#boots writes

[kissporsche]

prompt: legacy

Vegas twists the ring on his finger and replays the scene in his mind again. Porsche, wounded and vulnerable, and Kinn knelt by his side. At Vegas’s feet. He wonders what would have happened if he’d had time to pull the trigger– first on Porsche, then Kinn.  Chances are he would have been killed. They were still outnumbered on enemy grounds, he probably wouldn’t have even made it out of the garage.  His father would still be dead. And whatever future he had envisioned for his son had died with him. Still– he can’t help but think about it. If he’d succeeded, how would the main family ring have felt on his finger, instead?  “We’re back!” Macau’s shout jolts Vegas back to the present, where his curry has reached a gentle simmer.  Pete shuffles into the kitchen just behind Macau, smile widening when his eyes meet Vegas’s.  “This smells great,” he says appreciatively. “I think we got everything you wanted.” He places a full bag on the countertop next to where Vegas is working.  “You’re everything I want,” Vegas responds without thinking, and grins at both Pete’s automatic blush and Macau’s overexaggerated gagging.  “Stop it,” Pete mumbles. He places a chaste kiss on Vegas’s cheek before starting to put the groceries away.  “Phi, can you help me? I don’t get this homework.” Macau has managed to splay what looks like the entire contents of his backpack on the kitchen table in the seconds Vegas was looking away.  “In a minute, this is nearly done.”  “Do you want these washed?” Pete asks, gesturing to some fresh herbs.  “I’ll do it, you sit down.” He removes his ring and rolls his sleeves up, running some water to rinse the herbs. ��Maybe you can help Macau.” “With English?” Both Pete and Macau say incredulously. Vegas laughs at the offended look on Pete’s face as they begin to bicker good naturedly, leaving Vegas to return to his cooking.  It’s not until much later, when dinner has been eaten and the dishes are being collected up, that Vegas realises he never put the ring back on. 

ending at the ending <3 this has been such a fun little anniversary project, it felt right to once again leave off with my favourite boys living their best post-canon life

[road-kill-eater]

[gae-bolg-alternative-dot-exe]

[playypause]

[remxedmoon]

NILLE BLAST

aaaa worked on these a while ago but!! i’ve got a pétronille design finally!! and it was nowhere near as daunting as i expected to be!!!! this was really fun to work on actually. don’t look at that leftmost doodle btw. it’s. Not Great (by my standards for myself at least).

aaaanyways. design notes and greyscale versions below!! most of this isn’t. super set in stone or anything? just Night Ramblings

in terms of colors she’s mostly just a Slightly Edited version of bonnie’s palette. the only noteworthy addition here is the blue (or. well. more like grey actually) i added to her shirt, hat, and waist wrap. no real reason here, i just thought it’d contrast well with her colors!!

i also kept her outfit pretty similar to bonnie’s! bonnie’s official ref mentions that their shirt is too big for them so! i think it’d be cute for all of their clothes to be hand-me-downs from nille🩶. i imagine she cares more about practicality than fashion, so her outfit’s pretty simple! breathable clothes she can move around in, a bag to hold her stuff, and a hat to keep the sun out her eyes.

generally went for more. blocky??? shapes here? i wanted to set her apart from bonnie! idk. not much to say here!

this didn’t affect her design That Much outside of the bandages on her hands, but she’s rock type here! it just Made Sense with her hammer. in hindsight i wonder if that influenced her design being more Square…

aaa you can probably tell i’m writing these while tired. sorry if these are even more disjointed than usual (somehow). here’s the greyscale versions!! thanks for reading and stuff!!

[xochimillilili]

Kinktober day 18: Degradation

You stupid bitch, you're enjoying this aren't you? Fucking piece of shit slut enjoying my boot against your sopping wet cunt, humping along like a dumb animal... just a good set of holes and a boot cleaner for me aren't you?

