#⌖ I dragged ANGEL to the JAZZ BAR

[deadghosy]

Do you know about the Welcome Home fandom? So what about Wally Darling!Reader?

HAZBIN HOTEL X WALLY DARLING! READER

prompt: you are a greeter of the hazbin hotel! Who knew a muppet looking demon could be so colorful.

You are so soft spoken! Like that soft voice you have can hypnotize anyone into doing anything.

“hello, welcome to the hazbin hotel. i’m your greeter.” You say with a “:D” face

You’re so colorful and you’re definitely shorter than Lucifer…i can see Lucifer picking you up like a damn doll at times as you just smile with your muppet ass smile.

You’re just TOO DAMN CUTEEE! 🦆💗 literally even husk grumbles and gives you apples by the bar for you to stop giving him those doe eyes you give him when you are needy for apples.

I feel because of your muppet look, it would bring attention to yourself as a muppets looking demon is quite rare around the pentagram city, or even hell itself as Lucifer and Charlie have a muppet or Marionette look. 

Literally you are friends with Lucifer because of it and he finds your muppet look adorable. Even with your 3 ft height. (Yes I looked up his height and damn he short as hell!😭)

You are just chilling after greeting some new sinners in the hotel as you read the news paper, Lucifer comes out of no where. Dead ass reads the newspaper trying to understand your likes and dislikes.

“Lu-Lu?” You said softly as Lucifer awkwardly smiles and does finger guns at you. “Oh what a coincidence? What are you doing here..?” He says awkwardly as he sweatdrops at his attempt to start a conversation with you. “I live here?” You said raising a brow sitting down the newspaper.

“Oh I do too! What a very crazy thing?!” He says pointing his finger at himself as he poofs away in embarrassment as you just sat there…..*cue in pure confusion*

Alastor would not hate you because you are colorful, lemme be realistic. You two would be mutuals. Not like “oh I hate you but you are cool” type shit. I mean you two are the people who wave at each other but never approach each other because you don’t know if they like you fr. 🥲

One time a sinner had shoulder bumped you on purpose thinking you wasn’t gonna do anything…BUT NAH! YOU GRABBED THAT MF BY HIS NECK AS A SHADOW COVERS YOUR FACE, only leaving your eyes showing as you kick they ass out. You ain’t dealin' with no bullshit at this establishment. And for your friend’s sake.

Angel likes to play with makeup with your face since it’s calling out for his makeup kit. Literally he does blue eyeshadow on you.

I headcannon you wear blue eyeshadow just like how Wally’s eyelid is blue up there. Dead ass it would be cute if it was just blue eye shadow and you had a natural blush on your cheeks. You are quite beautiful reader💗😘

Since Angel is a drag queen, he would also try to make you wear drag queen makeup only for you to sneeze at how much product he used…yeah he never used it on your face.

You’re beautiful natural anyway…just don’t sneeze in his face. Ever again.

You definitely look like you listen to 1970-80’s jazz music as you dance in the lobby with Alastor nodding along happy. Just two jazz buddies liking jazz.

I can imagine Charlie trying to hold you back from eating the fruit gift basket for the guests…you’re only aiming for the damn apples as your mouth was drooling for it.

Imagine Vox has you on his channel because he brided you with apples. He stalked you through your tv you had that has rainbows and apples on it-

Well anyways Alastor “recused” you because you just sat there “begging” to be saved is what he saved when you munched on an apple confused by why Alastor came to take you away from Vox.

If you and Lucifer hung out doing hobbies together, which he suggested. You’re panting a portrait as he makes a duck based off of you….he can’t help but show affection of making you a duck version of yourself.

Niffty and you definitely get along well as hell! As you two have the same fashion taste as you both will dance to the genre of music you guys like.

With you being the greeter, you always have a soft smile and a soft approach to make the guest and residents feel safe in the hotel.

Sir Pentious will absolutely admire you…like a friend crush. He just wants to be your friend but you are too pure to approach as he thinks he won’t be cool enough to be your friend.

Imagine Valentino seeing you shopping and he tried to approach you only for a red smoke to cover you as you blinked confused to see an overprotective Lucifer smiling at you as you had teleported to the hotel. But with Lucifer, you could see his real feelings as you felt confused.

After a few months you and Pentious became friends because of one of his egg boiz named Frank said his “boss” wants to be friends with you. You giggled and nodded as you and sir Pentious do trust exercises together when Charlie host them.

Husk had dilated eyes and purr at you because you scratched under his chin which made him snap out of his cat daze and slap your hand as you giggle with a soft gaze.

I headcannon Velvette to be your girl who makes your outfits in primary colors. Like that or just cute aesthetic kid core fits. 💗‼️

I can see how reader always gives balloons to sinners who had trouble reliving their childhood. So they give balloons out to the sinners who had childhood trauma. You are a greeter, and a hell of a good one. 🦆💗

Imagine how Wally! Reader has those safety pins that say “Welcome!” And it’s so cute because you made them a t hand and Lucifer saw his you had effort in it so he made you more to give out to the guests.

I feel like Valentino will try to get you under his contract so he can use your pretty look since you seem like a femboy….but really you’re just a little guy who likes apples and his friends.

YOU’RE ONLY 12 APPLES TALL! 😨

But the hazbin crew literally cockblock him to the point he just stops doing he was trying to do to you.

I can see Lucifer trying to impress you at times as he never has a friend that had a cute appearance like you so your blank eye stare always catches him off as you just stand there smiling so adorably.

I headcannon waking up to find an apple by your night stand as a note reads “hope you like the apple, my angel!”- Lu-Lu. You just blinked at the apple completely ignoring the note and eating the apple as you smile at the taste.

“…yummy apppleee….” You say until you open your eyes looking at the note. “Wait what.”

You had gave Lucifer back an apple basket with rubber ducks that had painted apples not it for your appreciation of the apples he gave you 

[jyoongim]

Okay okay hear me out: possessive!annoyed!Alastor x naive!reader

The whole gang goes to Consent (the sex club) and manages to drag Alastor and reader with them.

Reader thinks everyone is so lovely and friendly, Alastor is overstimulated by the techno music, flashing lights, and loud crowd and ͓̽t͓͓̽̽h͓͓̽̽o͓͓̽̽s͓͓̽̽e͓̽ ͓̽f͓͓̽̽u͓͓̽̽c͓͓̽̽k͓͓̽̽i͓͓̽̽n͓͓̽̽g͓̽ ͓̽w͓͓̽̽h͓͓̽̽o͓͓̽̽r͓͓̽̽e͓͓̽̽s͓̽ ͓̽t͓͓̽̽h͓̽a͓͓̽̽t͓̽ ͓̽k͓͓̽̽e͓͓̽̽e͓͓̽̽p͓̽ ͓̽l͓͓̽̽o͓͓̽̽o͓͓̽̽k͓͓̽̽i͓͓̽̽n͓͓̽̽g͓̽ ͓̽h͓͓̽̽u͓͓̽̽n͓͓̽̽g͓͓̽̽r͓͓̽̽i͓͓̽̽l͓͓̽̽y͓̽ a͓͓̽̽t͓̽ ͓̽r͓͓̽̽e͓̽a͓͓̽̽d͓͓̽̽e͓͓̽̽r͓̽

Cause imagine Alastor standing behind you, scaring the shit out of the person dancing with you….

something short

“I thought you said we were going a club?”

Charlie said nervously as the gang stood outside of Consent.

A club.

A strip club.

Angel had suggested that if Charlie wanted the residents to form trust then that going to a club would do that.

He failed to mention the whole nudity part.

You could sense that the group were a bit disgruntled, so you smiled at Angel “I think this is great Angel! I’ve never been to a club like this before what about you Al?” You turned to your attention to Alastor. 

Normally Alastor would have did an disappearing act on everyone when activities were done, but you were actually excited.

You were a rare thing that graced Hell. You were sweet and friendly. Had a good head o your shoulder…but you were horribly naive and had no sense of when people were insincere.

Or trying to gain your attention.

You were bopping your head to the music, swaying as you sipped on whatever concoction the bartender had made.

Your senses were in overdrive as you took in the loud music and flashing lights.

it was so much.

Angel had pulled you onto the dance floor, twirling around you, showing off his moves.

You giggled at his flashy display, laughing as several of the dancers swarmed around you, naked bodies rubbing against you.

This was so fun!

This is absolutely not fun.

Alastor was barely holding it together. The loud music and flashing lights were making him restless. He preferred quiet places with soft jazz playing and pleasant food.

Not establishments where he was pretty sure drugs were near the food.

He stayed seated at the bar. His very presence was enough for sinners to stay away from him.

He sipped his whiskey as he scanned the crowd. Vaggie and Charlie were sitting in a quiet corner, trying to keep Niffty stable.

Sir Pentious was trying to chat up some sinner, Angel was being Angel, and you….

 His eyes narrowed as he watched you watch in awe as several strippers danced on you. You were blushing but a smile still on your face regardless. You were unaware of the hungry looks that some of the male patrons were giving you.

But Alastor saw. Saw as some unsightly sinner began to approach you.

You felt a body press up against you. Heavy hands found your waist and pulled you into how they were swaying. 

“A pretty doll like you shouldn’t be alone on the dancefloor” a voice purred in your ear. You turned around, blinking at the stranger before giving him a smile “Oh you wanna dance with me?” You asked innocently. The sinner grinned, “suuuurree sweetness anything you like” he chuckled moving with you to the music.

Alastor had crushed the glass he was holding, static buzzing around him causing the lights to flicker slightly.

He took a deep breath, downed some whiskey from the bottle, and made his way through the crowd, brimming with dark energy.

The crowd practically parted like the Red Sea as Alastor made his way towards you and the filth who was being too handsy.

You smiled when you saw Alastor, completely oblivious to the rage emitting off him “Alastor this was so fun!” You shouted over the music. Alastor tilted his head, eyes narrowed and smile pulled in a tight snarl as he kept his eyes on the demon behind you. “Oooh really dearest?” The demon behind you was shaking in his boots as the Overlord gently pulled you towards him, wrapping an arm around your waist.

Mine. 

You were tipsy and babbling away as Alastor dragged you off the dance floor, teleporting you both back to the hotel away from prying eyes.

You blinked, seeing you were back at the hotel. “Wha-?”

A body wrapped itself around you, pulling you into a rumbling chest. Alastor huffed as he buried his nose in the crook of your neck.

”That place was horrid. Medium playing less than pleasant tunes, and those filthy sinners were all over you” he growled.

He was rambling to himself, growling in your ear. You jumped slightly feeling his sharp teeth your at your neck, your hazy mind not comprehending why Alastor was so upset.

”Al?”

”I’m going to show those pathetic sinners just who you belong to my dear”

”that you are mine”

You were spun around and lips slammed on yours.

————————————————————————

“Where the hell did toots go?” Angel asked, confused as he did not see you with Charlie and Vaggie. He last saw you dancing before you basically disappeared.

Husker smiled “Bossman took her back to the hotel”

Everyone was confused, then Angel smirked “Ooohh Freaky Face is SO gonna fuc-”

”Angel please! There’s no way” Charlie said, interrupting him.

You were such a sweet thing, there’s no way you would let…there’s no way Alastor…right?

They had made it back to the hotel and there was no sign of you or Alastor.

”Holy shit!” Angel laughed as he picked up on the loud banging coming from somewhere in the hotel.

easy to say, you now understood what was happening at the club and so many other times

@yakultt-art @coleisyn @alastorsfawn @alastorss @alastwhore666

@senseichaos @markster666

Let me know if anyone wants to be tagged in my works… I’m still working out the kinks

[alastor-simp]

Bon Appétit! - Alastor x Fem Chef Reader

❥Summary- You were a very popular chef when you were alive, talented in making any dish in any cuisine. You sadly died from unknown causes and ended up in Hell instead of Heaven. You happen to find the Hazbin Hotel and applied for a job there as a cook. Everyone loved your cooking, including a certain red haired demon.

❥Tags: female reader, fluff, chef reader, friends to potential lovers, alastor is bad with feelings, slight romance, hazbin hotel gang, reader is an amazing cook, alastor is a foodie

❥Notes: I had this story idea brewing in my head for a whole week and I needed to type it out. Hope you guys enjoy it :)

"Hum hum hum hum~♫" Your head was bopping to the catchy jazz radiating from the radio. Your hands were placed against a metal bowl, one holding it and the other mixing it. Your name was Y/N, and you were the chef/cook at the Hazbin Hotel. During the time when you were alive, your dishes were very popular. You weren't extremely well known across the world, but everyone in your town knew about you and craved what you created. Your family owned a small restaurant, that was opened to all the locals. It was a bit difficult in the beginning since you were self taught, but as you got older, your skills improved. Over time, you expanded to other cuisines, ranging from American, Spanish, Japanese, Korean, and European.

How you ended up in Hell was still mind-boggling. You remember closing up the restaurant, and heading back to your apartment, only to see a large bright light and then pure darkness. You woke up after that in a very strange area, the sky was a pure blood red and the people around you seemed almost fictional. A large sign that said "Welcome to Hell" was a clear enough answer to where you were. Well there was no way for you to go back to the living world, so you had to just deal with it. Finding a job wasn't very easy especially since many of the places you saw, had very grotesque dishes, and you weren't skill with cooking eyeballs and beating hearts. You stopped at a wall covered with different flyers, some for killing services and job offers. The one that caught your eye was the very colorful one, decorated with stickers and glitter. "Hazbin Hotel huh?" That seemed like a good place to start, especially since hotels had guests and needed someone to provide meals. Smiling, you grabbed the flyer and began making your way to your destination.

