#duffus

[yamperzzz]

Still working on their designs but I think I have their personalities down to a T now

[royalty-nobility]

Kenneth Sutherland, 3rd Lord Duffus, d. 1734. Jacobite

Artist: Richard Waitt (Scottish, 1684 - 1733)

Date: 1712

Medium: Oil on Canvas

Collection: National Galleries Scotland, Edinburg

Description

Lord Duffus was a Scottish aristocrat who supported the Act of Union in 1707. However, during the 1715 Jacobite Rising he joined the rebels who wanted to restore the exiled Stuart dynasty. The Rising failed and Duffus’s estates were forfeited. He fled to the continent, but was captured and imprisoned in the Tower of London. Released in 1717, he later served in the Russian Imperial Navy where he rose to the rank of admiral. This portrait was painted before Lord Duffus joined the Jacobite cause. The painting is an early and complete depiction of Highland dress. Lord Duffus is shown dressed for hunting and the image conforms to the traditional Gaelic ideal of the aristocrat as ‘the hunter of deer’.

[venicepearl]

Duffus Castle, near Elgin, Moray, Scotland, was a motte-and-bailey castle and was in use from c. 1140 to 1705. During its occupation it underwent many alterations. The most fundamental was the destruction of the original wooden structure and its replacement with one of stone. At the time of its establishment, it was one of the most secure fortifications in Scotland. At the death of the 2nd Lord Duffus in 1705, the castle had become totally unsuitable as a dwelling and so was abandoned.

[liath-art]

Coming out of my cave just to draw Iggy and Arwin for this challenge.

[drmorbius12]

When left to my own volition, I tend to make an ass of myself, especially in public; that’s why they don’t let me out too often.

[affairesasuivre]

Lauren Duffus’ music is a lesson in exploding gracefully

Lauren attributes her musical inspiration to two principal sources: American trio Salem, and her old Yamaha keyboard’s classical build-ins.

Listening to her productions, it’s clear that the uncanniness of these inspirations is right on brand. Tangible are the bad-dream atmospherics, chopped ‘n’ screwed beats and irreverent tone which paint the witch house genre (grey); as well as the cinematic drill instrumentals typified by Chicago rapper, Chief Keef. But far from the codeine’d quality of Salem’s quasi-noise productions, the antagonism in Duffus’ music is often appeased with blithe glimmers, sometimes even choral singing. Her music’s equal proclivity for both caustic indignation and moments of tenderness justify previous comparisons to the likes of aya and Loraine James, both of which extend to her fusion of prismatic club beats and soft melodics.

‘From a very young age I was always drawn to sad or scary music’, Lauren reflects. ‘I remember loving the soundtrack for the fairytale, Peter and the Wolf. I love all genres though from black metal to pop but I will almost always only enjoy the songs that have a moving element. That’s why I love Chief Keef, his instrumentals almost always feel really sad to me’.

For Lauren, making music is a form of therapy, and satisfaction only comes with a production process informed by hardship. Her self-proclaimed inflexibility when it comes to making music solely informed by her own selfish inclinations doesn’t stop her hoping that people will share in the emotion she pours into its creation. Nonetheless, she finds less comfort in doing so herself. ‘After making something and putting it out I very rarely listen to it. Either I really don’t enjoy it and it tends to upset me’.

Pain is palpable in Duffus’ music. After boredom led her to download a free trial of Logic in the height of 2020’s lockdown, tracks quietly began to surface on her Soundcloud page, such as ‘Stir Fry’ which would later resemble one third of her debut EP ‘SULK’. The snideness of SULK’s title matches its tone. Unequivocal though it may be – this is an expression of pain – it is resolutely not an attempt at self-indulgence. Despite its melancholy (‘Soho Road’ is subtitled ‘Crying Song’ and is mainly composed of gut-wrenching sobs), Lauren’s music almost seems to laugh at itself, deftly conveying the coexistence of both devastation and self deprecation in depressive episodes.

