#fuck you frogman!!!!!!!!!!

[wis-art]

froggy lucy for @amphibianaday 's amphibuary

[rs-hawk]

So Ohio has an Urban Legend called the Loveland frog and it's a giant frog that hangs around the swamps...say a reader got too curious and wanted to learn about it...for science

Ohh yes. I am very familiar with the Loveland Frog. I've never written about anything amphibian like this before so I hope you enjoy this! I did have to do some research though so that’s why this has taken awhile 🙏

You have always been an avid amateur cryptozoologist. It's not like you ever have thought that you would actually find anything, but you have fun, and for the most part it's a harmless hobby. You decide to head to Loveland, Ohio, in search of the supposedly pleasant Loveland Frogman, more affectionately called the “Loveland Frog”.

It’s dark when you creep to the little river he’s said to reside in. To you’re surprise, there’s no one else around. You read conflicting things on the frog, but it seems like the most common is that it’s a man sized frog with human intelligence, or a frog with a man’s body. Either way, it’s weirdly creepy, and almost a bit funny to you. You wander near the river, admiring the sounds of the night and the way the stars reflect off the water.

There’s the sound of splashing behind you, and at first, you pay it no mind. Jumping frogs, little fish, maybe even turtles. It isn’t until you feel something wet and… slimy? grab your arm that you turn around. Towering over you is the Loveland Frog. A hulking creature that you never expected to be real, much less be such an impressive specimen. All kinds of thoughts raced through your mind as you looked over it, it’s hand still curled around your forearm. Most prominent is “How does this thing mate?”

The creature slowly lets go of your arm, looking you over with matched curiosity. It brushes your hair out of your face, softly touching your skin and making croaking sounds at you that you’re unfamiliar with. They’re deep and powerful, vibrating in your chest with how close it is. Then, quite suddenly, it forces one of its slimy fingers inside of your mouth.

You wrinkle your nose at the taste and spit it out, but you’re already feeling the affects. While you can clearly see this thing is a frog, not a toad, the toxins that it must exude from its skin when it so pleases are flooding your brain. There’s a warmth and wetness between your legs that makes you let out an involuntary whimper when you adjust and your pants grind against your core. The creature seems pleased at the sound of your pleasure, causing it to reach out for you again.

You’re so unbalanced on your feet, with your body feeling both too light and too heavy at the same time, that you don’t even care as it leads you to an even more secluded part of the river. You’re back to wondering how something like this could mate. Is there only one? You’re swallowed by darkness as it takes you to a thicket.

The feeling of your clothes being stripped off of you and the cool wind that blows across the river hitting your bare skin makes you hum. The creature lays you down, spreading your legs to gaze at your dripping cunt. That makes you squirm, still present enough of mind to realize that this thing is trying to mate with you, however it does that. Instead of being disgusted though, you can’t help but being curious.

It’s long tongue slides across your clit, making you cry out in pleasure, your button pulsing and throbbing already. It pushes its tongue inside of you, your back arching and whimpering moans escaping your lips as it tongue fucks you to the brink. You’re so close to cumming that when it stops, you start cursing and whining.

That’s when the creature turns you on your back, shoving your face into the dirt. You do little, your body still feeling not like your own. It-he- pushes something thick and long inside of you. You grunt as you’re stretched out, trying to adjust to his size. Then, it starts slowly humping into you, and with each thrust, small objects are deposited into your womb. That’s when you start to squirm and cry out, begging for it to stop. Instead, he curls his hand over your face, forcing his fingers inside of your mouth again.

You’re so high that you slump completely against the ground, now enjoying the feeling of your womb being filled with heavy but squishy eggs. As the creature keeps fucking you into the dirt, you can’t help but clench and cum around his cock multiple times. So many times that you lose count. Finally, he pulls out. You think that it’s over so you let yourself relax, the high making your brain foggy.

However, after a moment, something even larger is stuffed into your used cunt. You moan loudly, grabbing at the grass underneath you. The first frogman walks in front of you, shoving his cock down your throat to feed you the toxin directly as the second creature fucks his cum deeply into you, coating your womb and fertilizing the heavy eggs inside of you.

Your eyes roll back into your head as the toxin makes you even more sensitive, causing you to cum each time the creature inside of you does. You can feel his slick dripping out of you, coating your thighs and the ground under you. Or maybe it’s your own. At this point, you’re not sure.

By sunrise, they both slink off back to the water, leaving you still high and foggy, covered in cum, with a stomach that already looks nine months pregnant.

[pastafossa]

DONE. HERE ARE MY THOUGHTS:

I FUCKING LOVED, OUR MANWHORE IS BACK AND HE'S HERE TO SASS THE FUCK OUT OF EVERYONE. MY HIGHLIGHTS:

Legal entrance, Matt KNOWS how to enter in style, and I lost my fucking mind when he did. Side note, their legal back and forth was PERFECT.

MATT HITTING ON JEN IN THE BAR??? THE SASS??? SIR. Me whsipering the whole time, 'get him jen get him jen', but also Matt sliding in some good advice for her, because he may be snarky and sassy but he's also a kind, intelligent, thoughtful person and I loved that. He'd also be someon3le who absolutely relates to using both sides for good.

THE CAR AND FIGHT SCENE??? Matt just bouncing around??? Matt taunting and practically begging for Jen to slap that ass into next week? 100% the correct audacity level for him. Also he absolutely wants Jen to roll him, good for you baby

Side note: the Devil voice for, 'you need to back off' I am weak-kneed, my body is ready. Matt, Jesus

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, THIS EXCHANGE:

'What are you, the gold devil?

*Netflix Daredevil theme starts playing*

Matt, puffed up and showing off his suit waiting for Jen to be impressed: I'm Daredevil.

Jen:

Matt:

Jen: 🤷‍♀️

KETCHUP AND MUSTARD SUIT

OH GOD THE SEXUAL TENSION OUTSIDE THE WAREHOUSE. Him reading her heartbeat was fucking HOT.

"I'm going to do my thing." "Well I'm going to do my thing." "You don't have a thing." RIP the banter is destroying me I LOVE that we're getting to see Matt's snarky, happier side.

Me before Matt goes in: "I hope there's a hallway so he can fight in it."

30 seconds later: "THERE IS A HALLWAY! HALLWAY FIGHT! HALLWAY FIGHT! HALLWAY FIGHT FIGHT FIGHTFIGHTFIGHT!!! YOU FUCKERS ARE GONNA BE SORRY!"

The lampshaded bunch of dudes coming into the hallway only for Jen to squash them, Matt almost looked disappointed. Baby, you'll get another hallway, I'm sure. 😂

Excuse me the LEGAL FOREPLAY while FIGHTING I am LIVING for this, Jen trying to talk Frogman down while Matt wanders around kicking ass. "The gold ninja devil is a lawyer too???" "I just watch a lot of legal dramas." MATT STOP. I love them your honor, and I missed this boy. 😭

"I could take you to dinner." "Or we could skip all of that and..." YES GET HIM JEN

YES THEY'RE GONNA FUCK, AND HE'S IN THE DEVIL SUIT, HALLELUJAH, LIVE THE DREAM JEN

She can't fucking get his suit off, I am WHEEZING because seriously, how the fuck does it come off

MATT'S COMPLETELY SHAMELESS WALK OF SHAME, LIKE SHOES OFF??? BABE??? IN THE SUIT??? OUR MATTHEW MANWHORE MURDOCK IS BACK

I FEEL LIKE I'VE BEEN GIVEN LIFE YA'LL, SO MANY YEARS OF WAITING!

And not only did we GET our Devil back, we got to see a side of him we'd only ever caught glimpses of in the Netflix series! There's a sense of happiness with him, as if things are actually going good for him right now, and I LOVE that. We deserve to see all sides of him, what he's like when he's beaten down and when he's happy. I loved this! I NEED TO SEE IT AGAIN. I'm also so happy I could cry, fr. It's been so long since we've seen him in any substantial way. Having him back after years without means so much, and I felt like this was very much our Matt. And if you read TRT, this snarky, happier Matt completely vibes with my TRT!Matt, how I see and write him, and where I plan to have him end up - happy, Jane's rubbed off on him, confident.

As for my prediction for next week: matt represents her!

[hotcryptidsinyourarea]

Falling for the Frogman of Loveland, Ohio

story synopsis: Molly is a 30-something cookbook editor who has decided to move from New York to Loveland, Ohio after a bad breakup and a desire for a fresh start. She is instantly attracted to her neighbor Jeremiah's midwestern charms, but this local guy is much more than meets the eye...

human (she/her) + interdimensional humanoid frogman (he/him) cw: social anxiety, existential pondering, negative self-talk

Chapter 3

My body and mind are so exhausted, I sleep in an hour later than I usually do. The fact that my new bed is very comfortable also facilitates this late start, but I don’t really have it in me to complain about that. I finally pry myself from between the sheets and get dressed for my first full day in my new home. First thing’s first: coffee. 

I do a quick search for the closest non-chain coffee shop to my place. Part of the appeal of moving to a smaller community is supporting the local business culture. Never again will I spend $10 on a tall, burnt-ass latte from the Bucks. There’s one on Loveland Madeira alongside all the other fast food chains, but I’m going to avoid it like the plague. It’s the weirdest thing in New York: everybody talks about how much they love their neighborhood coffee shops, but no matter when or how you see them in real life, there will always be that ubiquitous siren-logo’d cup planted firmly in hand. It’s like some grand delusion we all pretend we’re not a part of. 

