#surf rock is dead

[sonicziggy]

"show me the world" by Surf Rock Is Dead https://ift.tt/cekmCxG

[haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll]

Tracklist:

Police Truck • Too Drunk To Fuck • California Über Alles • The Man With The Dogs • In Sight • Life Sentence • A Child And His Lawnmower • Holiday In Cambodia • I Fought The Law • Saturday Night Holocaust • Pull My Strings • Short Songs • Straight A's • Kinky Sex Makes The World Go 'Round • The Prey • Buzzbomb From Pasadena • Night Of The Living Rednecks

Spotify ♪ Youtube

[pasta-pardner]

spotify | art | He's back from the grave! Undead Nightmare playlist featuring mostly surf and garage rock.

[stevepasztor]

[the-song-of-the-day]

August 12, 2024

Song #186

California Uber Alles by Dead Kennedys

it was released in 1979 as a single

Fun fact: The title is an allusion to the first stanza of the national anthem of Germany, which begins with the words "Deutschland, Deutschland über alles" ("Germany, Germany above everything").

[akkivee]

I AM SO FCKED UP RN HOLY FCK HOLY SHIT

[asterisk-666666]

lol it can be kind of tragic how I am always several years late to the party on things and not into the current version. I look at all the attention and interaction fans of the current thing get and then get sad that whoever I like is dead, defunct, or otherwise out of doing it for good.

[cenaindie]

The Dead Rocks – Tiki Twist https://cenaindie.com/album/the-dead-rocks-tiki-twist/

[30000songs]

#802 - Dead to Me - Girls Names

Title is accurate, at least.

37/100

[haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll]

Tracklist:

Kill The Poor • Forward To Death • When Ya Get Drafted • Let's Lynch The Landlord • Drug Me • Your Emotions • Chemical Warfare • California Über Alles • I Kill Children • Stealing Peoples' Mail • Funland At The Beach • Ill In The Head • Holiday In Cambodia • Viva Las Vegas

Spotify ♪ YouTube

[sweetnans]

Chaotic fem. reader/Best friend Bakugo

"I'm ready to be a mother," you stated out of nothing.

Bakugo was obviously taken back by your comment.

"Did you see something on tiktok that made you think that?" he looked at you while you kept scrolling in your phone. "You need a partner to procreate dumbass,"

"I know I need a man to procreate, but I thought that you could help me on that one," you bit your nails, showing less interest than a rock.

He left his phone aside so he could analyze you properly if you were talking seriously or not.

"I'm not going to introduce you to my side kick, He's like twenty," he tested.

"Twenty??? I'm almost twenty eight, that's still a reasonable age gap, " you gasped because his side kick didn't look like he was twenty. You thought that he would at least be twenty-three.

"No it's not"

After almost ten years of being friends, Bakugo was so used to your shit. The time that you wanted to go surfing? He laughed at your face when you didn't make it to the ocean because you were afraid of sharks. What about the time when you wanted a hamster? He said no, but you got it anyway, so when you lost it, obviously, he gave you shit about it, but after that, he was on all four looking for your little pet in the dorms.

"Fine." That wasn't your main goal, so you let it go. "Actually, I was thinking of you doing a quick hand job in my bathroom and giving me your sperm"

The silence between the two of you couldn't be more unbearable. Bakugo's eyes twisted in your direction while his cheeks were slowly growing a clear shade of rose.

"What? No!"

He was absolutely losing it. The impact of your sayings got him standing from his seat, almost panting. You and him? In his best dreams, but you didn't need to know about his secret intentions.

"Think about it. It's a great idea." You stepped out of your couch and went to his side.

"How are you going to explain that your kid has similar features with your best friend?" he flinched when you approached him. You were so close that your scent invaded him whole.

Bakugo was trying with all his heart and mind to think logically, but you, your body next to him, and your puppy eyes were making it so hard, in both ways.

"I don't know, and I don't care, I'll run away from the country, and you'll never see us again"

You were one of the best students from UA, right after him and Yaoyorozu, but right now, he was doubting if it was just an act.

"That's so clever." he rolled his eyes at you and walked to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, hoping that you would drop the subject and hop onto another like getting a bunny or going sky diving.

"I know, right? Now go in there, do the nasty job, and I'll put it inside of me, I'll even turn my body upside down so it sticks, " you jolted in joy, missing his usual sarcasm.

He almost spilled the water from his mouth to your face.

"Who the fuck told you that?" he spated obnoxiously.

"Kaminari," you shrugged.

"Are you even listening to yourself!?"

When he thought that that couldn't get any worse, you named the only person who could make him go crazy just by opening his mouth.

"I'm desperate. It made sense when he told me"

He could believe anything at this point. He was actually thinking that he was dead because what was happening between you two was a complete nonsense.

"So you are telling me this is something you've had in mind for a while?

You simply nodded, and he stayed quiet, considering everything you said. He wasn't looking for anything serious because of you. He passed for all seven stages of grief when he realized that he was in love with you and your silliness, so he decided long ago that he wouldn't date anyone because he wasn't interested in anyone but you.

