#oooomf

[drakonovisny]

head hurtyyyyy :((((

[shalgates]

CYLAM ART. OOMF PSOTED ART. GUYS GO LOOK AT IT NNNOWOOOO !!!!!

[ ☁️✶ ]

✶ | Celestial Pride . 🏳️‍⚧️

bonus

[spookychiptune]

little man's chuffed

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

The Death of Me by Marianas Trench is such a Titans!Dick Grayson song

[tibbycaps]

just thought id let you know that when zam punched you in tgttos, spectator coach feinberg said "no- zam! dont punch the artist, thats not fuckin cool!" (with hands on his head). its really funny. anyways great job on the mcc-ing yall were a delight to watch!!!

HOLY SHIT THANK YOU FEINBERG…. THATS OOOOMF 😭

its okay i got my meltdown revenge smile

thanks so much for tuning in aaaahh im still so jittery

[alsbrain]

Oomf................

Oooomf...

[jdms-flat-ass]

the whole ass bush on his chest 👹💅

JEFFREY DEAN MORGAN as Ike Evans Magic City: Season 1, Episode 5 - World in Changes

[uniduck600]

hiiii my oooomfs.. it feels really good to get a fresh start WOW

[deadbaguette]

hi oomf hope ur having a good day!!!

OOOOMF!! I know who this is ahsgshshhsh

And yesss I’m good :D It’s weekend so I have homework ofc but my exams are basically over so I’m truly relaxing for the first time in a while

[foggyghostx]

i love u oomf

I LOVE U OOOOMF

[grimowled]

THE DARK BEAST in his chest pulsed with every bold step the imp took toward him, not intimidated by the elements of boundless danger around him but otherwise audaciously bolstered by them; striker walked on the razor's edge, so perfectly balanced and devoid of a moment's hesitation, it was a sublime thing to see! it seemed as if this hellborn truly knew the deepest abysses of dark urges, and it stirred something within the deep seat of the demon's primal eldritch core.

there was a deadly quiet in the room save for mingled breaths among a silky rattling and the crackling of flames as they licked greedily at the darkened stone of the fireplace; and yet nothing seemed to remain entirely still - no, it was as if the dusk-laden air itself was taut, like a predator readying to pounce at any moment. he could hear his own shuddering exhales as blood rushed and rumbled in his ears, signalling a nigh uncontainable and visceral excitement - some wicked form of adrenaline rising and lighting sparks at his nerve endings, like nothing had for a long long time (too shamefully long!).

he could pinpoint the moment striker's heart steadied, and it prompted a rush that almost had him intoxicated. as a demon, he fed on strong compulsions and the cursed warmth he felt was not coming from the fireplace, but from some incomprehensible abyss within. glowing eyes strained not to follow the hypnotic motions of that smooth tail, but he trained them on the imp's swirling gaze, rewarded by the sublimely deranged look on his face. it made the smile slicing across his beak a little wider, his thighs squeeze and grind against each other to seek some form of release from the tension building in his lower belly - but it was only increasingly maddening.

then, the cowboy assassin dared where few had before; straddling the prince's long legs, stroking feathered chest through the opening of his robe, boldly settling himself across his satin-draped lap, eliciting a heady jolt within his loins that was hard to contain, and that tumbled out of his parted beak in the form of a most wanton sigh. the way the imp talked to him so brazenly, hatefully hissing through his fanged grin, was like foreplay to his ears - insatiable for more.

(what he wouldn't give for that spiked tail and forked tongue to lash him in other places!)

"mmmh, such a fine choice of both ... you flatter me with your words, and your actions."

(he would allow it.)

"your attempt at manners should be rewarded. you will be pleased to know I am most inclined to be a good host to you, before we set out our terms."

he spoke in a sultry whisper, mere inches from the other's serpentine snout, sharp eyes narrowing into crescents as they bore into spiralling yellow orbs; the demonic owl could petrify him there and then if he so wished, in that rather delectable position they were in - the slithering tendrils of that dark thought tickled the back of his brain all too pleasantly. but he did not need to follow the sleek motion of the assassin's sleight of hand with his attentive gaze to sense the powerful presence of an angelic blade (that very same one!)- it rang with its smithing might the moment it was unsheathed, and its radiant energy pulsed like a savage burn against the phantom scar of his old wound, making him lick the seams of his sharp beak in blissful hunger.

wordlessly he raised a pale wrist right beneath striker's maw, offering up the tender spot where his feathers were downy softest.