God you're pathetic you dumb pet. Drooling while I press my boot against your head, you're just focused on the way your pathetic clit feels against my boot mmh? Fucking desperate dirty bitch, you better not cum or I'll ruin that cunt of yours. I won't let you cum ever again if you do, you want my cock in you right? That's what I thought, fucking act like it

Come here pet. Hey, I said come here. Are you really that fucking stupid? Dumb fucking slut, you better behave or I'll kick you down the stairs like the dumb pet you are. And you and I both know I'm not going to stop there– behave or you'll be nothing but a dumb lost pet on the street, leaking my cum and with a litter of pups in you, with your pretty face all tear stained and ruined

[cardboardboxy]

I hate villians that are like "The entire system is flawed and built on the suffering of millions! Kill all babies!" Because everyone knows the writers a boot licker and wont acknowledge it

Clarification: This post is fictional media, not Palestine, I dont know why people think its about Palestine. I am pro-Palestinian liberation

[wasyago]

i imagine it's quite chilly in the black sea (for the lack of sun and color), so they're wearing slightly warmer clothes now uwu

+ thoughts

[somnimagus]

-blonde horror protagonist's abrupt and incorrect assumptions about blonde people

[id in alt]

[averageinternetsurfer]

Puss In Boots: The Last Wish may be one of, if not, the best movie in the past decade that truly shows what proper character development actually goes.

While I do love the voice acting of Antonio Banderas giving a near authentic yell of desperation and fear.

The thing I love the most about this scene is that Puss is so determined to get his wish out of fear. He's completely lost all composure and is thinking and speaking irrationally. The famed "Fearless Hero" is trembling out of fear.

Especially this scene here where he struggles why he needs the wish.

He's so afraid and desperate to get the wish that his reasoning to have it was to continue being "The Legend", completely removing Kitty and everyone else out of the picture.

Like I previously mentioned, he lost all composure, he's trembling, stuttering, being irrational, and most of all afraid. It's the complete opposite of what he was in the beginning. The notion of only having one life has changed him dramatically.

It's only later on when he faces Death and realizes that he's no longer fighting to continue his legacy. He's now fighting for his one and only remaining life. To live life to the fullest.

Armed with courage and bravery. He no longer shows fear, instead he faces Death like the way he faced bigger foes before, like the Fearless Hero we know we love.

Before: "I don't want to die."

Now: "I want to live."

"The fear of Death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time."

- Mark Twain

This movie is a masterclass of writing character development and I'm loving every second of it!

[kissporsche]

happy anniversary! i decided to begin at the end, don't judge me

prompt: fate

Vegas drifts slowly into wakefulness, fighting against the haze of painkillers as he gingerly opens his eyes. Sunlight is streaming through the hospital window. Three portions of curry rice are lined up neatly on the small coffee table. Pete is throwing a blanket over a napping Macau. This doesn’t feel like fate. Fate, up until now, has meant one of two things: overthrow the main family or die trying. Vegas has failed at both.  This feels like precarious chance. Like every terrible mistake in his life had built to a concentrated mass, primed to collapse into ruin like brain matter sprayed by the side of a pool. The inevitable gravity of destruction that instead exploded at the final second, creating a new life, his for the taking.  As though sensing his gaze, Pete turns and smiles, joyfully uninhibited and breathtakingly beautiful.  If this is his fate, it is undeserved, but Vegas has never claimed to be unselfish. He smiles in return, and knows he will spend the rest of his life trying to make himself worthy of the chance he’s been gifted.

[mournfulroses]

Angela Carter, from The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories; "Puss-In-Boots,"

[fauvester]

THE KING OF THE NORTHERN DESERT... AND THE LITTLE CROWN PRINCE OF THE NORTHERN DESERT!

i like to think that demon children are naturally very self sufficient and feral and after birth their parents just sort of. throw them to the wilds to raise themselves. but shang qinghua isn't going to let MBJ pass up on being a boydad god damn it

[xochimillilili]

Kinktober day 28: Boot kink

Really wanna break in a new pair of boots alongside my little puppy, wear them all nice for him. Buy obviously I've gotta have them all shiny and clean before going out in them. And what better way to clean them than with the help of the cutest little pup? My personal little boot cleaner and painslut sweetie~

Wanna tie his arms behind his back and set him down on the floor, grab his leash tight as I step my first boot on him, grind my heel against him, the coldness of it making my puppy whine so cute and pathetically. Rub the tip of the boot against his throbbing clit, see how his eyes roll back as I trail it down from his clit to his asshole

"Come on doggie, come on my baby pup, help me clean up~ You want me to look nice don't you?" As I have him slowly start humping up against my boot. See how desperate and adorabley dumb he gets, before he can't help but start squirming, needy for more. Squirming as he's nothing but a cute little pup in heat.

