#Birth this thursday means I get to draw my favourite women together

[beeguillotine]

Happy special guest Miriam Monday!!!

[honeybeesintheimpala]

Title: An Angel's Lullaby

Pairing: DeanCas, Destiel

Rating: Explicit

Words: 93,662

Status: Complete

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7984306/chapters/18268822

Chapter One - The Man with the Ocean Eyes

"Excuse me," a gravelly voice suddenly fills the room and Dean's pen nearly goes flying, heart pumping. It's been at least two days since anyone's even walked through those doors and being alone with his thoughts isn't exactly a new thing but for that long, it gets to be a surprise when someone says something. He keeps it under control though, doesn't look up except a quick glance at a nice pair of khakis and a deep purple jumper.

He goes back to scribbling on the piece of paper where he's supposed to be filling out a request for another truck to come and take away a few boxes of older books, bring them to a charity or a foster house somewhere. 

"What can I help you with," he says, surprised that his own voice is bored considering his heart is pounding out a Jamaican beat and he's pretty sure he almost pissed his pants.

"I was just wondering if there are any books that you might recommend? I'm in the mood for reading, but not really sure what to look for," the man speaks at a low volume, as if there's anyone here to be disturbed.

Dean's intrigue is piqued though, so he pauses his doodles, knits his eyebrows together and looks up.

His eyes trace up the outline of his jumper, which wraps nicely around a narrow waist and a great chest, then leads into a white collared shirt, tan neck, a scruffy jaw that can't decide between chiseled and soft, some full lips that look like they might be chapped bit also look incredibly kissable, a straight-edge nose, and finally, two unfathomable blue eyes, shining bright as the Caribbean ocean that Dean is entirely too sure they are made of. His hair is a messy looking, bed-head-esque mop of dark chocolate brown and he smiles down at Dean as if he isn't the most attractive person Dean's ever encountered.

He's actually blown away by the fact that this man is inside a nearly failing library right now instead of out modeling a white pinstripe suit and blue tie from Men's Warehouse somewhere.

This time, Dean thinks he may actually piss his pants, but he refrains from any sort of urination onto cloth, as a mind-blowingly handsome man with some captivating blue eyes that seem to have stolen the sea is standing in front of his desk, asking about books.

He also refrains from exhibiting all of these passing thoughts on his face, because it feels like it's been a few minutes since he asked the question and the guy's probably starting to think Dean's some weirdo who can't speak under pressure.

"Library's a dying business, sir," he sits back in his chair and sets the pen down slowly. "Yeah, all the kids got their...electronic readers and...there are bookstores that sell books. Never out of stock of a specific book. Sometimes we get that; not having a specific book because all the copies got checked out...or we used to have that..."

The man stares down at him with such focus and intent, nodding along and knitting his brows together. Who is this guy?

"Nah, I mean, it's amazing that...someone wants a book so badly and loves it so much that they gotta buy it and have it forever," Dean continues, then leans forward again, grabbing a book to his left and wiggling it in the air. "Not so awesome for the library."

"That's so...intriguing...that you respect those other industries so much..." He replies, squinting, head tilting in a puppy dog manner.

Dean chuckles, setting the book down. Stares at the black cover as his smile slowly fades.

"Not much else I can do," he shrugs, shuffling through several books to find the one with the light yellow-beige cover, red outline and text reading Oliver Twist glaring up at him, and a small, square, painted picture of a boy in a hat playing at the edge of a wood sitting just above the title. "Once these places shut down, I'll inevitably drift into a bookstore, sign up to be a clerk or a stocker. 'Cause I mean," he flips the book over and opens the back page. Pulls out the name card from the pocket glued to the inside of the cover and examines it. "Yeah, a book ain't been checked out from here in three months."

He laughs and throws the book to his right, watches it skid across the table and come to a stop beside the red canvas hardcover with shiny blue letters indenting the words Of Mice and Men.

"Wow...so...I mean, how do you guys stay in business?" The guy is leaning ever forward, hands gripping the edge of the desk and arms stick straight as he balances himself over the books.

Dean smirks up at him.

"Ah," he scrubs at the back of his neck, cheeks hot, and looks away into the corner of the main entrance. "Well, charities? Mostly...and, uh, you know, school fundraisers, donations from the coffee shop down the street." He squints up at the giant skylight making up about ninety percent of the roof, thinking. "Oh, uh...this one guy. Some sorta bookwrite. Author of...damn, what are those things called...gaaahh...oh! An Angel's Lullaby!" Recognition passes over the man's face in clear abundance. "Guy's name, I'm still drawin' a blank on--"

"Chuck Shurley," the guy cuts him off but Dean is impressed. It's such an obscure book but he obviously knows it well.

"Yeah!" He points at the guy. "Yeah, yeah. You know him? I mean, his work?"

"Yeah...too well...why?"

"Ah, no...I'm just...just surprised, you know? Not a real popular selection," Dean thinks for a moment and it falls silent once more. Then: "You met him? He did a book signing here once. Not many people came, but..."

"Oh, yeah I've met him..." He doesn't elaborate, but Dean suspects it's because he just explained it for the guy, and it seems like it's making him a little uncomfortable anyway.

"Uh," he looks for something that might change the subject. "Well, to answer your first question..." He opens his mouth to continue but ends up chuckling and shaking his head. "Look, man, there's just too many books and not enough time. I've been coming to this library my entire life, probably read every single book by now. I mean, I can point you to some of my favourites, I guess, but really the only one off the top of my head and without me getting up is An Angel's Lullaby."

"Are you religious?" He asks suddenly and Dean's bewildered by the inquiry until he realises how obsessed he must seem with the book.

"Oh..." He breathes out a laugh. "Nah, that's...I'm an atheist, actually. I'm just...really into angels. Religions and...gods and deities are my thing. To be honest, I could probably list thirty Christian angels off the top of my head."

"Really," he seems impressed and Dean blushes harder. "How about...the three main archangels and...the Angel of Thursday."

Specific...and strange. But okay, he'll play along. For the sake of flirting.

"Okay...well there's Michael, the eldest son of God who was set to the task of casting Lucifer, second oldest, into hell because he claimed he could not love humanity as he loved his father. Gabriel, protector of humanity, present at the birth of Jesus Christ and the deliverer of the Holy news. And then...actually, my favourite, if I'm honest-" he looks up and watches the man's lips part, a blush crawling up his neck too, and he briefly wonders why, "-Castiel. Angel of Thursday, keeper of prayers said on that day." He smirks for a second before adding, "Always heard he was a real looker."