No that I think people in a small town are paragons of virtue or anything. I know there is hypocrisy and assholes everywhere you go. But you spend enough time in one place and eventually you have the right to gripe about it as much as your little black heart desires! Or that’s what I tell myself, I guess. Part of me will always love New York and I truly look forward to going back and visiting. But the agitation I feel at just a passing reminder of the city tells me I made the right move leaving town. I just hope this place ends up being where I’m supposed to be. 

Well, what better way to get a feel for a new town than running a couple of normal, domestic errands? Namely: coffee. Let’s fucking gooooooo!

_____________________________________________________________

I’m loving the decor at the Blue Chip Roasters coffee shop. The amount of hearty wood furnishing and exposed burl fixtures gives it a Twin Peaks vibe without being derivative. It’s warm and homey and the scent of fresh coffee brewing makes my mouth water. There’s a huge wraparound counter that isolates the staff area behind the machines and cash register, which lines up with the doorway so you can walk right up to it. On the other side of the counter are bar stools occupied by various coffee drinkers who are all immersed in their books or laptops. It’s simple but welcoming. A satisfactory first impression, for sure. 

It’s a blessedly simple menu. They only have two types of milk, whole and oat, but I’ve never strayed from the classic whole milk-coffee combination anyways. Full fat means full flavor and that’s what I want. I order a double iced latte and a cinnamon roll for breakfast. As I drop in a dollar for tip, I notice the jar is covered in stickers and such all depicting some artists’ renditions of an anthropomorphic frog. In big block letters it reads: 

>> DON’T FROG-ET TO TIP! - LFM <<

“Who is LFM?” I ask the girl working the register. 

“Oh, it stands for Loveland Frogman. You’ve never heard of it?” 

“I can’t say that I have, but I’m new in town. Like, brand new.” 

“Oh, well it’s just a dumb local legend. Years ago, a couple cops saw a lizard standing on its hind legs and told everyone they saw a Frogman. Locals have kind of taken it on as a mascot of sorts even though it’s fake as fuck.” 

“It’s NOT fake,” says the kid behind the espresso machine pulling shots. “The Frogman is real. That lizard story is a cover-up ordered by the FBI. Ask anyone from around here and they’ll tell you a story about them or someone they know spotting him at some point.” 

“That’s ridiculous,” the cashier rolls her eyes. “The people that claim to see him are just dumbasses lying so they can be the center of attention for a moment. Either that or meth heads.” 

“It wasn’t a frog at all,” says a third worker sweeping something up behind the counter. “It was an alien. A being from another dimension. That’s why the FBI wanted to cover him up. No one cares about some overgrown science project.” 

The local color of it all has me stunned silent. I am not used to talking this much with strangers. Honestly, I felt like I was pushing it by asking the cashier in the first place. I was half expecting a snide fuck-if-I-know dismissal. And now after instigating the conversation, I find myself at a loss for words. Great! I have no idea how to get out of this in the correct, polite way. I’m a decade out of practice. Thankfully, a voice coming from a bar stool in my periphery offers me a blessed interjection to keep me from looking as dumb as I feel.  

“Don’t listen to them. They’re just messing with you because you said you’re new in town. We don’t get a lot of ‘new’ around here often. A lot of the same,” says the guy. I turn to look at him, remembering the most rudimentary of manners, but what I see doesn’t help my muteness because this dude is good looking. 

Very good looking, one might say. 

Ridiculously, if you’re so inclined. 

I get that feeling in my chest that makes me feel like I’m twelve years old again and my friend Jessica’s older brother Adam would walk in the room while we watched TV– like it’s suddenly difficult to to take a full, deep breath and a heat spreads across my shoulders and chest. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way. I am completely flustered. I break eye contact to fumble through my wallet for an extra couple dollars to throw in the tip jar. Fuck! I need to work on my spontaneous conversation skills. I wasn’t expecting to experience culture shock quite to this extent, but I guess even just one state away is a whole other place, isn’t it? 

“Where are you from?” asks the guy. A straightforward question that I am perfectly capable of answering… hopefully. 

“I moved here from New Yor–” I manage to croak out, stumbling over that last syllable. I clear my throat. “York. I moved here from New York.” 

“New York City?” 

“The very one.” 

“Why would you leave New York to come to Loveland of all places?” he asks. “Most people are doing everything in their power to make it out of here.” 

“Oh, you know, sometimes the place a person needs is the last place you’d expect,” I reply. Looking back at the cashier, they have an incredulous look on their face like I’m speaking crazy talk. 

“Whatever you say, lady.” They hand me my coffee, my transaction finally complete. I lift the cup in salute and give a tight mouthed smile to the hot guy at the bar. He lifts his cup in return, a good humored smile plastered on his face. 

As I leave the coffee shop and settle into the driver’s seat of my car, I’m suddenly hit with the realization that I answered that hot guy’s question with the kind of trite bullshit normally reserved for Pinterest quotes. 

“Sometimes the place a person needs is the last place you’d expect,” I repeat back to myself. “What the FUCK does that mean, you dumbass weirdo bitch?” The heat I felt across my chest has definitely spread across my face. Luckily, there’s no cute coffee guy to see my embarrassment as I drive back home. 

_____________________________________________________________

Once I’m back home with my coffee and cinnamon roll, I park it back outside on the iron patio set and enjoy my breakfast. With a little food and caffeine in my system, I realize I may have been overreacting to the little interaction at the coffee shop. It probably wasn’t as bad as it was in my head. I was just hungry and fatigued from moving. No big deal. 

I hear the doorbell and go to let the internet installation technician inside. I’m impressed that he showed up so early in the estimated service window. It wasn’t uncommon for me to wait all day for a tech in New York only for no one to show up when they said they would. The next day or so, I’d often get a call while out and about. 

“Hi ma’am it’s George from Concast. I’m here to install your internet. Can you let me in?” 

“Let you in? You were supposed to come yesterday. I didn’t get any notification that you’d come today– I’m not here.” 

“Well, I need to be let in to install your internet…”

“But I’m not there. We’ll just have to reschedule.” 

“Next availability is in two weeks.” 

“GODDAMMIT. Wait right there– I’ll be back as soon as possible!” 

But none of that rigamarole is happening now. At this moment, I am reading a book on my back patio with an iced coffee and a cinnamon bun while Lyle sets up my fiber internet at the exact time he was scheduled to do it. Life is good. 

Okay, I may be looking at everything with rose colored glasses, but I’ll allow myself to bask in my new home serenity for a little while longer. What can it hurt to take the time to enjoy the fact that things are going smoothly? Back in the city, it felt like I was constantly having to strive for things to work. They rarely did and any hint of them possibly doing so was dashed with such expedience I never allowed myself the luxury of thinking that I possibly deserved for things to be easier. 

There was no way for me to get to that point when stuck in constant survival mode. The city is a beast, constantly growing. So even if you get to a point where you’re realizing some sort of comfort, the beast will continue to expand and shift until your complacency gets you displaced. It’s exhausting! I guess the hustle gives you something to live for– that’s why you see so many 80-year old women wandering around the streets of Manhattan. But they’re a hard eighty. And you can’t help but think they’re not there because they want to bust their asses just to make it through a day, but because they simply don’t even know there are other ways to live. Humans are creatures of habit. We find comfort in conformity. We create these confines and then tell ourselves because we made them, we must also work within them. 

It’s logical: as animals, we are bound by evolutionary instinct to find and keep a lifestyle that enables us to be productive– namely, reproductive– so that drives us to make choices that are safe and keep us connected. But I don’t think it’s extreme to say we as humans can and should continue to evolve past base evolutionary drive. It’s not imperative for all of us to be constantly productive. We have machines and programs that help us do a lot of the heavy lifting so that we may spend more time enjoying the world we’ve been gifted. And just as these advancements further separate us from any quote/unquote “natural way” of existence, we should consider the possibility that breaking free from our patterns and choosing not to conform to the established expectations may serve us positively. 

Of course, it’s that “new is better” mindset that led Mark to breaking up with me. He saw moving in together as conforming to the established expectations of those around us and he couldn’t do it. So perhaps I’m a hypocrite waxing poetic on the evils of conformity. No ideology would’ve stopped me from moving in with him. I was dead set on doing the expected. 

Except, I didn’t see it as settling. I saw it as an exciting new experience that just happened to promise a bit of security alongside the novel. There is adventure to be found alongside someone you can rely on. I guess at the end of the day, we broke up over a difference of perspective. If you’re going to build a life with someone, you should both see your future from the same vantage point. 

_____________________________________________________________

With the internet working and full stomach, I’m ready to continue unpacking. It’s not so much the unboxing that’s taking up my time. But with every essential item I unwrap, I’m reminded of something I’ll need to buy in the process of turning this house into a home. It feels a little consumerist, but I fully intend to take my time in accumulating these items and purchase with quality in mind, so I don’t sweat it.

