#i can't even have my own birthday without THAT being tainted either

[dinosrawr]

.

[jaskierswolf]

Hello dearest Overlord!! May we please have a continuation of that brilliant Chicago fic you gifted us? It was SO GOOD I can't stop thinking about it lol

Maya! I meant to have this done for your birthday but life... sorry! Either way! Happy belated birthday! I shall upload to AO3 tomorrow!

Previous

Rated: E

Ship: Geraskier

Summary: After a night of sweat and sex and sin, Geralt knows it's time to apologise for the harsh words. If only he could find the words to say (Yes i'm abusing TAD lyrics... oops)

CW: weapons kink, shaving kink, minor injury, talks of rimming, and general hoeyness.

______

Geralt stared up at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the wall. The room stank of sweat and sex, and a warm spicy scent that wafted from the bard that was curled up on his chest. The night before had been possibly some of the best sex in his long life, but it had been tainted with the worry that it was the only chance he would get. Jaskier was still angry, and rightfully so, but it meant that Geralt wasn’t sure if this was the last time he would ever see his most loyal friend and companion. His fingers were softly trailing down Jaskier’s spine, painting flowers into the bard’s bare skin. Geralt couldn’t bear to watch Jaskier sleep. He was too beautiful, even covered in sweat, drooling over Geralt’s chest. Geralt just knew that if he looked then he would never be able to let Jaskier go.

And he couldn’t keep the bard if he didn’t want to stay.

“I can hear you thinking,” Jaskier mumbled, shifting on Geralt’s chest to press a kiss to the exposed skin. “It’s very distracting.”

Geralt huffed a laugh despite his growing anxiety. “Distracting you from sleep?”

“Mhmm.”

They laid like that for a few more moments, neither quite ready to face the day yet. Jaskier seemed to be trying to fall back asleep but after a couple of minutes he groaned and rolled onto his back. He pouted as he looked up at the ceiling, his hair a ruffled mess from where Geralt’s hands had run through it the night before, and there were dark bruises littered all over his neck, creeping down his chest where thick hair covered the pale skin. A stark reminder of Jaskier’s masculinity despite the way he preferred to present to the world.

Geralt swallowed as his cock began to make itself known. It could easily be excused as morning wood if Jaskier had decided that Geralt’s crimes were too dire to forgive, but he couldn’t help but hope.

“It appears that despite my best attempts, I am awake,” Jaskier grumbled, pushing his hands through his hair.

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed, waiting for Jaskier to pass judgement before he really spoke.

“So… witcher,” Jaskier breathed, his voice guarded and cool, making Geralt stiffen as he prepared for the worst. “I think we can both agree, that was a rather fantastic evening of carnal delights.”

“Hmm.”

“But not even sex with dear Melitele herself would make up for, well, you know,” Jaskier rolled onto his side and peered down at Geralt with icy fire in those pretty blue eyes, “the whole ‘if life could give me one blessing’ thing.” Jaskier’s voice deepened in his impersonation of Geralt and his words were accentuated with a flourish.

“Jaskier-”

“I meant it, Geralt. I want an apology, a real one, or forget it. I can find inspiration elsewhere, and well.. I- you probably weren’t my friend at all if you can’t see that what you did was wrong. I may be a bit of a prick sometimes, but I deserve better, Geralt.”

“I know,” Geralt whispered, wondering when the lost puppy that had followed him for so many years had grown up.

How had he never noticed?

“I’m sorry, Jaskier,” he breathed, struggling to find the words to explain just how sorry he was, but hoping that the bard would understand. “I- I was… I,” Geralt growled and covered his face with both hands, his beard scratching at his calloused skin.

The world felt like it was against him as he tried to gather his thoughts, but before he could, Jaskier’s hands were covering his, gently pulling them off his face. “Breathe, darling.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I don’t have the words to put this right.”

“Then show me, dear heart.”

Geralt’s brow furrowed as he gazed up at the bard, shining cornflower blue eyes shimmering in the morning light, his fringe falling down to cover them. He looked beautiful. Geralt reached up to brushed the hair from Jaskier’s eyes but it didn’t work and they both chuckled as Jaskier huffed a breath to try and blow it out of the way. “How?”

“You can start by getting rid of that beard. You look very handsome but my arse itches like a bitch this morning,” Jaskier grumbled.

“You weren’t complaining last night,” Geralt teased.

“Well, I was hardly going to whine about it when you had your tongue up my arse!”

Just like that the ice seemed to have broken and Geralt smirked as he pulled Jaskier into a kiss; the taste was stale and unpleasant on Geralt’s tongue but he didn’t care, he was kissing Jaskier., The bard moaned softly into the kiss, shifting on the bed so that he was straddling Geralt’s hips. Jaskier’s fingers were splayed on Geralt's chest as he rolled his hips against Geralt’s erection, making them both gasp into the kiss. The heat from the night before was back, not blistering and blinding but a slow build of embers as they were once again lost in the taste of each other.

And Geralt felt… happy?

He couldn’t remember the last time he allowed himself to be happy. Perhaps at Kaer Morhen before he set out onto the path for the first time. Before he learned that witchers were no better than the monsters they hunted in the eyes of humanity. There had been some brief moments of happiness when he’d been beside Jaskier on the path, the quiet moments before they went to sleep but Geralt had always been plagued with guilt, worried that he would destroy the fragile being that trusted him.

Of course, his fears had become reality, but in spite of everything Jaskier was still here with him, his lips pressed against Geralt’s neck, hands carding through his hair. So, because of the unfamiliar lightness in his heart, Geralt decided to tease his friend, his love, his bard. He grinned as he captured Jaskier’s lips once more in a bruising kiss, fingers digging into the bard’s hips to hold him close, and then he rubbed his cheek against Jaskier’s.

“Oi!” Jaskier grumbled, sitting back on his heels and glaring down at Geralt.

“What?”

“That beard has got to go,” Jaskier muttered, rubbing at his cheek. “If you really want to do the whole ruggedly handsome thing, which by the way, I don’t hate, then I am showing you how to look after a beard. It’ll be as soft as a baby’s bottom.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll shave.” Jaskier just grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “What?”

“Or…”

“Jaskier…”

The bard winked, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips in a way that really should be illegal. “If you trust me?”