The man seems flustered, tugging at his jumper, pulling the v-neck away from his chest and adjusting his collar.

"Me too," he chokes out and Dean thinks it's entirely unfair how cute this man looks with a scarlet flush painting his cheeks and his hands not able to find a resting placing.

"I..." Dean starts, gazing down at his hand fiddling with the edge of a hardcover, nail scraping against the canvas. "I think I remember a few more books. Not real sure what you would like, but, uh..." He tears a corner off of the paper he was drawing on and scribbles down the titles and respective authors, then continues as he hands the list to the man. "Most of 'em are...classics...Little Women, Gone With the Wind, A Wrinkle in Time, Wuthering Heights...the original and best...version of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland."

The man smiles down at the list and then down at Dean, and Dean's heart leaps into his throat.

"Thank you," he says quietly and Dean's eyes flit down, small smile of modest pride lifting his lips.

"Don't mention it," he whispers back, gaze meeting the man's once more. Then he leans forward and takes up the pen again, waggling it between two fingers. He leans on his bent arm and says, "So, you plannin' on checkin' anything out today, sir?"

And, without blinking or missing a beat, the man replies with the most unexpected answer, letting the words drip from his lips like fuckin' honey when he replies, "Just you."

Dean is astonished at this guy's guts, but a brazen vocabulary and a cocky attitude is exactly the kind of thing that gets him going.

He opens his mouth in a shocked kind of smile, and shakes his head as if he's offended at the nerve of those words.

"I...don't even know your name," Dean says slowly, eyes twitching from the man's leg to his chest to his mouth to his eyes. When they meet, the man tilts his head with another squint, this one more challenging than curious. Amazing how he can squint in the same manner with just the slightest differences and change the entire composure of the movement.

But Dean doesn't let himself get too distracted by this ability, and soon encounters a moment of realisation.

The blushing, fidgeting, stumbling words when he talked about Castiel...

"Your name is Castiel," he whispers, astounded. "And you have three brothers." Then more realisation. "And you haven't met Chuck Shurley, you used to live with him."

Castiel pushes his lips out and looks down, scratches through the stubble on the edge of his jaw, nods.

"And I assume," Castiel says, squinting at the wooden triangle at the corner of Dean's desk and smiling, then continuing, "your name is Dean Winchester and you work as a librarian."

"Hey, I am not...a librarian," he protests playfully, grin growing on his teeth. "I am...a book obsessed...checker...outer."

Castiel laughs and Dean gives him a look for a moment before bursting out into his own fit of laughter at how utterly ridiculous that title sounds.

"I'm guessing that sounded better in your head?"

"It did," Dean nods and chucks the pen at one of the books, sitting back in his chair again and kicking his legs up onto his desk. He cranes his neck and reaches behind him, grips the back of another rolling chair, and rolls it over so it's facing him. Pats the seat and jerks his head. "Come on around." Castiel looks uncertain, sliding the torn paper into his pocket and pursing his lips, slight squint of his eyes. Dean chuckles. "Come on. I don't bite."

"Isn't that against the rules or something?" Castiel asks as he makes his way around the right side of the desk and through the opening in the side, in spite of his words.

"'Eah, mostly," Dean shrugs and pushes his lips out, then smiles. "But no one else is around, don't have any cameras, and-" he holds out a hand, "-I'm a rebel."

Castiel laughs wholeheartedly at this, grin huge and gummy - the most enchanting thing Dean's ever seen - and his head tilted back, crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Dean notices a slight dimple in his left cheek and stores that information in the back of his mind for later, when he's having a rough day.

"What," he says, though he knows Castiel is laughing at his insanely stupid joking around.

"Nothing, you're just...really...interesting--"

"Interesting meaning...lame?" He squints and adds, "Dumbass, weirdo, bad amusement--"

"Hey, I genuinely laughed at that," Castiel points a finger at him, not hiding his grin.

Dean shakes his head, looks away, licks his lips. Things settle for a moment.

Dean plays with the hem of his black t-shirt, scratches his nails over the faded denim of his jeans, examines the familiar dark splotch of oil on the knee. He would dress nicer for work, but the last time anyone even walked through the doors was 48 hours ago, and he wasn't expecting any company today, either.

"Can't believe I'm flirting with the son of my favourite author," he mutters, reaching back over the back of his chair to snatch up another pen.

Castiel scoffs playfully, and Dean catches the smirk on his face when he turns back around.

"You call that flirting," Castiel quips, unbuttoning the wrists if his collared shirt and rolling the sleeves of both the shirt and jumper up.

Dean lets his brows drop and pushes his lips out in confusion. "Well...yeah..." Dean watches Castiel stifle a smile and glance down and away. "Why, what do you call it."

Castiel peeks up through mischievous, dark lashes and swimming eyes, lips parting in a secretive smirk.

"Honestly?" He starts, shifting in his seat and sitting back, settling his hands together in his lap. "A sad but sweet attempt to impress me."

"Oh, is that so?"

Castiel nods, grin growing across his cheeks. 

"And what would you consider flirting, mr. big-shot-I-know-exactly-how-to-woo-the-ladies?"

"Well, first of all," Castiel leans forward, rests an elbow against his knee, uses the armrest to balance himself, and points at Dean with raised brows, as if he's about to teach a lesson. "Sir. There's a difference between being laid back and being downright cocky. And you-" the corner of his lips twitches up very briefly, and his cyan blue eyes turn dark "-are neither."

"So what, exactly," Dean whispers, fingers a bit too loosely woven around the pen, teeth digging into his lip. "Do you propose I do about it?"

Castiel's gummy smile is printed into his teeth again and he shrugs a shoulder, bringing his lips down in an impressed bow.

"Well, that's the first step. Ask what you are instead of asking what to change. When you know, even if it's not true, even if it's only what another person sees, you can accept it."

Dean squints, leaning further back into his chair, pressing his index finger into the ballpoint, black ink tip of the pen and the other to the textured top of the cap wrapped around the end, pushing his tongue into his cheek and pursing his lips.

"Alright, fine. What am I?" Dean imposes, then grips the tip of the pen between his thumb and finger and adds, "To you. Smartass."

This earns him a short chuckle and an approving nod.