Well, I don’t sweat the prospective shopping. Unpacking boxes does work up quite the literal sweat, however. It’s almost 6 pm and I am in desperate need of an end-of-the-day shower. Before I hop in, I pull up a food app and find the best rated Thai restaurant in my delivery area. I put in an order for pad thai and spring rolls and receive an hour delivery estimate– plenty of time to get clean before dinner, so I hop in the shower. 

I’m right in the middle of rinsing the conditioner from my hair when I hear the doorbell. An hour was either an incredibly inaccurate delivery estimate or it took me much, much longer to wash my hair than it normally does. 

“WAIT!” I holler towards the door as I wrap myself in my favorite extra large, super fluffy bath towel. “I’M COMING! I’M COMING!” I scurry as fast as I can to the door, probably looking like a drowned rat. 

“I’m so sor–” I halt as soon as I see who’s on the other side of the door. It isn’t my Thai food at all. It’s the guy from the coffee shop– the hot one who rescued me from my social awkwardness. He has that charming smile on his face, but it fades a bit as he gets a good look at me. In a breath of realization, his eyes go up to the sky as a pink blush spreads across his face. It’s kind of adorable, to be honest. 

“I am so sorry,” he says. “I’m your… we’re neigh– I live a couple doors down,” he fumbles through. “I wanted to come over and welcome you to the neighborhood.” 

“We– we met earlier, right? At the coffee shop?” I find myself once again in a situation I haven’t experienced in quite some time. Fourteen years in New York and not once did I have a neighbor come to my door to introduce themselves. I’m not even certain if I’m expected to invite him in. I certainly don’t know how to proceed when I’ve opened the door but a single layer of terrycloth between my nude body and the– admittedly gorgeous– welcome wagon. Thankfully, the wagon in question seems steady on the trail. 

“Yes! Yeah, that was me. Hey– I can, you know, wait here a second if you want to…” he makes a vague gesture towards the towel. 

“Oh! That would be great, yes. But you don’t have to wait outside. Please, come on in.”

He gives me a wary look. “Are you sure? I don’t mind…” 

“Yeah, I guess it’s not exactly best practice to let some guy I just met into my home while I’m changing, huh? I’m sorry, I just don’t want to be rude.” 

“You’re not, I promise. Go ahead, I can wait here. I’m patient.” 

Now I’m the one who’s blushing. Blushing a nude in front of a strange man. Mother would be so proud. I give him a sheepish smile as I close the door then scurry back to my room to throw on the nearest clothes I can get my hands on. I make a pit stop to take a peek in the bathroom mirror, rub the smudged mascara from under my eyes, and run my fingers through my hair. It’s not much, I think looking at my sorry state, but it’s what I got. 

I head back to the front door and take a moment to compose myself to come off with a false air of nonchalance. Fake it til you make it, right? 

I open the door and see him leaning against the wall and looking through his phone casually. I notice for the first time he’s holding a bottle of wine in the other hand. He looks up and catches my eye. A smirk sprawls across his face. 

“Woah– that was quick!” he says. 

“Yeah, well, I don’t have a lot of things unpacked here at the moment, so I don’t have much to sift through. Cuts down on the decision fatigue when choosing what to wear, for sure.” 

His smile brightens and it puts my entire body on high alert. I may not be nearly naked anymore, but looking at this guy makes me feel so exposed, like he’s seeing things about me that I’m not even aware of. I’m a grown ass woman, but this guy has me feeling bashful for the first time in years. 

“Come on in,” I move aside and open the door completely to let him inside the house. “I think you’ve proven you’re trustworthy enough.” 

“Cool, yeah.. I mean, thanks.. Yeah.” His stammering is endearing. There’s something comforting in the shared awkwardness as if the meeting of two awkward nerds cancels us out into being normal. “I’m Jeremiah,” he introduces himself and holds his hand out to shake. 

“Molly,” I grasp his hand in return. “It’s nice to officially meet you.” 

“Yeha! I hope you don’t find this creepy, but earlier I noticed the internet guy in your driveway and realized someone had finally moved into this place. The for sale sign was taken down about a week ago and I was wondering when you’d show up. Then when you said you just moved here at the coffee shop earlier, I thought maybe the new owner could be you.”

“And it is!” I interrupt. “I mean, I am. That is to say… It's kismet.” Jesus Christ. Is that something people say? Can I even define “kismet?”  Am I just embarrassing myself here? 

“Exactly!” His smile breaks my shame spiral. “It’s always worth noting when we get to witness the stars aligning in real time.” He holds the bottle of wine up to eye level for me. “I brought you a housewarming gift. It’s nothing special– I wasn’t even certain if bringing wine to a stranger is appropriate. But it’s a pretty dry red. I thought if you don’t drink, you can use it for cooking.” 

“I do! I mean, I do drink. Thank you, you’re very kind and I feel quite welcome.” I take the bottle and scan the label. It’s a Chianti I’ve never tried before. “This looks beautiful. Would you like to have a glass with me?” 

“Um… sure! That sounds nice. Do you have glasses?” 

“I don’t have stemware, but I have a couple cups that will do. Plus,” I pause to rummage in the drawer where I stashed my well loved wine key the night before, “I have this!” I grab the water glasses I have from the cupboard and start working the corkscrew into the top of the bottle. 

“Please, allow me.” Jeremiah takes the wine and key from me and effortlessly drills deep into the cork, angling the bottle away from him. He looks me directly in the eye as he pushes the lever away from him and removes the cork with an muffled POP.

What in the actual fuck? How was that so… hot? 

He grabs the glasses and distributes even, modest pours in each of them before handing me one. “Cheers,” he says, lifting his own glass, “to your new home.” 

“And new neighbors,” I clink my cup against his, immediately questioning whether that was smooth or just pathetically thirsty. Either way, I take a sip. I notice his eyes darting around, taking in the details of the house. 

“This place is almost the exact same layout as my place, just reversed.” 

“Really?” I ask. “Is that unusual?” 

“Not really, no. These subdivisions are financed and built before they’re ever sold. Developers will have a handful of blueprints and rotate between them while building. I guess keeping everything as uniform as possible allows them to churn out houses quickly and reduces the risk of error. You build the same house over and over again, you can probably throw them up in your sleep.” 

“Or they get so overconfident and cocky, they begin to slack off and make mistakes.” 

“Oof. You’re telling me. Complacency can definitely lead to miscalculations.” He takes another sip before continuing. “Happens in my work all the time.” 

“Oh yeah? What do you do?”

He winces. “It’s kind of hard to explain– not that it’s beyond your understanding,” he reassures me and my heart melts ever so slightly. “But, basically, I track and predict rainfall.” 

“You’re a meteorologist?” 

“No. I don’t really know much about weather in general. It’s more like I use statistics to estimate which places will experience flood or drought in the near future. I then use those estimates to inform the purchase and sale of certain commodities.” 

“Commodities. Like food?” 

“Food is a big part of it, yes. But also a lot of precious metals and whatnot. And oil. There’s always oil.” 

“So you’re a gambler,” I tease. He grins in response. 

“An informed gambler, yes. But, you know– no risk, no reward.” 

“Well it does sound pretty interesting. More so than what I do.” 

“Which is?” 

“I am an editor for a publishing company that specializes in highly stylized cookbooks. A lot of Housewives for housewives kind of content. I basically make sure that what the authors– or, at least, their ghostwriters– put in their drafts all make sense. You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve caught cups– multiple cups– of salt from being added to a dessert recipe.” 

“That sounds interesting to me,” he says, being polite. I appreciate it nonetheless. “So does that mean you know how to cook a lot of different things?” 

I guffaw. “In theory, at least. I’m not a talented chef by any means, but I can make a meal.” I realize that at every chance I get, I’m diminishing myself in this conversation. When did I fall into that little habit? But before I can think much more about it, my doorbell rings. “Speaking of meals, that would be the takeout I thought you were.” I answer the door and thank the delivery person after they hand me my order. When I come back, I see Jeremiah rinsing out his now empty glass of wine before gently placing it in the sink. 

“Well this seems like the perfect opening for me to make a graceful exit. I’ll leave you to enjoy your dinner.” He gives me a genuine smile and reaches out to shake my hand goodbye. “It was really great meeting you. I’m excited to have someone cool in the neighborhood. And if you need anything, anything,” he gives my hand a squeeze on the emphasis and while making some very effective eye contact, “don’t hesitate to ask.” 

Damn. My new neighbor is hot.

[i-identify-tanks-in-posts]

You asked for me to ask, so...

R a t t e

IM SO GLAD YOU ASKED.

Let's talk about the Ratte, can we talk about the Ratte, Frogman? I've been dying to talk about the Ratte with you all day.

The Ratte is, in my opinion, the worst, most absolute dogshit vehicle ever designed, bar none.

First, let it be noted that this tank design came about in 1942, when Germany was already Not Doing Great in their ambitions for a great mechanized army, running lower and lower on steel, fuel, munitions, so what does 'Ol Edward Grote decide to propose?

Let's build a tank that's literally 1000 tons, has 6 sets of tracks, 61 guns, needs somewhere between 20 and 40 men to run it, and runs on 8 SUBMARINE ENGINES.

This was quite possibly the dumbest thing the Nazis ever did, right up there with listening to the ravings of a meth-addled, half-insane failed artist with one testicle.