Having arrived at the hotel, you were greeted by the owner, "Charlie Morningstar." She was ecstatic that you wanted to come and help at the hotel, giving you a crushing bear hug. She did ask about your skills and was very surprised when you said you were skilled in cooking. Dragging you inside, she allowed you to introduce yourself to the others. They were quite an odd bunch when you first saw them, but they seemed friendly. The demon holding Charlies hand was Vaggie. She seemed like a tough cookie, given how intense she was looking at you. Two other demons were sitting at the bar, chatting away. One appeared to be a spider like demon and the other was like a cat. The spider, who Charlie said was Angel Dust, gave you a flirtatious wink along with a hand shake, while the cat demon, Husk, just gave you a small wave. A small clattering of feet came from behind you, causing you to turn. You saw no one there, but then you felt something on top of your shoulder. Turning, you were face to face with a mini female demon with a large eye. She was gazing at you, wearing a huge smile, before she jumped off and ran back to where she came from. Charlie told you that was Niffty as she then introduced you to another patron of the hotel. He was a large black snack with pink eyes, wearing a grey suit and top hat. His face seemed nervous, but he had a kind expression. He gave a slight bow, while shaking your hand, telling you his name was "Sir Pentious"

Charlie kept looking around, wearing a confused expression. "Hey Vaggie, have you seen Alastor?" Vaggie responded with her head shaking no. A large black circle soon appeared next to Charlie, then began to form into a person. The darkness soon faded away from the person to reveal themselves. The demon was dressed in a striped red suit, that went well with his monocle and bow tie. His bob hair cut was a crimson red, and were those antlers on his head. His fangs seemed very sharp, given how well you could see them through his wide tooth smile. "Here I am, Charlie my dear!" His voice was etched with static, reminding you of the old radio you had at your restaurant. "AH! Alastor! Just in time! I wanted to introduce you to Y/N. She is looking to work as a cook here." She push you closer to him, making you stand a few feet from each other. "Hello, nice to meet you." Giving a kind smile, you extended your hand out for a shake. The smile on his face widen, as he bent down, grabbing your hand and placing a kiss on it. "Charmed!" His gesture gave you small tingles throughout your body. He then removed your hand and stood back to his full height. "So you are talented in the kitchen I presume?" Smiling more, you nodded your head. "Yes! I am self taught and I started working in my family restaurant at a young age."

Charlie then butted into the conversation, eyes sparkling. "Wow that's so amazing. What kind of food did you serve?" You twirled your hair with your finger. "Well it was the classic family restaurant, so club sandwiches, mac and cheese, homemade pies, the whole lot. But, I wanted to expand my skills, so I explored other cuisines to try and master." Angel Dust had gotten closer and wrapped one of his arms around your shoulder, looking excited. "You any good with making Italian dishes toots?" Hehe it was cute how excited he was. You went over the list of all the cuisines you knew how to make, causing everyone's eyes to widen and mouths to drop, except Alastors, as he was still wearing a smile, but his eyes did expand a bit after listening to you. In a flash, you were pushed into the kitchen by everyone, faces adorned with wide smiles, waiting to see what you would make.

That felt like so long ago, as after amazing everyone's taste buds with your cooking, you were hired immediately on the spot. Realizing you were getting distracted from your thoughts of the past, you went back to cooking. Today you were making blueberry muffin cookies for everyone to enjoy.

(Love making these⬆️)

The batter was all set, and what you needed next was the blueberries. Heading to the fridge, you opened the wide door, looking for the small container. "Ahh found you." Finding the small container, you grabbed it, moving back to allow the fridge door to close. "Salutations, my dear!" a static voice spoke next to you, causing you to scream, as the container from your hand dropped to the ground, causing all the blueberries to spill out. "Al! Don't do that!" your response earned a laugh from Alastor. "HAHA! Apologies, my dear! Didn't mean to give you such a fright." He batted his eyes at you, trying to appear innocent, but you knew he was joking. "Yeah sure you didn't. Great now I'm out of blueberries since someone made me dropped them." Your legs bent down to the ground, grabbing the blueberries. Standing back up, you marched over to the trash bin and threw them away. A loud *SNAP* came from behind you, causing you to turn around. On the counter was a mini basket, containing fresh blueberries. "Oh thank you." Looking back at Alastor, you gave a thankful smile. "Your welcome, my dear! May I ask what type of concoction you are preparing?" He bent down, leaning against the counter, with his hands under his chin. Grabbing a few handfuls of blueberries, you went to the sink to give them a quick rinse, before coming back after patting them dry with a napkin. "Oh I'm making muffin cookies. Was craving something sweet so I decided to make a bunch for everyone. I'll save you a couple." You smiled up at Alastor, as you tossed the blueberries in the batter, and began to fold them in. Alastor grimaced slightly at that, and just wave his hand at you. "No need, my dear! I don't particularly care for sweets!" You nearly dropped your spatula at that. He didn't like sweets things?! You had made other baked goods and desserts in the past since you been here and you had assumed everyone had gave them a try and loved them, so it was a bit of a surprise when Alastor told you that he didn't like sweets. "How come?" Tilting your head at him, you waited for his response. Alastor raised his head, giving it some thought, before he looked back at you "Just don't like overly sweet things. I have a very limited palate, so I prefer to stick with that." His smile widen at you, sharpening at bit as he seemed to be thinking of something gruesome.

You continued to prepare the cookies, scooping them and placing them on a baking tray. A sudden thought came in your head, and you turned back to Al. "What sort of foods did you used to enjoy when you were alive?" Alastor raised an eyebrow at that. "My, a curious one aren't you? Well I grew up in the roaring 1920s in New Orleans, Louisiana. Oh, how I miss the sights and the bayous. I preferred venison and other meats, but I did indulge on other culinary dishes from time to time. Gumbo, Jambalaya, Po boys, oh my!" Alastor seemed almost in a trance, as he kept talking about his past. It was nice to see him so happy and excited, when discussing the time he was alive. "It sounds like you really enjoyed it." Alastor looked back at you, eyes holding a certain tender look. "Yes indeedy!" Your eyes remained locked on each other, until Alastors eyes glanced to the clock on the wall.

"Oh! Seems its time for my broadcast! Ta-ta, my dear!" Alastor gave his microphone stand a twirl, before disappearing into the shadows.Once he left, you couldn't stop thinking about what he told you, about his past life. The joyful look on his face kept replaying in your mind, when he was discussing the delicacies he enjoyed. "I want to see more of that expression" you thought. You continued to brainstorm, as you waited patiently for the cookies to be finished.

**Evening- Alastors POV**

"Ah! What a pleasant stroll that was!" Alastor had arrived back to the hotel, after just finishing his evening walk. He arrived back quite late, since the other denizens were not parading through the hotel lobby and lounge. Placing his hands behind his back, he headed in the direction that would lead him to his quarters. A pleasant smell was wafting through the air, stopping Al in his tracks. "My what a enticing aroma!" Alastor leaned his head back, taking in the amazing smell. His feet began making his way, searching for where the aroma was coming from. He had arrived in front of the kitchen doors, which were slightly opened and the lights still turned on. Peeking his head through the crack, he was surprised to see you in the kitchen still. Your air was tied up in a bun, while you were adorning kitchen apron. One of your hands was busy, stirring inside a large pot, while the other was adding in some seasonings. Alastor gave a small knock at the door, letting his presence be known. "Still cooking, my dear? It is way past your bedtime!" Turning your head, you flashed a large smile at Al. "Oh! You're here! Come sit, its almost ready!" Your crooked your finger at Al, telling him to come closer and take a seat near the kitchen table. Alastor cocked his head at you, still confused on what was going on. He soon took a seat, placing his hands on his lap. "Wanted to surprise you." He heard you say, as he watched you grab a bowl, pouring the concoction from the pot to the bowl. You saw you walk closer to him, placing the bowl down in front of him. Alastor's eyes widen at the site, before turning to look at you. "My dear, what is this by chance?" Smiling, you took a seat on the other side of the table. "Its seafood gumbo!

(Bowl in front of Alastor)

Alastor continued to gaze at you in shock, then back to the bowl , then back to you. "Did you stay up just to make this for me?" He saw your face flushed as you rubbed your neck. "I did yes! You appeared very happy when you told me what you liked to eat when you were alive, so I thought I would surprise you by making a Creole dish." Alastor continued to stare at you, his eyes going soft from how sweet the gesture was. The smell of the prawns and cajun spice was making his mouth water. "This is my first time making this, so I hope you like it." Alastor nearly jumped when he heard that. "My dear, you never cooked Cajun food before?" You shook your head no at him. "I always knew about Cajun cuisine, just never got to it. Now come on, hurry before it gets cold!" You gestured for him to start eating as you placed your hands under your chin, copying him. The smile on his face grew, as he looked back at the bowl in front of him.

**Your POV**

You were sweating like crazy. This was the first time you ever made gumbo, and now you were scared that you messed up. Last thing you wanted was Al to try it, then recoil in disgust. Your eyes watched him lift the spoon of the broth and place it in his mouth. His expression was unreadable, making you all the more nervous. As he took the spoon out from his mouth, you saw the gentle smile on his face. "Superb." He took another spoonful of the broth, placing it back in his mouth, letting out a pleasant mmm. Phew! you were glad he loved it. You continued to watch him eat, before getting up from the table and walking towards the oven. Alastor didn't even notice you leave, as he was too immersed in the dish in front of him. The savory taste of the broth and spice that kept flooding in was so nostalgic to him. Soon there was nothing left, and Alastor leaned back against the chair, letting out a satisfied sigh. "Absolutely amazing, my dear! Thank you." Alastor motioned his head to look at you, as he saw you removing something from the oven. "Your welcome! Hope you have some room for dessert?" Alastor gave a small grimace. "My dear, I told you before, I am not one for sweets!" Giggling, you placed what you had made on a bowl, before sprinkling some powder on them. "Are you sure? Something tells me these might change your mind."

Carrying a plate in front of you, you placed it on the table. Alastor eyes once again widen at the sight. In front of him was a plate filled with freshly made beignets, piping hot and covered in powdered sugar.

"Go on, try one." You stepped back and made your way back over to the chair. Alastor seemed a bit hesitant to try them, the feelings of his past and his dislike for sweets were battling with each other. Moving his hand slowly, he grabbed one of them from the plate, hovering it next to his mouth. Finally he took a bite. Alastors eyes enlarged again, as he took another huge bite of the beignet, before grabbing another one. Soon there were no more left on the plate, only crumbs remaining. "Ahhhhhh~. Delicious!" Alastor wore a peaceful expression on his face, as he leaned back against the chair. He then heard you break into fits of laughter. "What is funny, my dear?" He eyed you curiously, as you kept laughing hysterically. "Ahahahahaha! You...you have powder all over your face!" Your finger was pointed up at him, as you were trying to calm down from laughing so hard. Alastor jumped a bit, before rubbing his mouth with his finger, seeing a trace of white on it. "Here, I'll give you a napkin." Getting up, you went to grab him a napkin for coming back to him. "Thank you!", Smiling, he grabbed it and began to clean his face.

Once he was finished, he looked back at you. His eyes held so much emotion, as he continued to gaze at you. He got up slowly from the chair, standing up to his full height, as he pointed his head down towards you. Raising a hand, he placed it on your cheek. "Thank you again, my dear. But, why did you go through all this trouble to make this for me?" Raising one of your hands up, you placed it against the hand that was on your cheek. "I wanted to see that expression of yours again. You seemed such in high spirits when you talked to me about your past, so I wanted to make you something." Alastor chuckled down at you, finding your reasoning simply adorable. "You reminded me of something my dear mother use to tell me "A way to a mans heart is through his stomach."" Your whole face flushed at that, painting your cheeks a deep red. Alastor slowly inched closer to you, bending his head down closer. His lips had landed on your cheek, giving it a soft peck, before he pulled back slowly to gaze at you. "Thank you again, y/n." His body began to morph into blackness as he became one with his shadow, and then disappeared from you, leaving you a blushing mess.

Tag List:

@pepperycookie , @yourdoorisunlocked, @ghostdoodlen, @aceofcards0-0, @jyoongim, @saturnhas82moons, @unholycheesesnack , @luujjvi , @forbidden-sunlight, @pinkcrystal44 , @veethewriter , @rains-sleeping , @danveration , @demoarah, @cookiekyo , @iiotic, @delectableworm , @91062854-ka , @alastorsgoldie , @lokis-imaginary-friend , @themysteriousslenderman , @huntlowfan , @pawstrey , @futureittomainn , @christinaatyourservice92 , @littledolly2345 , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it , @angelinevalentine89 , @yunimimii , @staryosh1 , @mihawksdemoness , @crystalreads , @blahblahbruhmeow , @madam-strawberryrose , @inkslayer , @azazel-nyx , @lixanjewel , @ainsliemac , @sweet06tart , @nobuharashinyao , @aria-tempest , @fluffismystaplefood

[queenie-avenue]

Charming Demon Belle!

