#from omie

[omies-odd-writing-spot]

I'm being boop-ed by a bunch of GT blogs and I love it because I have stuff to look at and read later!

=3

[omicrontheicequeen]

(I realized only now the hazard of having my writing blog as a side blog....and a lot of rp side blog)

[mamavalcalaw]

I have a weird urge to make a starter with Valory struggling to keep an excited ten or so year old Lana from getting into all the things while on a camping trip not far from their home

[neishroom]

Cleo celebrated her promotion to partner with her friends at The Jeong house <3

[kgetou]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ how they eat you out ! whc ⭑.ᐟ

warnings: mdni, +.18, sm.ut, men starving for puss.y, face.sitting, cun.niling.us, fem! reader, all the characters are over 18, fem dominating, sub!beomseok, overstimulation, cum eating, o.ral f! receiving, degradation (seongje), english isn’t my first language.

characters: suho, sieun, beomseok, parku, gotak, seongje.

ahn suho

↳

let's be honest, this man loves your ass so much, he just can't live without it. So you're not going to be surprised when one day he just asks, "can you sit on my face?" and because you love your boyfriend so much, you did it.

he eats pussy like he's thirsty or hungry all the time (canon), sucking and licking like a needy man. all you need to know is he encourages you to ride his face so he can "eat" properly.

you were on top of him, moving your hips, riding his face. his hands were on your tights, bouncing you with them.while you grab his black hair between your fingers, you use him.

when your knees fail and you sit completely with your whole weight, instead of worrying. he grabs your hips and keeps you there.

and, oh my god, he loves to eat your pussy as if it is his favorite food. he loves it.

he just moans at the thought of your pussy in his face; now imagine while you're actually sitting on it.

this man is a hungry man, and he loves to eat your pussy while you use him, and believe me. when you cum hard in his face, he's going to drink it all. <3

yeon sieun

↳

one day he was just stressed (something that happened really often because he's #1 in the class). he was so stressed that when he entered his room after coming from the academy and you were there immediately, he opened your legs just to suck your clit. </3

we can't judge; that day somebody bothered him, he almost exploded, but instead, he just distressed between your legs.

slurping, sucking, and wriggling his tongue on your clit. his hands were squeezing your thighs tightly, something that he loves to do when he eats you out. while your legs were squeezing his head.

and when you open your glassy eyes, you can see him eating at your folds with his eyes closed and frowning eyebrows like he was mad, and you can even see his jaw moving in a dirty way while he's eating you.

he just loves to slurp, suck your clit, and spread your folds with his tongue; just let him do it when he's stressed because when you cum in his tongue, he's going to need some attention between his legs. <3

oh beomseok

↳

he was just there, sitting on his knees. when he looked at you with his pretty eyes, you didn't hesitate to get close.

but now he's between your legs, in the same position as he was, but he was eating you out. his eyes close while you grab his hair with your fingers to pull him deeper. sucking your clit while eating messily.

his hands around your thighs, he moans directly on your clit. when you force his head to go deeper. he loves it, and you can see it on his face.

he didn't even remove his glasses, so when you see that they were foggy and disturbing you to use his face as your wish, you remove them, making him look at you.

he tried to say sorry, but you just shut him up with your folds on his lips, making him moan and squeeze your tights until it leave marks.

he just loves when you use him like this; he feels useful. So when you cum on his tongue, he makes sure to clean it entirely to make you congrats him. <3

parku (park hu-min)

↳

something about parku it’s that he loves more fuck you from behind.

he just said that he wanted to feel all the of the problems that the boys have; but he get addicted fucking your ass.

but when it’s about eating pussy, he just love spread your legs and dive into it.

and when i say dive into it, it’s dive into it.

he love licking it, try to put his tongue inside your folds, rub his nose aggressively with your clit; and everything while he press your ass.

he just love it, don’t blame him. blame him when he put his fingers inside of you while caressing your clit with his tongue and his other hand middle finger rubbing your butthole.

he’s amazed by the way you sound, the more you moan the more he’s going to introduce his middle finger in your ass.

he loves your ass i said?. so when you find yourself cuming hard with two fingers in your pussy, one inside your butthole and his tongue on your clit, he’s going to slurp it all, even your butthole.<3

gotak (go hyun tak)

↳

This man is a needy man. He needs your pussy in his face, but also your lips around his cock.

imagine he comeback tired of the training at the basketball club. when he takes a shower and see you on his shirt with nothing less than a pair of panties.

he’s done. and also, you are done.