“I do.”

“Then you’ll let me shave it off. I don’t have a razor but my daggers are plenty sharp enough?”

Geralt blinked, staring up at Jaskier as every single thought he’d ever had left his head. He was suddenly thrown back to the bard’s performance the night before. The way he’d moved, the touches to his skin, the frankly sinful way his body had looked in the corset and tights, an outfit better suited to a whore than a Viscount.

And his voice.

Dark, dangerous, calculating.

The same voice that usually held the warmth of the sun, turned to bitter poison as cold steel flashed in the candle light.

Geralt groaned, pressing his head into Jaskier’s shoulder, as the memory of the bard flipping the daggers in his hands with deadly precision, the edge of the blade glinting as he brushed it against his own neck. It was almost too much to handle, especially now that he’d had a taste of Jaskier, knew the filth the bard’s lips sang in the throes of passion.

“Oh, ho, ho!” Jaskier giggled, his fingers stroking through Geralt’s hair, sending a shiver down his spine. “You like that, don’t you witcher?”

“Shut up, Jaskier.”

“Oh no. No, no, no, I am loving this. I mean, I knew you enjoyed the show but I thought it was just the whole-” Jaskier cut himself off with a wave of his hands. “But it was more than that, wasn’t it, Geralt?”

Geralt was in no place to argue. His cock was impossibly hard and aching, trapped underneath his bard as he continued to roll his hips at a torturously slow pace. Jaskier’s cock was also hard as it moved against Geralt’s stomach, leaving a mess of precum on his skin. The sight made Geralt’s mouth water, and he was tempted to forget the whole beard thing, if it just meant that he could get his lips around Jaskier’s cock. Make his bard sing just like he had the night before, but before Geralt could think about manhandling Jaskier into the right position, the bard had leapt to his feet, leaving Geralt weak and wanting alone on the bed.

“Jask,” he breathed, watching the curve of Jaskier’s bare arse as he danced across the room.

“Be with you in a moment, darling,” the bard sang, sweeter than a nightingale.

And Geralt could do nothing but watch helplessly as Jaskier unsheathed the daggers from their holsters. The steel looked sharp and deadly. They were clearly very real weapons, not props, and Geralt felt his head begin to spin with lust. He had to remind himself to breathe, lest he pass out. Jaskier was too busy inspecting the blades to notice Geralt’s predicament, and he ran a long lutist's finger along the sharp edge of the dagger, hissing slightly as it cut into the skin.

“Sharp enough?” he turned to face Geralt, winking as he licked his lips.

Geralt nodded, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. It was a miracle that Jaskier managed to still speak so eloquently even in the height of arousal, when Geralt could barely remember his own name.

“Brilliant!” Jaskier beamed, hopping back across the room without a care for the weapon in his hand.

He was a disaster.

Geralt honestly wasn’t sure how Jaskier hadn’t cut his own dick off. He clearly had no sense of self preservation, and yet Geralt was going to let him press that dagger to his throat.

Perhaps he was the idiot after all.

“Come now, Geralt, off the bed, I don’t want to get hair on the sheets,” Jaskier waved him over, flipping the dagger absentmindedly in one hand.

Geralt just scoffed. “I think there’s worse things on those sheets, Jaskier.”

“Sit!” Jaskier insisted indignantly pointing at the stool by the basin in the corner of the room.

There was no arguing with that, although Geralt did wonder if Jaskier would turn the blade against him, even in jest, and that thought had his cock throbbing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so desperate, probably watching Jaskier perform, the searing jealousy as the fake Geralt and Yennefer lay their hands on Jaskier’s body.

Jaskier took no notice of his inner turmoil, of the raging fire burning inside him. Instead, he hummed an unfamiliar tune under his breath as he readied the dagger for its job. After the passion of the night before, the quiet intimacy was almost too much. Geralt just hummed as he settled into an almost meditative state, letting Jaskier move his head around as he needed to without resistance. The bard pressed his leg between Geralt's, staying still but keeping a gentle pressure on Geralt's cock whilst the blade moved methodically across Geralt's skin.

Every stroke of Jaskier's blade against Geralt's skin sent a wave of arousal through his body. He'd never seen Jaskier as anything more than an annoyance on the battlefield, and the calm stillness of the moment made him see his bard in a new light. He wondered whether Jaskier had been holding back on him this whole time or whether this skill with a blade was something he’d learned in their time apart. Without a witcher to protect him, Jasker had no doubt encountered no end of trouble. He’d ended up in the brothel after all… although it was like no brothel that Geralt had ever been to.

“You still with me, sweetheart?” Jaskier breathed almost silently, his lilting voice cutting through the cloud of meditation. Even in his meditation, his senses were locked onto Jaskier, ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice. It was an instinct he’d never realised he’d trained into being, it happened so slowly. One day he was wishing that Jaskier would finally get bored and leave, and the next, Geralt knew he would defend the idiot with his life.

But now it seemed Jaskier could hold his own, and that was just fucking hot.

Geralt didn’t know what was happening to himself. Everything he thought he knew was turning on his head, and he was somewhat irrevocably in love with the bard, he’d barely admitted was his friend.

By the time Jaskier was done, the blade smoothly gliding across Geralt’s skin, a finer shave than any barber he’d been to in all his years.

“Geralt, dear heart?”

“Hmm…”

“There you are,” Jaskier cooed, cupping Geralt’s cheek in his hands until Geralt let his eyes flutter open.

Jaskier was gazing back at him, his eyes blown wide and his cheeks flushed. The scent of arousal in the air made Geralt’s head hazy with lust. Before he could even think about what he was doing, Geralt knocked the dagger from Jaskier’s hand, the steel clattering as it flew across the room and bounced on the floor. The bard opened his mouth to protest but Geralt had been aching and hard for too long, and he was desperate to get his mouth back on Jaskier’s skin.

With a yelp, Jaskier was pushed back onto the bed, whining as Geralt teased the tight rim of muscle. Despite their long night of sex, Geralt would need to stretch him again, and he couldn’t wait. He’d found great pleasure in taking apart his cocky arrogant bard with both his tongue and fingers the night before, and he knew he would quite happily spend a whole lifetime doing it again and again. There was no better music than the noises Jaskier made when Geralt had his tongue lapping at the bard’s hole.