—> he expresses interest in you.

⤻ reader is female, reader's race/animal theme is not specified, reader is a bit insecure, alastor is a semi-sweetheart in this one, fluff, no canon-typical violence, dancing but it's not jazz *gasp*

notes: this fic was honestly a bit rushed, but i do really love alastor as a character and really wanted to write a fic for him but i currently do not have the time to invest in one idea i have for a longform fic so here's something small. feel free to post asks for alastor, or any other hazbin character, i would love to write your ideas!

💌 ⤻ archives.

You had been at the Hotel for a few months now, working on those trust exercises that Charlie persuaded — forced — you to join in. You loved the girl, but you found her methods to be a bit too idealistic at times. Especially since during your time as a human, you saw just how cruel life could actually be.

Still, you joined in because you came to love the girl. You came to love the rest of the staff and visitors too.

Whenever you came back to the Hotel after a long day of doing whatever, there Husker was with your favourite cocktail or Angel would be there to crack his stupid jokes and innuendos that would always make you huff out a laugh no matter how tired you were. Vaggie was a fun person to be around. There was quite a bit of anger in her, but you couldn't help but like how assertive she could be. You honestly admired her for being such a strong woman, something you thought you could never be. Charlie was just a ray of sunshine and though Nifty was weird, you found her almost endearing, just like Sir Pentious and his nerdy displays.

There was one person you could never calm yourself around though and it was the host of the Hotel.

Alastor, the Radio Demon.

Perhaps it was his reputation that made you feel so uncomfortable around him, but you refrained from speaking to him as much as you could. Those eyes and that never-ending smile seemed to follow you wherever you went, though, and you found that wherever you went, he was there just waiting.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

The Hotel was practically empty by the time afternoon hit. Husk was out getting more things for the bar alongside Nifty, who needed to buy more materials for cleaning. Angel Dust was at work. Charlie and Vaggie seemed to be on a date, of some sorts, encouraged by you as they seemed to be rather stressed these few days because of the upcoming Extermination.

As for Alastor... probably up in his radio tower.

And for you? You were lounging on the couch in the lobby of the hotel, scrolling through various television channels and hoping to find one that would entertain you for long enough.

"Hello, my dear!" The static-filled voice almost made you fall off the couch as you looked up to see the Radio Demon standing over you. "What are you doing?" Alastor inquired, looking at you before his gaze shifted to the TV in front of you, his eyes narrowing in what appeared to be annoyance. "Oh, you're watching a picture box, how quaint." He attempted to remain cordial in his speech, but it was clear he wanted to wreck that television.

He reached for the remote and pressed a few buttons. "What are you doing?" This time, it was your turn to question him.

"Turning off this pesky little thing, dear! You know, too much of this," he pointed his cane at the TV, "rots your brain!" He chuckled as he finally pressed the correct button to turn it off.

"You should get off the couch and get some exercise. Today is far too nice of a day to be wasted on such idle activities." He grinned wider as he his clawed hands grabbed yours and dragged you up.

"H-hey!" You yelled, shocked by the sudden touch. Despite the fact Alastor hated someone invading his personal space, he seemed to love to invade others.

"I know you don't like to exercise, so I have come up with a rather fun activity for us to partake in." Your eyes widened at his words. What in Hell's name did he mean by that? You had seen what Alastor viewed as 'fun' and you were now worried. He snapped his fingers as he dragged you to the middle of the lobby, a radio materialising on the bar desk as it began to loudly play some jazz music. "Some dancing ought to do the trick." He smiled.

"Um, Alastor." You peeped, "I'm glad you want to do an... activity with me. But I don't know how to dance. Let alone dance for some jazz music." You grinned awkwardly up at him as he looked down at you and tutted his lips.

"Ah, no worries." He grinned as he snapped his fingers again, causing the music on the radio to shift from jazz to classical. "We can start slow, of course. I could never force a lady to do something she didn't like." Well, that was ironic, considering what he was doing now.

"Hold on." He grinned as he grabbed your waist, using his other hand to guide yours to his shoulders. Without being able to respond, he dragged you across the floor.

"One, and a two. One and a two." He demonstrated how his feet moved about the floor, forcing you to follow against his steps as he swirled you about the hall. "See, you're already getting a hang of it." You couldn't help but smile at his words.

"Heh, yeah I guess I am." You grew more relaxed as you looked up at Alastor and his toothy grin and ash face.

He grinned wider. "I'm so glad that you are starting to feel comfortable around me, my darling." He expressed as he spun you around. "I was simply so hurt when I saw you interacting with the others but not me." He pulled you closer to his chest, "Might I ask why?" Alastor asked, the static filter on his voice disappearing slightly to reveal his human voice.

"I guess we just have personality clashes?" You tried to lie, not wanting to admit that you were intimidated and scared witless thanks to this demon, especially with the way he stalked you in the shadows at times.

"Haha!" He laughed comically. "My, what an intriguing assumption, my dear Belle!" He exclaimed as he spun you around and dipped you down. "I think we have more in common than you think."

"Like what?" You gasped out as he held you down, your hair brushing against the floor as you gazed up at him.

"Well, we're both sinners."

You deadpanned at his explanation. "That's it?"

"Well, there's certainly more, but why not leave it up for us to discover?" He suggested with a grin before pulling you up, slamming your face into his chest. Alastor gripped your chin in his sharp hands, his smile growing more sinister.

"I would certainly love to know more about you." His smile grew brighter, his eyes glimmering with a hint of intrigue and desire.

Shit, somehow that was the only thought running through your mind.

[c-cobweb]

ultraviolence

| “‘cause im your jazz singer, and you're my cult leader. i love you forever, i love you forever” | — lana del rey.

warnings: +18 mdni!, smut, oral (m receiving), dom! kai, submision, brainwashing, daddy k!nk? (only once).

a/n: english is not my first lenguage! and requests are open ♡.

───────── ⋆⋅🕸️⋅⋆ ─────────

Kai was smoking, sitting in the armchair in the basement of his house with his legs open and you kneeling in the middle of them.

How did you get to this situation? You didn’t know it well.

It all started when Kai first entered the bar where you sang jazz on Thursday nights, after your performance that day he approached you praising your angelic voice and offering you a drink. The following Thursdays were the same, with Kai camelling you with his sweet words and his beautiful smile.

But that wasn’t the Kai that was now in front of you.

You didn’t know how but the blue haired boy had dragged you into his twisted sect, brainwashing you and making you his sexual slave. And that’s why you were like this now, wanting to please him.

He unbuttoned his pants and left the rest of the work to you, so you took his cock out of his pants and stroked it from top to bottom, wrapping your hand in it while you looked into his eyes biting your lower lip.

He let out a growl and threw his head back due to pleasure, releasing the smoke he had been containing in his lungs. When you saw his reaction you took your tongue out of your mouth and began to give kitten licks to the head of his penis, knowing that that drove him crazy.

“Stop teasing” Kai demanded with a hoarse and dominant voice, to which you obeyed without thinking and began to put his cock in your oral cavity everything your throat allowed you.

You were going little by little, putting his member in your mouth until Kai got fed up and with the hand that did not hold the cigarette he grabbed you by the head and pushed until the head of his penis hit your uvula, to which you gagged due to the brutality of his actions.

He began to fuck your mouth with brutality, grabbing your head with both hands while his cigarette hung between his lips. When you saw that Kai was so focussed, you took the opportunity to lower your hand down your torso until you reached the waist of your panties, and put your hand inside and begin to delicately caress your cult.

Kai soon realised what you were doing, so he quickly grabbed your hair and stretched it tightly to separate you from his cock. “What do you think you’re doing?” He asked with a frown. “Did I give you permission to touch you?”

You swallowed with difficulty, the last thing you wanted was to make him angry. “No, I’m sorry” You answered nervously while looking at him with begging eyes so that he didn’t do anything to you. “No what?” He spoke again, looking back at you with intensity. “No, sir” You answered with a choppy voice.

He nodded and let go of your hair, putting his fingers between your strands and licking his lips. “Okay, now be a good girl and make me cum” He said and you immediately put his member back in your mouth, this time with both hands on his thighs.

Kai fucked your mouth again with all the strength he had. You closed your eyes tightly by repressing gagging. He growled and let out guttural moans from time to time, the cigarette on his lips that was now completely consumed fell on the sofa, but the last thing he cared about was that.

It wasn’t long before you felt his cock twitch in your mouth, a clear sign that he was going to come soon. To help him, you raised one of your hands to caress the rest of his cock that did not fit in your mouth and you began to move your head from top to bottom, following the movements of his hips.

“Fuck, yeah. I’m gonna cum, baby” He warned you, but instead of walking away you just tried harder to put more of his member in your mouth and turn your tongue around his shaft, definitely throwing him to the edge.

“Oh my god, yeah” He groaned as you felt thick strips of sperm coming down your throat. “Good girl, good fucking girl” Kai praised you with agitated breathing as he lowered his arms to both sides of his body.

When you felt his cock soften, you took it out of your mouth and cleaned the corner of your lips with the sleeve of your sweater. You climbed until you were sitting on Kai’s lap and curled up against his chest, he instinctively wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you close to him. “Did I do well?” You asked while hiding your face in his neck.

“Of course, you always do it well for me,” he replied with a soft laugh. “Now get up, daddy has to continue with his work” He said patting your ass so you can move. You sat on the couch with your knees glued to your chest while you watched Kai dress in his usual clothes to commit murders.

It was usual to leave you trembling and then go to kill people.

───────── ⋆⋅🕸️⋅⋆ ─────────

[ravenna-reid]

Whiskey, Sultry Tunes & Vigilantes

JASON TODD x JAZZ CLUB SINGER READER

Jason just needs to go to the most famous Jazz club in Gotham to gather intel then quickly leave, but a certain singer makes him stay longer than he anticipated... No warnings <3

I actually rlly like this one so pls lmk if you do too!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A magnetic violet blanketed the room from the lights that constantly streamed inside of the club, setting a soft, sensual mood. Guests sat before the stage, a few residing along the quiet bar. Subtle discussions and the clinks of scotch and wine glasses simmered in the air, along with the melancholic yet powerful tune that came from the band and their instruments. The sombre cello, the soulful piano, the triumphant trumpet.

And the famous Jazz singer of the club.

The Blue Room’s jewel. 

Sparkling diamonds hung from your ears and adorned your neck. Glistening eyeshadow, slick eyeliner and plump lips. A black silk dress hugged at your body and draped down to the floor, gloves the same colour running up above your elbows complimenting your dress. The wig you wore looked unbelievably real, the cherry red catching glints of the deep purple from the stage lights above as you sung the sultry tune. Men from across the city always came to watch you sing. Voice sweet like honey, smooth like whiskey, strong like thunder. All eyes were trained on you, and people either wanted to be you, or be with you. There was no inbetween.

Jason had merely heard the gossip about the Blue Room. About its perfect blues music and its reputation for the best served scotch and wine.

He’d also heard about the alluring singer that sang there almost every night.

But not being a fan of crowds or anywhere where parties were often thrown, he never went. Until tonight.

“And you’re sure Black Mask and Penguin are conspiring together in the private booths at this club?”

Dick had asked Jason earlier that week as they both went over their limited evidence on the case in the Batcave. 

“No, that’s why I’m going to go investigate.” Jason answered without looking up from the papers sprawled out in front of him. 

“It’d be a shame if it were true,” Dick sighed, “I love that place.”

“Of course you do.” Jason shook his head.

“Can I come?”

“No.”

Leaving the bustling alleyway behind as he entered the club, the atmosphere around him immediately shifted. The rhythm and blues that so often enveloped the club filled his senses instantly. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes, the LED lights that set the mood for the performance, the sound of the band…

And her. 

One gloved hand holding her microphone, the other gently stretching out to the crowd as she lulled them with her song. Her voice, her words, her eyes…

A softness painted her expression, mixed with subtle confidence and a magnifying aura. Elegance. Strength. Heartbreak.

So much emotion in just one song. So much emotion lacing her angelic voice. 

Jason was irrevocably drawn to you. 

The sudden sound of bellowing laughter from a table in front of him drew Jason back into reality. And he was soon reminded that he was there for work, not for entertainment. 

Blood rushing and heart racing – which was actually ridiculous – Jason ignored you and turned down the side of the bar to the more secluded part of the club. Round, mahogany tables that were much larger than the ones before the stage were occupied by couples. The music became more drowned out at that end of the club, more suitable for those who were wanting a romantic date night. Further down though, along the wall and past the bar sat the four private booths. Two were open; a lit bulb in the centre and purple velvet couches on display. But the other two had their curtains drawn.

As Jason crept towards one of the closed booths, his ears fought to listen to your voice. His legs fought to drag him back to the stage. His eyes fought to steal glances of you. Coming to a halt at the first booth, he ripped the curtain back. Two lovers, one on the other's lap, immediately look up at Jason, mortification frozen on their faces. 

“Sorry, wrong booth.” He quickly said before hastily drawing the curtain closed. His cheeks became a rose red as he moved to the next booth. 