"I know that look on your face," you smiled and danced around the kitchen.

You weren't looking for anyone either. Having Bakugo as a male figure in your life left the bar very high for others to match. They didn't meet your expectations anymore like Bakugo did, always by your side, laughing at your bad jokes and giving you his hand when you most needed, buying food and cooking for you, he has even bought you flowers for half a decade on valentine's day, a large bouquet of red roses every year since then.

"I'll do it," he told you, and you jumped excited on him. He grabbed you by your thighs, catching you on the fly. "Two conditions"

"Yeah, just name it," you batted your eyes at him.

"I'll take you on a proper date first, and you won't run away with my kid, got it?"

Bakugo thought that he was only doing you a favor, but he never saw coming that it only took one date to make you fall for him in the way he always wanted.

[haveihitanerve]

Dad How Do I but with Bruce Wayne.

Bruce who teaches life advice- showing kids how to tie a tie, how to tie their shoes, braid their hair, teaching young adults to do taxes, to surf, the best lawyers to hire when in trouble, how to avoid scams, he educates the less fortunate on the best places to get free food, where to go in Wayne Enterprises for a hot shower and some toiletries, how to eat at formal functions so the higher elite have one less thing to criticize them on. He teaches people how to do card tricks and make your niece laugh by pulling out a quarter from behind her ear, teaches moms how to rock their baby to sleep properly, teaches teens to do front flips and cartwheels and calculus, educates them on how to write job applications and two weeks notice letters. He teaches people to sew, to cook(alfred helps) to assemble an IKEA shelf, how to work a lawn mower, and all sorts of different things. And when his son dies… Bruce uses his account to share his grief, his story, shares everything about Jason, what a delight he was, how awesome he was, how much he loved to read and school… and then one day, he gets Batman to join a video. And the hero is stiff and everyone can see the exhaustion, the anger and sadness in his joints, his movements, radiating off him. But he sits down heavily into the chair Bruce Wayne had previously vacated… and begins to speak. He tells the story of Robin, his young child sidekick, who just like Jason Wayne, was murdered by the Joker. He tells everyone how his little boy tried to save Jason Todd, and how they both perished in the aftermath. He tells people about his grief, his anger, and why Batman is suddenly harsher and hurts more. “Because I hurt more.” he confesses quietly, and the people finally get to meet the man behind the mask (figuratively) and truly get to see who their hero really is. The account’s popularity skyrockets, and soon Batman is a lot more common to be seen, teaching people how to defend themselves and handle the Batarangs he knows they collect after he fights. Nightwing shows up too sometimes, teaching more elegant flips and tricks and they demonstrate their workout together, and a few months later, Batman shyly introduces his new Robin, same messy black hair as the one before, but slightly smaller, and theres something… more behind those lenses in his mask. But the kid is soon a fan favorite, making sarcastic comments and countering Nightwings witty remarks, and the people get to see a new side of Batman, get to watch as he rolls his eyes at them, as he uses them to teach people how to disguise themselves, ways to use clothes to stem blood, tie tourniquets. 

Then Red Hood returns. And a kid in Crime Alley catches him cursing at his jacket because a button fell off and he cant get it back on. “Um! Mr. Red Hood sir?” the kid pipes anxiously. Red Hood turns to him, angry, but the kid doesn't back down and just goes “You should watch ‘Mr. Wayne How Do I: Sewing’ it'll help.” and then he scampers off. And Jason is pissed and even more angry because of course while he was dead Bruce decides to become a father to everyone in Gotham. But he watches the video. And it helps. And… well, its one of the older videos. And Jason finds another old video. The one about… the one about his death. It shouldn't make his anger lessen, shouldn't make him cry, shouldn't bring him to Bruce’s doorstep where he reveals himself and they hug and cry and catch up and cry some more… but it does. 

Gothamites are a little surprised when their local Crime Lord appears on the channel, standing right next to Batman. Surprised, but pleased. Because Batman looks happy in a way he hasn't in a long time and well… Red Hood watched out for them too. And now their two protectors are working together.

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

"DROOLING FINGERS, PANIC BUTTONS, PLAYING WITH MISSILES LIKE THEY'RE TOYS."

PIC INFO: Resolution at 1042x1589 -- Spotlight on American punk rock and/or hardcore punk band, DEAD KENNEDYS, performing live at the Old Waldorf music venue (1976-1983), San Francisco, CA, on October 25, 1979. 📸: Terry Hammer.

"Drooling fingers, panic buttons, Playing with missiles like they're toys, There's easy money, easy jobs, Especially when you build the bombs, That blow big cities off the map, Just guess who profits when we build 'em back up."

-- "When Ya Get Drafted" (1980) by DEAD KENNEDYS

Source: https://pastdaily.com/2014/08/01/dead-kennedys-live-old-waldorf-1979-nights-roundtable-concert-edition.