"Well...I think...you're reserved. You act like you're king shit and like you know exactly who you are, like you don't give two flying fucks about where you're headed in life, or maybe like you've already accepted it. You act comfortable with yourself, but what nerd is ever actually satisfied with their existence?" He's leaning ever-forward and Dean's cocksure smile is ever-fading, eyes becoming wide with marvel as the man-who-knows-too-much continues. "I think you're unsure. You're scared and you...you hide things that you think no one cares about. You're upset and self-deprecating. Eyes of a guilty conscience."

Dean drops his gaze, first to the floor, then to the pen, still grasped tightly by his fingers which have fallen into his lap and which fiddle vapidly with the object, nail scraping at the black polycarbonate and over the white indents that spell out the company name.

"But," Castiel starts up again, voice soft and lilting. Dean swallows hard. "I think you have a lot to give. I think you have...maybe too much to give. Too much forgiveness, too much love, too much doubt, too much strength and care. I think you are the embodiment of generosity, but you don't take what you really need in return. And I think that can get dangerous, but I also think that nothing is ever really too much." Dean's eyes flit back up in time to catch Castiel's angling downward, past Dean's chair, through the desk, through the floor, staring wistfully at something intangible. "People are greedy. And you're too willing to give."

Dean searches the man's face for any sign that this is all some sort of joke, that he's being filmed or some shit, but all he finds is truth and wisdom and knowledge, and possibly a glimmer, just a glimpse in those blue eyes, of a bittersweet past, an origin for where these words came from.

"I was right!" He exclaims as he sits back in the chair, shoulders trembling with a silent laugh. "You like to cover up your pain with gay jokes and stupid references."

"Now, that, I can't deny," Dean nods and everything falls silent. He rocks his chair gently, side to side, left to right, fingers still fidgeting with the tips of the pen, his head tilted in thought. Castiel's mouth is pulled up into a ginger smile, his eyes faraway and swimming in themselves, in the past, in glistening memories and soft-edged, slow-motion, sunny-fielded dreams. "What about you?" He asks suddenly, voice crackling and ripping through the still air as a quiet question. Castiel eyes don't move but his smile grows slightly. "I mean...what do you think of yourself."

"Not much," he replies, head lolling to the side and back, eyes catching on the impotent, pathetic little piles of books scattered about Dean's desk. "I like books. Reading. Writing. Time-consuming, arbitrary activities which include my eyes scanning words on a piece of pressed wood?" He furrows his brows and Dean throws his head back in a genuine, full laughter that he hasn't experienced in a long time.

"I can tell you write. What do you write about? Like, schmoopy romance novels? Sci-fi thrillers? Action adventure futurism?"

"And I can tell you do a lot of librarian...ing..." Castiel squints and presses his lips together in the contrite afterthought but continues, nevertheless. "I write what my dad would call 'a bunch of gay shit'." Dean cocks a brow. "Get your head out of the gutter, it's not as sexy as it sounds. For the most part. Bottom line, I'm gay, I hang out with gay people, and I wanted to dedicate my life to writing about it, about that experience. But my dad has never approved much."

"You don't say."

"Yeah...he's...more into theology. I think the one book he's ever written that really ventures into the realm of fiction, or at least dips it's toes past the line, is An Angel's Lullaby."

"Which parts are real?" Dean scratches the pen across the bumpy plastic chair arm and watches the black ink run in splotches over the grey of the polyvinyl.

"Our names, obviously," Castiel shifts again, bringing his leg down from across his knee and kicking off from the floor so he spins in a circle. Dean watches with a strangely adoring smile. "It's funny that that's the part most people think is fiction. But, no. Mom was a Jesus nut and Dad is too passive to care, so we ended up with angelic names and weird looks from sane people. The only parts that aren't completely true are the things like our address, the colours they painted our rooms, some of the dialogue that he added or got rid of in order to make the conversations more interesting or sensible - you know, just these really inane things..."

He trails off and he's staring at Dean with expectant brows, and Dean realises he's staring too, realises Castiel probably stopped because it's weird how attentive he is.

"Sorry. You're fun to listen to."

Castiel's cheeks paint themselves a thick fuchsia and his eyes drop to his empty palms resting uselessly in his lap, the lines becoming suddenly very interesting. Then they catch on his watch and widen and his head whips up.

"Well, if I'm so interesting to listen to," he leans forward, snatches the pen from Dean's hand, then takes the other hand and begins a careful scrawl across the back of it as he continues, "why don't you call me. And we can figure out a time to meet at the-" he recaps the pen and gently replaces it in Dean's hand "-coffee place down the street. But, right now, I have to go. College...and shit. Studying for a major in English takes a lot of time away from socialising."

"Sorry to keep you, I didn't--"

"No no no! It was..." His blush deepens and he stands, head down. "It was incredible to meet you. I really hope I can see you again."

"O-Of course," Dean's voice comes out stammered and soft, crackling with hope and fear and adoration, and Castiel smiles broadly.

"Great," he whispers back, then he's rushing around the side of the desk and out the front door and Dean is left to wonder if the entire exchange was even real or if his lonely, empty mind is just playing games. 

When he looks at the neat, black little numbers on his hand, he realises just how real right now is.

[resetmypatientviolence]

Ménage à Trois (Drake x MC x Liam) [NSFW Alphabet]

It’s still Thirsty Thursday here, but it might be Frisky Friday for some of you... but here, at least... is the Drake x Jaela x Liam NSFW Alphabet. I’m warning you now: this is pure FILTH and it you don’t have nsfw or long post blocked and don’t wish to see this, please do so. Jaela’s just living the best life in this world, y’all.

Pairing: Drake x Jaela x Liam / Drake x Liam (yep, I went there)

Rating: NSFW

Warnings: Language; Pure fucking smut after the cut; most turned into mini-drabbles, but I don’t think you’ll mind.

Word Count: ... 5, 539. This is why it’s taken so damn long. Settle in.

** Adding tagging @boneandfur and @decisso for TRR Appreciation week since the tags are being wonky!

A= Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

She’d never tell either of them, but Liam’s definitely the better cuddler and draws a bath for her, even if it’s 2am and they’re just ready to pass out in each others arms. Though, there’s something about Drake and the way he whispers in her ear the moments after he comes that leaves her breathless, craving for more, even if he falls asleep shortly after, Jaela curled against his side after cleaning up.

Though… they can all agree they love the laughter after a ménage à trois, Drake and Liam’s hands resting on her body between them, caressing her, even after the intense lovemaking, both spoiling her, until they fall asleep, all tangled up.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Liam and Drake both love their dicks—both because of that face Jaela makes when she comes, and she can say the same for them. “How the fuck did I get so lucky?”