Without warning, Jaskier lunged to the edge of the bed, distracting Geralt with the curve of his arse so he didn’t notice what Jaskier was grabbing at until it was too late. The dagger was at his throat forcing him back onto the mattress, the tip of the blade hooking underneath that wolf medallion.

“Gotcha,” Jaskier winked, knocking all the air from Geralt’s lungs in less than a heartbeat.

“Jask,” he breathed, his words slurred as he struggled to see through the fog of lust.

“If I forgive you, witcher, do you promise not to throw me away like that again?” the bard’s eyes burned, but Jaskier saw through the mask to the scared little boy, one so frightened of being abandoned.

“Never again,” he vowed. “I swear.”

Jaskier let out a soft sigh and the tension visibly melted away from his body. “Good enough for me.”

And then he pressed their bodies together once more in a burning kiss that would stay with Geralt for the rest of his life.

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas]

Here goes... and no rush! So, jealous possessive Sooga is my entire life right now. What about a situation where Kohga is in legit danger of someone taking advantage of him... they've been invited to a royal ball, someone there spikes Kohga's drink (I can't see him being in real danger unless there's a potion/drugging involved) and tries to lead him away/do things to him, and when Sooga catches on that this is serious, he goes NUTS to protect his master. Sooga will cut a bitch if he has to ❤️

I wasn’t gonna do any asks from this blog today, but I saw this ask, and lowkey I like it??? Fuck you, keeping me from my other shit. Let’s go.

*also I made the person in question a woman, because lowkey Kohga would be cool with like any dude doing this, he’s a hoe.

“Didn’t think they’d invite us to another ball, given the way our troops acted last time.”

Kohga chuckled, looking at himself in the mirror as he did his hair. Kohga’s face wasn’t available to the public, but a dude still had to make sure his hair looked bitchin. 

“Listen, It’s because I’M totally charming. You remember how Link totally asked ME out to dance? I’m telling you, he’s lowkey into me.”

Sooga chuckled. Link and him had an understanding that Kohga was completely off the table, so he wasn’t particularly jealous, but the notion of the whole thing was rather adorable. Sooga was merely skimming through his book while he waited for Kohga to find his appearance acceptable. Sooga flipped through another page.

“Master Kohga, may I ask a favor?”

“That’s new of you. Alright, I’m all ears.”

“I mean no disrespect. But please, only have ONE drink tonight.”

Kohga scoffed, turning to look at Sooga.

“Excuse me? I only drank that many because you BROUGHT that many!”

“For you and the champions, not just for you.”

Kohga folded his arms across his chest, nose up in the air. Sooga sighed, putting his book away, and sitting up to meet his gaze in the mirror.

“Master Kohga, please. I mean no offense to you. I just want you to be safe, and in order for me to feel that you are, I’d like for you to have your wits about you. Please?”

Kohga met his gaze in the mirror again, and sighed, adjusting his mask.

“Fine, fine. You’re a buzzkill.”

“A buzzkill who loves you, Master Kohga.”

---------------------------------

Kohga chuckled as he pulled Sooga closer. These royals were celebrating the birthday of non other than the king himself, so the place was pretty poppin. Knights guarding each and every place, dancers from different parts of the land, all types of food being made- it was a whole deal, and Kohga was excited to rub elbows with some noblemen. He was still against royalty, but you best believe some of these guys be cute as HELL. Speaking of cute as hell-

“Mipha! There you are! How you been?”

Mipha was open to hugging Kohga upon seeing him, a smile littered over his pretty little face.

“Kohga! I’m well, I’m glad you are as well. Zelda has been asking about you.”

“It’s that old Kohga charm, no one can get enough of it. Before I go meet princess, hows you and Goldilocks doing, eh?”

Mipha covered her blushing face with her hand, giggling into it.

“Oh everything is quite fine. I’m hoping to get a chance to dance with him tonight.”

“Hey, imma make sure you get that, mark my words. For now, have fun, you ain’t gonna be single for much longer!”

He chuckled, patting the top of her head. Kohga’s affection for Mipha was obvious as it was plentiful. He was reluctant to see her go, but he had gifts to give. He finally met up with Kingy and the princess, and he was more than willing to give them a good hug (particularly Rhoam).

“Hey, if it ain’t the birthday boy!”

Rhoam...tolerated Kohga, suffice to say. Sooga could see it in his eyes as he stood there, gift in hand. Rhoam sighed.

“Quite. I didn’t want something so grand, but my daughter insisted.”

Zelda smiled, nodding at her father.

“Of course Father! With everything that happened recently, EVERY celebration is vital.”

Kohga nodded, leaning onto Rhoam oh so casually.

“She’s got a point. I say you celebrate anything and everything. So when’s the birthday spankings?”

“The...what?”

“Right, you guys are prudes. I’ll show ya later- where we drop this puppy off?”

“Ah, thank you. Loone! Please, take this to the pile.”

From around the corner, came a young lady. Brunette in twintails, and a soft face, she was a cutie. Sooga handed her the gift, but she seemed to struggle a bit, so Kohga decided to be a gentleman and grab it from her.

“I’ll hold it for ya, lead the way. Sooga, I’m gonna go mingle, keep an eye on things.”

Sooga nodded. Kohga sometimes liked to be on his own during parties, and while he hated being apart, he respected Master Kohga’s space. Kohga left Sooga’s side, following her to a rather extravagant table of gifts. He set it down on the table, softly sighing. Damn thing was heavy (It was essentially full of new clothes, made by Sooga himself), and both were clearly glad to get rid of it.

“Loone, was it? I’m gonna get a drink, you want one?”

“I would like that, actually. What was your name again?”

“Kohga. Master Kohga. I also go by ‘hunk’, ‘stud’, ‘handsome’, or ‘incredible’. Or poochy, if you’re that one member of the clan.”

She found that funny, hiding her giggle behind her hand. He knew he was charming, but damn maybe he should pull back if that’s all it took for her.

“Poochy. I like that.”

He took the extra step of being a gentleman, offering his arm to her. Being a homo didn’t mean he had any less manners around a lady. She accepted it, and Kohga walked her to the main dining room. Little did he know, he was being FAR nicer than he should’ve been.