[bloodlooser]

The Man and the Sea (Epic the musical fanfic)

main ship: Poseidon x Odysseus

(English is not my first language, please keep it in mind)

notes:

• It's the first part of the beginning. I don't have an AO3 account yet, once I get it I'll post it there and share a link 🩵 (upd. the link is ready!!)

• I know that gods' blood is called "ichor", I just wanted to stated out that it's blood. And it was red in Epic, so I'm kinda sticking to that source.

• I want to say a big THANK YOU to those who helped me with corrections!! You rock, guys 😍

• I guess I should note that the fic is R-18?? Idk how to rate it correctly yet, please feel free to correct me in the comments. Okay, let's go :>

part 1.

🌊🌊🌊

- After everything you've done, how will you sleep at night?

- Next to my wife.

***

He said it and left, finally he's reached his shore. The shore which was consuming god's blood at the moment. Poseidon was lying still, spread out, his feet couldn't move and the blood was running free from all his wounds. He couldn't die, that's true, he could feel pain though. It was burning through him, pulsating, unstoppable. He was defeated by his own weapon and by his own philosophy, which was even more painful.

A hoarse laugh bursted out of his throat.

- You've become the one you were destined to, just as I thought. You never came home the same. It's no longer you.

***

Late at night Odysseus had a long neverending nightmare. Styx. His dead comrade's cries. Water. The water was everywhere, it was surrounding him, pulling him in. Poseidon. He was dragging him down, to the bottom, there was no escape. Trying to reach the surface, Odysseus was ripping off his shoes, his clothes, he was ready to rip off his legs and arms, and his very skin, anything to be set free from this torture.

- Enough... stop!!

King of Ithaca was suddenly wide awake in his bed. The sound of the tidel waters filled the silence of the night. A peaceful, unhurried whisper coming from Penelope took him back to reality.

- Honey, sleep a bit, sleep a bit more. It's okay, you're home.

Penelope wasn't fully awake, she was talking in her sleep, she was already used to her husband's nightmares after two years and didn't have to be fully conscious to calm him down and carress him back to sleep.

Odysseus slipped out of the bed and went to the balcony.

The sea is always near. It surrounds you everywhere.

The surf was licking the sand of the shore, waves were coming down still and quite, over and over again. But Odysseus knew the quite was deceiving.

Did he really stab Poseidon with his own trident? Or was it all just a bad dream? Was he really at home? Or did he drown after god's final attack? Could this all be just his agony before he finally dies?

- When will you stop torturing me, - Odysseus hid his face in his arms, covering it, whispering curses and prayers.

The surf seemed to talk to him. But Odysseus didn't know the language it was talking in. He had no intention to talk to the sea god. He didn't care about what he has to say.

He came back to his wife's arms, coming back to have some more anxious sleep before the dawn.

The surf was slowly turning into a storm, but it couldn't wake Odysseus up anymore.

***

He didn't go sailing anymore. Their son was inviting him once or twice or more, but Odysseus wouldn't even go near the beach, let alone go to the ship. Penelope could sense that there was something more than just a phobia. He made it home, but something was broken deep inside of him. He mentioned his last encounter with Poseidon once, briefly, one night he told her that he won a battle wth the sea god before finally coming back home. Penelope was a really smart and delicate woman, she didn't have to interrogate her husband to feel the depth of his pain. She guessed that that very moment was something that changed Odysseus, something he perceived as horrible. She could constantly feel his fear. And yet she couldn't help him, she didn't know how to. She couldn't even tell what was it that he was so afraid of. At first glance, it seemed to be the fear of water. The ocean. But... no, it might be different. Penelope didn't want to push any more pressure on him, so she just decided to be near him without taking any action. Some wounds should just heal, right? By themselves.

***

Poseidon's wounds were healing slowly and reluctantly. The trident was a formidable weapon, but yet it couldn't hurt Odysseus. What a bullshit. Might be someone's divine intervention, no doubt. The god of the seas didn't ask for Apollo's help, so that he wouldn't have to listen to other Olympus inhabitants laugh. And when Hermes brought some medicine from the god of healing, all those flasks were thrown aiming him right in the head.

- My dearest uncle, you simply can't hold grudges for that long, they'd all gone sore, - the impudent god teased him, dodging with ease. Dexterous, as always.

- How dare you show up here?!

- Oh thank you, I'm glad you've noticed my audacity, - the messenger of gods gave out a little laugh. - And still. You can't be THAT mad at my great grandson. I suppose you aren't that mad for a couple of years already. I can't even imagine how you could stand being mad and furious for so long!

- Who would've thought, you're too flippant, just like Aeolus, - Poseidon spitted, wrinkling up from a sudden pain in his chest.

- Still water turns into a swamp, dear uncle. But you're never still, right? Always raging. Why didn't you kill Odysseus?

The question was so sudden and plain, it knocked the ground out of Poseidon's feet, although he never really needed it in the first place.

- You were threatening him, but never really went too far and never actually did anything to him, - Hermes was smiling cunningly, moving everything around in Poseidon's chamber.