Whilst Stir Fry’s choral singing, chipmunk vocals and dancehall-indebted rhythms bare stark resemblance to Sinjin Hawke’s symphonic ‘First Opus’ LP, the self-released ‘Anxiety‘ is distinctly cold, with brittle percussion and a playtime 173 seconds, as if not meriting anything more.

‘I’m still on the journey of learning how to deal with my emotions in a way that’s not destructive’, she responds when I ask about the description written underneath her AD 93 release ‘Dubplate 07’. ‘Exploding gracefully just means pouring that energy outwards as opposed to bottling it up and destroying myself’.

She admits the difficulty she’s found in compromising her own release schedules in favour of working with labels. ‘I want to share as soon as I finish a skeleton of a song because there’s so much pent up energy Ive just put into it and I feel like it’s squirming in my laptop needing to be let out’.

Lauren also struggles with attempts to categorise her music, admitting she sometimes gives into labelling tracks such as ‘Permanence‘ as ‘ambient’ given their pulselessness, despite the term not resonating fully. Her dual inspiration of both drill and classical music reaches its most prominent form on her third most listened-to SoundCloud upload: a monasterial remix of ‘Inner City Pressure’ – the experimental grime track by London producer, Cold.

When I asked whether she detected a sense of place in her own music – whether she considered London to be its natural home – she reflected that, despite the dancehall sounds she grew up surrounded by, that actually ‘the fact that I exclusively create in my childhood home which holds a lot of painful memories is more of a factor than the city I’m in. I can be a bit crap socially so I really don’t feel like any immediate community influences my sound’.

When we discuss her fusion of hard-hitting, industrial electronics with ornate choral arrangements, she meditates on classical music’s liberating tendencies. ‘It inspires me to not be rigid and have no rules – that probably sounds stupid because its seen as such a rigid, traditional genre filled with rules – but I like the constant tempo changes, the expression, and the movement within the songs that tell a story. It’s so fluid. I enjoy challenging myself to turn off the metronome and just play stuff expressively’.

Lauren’s penchant for story-telling translates into a desire to take up film scoring, so much so that she recently partook in an online course. ‘I just love the freedom it gives you in terms of structure and the challenge of not sticking to a tempo or traditional structure’, she tells me. ‘It was so much fun writing music with a visual prompt and hit points etc it was the most creative I’ve felt’.

Having only been producing for a matter of months when she created ‘Stir Fry’ – now her most notable release – it’s clear that world-building is something innate in Lauren’s musical inclination. It’s rare to find an artist whose music engulfs you in such a way as hers, and warrants comparisons to the enchanting immersion of Björk or the cinematic allure of Enya. At once appearing to bare all yet be fiercely guarded, it’s a deeply complex treatise on life’s hard times.

[hippography]

MRS. ETTA DUFFUS, THE WELL-KNOWN BREEDER AND EXHIBITOR OF SHETLAND PONIES, WITH SOME OF HER FAVOURITES IN THE PADDOCK AT PENNIWELLS, ELSTREE. 

The Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News, 18 August 1917.

[rememberingnoah]

does anyone else have a problem making references that you know other people do not understand. like at all. you give zero context about it but ur still like ??? why ur brain not synced with mine

[yamperzzz]

Currently obsessed with the idea that Duffus would have a skill focus on stealth. Imagine getting fucking murked because a G03LM managed to sneak up on you somehow. I'd be so embarrassed.

[heracliteanfire]

Kenneth Sutherland, 3rd Lord Duffus. Richard Waitt, about 1712.

“Lord Duffus was a Scottish aristocrat who supported the Act of Union in 1707. However, during the 1715 Jacobite Rising he joined the rebels who wanted to restore the exiled Stuart dynasty. The Rising failed and Duffus’s estates were forfeited. He fled to the continent, but was captured and imprisoned in the Tower of London. Released in 1717, he later served in the Russian Imperial Navy where he rose to the rank of admiral.” via the National Galleries of Scotland.