Green eyes, so horrifically mesmerised, found their way back to you again as he searched for your figure through the crowd, his eyes following your voice. It was coming to the end of the song, and just as you were hitting the high note, a silence fell over the room as people listened. Giving a subtle shake of his head, he pulled himself back together.

“Come on, Jason.”

Jason was just about to draw the curtain to the second booth open when –

Ears straining to re-hear what he thought he heard, Jason let go of the curtain and looked to his side. Muffled yells could be heard. Past the bar and bathrooms down a dimly lit corridor. A man in an ivory tuxedo, obviously custom made, gripped at the collar of a man in black before him. The man he was grabbing looked fearful as he desperately tried to talk his way out of the situation. But the man in the tuxedo was past practical discussions. He wanted something. And he didn’t want to have to wait any longer. Cheeks a violent red and the hair he had left a dishevelled mess, he finally let go of the man. 

Thunderous applause caught Jason completely off guard as his focus shifted back to you. 

You gave a small, polite bow to the audience, and when you looked back up out into the crowd, your smile instantly gleamed brighter than the lights and jewels that surrounded you. You took the air from Jason’s lungs. 

The band members behind you nodded their heads in appreciation to the crowd. Whistles filled the air alongside the applause. Someone threw a daisy onto the stage. Jason scoffed.

Daisies aren’t nearly pretty enough for her.

Looking back down the corridor to see what the men were doing now, his heart sank when he found they were gone. 

“Shit.”

Ignoring his desire to look back at you one last time, worried you were finished for the night, Jason began down the corridor. Once he reached the end, there were two doors. One that he was sure led to the back of the building where the dumpsters and connecting alleyways sat. Another, however, looked like a small office. Thankfully, the door was slightly open. Jason peered through it to find the one who was just abused by the man in the tuxedo sitting at the desk, head in his hands. Stacks of paper were his only company, alongside framed pictures, certificates and awards for his business, posters of famous singers, and a shimmering gold plaque.

A plaque that read his name.

Jason took a mental note, but his eyes wandered as he wondered where the man in the ivory tuxedo went.

The man in black was sudden in his movement, sending a spike of anxiety through Jason’s chest. He quickly stood from his desk and went through another door in his office; a door that led to the dressing rooms. As Jason listened, he assumed the man was talking to and preparing the other singers that would soon take your place for the remainder of the night. Taking his chance, Jason quickly crept into his office and grabbed a few notes, envelopes, and folders from his desk. Slipping them into his jacket, he was gone in a blink of an eye as the man made his way back into the room. 

But performers were beginning to fill the back area, and Jason had to quickly leave. Walking back down where he came, he opened the back door and stepped outside.

The warm breeze instantly brushed through his raven black hair and against his skin. The dark, Gotham night sky stared down at him from above. Distant sounds of traffic filled the air. It was in no way better than the atmosphere inside of that club, but it was familiar. Comforting. 

Securing the documents he had obtained in the inner pockets of his jacket, Jason was ready to leave until something caught his eye. 

Silky gloved hands ran up and down your arms. Soft cherry red curls swayed against the skin of your back in the wind. 

Jason couldn’t believe it. It was you. It was actually you.

Your eyes were trained on the night sky above, searching for the stars that hid behind the clouds, and although Jason couldn't see your face, he could imagine the serene expression that was painted across it. 

What were you doing out here?

It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he got to see you one last time before he left. And suddenly all thoughts and questions centering around the man in black and the man in the ivory tuxedo vanished like mist.

He soon realised you hadn’t heard him come outside. He continued standing nimbly behind you. Fiddling with his fingers and feet rooted in the ground like trees. Heart beating faster than a hiccup. 

Say something. Say something. Say something. Say something.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone you know.”

Voice so soft, so gentle. You looked over your shoulder up at Jason, your eyes catching the light from the street lamp beside him.

Jason’s breath hitched.

Shit.

Part Two Soon

[loves0phelia]

Can you do a Matt Murdock metting reader and they hit it off instantly.

( Btw this is my first requesting something )

Promise

Summery: the request

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: alcohol, grammar mistakes (always)

A/N: thank you for requesting I love matt so much and writing for him makes me so happy, also this is far from perfect so i hope you will like it anyway xxx

After a long day at work all you wanted to do was crash, and curl in bed with cheap ramen from a cup, while watching one of your recent favorite shows. Unfortunately, that idea was forgotten when your best friend Celia invited you to a local bar called Josies claiming to need a girls night out.

At first you almost faked being sick or having a late night appointment but you realized it wouldn't be possible to deny your friend.

She knew you were not a going out kind of person, so any excuses would not convince her.

“Come on Y/n, just one drink and I swear if you don't like it we're leaving” she tried reassuring you, and you made a face of disagreement but still followed her in anyways after the breeze made a shiver travel your entire body. That made you realize you should've brought a jacket.

When you entered you immediately noticed the strong smell of beer and whiskey. It was almost overwhelming but the scent kinda matched the looks of the bar which made it feel homey.

“What are you two girls taking?” A lady behind the bar, who was previously wiping a dirty glass asked us.

“I think we'll both take a beer” Celia turned to confirm with you and you nodded.

“Good cause beer and whiskey’s all we got” she grumbled and picked up two bottled beers from underneath the counter where you assumed a fridge was.

Soft jazz music was playing in the background and you could hear the people chit chatting and clinking their bottles. Celia took a sip of her drink and after analyzing around the place she gasped loudly.

“Oh my God y/n It's Matt and Foggy!” she clapped her hands happily.

“Who?” you asked and looked behind you trying to map where her friends were.

“You know,  the guys from the law firm! I worked with them on a case with Marci” Realization became clear on your face after she reminded you.

A couple months ago her colleague Marci had needed help finding information about Wilson Fisk to help her boyfriend’s firm, Nelson and Murdock, and Celia had volunteered. Obviously she had told you all about the sexy blind lawyer who would be “perfect” for you.

”Come on! i'll present them to you” she jumped down her stool and began dragging you to them.

“Celia please no, they are probably trying to enjoy a night together let's not bother them” you tried tugging yourself back but she wouldn't allow it.

“You're too nice, you know that?” Celia replied and before you could beg again one of the two guys, who you assumed was foggy, raised from his chair by the pool table and screamed her name, inviting you over.

“Foggy, Matt, heyy” she said happily, hugging them while you stood awkwardly behind her.

You were always the more introverted one in the duo, but she always tried to bring you out of your comfort zone.

“This is y/n, you know my best friend I told you about” you lifted your hand giving them a small wave and immediately regretted it when you remembered one of them could not see it.

”Hi” your voice was barely above a whisper but you were ignorant to the fact that Matt could hear you loud and clear.

“You guys want a round of shots? Matt and I were just about to get some” the long haired friend suggested and Celia immediately agreed. The two of them left to go back by the bar leaving you and the handsome lawyer alone.

“Y/n right?” his voice surprised you. It was deep but angelic.

“Y-yes” your words caught in your throat now feeling more shy than ever.

“It’s a beautiful name, im Matt but i'm pretty sure you already knew that” he laughed and it was like you had never heard a prettier sound. You nodded your head, unable to utter any words.

“You just nodded didn't you?” your cheeks flushed instantly embarrassed, your eyes grow triple their size.

“I did, I am so sorry, I dont know whats wrong with me” you shake your head and slapped your forehead with your palm the sound echoing loudly in your ears.

“It's okay, it happens all the time” his smile never left his lips.

“That doesn't help” your face was red like a tomato.

“Dont worry about it” his hand laid itself on top of your naked thigh only the tip of his fingers came in contact with your silk dress, his soft touch warmed your skin.

“Silk?” he asked curiously, still running his digits over the fabric.

“Yea when Celia said we were going to the bar i didn't really know what to wear” you snorted now realizing silk was definitely too formal for a bar.

“It's very soft, i like it” once again a charming smile came onto his lips.

“thank you” you smiled back unaware he could feel the heat coming off your body at this very moment.

“We're back! sorry it took so long josie wouldn't let us have our best customer discount again” Foggy pout but put the tray of 6 shots down on the sticky table.

“Drink up guys!” Celia clinked her glass with Foggy’s and then yours and then Matt’s (which cause a small splash of the whiskey to escape down to the floor)

the second the strong liquid came in contact with your tongue, your eyes clenched in pain because of the burn. 

“How can people drink that? it's disgusting” you said and everyone at the table laughed at your sudden outburst.

“It takes a lot of getting used to and a best friend who forces you to drink it” Matt’s hand squeezed your knee while the other two were already getting ready for the second one.

“I guess…” you hesitantly picked up your last shot and on the count of three you repeated the suffering progress.

After hours of chatting and laughing it was already 3 am which meant the bar was closing.

“I'm going to take a cab home, anyone wants to share one?” Celia said while gathering her belongings.

“I think I'm going to walk, my apartment is not too far,” you replied forgetting about the freezing wind outside.

“Are you sure? you know it's supposed to rain also there are some weird people in the street at this hour” she said almost in a motherly way.

“Yes I'm sure, anyway daredevil might save me if I get attacked” you joked and hugged her tightly while she rolled her eyes at you.

“I wouldn't mind taking a cab actually, I need to go back to Marci’s” a drunk Foggy wiggled his eyebrows.

“What about you Matt? need a ride?” he added to his previous statement.

“No, I think I'll walk y/n home. if that's alright?” he gently grabbed your elbow as he unfolded his white cane.

“Of course,” you smiled.

The two drunks said their goodbyes and walked out the door to the yellow cab waiting for them outside as you and Matt started walking back to your house in a comfortable silence.

A shiver traveled your body for the second time during the night and Matt felt your goosebumps raise on your arm as he held it.

He stopped abruptly making you look at him confused as he started removing his suit jacket.

“Here put this on” he draped it over your shoulder and you accepted it wordlessly admiring his beauty and generosity.

He grabbed your elbow again and you both continued the path to your apartment.

After about 10 minutes you spoke up, now seeing your apartment building

“This is me”

“Am i the only one who's disappointed the walk was so short?” he asked while rubbing his thumb on your arm.

You giggled before replying that you were also sad it was cut so shortly.

“You could come upstairs if you want?” Hopefully, you wished he accepted the offer.

“I think it's better if i don't” he sighed and your heart dropped slightly.

“I want to, but tomorrow I have this case I need to work on, and I think that if I came upstairs I wouldn't be able to leave in the morning” his hands were now holding your waist as if he was having his own inner battle whether he should come up or not.

“It's okay I understand” you whispered and he leaned his forehead against yours as if he was wishing you would have asked him to come up anyway.

thunder roared above you.

“You should go before it starts raining” you said and he shaked his head in disagreement.

“Can I kiss you before I go?” His tone was so low.

“please” you pleaded before his plumped lips connected with yours.

His head tilted to the side to deepen the kiss and his hand went up to the back of your head.

Your lips parted allowing his tongue to make its way inside your mouth. Your hands traveled to his hair as well, earning a small growl from him, while you started to feel the cold rain drip down your back and hair.

you broke apart and smiled seeing his red tinted glasses crooked. Slowly you lifted them off his face to see his beautiful amber eyes that had a twinkle in them.

“I should probably give you this, back” you started removing the now drenched jacket but he stopped you.

“Keep it, I'll come get it tomorrow” he smiled and eagerly pressed another kiss to your lips.

“That's a promise?” you whispered against his mouth.

“It's a promise”

[darcydarlingdabbles]

Jazz and Jen

Human Hotel Trip ~ Part 5~ 3k

Hazbin Hotel ₊⁺⋆ Charlastor ₊⁺⋆ Eventually Explicit

Part 1 ⚜️Part 2 ⚜️ Part 3 ⚜️ Part 4 ⚜️ Part 5 ⚜️ Part 6 ⚜️ Finale

// Charlie comes to Alastor's rescue when he's captured by a Cougar, and then drags him onto the floor for a dance neither of them will ever forget.//

✧✦✧✦⚜️✧✦✧✦

Alastor sat at the hotel bar, nursing a whiskey neat as he reveled in the discordant tones assaulting his ears. 

A bastardized jazz cover of a current pop song mocked him from the hotel’s ballroom, where the ‘Roaring Twenties Bash’ was in full swing. The disguised demon grimaced. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass before taking another sip, letting the whiskey burn pleasantly. 

Outside of the bar and across the short hall, a change in tempo meandered through the double doors—and another abomination came to Alastor’s ears, pulling at the edges of his smile. 

Damnable human body made everything just that much more difficult to control. 

His fingers tapped his irritation against the polished wood of the bar. Even so, Alastor refused to return to their hotel room, though he knew Charlie was not there. 

She’d gone to the dance, he was sure of it. Which was probably why he hovered in the empty bar across the hall. Alastor had seen a makeup bag open on the bathroom counter and found a shopping bag that must have contained a dress, and he couldn’t help but wonder. 

Picturing Charlie dolled up like a woman in his time was, more than intriguing—though reality quickly shattered the fantasy. His mind turned to the unshed tears in her golden eyes under the relentless afternoon sun and in the humid Louisiana air the last time he’d seen her. 

Alastor was not familiar with the pang echoing in his chest. 

“Perhaps this auditory torture is a fitting punishment, after all.” He murmured to the rim of his glass. 

When he named the feeling, Alastor chastised himself for even a modicum of guilt. 

