#DUMPTRUCK FROG | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

twitchesandstitches · 3 years

Text

concept involving perma-vore, Tia sees a karen being absolutely intolerable to poor overworked people that don’t need that kind of stress and, indignated (and oblivious to how terrified she makes the retail worker in question) she devours the karen on the spot, adding their mean dumptruck butt to her own mass.

and, due to how vore works in this specific scenario, she digests everything about the karen; her memories, her skills, and her entire family are all metaphysically transferred to Tia, during a process where their memories will gradually shift so that the karen is basically retconned out of history, and Tia takes her place.

While this is going on, Tia (now abruptly feeling responsibility) goes to the family and assumes her prey’s form, playing the role until the process is done and she can reveal what she truly is, and it is a comedy of errors with her trying desperately to pretend to be a regular person and failing miserably. the family has been used to the mother of their family being high-maintainence, demanding, probably a bigot and generally a difficult person, so its strange that she’s suddenly very sweet, insists on unloading her wallet to random vagrants, kisses her kids goodnight when she used to expect them to handle their own issues, is very indulgent with the pets (and allows pets)...

even so. they notice a few things.

things like how Mommy’s lipstick isn’t... lipstick. It’s coming off her lips, oozing like venom off a frog’s body. Or how her husband kisses her on the neck, and feels the faint fluttering of gills moving against the air. Light flashes in her eyes, pink and old and wrong. She smiles, and it seems like she doesn’t know how to, that she is smiling with muscles unfamiliar to her, faking something she’s never done.

Hold her hand, and her grip is... not clammy, but it is damp, and slick. Like she just got out of the pool, and it tingles to the touch.

Her shadow is not human.

Watch her go by a mirror, and the reflection it shows is not her.

Say it again; look at her shadow. Watch it spread out across walls as she moves passed, as if cast by something far larger, casting its shadow on the whole world.

Once more: her shadow is not human.

#twitchy!ocs #twitchy!tiashar #honestly a real theme with tia lately is that her concept bounces wildly betrween cute sexy kink elements #and genuine horror vibes #queued

2 notes · View notes

panphobe-moved · 4 years

Photo

here’s your frog! his name is dumptruck

#thank you i love him!#submission

6 notes · View notes

maserati-yokota · 5 years

Text

AJW SUPER HURRICANE Commercial Tape 4/9/94

Rie Tamada vs. Chaparrita ASARI

This is ostensibly a rookies match but Tamada had been at it since 91 and ASARI since 92 so really this is just a juniors match. Tamada ties ASARI up like a bow in an attempt to keep her off her feet. The crowd couldn’t care less, but despite the wealth of talent on this show, the crowd seemed to all have dosed with Niquil so don't worry about it. This is perfectly fine and easily the best singles match either of them produced in their early days. Don't let the perverts in the audience sway you.

Mr. Buddhaman vs. Tomezo Tsunokake No firecrackers in this one! Lots of spots they worked around the circuit but also some pretty brutal spots. The crowd thinks this is comedy because the crowd is awful people. There are way worse ways to spend your time. These two could've lead a whole goddamn promotion.

Suzuka Minami & Tomoko Watanabe vs. Takako Inoue & Kaoru Ito I think even at this point Suzuka was still under the shadow of her former tag partner Hokuto, so the crowd is expecting a less than fiery performances from her. But everybody here shows the fuck up. Another counterpoint for everybody who says these four never blossomed. Haters never die.

Zen Nihon Senshukenjiai: Mima Shimoda vs. Miki Handa Miki Handa is sadly a footnote of the era. But in reality she was to LLPW what Plum was to JWP; she takes a colossal ass-kicking like an Absolute Girl and makes you love her and want her to win even though you know it ain't likely. In terms of the inevitability of CTE, that sucks a lot; but in terms of the wrestling narrative of the era (and still evident today, i.e. how Tam Nakano is booked in Stardom) it’s fun to have somebody who’s good at chasing and bad at catching. Stan Hansen? Great at chasing; didn't work as a champ. Ya feel me? Handa catches Shimoda with a quick German at the bell. Shimoda responds by doing the rope spot the world was tired of years before it finally stopped happening. Test of strength into finger stomp. Shimoda was LCO from the jump! Suzuka Minami on commentary, per usual. Shimoda doing joint manipulation and folding Handa into an origami frog is PEAK Shimoda. If Shimoda is Hokuto Lite, Handa is Cuty Suzuki Lite. Neither of those things are bad. Most of us will never be anywhere near that good at anything.