[magnoliamagica]

Justin Duffus - man of the house

[gilgamis]

Sulk - Lauren Duffus (2021)

[mymedley]

Boutta act wistful to this

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Light on the Darkside - Chapter Fourteen.

Huge love to my little audience for your continued reads, reviews and reblogs. You're so lovely <3

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed.

Words - 3,794

Warnings - 18+ throughout. Topics cover depression, suicide and eating disorders. Minors DNI!

After a thirty-five-minute train journey from Nuneaton to Leamington Spa, followed by a half-hour bus ride, Ella found herself walking through the picturesque village of Moreton Morrell in the heart of the Warwickshire countryside.  

It was the first time in weeks that she’d spent any time away from James, apart from a few job interviews she’d attended, plus their respective therapy sessions, all but moving in with him completely. He hadn’t officially asked her, but welcomed it greatly, more of her belongings arriving at the flat over the eight weeks they’d been reunited, both blissful in the fledgling stages of their relationship, now able to flourish in the real world.   

That particular morning, she was on her way to visit another person she had met while at the same place she’d found her love, turning off Duffus Hill onto a small cul-de-sac, arriving at the second cottage along and rapping the heavy iron door knocker a couple of times.  

“You’re here!” 

Stepping in, she was pulled into a huge hug by Andrea, the young women thrilled to see one another again. “Aww, look at you! You look amazing, Ella!” 

“Thanks! As do you. Wow, your hair!”  

Andrea had added colour to her natural mane of fiery auburn, making the hue even more intense. “I was so glad to sit in a salon chair again and get it fixed!” Ella could identify. Walking into the abode, she was struck by how sumptuously cosy it was, the fire lit to keep the October chill at bay, a large, grandfather clock with its heavy pendulum swinging back and forth in the corner, and an album by Portishead playing softly.  

“Tea?” 

“Please, that’d be mint. I could murder a cup!” Ella confirmed, hanging up her coat on the rack and sliding her boots off. “It’s getting so cold out there. I think we’re in for a shitting horrible winter, innit.” 

Her friend raised an eyebrow. “Now, who’s dulcet tones do what you’ve just said remind me of?” she pondered, Ella shielding her face with her hand momentarily, laughing. “How is he?” 

“He’s really, really good,” she confirmed, Andrea moving into the beautiful little kitchen and clicking the kettle on. “He’s at therapy today over in Birmingham, still sees the same guy who was the head clinician at the unit he transferred to as a private patient.” 

Andrea placed some teabags into the pot before pulling two large mugs from the cupboard. “That surprises me, I have to say. I always had James down as the type to walk away from it all and give the ole’ line of ‘suck my fucking dick’ to any further therapy once he was released. I’m glad he’s benefitting from it.” 

How well she knew him. “I did too for a while, but being at the place in Edgbaston really changed his mind about it all. His therapist sounds lovely, really listens to him and guides him over what he needs to do. He didn’t respond well to Dr. Beaumont’s methods of like, pointing you in the general direction and letting you figure it out for yourself.” 

Her eyes widened a fraction. “Hmm. She was very allusive like that, wasn’t she?” Noticing Ella pull her cigarettes out, she pointed at the back door, taking one from her with thanks. “She definitely wasn’t for everyone.” 

For Andrea, though, she’d been wonderful in connecting the dots between a traumatic event and her subsequent sex addiction issues, the girls discussing it after smoking their cigarettes, moving to the big, comfortable leather Chesterfield in the lounge.  

“I think the further I understand that it was less about sex and desire itself and more thriving on the attention from men and the excitement of sleeping around, the more it’s helped me reconcile the trauma that sparked it,” she explained, sipping her tea as she took a biscuit from the tin between them. It was lovely to witness Ella taking one without prompting, she noted. “I didn’t deal with it all, when it happened. Shoved it away. It was too painful.” 