He’d only told Charlie the truth. The damn girl just wore her bleeding heart on her sleeve—every joy, every sorrow, every fleeting feeling showed on her face. It put her weaknesses on a marquee for anyone to see. 

It was as endearing as it was naïve, and he had crushed her, with a carefully crafted smile on his face. 

Alastor’s fingers cinched around his glass, wondering if he could shatter it in this human form, and if he would bleed. What it would be like to see scarlet seeping between his tawny fingers again?

The Radio Demon did not apologize. He did not regret. And he was heartless. 

So why did hurting Charlie make him feel so hollow?

Alastor swallowed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, his mind made up. He had to find the Princess and smooth things over—for purely strategic purposes; he had to remain in her good graces. 

Just as he was about to straighten his vest and leave, someone slid onto the bar stool beside him. The spark of hope at the flash of blonde hair drowned instantly, when her cloying perfume violated his senses. Alastor turned to see a human woman, gracelessly aging into her fifties, leaning towards him. 

“Well, hello there, handsome,” she purred, bluntly sizing him up. “I’m Jennifer. Can I buy you a drink?”

Alastor’s smile narrowed on instinct, wondering what this foolish mortal was playing at. “I beg your pardon, Ma’am. But I was just leaving—” 

Jennifer laughed, her manicured hand coming like a claw to grip his arm. Alastor had to resist the urge to recoil as his skin crawled. “ The night’s still young, and you and I should get to know each other better.” 

Radio silence blanket the demon’s thoughts. 

Was this woman, flirting with him? And why? Some sort of artless joke? He might suspect Angel Dust or even Vox of putting her up to it, if they weren’t realms away. 

Jennifer used his stunned silence to pull Alastor back onto his bar stool, not noticing the way his fists clenched at the audacity of her still touching him. 

“I’m…flattered.” Alastor said, his tone undercutting his words, “but I’m afraid I have a prior engagement with—” 

“Oh, don’t be shy,” Jennifer interrupted him, leaning closer to him. “You don’t come to a bar in that shade of red without looking for attention. It’s so…devilish.” 

“Madam,” Alastor’s teeth grit behind his smile, his eyes flashing an infernal red behind his spectacles. “You have no idea what you’re playing with.” 

Though, to the demon’s surprise and unmitigated horror, his threat only made the stranger lean in closer—and touch his arm again. “I like the sound of that.” 

Alastor’s irritation crackled off of him. Static sizzled from hidden speakers around the bar. He had to extricate himself without causing a scene. He’d promised Charlie no harm would come to humans on this trip, but his patience was wearing thin. 

He couldn’t threaten if his target wasn’t afraid of him. 

“Surely, a woman of your…” Alastor plucked her hand from his forearm and dropped it on to the bar top. “ Experience…could find more suitable company.”

“Oh, I think you’ll do just fine, sugar.” 

Alastor suppressed a groan, suddenly realizing how much intelligence it required to realize you were being insulted. He had no option but to escape. 

“Well, terribly sorry, but I really must be off.” He stood abruptly, his stool scraping against the floor in his haste to leave. 

Jennifer’s eyes lit up. “Why don’t I join you?”

Over his dead body. 

“That won’t be necessary.” The Radio Demon’s perpetual smile tightened. 

“Your room or mine?” Jennifer purred as she too got to her feet. 

Alastor’s eyes widened, interference squealing from him as he stepped back. This was not what he intended in the slightest. And now it wasn’t annoyance but dismay straining his hold on human form.

If she touched him again, he would snap and break another promise to—

“There you are Al!”

“Charlie,” Alastor sighed her name like an answer to his prayers. 

Alastor turned towards her voice, already reaching to pull her towards him—and a lesser man might have let his jaw drop to the floor. Because Charlie was dressed to the nines. Her blonde hair was styled in perfect finger waves and layered pearls dripped from her throat. 

“And who is this chick?” Jennifer asked from behind him. 

Alastor's instant fury sounded like a needle scratching across a record. He knew an an affront when he heard it, but the Princess stepped past him and offered her hand to the human woman. 

“Hi, I’m Charlie.” She offered politely, as Jennifer gave the other blonde a far harsher glance over. “I’m Alastor’s fri—” 

“Girlfriend.” The demon seized the opportunity and Charlie by the shoulders, pulling her back against him and out of Jennifer’s clutches. “And date, to the dance tonight.” 

He could feel Charlie’s surprise as he ignored the intensity of her warm skin under his fingers. 

“Oh?” She turned, catching his eye. And he felt his own throat tighten, pleading that she would have mercy on him and play along. “Honey, I thought you didn’t want to go to the dance?”

Alastor felt his eye twitch at Charlie’s sly smile as he leaned down to emphasize his point. “Since when have I turned down the opportunity to dance with you, my darling?”

Jennifer might just be turning green right in front of them. 

“I thought you wouldn’t be caught dead at. What was you said? A feeble mockery of the glamor of a bygone era?”

Alastor had to hand it to her. That did sound like him. He had no idea she’d been listening to his rants. 

“Well, I’ve had a change of heart. Shall we?” He pulled Charlie’s arm into his to steer her away from the bar. 

“Fine.” Jennifer’s face fell in an ugly way, though she still shot Alastor a smile. “I’ll be around, if you change your mind.” 

Alastor clenched his teeth. “I assure you, I won’t.” 

“Come on sweetie, let’s go cut a rug!” Charlie beamed, dragging him towards the ballroom. 

✧✦✧✦⚜️✧✦✧✦

It was crowded, loud, and flashy. Attention had been put into the atmosphere, with candlelight and warm yellow string lights to make it look like the shell of a jazz club he used to haunt. And that was nothing compared to how the music was already making Alastor cringe.

Charlie caught him and pulled him right onto the dance floor with her. 

“Oh, no you don’t. You owe your fake girlfriend a real dance.” She propped her arm up on his shoulder, her tiny hand never releasing his fingers. “I didn’t get all dressed up not to dance.”

“Is that so?” Alastor pushed Charlie back, lifting their linked hands, so the blonde gave a little spin. 

In a sea of swaying fringe and feather boas, Charlie’s dress was elegant and understated. It was a black crepe romaine gown with a touch of dark sequins that glittered as she moved.

When Alastor’s gaze fell to her sheer stockings, he pulled her back to him, so he couldn’t stare. 

“I’ve seen worse.” Alastor said simply, glancing sideways as a dancer waved her feathered fan dramatically around the dance floor. 

“I’ll take that.” Charlie beamed. “Besides, you can’t avoid me if we’re dancing, can you?”

“And why, pray tell, would I be avoiding you?” Alastor’s eyes narrowed as they turned in loose circles to a song he didn’t recognize. But he wasn’t paying attention to anything other than the petite body in his arms. 

He already knew. That unfamiliar twinge of guilt, twisting in his chest. And he wondered, if she knew. 

Charlie turned a mischievous smile up at Alastor. “You know, Al,” her golden eyes glinted. “You still owe me an apology.” 

A harsh squeal of feedback pierced the air, causing a few human dancers to wince, but the demon didn’t let his steps falter. Alastor’s lips pulled back over his teeth, flickering between amusement and annoyance. 

“I do hate to disappoint, Princess.” He purred, his voice smooth as could be despite the static. 

He spun Charlie gracefully—but this time pulled her back against his chest—trying to distract her, and get his lips to her ear.

“I do not apologize. It’s simply not in my nature.” 

To his eternal surprise, he heard Charlie laugh. 

“Oh, really?” the blonde stepped forward, creating a space between them that the demon instantly despised. He righted his face as she turned. “If that’s the case, I’m sure Jennifer would be more than happy to take my place.” 

Alastor’s lanky frame gave a violent shudder. Without hesitation, he pulled Charlie back flush against his chest, his grip tightening around her waist possessively. 

“I am rather, particular, about who I dance with, Charlie.” He kept his voice low, fighting to keep the smile on his face. “And I’ve no desire to find another partner.” 

She stilled in his hold, almost falling out of step—and Alastor realized what he’d said. How Charlie, who read too much into absolutely everything, just might interpret that. 

Worse, she might just be right. 

“My, my, Charlie,” In an instant, Alastor pulled the smiling mask back over his face, and tugged Charlie back to him. “I do believe you’ve forgotten something rather important.” He crooned to her, watching her guard drop. 

Just so he could spin her out across the floor, then pull her back with a flourish. 

Charlie’s delighted giggle was the best music to meet Alastor’s ears that night. “Oh yeah, and what’s that?”

“That I am, quite simply,” Alastor’s grin widened as his hand slipped down to the small of her back—before he dipped her low. “The best dancer in all of Hell.” 

“Is that so?” Charlie laughed breathlessly and flushed a pretty pink, as her hand came to rest on his vest. 

“It is.” Alastor pulled her up, swiftly, twirling her again before drawing her back into step with the up tempo beat. “And I’d be happy to show you.”

✧✦✧✦⚜️✧✦✧✦

Dancing with Charlie was easy as breathing. And, with Alastor’s skill, it was easy to keep her from talking. 

But, the slow song always had to come.

And Charlie’s arms found their way around Alastor’s neck, just as his hands rested on her waist, naturally as could be. Being in tight proximity to anyone else would make his skin crawl—but he’d never minded being this close to her.

“You know, Al.” Charlie said, so soft only Alastor could hear. “This doesn’t mean that I forgot about that apology you owe me.” 

Alastor sucked air through his teeth like a sour lemon, but there wasn’t anywhere else to look with her arms around him. 

The demon took a breath before deciding on a new…and entirely unfamiliar tactic. To get back into the Princess’s good graces, he needed to be just a little softer. He could even be sweet—or pretend to be.

“My dear,” he chose his words as deliberately as he could. 

“I admit I could have been more... tactful in our earlier conversation. However,” his voice took on a firmer tone, “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

“You called me thick-headed and a fool, Alastor.” Charlie scowled. 

Alastor winced visibly this time, his perpetual grin faltering for a moment. He cleared his throat, radio static crackling faintly in the background.

He hadn’t meant to hurt her, had he? The thought was…disconcerting. 

“When I spoke of your stubbornness,” he began, His words slipped out in a whisper, gentler than his norm, “I meant it as an admirable trait. Your determination, your unwavering belief—it’s quite remarkable, really.”

Alastor ducked his head until their eyes met. 

“And…well, only a fool would think that they could challenge Heaven or Hell.” He lifted his hand from the small of her back, cupping her chin with a fondness even he could not deny. “Yet, here I stand with the incredible young lady who has bested them both.” 

“Oh, Alastor…” Charlie’s eyes were brimming with those tears again, though these were happy—he assumed. Though the demon had just as little idea what to do with—but soon she was wrapping her arms around him, squeezing his waist and pressing face into his chest. 

Their dance had turned into an intimate embrace, but the Radio Demon didn’t pull away. His chin came to rest on top of her blonde waves. Wondering when he had stopped trying to sway her, and just kept holding her close.

After an eternity that was not near long enough, Charlie turned her cheek to press to the buttons of his blood red shirt. 

“Al,” Charlie murmured, her words barely audible over the music. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, my dear.”

Charlie hesitated, and Alastor had a heartbeat to regret his instant agreement. “Do you really not want to be redeemed?” She lifted her head to look at him with those big glossy eyes, and Alastor felt his smile slip. “Or…do you just think you can’t be?”

And he felt himself torn down the middle. Between the instinct to deflect and protect himself—and the horrific urge to tell her the truth. 

✧✦✧✦⚜️✧✦✧✦

Alastor’s foot caught, nearly missing a step in their slow dance. The slip was imperceptible from the outside—but he knew Charlie felt it, because her hold around him tightened. Like she could keep him from falling. 

“I…my dear.” He hesitated, actually, hesitated. “Charlie…I know what I am, and what I am not.” 

The words fell heavier than he intended, hanging in the air between them.

 Charlie’s amber eyes blazed with an intensity that caught Alastor off guard. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his black vest, pulling him down until their faces were mere inches apart.

“Yeah? Well, maybe—just maybe you don’t know everything, huh?” The Princess challenged, her whisper fierce.

Alastor’s eyebrows shot up, genuinely surprised by her boldness. By her…closeness. It was distracting, to say the least. 

The scent of her blonde hair pulled him back to this morning, the way it and Charlie splayed across his chest. And everything else disappeared. 

Charlie didn’t relent. “I know who you are too, Al. And I know there’s good in you. I’ve seen it, even if you refuse to.”

“Dear little Princess Charlotte.” Alastor retreated into the perfect performance radio host. “Ever the optimist. But I am afraid this dog is too old for new tricks.” A hitched laugh escaped his lips, slipping from humor into something much darker. 

Part of Alastor knew he was baiting her—Charlie was incapable of resisting a lost cause. It was safer territory than bearing his throat to be bled dry. 

Charlie, predictably, had to do the right thing. She gripped on to him tighter. “You won’t scare me off, Alastor.” Her eyes never left his—and he could feel the determination burning. 

Alastor leaned closer, a breath away, his brown eyes turning a deep, menacing red as his pupils became radio slits—radio dials. A reminder that this dapper exterior was just a thin veil over the predator beneath. 

“Are you quite sure about that?” he let his voice into a dangerous whisper.

Charlie didn’t flinch. “Yeah, I am.” Her gaze locked with his.