Kicking his straight on his cunt, hearing the sick slap of my boot on his dripping cunt, the whine and yelp of pleasure and pain he lets out. Kicking him over and over until he can't take it and cums all over my boot, drenching it in his cum, all slick and wet.

"Fucking slut. You're really just a good fucking puppy, so stupidly turned on aren't you my love? Just my adorable little painslut bitch, who I adore mmh? Keep humping sweetie, you've gotta get my other boot all shiny too~"

[hardwriterdeluxe]

The new Jon

Jonathan had always preferred to stay out of the spotlight. At 20, he was a lanky, naturally toned mailman balancing long days delivering letters with the demands of his college coursework. His demeanor was calm, almost passive—until his temper flared. A few months back, he'd smashed his bike to pieces in a rage after it failed him on the way to work. That fiery temper was a side of him he kept hidden, but one that he struggled to control. Though he followed orders well and generally kept a low profile, Jonathan couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had been watching him. Lurking. Waiting. He was right.

Jonathan delivered mail like clockwork, his route taking him past familiar faces. But there was one person he always dreaded seeing—Dieter Wenzel, the burly skinhead from apartment 302. His piercing gaze, thick German accent, and the way he always seemed to be watching made Jonathan uneasy. More than once, Dieter had spoken to him, his deep voice laced with something dark, sending a chill through Jonathan each time they crossed paths.

Today, Jonathan’s mind was elsewhere, distracted by thoughts of college deadlines and his boring routine. He didn’t notice the glossy black boots lying in his path until it was too late.

His foot caught on the heavy boots, sending him sprawling forward. He hit the ground with a hard thud, hands and knees slamming into the floor. Then, before he could react, the boot came down hard on his face. A sharp explosion of pain erupted in his cheek and nose as the impact knocked him sideways.

“Stay down, boy,” growled Dieter’s low voice, looming over him like a shadow. Jonathan’s vision blurred, and everything faded into blackness.

When Jonathan woke, the first thing he felt was pain. His face throbbed with sharp, deep agony. His cheek and nose felt swollen, as if they��d been shattered, and every breath sent waves of hurt through his body. But before he could process the pain, his ears picked up a familiar buzzing sound. Clippers.

Cold metal grazed his scalp, the clippers methodically shaving away his hair, strip by strip. Jonathan blinked, trying to move, but his arms were bound to the chair he was sitting in. Panic surged through him as he realized he couldn’t escape.

“Ah, you’re waking up, Jonathan,” Dieter’s deep voice broke through the haze. “Or should I say... Jon. A much better name for you, don’t you think? More... brutish. Lean. Like you.”

Jonathan’s heart raced as Dieter leaned over him, his grin spreading. “You’ve always been too soft. But now, you’re Jon. Perfect for the skinhead I’m making you into.”

The clippers buzzed their final pass across Jonathan’s scalp, leaving his head completely bald. Dieter switched to a manual razor, scraping away the last stubble with precise, rough strokes. Jonathan’s skin burned as his scalp was stripped bare, leaving him exposed, helpless. He could feel the heat of Dieter’s gaze as he admired his work.

Jonathan noticed something else. He wasn’t wearing his familiar mail uniform anymore. Instead, he was dressed in a tight pair of blue bleachers, a crisp black Fred Perry polo that hugged his lean frame, and black Dr. Martens boots laced tightly up to his calves. Everything fit perfectly, like it had been tailored specifically for him.

“These clothes… why do they fit me so well?” Jonathan muttered, his voice trembling.

Dieter smirked, circling him slowly. “I’ve been watching you for months, boy. I know everything about you. Your size, your habits. You’ve got the perfect body for this—lean, toned, tall. I’ve been planning this for a long time.”

Jonathan’s heart raced as the realization sank in. Dieter had been stalking him. Following him. He even remembered seeing Dieter entering apartment 302 during his mail deliveries. Dieter Wenzel. Jonathan had always felt a sense of unease around him, but now he understood why.

“I saw you when you smashed that bike of yours. You’ve got fire, boy, but you still follow orders. Perfect for what I need. You belong to me now.”

Jonathan's mind reeled. He had noticed Dieter around for months, but now he understood. Dieter had been stalking him, planning this transformation, watching every move. He had seen Jonathan’s rage when he’d smashed his bike, observed his tendency to follow orders without question. And now, Dieter had claimed him.