“Because,” Liam says, tilting her chin up, smirking and wiping her lips with his thumb while Drake’s nails drag along her back, Jaela shuddering as he pounds into her. “You learned how to share.”

To say that she didn’t have any idea of what would happen the first time they all slept together would be a lie. She knew she’d be treated like a goddess, and that she was. Drake loves her ass, and it all started after one night of too much whiskey and wine, Jaela on Drake’s lap, rough hands squeezing it, trailing soft kisses on his second favorite part of her, her neck. Something about how she throws her head back when she laughs, or when him… or Liam… kiss her there.

Liam wasn’t exactly jealous, watching Drake and Jaela on the chair next to the bonfire, the light bouncing off the Washington woods—and their bodies—perfectly. But… he downed the last of his whiskey. Her tits looks amazing in that shirt, one button undone enough to flash that black lacy bra he loved, too. And he was drunk. So…, why shouldn’t he give it a shot? Turns out, the moment he touched her chest, fingers grazing over her stiff nipple, that was enough for her to pull him into a kiss—only for a moment—before looking between the two of them, all three of their eyes alight with something… new.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically…)

Coming in their mouth when they eat her out, or when she rides their face, is her absolute favorite way to come. There’s so much power in how Drake or Liam hold her closer, murmuring how great she tastes, tasting herself on their tongue shortly after.  

The boys, of course, have a favorite place to cum—and then their seconds. Naturally, coming in her is preferable, condom until they all aptly handled the matter of birth control—especially after that one time—but they both have their second favorites, in case they can’t, at least, not at first. Liam loves coming on her tits, and Drake in her mouth, both always locking eyes with her when they do.

But she fucking loves it when they come at nearly the same time, in or on her. And Drake and Liam do too.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Maybe that first threesome—oh god she still gets warm thinking about it—wasn’t exactly spontaneous. “Abdi… can I tell you something?” he whispers, finger tracing circles on her arm, naked bodies intertwined on their bed.

“Of course,” Jaela replies, smiling up at him, pushing aside hair from his forehead. Outside, there’s a distant howl, moonlight peeking through the tall pines. He shifts, taking a deep breath. Jaela props herself up, eyebrows furrowing. “You know you can tell me anything, Drake. Remember, that’s one of our rules: honesty.”

He nods, clicking his tongue. “Well… okay. I… I might have gotten off to hearing you and Liam… more than once.” A beat. “And it took so much willpower not join you two.”

Her eyes widen—but only for a moment, lips curling into a grin. “You know… I wouldn’t have minded.” Drake nearly sputters, pulling her back to him.

“What?!”

Jaela nods, hand trailing down his chest. Like her and Liam haven’t thought it? Like she hasn’t wanted it since well… since they got used to this? “Get a little whiskey into Liam, and get him to watch us, and I can bet we’ll make that happen. Tomorrow?” Drake can only nod, kissing her and rolling on top of her in response, ready for round two.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Being a former Prince and King had its perks, and thus, Liam extremely experienced with women. Drake is too, reaping more than just a place to live, by being the Prince’s best friend. They competed for and shared women—separately—until Jaela came around, stealing their hearts and bodies with just a look. And they make sure she knows all of their tricks… yet still manage to have something up their sleeve.

Jaela too, had her fair share of men. Some hookups, and a handful of relationships that never went anywhere in New York. Though, being poly was a new thing for her, even though Drake and Liam eased her into it. Hell, threesomes were new for her and not for them… though, Drake and Liam laughed that of the threesomes they had, it was surprising that they weren’t involved in one together back in Cordonia… and both wondered why they hadn’t before, gazes lingering on each the first time they touched.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying.)

She loves riding them, Liam or Drake holding her close and whispering sweet—or dirty as all hell--- nothings into her ear. But god she loves it when they take control and push her against a wall, bend her over, or just pin her down, sometimes looking up at both of them, grinning until one kisses her and the other lowers his mouth to her body, fire kisses heading down to her hips, legs on their shoulders before he dives in.

Liam, surprise surprise, loves being dominant with any position that allows him the control, controlling Jaela or Drake’s pleasure—in a sense, he loses all control when he comes, hips meeting theirs, lips on each others names but yet, he feels like the King he was, seeing how they writhe under his touch. Though, he doesn’t mind being the one under their control, their spell, really, but it has its time and place.

“Jaela, my Queen, I love you…”

“Hmm… but you’re no King…” She giggles, nipping his ear, rolling her hips, Liam gripping them tight, eyes flashing, more heat pooling in her stomach. Oh, that look. How far could she go? “Just a commo—” And in a flash, Liam pins her on the bed, holding her wrists time.

“I think I should tie you up for such blasphemy.”

“Whatever punishment fits the bill… my King.”

Drake, on the other hand, doesn’t mind being submissive to Jaela or Liam’s whims (course, they’re left with plenty of love marks when he’s in control) and loves looking into her eyes and holding Jaela close, whether if she’s on top or not. It’s also fucking hot looking into Liam’s eyes, too, when they three of them fuck, one behind Jaela and the other in front. Or, well, when she’s away and he and Liam are both a little drunk, or not, there’s something about getting lost in his eyes, too.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

After everything they’ve been through, and while there’s so much laughter and joy after they have sex, all three are serious in bed. There’s some goofiness, like the first threesome, all three getting used to each others motions as one, but the order of goofiness—or seriousness, goes as this, is determined around breakfast one snowy morning after a night of lovemaking, first her and Liam… but Drake joined in when he got home from work.

“I can’t believe you laughed when I nearly tripped trying to get to you, Abdi.” Jaela snickers, buttering her toast. It was a sight, Drake barely able to contain himself once he came in the room, Liam’s nod a signal for him to join—if the Statue of Liberty key chain turned outward on their door wasn’t signal enough—almost falling out of his pants.

“So? It was funny!”

“To be fair, Jaela,” Liam says, shaking his protein shake, eyebrow raised. “We were, moments before, quite serious—you had tears, dear.” Jaela rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah… okay, I like to laugh here and there, you sometimes, do, Liam, and Drake…” Jaela and Liam both set their sights on him and he flushes, shifting in the chair.

“Uh…”

“Goes without saying, you serious marshmallow,” Jaela snickers, leaning over and kissing his cheek.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Liam’s well-groomed if not nearly bare, fucking loving feeling all of Jaela or how her mouth feels on him. Drake’s groomed, but sometimes if he’s busy, he’ll forget and be a natural, not that Jaela—or Liam—minds either way. They just love him for him. Jaela mixes it up, honestly, because she busy too but their faces when she is bare always makes her night—and always means she’s about to get no sleep, whether with one or both.  