“Sweetie,” Ella cooed, reached to stroke her cheek affectionately. “Of course, it was. It was no age, losing your parents at twenty-one. That’s like, one of the worst things I can imagine.” 

Indeed, the death of her mum and dad three years before had turned Andrea’s entire life upside down. Being an only child, it had been made even more difficult. Of course, she’d had family rallying around to help her, her uncles and aunties making sure she was okay regularly. Being alone in the cottage, though, she had soon come to realise that she truly wasn’t, sparking her promiscuous and often dangerous behaviour, leading to a breakdown and subsequent sectioning.  

It was too much for any twenty-four-year-old woman to deal with, losing her parents to a fatal car crash, being catapulted into a life of sole financial comfort, since they were both very well off, but having nobody around all the time to either enjoy it with – or more pertinently – keep a watchful eye on her.  

Life after treatment, she was now very glad to say, was much, much improved. 

“So, how’s that sexy mate of James’s, then? Steve, isn’t it?” she asked, smiling with a little embarrassment. “I can’t believe I straddled the man and stuck my tongue down his throat. The shame!” 

Ella snorted softly with a smirk. “Steve wouldn’t have cared at all, trust me. Quite the opposite!” 

“Oh, I know. I could tell that by how he kissed me back,” she revealed, her cringe fading a little. “He was a very good kisser, so that makes the embarrassment that I couldn’t dial my compulsions back a little less mortifying!” 

“As for how he is, he’s fine. Keeps asking for your number,” Ella revealed, watching Andrea rub a hand down her face. “Sorry, shouldn’t I have mentioned that?” 

“No, you’re fine, sweet. It’s tricky because I fancy him, but yeah, that time I briefly met him he was nothing more than a compulsion trigger, so I don’t know. He’s a young, sexy as fuck guy. He likely won’t want to get wrapped up in my mess that I can’t really casually date somebody and enjoy carefree sex, lest triggering my issues. I sort of get the impression that’s what he’s about.” 

Oh, how right she was. “Yeah, he’s a man whore, Ands. Big time. I mean like, he’s fucking lovely, such a laugh and totally cool, but he shags around a lot.” Hester, a girl called Jennie, another she didn’t know the name of, someone called Leonie, the man had his rotation in place.  

“Bollocks,” she huffed, Ella spraying a mouthful of biscuit crumbs. “I guess I’ll settle for just looking at him and how bloody pretty he is when I finally come to see you up your way.” 

All talk of the male species was left there, the friends instead catching up with one another’s lives on the outside. Andrea revealed she’d gotten herself a part-time job at the local pub, The Black Horse, although truly she didn’t need to work with a fully paid off mortgage and all she had in savings gathering a very liveable amount in interest. 

 Still, what she wouldn’t give for her parents returned to her instead. She still cursed that the drunk driver who’d collided head on with their car had survived, albeit in a vegetative state. Perhaps that was the more fitting punishment, though. While they talked, Ella also shared a few of her plans, too, like returning to college.  

“I like, kind of think it makes me a fraud, though, wanting to strive for a career in helping others when I know I’m not one hundred percent recovered yet,” she began, sipping on a fresh cup of tea. She’d been tentatively considering it, perhaps studying for a psychology degree, wanting to specialise and help patients with eating disorders.  

Sighing, she continued. “We went out for a curry not long after James and I reconnected, and it sent me into a spiral. It was pants, mate, sitting there crying outside because I couldn’t cope with eating in an unfamiliar place. Or choosing a food I wouldn’t normally have had.” 

Andrea was thoughtful for a few moments before replying. “Did you ever think that the studies could actually help you more in your recovery? It might give you a greater insight, learning from the other side of the coin, as it were.” 

She hadn’t, it had to be said. After arriving home that evening, she discussed it more with James while she cooked chicken, him supervising the rice as she was – by her own admission – bleedin' useless with it. 

