#ramskull

[milqndstars]

the sillies

[finaldiscwar]

does anyone gaf about schlastrid sick fic wip

[unhonest-iago]

Will they? Won’t they?

Ao3 link // written in part of the @mcyt-rarepair-exchange

Schlatt wasn't stupid enough to sign up for the Running Man. That was literal suicide. People cheering rambunctiously for another working man's death. An assigned enemy that they could root to fall.

He could oddly understand it in a way. What, with how bleak life had become. Seeing how the Romans had the Gladiators, facing up against other gladiators or animals. Ferocious beasts. Entertain people to distract them from the dissenting chaos.

But he did need the cash and was about as desperate as they came. Here he was, still standing in line to be assessed by the Games Federation for a handful of their shows. Even with the years, a queue never got any less infuriating. Schlatt was aware that the show would ultimately make him a laughing-stock.

All for the masses' nighttime entertainment. A little pick-me-up before going to bed, and being forced to repeat their miserable, daily routine. If selling his soul made him make ends meet for just another day, another month? He'd sign the dotted line without hesitation.

"A dating game? Really?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. All those assessments and questionnaires for him to be an eligible bachelor? They must've stuffed their ears with cotton. Schlatt wasn't necessarily boyfriend material. Usually, folks would describe him as an asshole.

The grumpy guy you avoided at work unless you absolutely needed his help. Stoic, standoffish, pessimistic. And he liked it that way—he enjoyed his own company. But hey, it was only night. He could act it up for the cameras.

Sitting in the stuffy chair under bright ass stage lights. Dressed in a nice-ish outfit. Better than the thrifted garments he typically wore.

A white dress shirt tucked into some wine red dress pants. A few buttons undone at the top. Schlatt tried to ignore the live studio audience. Waiting for the countdown that would proceed his introduction to the people. His television debut.

He didn't have to wait long. Adorning a Cheshire Cat grin as the cameraman swooped the camera over to him. "Welcome to the show Jschlatt. The audience seems to love you already, but I'm pretty certain they also want to know what you're looking to get out of this…experience," the host used a conspiratorial tone. Like they were old friends, gossiping away. "What everyone is looking for…love. A partner to suck the marrow out of life with," the words felt like sharp knives—lies. It got a small chuckle from the host.

"Why, aren't you a catch! Let's meet the lucky contestants." Like the typical dating game show, Schlatt couldn't see them. Separated by a small wall. But he knew, that just like him, that they were all sitting one-by-one in equally uncomfortable chairs.

The cliche question had been addressed to all three of the contestants. What would the perfect first date look like? A softball question that wished for the details of a location and event. Aztrosist was up—contestant #1. It didn't bother her, sitting as cool as a cucumber in her chair. One leg crossed over the other at the knee. Going the romantic route in hopes to win the audience's favor. "Probably a late night meal at the ol' Waffle House. Some time around…say 2 or 3 in the morning. Take a leisurely stroll afterwards, see if the dreary sky has any stars to offer."

The host went on to the next contestant. "Contestant #2?" The immediate shift to the next contestant didn't allow Schlatt time to point out the anachronism. Waffle House was no longer in business, sadly.

"Something adventurous, more on the scenic side. Go somewhere deep in the mountains. A hike or a kayaking trip," Mikasacus answered, hoping the answer didn't come across as creepy. Having no intents on murdering Schlatt. Would cause Mikasacus more trouble than it was worth, really. Plus managing to get on one of these game shows would give him the leg up to appear on the potential other shows. He could get his clout that way. "But not too deep in the woods. Obviously, we just met. If you makes you feel more comfortable, we can make it a group outing. Intermingle the friend group."

"And last but not least, contestant #3? What's your perfect idea for a first date?" The host glanced out at the crowd, continuing on as they noted the audience's energy had remained steady. Stable.

"Would probably settle for a night in, cook you a decent meal. Something hearty—still pretty cold outside, damn near froze my balls off…might watch a movie together, your pick. Or some crafts," not that Apandah had the funds but he was good at scrounging around for supplies. It was a shocker what you could create with a little cardboard and makeshift glue.

The host turned to Schlatt, wondering what he thought of the contestants. "So, did any of their responses manage to ensnare you, Schlatt?"

One of the contestants did manage to ensnare him. It was the end of the show and now Schlatt had to pick. He knew there was a high likelihood that they'd go on the date set up by the show and then never see each other again. Going their separate ways as their lives pulled apart. Like the same poles of a magnet. But Schlatt couldn't help but hope that they at least remain friends. Truly with any of them. 

"So who's the lucky contestant?" the host reiterated for the fourth time that evening.

"Host, I'll take whoever's beyond that first lucky door. Contestant #1."

"You heard the man. Let's see contestant #1." Aztrosist took that as her cue to walk on out. Smoothing her dress as she went. Walking up to Schlatt, she held out a hand for him to shake. A bit taken aback when Schlatt brings her hand up to kiss the back of it.

"And your name?" the host held out the microphone. 

"Aztrosist," she answered, gingerly taking back her hand.

Schlatt being the one to speak this time, "It's good to put a face to a voice." After that, the show was wrapped up. The host makes the closing remarks. The title card runs as the curtains are drawn.

[gui2arts]

Blood Moon (07-06-2023) Hi! I'm back. I was gone for a long time because I was preparing for my wedding and I just got married to @BinkyKun on the 30th of June. This work was one of my many backlogs from months ago. Haha.

Wanna get a print of this artwork? How about a sticker? Not to worry! I sell them on my Redbubble page.

[naturebonestudio]

I’ve been so caught up in the reels craze that I haven’t made a regular post in ages! Here are some photos of this funky fungi covered ram skull pipe I made a while back. This piece is already sold but I’d be happy to recreate something similar as a custom order. Feel free to reach out through my shop messages (not instagram dms please). ✨ . . . . . . #naturebonestudio #ramskull #mushroomart #glassofinstagram #skullpipe #animalskull #glassart #functionalglass #handmadewithlove #glasspipe #glasssculpture #girlswhoblowglass #glassartist #mushroomcore #vulturecultureart #stonerwitch #gothshit #flameworkedglassart https://www.instagram.com/p/Cp7qeFSuTv_/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[zetallis]

Calla Lilies Raven and Larkspur Ram Necklaces

In lively color and in somber monochrome Shop

[cl0wndem0n]

I drew this ram skull and was thinking this could be a cool sticker design. Please let me know your thoughts!

[kingkatsuki]

Bakugou would absolutely love it if you were just so drunk on his cock that you were no longer screaming. Instead you were flexing so hard under him with every wave of pleasure, with orgasms that just seemed to blend into each other, that your throat had clamped down and no sound could leave. Doesn't stop him from shoving his fingers, too thick to be human you swear, in your dropped jaw, pressing down on your tongue until you gag violently. You thrash and whine and fuck if you writhing on his dick doesn't just spur him to fold you further and rut into you harder.

-Ramskull

It's the way he watches your pupils dilate as your words morph into jumbled whines and whimpers, your body going completely lax apart from your cunt that continues to clench around his cock. Squeezing him so tight he knows that you can still feel everything.

He loves it that much more because he can talk down to you and have these cute noises you make in response because you can't form coherent words. You can't even beg him when he slows his thrusts to stop and stare at how pretty you look, your inner walls feebly trying to clench around him as you writhe beneath him. You're just a complete and utter mess for him, and he wouldn't have it any other way.