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Even in the roughest of nights, there’s always an element of intimacy that starts in the living room—or out in the woods, or well, anywhere really. The small touches, the kisses that begin at the mouth and wander without a hurry…. The in the moment, holding each other tight no matter what, making the other feel loved.

Jaela, once more, wouldn’t say this to the other, but Drake has a certain form of intimacy that takes her breath away, how he looks at her. Was it because she was gone with Liam, vanished without a trace, until she contacted him? Or something else? Thinking he’s second best, even when, finally, they’re both equal in her eyes?

That’s not to say Liam isn’t intimate, god he is, by the way he moves and takes control. How he caresses a jaw as he thrusts from behind, fingers winding into hair and pulling—but never with enough force to hurt. Just enough to remind them who’s is in charge.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Drake was ashamed, at first, when he did get off to Liam and Jaela’s sounds of lovemaking. Not his fault the first he listened in, they nearly knocked over a chair in the kitchen before retreating to their room and he had to investigate and… well, it was hot, hearing the woman he shares making those sounds.

As much as Liam loves being teased by Jaela, he (or Drake, of course, one of them, ideally) just wants to be the one making her feel like that. Not that he doesn’t mind catching her, pulling her into a kiss, kissing her fingers, or anything but….

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Jaela didn’t call him King Kinky for nothing, when they were in Cordonia. Or out of it, for that matter. Liam and Jaela racked up quite a few kinks: public and outdoor sex for starters, then temperature roleplaying, light bondage… to name a few. Drake never told them that it hurt him, before they found the happy balance they needed, to see the ropes and ties still around their bedposts. Part of the sacrifice, he guessed.

Little did he know he’d be happy to see those months later, and even happier to be tied up with them. First, Jaela taking control—before that breath of temptation spilling over into reality. “Fuck, Jaela—”

“Did I say you could talk?” She purrs, sliding a finger across his lips, pupils dilated as she rides him, nails digging into his chest. Drake gulps and shakes his head, hickies on his neck. She smirks, rising off of him. He opens his mouth in protest, straining against the silk tie, but is silenced, Jaela moving and riding his face, her pussy tasting so fucking good. “That’s better,” she says, gripping his hair and shutting her eyes.

Of course, the best thrill for Liam comes when he has control of them both, both submitting to him and his whims. He’s big into edging, watching them soar to the highest of highs—but not getting that release until he lets them, whether from him or with each other, so long as he can see when he’s dominate. Sometimes, they’re tied next to each other, sneaking glances, fingertips brushing as he kisses up Jaela’s body, but not leaving Drake without something to moan about, both begging for more.  

Though, working with Drake at the most intimate level… that was a thrill all on its own, both working to deny, but only to bring Jaela the greatest of pleasures. “Please, Drake—”

“Drake,” Liam says, and Drake looks up from his assigned task: eating her out. Liam squeezes her breasts, kissing her neck. “Remember what I told her about begging?” He nods, removing his mouth, standing up but letting his hand fall between her thighs.

Jaela throws her head back in frustration, groaning. “But—”

Liam tightens the silk around her wrists behind her back and pinches a nipple, eyes locking with Drake, both dark with desire, smirks on their lips. Drake steps back from the edge of the bed. “No buts. Knees, now.”

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Liam and Jaela? Oh god, anywhere and everywhere, really. He can’t pick a favorite, because the high of the thrill—even if they’re in the bed—blocks out everything but his and her pleasure, bodies locked together, smiles on their lips and each other. That’s all that matters. Though, in Miami with her, it was fucking hot to do it on their balcony, ocean spread out all before them, the people dots below.

Drake’s a simply guy, and he just loves picking Jaela up, legs straddled around him, and carrying her right to the bed to make love to her, pressing her against the mattress, sheets tangled up between them. Though, outside has a special place in his heart, hands over hers as she braced against the tree, pine and spring and dirt and her scent filling his nostrils and sending him into overdrive, birds flying away from the noise.

Drake and Liam are weak in the knees for their shower, but they think Jaela doesn’t know. She got off work early, letting down her hair, ready for a shower. “Drake? Liam?” she called, rubbing her eyes. The house was quiet, no surprise at this time of night (and god, she’d kill them if they let the kids stay up late again), except for the shower. Liam’s bed was empty, and so was Drake’s. She paused, glancing around the hallway. Not like their house was small, nor was it big… but where the hell were they?

She approached the master bath—maybe one was taking one in the guest bathroom, too? Hand on the handle, she paused, as new sound breaking through the sound of water. Moans. Loud ones, too. Then, a tumbling of a shampoo bottle—followed by Drake’s and Liam’s all too familiar, groans when they came. Jaela smirked, eyebrows raised. So that’s how come her bottles were always out of order.

When together? Well, that is the bed, much to Drake’s delight. There’s something private and personal and complicated—in all the right ways—when they have a threesome and having it be anywhere else but their home seems… wrong. The townspeople never questioned the two rings on Jaela’s hands, assuming one was a family heirloom (which it was, in a way, from Drake’s grandmother) but bringing their ménage à trois outside of their bedroom, or home, would be… wrong, an unspoken agreement between them the moment Drake kissed her lips and Liam pulled down her jeans, trailing his hands up to slide off her panties before she fell onto hers and Liam’s—no, their, bed.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Honestly, the better question is what doesn’t get them going.

No, seriously.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

The sky’s the limit, and they’ll indulge each others fantasies either one on one, or if they all agree to it, but they have a few NO’s: sadomasochism, anything that draws blood, whipping, and jealously. That’s the biggest one: no jealously. If those feelings arise… then they work it out, however they can.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Jaela’s a spoiled woman. And she can’t wipe the smirk off of her face at the stupid PTO meetings, thinking that a half hour before Liam went down on her right after she put the brownies into tubberware… and it was her night with Drake tonight. “Jaela, what’s your recipe for the brownies again?”

“Oh uh… you know, the usual things?”

And she’s pulled out of her head again, back to the politics of school and drama and avoiding the pointed looks of too many Mary-Sue’s in this small town thinking it was a little odd that Drake was living with them a single man… and that one of her three definitely has his nose, but she never addressed that.