because he’s going to ask you like the gentleman he is: to sit on his face and give him a blow job while you ride it. he forces you to move your ass, while he hears your gags sounds from his cock entering in your throat.

he likes to move his hips to get more deeper in your throat. he doesn’t concern about it certainly. because, he is training your throat for it. and he believe that his girl knows how to take it all.

when he fucks your mouth more rapidly, you know he’s about to come, but he also hug your hips, pressing his face in your pussy, moaning, licking and slurping your clit and folds.

when you cum on his face, he also cum in your mouth, filling that pretty sore (now) throat<3

keum seongje

↳

something about this mf is that he just love taking the control. and how dare you not to follow his commands…you know how you can end if you don’t do it.

so when he asked you nicely to arch your back and raise your butt. you did it.

but you didn’t expect that his tongue will explore all your pussy with a hungry needy actions. he was just amazed by your slickly pussy.

sometimes he stopped from licking it, only to slap it, calling you his slut and emphasizing how wet you are only with his mouth.

he love the sounds you make while he teases your clit with his tongue, while your hole fill with his fingers. you can see his smile on your mind, even though you weren’t watching him.

but he loves it, and he loves it even more when he separate his lips a little bit away from your pussy, and your ass went directly (almost like a tick) backward to find his mouth again.

he’s not going to deny your orgasm, you were his pretty little slut, now, let it go on his mouth, he’s going to drink it all and not stopping until you squirt his face

after all he wanted to get his face all wet just because of you<3

the request was made by @daughterof-aphrodit who asked for this when i already got the draft ready.

thank you for requesting.<3

like to see more of this, reblog if you think it’s worthy.

i wrote this at 1:30 am, sorry if it doesn’t make sense.

[choccy-milky]

seb is lucky ominis cant see ref from triptrippy

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

🎊Happy New Lunar Year! 🎊 Year of a Wooden Snake 🤎🐍🤎

Wooden Snake made me think of XS beloved headcanon of Jermaine being Dragon of Wood element and I just couldn't resist! ;3

design is absolutely based on @wei-smiler 's amazing Jermaine post (he looks so fly in their style!)

[jesuistrestriste]

death with no dignity; patrick zweig

“ amethyst and flowers on the table

is it real or a fable ?

well, i suppose, a friend is a friend

and we all know how this will end ” - sufjan stevens

cw (18+) : mentions of depressive symptoms, masturbation, and heavy yearning.

wc : 1.9 k

When Patrick was eighteen, he killed a doe. 

It was an accident, it truly was, in every sense of the word. 

He had been driving home from Art’s house around 11 PM and had been playing some stupid song on the radio. He’d thrashed his head and slapped his palms against the leather steering wheel to the stupid beat, carefree and unassuming. It had been so dark, and he was distracted, and then suddenly the deer was in the center of the road. Big, black, shiny eyes and pointed ears and a deep brown coat. She was beautiful. For the split moment that he had before the impact, that’s all he could think about. 

He didn’t have enough time to swerve and avoid her because he’d been speeding, and everything afterwards happened in slow-motion. The skidding squeal of his tires against the asphalt. His heart lurching in his ribcage, almost enough to make him feel sick. The harsh jolt of the car and the brutal sound of metal hitting muscle, followed by the animal being sent hurtling a few feet forward and onto her side, accompanied by the painful sting of the seatbelt digging into his chest. When the car finally came to a stop, Patrick froze. His hands stuck to the wheel, shaking, and his eyes were peeled open wide as he stared through the windshield at the lifeless creature he’d just hit with his car. He was practically panting. He didn’t quite recall ever being so scared in his entire life, not even when he’d played his first professional match. Not even when he’d nearly drowned one summer years ago when he and Art were swimming in a lake upstate. 

He’d never killed anything before. Not like that. 

The aftermath was a blur. He almost called the cops to let them know that there was a large, dead animal in the road on so-and-so street, but he didn’t. To this day, he doesn’t really know why. Maybe it was all of the adrenaline. Maybe it was all of the guilt. Regardless, he’d mumbled a soft, “Oh, god, I’m sorry,” and then slowly pulled off and around it. He never told his parents, or anyone for that matter, that he had cried so hard on the rest of the drive home that he felt lightheaded by the time he was in the driveway. 

Mommy and Daddy Zweig offered–no, begged–to get him a new car the next evening (when they got back from Greece) because his hood and bumper were horribly dented, but Patrick had refused. He’d laughed off the incident in front of them, and then waited until they went to bed to slink into their massive garage and pick all of the little tufts of fur out of the vehicle’s grille.