THE TRACKS, oh yes, the tracks, all 6 of them, arranged in such a way that if even one link on one track broke, you'd be spending a minimum of a day in downtime, meanwhile a Sherman crew can do the same thing in 10-20 minutes in the middle of a firefight.

The Ratte was more than 100 feet long, nearly 50 feet wide, and nearly 40 feet tall, making it a bomber crewman or Artillery runner's wet dream, with 2 280mm guns and several smaller ones all over the damn thing. Which means that, combined with the mounted machine guns, and weapons for the crew, the Ratte would have to carry AT MINIMUM 8 different types of ammunition, adding even more to the logistical nightmare that is this (debatably) rolling fortress.

There was literally no way to get this thing from one place to another. Roads? Forget it, it's 1000 tons, it would destroy them immediately. Bridges? Ha, you wish, what bridge is meant to support the weight of 153 full grown African elephants rolling along. This thing was entirely dependent on its own drive train, and what, prey tell, was known to be a particular issue on large German vehicles? That's right, the drivetrain. This tank was an idiotic idea from the very beginning, and it's no wonder that even a dumbass goose-stepping fuckwit like Albert Speer could see that this was a brain-dead idea that never should have gotten out of a 3rd graders class notebook. Fuck, I hate this tank, and I'm so glad I don't have to breathe the air of a world where it ever existed.

[ladygwyndolin]

Do you have a good source for referencing the arcs? I looked at Wikipedia and fandom and they were sparse

Idk if there is one so I'm just going to take the opportunity to summarize each Murcielago arc right here and now because I can

The Price of Power: Kuroko and Hinako fight Brock Lesnar

Murder Party: Kuroko and friends have to escape a trap-filled mansion so Kuroko can be a creepy freak to a maid

Domestic Killer: Kuroko investigates a serial killer who seems to have come out of retirement while Hinako breaks a 9 year old's spine

Rose-Colored Prison: Kuroko goes undercover and joins an all-female cult, which goes about as well as you'd expect before hitting you with insane levels of gore and an OH MY GOD? plot twist. Chiyo beats her ass in this one so it's good.

The Gap Between Sora and I: Graphic, brutal child murder while Kuroko tries to orchestrate a scenario in which she can stop the killer and secure a chance to fuck a hot milf at the same time. In doing so, more killings take place. Oops

School Destruction: The so-called "reader killer" arc in which Kuroko essentially takes a school hostage and forces teenagers to kill each other. Not nearly as bad as people say it is, but features what is arguably Kuroko at her most evil.

Sakura of Oblivion: Kuroko and friends (including Ran, a 7'7" tall lesbian himbo) fight a secret organization in the train tunnels that use magic zombie drugs and include a frogman, some lady, and a dude who's still bitter about Japan losing WW2

White Meteor: This one sucks

The Deep One: Kuroko embraces her eldritch horror identity in order to take on a serial killer eugenicist. Also, weird mommy kink stuff and not in the fun way

Master Swordsman: Kuroko fails to cheat at a duel and spends several chapters desperately trying to run away from a woman who is very calmly beating the fuck out of her

Til Death Do Us Part: Kuroko and friends have to investigate a fucked up body horror cannibal creature that's been kidnapping women and drinking their blood. Most underrated arc in my opinion. Great scary stuff

The Entertainer: A criminal mastermind way out of his depth gets absolutely dunked on by Kuroko for an entire arc

Magic Bullet Archer: This one sucks except for Zenpachi, the yakuza dude who fights with high heels. Zenpachi rules.

Punishing Love: An insane father whose daughter was killed by the serial killer from Sora and I kidnaps Rinko's friend in order to recreate a life with his daughter while Rinko has an identity crisis and Kuroko fucks hot moms

The Yamatsukami Family: Kuroko lazily solves a family murder mystery and is extremely unbothered by the concept of child molestation

Silver Scent: Hasn't been finished in english yet

[saingirl101]

NeverAfter Ep 12 As Brian David Gilbert Gifs (SPOILERS!!!!)

Continuing the series baby! Although this episode got strangely existential...

Meeting Snow White and her desperately trying to bond with Rosamund:

Existential Conversations about the Nature of Choices and harm:

The Group getting praise from Snow White for killing the baron:

Snow White and Rosamund gushing about using the honey trap (aka proposing marriage to strangers who just randomly accept it and on them what happens next):

ALL OF US SOBBING AS ITS REVEALED ELODY IS STILL NOT IN THIS WORLD YET AND POTENTIALLY HAVING TO WAIT ANOTHER WEEK TO SEE THE FROGMAN AND HIS SHIELD MAIDEN BAE REUNITING:

Pinocchio getting to know himself and once again cricket is giving universe shattering existential questions again:

Finding out Pinocchio is actually Pib's best friend:

Mother goose dissociating as he recounts how he got his book:

When you find out your wife isn't telling people she is married (hang in there gerard. I SWEAR BRENNAN LET THESE KIDS HAVE A HAPPY MARRIAGE TOGETHER):

inertia, gravity, and the fucking ocean being the biggest threat to the party since episode 3:

Pinocchio trying to feed gerard a congealed and rancid hotdog and gerard having serious second thoughts about making it to toy island:

The absolute unhingedness of candlewick on toy island:

The new rules, don't feed the crew human meat and don't help the cannibal sneak up on the crew:

The crew giving tough love to Pinocchio by gently x-ing candlewick by putting him in the books so that his reign of cannibalistic terror is ended:

Us immediately meeting mira aka the little mermaid and adding her the list of neverafter characters we want to protect from brennan:

Us at the end of every episode:

and as always Brennan Lee Mulligan:

[baldy-wan-kenobi]

Okay people, here we go:

Baldy's Book Club

Episode 1: "Into the Storm"

By Taylor Anderson, Book 1 of the Destroyermen series.

Okay, so, on the recommendation of my most esteemed mutual @frogblast-the-ventcore , I have been coerced to read the Destroyermen series, and post my thoughts about them as I do.

So, for part 1, here we go. I'm going to assume those of you reading have read the book, cause if you haven't, you should be going to buy it, right now. I mean it.

First and foremost, this book was written by a ww2 nerd, for ww2 nerds, and by god does it show. Taylor Anderson is a professor of history, and it shines through in every part of the book. From the technical details of the USS Walker, to the shortcomings of the Mk. 14 torpedo, to the attitudes, lives, and habits (both good and bad) of a 1942 Asiatic fleet destroyerman. Speaking of which, call me Dean Kamen, cause that's a perfect segway to talk about

The Characters

To begin with, do not expect a normal person's assessment of these characters. Expect a Normal™ person's view of them.

First: Captain Matthew Reddy. Oh my lord this man. He's an absolute mess, knows it, and yet cannot let that show, because, well he's stranded in an alternate universe with humanoid lemurs and sapient velociraptors. In my head, he's got total divorced dad energy going on, 30-something going on 50 because of stress, greying at the temples but still hot in a DILF kind of way, not overly muscular, and with one hell of a voice. (I'll admit the audio book colored my perception, but it's a fantastic audio book so I don't care.)

Next, Chack-Sab-At, the biggest and most baddass guyfailure to ever live. "Oh, I'm a pacifist" then the very second that an enemy without moral repercussions comes along he's all "I love violence and killing and murder and death and injuring people and blood and biting and cutting and-" like, seriously, dude says he's a pacifist before turning around and becoming Furry Doomguy.

Next, Dennis Silva, he-who-was-told-not-to-fuck-the-monkey-cats-but-did-it-anyway. Moving on,

There's literally more I love about the characters than I want to sit here and type out, so I'm going to cut it short, but Oh My God these characters are A+.

Next, I just want to touch on something these books made me feel. A lot of times, as an USAmerican with an actual brain, I can get bogged down in the fucked-up shit my country has done and feel like I can't celebrate what makes the US cool without making it sound like I'm excusing all the bad stuff, but this book kinda made me stop for a minute and go "man, the US is kinda fucking rad, when you think about it." Because, you know what? It is. Yeah, we've done fucked up shit, but we've also done some pretty awesome stuff. For every My Lai Massacre, there's a moon landing. For every Trail of Tears, there's a Berlin Airlift. Sometimes, it's okay to take a moment and just go "Fuck yeah, guys. Were pretty cool." Because this book really makes you feel that, at least it did to me, but I'll get off my red, white and blue high horse and keep going.

Alright, now we come to the part that I need to get out...

THE BRITISH EAST INDIA COMPANY

Literally everywhere in my life, I am haunted and stalked by the specter of a long-dead megacorporation. In every piece of media, in every topic I research, no matter what, they're there. As the Frogman quoted from me in a meme a while back "I'm being haunted by the ghost of English imperialism". What the fuck? Anyway, if you wanna chat about the book, please do, because I am at terminal levels of Fandom.

Anyway, if you want to read along for the next Baldy's Book Club, we'll be reading Crusade, the next book in the Destroyermen series.

(P.S. Frogman, I know this review isn't very good, but my brain is soup rn so this is whatchu get.

[jo-harrington]

For the AASB blurb game - this was a very tough decision for me. The obvious answer for me would be Bigfoot, of course, but I've decided to take a different and less traveled path.

This is the Loveland Frogman, a well known Ohio cryptid from - you guessed it - Loveland, Ohio. I would love to know about any possible interactions our Knight may have had with this green fellow.

