#Lucifer will forever be haunted by the fact that he has the most questionable type-

[shadebloopnik]

Debating whether I should make Alastor a cannibal in my angelic Alastor Au. But also bc if I did i'd imagine conversations go like this

Lucifer: YOU'RE A CANNIBAL?!?!!??

Alastor: Now now, in my defense-

Alastor: It's not exactly cannibalism if they're not my species now is it- I mean, they're demons not angels, and come on-

Lucifer: YOU LITERALLY TRIED TO EAT ADAM'S CORPSE-

Alastor: Ah HAH! Adam, my dear, is a HUMAN soul, SO-

Lucifer:

[books-and-catears]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write some headcanons on how the brothers would react to the alternate timeline MC (the one killed by belphie, rip) haunting the house of lamentation? I just think some angst would be neato. Keep up the good work! I love your writing <3

Oh how much I love this concept. With all the ghost MCs I've been writing this fits in perfectly. How I love writing angst hehehe thank you for this wonderful ask

Thank you so much for your kindness. I hope I can do this justice :')

It has been months since you've been gone. Your body buried in the human world, and yet your soul still felt like it was lingering.

They could see you - a glimpse here, a whisper there and your presence everywhere. Almost as if you just walked past them into your room, and lay curled up in bed with Satan's new books or Levi's new manga. Only you weren't.

The bumps in your bed were just pillows and blankets. The extra chair stood out like a sore thumb. They would so often call you and then feel stupid for expecting a response. Except you had started answering back now.

Lucifer could often hear paper rustling in his sleep. And when he woke up he found the paper work was done more than he remembered doing.

He found his favourite tea brewing whenever he was too tired. And it tasted exactly how you used to make it.

At first he thought it was some sort of sickening joke from his brothers so he threatened to punish them if they didn't come clean. But it was none of them.

Then...MC? Did you come back somehow?

He went into a secret frenzy, looking for you everywhere. Sometimes when the house was empty, he screamed out your name, he could hear your voice softly calling back from your room.

Soon those soft vague sounds became his only comfort - he became super strict about silence in the house. He refused to have any other tea than the one he found magically brewing. He'd always kiss the cups before drinking from them, and his eyes would sting with unshed tears.

___________________________________________

Mammon might be scared of ghosts. But not you. Never you. Especially when he could feel your weight in his arms whenever he missed you too much.

Maybe the sensation was more vivid, since he was the last one to hold you alive. He could also see you. A faint shadow that walked beside and waved to him whenever he was in your room.

And though the shadow had no face, he could tell it was smiling. He felt calm around it. Like you never left. He denied your death the most and now there was reason to.

He barely left the house and most of the time he just stayed in your room. That's where he had most memories with you. Sometimes he found coins and Grimm strewn around your bed, as if you'd left it there for him. He took them and stored them away, never to spend them.

He was overjoyed when he saw your shadow in his room. He started talking to it like it was you, pressing his lips against the walls where you appeared and watching your shadow reaching up to touch his shadow, holding it tight. In those moments he swore he could feel your arms around him again. And on those nights, his pillows would be drenched with his agony.

___________________________________________

Leviathan first noticed it when he saw that Player 2 was always logged in, in all of his games. Even the ones that came months after you were longer there.

And while player two didn't actively play, he found boost items in his game inventory that he didn't achieve himself. You used to hunt down boost items to help with his battles and he protected you during the fights.

He starts getting even more into gaming, to the point where he forgets to go out for meals. Mammon and Satan have to drag him out to eat. He often just sits there talking to himself as if you're still there.

Then one day, in the group texts of the game, he sees you text. Player 2: 'Go get him Levi! I got your back; we have a lot of ammo!" He forgot the game altogether desperately typing back a message.

You don't text as often as he would like, but he's always waiting for whatever you say. It's easily the best part of his day. If he fell asleep in front of the screen, he would wake up covered with a blanket and good morning message on screen. His brothers claim to never have gone inside so he knows it's you. He cries into the blanket you covered him with cause he misses you.

___________________________________________

Satan came to feel your presence in the strangest way. There was a particular cat that you were attached to. That cat started finding ways to sneak inside the house, in the library or Satan's room, holding small books in its mouth.

When Satan opened them up, he found petals of your favourite flowers tucked away in some particular pages. It resembled the way you marked your favorite chapters using colored bits of paper or bookmarks.

He figured out a way to talk to you. He made something that resembled an Ouija board and left a little cat shaped button on it. He tried it out in your room, and it worked. You were talking back. Not whole sentences but broken phrases and words. So he used yes and no questions from then onwards.

