be thrown out. But there are exceptions to rules, and you're one of them.

Like Grimmjow, Kenpachi is all about action and wanting to solve whatever caused the crying. Somebody gave you shit? They will no longer have a spine. You're overwhelmed/stressed? He'll make you take a nap and probably take one himself while he's at it. If you're watching a sad movie or something, he's a little confused about why you're watching if you're getting sad, but when you explain you need to feel your feelings and there's nothing wrong with crying, he'll let you get on with it.

If you're crying because of him, specifically, he'll roll his eye at you and tell you to stop being so melodramatic and get the fuck over it. Kenpachi isn't particularly prone to introspection and he usually does whatever he wants - only a very small amount of people can make him do anything he doesn't want to, so he isn't often made to be accountable for his actions. However, when it becomes clear that he's hurt you, he stops being so dismissive about the matter. He may like to fight but making you cry isn't something he enjoys, unless it's you crying over how big his dick is when you fuck.

He's not good at this touchy-feely bullshit, but he hates that sad look on your face. He'll offer to let you cut him, or suggest you give him a good punching until you're satisfied, which is the honourable thing to do by Eleventh Division standards. If you ask for some physical affection, he won't decline. It's actually quite soothing being crushed in his muscular arms. He's another one who struggles with "I'm sorry", but you can feel it in what he does.

Izuru Kira:

Kira's no stranger to feelings of sadness. With all the shit he goes through, he becomes a melancholy man, embodying the Third Division's insignia, Despair, and the horrors of war. He isn't phased by other people's sadness either, even though usually his friends are the ones trying to cheer him up.

He knows it's important to get your feelings out and he'll sit with you, bringing you tea and letting you vent. He's not overly touchy-feely but if you want him to hug you or whatever, he'll oblige.

If it's due to an argument or something, Kira is inclined to brood and mull things over, probably hurting even more over hurting you. He doesn't want to be that person. He can be quite blunt and lash out sometimes, but Kira's a very loyal person and he knows how much it sucks to be hurt by someone you trust.

He'll get a little clingy himself and mutter an "I'm sorry" into your shoulder. Though he's not violent by nature, if somebody else was upsetting you, he'll be sure to have stern words with them.

Gin Ichimaru:

This bastard man probably makes you want to cry out of frustration very regularly. He's a tricksy, sneaky snake with a caustic tongue and razor sharp wit. Gin knows your weakspots and it's probable that unlike some examples, you crying was very much his fault because during his customary playful needling of you, he hit a sore spot and you lost it. Gin knows exactly how to get into people's heads.

Even if he intentionally said something hurtful, though, Gin isn't as cold or psychotic as he likes people to believe he is. When someone he loves gets hurt, he will go to any lengths to enact vengeance. He purposefully pushes people away from him because he knows being around him gets them hurt. However, even if he was poking at you and hit you with something hurtful, he was expecting you to bounce back with insults of your own. It's an odd brand of tough love, but this time he's fucked up and he knows it. His smile fades on his face.

Of course, he just can't let you know how much he cares. So he'll say something in his customary facetious way, like, "Aw, waterworks now, hmm?" and then he'll cup your face and tilt your head up. "Now, now, don't cry. Honestly." And then the bastard fucking licks the tears off your face and kisses you. Like, a deep, passionate kiss. You nearly collapse because he doesn't let you up for air.

If it's over a movie or something, he'll tease you about being a "sensitive soul", but he won't coddle you over crying over something benign like a song or something. He thinks it's quite cute how easily moved you are, actually. I don't think I need to explain what happens if someone else made you cry. You saw what happened when Aizen made Rangiku cry - basically, he will annihilate that person. They will wish they had never even looked at you.

#Shinji Hirako #Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez #Hisagi Shuhei #Kensei Muguruma #Ukitake Jushiro #Ulquiorra Cifer #Mayuri Kurotsuchi #Kenpachi Zaraki #Izuru Kira #Gin Ichimaru #Bleach #Headcanons

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