Shimoda throws Handa into every metal surface in Tokyo. Handa sells it by being THOROUGHLY peeved, then vertical suplexes her like a frilly Jumbo Tsuruta. Makes no sense but such is televised wrestling. You watch for the glorious moments when things coalesce into something greater than their constituent parts. Shimoda proves she's the WCW Ric Flair of the era by refusing to sell for anyone and just going thru her standard shit. UNTIL Handa gets her in a surfboard and then Shimoda looks like she's recovering from a visit to the dentist's. Weird sell but ok. Handa is def selling her part of the story--that Shimoda sucks on the mat; which we all knew but weren't sure would be enough to put her away. Surprise! It isn't. Mostly cuz Shimoda doesn't really ever wanna do business.

Zenjo vs. LLPW: Etsuko Mita vs. Eagle Sawai I can tell by the opening mat sequence that this is gonna be a 100hrs long. Eagle could go, she just always got mired in the mid-card sludge cuz no one in upper management thought she was photo book material. Mita Etsuko without a bright pink chair to hit folks with is rarely a Mita Etsuko you wanna watch.

Bull Nakano & Sakie Hasegawa vs. Manami Toyota & Kyoko Inoue Holy shit! How is this buried in this largely-forgotten event? Peak era for pretty much everyone involved. Hasegawa in upstart heel mode is a mood for the ages. She jukes Inoue and Toyota, Bull takes one step into the ring, and the crowd goes pale. Bull and Hasegawa take turns turning Toyota into a balloon animal ripe for popping. Hasegawa Tiger Suplexes Inoue into a billion day-glo shards. Hasegawa sells a top-rope DDT like someone everyone knows survived a catastrophic neck injury just a few years before--which is to say, like, "...that's all you got?" Bull doing a vertical suplex with a bridge is the rarest Bull; the crowd is a fog of question marks. Toyota's mouth is dripping blood. Hasegawa's spinning heel kick would still pop a crowd into a froth today. Watching her toss Toyota off when she goes for the lucha roll is so cathartic; no one wants to see a funny move done without a shred of irony. It is to Toyota's career as male pattern baldness is to Shawn Michaels. Why not have fun with it? Toyota does the German Airshow Leap to the outside and eats shit. (She's still bloodied, btw.) Bull figures if they both switch off chipping away at Inoue and Toyota, their combined efforts will rule the day. But twas not to be. The Fringe-Lace alliance get that good good W. Toyota realigns her nose and is back to looking crisp for the post-match interview. Hasegawa let's her shiny rainbow singlet, emblazoned with puff-paint, speak for her.

Aja Kong vs. Reggie Bennett This match wasn't even listed on the tape! I had no idea. This is their first encounter and will presumably last longer than their match from Arsion in 98--i.e., I am allowed to blink. No one will ever have better entrance music than AJW-era Aja Kong. It's inconceivable. Reggie has one giant French braid, cut-off overalls and a hardhat and she is your new fashion GOD. Aja does some Muta bits like spitting mist and doing a flying shoulder block. I'm glad the crowd enjoyed it cuz I think it sucked. Despite her present-day role (giving joshi aces a bog-standard 30min match on a monthly basis), Aja Kong transcends conventional gimmickry. She doesn't need that shit. Her reputation precedes her. It's at this point I notice Reggie Bennett is a beast who absolutely mauls Aja for the first 15min like no one I've ever seen. It's not just the booking; she legit tosses her around like my cat bats a balled-up tissue. Where is the Reggie Bennett shoot interview??? Aja shotays her way out of danger until they go into the crowd segment. Will Reggie blade?? Will she ever do a shoot interview? No and no. She does, however, power through two brutal lariats only to powerslam Aja! Has that ever happened? I cannot emphasize enough how intense Reggie's pace and strength are in this. Reggie takes a diving elbow to the clavicle and immediately dies. That made no sense. Aja spits yellow mist and now I hate her. Reggie Bennett forever. Post-match, Aja talks shit. Reggie commits herself to training harder. I say it again: Reggie Bennett forever.