He often found new books in his room, a hint that you wanted him to read them. While reading, he could swear he felt your head rest on his shoulder as if trying to read with him. He also left books in your room to read. Though he missed your touch and your voice, the fact that you still talk to him gave him so much joy. He often kisses the books he gives you, hoping they reach your fingers and litters the pages with tear stains in hopes you'd see them and come back.

___________________________________________

Asmodeus screamed the first time he saw you behind him in the mirror. You were transculent, barely visible. But it was you and your distinct smile and wave of the hand, leaning against his bathroom wall, long streaks of dried blood near your neck. He could even smell you - your scent like flowers, firewood and old books.

He tries to talk to you, even tries to hold you but you're just an image. A reflection that reflects nothing but empty space. You don't seem to talk but you nod or shake your head in reply. He presses himself into the mirror as if trying to hug you tight.

But lately he hears whispers, very faint and barely there but he hears them. Always calling him somewhere where there is a mirror. Cause that's the only place he can see you. If you thought he was obsessed with mirrors then, you should see him now.

He almost covered his whole room up with mirrors so he could see you from all angles, making you feel as alive as he possibly could. He screams your name into his pillows. Maybe you would respond if he was louder?

___________________________________________

Beelzebub often passed by you room, all covered now, just like Lilith's. The door was always kept open but he didn't dare enter. But one day, a strong gust of wind blew it wide open as if urging him to enter. So he did.

On the bed he found some fresh treats placed right in the middle of your bed. It was the treats he loved to eat together with you. How did they even get here?

He sat on the bed and absent mindedly started eating. When he ate, he could hear your laughter and you talking - a surge of memories flooding his senses. And when he was done, he could swear he felt your fingers wiping his mouth.

Eversince then he refused to eat anywhere except your room and his brothers had to drag him to the table during breakfast and dinner. But whenever a new bakery or restaurant opened, he would bring all the food back only to eat it in your room. And he would smile, listening to saying how delicious the food is. He would often clutch at his chest and cry, missing the way you used to hold him whenever he was sad. Won't you come hold him now, MC?

___________________________________________

Belphegor couldn't feel a thing. The only way he knew you were still here was when he brothers acted strangely. He'd ask them of course, but they'd never reply to him. He was the reason MC was gone. Why would MC show themself to him?

So he observed his brothers, always cautious for every little thing that was out of place. He'd caught all his brothers crying at some point or the other. Especially in your room. So he'd curl up in your room to spend the night in there hoping to feel you like his brothers. Only he never did, and Mammon and Satan would scream and drag him out the next morning.

None of the brothers would let him inside of their own rooms either. They couldn't save you when it mattered. So now it was their way of protecting whatever essence was left of you.

Feeling dejected and guilty he went and locked himself inside his old attic. He rested his against the bars that locked him in. Isn't this where he first met you, MC? Sigh. You'd been nothing but kind to him so why did he-

"Belphie.." Then he heard it. For the first time in forever, he heard your voice again. Soft and kind - just like before. He looked up and through the bars, he saw the most familiar sight. You smiling at him through the bars, your fingers wrapped around yours. And just like that he broke down. He started howling in pain, as he tried to reach you, but his fingers slipped right through you. "I'm sorry I'm sorry come back please come back!" He cried as you disappeared into thin air again.

My Masterlist .

[adhdeancas]

Sunset Sound: Made in Heaven

Read Chapter 5 on AO3 here.

“Alright, ladies and gents, let’s do this.” Pamela rubs her hands together. They’re all crowded around a table, having hauled Pamela’s magic crap in. She looks around at them like they’re all gathered around for a campfire ghost story. “So, rumor has it that you can crack into the Empty with an inter-realm spell. So… we need somebody from each of the ball fields: Heaven, Earth, Hell, Purgatory.” 

Charlie whistles. “Great. Well, we got the Heaven side covered. Earth is probably next easiest, right?” 

“Except we can’t run the risk of Chuck finding out what we’re up to. So, down low. Evasive measures.” 

Dean nods at Ash. “Sam’s got a handle on the Earth shit; he’s a little magic freak now. No offense.” he puts a hand on Pamela. She rolls her eyes. “But how do we get a message down to him without setting Chuck off? Not like we can send a halo-ed carrier pigeon.”

They all think on it for a second, till Pamela leans forward. “The veil. If we can contact a ghost, they can haunt Sam and get him the message.” 

Charlie raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t ghosts known for being kind of… crazy? Murderous?”

“Huge dicks?” Ash adds helpfully. 

Pamela shrugs. “We could find one that’s recently died; there’s the possibility they wouldn’t have turned yet. But we’d have to know who we’re contacting, we can’t just put out a classified.” 