The challenge hung between them, charged with electricity. Alastor felt a familiar thrill. 

The push and the pull. Her belief verses his doubt. 

But something else was stirring with in Alastor. A desire to prove to Charlie, once and for all, that her faith in him was misplaced. Before he could second-guess himself, Alastor closed what little distance was left between them.

The kiss was hard with defiance, and burning with longing. 

He felt her gasp against his lips, louder in his ears than the appalling music. 

Charlie tasted sweet like cinnamon, her mouth soft with surprise as she stayed frozen in place.

For a fleeting, heart-wrenching moment, Alastor was sure that he had finally found the line and crossed it. 

Until arms wound around his neck to pull him in closer. 

Charlie was kissing him back.

Deepening the kiss until he was the one to gasp—before remembering that he didn’t have teeth sharp enough to cut her tongue.

Alastor was supposed to be proving a point, not enjoying kissing Charlie.

And wishing it never had to end. 

⚜️ Part 6 ~ Speak Easy to Me ⚜️

Part 1 ⚜️Part 2 ⚜️ Part 3 ⚜️ Part 4 ⚜️ Part 5 ⚜️ Part 6 ⚜️ Finale

[whileiamdying]

Howl

BY ALLEN GINSBERG For Carl Solomon

I

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,

angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,

who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,

who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,

who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,

who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,

who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,

who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,

who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night

with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,

incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,

Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,

who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,

who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,

who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,

a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon,

yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,

whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement,

who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,

suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room,   

who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts,

who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night,

who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,   

who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels,

who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,

who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain,

who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa,

who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago,

who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets,

who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,

who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed,

who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,

who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,

who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts,

who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,

who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love,

who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may,

who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword,

who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman’s loom,

who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a candle and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,

who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake,

who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses’ rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,

who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hung-over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices,

who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open to a room full of steam-heat and opium,

who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,

who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery,

who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music,

who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts,

who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology,

who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish,

who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,

who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,

who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade,

who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried,

who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,

who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,

who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles,

who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation,

who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity,

who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,

who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,

who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz,

who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave,

who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury,

who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy,

and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia,

who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,

returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East,

Pilgrim State’s Rockland’s and Greystone’s foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,

with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination—

ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re really in the total animal soup of time—

and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipsis catalogue a variable measure and the vibrating plane,

who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus

to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,

the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death,

and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America’s naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio

with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

II

What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?

Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!

Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!

Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgment! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments!

Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!

Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovahs! Moloch whose factories dream and croak in the fog! Moloch whose smoke-stacks and antennae crown the cities!

Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!

Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream Angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch!

Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky!

Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!

They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!

Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! gone down the American river!

Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!

Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years’ animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time!

Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!

III

Carl Solomon! I’m with you in Rockland    where you’re madder than I am I’m with you in Rockland    where you must feel very strange I’m with you in Rockland    where you imitate the shade of my mother I’m with you in Rockland    where you’ve murdered your twelve secretaries I’m with you in Rockland    where you laugh at this invisible humor I’m with you in Rockland    where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter I’m with you in Rockland    where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio I’m with you in Rockland    where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses I'm with you in Rockland    where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Utica I’m with you in Rockland    where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the harpies of the Bronx I’m with you in Rockland    where you scream in a straightjacket that you’re losing the game of the actual pingpong of the abyss I’m with you in Rockland    where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse I’m with you in Rockland    where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a cross in the void I’m with you in Rockland    where you accuse your doctors of insanity and plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the fascist national Golgotha I’m with you in Rockland    where you will split the heavens of Long Island and resurrect your living human Jesus from the superhuman tomb I’m with you in Rockland    where there are twentyfive thousand mad comrades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale I’m with you in Rockland    where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs all night and won’t let us sleep I’m with you in Rockland    where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls’ airplanes roaring over the roof they’ve come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself    imaginary walls collapse    O skinny legions run outside    O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here    O victory forget your underwear we’re free I’m with you in Rockland    in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night

San Francisco, 1955—1956

Notes: Read “A Footnote to 'Howl” here. Allen Ginsberg, “Howl” from Collected Poems, 1947-1980. Copyright © 1984 by Allen Ginsberg. Used with the permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

[miranda-javid]

Howl

BY ALLEN GINSBERG

For Carl Solomon

I

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,

angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,

who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,

who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,

who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,

who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,

who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,

who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,

who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night

with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,

incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,

Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,

who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,

who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,

who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,

a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon,

yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,

whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement,

who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,

suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room,   

who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts,

who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night,

who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,   

who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels,

who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,

who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain,

who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa,

who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago,

who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets,

who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,

who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed,

who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,

who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,

who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts,

who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,

who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love,

who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may,

who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword,

who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman’s loom,

who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a candle and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,

who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake,

who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses’ rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,

who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hung-over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices,

who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open to a room full of steam-heat and opium,

who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,

who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery,

who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music,

who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts,

who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology,

who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish,

who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,

who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,

who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade,

who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried,

who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,

who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,

who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles,

who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation,

who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity,

who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,

who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,

who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz,

who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave,

who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury,

who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy,

and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia,

who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,

returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East,

Pilgrim State’s Rockland’s and Greystone’s foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,

with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination—

ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re really in the total animal soup of time—

and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipsis catalogue a variable measure and the vibrating plane,

who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus

to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,

the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death,

and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America’s naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio

with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

II

What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?

Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!

Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!

Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgment! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments!

Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!

Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovahs! Moloch whose factories dream and croak in the fog! Moloch whose smoke-stacks and antennae crown the cities!

Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!

Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream Angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch!

Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky!

Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!

They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!

Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! gone down the American river!

Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!

Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years’ animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time!

Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!

III

Carl Solomon! I’m with you in Rockland

   where you’re madder than I am

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you must feel very strange

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you imitate the shade of my mother

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you’ve murdered your twelve secretaries

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you laugh at this invisible humor

I’m with you in Rockland

   where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter

I’m with you in Rockland

   where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio

I’m with you in Rockland

   where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses

I'm with you in Rockland

   where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Utica

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the harpies of the Bronx

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you scream in a straightjacket that you’re losing the game of the actual pingpong of the abyss

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse

I’m with you in Rockland

   where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a cross in the void

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you accuse your doctors of insanity and plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the fascist national Golgotha

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you will split the heavens of Long Island and resurrect your living human Jesus from the superhuman tomb

I’m with you in Rockland

   where there are twentyfive thousand mad comrades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale

I’m with you in Rockland

   where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs all night and won’t let us sleep

I’m with you in Rockland

   where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls’ airplanes roaring over the roof they’ve come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself    imaginary walls collapse    O skinny legions run outside    O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here    O victory forget your underwear we’re free

I’m with you in Rockland

   in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night

[abellinthecupboard]

“Howl, for Carl Solomon” - Part 1:

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by 　　　madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn 　　　looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly 　　　connection to the starry dynamo in the machin- 　　　ery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat 　　　up smoking in the supernatural darkness of 　　　cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities 　　　contemplating jazz, who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and 　　　saw Mohammeddan angels staggering on tene- 　　　ment roofs illuminated, who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes 　　　hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy 　　　among the scholars of war, who were expelled from the academies for crazy & 　　　publishing obscene odes on the windows of the 　　　skull, who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burn- 　　　ing their money in wastebaskets and listening 　　　to the Terror through the wall, who got busted in their pubic beards returning through 　　　Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York, who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in 　　　Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their 　　　torsos night after night with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, al- 　　　cohol and cock and endless balls, incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and 　　　lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of 　　　Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the mo- 　　　tionless world of Time between, Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery 　　　dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, 　　　storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon 　　　blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree 　　　vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brook- 　　　lyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind, who chained themselves to subways for the endless 　　　ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine 　　　until the noise of wheels and children brought 　　　them down shuddering mouth-wracked and 　　　battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance 　　　in the drear light of Zoo, who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's 　　　floated out and sat through the stale beer after- 　　　noon in desolate Fugazzi's, listening to the crack 　　　of doom on the hydrogen jukebox, who talked continuously seventy hours from park to 　　　pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brook- 　　　lyn Bridge, a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping 　　　down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills 　　　off Empire State out of the moon, yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts 　　　and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks 　　　and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars, whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days 　　　and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the 　　　Synagogue cast on the pavement, who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a 　　　trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic 　　　City Hall, suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grind- 　　　ings and migraines of China under junk-with- 　　　drawal in Newark's bleak furnished room, who wandered around and around at midnight in the 　　　railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, 　　　leaving no broken hearts, who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing 　　　through snow toward lonesome farms in grand- 　　　father night, who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telep- 　　　athy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos in- stinctively vibrated their feet in Kansas, 　　　who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking vis- 　　　ionary indian angels who were visionary indian 　　　angels, who thought they were only mad when Baltimore 　　　gleamed in supernatural ecstasy, who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Okla- 　　　homa on the impulse of winter midnight street- 　　　light smalltown rain, who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston 　　　seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the 　　　brilliant Spaniard to converse about America 　　　and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship 　　　to Africa, who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving 　　　behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees 　　　and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fire- 　　　place Chicago, who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the 　　　F.B.I. in beards and shorts with big pacifist 　　　eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incom- 　　　prehensible leaflets, who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting 　　　the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism, who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union 　　　Square weeping and undressing while the sirens 　　　of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed 　　　down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also 　　　wailed, who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked 　　　and trembling before the machinery of other 　　　skeletons, who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight 　　　in policecars for committing no crime but their 　　　own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication, who howled on their knees in the subway and were 　　　dragged off the roof waving genitals and manu- 　　　scripts, who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly 　　　motorcyclists, and screamed with joy, who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, 　　　 the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean 　　　love, who balled in the morning in the evenings in rose- 　　　gardens and the grass of public parks and 　　　cemeteries scattering their semen freely to 　　　whomever come who may, who hiccupped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up 　　　with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath 　　　when the blond & naked angel came to pierce 　　　them with a sword, who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate 　　　the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar 　　　the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb 　　　and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but 　　　sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden 　　　threads of the craftsman's loom, who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of 　　　beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a can- 　　　dle and fell off the bed, and continued along 　　　the floor and down the hall and ended fainting 　　　on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and 　　　come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness, who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling 　　　in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning 　　　but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sun- 　　　rise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked 　　　in the lake, who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad 　　　stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these 　　　poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy 　　　to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls 　　　in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses' 　　　rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with 　　　gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely pet- 　　　ticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station 　　　solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too, who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in 　　　dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and 　　　picked themselves up out of basements hung- 　　　over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third 　　　Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemploy- 　　　ment offices, who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on 　　　the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the 　　　East River to open to a room full of steamheat 　　　and opium, who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment 　　　cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime 　　　blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall 　　　be crowned with laurel in oblivion, who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested 　　　the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of 　　　Bowery, who wept at the romance of the streets with their 　　　pushcarts full of onions and bad music, who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the 　　　bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in 　　　their lofts, who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned 　　　with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded 　　　by orange crates of theology, who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty 　　　incantations which in the yellow morning were 　　　stanzas of gibberish, who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht 　　　& tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable 　　　kingdom, who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for 　　　an egg, who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot 　　　for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks 　　　fell on their heads every day for the next decade, who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccess- 　　　fully, gave up and were forced to open antique 　　　stores where they thought they were growing 　　　old and cried, who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits 　　　on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse 　　　& the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments 　　　of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the 　　　fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinis- 　　　ter intelligent editors, or were run down by the 　　　drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality, who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually hap- 　　　pened and walked away unknown and forgotten 　　　into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alley- 　　　ways & firetrucks, not even one free beer, who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of 　　　the subway window, jumped in the filthy Pas- 　　　saic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, 　　　danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed 　　　phonograph records of nostalgic European 　　　1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and 　　　threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans 　　　in their ears and the blast of colossal steam- 　　　whistles, who barreled down the highways of the past journeying 　　　to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude 　　　watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation, who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out 　　　if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had 　　　a vision to find out Eternity, who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who 　　　came back to Denver & waited in vain, who 　　　watched over Denver & brooded & loned in 　　　Denver and finally went away to find out the 　　　Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes, who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying 　　　for each other's salvation and light and breasts, 　　　until the soul illuminated its hair for a second, who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for 　　　impossible criminals with golden heads and the 　　　charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet 　　　blues to Alcatraz, who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky 　　　Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys 　　　or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or 　　　Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the 　　　daisychain or grave, who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hyp- 　　　notism & were left with their insanity & their 　　　hands & a hung jury, who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism 　　　and subsequently presented themselves on the 　　　granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads 　　　and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding in- 　　　stantaneous lobotomy, and who were given instead of concrete void of insulin 　　　Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psycho- 　　　 therapy occupational therapy pingpong & 　　　amnesia, who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic 　　　pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia, returning years later truly bald except for a wig of 　　　blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible mad- 　　　man doom of the wards of the madtowns of the 　　　East, Pilgrim State's Rockland's and Greystone's foetid 　　　halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rock- 　　　ing and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench 　　　dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a night- 　　　mare bodies turned to stone as heavy as the 　　　moon, with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book 　　　flung out of the tenement window, and the last 　　　door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone 　　　slammed at the wall in reply and the last fur- 　　　nished room emptied down to the last piece of 　　　mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted 　　　on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that 　　　imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of 　　　hallucination— ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and 　　　now you're really in the total animal soup of 　　　time— and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed 　　　with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use 　　　of the ellipse the catalog the meter & the vibrat- 　　　ing plane, who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space 　　　through images juxtaposed, and trapped the 　　　archangel of the soul between 2 visual images 　　　and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun 　　　and dash of consciousness together jumping 　　　with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna 　　　Deus to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human 　　　prose and stand before you speechless and intel- 　　　ligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet con- 　　　fessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm 　　　of thought in his naked and endless head, the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, 　　　yet putting down here what might be left to say 　　　in time come after death, and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in 　　　the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the 　　　suffering of America's naked mind for love into 　　　an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone 　　　cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered 　　　out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand 　　　years.