“These pants,” Dieter smirked, eyeing Jonathan’s groin, “they show off everything, don’t they? Especially that bulge of yours. You’re exactly what I’ve wanted.”

Dieter wasn’t done. He grabbed a piercing kit from the table and walked over to Jonathan with a dark gleam in his eyes. Jonathan’s pulse quickened as Dieter’s fingers gripped his face roughly, holding him in place.

“Let’s finish the job,” Dieter said, pulling out a needle.

Jonathan winced as Dieter pierced his nostril first, the pain sharp and immediate. Before he had a chance to catch his breath, Dieter pierced his eyebrow and lip in quick succession. The pain grew with each stab of the needle, his face burning from the multiple wounds. Finally, Dieter pierced both of Jonathan’s ears, threading small silver hoops through the fresh holes.

The pain was excruciating, a constant throbbing that mingled with the earlier bruises on his face. Jonathan gasped, trying to endure the sharp sting in his nose, cheeks, and ears. Blood trickled from the piercings, mixing with the sweat and bruises.

“You’re really starting to look like a skin now,” Dieter said, admiring his handiwork. “The piercings, the shaved head... You’ve got the face for it. Rough. Just like I imagined.”

After unbinding Jonathan, Dieter grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the apartment. Jonathan struggled to keep up, his boots heavy and awkward as they clomped down the stairs. The tight bleachers clung to his legs, and the Fred Perry polo fit snug against his chest, making him feel trapped in this new identity.

They arrived at a dimly lit tattoo parlor, the stench of ink and disinfectant filling the air. The tattoo artist looked up as they entered, a cold smirk playing on his lips.

“Here for the boy?” the artist asked, eyes scanning Jonathan’s body.

Dieter nodded, pushing Jonathan forward. Here for him. Make sure it’s perfect.”

The tattoo artist fired up the machine, and without hesitation, began inking Jonathan’s arm. The pain was relentless, the needle stabbing into his skin over and over. Dieter stood over him, watching intently as the black ink spread across Jonathan’s forearm, etching the design into his flesh.

The tattoo was brutal: an iron cross encircled by barbed wire, thick lines that cut deep into his skin. The mark of a skinhead. A permanent brand.

“You’re mine, Jon,” Dieter said, his voice low and possessive. “This tattoo marks you as my skinhead. My boy. I’ve crafted you just the way I wanted. The perfect skinhead boyfriend.”

Jonathan gritted his teeth as the needle continued to tear into his arm. The pain was unbearable, but there was no escape. Dieter’s grip on him was too strong, too controlling. The tattoo burned as it took shape, a constant reminder that his old identity was being torn away.

Once the tattoo was finished, Dieter stood back and handed Jonathan a mirror. For the first time, Jonathan saw the full extent of his transformation.

His head was completely shaved, his face bruised from the boot that had knocked him out. The fresh piercings in his nose, eyebrow, lip, and ears glistened, adding to the rough, dangerous look Dieter had forced upon him. His arm, now inked with the iron cross and barbed wire, bore the permanent mark of Dieter’s ownership.

The tight blue bleachers clung to his legs, and the Fred Perry polo hugged his chest, showing off his lean, toned frame. The Dr. Martens boots were laced tightly, every detail meticulously planned by Dieter.

Jonathan stared at himself in disbelief, barely recognizing the man in the mirror. The person staring back wasn’t Jonathan, the quiet mailman. He was Jon, the skinhead boyfriend Dieter had crafted with brutal precision.

Dieter stepped behind him, gripping his shoulders possessively. “Look at you, Jon,” he whispered, his breath hot against Jonathan’s neck. “You’re exactly what I wanted. You’re mine now.”

Before Jonathan could react, Dieter spun him around and kissed him hard. The kiss was rough, dominating, claiming Jonathan in every sense of the word. Jonathan’s mind raced, but there was no escaping it now. Dieter had shaped him, transformed him, and owned him completely.

As Dieter pulled away, he smirked. “This is just the beginning, boy. You’re mine, and you’ll work extra hard to keep up with me. We’ve got a lot more to do.”

Jonathan’s heart sank as he realized the full extent of what had been done to him—and that it was only the start

[danopdf]

RICHARD WINTERS?????