Something pings in the back of Dean’s head and he slams his hand on the table. He apologizes quickly because damn near everyone jumps at the noise. “I got it. Kevin. Kevin Tran. He’s in the veil still, and he’s spent a fuckton of time down there, he’d know how to haunt somebody good.” 

“And is he going to want to help us?” 

Dean frowns at Pamela. “What does that mean?” 

“I mean, people don’t usually end well around you, Dean. Case in point,” she motions around the table at all of them. “It’s not your fault but… sometimes there are hard feelings.” 

Dean shakes his head. He deserves hard feelings from Kevin, that’s for sure, but the kid’s awesome. Hell, last time he’d seen them he’d been almost happy, even signing up to stay in the veil forever. “Nah, we can trust Kevin. He’s family.” 

“Alright. Fire her up then, Pam,” Ash is excited. Pamela shoots him a glare for impatience but she gets her shit together anyway. It’s already set up, all she has to do is ask Dean for a few personal details, chant a bit, and she gets through. “We’re asking for Kevin Tran. Kevin Tran, if you’re out there, Dean Winchester wants a word. Well, a few actually. Kevin, can you hear me?” 

The draft spigot turns on by itself, spewing beer onto the floor. “Hey Kev, want a beer?” Dean jumps up and grabs a glass, pumped at the prospect of seeing his friend again.” 

“That’s it, Kevin. You’re doing great. Keep trying, keep locking into that.” 

The candles on the table go out one by one: apparently, Kevin practicing. Dean holds his breath and shuts off the draft spigot, a glass of beer held out in front of him. “Can ghosts drink? Wait, are you even 21, Kevin?” 

“The kid’s dead and you’re gonna huff and puff over the legal age for a Pilsner?” Ash laughs. Dean hands it to him; he has a point. Maybe Jack’s made him a little overprotective of shit like that. 

Kevin appears in front of Dean then, hand outstretched to try and take the beer. His sudden appearance makes Dean spill half of it all over himself. “Son of a- hi Kevin!” he offers the beer out again, and this time Kevin takes it and pours it right through his ghostly figure. “Oh… shit.” 

Kevin deadpans at him. “Yeah, it sucks. Hi, Dean.” 

“How you doing, bud?” 

Kevin shrugs and sighs, looking down at himself. “Well, I’m dead. Still. Dean, you wanna explain what I’m doing here first?” 

Dean nods, grabbing the beer back from Kevin and setting it on the table. He motions for the kid to turn around toward the table set up with witchy shit. “Kevin, this is Ash, Charlie, and Pamela, the psychic who summoned you.” Pamela and Ash both give a flirty wink, which makes Dean turn about three shades of red in the face. 

“Heard a lot, kid.” Ash greets him.

“Yeah, I’ve never heard of any dead guy with such bad luck.” Pamela adds on. And she would know.

Kevin nods with a wry smile. “Yeah, well, that’s just me, I guess. Dead for years, in the veil most of it and hell for the rest.”

“Kev, I’m so sorry-” 

Kevin holds up a hand to stave off Dean’s apologies. “It’s not your fault, Dean. It’s Chuck’s. Tell me you got him.” 

“That’s what we’re here for, man.” 

“Yeah, apparently we’re the Kill God Team now.” Charlie grins and Kevin smiles back. 

“Hell fucking yeah. I can get on board with that. Whaddya need me to do?” 

They all sit down at the table and map it all out. “We need you to get the plan over to Sam, but we can’t have Chuck finding out about any of it.”

“Yeah, so you need to make sure he knows to keep a low profile.” Dean warns. The last fucking thing in the world they need is to lose the element of surprise. Plus, that would put Sam right in Chuck’s crosshairs, and Dean can’t be there to back him up. He curses himself again for dying. 

“What exactly do we mean by low profile?” Charlie asks. “Are we talking cabin in the middle of the woods off-grid kind of low profile or just a Meet the Robinson’s type deal?”

Dean sighs. “Sam needs to stay away from anything Chuck likes to watch.” God, it sounded grimy just saying it. “That means hunting, that means me, that means… Eileen too.” 

“Eileen?” 

“His girlfriend.” It hurts Dean to think about, but- “Chuck’s used them against each other before; he likes them together. So they gotta stay apart.”

“Shit.” Charlie exhales quietly, and Dean nods. It’s unfair. It sucks. It’s Chuck. 