- The fate was on your impertinent great grandson's side, - the sea god growled.

- Yeah, that's right, your son knew it long before, - Hermes chuckled, turning around on his toes. - But!

- But what?

- You were competent to find him and kill him anytime you wanted. But you were always hesitating. You wasted so much time and affort in declaring your philosophy and expressing your rage, you even killed lots of his flee, but not him. And also, - Hermes squinted his eyes and smiled really slyly. - You were the one to throw him at Calypso's. You placed him in paradise. What were you up to, master of the seas?

Poseidon wasn't famous for his temperance, so he immediately reached for his trident.

- Oopsie, gotta go! - Hermes giggled, flying out of the chambers. - You just think about all that, Uncle Poseidon~

The trident was thrown into the wall. Poseidon had no intention on thinking about anything. He didn't want to see anyone. He didn't want to know anything, to Tartarus with it all.

***

The sea is different everyday, but it always remains to be the sea. At times the water is sparkly and shiny, going from light turquoise to deep ocean blue, sometimes nearly black, and at times it's muddy and brown because of the dirt and mud being raised up from the bottom. The sea never hides it's secrets, they are just lurking down below. They are always ready to come up to the surface and be a shocking surprise to anybody. The sea was hiding lots of skeletons of the past and also lots of treasures. And it was completely ruthless.

Telemachus really loved being in the open sea and feeling the unity with this force, playing with it, making it obey or obeying himself to it, surrending to the waves. Finally, he was no longer a boy who couldn't even protect his mom. Finally, he was living his own story! And the sea was way more easy on him in this story than it's been in his father's one, although it was unexpected. Even storms seemed to just frighten him a little bit, but never really touched him or his crew. He once told his dad about it, which made dad froze up for a moment, like a statue, then his face expression's changed as if some kind of shadow layed between his eyes. Telemachus could not help but notice it although it lasted just for seconds. And then his father just chucked, returning to his usual expression - sly, but a bit tired. He said nothing regarding the situation, just told Telemachus to keep his guard up nevertheless. The son always looked up to his father, and also he was really fond of the stories about his journeys. Although dad wasn't really fond of telling them. Usually it was someone else retelling of retelling, going from one teller to another. It wasn't easy for Odysseus to tell stories about a journey where all his people and friends died.

A salty splash of water covered Telemachus face. He just laughed.

- He doesn't like sailing anymore, but I think he just needs time, - Odysseus' son smiled, looking at the waves dancing.

He was heading for places from father's stories. He was intending to make a path through the land of the Cyclops, and Odysseus knew nothing about his intentions. Telemachus didn't want his dad to have a heart attack, so he simply didn't tell him a thing.

***

His hot tongue was sliding down the wet salty skin. Sharp teeth stuck into the neck, pressing the flesh, digging in, but not biting it to blood. After a long trembling sigh the pressure on the neck went down and the tongue licked the place of the bite as if in apology.

Odysseus' body was melting in these arms like a malleable metal in Hephaestus' forge. The king of Ithaca was only able to make some fuzzy moans while hands and arms and other body parts of the sea god touched him. Everywhere. He was everywhere, just like the water. He was enshrouding and pulling him deep down. Poseidon was teasing Odysseus with his touch, claws, mouth, teeth, almost like a hungry animal. As if he wanted to devour him but couldn't. Almost suffocating, finally Odysseus found the strength to raise his arms and took the god's face into his palms, making him distance himself from his neck for once.

- Posei...don, - the mortal breathed out hoarsely.

His neck and collarbones were glowing red after all the bites, the blood could be seen in some places. It was oddly oozing up and to the sides - after all, they were underwater.

- You know this will never ever happen, right? - asked Odysseus with a light and exhausted smile, caressing Poseidon's face softly.

The god stumbled in for a second and just kissed his mortal as tough and deep as he could, leaving the question unanswered. He was drowning Odysseus in this kiss without realising that he's drowning too, with him.

Poseidon suddenly woke up right at the moment when Odysseus' hand touched his tunic between his legs. He burst his eyes wide and gave out a heavy groan, realising it was only just a dream. A damn dream. He slept a lot recently, he was still recovering. And this damn dreams... they were haunting him every time he went to sleep for quite some time already. Sometimes he was dreaming about Odysseus' life on the land, and sometimes... sometimes this. Passion, neverending mind-numbing passion. And the obedient pliable mortal who was happily giving up his body to him. Poseidon covered his face with his hand, trying to catch his breath and clear his mind.

If only Hermes didn't come here with his stupid questions. "Why didn't you kill him, why-why".

He was not interested in these dreams. It all was some kind of delusion, a bullshit. He'd forget about it once he recovered. Maybe he's been alone for too long. Maybe there's a point to seek some pleasures outside the sea? No, the only thought of it made him sick.

He had to get rid of these dreams and thoughts. One of the supreme deities surely had much more important stuff to do.