He’d traced his fingertips along the indentations and the scratches in the paint and blinked away the wetness clouding his vision. Tried to mentally retrace his steps that night, too. What if he hadn’t been listening to that stupid song? What if he hadn’t left his best friend’s place so late? What if he’d been quicker? Smarter? Luckier? 

Could things be different? Could he have spared a life? 

Could he have spared the victim, and himself, the pain?

Patrick’s twenty-one now, and he does a lot of retracing his steps these days.

Tennis is his priority; he’s always on the court, or in a car or a bus that’s traveling to a court of some kind. Forehands, backhands, volleying, serving, smashes–it’s all he lives and breathes. And, of course, it’s easier now to focus on tennis when he no longer has friends. 

Art and him haven't talked in many months (has it really been years?), not since Tashi’s knee had gotten injured during that match at Stanford. 

Fuck that fucking match. And fuck them. 

He didn’t need them, he was doing just fine on his own. 

If his best friend of over a decade wanted to kick him to the curb like he was nothing more than a dog that had bitten him a smidge-too-hard to be loved, then whatever. If his grotesquely-talented girlfriend wanted to break up with him because he didn’t want to be treated like a lesser athlete nor sit in her shadow, then fine. He’d enjoy his tennis career and roll freely in the expendable income he was sure to continue collecting.

But that’s not really who Patrick is. 

And so he can’t help but lie awake at night, trying to pin-point where things went wrong–what he could have done to prevent this outcome–and tracing the indentations and scratches in his relationships that surely were only indicative of his faults. Compulsively picking at the tufts nestled in the wreckage. Eyeing the bloody brutalization, punishing himself by reliving the sting.

Sometimes he drags his fingertips over some of his old, banged-up rackets that he can't bear to get rid of, and he thinks about all of it. Tennis academy days with the shy, funny blonde kid that he became close with from day one. Learning and teaching and discussing with him all of the typical adolescent lessons that gave way to life outside of the bubble. Doubles matches–so many doubles matches. So many wins. First beers, first girlfriends, first cigarettes, first kisses. They shared everything with one another and they (almost neurotically) timed their experiences to happen around the same time so that they'd be able to talk to each other about them afterwards. As they got a bit older though, Patrick began to realize that he was feeling things for Art that he probably wasn’t supposed to tell him about. And he usually told Art everything.

That was his first mistake, he thinks, like when he hadn’t heeded the speed limit that night. Or, maybe, that was like playing the stupid song on the radio and going home late. It was the start of their untimely end. 

When he’s in one of his usual depressive spirals, the kind in which he can’t seem to find his appetite and he forgets to shower and he ignores his manager’s texts, he argues with himself about what exactly could be considered the “impact”. Was it when he had cheekily served like Art during that one casual training session, ball to the neck of the racket, confirming that he had slept with Tashi and thus beginning the festering of that awful jealousy in his friend? Or was it when he praised her in front of Art before her match in the singles tournament that fateful afternoon, igniting his friend's interest? Patrick remembers the look that glossed over Art’s eyes when he first caught sight of her; he had looked at her and suddenly Patrick felt like he’d been forgotten–like he’d melted into those bleachers and disappeared. He can’t really blame him, Tashi was talented and beautiful and ambitious and confident and mature–she was everything that Art steadfastly admired in a person. She was twice the person that Patrick had been back then.

Usually though, he comes to the painful conclusion that the impact was certainly the day of the Stanford match. More specifically, it was when Art had yelled at him for the first time in the entirety of their friendship. 

“Patrick, get the fuck out!” 

Those four words ring through his head on the worst of days.

He knew he’d fucked up by not pushing aside his pride and going to support Tashi after their fight, so he could pretty easily swallow down the discomfort that came with being yelled at by her. They yelled at each other pretty often when they got into their little spats, it was relatively normal. But god.. It was so much different when it was him. Patrick's muscles had locked up; he was shaking and breathing hard like he’d just run a marathon, able to see nothing but that pair of angry, familiar eyes. The vitriol that came spurting from the blonde’s mouth was like the worst toxin he’d ever known. It paralyzed him and began to rot his insides from that very moment on. And then all of the suffocating memories came flooding back as he turned and walked out of that campus health center. 

Giggling under blankets with a flashlight, reading comics until the sun started to come up. Practicing for hours on the courts at the academy, sometimes until they both got sunburns and heatstroke. Sleeping in the same bed on summer nights at Patrick’s house–tiredly watching the way Art’s chest rose and fell with each of his breaths and trying not to look at his lips. Holding each other when Art’s parents got divorced and he cried so hard that he got a nosebleed. Bandaging each other’s blisters. Wearing each other’s clothes. Having each other's back.

