#narrow heart or rectangle fucking. MOTHERFUCKER JUST CHOOSE

[chiangyorange]

bitches help im thinking about the sadwoman with less than 10 mins of screen time total again

anyway the armor is gonna b canon to cbabe and theres a reason why its not her normal look and also karai in a dress because i like herrrrrrr

#'chiangy just post about the turtles like the rest of us' you may tell me #no #no i dont think i will be doing that #was going to make like a ref thing to the layers of her armor too #no one but me is interested in that i think #idfk #kinda been in sorta an art slump atm i might do some figure drawing exercises to make myself draw smth #unrelated to this i can never fucking draw her face consistently its literally fucking haunting me #its like the square chin or pointed fucking pick you indecisive bitch #narrow heart or rectangle fucking. MOTHERFUCKER JUST CHOOSE #GOD. fucking. anyway #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #hamato karai #rise karai #rottmnt karai #my art #cbabe

[unohanadaydreams]

Could I get Knight! Kenpachi and Princess! Reader, otome scenario first meeting please! I hope I read the rules correctly jejdnfnf

YES! Y E S!!!! anon this is SO big brained. Oh my god. Please feel all the freedom to request more prompts for knight!kenpachi.

notes: a first meeting for the game’s surroundings, premise, protagonist, and Kenpachi all wrapped in one. Ah, the divine struggle between duty and lusting after + growing to love one fine motherfucker.

i thought of setting this in a Japanese inspired castle, but I know myself and I would get too caught up in being ‘accurate’. instead i’m gonna stick to what I, a filthy fantasy casual, know.

features: SFW content and some olden day vibes.

Bleach Your Heart: The Otome Ask Game

Knight!Kenpachi + Princess!Reader + First Meeting

You are the only daughter and heir of the castle to survive childhood and beyond. Both your parents live, greeting you with love each day you break fast.

The castle you will one day be Lady of is two grey rectangles of stone connected by one laid on its side in the middle of them, encircled by walls so tall it winds you to climb up them. There is little grandeur in your surroundings beyond the luxury of a full belly and warm room, always. Even the flower gardens are built sturdy rather than pretty.

Life is uncertain in the mountains. But not you. Not within your walls, with your father’s defense strategum to support them. There is even a little town within the castle walls, something no generation before him could hope to maintain and protect successfully.

Your father, who has taught you maths, strategy, and how each part of the castle must be maintained with upmost harmony, has announced it is time.

For marriage. And for more protection.

He is not aging well, hands that once held firm a sword too weak at the wrist to pick up a bowl laden of soup. And those who would battle for his castle are growing more organized—more dangerous.

And He is King before being your father, so you do not fuss even if you feel the weight of his responsibilities crushing you into a curtsy.

Those he will make knights the next morning now sit in the dining hall, eating perhaps their first meal of its kind. There are whole birds on the table, roasted well, and garnished with fresh greens meant to bring crisp freshness to the juicy meat. Thick stew and bowls of berries serve to fill any stomach that the birds do not satisfy. Not grand, but plenty.

You stop at the western entrance, wearied by worries of the future.

There is seldom so much noise as now. The men, all wearing some form of leathers and bits of mail, seem more aflame than the scones that flicker on the walls. You easily spot the newcomers—those who are already knights have been for most your life and are comparably calm.

A man with no hair and colorful makeup springing from the corner of his eyes like wings bangs his tankard on the table one—two—three times after gulping it down in seconds. Yells his victory and calls for another.

The man across from him, hair of oil and feathers truly decorating his eyes, throws a berry at the bald man’s face. It misses.

The bald man turns his head, laughing, to watch the fruit sail past him, and spots you. He waves, calling something you can’t understand, words unfamiliar.

Your hands untangle from behind you and one springs up to return his gesture before you can remember that you are in a doorway, where anyone could be behind you. Perhaps he is being friendly and grateful, you think, for your father choosing him, when so many trained up warriors from your land and the next struggle to find a place with no official war to guide them anymore.

A deep chuckle behind you is all you need to remember your surroundings. You turn, eyesight not filled, but overwhelmed by the height and lean bulk of the man meant to receive the greeting you took for your own.

“Oh,” you say after moments of staring, voice quiet and faraway sounding to your own ears. “Greetings.”

The side of his face where a long scar is carved into skin--above, below, and through his eye--is more lifted into smile than the other. A patch covers his other eye, held by nothing; seemingly nailed into his face by metal studs at the edges of the fabric.

It is not his appearance, punctuated by wild black hair sticking out at the sides like a wolf pelt does at one’s back, but his smile that hushes your manners and leaves you standing there--staring.

The smile is too wide and open. You can not help but remember Martha, who’s smile split her face similarly when hearing that her husband had not returned due to the cold rather than an enemy. Her usually puckered lips had bared her teeth as she laughed harsh, breath white and swirling into the cold air.

He had a smile that spoke of madness.

You heard Martha’s laughter as he acknowledged your words with a nod, asking, “Ya lost or something?”

“Lost,” you say in an echo, eyes drawn to the thin sword at his waist. “N-no. Not at all. I am princess to this castle.”

He laughs, the sound mingling with that which had begun to haunt your ears, as he shrugged. “Guess you’ve never seen a real warrior, then. Thought so, with all the stiffs you’ve got lazin’ around.”

The comment rouses you from where you’d retreated into yourself, drawing your eyes narrow. “I can see you are from across the mountain and perhaps you’ve different ideas of what a true fighter is, but know that all who protect this castle are genuine warriors.”

“Protect? I’m here to fight,” he says, gripping the hilt of his sword and shaking it for emphasis. “That’s what your daddy promised us. Is he a liar?”

“W-no; of course he isn’t,” you lift your chin, responding with gusto. “My father is an honest man and king.”

The man snorts, his head bowing toward the tables of familiar men who had accepted your fistful of flowers and paraded you around on their horses as a child, “They wouldn’t last as a warm up against me.”

“You won’t be fighting them,” you say, eyeing his crossed arms, wanting so much to reach out and smack one of them. “Surely, you must know protection comes before everything? Don’t they teach you that from wherever you come from?”

“Anything I know, I taught myself,” he grunts, smile gone. “And I know a real fighter when I see ‘em. Just like I know I wasn’t hired to sit and wait for a battle to come my way.”

Your father’s words in the throne room pressed you once more and forced a sigh from your chest. “You were hired to escort me to court, then.”

“Yeah, promised a lot of danger along the way, too. Always fun to be had on the edge of a kingdom.” He spoke with utmost confidence, leaning closer than any real knight would dare.

Your father had chosen this man, so you would not ask him to reconsider, but hearing him speak of killing as though it were as much a hobby as needlework or jousting made you bristle.

But you would not let your anger sit on your tongue or coat your words. It would be unwise to lash out against the person who would be a great part responsible for your future safety.

“If you are so great a warrior,” you say slowly, “and the one who will escort me, then it is an honor.”

You dip into a curtsy, listing off your proper title and name before inquiring for his.

“Zaraki Kenpachi--ah fuck, it’s backwards here, ain’t it,” he mumbles, looking to the side, his smile small and human. “Kenpachi Zaraki.”

“Lovely to meet you, Kenpachi Zaraki,” you say, hardly meaning it.

“Nah, you don’t like me at all,” he says as he passes you, large hand giving your back one firm pat. “Do ya, princess?”

#kenpachi zaraki #kenpachi zaraki x reader #bleach imagines #bleach x reader #bleach your heart: the otome meme #oh my GOD WAS THIS SO FUN #please don't pay attention the absolutely BOTCHED manga girl #i did my best with my shitty mouse work aslkdjf;owliaejf