#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]

[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

[prettyboyth1ng]

they need to invent forcemasc bootcamp.

not for any of that military shit. for the pure purpose of making love, not war. for taking “girls” who haven’t gotten with the program or some softass prettyboys and turning them into bonafide men who love their identities as faggots.

first exercise newbies in the program would deal with is making sure everyone starts out fresh. the “makeover”, if you will. giving out handsome young men a haircut and a change of clothing to something more masculine to suit their new image. A nice new pair of boxers, some jeans, and a plain t-shirt. All right before giving them their first shots of testosterone.

of course, once they get those shots, the new recruits are bound to end up needy. so their next exercise in the introductory process will be to get some of that energy out. of course, that means getting them all tied down with their cute little boycunts on display for their superiors to use. they aren’t meant to be using them again during their stint (or even referring them to anything other than holes for that matter), so the boys that know what’s good for them will be thankful that their boypussies will be played with by men who will breed them over and over, making them cum until they simply can’t take anymore.

after that first day, it will be a steady regimen of teaching those dogs proper training. how to refer to themselves in ways they want to be addressed, how to take care of their new bodies, and how to support their fellow men. and of course, how to behave like proper faggots. how to play with their own cocks, how to suck any dick they come across, how to take dick using their ass (their front holes? those just supply the lube for the job), how to properly use a strap on. how to train their voices to properly beg when they want a good and deep pounding. and how to take the pain that’ll come if and when they fuck up.

it will be difficult, but by the end of it they will be transformed into complete and perfect boytoys.

[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

[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

[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.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you have any crack headcannons like you did with Ace with hitting on Jamil?

I have one of Grim knowing how to use a toilet like a person would but not how to open doors. So during book 5. Guys would see Grim using the toilet, in the dark, in the middle of the night if they have to. They see two bright circles in the bathroom until they turn on the light.

[Referencing this post!]

👆 This scene from Puss in Boots 2 except it’s Grim and Yuu—

I have a lot of silly personal headcanons (probably way too many to contain in a post)! Off the top of my head:

A frequent topic among the first years is romance. It's mostly because Ace instigates (usually to brag about how much experience + game he has and how everyone else is a LOSER). Deuce and Epel are flustered, Jack tries to be mature and call out Ace's childish behavior + views, Sebek loudly compares what Ace says to the things he has read in his romance novels + advice from Lilia, and Ortho--shockingly--is the most level-headed and logical of the group. (He'll take one look at Ace's vital signs and declare the guy is actually lying about having rizz.)

(PREFACING THIS ONE WITH THE CONTEXT THAT I WAS SUFFERING REALLY BADLY FROM MONTHLY CRAMPS AND CAME UP WITH THIS TO COMFORT MYSELF) Due to their heightened senses, fae and/or beastmen are able to sense very subtle changes, such as shifts in weather (ie a storm is rolling in) and changes in the body. For example, local feminist king L*ona can somehow sense when "that time" of month is coming and will show up on some poor woman's doorstep a few days before it starts with a plastic bag of [feminine hygiene products], snacks, pain relief medicine, and a heating pad in it. He gives NO explanation, just unceremoniously tosses it on the floor before he turns around and peaces tf out.

Mostro Lounge staff are granted paid lunch breaks, but if they choose to eat from the lounge then they still need to pay for 50% of it. They once tried to unionize, but Azul sent in the twins to shut it down real fast.

Jade and Trey love really bad puns and dad jokes.

The Magic Carpet is Scarabia's unofficial mascot. The mobs generally like it and act like it's the dorm's collective pet dog. Sometimes they drop scraps of food for it from banquets/parties (... D-Does it eat? If so, how...?).

Crewel and Vil heard about the time the Ramshackle Ghosts designed and made Yuu + Grim Halloween costumes. They decided to work with the ghosts to make a fashion line using repurposed old fabrics for a charity fashion show. Proceeds went to an environmental conversation organization.

Lilia hates milk substitutes. He finds them offensive and it breaks his heart to see others ask for the "fake stuff". Insists that those are not "true milk", "It's just nut or grain water!! NUT OR GRAIN WATER!!"

Lilia goes on dating apps just to see who he can bag, then he kicks down the door to the Diasomnia lounge to brag that he’s “still got it”.

Malleus learned about swear words from Leona. (He asked Lilia what a “flying fuck” was because Leona said it in front of him 😭)

Crowley has a 20-step beauty routine. Also sings (terribly) while he engages in self care.

Fellow goes on dates just to scam women of their valuables and/or to leech off their resources for a little while. His ideal targets are lonely wealthy widows and/or lonely wives whose spouses are often busy with work or traveling. Usually ends with him getting smacked by the woman, chased off by an angry spouse, or him pathetically groveling for mercy at their feet.

[somnimagus]

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

[id in alt]

[mournfulroses]

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

[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~"

[prettyboyth1ng]

Being forced to do exercises with a trainer who’s clearly in it to get off on and humiliate you >>>

Push ups where he forces you to kiss his boot each time you’re at the bottom to count one. Forcing you to spend each push-up low for longer and longer, each kiss deeper than the last until his boots are practically polished. Both of them.

Sit-ups and crunches that clearly have some other motive, since he keeps slowly spreading your legs as you do each exercise. Eventually he moves his hands to feel between your thighs to “make sure your form is proper”. Even though your hardening tdick probably isn’t meant to be part of the exercise. Nor the wet spot just under it that he teasingly remarks as “working up quite a sweat”.

Squats where your trainer is directly below you, explaining away that it will be the best way to observe you. Even if that means your ass will be lowering directly onto his crotch (don’t make it gay, dude). Keeping you at an even pace but slowly making you go slower or faster depending on his whims. A couple times, he even has you stay at the bottom of your squat and hold it. Just long enough for him to grind into you a little. His hands on your hips, guiding your body to ensure his own pleasure.

Even something as little as grabbing water is used to humiliate you. He insists that you drink from a bottle he prepared specifically for you. And the only way he’ll let you have a drink from it? By kneeling in front of him and letting him squeeze the bottle into your mouth. A bottle which just so happens to be at dick level, so he can see the embarrassment on your face as he squirts it into your mouth. Every comment about how much of a good boy you’re being and how much you ought to swallow causing a new ember of shame to rise to your face.

Of course, he’ll help you relax at the end of your work out. And what better way to help you relax by laying you down on a workout mat and making you cum by giving you a nice, deep pounding in the ass? You’ve been such a good boy for him, it would feel so good to relax as he does all the work. Using your natural lube to wet his cock before easing it deep into you. Thrusting in and out of your tight hole as you try to hold in your moans. Leaving a large load inside your ass before sending you off to get changed. Along with the pleasant burning all across your body.

[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