Zenjo vs. LLPW: Yumiko Hotta & Toshiyo Yamada vs. Shinobu Kandori & Harley Saito I expect a Golden Corral buffet of kicks. A dumptruck full of kicks. A Nor'Easter of kicks descending upon me like I'm some quaint little hamlet. Kandori and Saito are basically the toughest LLPW had to offer. They're ready for Yamada and Hotta, though, and this is up and headed for the first overloaded plate of kicks before the bell has rung. Did Hotta vs Kandori ever happen? Shoulda. Kandori is horngry for AJW BLOOD. Saito is dressed like a tradtional Afghan dancer who has just discovered rave. Hard to say which I love more. Yamada kicks Kandori right in the jaw and...yeah no I've made my decision; I love that most of all. Hotta seems genuinely afraid of Saito. Kandori taunts Hotta, teasing the showdown, then decks Yamada with the QUICKNESS. This rules. Yamada has stepped up the stiffness for the occasion. You love to see it. Why didn't we get a year of these tag matches like All Japan in 91? Kandori dumps Yamada off her shoulders in one of the most wreckless things I've ever seen in a wrestling ring. Unfuckingreal. Hotta tries to smother Kandori but fears her Fujiwara armbar. As do I. They blunder into the finishing stretch with Saito as the speedbag. Saito never got her due. They seriously could've setup a whole year of main event booking around these four. Yamada finally nails her insanely complicated finisher and the streamers rain down. Structurally awkward but radiating more heat than most well-established feuds.

#joshi #all japan womens #joshi puroresu #puroresu #wrestling review

1 note · View note

jack-manpain-zimmermann · 7 years

Text

Where Is My Mind

Where does Mr. Smiling Eyes Ransom go when he’s having one of Those Times?

Title from Where Is My Mind by Pixies

as always thank you to @wrathofthestag for beta! On AO3

Bzzt Bzzt

A hand jams down Justin’s shorts pocket from the wrong direction, tugging his phone out and past the few gaps in the fortress of blankets. He hears Adam tinkering around with it and the shift of his hips as he pockets it in his own pants.

He lets the clickety-clack of typing resume before flipping down the bit of blanket over his eyes.

“March again?”

Adam clunks at his trackpad with one finger as the other hand grabs Justin’s knee and shakes it.

“Yeah. I told her something was up with Bits and we needed to help. She thinks we should just marry him and get it over with.”

“‘Tchuh, I would.”

“Chyeah. Same, dude.”

The object of their proposals patters his way downstairs and into the living room, bundled up in boots and a coat despite the mild weather.

“What’re you two plotting over there?”

“Will you marry us, Bitty?” comes the stereo response.

Bitty chuckles bright and gleeful, skipping around to their side of the couch.

“I thought you boys would never ask!” he says in a breathy version of his own accent.

He kisses Adam on the head but pauses when he sees Justin’s face. The look shared between Adam and Bitty is intentionally obvious and for that Justin is extremely grateful.

There’s a soft rustle as Bitty paws around to find a chest under the blankets before lying across him and pressing their foreheads together.

“Want anything, Ransers?” Bitty’s whisper is sweet and close.

Justin turns his head to nose into Bitty’s hairline to breathe in that babyish, innocent freshness that Bitty has never lost. He brings his hands from underneath himself and holds Bitty lightly through the layers of blankets and coat.

He wants to fall asleep for ten hours and wake up refreshed, is what he wants. He can’t even find the strength to know how exhausted he really is.

Everyone in class chirping him in annoyance at how he ‘somehow manages to do it all, but never seems to be doing anything’. It isn’t as if he’s hiding it: the way he can’t look at a page of text without it lodging in his brain for all of eternity, or how certain songs become synonymous with an entire hockey game, mixed liberally with March telling him about her last visit home. No matter how often he explains that it’s not possible to think at this rate while remaining outwardly engaged, she still thinks he isn’t listening. But he does listen. He repeats it all back to her word-for-word and for some reason she gets even more annoyed.

Then when he lets go and has fun, his jock buddies outside SMH aren’t at all subtle about assuming he’s somehow being handed his grades because of his parents being immigrants.

All of that shit from other students isn’t as bad as the advisers flaking out on him just because ‘the Oluransi kid is gonna be fine - he’s so far ahead - nothing phases that one’.

That isn’t as bad as being unable to tell his own mother that just because a method yields successful results doesn’t mean it has longevity. That he worries his brain will one day fill up and then dump it all out, taking all the fun and silly shit that makes life worthwhile right along with it...