As for Jaela, well, she’s more than willing to drop to her knees at anytime, but they always beat her out for the gift of receiving. Drake, generally, prefers to give and just wants to bury his cock in her, usually, even if he does love coming in her mouth…. Liam is more of a giver, liking to wake her up in the morning with his head between her thighs, but he fucking loves her blowjobs. Liam and Jaela both find it sexy when he’s commanding, hand gripping the back of her hair while she takes all of him in, looking up and never breaking eye contact until he comes, Jaela smirking as his eyes flutter, head rolling back, and letting out that moan she loves so much.

Commanding Liam is gone and replaced with the tender one, asking if that was too much. Jaela wipes her lips and he shudders, holding her close. “It’s never too much, Liam,” she whispers. “I love it,” she pauses, tracing his jaw, eyes brightening. “Though… I would like to try something… if Drake agrees.”

Liam raises his eyebrow, matching her expression. “Pray tell, love.”

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

They’ve gotten their times nailed down to an art form, really. Working around the kid’s schedules is one thing, combined with their different work schedules, but they’re masters of knowing how long things are going to take, depending, of course.

Public is always quick, even if Liam wants it to go on longer. Drake can stay out in the woods for an hour with Jaela. Jaela pretends to not notice their long, ahem, separate showers. But the threesomes? Well, that’s setting up the candles, and exploring each others bodies with care, salt and sweat and heat beneath their lips, not matter how rough it is.

“There’s always times to savor you, love,” Liam says, tracing lines down her curves on one side, Drake on the other, kissing her neck. She needs to get to the fucking bake sale, she didn’t mind playing betty homemaker to keep gossip away, but goddamn, how could she leave them?

“The bake sale though?”

Drake chuckles, turning her cheek, looking deep into her eyes, the intensity from all those years ago still there, even with a few fine wrinkles. Liam’s hand, fingers nimble, run down her body and settle on her clit, rubbing circles, Drake keeping her face turned to him. He takes her lower lip between his teeth, and she shudders in pleasure. “Fuck the bake sale,” he whispers. “Fuck me instead.”

But Liam inserts two fingers into her, her answer lost on Drake’s tongue.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Jaela’s a fan of quickies, and Drake has to roll his eyes when Liam and Jaela disappear in public for ten minutes at a time. “You know,” he hisses when they sit back down in the theatre seat, her hair disheveled. He smooth down a side, smirking, despite his tone. “This isn’t a ball where you can sneak into the closet and pretend your guards don’t notice.”

But Jaela grips Liam’s hand tight, eyes lighting up with the screen at the memory of Liam pressing her against the stall and fucking her senseless, holding her up, muffling their sounds with their lips on each other, fast and hurried. Somebody coughed when they left the stall next to them, but they didn’t care. “The women’s bathroom worked quite well,” she whispers, sliding another hand on Drake’s thigh, squeezing his shaft through the jeans. Liam snickers as Drake shifts, grasping hers, locking eyes. “Maybe next time we can try it?”

Drake gulps, but she sees the blush and flash of desire in the movie light. And indeed, that stall again proved useful, only this time Drake’s hands cupped her breasts through her shirt as he took her from behind, teeth nipping her ear. Another cough, too.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Of fucking course. Jaela thinks fucking in the woods is risky enough, always convinced a bear is going to come out—but her and Drake have done nothing more than scare a few deer and birds. But, anything outside of their NO’s has been tried, thought of, a regular feature, or is on the list of things to do.

Jaela’s current want to do risk?

Fuck at that damn Mary’s house. She’s the one that look at her like she’s a slut when Drake comes around to events—like his child’s soccer game, supporting his and Liam’s—like any father would do. She’s also the one that commented one child looked so peculiar from the others. She should have slapped her there, but instead…

“I got it!” she says grinning between the two. “Now, I don’t care who, but she has this parent-meeting or whatever coming up next month. One of you are coming with me—” They both pale. “And you’re going to fuck me senseless on her newly renovated bathroom counter she won’t shut up about.” Liam’s eyebrows perk up, and Drake’s do too, but she senses his hesitance. She knows him too well.

Jaela approaches and Drake leans back on the couch before she straddles his waist, pressing into him. Drake grits his teeth. “Okay… I’m listening….”

“And I really don’t care if she hears. She can’t insult our child—our children, our life—without facing the consequences. So, anybody in?”

A month later, Drake holds her close, both panting, the gleaming light from the newly renovated bathroom also too much, but all Jaela can focus on is his thrusts, slow and drawn out, hand on the glass. Her nails dig into his back, trying to holding in a cry—but letting out the moan, pulsing as the orgasm spreads throughout her shaking body.

Oh, it’s worth the looks.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

“Fucking A Liam, she’s already came twice from you, I think she’ll sleep just fine tonight…” Drake groans, burying his head in the pillow. He just wants sleep and him and Jaela are still going at it, though, she looks tired too. Drake glances at the clock—it’s almost four and he has work at eight. He could have gone to his room… but something about curling up next to them after a night like tonight was worth the sleepless nights.

“Just a… god, Jaela,” he says as he comes, kissing Jaela before collapsing next to Drake, Jaela chuckling to herself, looking at the two perfect men in her life, skin on skin. Her hand floats over Liam’s body, and he pulls her close, chin on her head. “You’re beautiful.”

“Ditto,” Drake says, and then drifts off. Jaela takes in Liam’s scent, Drake’s not far behind. Oh, how she’d never get tired of nights like these.

Jaela whispers against his chest, “I’m so happy,” before she falls asleep, only to be waken by Drake getting up for work, Liam pulling him close for a moment before Drake comes to her, kissing her cheek, then shoulder goodbye.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Drake doesn’t own any, he doesn’t care for them. He’d much rather fuck them with him and only him, taking pleasure that only he can make them feel.

Liam used to share the same sentiments as Drake, until Jaela introduced him to first her vibrator, and how fucking sexy it was when she used it on herself as she gave him head. Like, hell. “Fuck, Jaela… that’s hot.” She stops for a moment, lips against the tip of his cock, the breeze of the Atlantic blowing across their faces, high on their balcony, happy to have found a place where they could finally relax and enjoy their escape.

“I thought you told me you were the only one to make my cum from now on?” Liam smirks, dragging a finger down her lips, parting them again.

“We’ve only begun the night, my Queen. Now, continue.”

So, he has a small collection that only him and Jaela use, tucked away, Drake never getting curious as to what goes on those nights, honestly.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Jaela thought she teased bad in Cordonia, separately drawing them in and out with a flick of her wrist or the longing glance out of the corner of her eye.