— Allen Ginsberg, Howl and Other Poems (1956)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Footnote to Howl

[venisontransmission]

🚬 snatched

Send 🚬 for sender's muse to pluck receiver's cigarette out of their mouth.

It was easy enough to forget Lucifer's presence in the hotel at an hour like this. Husker had left the bar for the evening but Alastor still was working on his drink. He's used to being the only one awake at this hour, enjoying the soft jazz that played a familiar tune from the old radio on the bar's counter.

There is a dull feeling of déjà vu at the back of his brain. Memories of evenings like this when he was alive. Mimzy would be preforming a little number on stage, the lights of the speakeasy warped as smoke cast shadows upon the patrons. Piano accompanied her voice as Alastor took a drag of his gasper--

And then the moment is ruined.

The Radio Demon opens his eyes, finding Lucifer with his cigarette, and purposefully exhales a lungful of smoke directly at the fallen angel.

"Your majesty, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

[rotationalsymmetry]

the entirety of howl by Allen Ginsberg, because I can.

(cn sexually explicit, somewhat offensive racial terms, suicide/self harm, disturbing psychiatric treatments — I’m doing this off the top of my head and might be missing something.)

I

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,

angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,

who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,

who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,

who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,

who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,

who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,

who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,

who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night

with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,

incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,

Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,

who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,

who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,

who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,

a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon,

yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,

whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement,

who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,

suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room,   

who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts,

who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night,

who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,   

who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels,

who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,

who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain,

who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa,

who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago,

who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets,

who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,

who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed,

who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,

who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,

who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts,

who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,

who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love,

who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may,

who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword,

who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman’s loom,

who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a candle and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,

who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake,

who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses’ rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,

who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hung-over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices,

who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open to a room full of steam-heat and opium,

who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,

who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery,

who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music,

who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts,

who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology,

who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish,

who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,

who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,

who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade,

who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried,

who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,

who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,

who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles,

who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation,

who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity,

who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,

who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,

who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz,

who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave,

who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury,

who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy,

and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia,

who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,

returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East,

Pilgrim State’s Rockland’s and Greystone’s foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,

with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination—

ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re really in the total animal soup of time—

and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipsis catalogue a variable measure and the vibrating plane,

who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus

to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,

the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death,

and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America’s naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio

with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

II

What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?

Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!

Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!

Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgment! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments!

Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!

Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovahs! Moloch whose factories dream and croak in the fog! Moloch whose smoke-stacks and antennae crown the cities!

Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!

Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream Angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch!

Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky!

Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!

They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!

Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! gone down the American river!

Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!

Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years’ animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time!

Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!

III

Carl Solomon! I’m with you in Rockland

   where you’re madder than I am

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you must feel very strange

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you imitate the shade of my mother

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you’ve murdered your twelve secretaries

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you laugh at this invisible humor

I’m with you in Rockland

   where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter

I’m with you in Rockland

   where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio

I’m with you in Rockland

   where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses

I'm with you in Rockland

   where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Utica

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the harpies of the Bronx

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you scream in a straightjacket that you’re losing the game of the actual pingpong of the abyss

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse

I’m with you in Rockland

   where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a cross in the void

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you accuse your doctors of insanity and plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the fascist national Golgotha

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you will split the heavens of Long Island and resurrect your living human Jesus from the superhuman tomb

I’m with you in Rockland

   where there are twentyfive thousand mad comrades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale

I’m with you in Rockland

   where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs all night and won’t let us sleep

I’m with you in Rockland

   where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls’ airplanes roaring over the roof they’ve come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself    imaginary walls collapse    O skinny legions run outside    O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here    O victory forget your underwear we’re free

I’m with you in Rockland

   in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night

[radioconstructed]

⌖ This WAS supposed to be about the horrid custom Allegra Chicken socks + Margielas, but I’m FLOORED by how much I look like my MOTHER! <3

[wormstacheangel]

Smiles with a Christmas Kiss

Merry Christmas @professorerudite 

Summary: Dean and Cas are left behind in the bunker on Christmas Eve. A regular movie day is planned but it slowly becomes a lot more.

It’s Christmas Eve and the bunker was quiet. It was just him and his best friend in this big place, their footsteps echoed the halls like no other time before. When it was just him and Sam the place always felt okay. It was home and it was nice but with Cas - finally human and finally staying - the place felt warm. It was a damn home again. 

Jack followed Sam and Eileen on a holiday trip to Ireland. Of course, Dean had to refuse. Thinking of the long plane ride alone was making him feel sick. Though he insisted Cas should tag along with them - go see the world and all that jazz - he didn’t budge. Insisting he just wants to stay in the bunker. 

Dean didn’t argue. It was nice not to be alone during the holiday season but at the same time, he hoped Cas didn’t stay behind just for him. Dean would have done what he always did for Christmas. Go to a bar full of lonely people and find someone, or someone’s, to have some fun holiday party on a motel bed. 

Well, that’s what he would like to think he would have done, heck maybe a long time ago he would have done just that, but now it’s different. He hasn’t gone to a bar looking to hook up with anyone in years and he wasn’t going to start now. After throwing excuse after excuse at himself about why his libido just went into a downward spiral, fighting God and all that shit really wasn’t a good excuse for him apparently, it all came down to one angel. Well, person now. 

“Good morning, Dean.” Cas walked into the kitchen, dragging his bunny slippers across the cold floor and towards the coffee machine. 

Dean watched as Cas poured himself a big mug full and then sat across from him on the kitchen table to join him. Dean already had the sugar and creamer on the table, prepared for Cas who always gets up a few minutes after him. 

As soon as he took a sip he smiled into his mug and Dean rested his chin on the palm of his hand as he watched. Enjoying the way Cas’s eyes crinkle at the side when he smiled with his eyes closed. He even shivered just a little as the hot drink ran down his body, holding the hot mug in between both his hands and close to his face. 

“Morning, Sunshine.” Dean finally tells him as Cas placed his mug down on the table to smile back at him. 

He could live like this for the rest of his life. As much as Dean wanted more, he was okay with this. Having Cas like this. Seeing him like this. Shaggy hair that curls up at the tips and stubble that was already too long but must feel so good against Dean’s skin. Cas’s baggy sweatpants that fall too low on his hips and Dean’s old band tees that were exclusively worn for sleep cling to his muscled frame. 

Cas was just art that he could enjoy looking at but not touch. At least not the way he dreams to touch.

A happy sigh escapes Cas’s lips as he rolls his shoulders back and reaches for the untouched toast on Dean’s plate. “Merry Christmas Eve by the way.” He took a bite of the toast with butter and then made a face before he reached for the jam. Sweet tooth. He took another bite before he started talking with his mouth full. “I know you don’t celebrate but I still hope we can watch that movie you wanted to show me.”

Dean hummed in response as he sat up straighter, reaching for his coffee to have his hands do something. “We can do that.”

“Which reminds me we also need to go grocery shopping. We’re running low on supplies.”

“Cookies?”

“Exactly.” Cas winked at him.

Dean laughed and it always felt like he was floating when it was Cas who made him laugh. Yeah, he can live like this. If he can have these mornings everyday then he can live with Cas as his friend.

Grocery shopping took a while even though the place was mostly empty. Dean had a list and Cas kept ignoring it to add random junk he wanted to taste. Some of the stuff Dean hasn’t even tasted himself, “Then we can experience it together.” Was all Cas said and Dean couldn’t argue with him on that.

“What do people do on Christmas Eve?” Cas asked when they walked back to the car to load the groceries. “That child looked at us with pity when we told him we didn’t have any plans for today.”

“Dude, how am I supposed to know?”

“You know more than me.”

“The last real Christmas I had - I was three, Cas.” Dean opened the trunk of the Impala to start stuffing the bags. “Plus, I’m pretty sure that I imagine all those happy memories I had with my Mom and Dad.”

“I’m sure some were real, Dean.” Cas placed the last of the bags in the trunk as he looked at him with a small smile. Pity smile. “You’re Mother loved you so I’m sure she would have done her best to give you-”

“Cas,” Dean sighed as he closed the trunk with a loud thud. “I just want to watch some movies and sit on the couch with you and a tray full of nachos. I don’t want to psychoanalyze my childhood.”

“Ah.” Cas nodded, another smile. This one was softer and warmer. A smile that felt reserved for just Dean. Cas’s cheeks were even rosy from the cold wind piercing through their many layers. “Understood. I’ll take the cart back and you start the car then.”

Dean watched Cas walk away, scratching the back of his head when he saw him walk back into the grocery store. He was going to go after him but decided to do what he was told and just start the car. Maybe they needed a quick getaway.

Cas returned a few moments later with nothing in his hands.

“Dude, what the hell?”

Cas just shrugged and put his hands up to the heater. “Thank you for waiting for me.”

That was the only response he knew he was going to get from his angel - oh wow! Not his. Not even a damn angel anymore. 

Dean drove them home while Cas turned on the radio. Tapping his fingers on his knee to the beat of the music. Dean wondered how Cas would react if he just reached over and twined their hands together but instead he gripped the steering wheel tighter. 

It was already late when Dean called Cas over to watch the movie. He was going to go with Die Hard, his childhood Christmas movie he watched with Dad, but Dean had a feeling that Cas wanted a movie where it was actually about Christmas. So he picked his other childhood Christmas movie. A Christmas Story.

Cas walked in, his blanket already in tow, and took a seat on one end of the couch. Dean sat on the other with the nachos tray right in between them. Cas sat with his legs crossed and tucked into a corner, almost facing Dean, while he reached into the food before the movie even began to play.

“So you watched this as a kid?” Cas said, mouth full and head tilted as Dean settled on his side of the couch. 

“Yup.” Was all Dean said as he handed Cas a beer and pressed play.

It was only the first few minutes when Ralph walked in with a full cowboy getup that Cas laughed and when he met Dean’s curious eyes, enjoying every second of that rare laugh. Cas pointed at Ralph and then him. “Dean that’s you.” He laughed harder as soon as the words left his mouth and Dean hit him with a pillow. 

The nachos were moved to the table in front of them, where Dean had his feet propped up.

Cas continued to make little comments as the movie went on.

“Ah, reminds me of that whoopee cushion prank you did on me.” Cas noted as he took a sip of beer. 

“All of that for a damn tongue on a pole?” Cas sounded so annoyed that Dean spits out his beer laughing.

They somehow moved closer on the couch with every little comment Cas made. From the mention of yellow eyes. To ask what was put in Ralph’s mouth after he said fudge. (“Dude he said fuck.” “So? You say it all the time.” “I’m a grown man.” “Oh. Children can’t say it?”)

As soon as Ralph said son of a bitch Cas was somehow already shoulder to shoulder with Dean. He laughed, his shoulders shaking, before turning to look at Dean with that big smile again. Dean never thought anybody could look as beautiful as Cas did when he grinned at him like that.

“Dean, I told you that’s you.” He smiled and Dean didn’t have it in him to argue, even as a joke. Instead, he nodded, smiling back at Cas, while his grinch heart grew three sizes. 

This was supposed to be a safe nonromantic movie but Dean hasn’t watched it in a while. He forgot the ending when the parents sat in the dark, just like they were in now, and enjoyed the snow falling. With only the Christmas lights shining. 

A few years ago he wouldn’t have thought it was romantic - there was no kissing or grunting in this scene what so ever- but the soft touches is what he craves now. He was already so close to Cas as it is. Feeling the warmth radiate off his best friend while his blanket was now over both their laps, he doesn’t even remember when that happened. 

He was already so close. Dean could turn his head and his nose could be buried in Cas’s hair, the smell of nature still follows Cas around, and he could hold him. Hold him like he has always wanted to hold Cas, with no immediate danger or death hanging over them. He just wanted to hold Cas because he wanted to hold him. No reason.

Cas leaned into him a little more, untucking his feet from underneath him so he could lay them flat on the ground. Dean noticed every fidget of Cas’s fingers and he wondered if Cas was uncomfortable with the closeness but then in a sudden move Cas had an arm around Dean’s shoulders. Cas cleared his throat as he squeezed Dean’s shoulder closer to him - trying to act like this was a normal thing for them- while Dean stared at him with wide eyes. 