Oh buddy, HOOTIE! WE ARE IN FOR IT THIS TIME. I was really hoping that you were gonna drop this one specifically. It's not the sexiest...ahem...but...

Please enjoy a little summertime fun. If a name is unfamiliar to you, it's because they are who I lovingly refer to as "Corroded Coffin 1.0" AKA the boys that Eddie grew up with before they left him behind. They always show up in one of my stories or another.

Haven't ready Heaven yet? Find it here. And find the Master List for As Above, So Below here.

August 1984

Eddie hated goodbyes.

After his mom died, he got it in his head that it was because he said goodbye to her at the drop-off that morning that she never came home.

Wayne had held him for hours as he begged and cried and pleaded for whatever power that was in the universe, whatever God, to just bring her back. To start the day over so he could say "see you later" instead of goodbye.

But there were no merciful Gods, and no do-overs. Once something was put out into the world, it couldn't be taken back.

So he didn't say goodbye anymore. Sometimes he didn't say anything at all. A clap on the shoulder could do just as much as any words could.

And now, as his friends were about to leave on the most harrowing of journeys--college--he decided a "good luck" party was more important than a "goodbye."

It was nearing the end of summer now, still as humid as ever. Belongings were already packed into boxes and last minute trips were taken to Kmart and the Bed Bath and Beyond out by Muncie Mall to grab dorm essentials. Textbooks were purchased and summer jobs abandoned with the empty promise of shifts given during holiday breaks.

Mickey and his parents would hit the road for such-and-such University in the morning, and instead of letting him sleep in his comfortable bed for the last time, Eddie made the whole gang sleep under the stars out by Lover's Lake.

Of course, like any camp out or sleepover, there was no real sleep happening. Instead you were all stuffing yourselves with burnt marshmallows, sipping rapidly-warming beer, and scaring each other shitless with ghost stories and other tall tales.

Well, trying to at least.

"...so they say, if you put baby powder on the back of the car and you sit on the train tracks, your car will roll off the tracks themselves and you can see the handprints of the ghosts in the baby powder."

The boys all boo'd and threw marshmallows at Dave, who flinched and defended himself.

"A ghost train dude? Really?"

"It's not a ghost train, it's ghost kids!"

"If I wanted to fall asleep I would have just stayed home."

"LAME!"

Eddie felt you shake under his arm as you giggled at their antics. Dave's eyes immediately zeroed in on you.

"You too?" he whined, and Eddie didn't know whether or not he should feel a little proud that the younger boys wanted to impress you too.

"Your story was good, Davey," you insisted. "Not as scary as we were all expecting, though."

"Alright, what kind of story do you have then?" Jack challenged you from across the fire.

"Probably not a good one."

"You're a fucking liar," Eddie scoffed, hoping that it would get you to be a little braver and tell the gang one of the many stories you told him. You shifted to look at him with a big smile and warning eyes. He simply ignored you and turned to the already-captivated audience.

"She's a liar," he repeated. "Before she came to Hawkins, she was driving through Ohio and pulled over to ask a group of people who were on the side of the road for directions and when one of them got closer...it was a Frog Man."

All of the stories of the night had been tall tales meant to shock; even so, the boys instantly lost their minds.

"What the fuck?"

"What do you mean a Frog Man? He was a frog...and a man?"

"What did he look like!"

"AND," he continued proudly. "She maintained eye contact the whole time and when he blinked it went--"

"Shut up Eddie!" You slapped your hand over his mouth before he could keep talking and he licked your palm to get you to release him. You turned back to the boys sheepishly. "Ok it was late and it was dark and when I told Eddie this story I might have been exaggerating because I was a little high."

Ok. That might have been true. Eddie had coerced you into smoking. But, he knew even under the influence, you were not typically one to lie. In fact, it just got you to loosen up more. Spill some of your many secrets.

Just not the ones he was dying to know deep down.

Still, the boys started to ask their questions.

"Ok so was it a frog man or was it not?"

"You know the kids book Frog and Toad? Just like that but no little vest."

"Did he ribbit?"

"He didn't...but one of his buddies for sure did."

"HOLY SHIT ANOTHER ONE!?"

"Yeah."

"Did you get out of the car?"

"Well, no that wouldn't have been smart," you laughed judgmentally as if that was the most odd and dangerous thing being said all night. "But it was the middle of the night. I just needed to know how to get back onto the highway."

The discussion progressed, more amongst the others than you and Eddie, about the logistics of the Frog Man and his Frog Friends, and what they might do if they ever crossed paths with them.

You snuggled back into Eddie's embrace and watched them, the two of you making comments occasionally, especially as they started debating whether the Frog Man would walk like normal or if he would hop.

"Ok. What else have you seen though?" Jeff finally piped up and shuffled a little closer. "Or what did you think you've seen? A ghost, a vampire...a hellhound or something?"

"Uhh..." You tripped over your words and reached up to fiddle with the cross on your necklace. "Well nothing like that but..."

Eddie knew that little tell of yours, how you couldn't stop playing with your necklace when you were nervous. Restless. It was sudden and unexpected and he frowned.

Why were you so nervous all of a sudden?

He pressed a kiss to your temple and said a few words of encouragement.

You took a deep breath and went along with your next story, something much more elaborate and cryptic, falling into the theme of the night. And you didn't once reach for your necklace again.

But as the festivities began to wind down, and everyone started to doze off, Eddie couldn't help but wonder...

They were just stories. Weren't they?

[thexie-and-stars]

today was monumental. Me and my best friend created our son, frogman, we burned my last photo of my ex, and we buried my sh supplies.

To my ex, fuck you! you fucked me up in the formative years of my life. you sent your friends my number and they sent me death threats. I hope you are in a better place now, but i don't want to see you. please don't come to my house again.

[astarab1aze]

guys could you imagine nightfolk pbs

the count is just this guy teaching nightfolk kids how to count their blessings and know when to back out, this shit ain't nothin' to me man-- so you have a whole generation of nightfolk kids who are just entirely unhinged because nightfolk pbs really did that

uncle roger is a frogman from queens and his name is actually uncle frogger

bob ross is now bog moss, a creature from a black lagoon who took a good hard look at his life and decided pursuing art would set a great example

barney? no it's audrey ii and they sing songs about her. she has a whole toy line-

antiques roadshow still regularly makes an appearance except they feature cursed artefacts and heirlooms

do you know how fucking hilarious this would be

[aroacedavestrider]

hey as the only people to live in ohio what is your thoughts on the, as the youths say it, "skibdi ohio rizzler"?

im scared of it. it sounds like some kind of creature youd encounter in the woods. like the ohio frogman or the kirtland melonheads. you fucking like take a walk through the metroparks and you encounter the Skibidi Ohio Rizzler standing in the distance like bigfoot and it scampers away before you can take a picture

[hotcryptidsinyourarea]

Falling for the Frogman of Loveland, Ohio

story synopsis: Molly is a 30-something cookbook editor who has decided to move from New York to Loveland, Ohio after a bad breakup and a desire for a fresh start. She is instantly attracted to her neighbor Jeremiah's midwestern charms, but this local guy is much more than meets the eye...

human (she/her) + interdimensional humanoid frogman (he/him)

cw: social anxiety, negative self-talk, hetero heavy petting, terror, loss of consciousness

Chapter 4

I sleep in a bit late the next morning. The exhaustion from moving is catching up with me, but with the storage pod on the way, I need to start the day restored. And fueled. I’m thinking cheesy motherfuckin’ eggs and potatoes. And since I need to stay in the house in case the storage pod shows up, I’ll be making my own coffee this morning. So the first thing I do is grab the silver canister of pre-ground beans and set the moka pot up on the stove. Then I preheat the oven, set up my cast iron skillet on a burner, and start chopping the potatoes.

I have just popped the skillet with the sauteed potatoes, eggs, and cheese into the oven to bake when I get an alert on my phone letting me know the pod should be in my driveway in the next hour or so. While I appreciate the expediency, I still feel pretty low on energy and I am not looking forward to unloading the rest of my earthly belongings by myself. My only hope is that the holy trinity of carbs, protein, and fat in my breakfast give me the fuel to push through. And perhaps more coffee. I start the moka pot again before I even finish my first cup. 

The delivery and unloading of the pod itself is easy enough. I sign for it and confirm the scheduled time for its pickup. Once he’s gone, I unlock the padlock and pull up on the door to open it. Well, I try to. The space between the bottom of the door and the ground only grows by a few inches before it’s stuck. I bend at the knees to get my body weight as under it as possible and push up, but it doesn’t budge. 

Fuck. 

I struggle with it some more, but the thing must be off its track or bent because I cannot get the pod open. Maybe I should’ve asked the delivery guy to stay until I had it open in case of something like this. I didn’t even think about it. I keep trying to get it to budge, shaking it as hard as I can in hopes of bumping something back into its place, but my efforts are in vain. I am breaking out in a sweat and getting winded from the exertion. Worse of all, I’m beginning to feel frustrated, angry, and dangerously on the verge of tears. 

“Need any help with that?” a familiar voice says. Jeremiah looks even better today than he did yesterday, if that’s even possible. He’s wearing black sweatpants, a black tank top, and what looks like a very well-loved pair of black sneakers. It’s so unfair how little effort hot guys need in order to look good. I bet he uses 3-in-1 shampoo/conditioner/body wash and still looks this good. Meanwhile, I’m a sweaty and flustered mess who can’t open a storage pod. Time to play into the damsel-in-distress archetype, I guess. 