Oh, how she proved them—and herself—wrong the moment her and Drake finally caved and she had not one, but two, pairs eyes filled with lust on her when she bent over, making sure they saw the red thong. It was something about an audience that upped her teasing game, just waiting till one of them would cave—thought, it was the best when Drake and Liam would nod, then end the game with one at each set of lips.

Drake doesn’t mind teasing, he liked it more in Cordonia, if he was being honest. Something about pretending to merely be just their friend in Washington made it hard to grab her ass or whisper in her ear everything he’d like to do to her in the grocery story. He didn’t want to attention of the nosey locals, nor did he want their kids to think that it was wrong, what they were doing. So, he lets Abdi to the teasing (except when they’re in bed together, Drake confessing everything he wants to do with her, drawing each stroke, lick, suck, or bite out until she’s begging to come over and over).

If Jaela plays hard, so does Liam. Touching her, whispering in her ear, promising all the positions they can do in a timespan of a PTO meeting, in the closet… yet, only leaving her wet and him hard, Jaela tearing off his clothes—and she literally made a tear once—the moment they get home, teasing done and the real game beginning.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

There was a reason why Drake couldn’t help but get off to Liam and Jaela, you know. Between their moaning and dirty talk, could anybody blame him, really?

Drake, however, is pretty quiet, preferring to listen to how he makes them feel over his own voice, contained within his throat and only being brought out here and there—sending chills through Jaela and Liam when he does make loud, guttural sounds because that usually means they’re in the middle of something intense, special, and only between them.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Jalea bites her lip, leaning back against the pillows, arms propping herself up. Drake and Liam stare at each other, and the tension—the nerves—in the room twists her stomach, just watching them, one hand on her and the other on each others arms. She can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or the sheer fact that this might be a turning point… for everything… with them.

They had three threesomes before tonight, both lavishing her with attention, sure their hands touching each other on her body, but never a kiss, no touching of each other, focusing on her, and what kinds of sounds she made under their joint effort.

Oh, but tonight… tonight was different. Like she didn’t notice the looks they shared in the heat of the moment—or hell, even back in Cordonia. “You can kiss,” she said and they snapped their attention to her… before going back to each other. Liam’s hand slide down Drake’s side and he shivered, glancing between Liam and Jaela, breathing quick.

“I…”

“Please,” Jaela says, sitting up and removing their hands. “Can’t you feel it? Haven’t you felt it?” She gets on her knees, and they still don’t look at her, Drake touching Liam’s cheek with a gentleness she only saw reserved for herself.

“You won’t be…?” Breathes Liam, now gripping Drake’s neck, their faces closer. Her hearts swells. What else could she feel but utter love for these men… and if they wanted to explore, who was she stop them? They all loved each other with everything they had.

Shaking her head, Jaela takes both of their dicks in each hand, both taking an intake of breath. Still, they stared, even as she began to pump, eyeing them each. “Never. I love you both. You love each other… why not… see what happens? We are sleeping together as one now. What’s holding you ba—”

And finally, fucking finally, they kiss, Jaela not knowing who’s lips touched the others first, Liam’s hands in Drake’s hair and Drake’s around his back. Jaela, quietly sat back and watched the show, letting their desperate, clinging moment come to fruition—until it turned to her, bringing her in center stage once more.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Drake, above average (around 6 ½) and thick, not too much… but enough to make Jaela feel so fucking full that she could cry—and sometimes, she does, from the pleasure. “Abdi, Abdi—are you okay?”

“Just hormonal… and because you feel so good. Don’t stop, please.”

Liam’s slightly bigger, around 7 and thinner, in the slightest. Honestly, Jaela doesn’t care—nor do either of the men—because the competition is over and sometimes, they get to fuck her at the same time—ass and pussy—and Jaela’s convinced she’ll never walk straight again,

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Liam’s higher than both of them, Jaela’s higher than Drake’s, and Drake’s the least of the three—what? He likes cuddling, too—but all are high, passion still running high from their life in Cordonia. Life doesn’t always allow for sex as much as Liam wants, but goddamn if he doesn’t fuck one or both of them four times a week at the least.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Pillowtalking is fine, and Drake and Jaela like it to some extent, though they tend to fall asleep quickly or have sex one more time before they pass out, but Liam is the true king of pillowtalking after sex. To a fault, too.

Legs all tangled together, cool summer air blowing in through the window, drying their sweat and cooling warm, flush bodies, in a heap, light kisses and touches being exchanged between all three, there’s no difference, no matter, with the love they all have, her two rings sparkling in the moonlight. The kisses slow... conversation ebbs… except for Liam, still talking. Drake and Jaela don’t even know anymore.

“Liam…” Drake mumbles, head buried in Jaela’s shoulder.

“Liam…” Jaela follows, taking his chin and turning it to her, Jaela and Drake’s brown eyes focused on his. He stops, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah? I mean, did you hear about—”

“We need—” Jaela starts, but Drake interjects.

“We need some fucking sleep.”

Liam’s looks shocked, but then chuckles, arm lying across Jaela and hand resting on Drake. Maybe he did talk too much, but to be fair, sex on nights like tonight energized him. The world, full of possibility in the little corner of the world they found to be as one. What could he say? It was perfect. Just so perfect, their bodies entwined like it was always meant to be.

Note: Yep, poly AU Drake x Jaela x Liam are definitely going to be making a proper appearance at some point in time. Hope you enjoyed this little AU I’m setting up for them. Bonus points if you can put the backstory piece together.

[softkitten]

months in music 2018

Welcome back to another year end round-up. Longtime readers will note that there is not one of these for 2017. That’s because 2017 was no damn good, and writing about it once it was finally over felt like no kind of fun at all. 2018 was much kinder. 

January: Finn - “Sometimes the Going Gets a Little Tough” January’s song plays like an overture for the year to come, an uptempo, retro house track about perseverance and forgiveness. I don’t remember January very well at all, and it wasn’t because I was partying so hard. I spent the first month of the year in the car, back and forth between Calgary and Saskatoon, back and forth over and over, trying to secure employment and housing. It was exhausting and incredibly lonely. The bright chords and pitched-up vocals here promised future happiness and stability, and that was what I was counting on when I played it on repeat all alone. 

February: Mija - “Notice Me” Sheena and I spent all of February in different cities, our longest time apart since getting together in 2010. I was living in my best friend’s basement and in my first month of a new job, Sheena was working herself to the bone packing up our old life in Saskatoon box by box. February was hideously cold in Calgary, and this was what I’d play when I’d shiver down cellar, missing home and warmth and love. 