Feeling dizzy, Poseidon layed back down in his bed. He rolled around and closed his eyes. He would never in his life admit it, but he was trying to recreate the sensations he had in that dream. Odysseus' skin, Odysseus' scent. Why wasn't he stabbing him again in these dreams? Why was this mortal making him feel the indelible shame again and again?

- Odysseus, - the god mumbled, hiding his face in sea satin and nacreous sheets.

Nobody could see him in his private chamber, nobody could even visit him cause he himself strictly forbade it. He didn't want to see anyone. And no one would see him as he was right now.

Pathetic, wounded, vulnerable, just like a mortal.

Slowly falling back to sleep the sea god was hoping in the very depth of his heart that he'd dream of the king of Ithaca again.

to be continued

[ryemackerel]

goofy doodle dump featuring!! matt as a bat and tom, cool as hell tord doodle, tordmatt as a treat, and tord when he was a little creature. and tom + matt being dumbasses on the bottom img of course 🫶

worked on WAYY too many pieces while i was away, and since it would take too long to post these separately, i thought putting them together would’ve been awesome. full course meal for all of you guys ENJOYY ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: 𝙳𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚐ä𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 [5]

Pairing: Dark!Ransom x Reader, Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Summary: Your husband’s twin brother has always made you uncomfortable, and after two years of marriage, you finally find out why. 

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Basement-wife, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Breeding kink, Smut, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do not eat!

Word Count: 3,761

A/N: i cannot wait to see what you all think of this latest development! please drop by my ask with thoughts or comments, and as always, thanks everyone for your patience! ❤️ divider by @firefly-graphics​

To your absolute horror, Lloyd doesn’t stop. You’re dizzy, both from the realization and the even, steady grind of his hips. It’s terribly familiar, the way he touches you—like it’s not the first time. Your stomach rolls as an anguished wail tears from your lips at the thought, because it’s the same one you’ve been shoving down, burying underneath every single other thing you can think of, because it couldn’t be true. Ransom wouldn’t do that you, he wouldn’t—

But he has.

Lloyd clucks his tongue at you, and reaches forward to cup your face. “You can scream, Princess.” He grins. “I know you can’t keep quiet anyway.” His words turn your stomach. Your arms, previously paralyzed at your sides, come up to push frantically at his face and chest as you curse. 

“Get the fuck off me, Lloyd!” You scream, but he doesn’t move—doesn’t even falter as he continues to rut into your shamefully wet cunt. He doesn’t budge, like your blows don’t even hurt. It makes you even more panicked, your eyes growing wide as you sob. Frantically, you scream for your husband, your voice swallowed by the crashing surf. 

“Ransom—! Ran—” Lloyd silences you with a kiss, swallowing your fear as he presses his lips to yours. Your shock allows him entry, sweeping his tongue into your mouth as you squirm beneath him. Lloyd catches your arms easily, forcing them back against the rock behind you.

“What’s the worst part, Princess?” He asks mockingly, his amused chuckle puffing against your lips. “That it’s me? Or that you liked it? That you always liked it?” You don’t want it to be true, shaking your head as you stare at him with tear-filled eyes. He nods in response, as slow and deliberate as his thrusts. Your stomach churns with the combination of this forbidden knowledge and the unwanted pleasure that creeps up your spine. 

He knows your body, that much is obvious. You don’t know how you didn’t see it before, a hundred thousand puzzle pieces falling perfectly into place as your life crumbles around them. Lloyd holds you like Ransom, kisses you like Ransom—

Or does Ransom kiss you like Lloyd?

He plays your body perfectly, like you’re an instrument he’s already  mastered.  Even as your head swims, the thick weight of his cock drawing pleasure from you even as you fight against it. You can hear it, how wet you are, how much your traitorous body is enjoying Lloyd. It’s maddening, the way you clench and quake beneath him, struggling ineffectually against pleasure you don’t want. He transfers both your wrists to one hand, using the other to cup your chin. 

“It’s really not as bad as you think,” he coos, dragging his thumb through your tears. He kisses you again, painfully softly. “I know what you like.” Lloyd’s fingers taste like the sea as he draws them across your trembling lips. “I know what you hate.” He traces circles around your puffy nipples, before painting stripes of salt-water down your belly. He spreads your lips wider with two fingers and draws those same circles around your clit. 

“I hate you!” You grit through clenched teeth, through your furious, shameful tears. Lloyd clucks his tongue, before leaning down to nose at the skin of your throat. 

“No you don’t, Princess. You love Ransom—so you love me. We’re the same, baby-doll.” He leans up, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Don’t you get that yet?” You don’t want it to be true, it can’t be, they’re so different—but even as you think it, you know he’s not lying. You’re reeling, the stretch-burn, the raw pleasure of him inside you, the knowledge that he’s been there before—

You wail as you cum, staring unseeingly at the sky. Lloyd doesn’t even give you the courtesy of slowing down, instead fucking you steadily through it with his cock and fingers buried in your cunt. He carries you, unwilling, from one height to the next, twitching and pleading. When he finally pulls his fingers from your soaked folds, he sucks them clean. 