----------------------------------------

Sooga was instructed to let Kohga do his thing, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t check up on him. He kept searching around the party for him, before finally hearing his laughter. He saw him at the drink table, clearly just sloshed. Sooga sighed. He thought he earned a little more respect than this, given the fact that Kohga SWORE he’d be at one drink. He walked over to the scene, seeing the girl there trying to keep him upright.

“I can take him off your hands. I apologize for his gluttony, let me-”

“NO!!!”

That...was a bit much. She seemed to recognize that, softly chuckling.

“I mean...King Rhoam would be remiss if I just let him go home so soon. I’ll just have him nap in one of the guest beds. Please, enjoy your party.”

“Wooo! Party!”

Kohga exclaimed, before nearly falling over. Sooga decided to let her go. Kohga always did like royal beds, he could just take an hour nap, be sober in time to watch the king cut his cake. Assuming he wasn’t COMPLETELY out of it. Sooga looked at the table, assessing the damage. Odd. He had but one cup. Usually when Kohga drank himself into a stupor, he’d get a new cup per drink, to show off just how much he had. 

“Odd...what did they give you?...”

Sooga sniffed the cup. Odd. He dipped his finger across the rim of the drink, and took a minor taste. That was when it clicked. Kohga had one drink, as he promised. A drink that had been tainted. Sooga was well versed in terms of poisons and potions, and this was the EXACT thing he used when he wanted to kill someone painlessly. It made the victim unconscious for a long time, unable to feel a thing. He used it to essentially kill people in their sleep. Warning signs went off in his head, and at first he thought the worst; someone had planned to kill Kohga. He dashed through the crowd, going into a panic search for his master. He pushed through any door that would give, and when one turned out to be locked, he knew this was the one. Panic quickly set into his body, and he unceremoniously bashed the door in with his shoulder. He couldn’t believe what he saw.

Master Kohga was completely out of it, weakly trying to push the girl away. She kept yanking at his clothes, clearly trying to get into his pants.

“Come on, Poochy! Let me take care of you! Here, let me kiss your pretty face~”

It was bad enough she dared take advantage of his Kohga’s goodwill. It was bad enough she DARE poison him. It was bad enough she was trying to touch Kohga, despite the fact that he CLEARLY did not want it in the slightest. What was an absolute injustice on top of it all, was the fact that she dare touch his mask. Taking away a clan members mask, ESPECIALLY against their will, was a sin punishable by a long, strenuous death. One of which Sooga was more than happy to deliver to her. The second her fingers touched his mask, he stomped forward, grabbed one of her pigtails, and YANKED as hard as he could. She cried out in pain as she fell to the floor, and even more so when his foot met her chest. He heard SOMETHING crack in her chest, and it was satisfying as all hell.

“How DARE you treat MY Master Kohga with such insolence. How DARE you touch him. How dare you even LOOK at him.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he didn’t want to hear a rat’s sniveling words. He grabbed her by her hair, forcing her to look up at him.

“I want you to realize you made a very fatal mistake today. I want you to feel the fear in your heart.”

Sooga un did his mask, revealing his snarling, tense looking face. He wanted her to see the fury, the absolute rage of the yiga clan.

“No one. Absolutely no one. Gets to touch him. He is not only my master, but my love. And the fact that you did this against his will, brings you a shameful death. For it is a death without honor, and without remorse.”

You would be surprised how well a sharpened blade dug past the skin, through the flesh.

Sooga relished in the feel of her blood staining his clothes. For he knew it would be either her blood, or his master’s tears.

-----------------------------------

“Ugh...my aching head.”

Kohga woke up, rubbing his poor head. He had a headache like no other. He looked around the room. One of the castle bedrooms, with Sooga sitting right beside him. He was there, cleaning blood off of one of his knives. 

“Dammit, who’d you kill, Sooga?”

Sooga sighed, tucking it away.

“Someone who threatened to touch you.”

Kohga groaned as he sat up. Huge headache.

“Oh come on, I was in danger? Seriously? Sooga, you’re a sap, I-”

“She almost took off your mask.”

There was a silence between them. Shit like that was a HUGE thing in yiga culture, and the penalties were far worse than anything Kohga could dream up. He was about to ask just what happened exactly, when he saw Sooga’s hands were shaking. He was trying to hide it, he could see that. Kohga sighed, rolling over and putting his head on Sooga’s shoulders.

“I dunno what happened. But you’re upset, so it must’ve been bad. But hey, I’m okay. You’re okay, everything is okay. You protected me.”

“She could’ve hurt you.”

“But she didn’t. Did she hurt you?”

“She bit my hand, but that’s about it.”

Kohga held onto the inflicted hand, and whistled a bit. Girl bit hard too. Kohga held the hand in his own, sighing. Sooga always acted so tough in the face of danger, but in truth, he was very scared of it. Always scared that one way or another, Kohga would be hurt, and there wouldn’t be a thing he could do about it.

“Yikes. You really went at her for me, didn’t you?”

“I’d go against a hundred of her if it meant keeping your identity, and your life. I just. Can’t believe something like that almost happened to you. I’m sorry. Sorry I almost let it happen, sorry I had to kill someone at a party again-”

Kohga brought his lip to Sooga’s mouth, silencing him.

“Sooga. You don’t have to say sorry. It’s okay. You did good. I’m here, and I’m fine.”

His hands finally stopped shaking. Kohga had no clue what had fully happened, but he knew it was bad. He knew Sooga would go above and beyond for him. It was why he sat there, instead of going and having fun at the party. Kohga was going to sit here and keep doing that, until Sooga felt safe.

Just as safe as Kohga felt, with the one who’d throw himself head first into ANY danger.

[theliterateape]

I Can't Drive 55 | Lessons Learned in the 55th Year

By Don Hall

In my thirty-second year I felt incredibly sorry for myself. I was getting my first divorce, was living in a one-room studio in Uptown, my theater company was imploding over ego-driven bullshit. I drank myself into a state of suicidal yearning. It was a rough year. 

I called my mom. Mom is that voice of reason in good and bad times.

"This has been a really shitty year. Maybe I should move back to Kansas."

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-two."

"And in thirty-two years you've lived on the planet, how many of those years were bad?"