“Nah, thanks, Bits,” he mumbles, pressing three quick kisses against the silky skin above Bitty’s brows. Thankfully, Bitty doesn’t get up immediately. Just sinks deeper; a warm curve over Justin’s torso.

“What’s this? Cuddle pile on Ransom?”

It shouldn’t still be a surprise that Jack is so tactile now, but it’s a pleasantly notable feeling when he places a hand each on top of Justin and Bitty’s heads and gives them a little shake.

“Dude, nah, this couch is gonna bre--aaahhhhh!”

Jack has nudged his ass onto the two of them and is experimenting with settling his full weight. Justin and Bitty scream with laughing terror directly into each other’s faces, eyes bugging out. Adam swivels awkwardly while holding his laptop and plants a foot on one of Jack’s asscheeks, trying to force him away valiantly.

“Jesus Henderson Christ, Jack! Your dumptruck of a butthole is gonna eat my goddamn leg!”

“Bitty to the rescue!” Justin yells, turning Bitty onto his back and adding his booted feet to the effort of knocking Jack over.

Jack stumbles forward and admits defeat and they all cheer, Justin making Bitty’s hands clap by swinging his arms back and forth.

After a few more minutes of tousle, Jack tugs Bitty to his feet and they’re off to go grocery shopping.

The air is still humming with boyish energy, but Justin has retreated back under his blankets. His breathing is far more natural and Adam can sense it, putting away his laptop and tugging Justin’s feet into his lap.

“I literally never want to leave here, man.”

Adam doesn’t outwardly acknowledge the frailty in his friend’s voice. Just kneads at the long bare feet in his lap and hums before he answers.

“Not for another year, we got time.”

“Don’t wanna fuckin’ think about med school… getting a goddamn mortgage... shit.”

A sigh gusts out of him and he yanks his arms out of the blankets, as if they were restraining him. In seconds, Adam’s got ahold of one hand in his own.

It’s fine. Shitty’s the only one in the house. The frogs are in classes all day. It’s fine.

“We’ve always got options, Jus.”

It’s the same response every time and Justin knows it’s intended just as seriously as it was the first time. Adam’s eyes are soft but intense behind his thick lenses. His dry-ass hair won’t sit down in any kind of way on his huge-ass head. He seems to eclipse the whole damn couch beneath his bulk and one of his serving platter hands is still holding Justin’s foot.

Justin palms at his own face where it’s a little wet around the eyes.

“Just gotta get through it, eh?”

Adam nods once and squeezes the hand still in his.

“Okay, pickle. Time for fresh air and Vitamin D.”

Justin sighs but agrees. They disentangle from the couch and stretch out their kinks in tandem, both ending in whooshing sighs.

“Left my shoes upstairs. Be right back!”

“Alright, get your hat while you’re at it, Mr. Mela-none,” Justin chirps, slipping his own shoes on just outside the kitchen. He spots Shitty’s bare ass sticking out from where he’s bent over and hunting in the fridge.

“Don’t eat that Zero bar in the freezer!”

Shitty looks up in surprise and farts in a way that also sounds surprised. His mouth is literally stuffed with cold fries as he gives Justin a keen, penetrating look.

“Ruh ooha fuffuh?”

“Yeah man, just a bad morning. Gonna go walk and then Jerry’s. Join later?”

“Arfth.”

Justin nods and bounces a little on his feet, getting his blood flowing and feeling his head settle heavy and real again.

He nudges easily into Adam as they walk out the front door into the blinding sunlight, both taking dramatic lungfuls of fresh air as soon as they’re on the porch. Adam sounds like such a horse that Justin can’t stay serious anymore.

The smile settles back on his face where it belongs and everyone walking along Frat Row that afternoon returns it back to him.

#justin ransom oluransi #holsom #character study #post-anxiety attack #hurt comfort #my fic

25 notes · View notes

jakebraque-blog · 7 years

Text

Gettin Territorial up here.

Life continues in Katherine. A certain smart little bugger is getting proper close to his first steps, sprouting teeth like crazy and making a lot of noises that sound damn close to words. He spends bulk hours crawling around the outdoor kitchen, chasing butcher birds around while they clean up the never ending food trail he leaves behind him.