He doesn’t understand what he did to truly deserve being treated like that in the end by Art.

He’d been a good decent friend, hadn’t he? 

How could Art’s infatuation with her be enough to snuff out everything that they built together? It was supposed to be the two of them for the rest of their lives. Sure, they could each get married, pursue a career, have kids, but at the end of the day it was always meant to be them, wasn't it? Fire and Ice? Did he get that part wrong?

He habitually questions how much he really meant to him.

When Patrick does muster up the strength to drag himself to the shower, he generally stays in there for at least an hour. “Waste of water” be damned. He closes his eyes and lets the warmth run over his hair and his naked body. He presses his back to the cold shower wall and rubs his eyes until he sees white flashes dancing in the darkness. It’s not uncommon for his mind to wander back to you-know-who. In fact, that’s who’s usually on his mind whenever he’s not trying harder to forget. And it’s easy for Patrick to fixate on those blurry white flashes and suddenly see yellow curls, bright blue irises, deep smile lines, flushed cheeks. Breath smelling of that peppermint gum he always chewed. The sound of his nervous laughter and joyous cheers. Patrick would know him even if all of his senses were somehow dulled or taken from him. He would know Art by the feel of his soul breathing life into his own. He would know him, surely.

And maybe it’s an act of pure filth and desperation, or one of flesh-tearing grief, but many times Patrick winds up touching himself. Slow, steady, tender–the way he assumes Art touches Tashi. The way he had always wanted to touch Art, though he never even gathered the courage to try to hold his hand. He thumbs his weeping slit and keens as he feels the sadness and arousal roiling in his gut. He chokes on little moans that sound like sobs that sound like screams. He’s starved. How is it possible to miss someone when they’re everywhere? He thinks it’s funny that he’s forgotten what Art’s speaking voice sounds like but also refuses to watch any of his latest interviews on TV. He doesn’t want to see if there’s a ring on his finger, and he certainly doesn’t want to think about all of the ways Tashi gets to keep him as her own. He was mine, he unfairly thinks as he strokes himself under the scalding water, he was mine and I loved him and you lured him in and then he was gone.

The orgasm usually comes quick, spurred on by the near-lethal dose of petulant thought. He feels his thighs tremble and then his hand starts to lose its rhythm and then he’s crying out as he comes hard over his curled fingers. Sticky, clotted, putrid evidence of his lack of control. When he finally opens his eyes again, salt spills down his ruddy skin from wet lashes. He gets dizzy from the heat and the steam, he feels like he’s choking on all of it. He brings his dirtied hand under the showerhead and watches as his mess is rinsed away, down the drain in a gurgling spiral. It takes everything in him not to collapse.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry,” he whispers, before he forces himself out of the bathroom and collapses in a wet heap over his bed. His skin sticks to the sheets and makes him feel like some sort of dirty, beastly thing that crawls out of swamps and swallows up all of the good it can touch. He figures that the feeling is not far off from the truth.

When Patrick was eighteen, he killed a doe. 

And that doe followed him for the rest of his life.

note : to anyone who's ever had a childhood crush on their best friend. to anyone struggling with the grief.

This was intentionally written to be a bit "all over the place"; I wanted to show how scattered Patrick's thoughts can be. Also I love, love, love Tashi, I just think Patrick maybe sometimes (early on, before they reconnected) blamed her for his and Art's split for unjust reasons.

tags : @venusaurusrexx @tashism @grimsonandclover @diyasgarden @weirdfishesthoughts @gibsongirrl @newrochellechallenger2019 @jordiemeow @artstennisracket @cha11engers @fawnnpaws @oncefaist ♡

[iheartcborle]

Herbert West [Reanimator] Stimboard !

— self indulgent.

[harpywitharobot]

Happy Fathers Day

[omeryotam4]

A few days ago, in my quest to fight the antisemitism that lifted its head around the world following the massacre of October 7th, I stumbled upon a clip from a UN assembly where the speaker asked a simple question-

Dear Arab world, where are your Jews?

A lot of people think that Israeli roots come from Europe exclusively. But in fact, Jewish people were hunted in all corners of this world. In Europe, of course, but also in Asia, Africa and other places all over the planet.

My grandma is an Iraqi Jew. Iraqi Jewish community is one of the oldest Jewish communities in the world, being the direct descendants of the Babylonian exile Jews, so ancient it is an exile mentioned in the Bible.