“Andrea is right,” he spoke, jumping up to sit on the counter. “You probably would get a new perspective over it. As for thinking that makes you a fraud and all of that, nah babe. Look at it this way, before your degree, you need to take your A levels first, so that’s two years. All being well, you’ll have finished that degree by twenty-eight, so that’s just over five years into your recovery, innit. You’ll be way more secure in yourself by then, won’t you?” 

“Mm,” she hummed, sighing. “I hate that my illness took such a chunk of my life, time when I should have been making these decisions and studying. I would have been a year away from completion of a degree, if I hadn’t. I messed up big time.” 

“Oi, less of that. That’s my girlfriend you’re badmouthing, dickhead,” he frowned, stretching his legs out to ensnare her, pulling her back into a full body hug. “If you hadn’t gotten ill, then you wouldn’t have decided that this was what you wanted to do, would you? Or met me. Obviously, I’m the more important of the two there.”  

His joke had her laughing, squeezing him tight and kissing his chest. “Of course, baby.” Reaching for her cider, she took a swig, lifting her head to give him a little nibble beneath his jaw before moving back to the cooker. “How was therapy, then?” 

“Yeah, pretty good, you know. We discussed my ongoing anger issues today. Michael made a good suggestion over what I could do to stop it, my desire to batter people who piss me off at the drop of a hat.”  

He’d been doing very well there, up until a week ago while at a club with Ella and a few others. Now much more confident in her body, she had been up on a podium dancing, wearing only a small outfit of hotpants and a cropped top, attracting a lot of male attention. Looking was fine, but when some random bloke had taken it upon himself to climb the side of the podium and make a grab for her, well. He’d met a very irate James, dragging him down by his jeans, his fist meeting his face at speed.  

“What did he suggest?” she asked, cracking fresh pepper over the chicken and turning each butterflied breast, moving to the chopping board to prep the vegetables to go into the wok.  

“Kickboxing. He said it would give me both an outlet for rage, and discipline over when to exert that rage and all that. Think I’m gonna give it a go, innit.” 

She widened her eyes. “War does not need to be any more deadly than he already is!” Her laughter filled the room, even more so at her boyfriend’s entertained smirk. “I think it’s a good idea, really. He seems to have a lot of those, Michael.” 

“Yeah, he’s a top grade bloke. Really fucking sound. Always has an answer for all my stuff, too. So what else is new with Andrea, then?” 

“Oh, the redheaded goddess!” Steve called from the armchair, beginning to grin. “Is she ready for me to give her one hell of a good seeing to yet?” 

“Calm your dick down,” Ella warned, pointing at him with a spatula, “you’ll do her recovery no bleedin’ good.”  

“We’re gonna have to put him in restraints when she comes up for your birthday,  innit?” James spoke, pulling a fresh beer from the fridge.  

Steve turned, his grin wide. “Nah, don’t you threaten me with a good time, Jim!”  

Once dinner had been eaten, a film watched and Steve declaring he was ‘off to play with Leonie for the night’ before leaving the flat, it wasn’t long before they decided to have a good time of their own.  

“Mmm, shit. I don’t even know how the hell you can move your tongue so quickly, but I... ahhh! I’m not complaining!” she moaned, feeling him smile against her as she straddled his head, James happily lying there with her riding his mouth.  

It burned incandescent through her, like a hail of glimmers creeping slow, his hands clutching the rounds of her bum, moving every so often to lay a hard smack. She’d never had a man spank her before, but god, how she enjoyed it when James did. He wasn’t gentle with it. At all.  

While his hands showed no mercy, his tongue slowed, dragging flat and slow through her folds, circling over her clit and repeating the action again. Her thighs shook from the potency of each lick, shuddered breaths leaving her mouth as she panted hard, her gaze falling to see him open his eyes and wink at her.  

Wrapping her clit in a firm suck, the sensation rooted itself in her, sharp-toothed and edging on a little too much, her hips swaying against his mouth. The pleasure dug deep into her marrow as she cried out, the release snapping through her, Ella immediately moving to gratify him by sheathing his cock within her still fluttering walls.  