“Love you so much, Princess,” he groans, rocking his hips steadily into yours as you mewl miserably. “I can wait for you to know you love me too.” His fingers press the skin of your hips like Ransom’s. Lloyd sucks your bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth with a growl. He holds you still while he empties into you. As he pants against your mouth, he grins. 

“Feels good not to have to pretend.” 

“Get off me.” You hiss at him, glaring at him with red-rimmed eyes. This time, he listens. He pulls out of you with an appreciative hum, stopping briefly to admire the slick, sticky mess he’s made. You pull your swimsuit down roughly, tugging your shirt tightly around yourself like a shield while you grab your now soaked shorts from the water, and begin to struggle into them. 

“Let me—”

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You shriek, jumping further backwards into the surf. You slip on the rocks, barely remaining upright as you scramble away. “Y-you don’t touch me!” You brandish a slick rock in your hand as threateningly as you can. “I—I’m going to tell Ransom, an-and—”

The look he gives you is almost pitying. “Oh Princess. Go on and tell him.” He nods at you with a sick smile. “Tell me what he says.” Lloyd holds his hands up as you retreat, giving him as wide a berth as you an as you circle back to shore. He doesn’t follow you, watching as you stumble across the sand.  You head into the trees and underbrush ringing the beach, fleeing your brother-in-law’s gaze. You know the general direction of the hotel, and you head that way, opting not to go back to the party. 

The party. Your stomach turns as you think of it now, Linda’s words holding fresh meaning now. Did she know? Did Ransom? The entire idea was so ludicrous you could scarcely believe it was really happening—but it was. It had. The evidence of Lloyd’s transgression was smeared between your salt-stained thighs. You want to vomit, and so you do, leaning against a tree as you heave into the sand. 

“Sweetheart?” 

You look up, your eyes wild. It’s Ransom—or Lloyd. You don’t know, now, torn between wanting to rush into his arms, or turn and run. You simply stare at him distrustfully, mirroring his step forward with one back, maintaining the distance between you with careful precision. 

“Baby, what’s wrong? You just wandered off, and—”

“Are you Lloyd?” You ask sharply, swallowing the desire to respond to his concern. You can’t trust your own eyes now, not anymore, and you don’t want to get close enough to verify. 

Ransom stares at you confusedly. 

“No? Why would you ask me that? Did something happen?” He takes another step closer, his arms outstretched placatingly. There’s true worry on his face as he takes in your wretched state, your open shirt and wet shorts, dirty feet and missing shoes. “Baby, did something happen?” He asks again, slower and more deliberate. You want to believe him, this man wearing your husband’s wedding ring, staring at you with the same eyes as the man you’d run away from. 

“Tell me something about the fountain.” 

“The what?” 

“The fountain!” You shrill hoarsely. “The fountain, from—”

“The one in the village,” Ransom finishes. “With the messed up tiles.” 

This time, you can’t stop yourself from rushing into his arms, sobbing. 

“I—Lloyd, he—” The words won’t come out between your hiccoughing sobs, and you settle for burying your face in his chest as Ransom wraps his arms around you. He holds you tightly, pressing you to his body as you wail. The truth sticks in your throat like taffy as you tangle your fingers in his shirt, tears soaking into the expensive fabric. 

“It’s okay, Sweetheart.” His voice is soothing. “I’m here. I got you, okay? I got you.” He doesn’t rush you, waiting until the tears slow to press a kiss into your hair. “You don’t have to talk right now. Let’s get you back to the room, okay?”

Ransom practically carries you through the underbrush, emerging near the  long stairwell up from the beach. Your family—and his—are still down at the party, but you barely spare them a glance as you stagger up the sandy concrete steps. Before long, the ringing in your ears blocks out the music anyway, and all you can think about is Lloyd’s response to your threat. 

Go on and tell him. Tell me what he says.  

Lloyd is nowhere to be seen as you enter the villa, and you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You didn’t even realize you’d been watching for him, waiting for him to appear like he always did—but he doesn’t. You’re relieved as Ransom leads you back into the bedroom and closes the door behind you. For a moment, you’re not sure what to do with yourself, standing blankly by the door while Ransom watches you helplessly. 

“Sweetheart… can you tell me?” He asks, resting his hands on your shoulders. You flinch at his touch instead of leaning into it, and pain flashes briefly across your face. Somehow, you are hesitant to name the shape of the monster that haunts you even now, like Lloyd had cursed your jaw to stick. With difficulty, your force it open. 

“He—he pretended… he was you. And… we… I didn’t know, Ran, I didn’t know it wasn’t you,” you babble, tears forming in your red, glassy eyes. You’re expecting to see his face crease with disgust at the part you won’t say out loud, but it doesn’t. Ransom’s silent, his face scrunching first with disappointment and then anger. You can tell he’s looking for an outlet, and he settles on routine. 

“Did you take your vitamins, Sweetheart?” He replies, a worried hand on your belly. “Does anything… hurt?” You shake your head. 