I thought about it for a moment. "Really bad? Two. No three. Three years. Why?"

"Well, three out of thirty-two is a pretty solid track record. Seems to me that you weathered those other bad years and had good years to spare. Maybe you decide to quit wallowing in how bad this year has been and get to work on next year because based on your experience you probably have another cluster of good years in store."

Some have the Dali Lama. Others have a priest or a shelf of self-help books. I have my mom.

My fifty-fifth year (or the specter of 2020) was a rough year for so many people in the world it's almost a joke. The whole year has been covered in shit—from the campaign to unseat the least capable and most destructive president in my lifetime to three months in a pandemic shutting down the planet and economic hardship most of us have only read about in Steinbeck novels—2020 looks like the toilet bowl moments after a morning constitutional from a night of White Castle and rum.

Sure, the act of comparing one's life with those around is a narcissistic self-loathing experiment best suited for recently jilted lesbians and Instagram junkies, but while the entire world has been burning down in both literal and figurative ways, fifty-five has been a damn good year for me.

In January, I was well into my year and a half managing a casino on the corner of I-15 and Tropicana. I had done my due diligence in training and had hit the sweet spot of knowing enough about the business to be an effective leader on the floor. I knew my high rollers and had figured out the best approach to dealing with the meth-addicts and prostitutes. I could fix 90 percent of the machines and could process a jackpot inside of four minutes consistently.

Then came the pandemic and the economic shutdown of Las Vegas in March. Most were laid off and in free fall but I had stumbled into working for one of two gambling corporations in Nevada that committed to keeping the payroll rolling despite losing millions per day.

The three months of closure saw me coming in to work every day, cleaning the bar and the machines, and hanging out to make sure no one ransacked the place while it was closed. I did a lot of writing in my office during that time. 

In terms of personal tragedy, my nineteen year old nephew overdosed in a parking lot in April and, virus be damned, Dana and I flew out the next day to help my sister.

We re-opened the casino in June. 

Seven months of balancing life in a pandemic with idiots motivated to gamble, arguing with people about the necessity to wear masks, and submitting essays to everyone. Getting paid to write (even in small increments) was a genuine drug.

Over the summer both Dana and I were asked to write for an anthology of essays. Las Vegas writers writing about Las Vegas. It was a boost, man. Don't get me wrong, the casino gig was solid and, for the most part, enjoyable. Getting paid to write words and sentences was fucking delicious.

The book came out in October launched with a Zoomesque gathering.

The casino gig, while solid and simple, was becoming dull. Rote. Combining the fact that my best (and meager) talents were not usable during a pandemic in a struggling casino, I told my General Manager that I needed more money for such routine grind and that I’d start looking aggressively for something more in tune with my skills that also paid a bit more on my year-and-a-half mark.

Six days after I started the search, I was hired by a Denver-based firm as a Senior Copywriter.

Turns out I’m pretty good at it. Getting a salary for writing words and sentences is sweet and working from home as the pandemic continues to rage on is smart and comfortable. No longer a slave to the swings shift, my schedule is my own.

I can, for the first time in my life when asked what I do for a living, answer “I am a writer.” In a career path marked by ten year gigs followed by "gotta pay the bills" gigs, it looks like Casino Manager is the latter and "Writer" is the former. Now it’s time to write some books, yeah?

It’s been a year, my friends.

Here are the lessons that landed in my 55th annum.

Always Leave ‘Em Wanting More

Over the course of my bizarre career as a “Writer. Teacher. Storyteller. Consultant.” to refer to my donhall.vegas website, I’ve had a tendency to overstay my welcome.

Instead of leaving circumstances on good terms, by the time I was ready to go, I was all Fuck these people! What a bunch of dickseeds! and at least a few of the people were Fuck him! What a dickseed!

I stayed one year longer than I should have as a public school teacher. I stayed at least a year too long in my second marriage and, despite some incredible shows toward the end of the WNEP Theater years, I stayed too long with that company. I should’ve left WBEZ at least a year earlier and I waited until things got weird in the storytelling scene before leaving Chicago.

With the casino, I left long before things become too rote or sour. I found the new gig, jumped on it, and was told if it didn’t work out, I always had a place to land. That I was a part of the Station Casinos “family.” My staff bought me booze and when I swung by just to see them, they are happy to be seen.

Hell, the GM even gave me one of the chairs from the Craps Table for my home office!

As I get older, recognizing the signs that perhaps it’s time to go is an essential skill. At fifty-five, maybe I’m finally into that.

Family is Always More Important Than Work

Last year, working the first 24/7/365 job in my life, I was told I had to work on Christmas. It was the first Christmas in decades I hadn’t spent with my family in Kansas. It wasn’t bad—Joe flew in from Chicago, he took Dana and I to see Penn Gillette at Rio, Kelli joined Dana and Joe on the casino floor while I worked.

This year, especially after the death of my nephew, it became obvious that family had to come first. Months before I landed the writing gig, I let my GM know I was taking the week of Christmas off, COVID be damned. I was clear that if the company couldn’t pay me for the time off I understood and if I was to be let go because of it, then that was fine, too.

The casino was incredibly cool about the request that wasn’t really a request. In fact, even though I gave my two week’s notice before the Christmas vacation pay would kick in, my GM allowed me to be paid for it anyway (see that first lesson again).

It was in every possible way the correct call. My sister needed me. I needed my mom and dad. We got to reconnect with a cousin I hadn’t seen in years. Turns out she’s a professional copywriter in Austin, TX. It was a soul-filling holiday and I’ll never miss Christmas in Kansas again.

It’s Pointless to Argue with Zealots

Maybe it’s in part due to my new-found desert surroundings or my distance from the increasingly Woke Chicago Arts scene but this last year of Trump and the ridiculous nature of angrier social media has pushed me closer to Left Center than Full-On Progressive.

As a younger man I decided that religion was simply not for me. Too emotionally charged without a sense of rationality. At the distance Nevada gives me I can see how irrational both the Extreme Right—the overtly white nationalist taint with the individualism bordering on sociopathy—and the Progressive Left—the quasi-religious circular logic of white privilege, erasure of women as a category, and focus on tribalism over all—have become. Or maybe they were always this way and it took some time away from a major urban center to see it.