“It couldn’t hurt if you tried,” I say. “I’ve been failing for a while now.” 

“Let me see what I can do,” he says. Jeremiah crouches down on the ground and kind of shakes the door from the bottom. After getting a feel for the amount of stuck the door is, he gets in a squat position all the way to the ground. He looks over his shoulder and winks at me. 

“You’re going to want to stand clear.” 

Jeremiah takes a deep breath and then in a swift, powerful motion uses all of his considerable lower body strength to spring his entire body weight up and into the door. It slides up into the open position like it was never stuck in the first place. I’m embarrassed, honestly, and make a mental note to sign up for a gym as soon as possible. I had no idea I was so weak. Or maybe Jeremiah is just freakishly strong…?

No. I’m definitely the problem here. 

“Thank you so much. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do if I couldn’t get it up. I MEAN– OPEN!” I correct myself on the unintended innuendo but feel a hot flush crawl across my skin. “I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t get it open. Sorry. I mean, thank you. Again.” 

Jeremiah has a shit eating grin on his face, clearly enjoying watching me squirm. “Don’t worry about it. Getting it up comes pretty easily for me.” 

I want to melt into the pavement. A pink blush spreads across my face. “Well you certainly made it look easy. Thank you, again.” I make a move into the pod and pick up the first liftable box to take it inside. There’s a dolly in here somewhere, but I’m frazzled to the point of needing the simplest task to accomplish at the moment. But my accomplishment is cut short before it’s made as Jeremiah takes the box out of my arms. 

“Let me help you with that.” 

“Oh, no. I mean, thank you, but this is my junk and I should unload it. I can unload it. I have a dolly in here somewhere for the heavier boxes.” 

“I’m certain you can unload them all on your own. But you don’t have to because I am here to help.” Jeremiah turns and heads inside the house with the box in hands. It’s hard to argue with that. 

With Jeremiah’s assistance, I get the pod unloaded in a third of the time. Not only is the man crazy strong, but he apparently also has super stamina that enables him to haul boxes twice as fast as it takes me to load them on a dolly and roll them inside. I’d feel bad about working him so hard if he didn’t seem so happy to do it. 

“Thank you– again– so much for your help,” I tell him after slamming the door to the empty pod shut. “You made my day so much easier. The least I can do is offer you a beer. I picked up a six pack of some local stuff that’s waiting in my fridge. Would you like one?” 

“Absolutely. I’d love a beer.” 

We head inside the kitchen and I grab a couple cans of beer from the refrigerator. I hand Jeremiah his. “The can design caught my eye, but the name is what sold me. ‘Beer for Humans.’ By Rhinegeist. Local stuff, love that.” 

“Haha,” his laugh is short and seems artificial. “Well, it’s certainly for me, then. What with my being human.” He opens his can and takes a long drink. I do the same, but from the corner of my eye I take in the long lines of his neck as he swallows. I want to lick it. I hope he doesn’t notice me staring. 

“Honestly, I owe you a lot more than a beer,” I tell him. “Can I buy you lunch? Or if you have someplace to be, maybe dinner at another time?” 

He gives me a half grin and runs his fingers through his hair and down to the nape of his neck where he rubs it sheepishly.  “Oh… I don’t know. I don’t think I can let you pay for our first meal together.” 

What the fuck does THAT mean? Oh, girl, you know what that means.  No I don’t. He could be an asshole with masculinity so fragile he can’t accept a woman being able to pay for a meal.  Does he really seem like that? You know he doesn’t. And even if he is kind of old fashioned, there is still the implication that he wants a date. That’s what he’s trying for.  I don’t know that! GIRL WHERE IS YOUR SELF-ESTEEM? DID YOU LOSE IT? DID IT GET MISPLACED DURING THE MOVE? 

Wait… how long have I been silent? Must say something. 

“Jeremiah, are you hitting on me?” The words fly out of my mouth. 

Well. That’s certainly something. 

Jeremiah’s face blooms red and his eyes go wide. He’s embarrassed. It’s cute. 

“I was going for ‘flirting’ more than ‘hitting on.’ Moreso cute and endearing than aggressive. Fuck, did I mess it up?”

No, but I might have. 

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. You are being very kind. But I’ve been experiencing a bit of a culture shock here and I’m not confident in my interpretation skills.” 

“You’re telling me that men in New York don’t offer to buy dinner for lovely women such as yourself?” 

“Um…” I stall. “I mean, some men do. I’m sure. But I don’t think I’m the kind of woman those guys are looking for. They’re more interested in women who are looking to be taken care of.” 

“And you don’t need to be taken care of?” 

I’m suddenly feeling very exposed. “Yeah, I don’t know. I guess… not really. I’ve always had my shit together. There’s not much a guy can do for me that I can’t adequately do for myself.” 

“So what exactly do you get out of being with one?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Companionship, I suppose. Someone to go with me to work functions and birthday parties. Maybe run errands together.”

“That’s it?” 

“I mean, I’m not asking anyone to do more than that.” 

“You shouldn’t have to ask. They should want to take care of you. Did you take care of them?” 

“Sure, guys always need a little help softening the rough edges in their lives. But I don’t mind being there for someone I care about. I never did anything I didn’t want to do” 

“So let me get this straight,” he says. “These guys– these boyfriends of your past– got to have a beautiful woman on their arm who put in the effort to make their lives easier and more comfortable just because you cared and in return they were just… there? That is a one-sided deal.” 

“Well, when you put it that way, I sound pretty stupid.” 

“No,” he says, dropping his tone to emphasize that he’s being serious. “You are not stupid for being giving and loving. They are stupid for not treating you with the same care and love. And they’re stupid for letting you get away.” Now it’s my turn to blush. I seem to be doing that a lot lately. “But, personally,” he continues, “I’m glad they were so stupid. Maybe if they were smarter, you wouldn’t have ended up here. In Loveland. Having a beer with me.” 

I do not know what to do with a man being so forthright and vulnerable. After so long in the city, I think I might be jaded to the possibilities of the world. You get stuck in a microcosm and forget that there’s so much more out there than the minutiae of that which is familiar. But Jeremiah’s openness feels so different than the emotionally guarded people I’m used to, it’s almost inhuman. Or maybe he’s actually the most human and all of us cynical assholes are the ones missing something essential. 

“So tell me, Molly,” he continues, unfazed. “What’s a guy like me gotta do to get a chance to take care of you?” 

I am– as is the parlance of our times– gagged. I must look like a fish with my mouth hung open wide. Or maybe not a fish, considering the way Jeremiah looks at my open mouth and ever-so-slightly bites his lip at the sight. 

“I’ll make you a deal,” he goes on. “Let me take you to dinner and I’ll help you learn how to be taken care of.” 

I bark out a quick laugh. “Who’s entering into one-sided deals, now?” 

“You giving me a chance is not one-sided. I promise you. Let me take you to dinner.” 

“Okay. It’s a deal. A date. It’s a deal and a date. I’d love to get dinner with you.” 

Jeremiah’s smile beams. “Great! Let’s say I pick you up at seven. Does that work?” 

“I’ll be here ready for you,” I answer, but I have to avert my gaze away from him. When I’m feeling shy, eye contact can be difficult. 

“Awesome,” he puts a finger under my chin and gently touches it, prompting me to look him in the eye again. It’s encouraging, not antagonistic. “Don’t worry about dressing up. The place we’re going to is casual, so wear what’s comfortable.” 

Damn. I didn’t even have to ask about the dress code. I think this is the first time a guy has ever thought about that little aspect of going out before I had the chance. Is Jeremiah for real? 

Well, his touch on my chin feels real And the shoulder muscles that his tank top is gracing look real. And all those boxes from storage are really in my house right now. All in all, things are seemingly real enough. Let’s see if he really shows up this evening. 

____________________________________________________________________________

“He’s hiding something.” My friend Haoyu, who is back in New York, is talking to me on speakerphone while I get ready for dinner. Back in the city, he has a few hours before he’ll even venture out the door for his nighttime diversions. Meanwhile, I’m leaning over the bathroom vanity smudging kohl around my eyes. “No guy is that perfect without a catch,” he says. 

“I don’t disagree, in principle,” I say with my mouth stretched open because that, for some reason, makes it easier to do my eyeliner. “But I haven’t witnessed any glaring red flags just yet, so it’s unfair to assume he’s outright deceptive.” 

“I bet he’s a Republican. Wait, no– a LIBERTARIAN. Oh no, I’ve got it: HE. LISTENS. TO. JOE. ROGAN.” 

I shudder. These things could very well be true. I am in Ohio. These midwestern men have that reputation. 

“I’m sure whatever’s wrong with him will come out during dinner. Then at the end of the night, I can thank him for his warm welcome and moving help, then go home by myself. No harm, no foul.” 

“Yeah, until he murders you and buries your bodies in the middle of kicker-shit Ohio because you bruised his fragile male ego by rejecting him.”

“HAOYU! Don’t put that kind of curse on me. Take that back!” 

“What? That’s what happens in places like that. They try to act like it’s some innocent idyllic heartland, but in actuality it’s a façade covering up a dark, seedy, sinister underbelly.”