He weighed heavy in the depths of her, the feeling of her soaking him only gratified further by the prickle of teeth crushing his nipple, her nails grazing like sensual daggers down his sides. She pulled heaven from the very depths of his hell every time he was inside her, not afraid to be as rough with him as he liked her to be, her hand grasping his neck, nails digging in as she kissed him with stormy lust.  

She sucked his tongue, his mouth then gliding to rain soft bites over her neck, grasping her bum and fucking up into her powerfully, the tempo remaining slow burning like napalm. Sitting back up again, his cock pressed firmly as she rotated her hips, hitting her front wall, lightning rolling over her spine, clawing at the black and grey brandings of his upper arms as he reached to squeeze her breasts.  

God, how she loved him, thrived on the thrill of having sex with him, James the sole reignition to her desires as soon as she’d started to feel better. The way he looked at her too, it made her feel incredible about herself, her body confidence restored. She couldn’t thank him enough for having such a part in returning that to her. There were wobbles on occasion, but they were becoming fewer and further between. 

Watching as she fucked him, she’d never seen a sight as sexy, her tall, muscular, tattooed man with his storm grey eyes. He was so darkly alluring, so stunningly sexy, James’s thoughts over her extremely similar. He loved that she finally saw what he did in her, and enjoyed her body as much as he did for the most part. 

The way she moved on top of him had him lost to the sublimity of it, no girl before her doing quite such a thorough job where he’d be content to remain on his back for the duration. It was hypnotic, a rhythmic spell of sexual energy unlike anything he’d ever experienced, her body rolling and undulating like she was made of liquid. Quite simply, he’d never been ridden like that in his whole life. She absolutely blew his mind, this beautiful young woman who he fallen so deeply in love with.  

The pace became more urgent and frenzied, voracity replacing the slower, sumptuous enjoyment that had prevailed thus far, Ella grinding down on him eagerly as he moved beneath her with more purpose, both of them driving deeper moans from one another.   

Each keen undulation caused him to feel sparks flickering his spine, while she had her own bliss pulsing softly, increasing more the faster she moved, fervidly chasing her release as she began to rub her clit, her other hand flexing at his chest, nails digging in.  

A string of panted expletives left her mouth as she felt herself reach boiling point, bubbling over and taking him with her to a gloriously sweet finish, intensity throbbing hard and leaving them both a breathless, shuddering wreck.   

With Ella now taking the contraceptive pill, there was no longer a need to move immediately to dispose of a condom, James pulling her down against his chest, stroking her back as he kissed her deeply. Floaty light little aftershocks skipped over her nerves as her release ebbed away slowly, feeling his cock twitching within the hug of her walls.  

Sleepiness began to settle over her, Ella finally moving to her side of the bed and pulling the duvet and thick, faux fur blanket over them, blocking out the November chill from their bare flesh as he curled around her.  

“Night, babe.” Dropping a kiss upon her shoulder, his arm tightened around her as his head sank into the pillows beneath it. “Love you.” 

“Love you too, my sexy church burner.”  

Yes, it still made him laugh.  

The following morning, Ella rose first, pulling on one of James’s long-sleeved t shirts (this one depicting the logo for the band Venom, who she was becoming a little partial to) her big, slouchy socks as well as her pyjama bottoms, shivering a little as she waited for the heating to come on while making herself a tea.  

Looking over into the lounge area, she noticed a familiar sight, a blanket swathed Snedders lying asleep on the sofa. He had his own key, so it wasn’t a surprise to sometimes find him there of a morning unexpectedly. She guessed there’d be a story to accompany his presence, probably involving his on/off girlfriend, the infamous Kerry. Ella didn’t like her at all, finding her to be very difficult to get along with.  

Making her tea, she moved to the armchair, placing her mug down on the much neater coffee table. In lieu of being able to offer anything towards the rent (which James had dismissively snorted at the suggestion of anyway) she’d taken it upon herself to keep the dwelling tidier and cleaner, padding to the corner where the answering machine light flashed.  