“N-no.” Ransom turns to the dresser, grabbing the bottles and shaking out your pills one by one. You take them, shuffling into the suite’s bathroom. You  a cup cool water from the faucet and bring it to your lips, swallowing them down with a grimace. 

“Let’s get you a bath, Baby.”

You nod wordlessly.

Ransom helps you get undressed, and you watch his jaw tic at Lloyd’s drying cum on your thighs. He fills the whirlpool tub with hot water, and you shift uncomfortably from foot to foot as you watch him. When it’s full, he helps you into it before splashing into the water himself. He sits on the back side of the tub with you between his knees, reaching down to hold you as you sink into the water. 

You lean back against your husband, fresh tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. I want to wake up now. There’s little you wouldn’t give to open your eyes and find yourself on the beach, this terrible nightmare broken. But when you do open your eyes, you’re still in the bathroom, your husband’s hands rubbing soothing circles into your skin as you wash away the evidence of his brother’s sin. 

“Oh Sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I… I don’t know what to say.” He strokes your hair as he speaks to you softly, gently, like he’s soothing an animal. “Lloyd’s a lot of things. Impatient, being chiefest among them.” You freeze, the air seeming to flow right out of your lungs—out of the whole room. The dripping of the faucet is as loud as thunder. 

“W-what?”

“I didn’t want you to find out like this, Sweetheart, believe me.” You wrench yourself away from him, water sloshing over the sides of the tub as you stare at your husband in disbelief. It feels like reality is crumbling to nothing as you  watch, bleached into dust by the brightness of his sad smile. It’s all you can see. 

“N-no, no no no no—” He reaches for you, and you slap his had away, tripping as you scramble out of the tub. “You knew.” You moan, bile rising in your throat as you wrap a towel around yourself. “You—you always knew.” Ransom rises from the lip of the tub and steps out onto the tile. You want to vomit, but there’s nothing left to bring up as you dry-heave into the sink. 

“Sweetheart, I need you to calm down, this stress isn’t good for the baby.”

“The baby—” You let out a despairing little laugh. “How long, Ransom?” You ask him hoarsely. “How long have you been letting this happen?” Finally, your husband has the decency to look ashamed. 

“Does it matter?”

“Yes!” You scream, pounding a fist against the counter. “Yes it fucking matters!”

“I think before New Years, last year.” 

“A—a year?” You choke out the words as you clutch your belly with a shaking hand. The baby—you don’t even know if it’s Ransom’s. You feel dirty, despite having bathed. Deeper than your skin, like something inside is tainted, rotten. You want to crawl out of it, leave it behind like a shell. Perhaps then you might be able to draw enough air into your tight lungs to be able to do more than sputter your husband’s words back at him in abject disbelief. 

You don’t want to relive the last year and a half but you can’t help it, flipping through the moments like flash cards as you try to pinpoint every transgression, every lie. For every possible memory that feels wrong, there are dozens of blank spaces, empty places where recollection should be. Your husband had poked his finger through the thin saran wrap of your memories, and you hadn’t even realized it was happening. 

Ransom reaches forward to rest a hand on your back and you shove him so hard he stumbles, your eyes wild. 

“Don’t touch me. You—you will never touch me again.” You hiss, the words ragged. Ransom scowls at you as you storm out of the bathroom, the towel still clutched against your heaving chest. You can barely hear anything over the sound of your own ragged breathing and the thundering of your heart. They’d been switching off for over a year, and you hadn’t even noticed. Sickness and shame twine in your gut as you snatch the clothes in the closet off their hangers, throwing them into your open suitcase without bothering to fold them.

“Sweetheart, don’t be rash. The baby—”

“Will not even know your name.” You don’t look at Ransom—you can’t. You feel like you don’t even know him, and you can’t help but wonder if you ever did. He’d known—hell, maybe he’d even participated in Lloyd’s sick games. The man you’d thought you married would never have stood for that. You grit your teeth as Ransom scoffs amusedly behind you. 

“You’re just going to pack your suitcase and go, is that it?” There’s a cruel edge to his voice you don’t recognize—it makes him sound like Lloyd. “Baby I’m just trying to give you what you want.” You glare at him over your shoulder before returning to packing, refusing to even entertain the discussion. You push past him to get to the dresser, pulling out the rest of your things. 

“You’re not thinking clearly, and I think if you really stopped and gave it some thought, you’d realize you’re making a mistake.” 

“Oh, I’m the one making the mistake?” You can’t help but turn to spit venom over your shoulder. “You and your brother took turns on me like a fucking carnival ride, but I’m making a mistake?”

“You wanted a big family, a stable family. One nobody could touch—”

“You’re sick.” You swallow against the bitter acid in your throat. “How can you try to make this okay? I—I never want to see you again. Ever. I—I really, truly mean that.” The needle inside you continues to swing between rage and abject horror as you dress yourself, practically shoving your limbs into the most convenient pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Your head buzzes with the turmoil of it all, practically full to bursting. Your passport is still in the bedside table, and you make sure you grab it, shoving it into your pocket before throwing open the bedroom door. 