“This from the guy who went to five different dungeon parties in the Hamptons last summer.”

“Shut up, you bitch. I can’t believe you left me to move to fucking Ohio. This city isn’t the same without you.”

“The city is exactly the same without me. The clubs you eventually make it to tonight will still be loud and the guys there will still be horny for your cute ass. And I will be having a quiet night in, just like I would when I was there. Only now I’m here.” 

“In stank ass Ohio.” 

“Yes, Hao, in Ohio. Where you are more than welcome to visit me anytime you wish.”

“Bitch, what the FUCK am I going to do in Ohio?” 

“Watch shitty reality television with me and drink wine til we pass out?” 

Haoyu sighs, “That does have its appeal. But I still miss you here and now.” 

“Darling,” I say, “I miss you even when we’re right next to each other.”

“Oh I love you, Molly. Never change.”

“Literally never.” 

“You know, you can’t keep me from worrying about you.  I mean, if you’re murdered by some buckeye boytoy, who do I have left? Troian? They don’t know a Kelly from a Birkin.” 

“You don’t have a Kelly or a Birkin.” 

“You know what? I hope the motherfucker does kill you now.” 

“You just said you love me!”

“More than life, bitch. Share your location with me before you go out with this stranger?”

“That I can do for you. And if you get a call from the cops tomorrow: he says his name is Jeremiah and he lives on my street.” 

“A strong lead for any missing person’s case.”

“I live for the convenience of others.”

“Girl, I can’t with you. BYYYYEEE!” and the line is cut. That’s my best friend! Wouldn’t be here without him. 

I finish my makeup and go ahead and do the Share My Location thing with Haoyu before I forget. Jeremiah said to dress casual, but I realize that “casual” might mean something different in Ohio versus Manhattan. I end up choosing a black maxi dress– one of those special items of clothing that can look just as appropriate at a burger joint as it is in a steakhouse. Hopefully wherever we’re going tonight doesn’t fall outside of that spectrum in either way. 

I’m still a bit dizzy by the way my day is unfolding. I woke up this morning assuming I would spend it sweating my ass off unloading boxes then finishing it with a dinner of one of those skillet pasta-for-two meals for one (me.) 

But now, I am preening in the mirror to get ready for a date with a hot guy who may or may not murder me. And here I was worried that life outside of New York would be boring. I don’t remember the last time a guy simply offered to buy me dinner because he wanted a chance with me. When Mark and I first started dating, we’d meet at the bar and split tabs. 

Jeremiah rings the doorbell at 7:02. On time, but not overly eager. He’s good. 

I open the door and there he is, looking great in fitted brown chinos, a white t-shirt, and an unbuttoned plaid flannel with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He puts his hand over the left side of his chest, pretending to clutch at his heart. 

“Molly, wow. You look beautiful,” he smiles warmly. “Are you hungry?” 

“I am! Nothing like unpacking every item you own to build up an appetite.” 

“Perfect. This place is about 20 minutes away, but I can get us there in 15 if the wind’s good.” 

He has such a sweet sense of humor. Being around him puts a genuine smile on my face. Damn. I am not looking forward to finding out what is wrong with this guy. 

Jeremiah offers me his arm and walks me to his hybrid SUV. The fact that he’s driving a hybrid does not go unnoticed– probably not a red hat kind of guy with a fuel efficient vehicle, right? I have no idea if I’m really honest with myself. Some people in this world are so far from my social orbit, they might as well be aliens.

Jeremiah opens the car door for me. He is really committed to this gentleman bit. As I settle into the passenger seat, he climbs into his side and starts the car. I brace myself for Dude Talk radio or top 40 hits, but instead the familiar sounds of The Clash flow from the speakers. 

Okay, Molly, maybe cool it on assuming the worst for a bit. He’s effortlessly proving you wrong at every turn, so it’s wasted energy. 

After a short drive, we pull up to the restaurant. It’s an unassuming little Korean barbeque joint nestled in a shopping center with an Asian market and what looks to be a Tai Chi spa. 

“Do you like Korean?” Jeremiah asks me. 

“Absolutely! Do you?” 

Jeremiah feigns offense. “What? You think because I’m some provincial schmuck from Ohio, I don’t know the finer points of international cuisine?” 

I laugh. “I know you’re not some provincial schmuck because no provincial schmuck would ever say ‘provincial schmuck.’”

“Fair enough! Either way, this place is amazing. Even the reddest of necks can enjoy it.” 

“Well, by all means lead the way.” 

____________________________________________________________________________

Jeremiah was right about the restaurant. Dinner was spectacular. We got tteokbokki and pajeon to start and then split grilled short ribs and buttered scallops at the table. We drank beer and soju and spent the entire evening laughing. Jeremiah has plenty of stories to tell about the rag tag band of misfits he calls friends. 

“Most of them live in Cincinnati, so I will drive in to hang out,” he tells me. “But every once and a while they’ll come out to the ‘burbs to see me. Especially if I bribe them with BBQ.” 

“You have to bribe them?” 

“I know, I know. But don’t get them wrong–they’re great people. They just hate driving anywhere more than a five mile radius from their places. I don’t take offense to it. You get into your 30s and you really start to enjoy the beauty of staying the fuck in. They’re always trying to talk me into moving closer to the city– then I wouldn’t have to bribe them with smoked meats to hang out. But I don’t want to move. I like the neighborhood. And as of late, neighbor, it’s gotten even better.” He gives me the subtlest wink and takes a swig of beer. 

Damn. He is good. 

After Jeremiah pays the bill to the joyous woman working the register at the back of the restaurant, we head back home. I am thoroughly impressed at this point. I don’t think I’ve had this much fun on a good old fashioned date since I was a teenager. If Jeremiah is secretly a murderer fattening me up for the slaughter, then I might as well moo. With a full stomach and the warm haze of soju relaxing me, I’m less inclined to pick him apart looking for whatever’s wrong with him. In fact, I’m feeling more inclined to take care of him once we get back to my place after an evening of him taking care of me. 

We pull up to my place, but he doesn’t cut his engine off before he hops out to open my door for me. We walk to my front porch and I turn to him. 

“Thank you for dinner. I had a really great time.” I look up at him from behind heavy, hooded eyes. I hope they look seductive and not just sleepy. I silently will him to close the distance between us and kiss me. 

I guess someone, somewhere hears my prayers because Jeremiah weaves his fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck and gently pulls me towards him as he bends into me. His kiss is fucking amazing. He’s commanding without being overly controlling, letting me ease into him while providing a sturdy base to hold us. He’s enthusiastic, but not aggressive. I feel flames through my body and I begin aching with need in a way long forgotten by me. 

“Would you like to come in?” I ask. My voice is hushed and breathy to the point I almost don’t recognize it as my own. 

Jeremiah lets out a frustrated groan. “Fuuuuck, Molly. I do. I really do. But I can’t. Not tonight.” 

“Oh. Okay. That’s fine,” I lie. “I just thought…” He stops me with another kiss. 

“No, Molly,” he punctuates each point with a new kiss, a new spot each time. “You have… no idea… how bad… I want to…” Jeremiah lingers, kissing my mouth on that one. I feel his left hand tracing the curves of my body, memorizing them by touch. His lips travel to the crook of my neck and I lean into the door to give him better access. 

“Not tonight,” he says. “I want to, but I can’t tonight. Don’t count me out, though,” he looks me in the eyes. “I want you, Molly. But I have to do this right.” 

I nod my head in understanding, even if my head and my body are in complete disagreement here. 

“Yeah, I understand. It’s okay. Really. We have nothing but time, right?” 

He takes my face in his hands and kisses me long and deep. When he breaks it off and stares me in the eye, I see a quiet anguish in them, like he’s struggling with his own internal battle between his better sense and the possibilities of what may lie on the other side of my front door. He kisses me again, firm but perfunctory, and groans against my mouth. I wonder what kind of groans I could elicit from him with my mouth around his cock, relaxing gradually until he breaches the back of my throat and I slide the complete length of him inside me. Fuck, I want to do that to him so bad. 

“Tonight when you get in your bed and under your sheets, know that I’ll be in mine thinking of you, Molly. I’ll be thinking about this,” his hands smooth over and down my body, “every second until I fall asleep. And then some more in my dreams.” He turns to leave and takes a step before doing a heel turn to face me again, pinning me against the door again for another blistering kiss. This time, he gently grabs my wrist and guides it to his leg, prompting me to run my fingers over the rock hard length of him pressing against his chinos. 

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Even under the clothes I can tell it’s an amazing cock. I want it. If not tonight, then fucking soon. I’m grateful that he took the initiative to show he wants me too. I’d probably go crazy wondering if he didn’t. 

“And if you find yourself tonight thinking about me,” Jeremiah whispers in my ear, “don’t be afraid to let me know.” He gently nips at my earlobe with his incisors and plants a final kiss on my forehead before he does an awkward little jog back to his car. He hops in and waves goodbye before he pulls out of my driveway and back into the night. I head inside and lock the front door behind me, booking it straight to my bedroom. I have to relieve the ridiculous excess of tension this man has wound up inside me. 