The scenery has greened up a little bit, since that spot of rain we had. The last spot of rain that will be seen here for a while now. Because the Buildup has set in. Our time of direst suffering has begun. Yessir/maamee, it's nowt but boiling hot and humid days from here until the wet season comes to put us out of our misery. Which is saying something, considering the awful reputation the Wet has. It's like "Thank god they're taking all the Brazilian Wandering Spiders out of this box I'm locked in, from here on out it'll only be regular old Brown Scorpions for me. Huzzah!"

Which brings us to our next paragraph. Here it is. Actually no, I don't like this one. Let's skip ahead.

Hey! This one's way better. It's where I start writing about the old Mack truck I've been working on for the last couple of days. It's an R6, which is way crusty in age terms. 1986 model, so almost as old as me and in similar or slightly worse condition.

Cos your early thirties are about when Mother Nature suddenly remembers you exist, drops whatever she was doing in the Amazon with the Poison Arrow Tree Frog and rolls on over with her big bag of honkin-great physical ageing indicators. Like "Oh, shit, you're still alive? Yeah, let's not have your dusty old genes contaminating the species here. IIIII'm going to gooooo wiiith, nosehair. All of the nosehair. Some in the ears too aaand then wrinkles all over. Best of luck mating now fucknuckle." Bloody nature.

I will say, after a couple of days doing brakes, bearings, clutch and so forth on a prime mover, you really start to realise: "Thank fuck I don't do this regularly anymore." Because working on road trains for a living can go make love to a hoof rasp. Everything's exactly heavy enough to tempt you to lift it but then damage your back, the lifting and pulling tools are always broken and the underside of your average truck (ie: the part where a mechanic's job takes place) is covered in a fine layer of red dust and atomised kangaroo entrails. Trucks are bullshit. I want it written on my tombstone. Somebody note that down.

Well, I mean yachts are bullshit too. The whole job tales place in a space the size of your average washing machine, the charter companies flip their shit if you leave a single fingerprint behind (which is easy, cos this gig never involves getting oil or grease on yourself, cough cough SARCASM cough) and any spanner you lose your grip on for half a picosecond now belongs to Poseidon. Bloop.

But let's not beat up on the bareboat industry, because the ski resort industry aint no bed of roses either. Everything's cold and wet enough to give you pneumonia(check that off the ol' bucket list), a bunch of your coworkers are bent, hungover or don't speak fluent english and discolouring or putting holes in the snow is punishable by catapult.

But I don't wanna make it seem like the mining industry is some beautiful safe haven here either. I once worked in a transport workshop where the boss told staff to leave an injured worker screaming on the floor with bones poking out and a big bit of steel on top of him, rendering no first aid assistance nor calling the site ESOs until he'd photographed the scene as evidence. On another site we once found a petrified stick of powergel explosive nestled in the engine bay of a dumptruck during a service. On another site I was almost blown up in a charged stope because the firing lines had been crossed and mislabelled( fortunately my guardian angel sawed through a hydraulic hose in another section of the mine 5 minutes before the bombs went off under my feet and I only found out about it an hour later, having been getting the broken down drill running again at the time).

There's a moral to this story here. And as best I can tell it's: Fuck The Mining Industry. Huh. How 'bout that.

We could get into the agricultural industry here but, well. Ok, chaff in your undies. Always chaff in your undies. Everything has bulk redback spiders in it and 50% of cockies treat the common greasegun like it's made of fucken plutonium with some AIDS on top. You have to dismantle most things with a chisel and an oxy torch. While standing in dry, flammable wheat stubble up to your gentleman's area. Certain Case IH dealerships in certain towns where I certainly did my apprenticeship can certainly be certified as a pack of shitty, circular, circumcisers? I lost track of that one. Fuck Hutton and Northey though.

((Deep breaths))

The snow is good though. It's pretty, they give you a skidoo and nobody gives that many fucks what you're up to as long as the chairlifts are going. And the whitsunday bareboats are good too. You work in paradise and nobody's happier to hear that you've got a machine back in the rack than an ops manager with 4 families of snooty Sydneyites due to rock up and claim hire boats tomorrow or else launch yelp and facebook tirades. And the mines are, well, they pay you a lot.

And it's bloody good here too. Hot it may be and steamy it may be, but it's pretty, the people are the very best kind of people, some of them pay us money to do stuff that's kinda second nature by now(fixing things and cooking things and gardening and mowing lawns(which can be done with a beer in your hand, let's not forget)). Supposedly there's work waiting in Darwin, we'll see when we get there. It can wait.

I guess we've adjusted to Territory Time.

0 notes