It’s hard to breathe around the ache in your chest as you drag your heavy suitcase down the hallway, trying to ignore the sound of your husband behind you. You’re bordering on hysteria, frantic tears and snot running down your face as you flee your husband’s placating words. That’s probably the most maddening part of it—how he continues to parse out the words slowly, patiently, like he’s waiting for you to realize how sensible he’s being. You’re about ten seconds away from clapping your hands over your ears like a child, so you don’t have to hear him anymore

“Sweetheart, let’s talk about this.” Ransom calls after you. You stagger against the wall as your knees tremble, but you force yourself through it. Your heart is beating wildly, your palms clammy as you look back at your husband. You don’t expect to see him smiling. “You’re not being rational, baby.” 

You don’t even know how to respond. The only words that seem to come to mind are insults, curses; the violent ills you’re currently wishing on your husband and his family. You can’t listen to him—it’s only going to make you more enraged. You already feel like your heart is about to beat out of your chest, as you gulp down ragged breaths, your vision swimming. You rest a hand against the kitchen island, your whole body throbbing hotly with your pulse. 

“Shut the fuck up, Ransom,” you pant. “You can’t spin this.” 

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” He ignores your acid glare, leaning forward to curl a lock of your hair around his finger. You push him away, but the movement is clumsy, your hand swinging bonelessly at the end of your arm. “You know how persuasive I can be.”

“You’re really just like him.” It slips out before you can stop it as you shake your head in astonishment. 

“Oh what, you just figure that out?” Ransom’s voice is mockingly soft. “It took you long enough.”

You slap him. 

The sound of it is loud and sharp, and Ransom’s head actually turns with the force of it, your husband stumbling back a few steps. It was his surprise that had allowed it—you and Ransom had never struck each other, not counting the playful smacks he delivered in the bedroom. For a moment he stays like that, frozen, before slowly turning to look at you. Your wedding ring had split his lip, and you watch as he draws his thumb across it smearing the bright line of crimson across his mouth. 

“You’re starting to piss me off, Sweetheart.” His hand clamps so tightly around your wrist that it hurts, and you yelp, pushing uselessly at his chest. Ransom had never been violent with you, never even given you reason to suspect he would raise a hand to you, but as he bends you over the kitchen island, you feel fear. Your husband twists your arms behind your back, ignoring your pained whimper when he squeezes too tight. 

This—this isn’t happening. It’s not. My family is here, my, my father—

You wail, the sound muffled by the marble countertop and your tears, salt and snot running onto the counter beneath your cheek. 

“Just let me go, Ransom—”

“Oh Baby we are way past that.” The kiss he presses into your hair makes nausea churn in your belly, and you let out another sob. “I put a ring on that—where’s your finger, baby, let me see—ah! There it is.” Ransom holds your hand up, his fingers digging into the meat of your palm. “On that finger,” he continues, tapping the diamond with his fingernail. “Till death do us part, Sweetheart, that’s what we said. That’s what you promised me—and Lloyd.” 

 “You’re crazy—” The words stick in your throat as your vision tunnels. I feel sick. You do, your stomach churning as your heartbeat thunders in your ringing ears. 

“Wha-you do’t me?” The words are like bubblegum in your mouth as your husband chuckles softly. 

“You didn’t really think those were all vitamins, did you?” Your eyes widen with horror as you begin to struggle again, flailing your uncoordinated limbs as you try to force Ransom off of you. “Now don’t worry, it’s nothing that could hurt the baby,” he says reassuringly, as if that is your only cause for concern. 

“Noo,” you moan, wriggling feebly beneath him as you feel yourself recede further and further into your body. “Don’ wannit.”

“I know, Sweetheart. But what you want isn’t good for the family,” he says, stroking a gentle finger over the curve of your cheek. “You want to run, too run from what we’re trying to build with you. For you,” Ransom releases you as the sound of nearby voices reach your buzzing ears. “I’m not going to let that happen.” 

He steps away from you as Nathalie bursts through the door, holding a champagne bottle by the neck as she dances to music blaring from her phone speakers. 

“There you are, chica, we were looking—mom! Dad! She’s in here! I thought you—are you okay?” She sets the bottle down on the small table to the right of the sliding door. She rushes over to you, looping one limp arm around your shoulders as concern sets into the lines of her face. “Jesus, I—Ransom! What’s wrong with her?!”

Your husband appears in your tunnel-vision, carding a worried hand through his hair. 

“Thank fucking Christ, Nathalie—I was just going to text you. I think she’s having a reaction to something, I don’t know—” 

“Nn-Nat don-bel—eev ‘m,” your warning slurs together into an unintelligible soup as your head lolls. Nathalie tries to stand you up against the counter, and dimly you are aware of her calling for your parents, her voice muffled like she’s talking underwater. 

Lloyd—or is it Ransom?—lays you down on the countertop, his grinning face looming over you as your vision narrows down to a pinprick, the concern in his voice at complete odds with the grin on his face.

“Don’t worry. We’ll take care of you.”

to be continued…

next chapter

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