March: Låpsley - “Operator” (DJ Koze’s Extended Disco Version) On Sheena’s birthday, I played a Thursday night gig in a tiny Calgary club, and the only people in attendance were other DJs. The first guy on sounded like Black Coffee, the dude who played after him sounded like Marcel Dettmann. I was third up and I leaned on vocal-heavy disco and house and all 15 people in attendance agreed that this was the vibe. Getting the tiny room sweating to “Operator,” a song known and beloved to daily Resident Advisor readers and few others, was an early high point in the year. 

April: Calvin Harris ft. Dua Lipa - “One Kiss” Winter lingered in 2018 like a bad cough, with miserable regular snowfalls continuing well into April. “One Kiss” dropped near the middle of the month and signalled carefree times ahead, hot nights and long swims, summer’s inevitability. It was what I desperately needed to hear at the time and I still haven’t stopped playing it. 

May: The 1975 - “Give Yourself a Try” The first single from The 1975′s third album, my favourite LP of 2018. This song scans to me as a reassessment of one’s priorities and one’s capabilities. I was a few months along into a job wherein I ran a day program for disabled adults. Prior to taking that job, I’d worked graveyard shifts in a group home for three straight years, where I was paid to be bored, stay awake and see no one. Switching back to a daytime schedule and having a job where I tested and developed my actual skills made me feel like my personality had changed overnight, as if I’d just kicked some awful habit. I had more energy, more patience. I was a much kinder person, and someone with a focus on my career and my closer relationships, rather than the messy, overextended person I was in previous years. 

June: Disclosure ft. Fatoumata Diawara - “Ultimatum” After a few months on the shelf, I started getting gigs again, including a few nights at a local watering hole downtown. Getting back into DJ’ing after a winter and spring spent on my ass and out of practice was difficult, but after a few sessions I found I was sounding better than ever. I did some of the best DJ’ing I’ve done my entire life this year. I found a sound that’s unlike anyone else local, and found new ways to play to crowds who are decidedly not my people. I’m very excited to double down in 2019 and find more spaces to play the music I love. 

July: Kloves - “Trigger” Compared to previous years, I didn’t get out to as many shows as I’d have liked. Once moved, it took me until December to even get out of Calgary. That said, I saw one of the best shows I’ve ever seen at the Junction this July when Kloves came on before Thor. Kloves began their set playing well above 133bpm and didn’t let up once, delivering relentless, pummelling techno that left the room panting with exhaustion. I’ve learned so much about the role of the DJ from Kloves, and their entire set that night made me feel like I was the coolest person. I think that’s what you ought to be doing, giving your audience space to perform the version of themselves they find the most exciting. 

August: The Midnight - “Endless Summer” I felt cheated in August, pulled in too many different directions. I had gigs most weekends, we had friends and family coming in to visit us, I signed myself up for a three-day camping trip out in Alberta back country with the day program I worked for. It wasn’t without fun, the gigs were well-paid, it was fantastic to see friends I’d missed dearly, but I left the last month of summer wishing for more time to myself. This song reflects the fantasy of that. The Midnight create a world where it’s eternally the last night of summer vacation, and your friend’s just pulled up in a coke-white IROC. I wanted to escape to that place whenever I could, and forestall the warmth and pleasure whenever I could find it. 

September: Robyn - “Baby Forgive Me” September was tough on both Sheena and I. I started a new, better-paid job working with incarcerated women, and the new opportunity was great but also daunting, much harder than my last gig. Sheena’s workplace, meanwhile, went septic as her depression flared. Neither of us were perfect during the month of September, stress did what it usually does to long term relationships, but both of us took care of each other during our low points and talked through the problems we had with tools that weren’t available to us in the year before, or the year before that. 

October: Pulp - “Dishes” A man told me to beware of 33. He said, “It was not an easy time for me.” But I’ll get through, even though I’ve got no miracles to show you. I’ve listened to Pulp, and This Is Hardcore, for literally half my life, but I found myself returning to it frequently in my birth month. Its lyrics about aging, being childless, holding on to persona and wondering what that means as youth slips off made a lot more sense to me than they did at 17. I found a lot of peace this year in being ‘the man who stays home and does the dishes,’ rather than the man out in public doing just anything for approval. I have been slower on the draw to make friends since moving cities. That’s because I absolutely refuse to participate in a social circle comprised mostly of people I don’t like and who don’t like me, as I’ve done in Victoria, Vancouver, and Saskatoon. 

November: Pale Waves - “Drive” This choice is pretty straightforward - I got a new car in November and it’s as goth as Pale Waves are, sexy and fast and loud and cavernous. I can’t wait to road trip in it out to Vancouver in April, to see Pale Waves when they open up for The 1975. I’m already dreaming of putting it into Sport Mode on the Coquihalla and scaring the hell out of the local wildlife. 

December: MK - “17″ I hate Christmas. I wish I didn’t, but, boy, do I ever. Every year, it’s something. Last year I had something like $2500.00 worth of car trouble starting on the 16th and continuing straight through to the 23rd. This year, I stocked my schedule to the absolute breaking point in attempt to see absolutely everyone and please absolutely everyone, and then got the flu on Christmas Day. I write this from bed; today is the first day I’ve felt fully well in about a week. I had to cancel on several friends, an act that I will go really far out of my way to avoid because it triggers all my anxiety and guilt. Fuck Christmas, past the age of about 12 it’s nothing but a regularly scheduled disappointment. 

This is about cutting yourself loose from all that. In the middle of the month, Sheena and I saw Sonny Fodera play a basement venue in Calgary and the set’s highlight came when he dropped this upbeat UK house tune. I felt completely overjoyed and completely free when I heard it, and looking around, it’s safe to assume that the room did as well. It was reassuring, it felt safe. If Sheena and I renew our vows or do some showy anniversary celebration in the future, I want this song played. I want to live up to its promise, I feel every day that I’m hearing it back to me, and I really want to reciprocate. 

Songs of the Year: Nine Inch Nails - “Shit Mirror”

Is it a sign of arrested development that, occasionally, it feels like Trent Reznor is talking directly to me, just like it did when I was 14 and looking for my identity wherever I could find it? “Shit Mirror” is about becoming something new, being surprised and delighted and scared. I tested myself a lot in 2018 and I find I like myself a lot better than I did 365 days ago.