Whichever the case, arguing with either side has become synonymous with filing my teeth with a dremel. Besides being as productive as screaming into an Amazon Box, taping it up, and shipping it to Congress, it’s fucking annoying.

If there is a resolution I’m attempting to adopt in the latter half of my fifties, it is this: find common ground with everyone and if I encounter someone so far into conspiracy territory that I cannot, walk away and don’t look back.

Social Media Enables the Very Worst in Us (and Me)

I can’t remember if I shed myself of Faceborg, Twitter, Instagram, and the host of social media this or last year but I’ve spent most (if not all) of my fifty-fifth year absent the noise and it was an excellent decision.

Mobs of imbeciles canceling professors, trolling J.K. Rowling, threatening violence to strangers, and organizing a breach of the Capitol all using tools for communication that should be extraordinary made me hate people I had never met. This cannot be a good ‘chicken soup for the soul’ arena to spend time in.

I’ll admit that I do feel left out of the mix some yet I’m happier for it. I jumped back recently with a new LinkedIn account (which is sortof  like social media but with jobs) and the only good thing about that has been being able to message with Rob Kozlowski.

I’m a Social Distancing Jedi

Five years ago, Dana threw me a birthday party and there was a room full of friends in attendance. This year, I’ll be lucky if even Dana remembers my birthday.

The culling effect of both getting rid of social media and the pandemic has been like a hoarder finally ridding himself of boxes of empty Altoid tins and those square plastic bread ties. Always a bit of a misanthrope, this year has cleared out so much noise and my new gig at home has me isolated from the wash of the unwashed.

Turns out I’m good with this. My interactions with people are more intentional rather than surface level and while life has made me more cautious when it comes to whom I genuinely trust, those whom I do choose teach me things I wouldn’t know and enrich my dwindling time on the planet.

Your Reality is Dictated by Your Optimism

Optimism isn’t merely hope. It isn’t happiness or a cheery disposition.

Optimism is an act of resilience against the brutal harshness of living the existential crisis.

It’s darkest just before the dawn implies that there will be a dawn. What if there won’t be? What if it’s just more darkness? If the implacable timpani of human greed, a self correcting planetary environment, and the algorithm that defines our modern interaction has no end, should that result in giving in to the despair?

As optimism is a breeze when things are going your way, despair is the path of least resistance when things turn to shit. Seeing through the mist at a better future takes effort and commitment like a solid marriage or a massive novel you’ve committed to writing. It’s a project to be managed not a feeling to languish within.

One cannot truly call himself an optimist who refuses to see the horror. Pretending that people are essentially kind and generous is stuffing the ostrich head in the sand. People are apes with higher brain functions and follow the rules of the jungle. Tribalism, essentialism, war for resources, the history of brutality of all humanity goes far beyond Hannah Jones 1619 Project. Taken in whole, we aren’t a very enlightened and forgiving species.

Further, optimism is an individual choice. It’s not something that can be enforced but it is something that can be inspired. The American Experiment, despite its many missteps and flaws, is grounded in a belief that humans can govern themselves justly and effectively. Given the larger picture, belief in democracy is only slightly more delusional than the guy playing slots so he can pay his rent. The odds are astronomically against success and yet the choice to persevere is made.

When you see someone who has one of those death camp tattoos on their arm you are witnessing a genuine, tried and true, bona fide optimist.

Optimism is hardest when things turn to shit but it is then when it is most necessary.

Becoming Antique is a Journey

For the first time I see that more of my life has been lived than I have left to live.

I recognize that I wish I could give the years I have left to my nephew because I have done a lot in my five and a half decades and he didn't get the chance. I wonder, absent the obsessive drive to achieve I had in my younger days, what I have to offer in the next ten years? What value does my existence provide to others and how do I manifest that value in pragmatic terms?

Like an old car or a pair of worn-out shoes, we all must acknowledge a certain sense of obsolescence. The pandemic has up-ended so many of the fictions we lived with up until this point and finding North on the compass is a challenge these days. Becoming irrelevant is like that boiling frog—slowly and without even recognizing the boil—we all find ourselves as vintage. 

Perhaps that's what I've become. Not the rusted Coca Cola sign in the corner but the "like new" vinyl Def Leppard album with slightly tattered and stained liner notes.

In my next ten years (if I have that much time in store or more) I'd like to read more. Write a lot more. Listen to more live music. Be a better husband. Become that cool old man on the block with good advise and a snort of rye in case it's a little chilly. Christ, I already smoke a pipe.

There is so much more to learn that, in order to avoid feeling useless, I need to learn more.

In a Pandemic, Look For the Simple Things to Keep You Sane

A really well-made sandwich

A cold beer in 115˚ weather

A road trip with your Soul Mate

A book by a new author

A slideshow of you and your Soul Mate doing things together

A long walk

Recognizing that you have a Soul Mate

Sometimes I wonder if there’s anything else. I wonder if I’d miss anything important if I simply ceased to breathe on the couch I bought back in Chicago as it sits in Nevada.

In those moments of melodramatic existentialism, I remind myself that the experience of living is this annual letter to you. A summation of the things I’ve learned and the life I’ve lived.

If I had finished this race last year, my mettle wouldn’t have been tested by a pandemic. I wouldn't have found my sister again. I wouldn’t have seen Trump slink away to Florida. I wouldn’t be sitting in a Craps Chair in a home office of my design. 

I wouldn’t have learned anything at all (you know, because dead people stop moving forward).

Here’s to another year and what adventures I will have!