Turning the volume down low so as not to wake Snedders, she pressed play, being informed of three new messages.  

“Hi sis! I need to meet you at half four this afternoon so don’t get there too early. My shifts, the way they’re moving them around, fucks sake! I know it’s only half an hour, but yeah. See you later!”  

Jane, a welcome message.  

“James, it’s only me. Dad and I would love to see you. Are you free to come to lunch at ours next Saturday? Let me know, love.” 

Carole, perhaps not so welcome, depending on her mood. She’d sounded jovial enough, though.  

“Hello, message for Ella Greenhall. This is Sharon calling from Bloomin’ Lovely about your interview. I’m pleased to say we’ve chosen you for the position, if you could call me back at the shop as soon as possible, that would be lovely. Tentatively, I’d like you to start next Monday. Looking forward to hearing from you soon!” 

“Oh my god!” she squeaked, jumping up and down as quietly as she could, clasping her hands over her mouth. “I bleedin’ got it!!”  

Out of all the jobs she’d recently been applying for, the position at the florist just off the high street there in Nuneaton was the one she’d coveted most, Sharon, the owner making her feel so welcome when she’d arrived, the atmosphere so warm and lovely. It was only a part-time position, but with her wanting to start at college again it was perfect for her, Ella able to work in the college hours around her new job.  

When James got up around an hour later, her news brought him booming delight, much less concerned with waking up the sleeping heap of ginger dreadlocks on the sofa than she was. 

“Babe, that’s top grade! I’m so fucking proud of you!” he exclaimed, swinging her around in his arms, a grunt coming from the sofa. 

“Aw, ya got a job, Ells?” Snedders grumbled, emerging from within the swathe of the large blanket. “Nice one, little mate.”  

“Cheers, Sneds,” she chimed, turning then to her boyfriend after he put her down once more. “Also, your mum left a message. Asked if you were free for lunch next Saturday.” 

“Hmm,” he hummed, his jaw setting slightly. “Since that’s your birthday, I’m saying no. Even if it wasn’t, I’d still be saying no.” 

“Well, we’re not doing anything until the evening, are we?” 

He smirked, side eyeing her with raised eyebrows. “I had planned to bounce you on my dick for most of the afternoon.” Pausing, he began to laugh at the lascivious look she returned. “Hold on, did she say anything about you going, too?” 

“Not specifically,” she shrugged, reaching for her cigarettes.  

That was about right for Carole. She knew all about Ella, too, James already having introduced her to his dad, Alan thinking she was ‘absolutely bloody lovely, kidda’ as the man himself had worded it. “Then I definitely ain’t going.”  

“Maybe she meant me too, but just didn’t say it?” she suggested, watching his lips tightening. Perhaps it was best to leave it there, she thought, knowing well now the clear signs of him becoming agitated. “Then again like, maybe she didn’t. You’re not obliged to call her back if you don’t want to, baby.” 

He relaxed then, slipping an arm around her. “Good, because I’m not.”  

As it turned out, though, the lack of return phone call led to Carole reaching out to her son again, James answering the phone to her a few hours later.  

“Does that invite extend to Ella?” he asked, frowning.  

“Of course, it does!” she exclaimed, busying herself with cleaning the kitchen while she jammed the cordless phone between her ear and shoulder. “I’d like to meet this girl your father has told me all about.”  

Even though she was being polite and casual, agreeing to visiting still went against his better judgement. Come the following Saturday, he’d see in hindsight how correct his intuition had been, too. 

[antisociallilbrat]

@lordkalsiferdraws Drew Bill wearing crocs and now all I can think about is him and Richie having different pairs of matching crocs. They have different colors and the color coordinate for different days.

And the charms? Yeah they coordinate those too.

"Billy boy I'm thinking tomorrow's a pink croc day with the Shrek charms."

"You ruh-read my mm-mind."

Honestly the other Losers are pretty impressed with how much the duffus think it through.