(he dared him to have a taste - to experience the unique privilege of spilling goetia blood once more - on the dark prince's terms - and not waste it this time! to know what it's like to sample demon royalty, and never look back ...)

The room was beyond what he'd seen in his life, the plants eager to tear into him, the ceiling above sharing no shining of light except the faint twinkles of the fake sky, it was only the fireplace that gave the room life, and standing in front of it, he saw his dark shadow covering Stolas, seeing danger seep from their feathers.

He wasn't here to kill, so the provocative words and tone had little effect on him, yet they stirred something in the assassin. It made him feel like they were toying with him, it acted like a hook that made him move closer to the danger, not wanting to make them believe he felt threatened or that he saw them as his better. But then again, he was joining in on the fun.

With a rattle of his tail and a quick sway, he shifted his stance as he took a step closer, the drinks trolly was not his focus, and the seat he was going to take, was already occupied.

Each step was slow, and calculated, it sounded like an echo in the dead silent room with the air strained like piano wire, taut, and so easily wrapped around someone's neck if someone got the chance. Striker's breathing got heavier, breathier, he could feel his mouth salivate at the intensity of the room, here is where he felt alive, walking across the edge of a knife that one false move could spell his doom.

"A good guest does not spur the hosts' invitations…" His eyes stared into the Goetia's, feeling his heart beating so hard he could see the vision pulsate. Oh, how he had danced upon death's footstep, daring them to open up and swallow him whole, even now he felt their scythe scrape across his spine, each vertebra tingling and sending sensations up to his brain, there was fear, excitement, and a whole lot of danger that flooded his mind, yet he walked as fearlessly as if he was walking to a faithful dog.

"I've been thinking about keepin' you safe… Stella is a pain to deal with, screaming, throwin' shit… You're quiet, cool… Exciting!" He'd stand in front of Stolas, within a foot of them, his tail twisting and twirling behind him, the spirals in his eyes contracting and expanding until they covered his eyes and made them all completely black, like staring into an abyss, only for a second later two white dots appearing in the middle. The thunderous heartbeat had abated and going from a beat nearing 200, it would dip down to 50, the assassin having gotten into his element, he was in his zone, the one where death was hanging over his head, grinning at him.

"I will take my seat, so graciously offered by my host~." His tail's erratic movements stopped and would gently move like silk in oil in the air, smooth and unnaturally so as it danced between the pair. Moving over to gently place on the other's chest, it brushed against the feathers. He'd move closer, and bending his knees he'd place himself in their lap. Seated in a fashion one who looked upon them would imagine two lovers, yet the sound of steel against leather could be heard as Striker pulled out the blade that once had pierced Stolas once before.

"And I'd take my drink of choice to be of the Host~." The hand had moved to the blade without notice, an assassin trick, though he didn't know how good Stolas was at following with their eyes. Here it moved agonizingly slow, in turn, to show he wasn't going to kill, but the implication, the fact Stolas could kill him in any second, the danger he had placed himself in, to Striker it was akin to the height of ecstasy. He lived in danger.

"Will you be a good host~?" The spade placed itself over where the old wound that the dagger had once made, gently pressing on it. Death would either be swift for the cowboy, or it would go empty-handed.

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

If "one offs" wins the poll, I might finally write GoT fanfiction...

I've had a Tyrion idea stuck in my head for months omg

[prozacdyke]

Bitches be like i hate the internet im gonna go touch grass five minutes later me and my oooomfs <333

[ohitsminuet]

> @micaaaaaaaaaa oooomf wake upppppp

[ceiadon]

OOOOMF HOW COULD YOU??? ALNST AND PATROCHILLES????????????

ruler of my heart

[achingly-shy]

oh he put some OOOOMF into that fuck you