Dean couldn’t find the words. He wanted to say some dumb joke or push Cas off but he stopped himself. Instead, he relaxed under the touch and leaned into it. 

“Oh, um, the movie ended.” Cas cleared his throat while he started to pull his hand away.

“I’ll, um, I’ll just - let me pick another one.” Dean reached for the remote and picked a random movie in the Christmas category and pressed play. Then he leaned back into the couch again and Cas’s arm was around him again. 

Dean doesn’t remember how many movies they watched that night or how he ended up falling asleep on a couch too small to hold two grown men. But he didn’t care because now he had Cas’s fingers making small circles on his back and the touch was so gentle.

“Merry Christmas, Dean.” Cas must have known he woke up. 

So Dean folded his arms over Cas’s chest and looked down at him. He could feel the dumb smile on his mouth. “Merry Christmas, Cas.”

“I know it’s customary to give gifts now.” Cas started reaching for something on the floor while Dean opened his mouth to argue but Cas looked at him with those just-shut-up-Dean raised eyebrows so he listened. “It’s something small I got at the grocery store so I’m sorry it’s not something you may want but I believe you deserve a Christmas gift, Dean.”

They both sat up when Cas pulled out a small shiny gift bag with a Christmas tree right out front. Dean wondered when Cas even had time to get this or sneak it in as he sat crisscross back on the couch while Cas copied him. Handing over the present with a wry smile.

“I didn’t even get you anything, Cas.” Dean started saying, hesitant to get the present. 

Cas shrugged. “You can make it up to me later. Now take it.”

Dean took it and it didn’t even have tissue paper to hide what was inside. Dean laughed as he pulled out a few Reese’s shaped like a Christmas tree, some DVD of a movie he hasn’t even heard of so it must be new, and a gift card for Dominos pizza.

“These are great, Cas.” Dean laughed looking down at his gifts. “Looks like you already planned our next date night.”

“I did?” Cas looked down at his presents before looking back at Dean with wide eyes. “Date night?”

“I mean, only if you want to-”

“I want to!” Cas quickly leaned into Dean’s space again and he probably didn’t mean to lean in so close but Dean was also not thinking as he met him halfway to press their lips together. It was just a quick kiss before they pulled apart. 

Dean didn’t say anything as they sat back on their seats. Staring at anything but each other. 

Cas cleared his throat. “Was that my Christmas gift?”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, I’m cheap.”

“Can I have another gift then?” Cas asked, leaning his head down so he could catch Dean’s downward gaze. He was blushing -fuck he was blushing- as he smiled at him again and Dean was taken back to that morning. Where he thought that he could live with just having that smile in his life but now he knows how that smile felt against his own.

Dean only nodded once before Cas fell back into him. Their lips smashing together into a grinning kiss, teeth smacking together, as Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’s waist to pull him closer. Then he pulled away just enough to kiss Cas again, slowly as he took everything in. Cas’s weight on his lap. Cas’s fingers on his face while he held the back of his neck. The soft noises Cas kept making at the back of his throat as they moved against each other that was making Dean crazy. 

He can have this. Can have Cas and it was a damn Christmas miracle that Cas was dumb enough to want Dean the same way. And fuck his stubble did feel great against his skin.

“Merry Christmas, Cas.” Dean said when they pulled apart to breathe, their foreheads touching. 

Cas grinned, a small laugh shook his body and Dean felt every shake that was in his arms. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”

Thanks @destielsecretsanta2020 for this fun project! 

[chokemeanakin]

Give Me Love

Chapter Nine

Wc: 2.2k

MASTERLIST

It took weeks before you got a conclusive word on how things were going on Kamino. You spent every day throwing yourself into work, staving off the thoughts of what might be happening to people fighting that battle-- to Anakin fighting that battle.

It was selfish to miss him, but you couldn’t help it. You wanted him back here with you, catching your eyes from across the room, smiling at you in the mess hall, nodding at you in passing. You wanted to go to Dex’s with him, to fly in his starfighter, to sleep next to him. You wanted that swirling tempest of an angel back under your fingertips, taming it as you studied everything that should have made him human.

Even your weekly breakfast-dinner’s at Dex’s with Sabe and Ahsoka had to hold off as the tense atmosphere of the Temple seemed to leach out onto the streets of Coruscant, the citizens holding their breath as they waited for an attack. Ahsoka was busy with Jedi duties, and Sabe worked tirelessly to sign a bill that would send more troops to back them up on Kamino.

You watched, day after day, as medics were deployed out. You were one of the only ones left in the Temple, and it made you angry how they held you back. Were you not of the best medics here? No one else had training like you, no one else had experience like you. How could you just sit back and watch as everyone left for Kamino except you?

The stress of it all became too much. One night, you decided you couldn’t toss and turn in bed anymore, plagued with the constant “what-if’s” racing through your mind. You dragged yourself out of bed, threw on a dress, and headed toward The Core.

It was a nightclub, but a little less rowdy than the ones found in the deeper ends of the city. A jazz band played on stage, aliens of all shapes and sizes milling about. They carried drinks and ate food and played cards. You sat at the bar, nursing a small drink as you took it all in. People-watching always helped quiet your mind.

“You’re far too young to look so troubled,” a gruff voice spoke next to you.

Without sparing it a glance, you shrugged. You kind of expected someone to come on to you, as it was almost guaranteed if you were a young woman alone at a bar on a Friday night. You were prepared for it, but you still didn’t want to deal with it.

“Oh come on,” the voice teased. “You don’t want to tell me what’s wrong?”

He didn’t sound like he was coming onto you. In fact, his inquisition seemed nice enough. You decided to spare him, glancing over to see a blue man with bulbous antennae coming out of his head. His eyes were black through and through, and a patchy silver beard hugged the lower half of his face.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you replied, pleasant. He took it as an invitation to occupy the stool next to you.

“You’re frowning like your husband died in war.”

You jolted as if you’d been struck. Furrowing your brows at him, your anger took control. “That’s a very inconsiderate thing to say at a time like this.”

“My apologies,” blue lips pulled into an impish smile. “I see I’ve struck a chord. Does this mean you have a husband off fighting?”

“No,” you swallowed your drink hard, burning as it slid down your throat.

“No husband? Then it looks like I could have you all to myself.”

You leaned away from his touch, the hand reaching for your cheek pausing in midair. He let it drop, laughing. “What? Too scared to have some fun?”

“With you, anyone would be scared.”

His silence caused your heart to stutter in fear for a moment, wandering if you’d now struck a chord. Your hand inched toward the knife you kept strapped to your ankle in case you had to use it.

“You fucking virgin,” he spit, and the words punched you straight in the gut. “No one would want to fuck you anyway.”

You’d been on the receiving end of angry, rejected male rants many times before. In each instance, they’d never bothered you. You’d been called a slut, whore, a dirty bitch, every name under the sun really. But never that. You fucking virgin. That one was new.

And personal.

Out of all of them, this one sent shockwaves through your system as if you’d been slapped.

What’s wrong with being a virgin? You wanted to call after him. Why is that a bad thing?

Unable to get your rolling emotions under control, you decided it might just be best to head home. It was getting awfully late, and you didn’t want to be on the streets when the bars closed.

The blue man’s slurred insult pushed at your mind the entire way back to your apartment. Admittedly, tears stung at your eyes a few times, but you managed to stave them off until you got to your room. You walked into the bathroom and caught your reflection in the mirror, your smoky makeup and messy hair didn’t give off any pure or innocent vibes. How had that man been able to tell?

If he could, does that mean Anakin could as well?

Stressed tears finally broke through the dam you had built up. You turned away from the mirror, unable to look at yourself any longer. Tragic, your mind hissed. People are dying in war, and you’re crying over being a virgin.

You were quick to stop the tears, opting to take a shower and drown in self pity as you watched the water run down the drain. How had life gotten so dull? Before Anakin, you’d been able to find joy in the mundane tasks of your everyday routine. But now, with Anakin off fighting, and you not knowing if he was alright or not… everything was grey.

It’s not like you’d never seen him off to battle before. Ever since you began working in the temple last year, Anakin had been deployed countless times. He was rarely in the Temple more than he was off on some other planet, pushing back at Separatist forces and making a name for himself on the Holonet as the Hero with No Fear. But this time was different. This time, you knew the touch of those hands and the twinkle of that smile. How his curls tickled your neck, and heart beat beneath your palm. Every second he was out there, his life was in danger of being ripped away from him. Away from you.

Anakin will come back, Ahsoka had assured you. He always does.

Those were the only words you would allow to enter your mind as you drifted off into a restless sleep. You had barely woken up when you were being shoved onto a ship, zipping up your field suit and buckling yourself into a transport ship to head to Kamino.

You weren’t nervous, not one bit. This was exactly what you wanted. Your mind zeroed in on the tasks that you would be met with once you touched down--

“The fighting on Kamino is over, but the Republic has faced heavy losses. We need every medic we can spare out there, which is why you’re heading there now,” your boss, Rico, shoved a field suit into your hands and a medcase on top of it. “Don’t expect it to be pretty.”

“It never is.”

Strangely, you felt calmer now than you had in weeks. With every second this transport ship was in the sky, you grew closer and closer to Anakin. You itched to see him, but you also itched to work. To rush around the aftermath of battle and hush wounded men’s cries, to free them of their pain, and ensure that they would live another day.

It took hours to get to Kamino, and when you arrived, it was already beginning to turn into dusk. Smoke filled the sky, billowing up from buildings all over Topica City, blood washing off the platforms and into the roiling sea below.

You hit the ground running, moving from clone to clone as you assessed their wounds, patching up the ones you could, helping the ones that could walk to the medical transport, and marking too many for bodybags. Bit by bit, the awful groan that seemed to come from the core of the city itself quieted, until the last clone was being loaded into a medical transport. You wiped your hands on your field suit, caked with blood as if you had been in battle yourself.

With the tasks at hand done, your mind was left to wander. Technically, you were supposed to get on the same ship you had arrived on to go back. But… there was someone you wanted to find first.

“Y/n,” a male spoke behind you, the first non-clone you’d heard in hours. Your heart jumped into your throat, until you turned around and saw that it wasn’t who you hoped.

“General Kenobi,” your eyes immediately landed on the way he clutched at his shoulder. “You’re hurt-- let me help.”

“Perceptive, as always,” Kenobi grimaced through a smile as you urged him to sit on an overturned crate. He shook his head, and then looked toward a ship behind him. “The Council needs us back right away— if you don’t mind hitching a ride with us.”

Of course you didn’t. You followed him to the Republic cruiser, stepping on to find clones wearing yellow and blue armor, running around to get the ship started.

“At ease, men,” Kenobi calmed them as he limped past. “This battle was a difficult one-- take some time to rest.”

Your eyes softened at his words. You could tell by the way every clone you saw had blood spattered over the white of their armor, how the ones with their helmets off were pale and stricken, how they all seemed to work in silent shock. They had been through hell.

You were glad they had Kenobi to look out for them. He was one of the best Jedi you knew, as well as a good man. He had vouched for you ever since arriving on Coruscant after running away from Noxella. Your home planet had cancelled your certifications, as you had left illegitimately, and the Temple wasn’t going to take you in to work at the medbay like you hoped. Kenobi stood up for you-- you were young, and already so gifted. Why should they waste such talent?

It was mere coincidence that he also happened to be the Master and best friend of the man who occupied a special place in your heart. Kenobi, as a result, had always earned your utmost respect.

“How did this happen?” you asked as he made it to the piloting station. He sat in a chair at the back of the room, requesting gently for the clones to find their own rest, before taking off his shirt. His shoulder was purple and crooked, very obviously wrenched from its natural position.

“Unfortunately, being thrown off the top of the building and catching yourself on a loose rafter isn’t the best for your shoulder joint.”

“I couldn’t have guessed,” you played along, keeping things light hearted to calm his nerves. There was no need-- Kenobi was always calm. You’re not sure how he did it, but his presence was soothing you right now. You’re not sure he even meant to, especially because he must be in excruciating pain.

You examined his shoulder, noting the extent to which it hunched out of place. Sometimes it was difficult to determine if it was a subluxation or complete dislocation, but you were pretty certain Kenobi’s was the latter.

“I’m going to have to set this now,” you gave him the bad news. “But afterwards, the pain should ease up.”

“Do your worst.”

He looked absolutely exhausted, and weary, and beaten down. It tore your heart apart, seeing one of the Republic’s bravest heroes so worn out. He didn’t even look like he minded the pain, rather his eyes were filled with a deep sorrow that made you want to take all of the hurt away.

You could fix one thing, so you turned your focus on extending his arm out straight, one hand gripping onto his elbow and the other positioning your palm onto the out-of-place joint. With a steady and firm pressure, you pull on his arm until the bone popped back into place, earning a low groan from the older Jedi.

“Anakin,” he grit out of his teeth, eyes fluttering as he caught sight of a presence behind you. “Perfect timing.”

You turned your head, hands still holding Obi-Wan’s arm in place. Your heart began to beat double time as the weeks of worrying and stressing melted away.

There he was.

He stood tall in his black leather armor, curls dark and dripping with Kaminoan rain. His skin was pale and grey circles stained his undereyes, but he was beautiful as ever. Here, alive, and in once piece.

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