____________________________________________________________________________

Between the soju and the intense orgasm I gave myself thinking about all the things I want to do to Jeremiah, I am pretty relaxed. But the need he’s riled within simply refuses to be sated. All this dude had to do is act like a gentleman to me and it’s made me hornier than I’ve been in years. It makes you wonder why more men don’t try this. Do guys know what a powerful aphrodisiac respect is? Are they cognizant of all the dirty, decidedly unladylike things we want to do after being treated like a lady in the first place? They probably don’t care. 

I’m in the middle of one such unladylike dream– something along the lines of Jeremiah bending me over a counter and fucking me from behind so hard I can feel it in my throat– when a loud crash completely wakes me up. Once I get my bearings, I look to the window where bright flashes pierce the dark of night. I hear the wind rustle violently and the sharp thuds of heavy raindrops pelt the roof above me. Damn. Storms out here hit differently than they do in the city. There’s a violence to them. 

I pry myself from bed and go to the kitchen to get a drink. It’s not unusual for me to wake up with a dry mouth after having Korean barbeque. Something about soy sauce and soju leaves me dehydrated as hell. I make myself a glass of ice water and lean against the kitchen counter while listening to the rain outside grow heavier and wilder. I open my laptop to look at the forecasts and do a quick search for “tornadoes southern Ohio.” From what I can deduce, I’m relatively safe for the night, if only disrupted by the cacophony of the storm. 

Then as if time with a particularly strong gust, my power goes out. My laptop still lights up but my internet is out. The lights on my appliances go dark and the hall light I turned on between my bedroom and the kitchen is off. I’m still in the middle of unpacking some of my things. I wouldn’t know the first place to look for my flashlight even if I had light to look for it with. I feel my way back to my bedroom and blindly grab at my mattress until I find my phone laying on it. I was an idiot and didn’t plug it in before I fell asleep and now it’s down to 31% power. Great. I plug it in to my bedside charger and hope the power will be back on before I wake up. 

____________________________________________________________________________

It’s 7 am when I awake and the rain is relentless. It’s dreary, dark, and gray outside. The power still seems to be out. My phone is drained to 24%. Good morning to me. 

I use the restroom and brush my teeth in the dark. There’s just enough morning light that I’m not bumping into things, but considering this place is still pretty new to me, I won’t beat myself up for having to run my hands across the walls to navigate my way into the kitchen. I fumble around in the drawers until I find the heavy duty pair of scissors I use to open boxes. I might as well start unpacking what I can in hopes that I stumble upon my flashlight or maybe even some candles. 

After about five or six boxes, I begin to wonder if I ever owned a flashlight in the first place because I am simply not finding one. I’m pretty certain I spent money on a heavy duty one back  in the city, but maybe I left it there in my old apartment. Maybe Mark took it with him when he left me. Or perhaps I put it in a box that was sucked into another dimension. It has to be one of those options– definitely no room for anything else. 

Okay, I’m obviously going crazy here. 

All search and no find makes Molly a daffy bitch. 

Maybe it’s time to ask for some help. Didn’t Jeremiah say I could come to him if I needed anything? If he didn’t say it, it definitely seems like something he would say. I bet he has flashlights abound. He may even know how to get my power back on. Or he may have power at his house and will let me hang out until mine comes back on. 

God, how ridiculously sad would it be for me to show up at his door sopping wet and helpless in the face of my first midwestern storm? Pretty sad. Or possibly… hot? He does seem like the type of guy who loves to play White Knight. Would it be so bad for me to lean into the Damsel-in-Distress role? 

Only one way to find out. 

I change into an oversized hoodie and sweatpants that may not keep me dry, but are better than any other clothing options I have on hand. I pocket my phone and keys. There’s an umbrella in my car, so I make sure to grab it before I brave the rain. 

I open the door and it’s not letting up one bit. I step into the open air and the rhythm of the drops on my umbrella is deafening. I stick to the sidewalk and head in the direction I saw Jeremiah drive off towards the night before. I see his SUV in the driveway that looks a lot like my house but flipped on the vertical axis, just like he said it was. As I scurry to his front porch, It is obvious there isn’t any light on inside. It looks like nobody is home. That makes sense. It’s the middle of the day, he could be out running errands or seeing friends. Most people have lives that a little rain can’t keep them from living. I ring the doorbell anyways, just in case. But, alas, there is no answer. 

My plan firmly defeated, I start to head back home. But then a SMACK noise nearby catches my attention. Jeremiah’s fence has blown open, leaving his backyard exposed. I decide to be a good neighbor and close it– surely the gate being open, door banging against the posts behind it and flapping in the wind could damage something. I’m new to this homeowners thing, but it seems to me that one would prefer the gate to be closed in such an instance. I pull the handle of the door as it scrapes mud from the ground beneath it. But before I close it completely, something in Jeremiah’s backyard catches my eye. Or rather, someone. 

My heart drops as my brain registers what I’m seeing. That’s a body laying prostrate in the middle of Jeremiah’s yard. At first glance, it looks like they could be unconscious. 

Oh god. It’s Jeremiah. 

He could be dead. He could have fallen out here and hit his head. Lightning could have struck him. 

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

I sprint as fast as I can towards Jeremiah’s still form. A million alarms are going off in my head. At some point, I dropped the umbrella and I can feel the rain soak through my clothes. 

Please don’t be dead. 

Please don’t be dead. 

Please don’t be dead. 

I reach him and it dawns on me: Jeremiah is naked. Also– this man doesn’t quite look like Jeremiah because this man is… blue? Or green. Definitely a blue-green. And his skin is mottled, like it’s covered in goosebumps a shade darker than the general teal of his pallor. Do corpses turn teal? I’m pretty sure that’s not the question I should be asking because from what I can see, this body is alive. Unless dead bodies pulse in and out like they’re breathing. I’m pretty sure that’s more of a live body thing. 

I have no idea who– or what– this is. Fear spreads from my gut to my limbs and I freeze. Then, as if awakened by my change in emotion, the body’s eyes open. Gone are the smiling, kind eyes I stared into across the table at Korean barbeque. In their place are oversized reptilian orbs with elliptical pupils. They go wide at the sight of me, their darkness reflecting the storm clouds above us. 

Someone is screaming. 

Oh shit, it’s me. I’m the one screaming. And I’m not stopping. Even as Jeremiah leaps up from the ground and pulls me into him with one giant, webbed hand while putting the other over my still screaming mouth. It muffles the sound, sure, but I feel the power of the reverberations. That’s the thing about screams of terror, I am now learning: they’re not just some loud noise. They’re the pure power of fear surging through your body. Another thing about terror screams: they are consuming. I feel my energy levels drop even as my screaming refuses to let up. As I lose power, a darkness begins to build around the periphery of my vision. It creeps in slowly until I am no longer present. 

[youhavenoideahowbadiwantthis]

So this post is important to me, because I feel the movie I'm about to talk about is a kindred spirit to a movie that I fucking hate: The Outwaters. The movie in question is Frogman. Spoilers ahead, probably.

Frogman is a 2024 found footage horror movie that, I PRESUME, was made on a micro budget by independent filmmaker Anthony Cousins. I presume it was a micro budget because I can't find an actual budget, and if it wasn't a sub-$100k budget, I'd be surprised.

The movie deals with the legend of the Loveland Frog, a legend near and dear to my 6 year old, Ohioan heart. Long story short, a boy sees the frogman, no one believes him, it shapes his entire personality and sends him on a quest to prove himself correct.

The acting is surprisingly very good. For 3 actors I'd never heard of, they were all wonderful and believable as old friends. The shoehorning of a love plot was extremely funny to me because it was very out of place and unnecessary, but I did get a good laugh out of it at the end.

The cinematography and setting are good. I'd liken it to Digging Up the Marrow. The creature is shown in full view and the effects are very nice. The frog is shown in full view multiple times, but I don't think it takes away from the film.

Also, the frog does a little jive walk at the end that I'm still laughing about a week later.

This film is a perfect example of found footage done right. It's not spectacular, it's not original, but it's fun. It sucks you in for just under an hour and a half and you have a fun monster adventure.

If you are still considering watching The Outwaters, please, don't waste your time on it. Watch something that will actually entertain you. Watch Frogman.

[thelreads]

TWILIGHT PLEASE ARE YOU REALLY GOING TO BUY THE WHOLE FUCKING SHIP OR SOMETHING

Good job Anya, but I think that`s already taken care of, by now the cleaning staff is already on their way to remove all the pieces of the frogman from the carpet.

See what I said? They already have finished their fighting.

[generationexorcist]

‘Frogman’ Is Cryptid Found Footage Done Right

The found footage creature feature is an elusive beast. Yes, we have bigger budget examples such as Cloverfield and Trollhunter, but really they’re few and far between. Yes, it’s often due to budget, but director Anthony Cousins’ feature film debut Frogman, which had its world premiere at Popcorn Frights, proves it is possible. His lo-fi cryptid film proves you can do creepy creature found footage that’s both impressive and effective. Plus the film answers the age-old question, does the Loveland Frogman fuck?

For the uninitiated, the Loveland Frogman is a giant frog humanoid said to lurk in the woods of Loveland, Ohio. Stories of the creature have circulated around the regions for decades and it’s become a bit of a lure for tourists, especially those like me who are drawn to cryptids. Loveland Frogman merch abounds and the creature is even the town’s mascot...

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