[punkscowardschampions]

Ro & Ali

Ro: Hey! Tess has declared the hospital a no-go zone without saying any more, are you and the baby okay? Ro: I'm really worried Ro: Just hoping that you're both doing well Ali: I'm fine, we're both fine Ali: Don't worry Ali: There's just been...unexpected drama that needs to be dealt with Ali: but its not physical complications, both of us in good health Ro: Oh thank god! I've been praying since I first heard you two were off limits Ro: Anything I can do to help? Ali: Oh God Ali: I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Ro Ro: No need to apologise you've been very busy and had much more important things on your mind Ali: There's every need, but also, more than every chance that it won't mean or do anything Ali: I've got to tell you something and its going to change everything and I'm Ali: Well, you'll see how I could not regret or be repentant for anything more Ro: Ali, you're scaring me Ro: What's wrong? Ali: Fuck Ali: Shit Ali: Sorry Posy Ali: There isn't any way to break this easily, ask Caleb, and that's why the 'rents have kept you all away because its so surreal and a mess Ali: but, the baby Ali: its white, Caleb isn't the Dad Ro: Oh Ali: and I know who it is, there's only one person it could be and believe me when I say he is the LAST person I would ever want it to be Ali: it was once, and protection was used and so many other circumstances that now just sound like excuses from someone who's trapped into their worst betrayal Ali: its Drew Ali: I don't know what to say beyond apologising 'til my final breath Ro: Wait....what....no Ro: You're not saying what I think you're saying Ro: What I just read Ro: Because that can't have happened, it wouldn't have Ali: It did Ali: shouldn't have but it did, I did Ali: it should go without saying that you weren't together but how can it now, and I know it does next to nothing to make it better Ali: and I wasn't with Caleb either but these things don't matter now, to anyone, I know Ro: I can't believe this, I don't want to Ro: When was this? Tell me that he didn't come back to me as though nothing had happened Ro: And you didn't just let it happen Ali: Me either Ali: but its happening, and its too late to change it or stop it Ali: He did Ali: I did Ali: I don't know why, I had reasons I convinced myself were right and the best for you but Ali: I'm just a coward Ali: I'm so sorry that my fuck ups are flaws have encroached on and tainted your life Ali: more sorry than I am able to show now, with all this between us Ro: How could you?! Ro: You should've told me Ro: In your silence I was continuing to tell him everything Ro: Give him everything Ro: Not to mention you. We don't have secrets Ali: I don't know, I truly don't Ali: I can shout good intentions from the rooftops but look where we are, and I wasn't ignorant of the old adage beforehand either so Ali: it happened when I believed, you too, that you were over for good Ali: I didn't think he'd come back...then your last birthday happened and I Ali: I didn't say anything, because by Uni, I thought he'd be gone again, and it could really be over, or he'd fuck it up himself Ali: I didn't want to be part of the fuck up, it was beyond cowardly, I know Ro: Don't you understand how little the timing matters? He was my boyfriend, the first, and I loved him Ro: I would never date any of your exes Ro: Sisters don't do that, Ali Ro: It's bad enough that you did, but to never say a word about it until your hand was forced Ro: It's the lowest Ali: I know Ali: I know Ali: Is there anything I can do? Ro: How could there be? You betrayed me Ali: But we're sisters Ro: Are we? Ro: Even Bea wouldn't do this Ali: It was a mistake, a stupid one that lasted 15 minutes if that Ali: Please Ali: Please I don't want to throw away everything we have, all that time, over that Ro: That makes it worse! You don't even feel anything for him Ro: It didn't mean anything to you but you still went ahead with it, despite knowing the consequences for us Ali: It wasn't like that, it didn't just happen because I could, because I was bored or whatever else Ali: it might not have been love but it wasn't that Ali: I was at my lowest, Caleb wasn't being a Father, nevermind a partner, I had two babies on my own and Junior was so...difficult Ali: I was alone and scared and drunk and then Drew was just there Ali: and willing to console Ali: It doesn't make it right, of course, but I would never just do it with no reasoning at all Ali: I'm not looking to be excused or forgiven, not immediately but please give me some hope because I can't lose everyone over this Ali: Please Ro: I don't have anything to give you Ro: I have no doubt you were feeling as bad as you say and I'm sorry for that, but I can't offer you any consolation. I need it for myself Ro: Of course Drew was willing, we've all known that for a long time, but I was just as certain, until now, that you'd never cross the same line Ali: I'm not asking for pity, just the chance at redemption Ali: not today, but one day Ro: What exactly do you expect time to change in regards to this? I already know that Drew didn't love me, perhaps ever, but you were supposed to Ro: You've broken my heart Ali: I won't speak for him on anything, especially that Ali: I do Ali: You can love someone and still manage to hurt them beyond repair Ali: If only love protected us from that Ro: Ours did, for me Ro: Do you know what it's like being next to you? I told myself it didn't have to matter because you never saw me as less than, protected me instead of making a fool out of me Ro: But here we find ourselves Ali: You aren't less than! You never have been, you're incredible Ali: I didn't do this to make you look any sort of way Ro: To who? You've treated me precisely how he also chose to, like I don't deserve and can't handle the truth Ro: Whatever you meant I feel ridiculous, worse than Ro: I've never felt as if I'm just one of many stupid girls in a row until now, for all of Drew's faults Ali: Would you have listened to me? Ali: Because, you knew, you KNEW Ali: and why is my betrayal worse than his Ali: just because it was par for the course from him Ro: Because he isn't my sister! Ro: He'll never matter as much as you Ro: I knew what I meant to him, and I thought I knew what I meant to you Ali: It didn't change what you mean to me, I didn't think of it in reference to you Ali: Obviously, and that was clearly a horribly selfish and cruel oversight on my part that I can only say sorry for again and again Ali: but he isn't you, and he was never good enough for you Ali: however wrong it so obviously is in hindsight Ali: to me, it didn't even touch on you and us and what we have Ali: you're so much more than him, deserve more Ali: again my mistake for thinking HE would be decent enough to leave you alone after Ro: There's what you say and there's what you did Ro: If I deserve so much, why would you do this to me? Ro: Why wouldn't you tell me that it had happened, more importantly Ro: It would have been my choice what happened next with him Ro: Not his Ali: Okay Ali: I did it because I thought it'd mean you stayed broken up, and he'd leave you alone Ali: but of course, you're right, it SHOULD have been your choice Ali: I didn't have any right to try and take that from you, into my own hands Ali: I was just...sick of him treating you how he did Ali: but I only made it worse Ali: of course I did Ro: Yes, well....on that point I can relate Ro: Does he know about the baby? Ali: Yes Ro: And Caleb? Ali: He's gone AWOL Ali: obviously he saw it wasn't HIS but, he didn't give me time to explain the rest Ali: trying to get hold of him stll Ro: Would you like me to start searching? Ro: I won't tell him anything obviously Ali: Oh Ro Ali: it would mean a lot if you could, not just for me if that's off-putting but for him and his family Ali: he doesn't have to speak to me if he's not ready...as long as he's safe, it would be good to at least know that Ro: I know. He deserves to know as soon as possible and it's highly unlikely Drew will be putting in any leg work himself besides running in the other direction Ro: It's safe to assume that was his reaction anyway Ali: Agreed. Ali: That was pretty much the gist, yes. Ro: I know where he'll be too, another safe assumption, if you'd like to get in touch with him as well Ali: That's okay, I think he said all he has to say Ali: If he changes his mind, he knows where we are Ali: Got no right to ask but are you going to talk to him? Ali: For you Ro: No Ro: I can't Ali: Understandable Ali: you don't owe him that, as much as you owe me nothing too Ali: If its any consolation, he's not being logical at all currently so I don't think you'd get any sort of answer from him, even one you don't want to hear Ro: He's rarely logical Ali: Indeed Ali: Well, now you know, I'll leave you alone Ro: How? Ro: You can't go to Caleb's which means we live in the same house Ali: I know but I'll go in with Rock or take the sofa Ali: I promise I'll give you space Ali: and then, we'll both be gone, before too long... Ro: With a newborn? No. I'll go and you can go back to pretending I don't exist Ali: Ro Ali: Please don't Ali: Did I really make you feel like that? Ro: You didn't and that's why it hurts so desperately, because I clearly don't exist to you as a actually am, and I never knew Ali: That is NOT how I feel Ali: What you're taking from this and what you think it means about you Ali: is not what I think, or anyone else Ali: I know I can't make you believe that, I wish I could Ro: It doesn't matter, as you've said, we'll both be gone soon regardless Ali: but not forever Ali: we're still family, we always will be Ro: You've got a growing family Ali: They don't replace you Ali: There's room for us all Ro: I wish it was that simple Ro: That I could be the eager aunt I was at the beginning of this conversation Ali: but you were my sister first Ali: even if you can't be that Ro: I know Ro: But sometimes I can barely remember a time when Drew and I weren't tangled together and I thought I'd got my head around us being apart before discovering that you're complicit in us both being ripped apart and staying together Ro: I honestly believed nobody could or would ever come between us Ali: you and Drew? Ali: but Ro- Ali: he was never faithful Ali: I just don't understand why you stayed with him Ali: so much happened before this Ro: You and I. We're so connected Ro: And yet you'll never understand Ro: I'll never be able to explain it Ro: We have such different eyes on the world, don't we? Ali: Oh Ali: But I WANT to Ali: and I will always try Ali: I always have, haven't I? Ali: That has to count for something Ro: It does and I hope it will continue to do so, if I can figure out how to get across to the 'there' Ro: It's not even your fault, that's what makes it impossible to deal with, that it's just another of my faults Ro: I thought I'd have a fresh start approaching but how can there ever be one now? Ali: You are the last person who's to blame Ali: it isn't at all your fault, not in any sense or in anyone's book but your own Ali: and you're just not right there Ali: the blame lies at mine, and Drew's respective doors, no one elses Ali: I'm just sorry I couldn't keep the rest away from you all too but Ali: She's here, the baby is here Ro: Don't you see that it is my fault, though, because I couldn't kill the part of myself that didn't need him, no matter what I tried it was never quite weak enough for me to walk away instead of back Ro: It's my fault that I was stupid enough to believe that he wanted to be around me, with me, so I let him in, constantly, keeping him around instead of letting go Ro: So there he stayed and here we are Ro: There isn't going to be a goodbye any more, he's in your lives and therefore mine, forever Ro: I don't know what to do with the idea of that Ro: Especially once the illusion of him has been utterly shattered Ali: Well, he did want you around, he must've, whether or not that was in the way he sold it to you, not for me to say but as much as he (and I, not absolving myself here, just talking about his role in it all) did lie and cheat, it doesn't mean everything he did, everything you experienced with him, was a deception or wrong Ali: and I know that that fact is harder Ali: that it would be easier to discredit it all, instead of having to sort through everything yourself and second-guess and categorise, working out what it was, what it means for you and who you'll be Ali: Heartbreak is akin to grief in so many ways you don't fully understand until you're there Ali: I don't think I've truly been there 'til now, either Ali: He plans for it to be a goodbye. Ali: I would prefer it if he would get himself together and could be in her life, as much as I don't want him in MINE forever either Ali: but he has no plans as of right now, quite the opposite. Ro: We can't let ourselves believe that's the thing he'll choose to abide by Ro: For her more than us Ro: Can I see you, both of you, I mean Ali: Yes Ali: Of course Ali: You always can Ali: Don't bring any of the others yet though, please Ali: Not even Mum and Dad know the full story, just that she's white and Caleb is gone Ro: I won't, I promise, it just doesn't seem right, or real, that we're all alone Ro: This scattered Ali: I feel the same Ali: Deserved in my case but it doesn't stop it being terrifying and just Ali: Horrible Ro: Deserved in both of cases, but I don't want to be scared as well as everything else and I don't wish it on you either Ali: Agree to disagree but I call a ceasefire Ali: At least from me, and I'd advise for you too, if only so security doesn't throw you out Ali: Insult to injury when you're very much within the right and your right Ali: Thanks, Ro Ali: You're too good, and I've never been more appreciative of the fact than now Ro: Okay Ro: No, I've never been good enough Ro: You and I both know that Ro: But I'm still here Ali: One day you'll feel different, and see yourself how I see you Ali: but for now Ali: Me too Ro: I'm leaving now Ro: Anything you need me to bring before I slip out of home? Ali: I'm pretty catered for but could you bring a nightie, please Ali: I'm wearing one of Caleb's baggy tops and Ali: yeah Ali: Now I just feel wrong Ro: Yes, sure Ro: I understand Ro: Can I still bring the baby's gift or will it simply add to the feeling? Ro: Not technically for you so Ali: Exactly Ali: If you still want to, I shan't deprive the little one Ali: already enough bad energy she's having to contend with at my expense Ro: We should do a cleanse or something Ro: I know it's been a while since we did anything of that sort but Ali: I'd like that Ali: I need that, in fact Ro: Okay Ro: I can't pretend to feel differently myself Ali: It'll be a starting point for some much needed healing Ali: Not a miracle but Ro: I hope so