Recent studies, in which DNA retrieved from canaanite burial lands was compared to current populations in the area of ancient Canaan, has found that Iraqi Jews share the highest similarity to canaanite DNA out of all Jewish communities, more than 50% of the DNA on average.

All the beautiful, peaceful Jewish communities of the Arab world were wiped out in the blink of an eye.

The Arabic world has never treated their Jewish communities as equal citizens, oftentimes robbing them of any rights and performing violent acts of genocide against them (check 'Farhud' on Google).

But their voice was silenced once they fled to Israel.

So I decided to recap my grandma's story in the comments of the clip:

Soon after, many Jewish people with Arabic, or 'Mizrahi' heritage, shared their stories as well:

Jewish people all over the planet were driven out of their homes, ethnically cleansed by their neighbors, rulers, and governments.

We are still not welcome in most of the countries of the Arab world. Unable to see glimpses of our history.

My grandma still wishes she could see the house she grew up in. Holding the memories, but unable to set foot in that land, because she would be executed.

Nevertheless, she's not a refugee. She might've fled to Israel, but in Israel, her family got equal rights as citizens, and she built a house on a land she now calls her home.

Don't erase my grandma's story. Don't erase the Jewish ethnic cleansing that brought her to seek a safe haven in Israel.

Israel is a home for more than half of the Jewish people on this planet. Out of the ~8,000,000 Jews who live in Israel, there are about ~2,500,000 Jews of Mizrahi heritage.

And as Golda Meir once said: "our secret weapon is that we have nowhere else to go."

[omies-odd-writing-spot]

Mwahahah, I'm off work, get boop-ed!!

[omicrontheicequeen]

[[mun faceplants, tired and has a strange hyper fixation on doom x.x halp]]

[reachablefire]

Wakes up in the middle of the night: Was Raimundo originally conceived as an orphan?

Both of these would've been products of early Xiaolin as the series was getting developed. Which would explain why Raimundo doesn't return to any family members when he goes back to Brazil in the season 1 finale Heck, he states Rio to be where he lives, but Season 2 places Tubarão as his home town

and then in Omi Town is his first mention of family

"With eight brothers and sisters, and aunts and uncles coming out the wazoo, I scored big time!"

I wonder both when the change and why

[sodaneko]

clumsy chef in training Y/N x head of the local fire department & neighbor Iwaizumi........................

[kgetou]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ back shots while studying ! yeon sieun headcanon⭑.ᐟ

warnings: mdni needed, +18, yeon sieun x fem reader, reader receives backshots while yeon sieun study in her back, characters are over 18, english its not my first language, lower case on purpose, soft smut.

who would have thought that the need would eat you entirely when you see your boyfriend studying concentrated.

the need to have him inside of you was getting bigger and bigger, and the evidence of your panties were wet by your own essence.

but you couldn't bother your boyfriend, not when he was so focused for the next day's exam.

"sieun" you murmured waiting for him to turn to look at you, when he did your mind went blank. you didn't know how to explain to him how needy and wet you were just for the simple fact that he hadn't touched you for weeks.

but you knew it was like that, since he is number #1 in his class.

but you didn't know that after a few minutes you would find yourself bouncing on his cock, needily while he concentrated on marking your back with a marker.

you can feel how he do some graphs, and sometimes stop the writing to let you bouncing more harder, but you knew he was thinking.

he grip your hips, forcing you to stop, you cry out. you can feel his cock twitching inside of you while he write something more in your back.

“keep it straight” he murmur while grabbing your ribs and forcing you to keep your back straight.

you start bouncing again with shyness, knowing that your boyfriend was more focused on studying than willing to give your pussy some attention.

you whimper trying to move more faster, you wanted more, his pretty cock’s tip was touching that spongy spot again and again, but he was more concentrated on finding the result of the formula on your back.

“s-sieun please-” he shush you calming you down “i’m almost finish” he said proudly writing the last numbers of the equation.

“now, move y/n” he said resting one of his hands behind his back while the other was on your hips, guiding you.

you obeyed, bouncing hard, hearing his soft moans that sound more like heavy breaths. your pussy was clenching his cock, the squelching sound of it echoing in the room together with your loud moans

“i-i’m coming” you manage to say, accelerating your speed, bouncing back and forth much quicker. a loud moan comes out of your pretty lips, while your pussy squirm around his cock, you didn’t even notice that you milk him.

when he hugs you kissing your neck from behind getting his cock out, you notice the amount of cum that gush out of your pussy.

the next day your pretty boyfriend come back home, showing you his 100%. a new method for him to study.

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