“Tell him to live a normal life. Be as happy as he can. But don’t come looking for me and don’t get interesting. Or Chuck will just fuck with him some more, and if he does that… he’s gonna find out what we’re doing.” Kevin nods seriously. He never gets brought around for fun shit, does he? Dean feels a pang of regret at that. He immediately wants to change it. “But right now, whaddya say we have some fun, huh?” 

The table looks at him like he’s gone nutty. He shrugs and grins. “Come on guys, we’re dead. Don’t we all have a night to spare?” 

He sees Charlie come around first, slow grin spreading across her face. “Fuck yeah, let’s party, bitches!”

It doesn’t take the rest of them much convincing either. Dean has some good-ass friends. “Yo Kev, since you can’t get fucked up, you wanna play some pool?” Ash hitches his thumb at the table behind him. 

Dean laughs. “Ash, you are one cruel son of a bitch. Years of being a friggin’ ghost and you’re gonna whoop him in pool? That’s cold.” 

Ash shakes his head. “Nah man, I’ve spent way more time passed out on that table than playing on it. I’d say the kid’s got a fair shot.” Kevin smiles and shrugs at Dean.

“Hey, that’s more than I’ve ever gotten before; I’ll take my chances” 

They head off to play and Dean grabs a beer to watch, a good one this time. One with the label he and Sam used to buy, the kind that Cas said “didn’t taste as much like the vast expanse of space dust” as the others. Charlie and Pamela follow with their own. 

“So Dean,” Pamela says. “Ash tells me you gotta angel on your shoulder.” She sounds a little weary. Dean figures that’s fair, given her experience with the species. 

“Uh… yeah. Castiel.” He gestures to her eyes. “That one.” Pamela shrugs if off. 

“So make me like him. Charlie here says you’ve got quite the bond.” Dean blushes pink, but for once there isn’t any innuendo behind her voice. At least, none that is teasing. He looks to Charlie, who makes a ‘I didn’t say anything’ face at him and relaxes a bit. 

“Well, uh, he hasn’t burned anymore eyes out,” Dean starts, then reconsiders. “Well, none that didn’t deserve it.” Not really true either. “Well-” 

“He’s super cute.” Charlie cuts him off. Dean blushes deeper. “He gave a whole fuck-you to heaven to save Dean.” Dean blushes deeper still. Why does it sound so… intimate when she says it like that? Pamela just raises an eyebrow.

“Sounds like some ally.” 

“Cas?” Kevin sinks a ball. The kid’s not bad, actually. Ash was right; they are neck-and-neck. “Yeah, he’s awesome. I mean, weird, but cool.” Dean grins. Weird but cool was exactly Cas. 

“Someday, man, I gotta meet this guy.” Ash laments.

“Someday, dude, you will.” Dean vows. Somehow sitting around talking about him with all these guys, he felt confident it was true. “Once we bust him out, you better bet we’re throwing a party and meet-and-greeting everybody. 

“I’ll finally get to tease him for the eyes. You think it’d get him better without the fakes?” She pops her fake cloudy eyes out and waggles her eyebrows at Dean, empty eye sockets looking bizarre on such a cheerful face. Dean laughs. 

“You’re not gonna need to; he already feels shitty for that. He’ll probably offer to heal ‘em, matter of fact.” 

“Well, he won’t get far with that one,” Ash calls over. “Angels been trying to do it for years.” Pamela nods at Dean’s questioning glance.

“Wouldn’t be me without ‘em, now. Who needs sight anyway?” 

“Without eyes you won’t be able to see my pretty face!” Dean bullshits. 

“Yeah, or your brother’s tight ass. Second thought, remind me when Sam gets up here, won’t ya?” Dean makes a gagging noise and Pamela laughs. 

“So you said Chuck’s in your… kid?” Kevin asks skeptically. He misses a shot and Ash hollers. Dean cracks his neck and considers how to answer. 

“Kinda. I mean, yeah. Just not- he’s Lucifer and a human’s, technically.” He starts, realizing Kelly’s in heaven too. They’ve gotta let her in on this, but not now. Not now when Chuck!Jack is probably visiting her as her son; it’s too risky. With how sick he feels at the idea of Jack being Chuck’s meatsuit, well…

He sees Cas. Again. Just for a second, there he is standing outside the window, looking less wounded but more tired than before. He looks like he’s focused on something, like he’s scared, but he also looks transfixed, like he can’t look away. As Dean watches, Cas closes his eyes and mouths something. It looks like he’s counting. “One, two, three.” Dean blinks and he’s gone, and Dean’s left wondering if he imagined the whole thing.

“Dean?” 

“Yeah.” He smiles at Charlie to let her know he’s okay. Ish. “Sorry, uh, so he’s kind of devilspawn but he’s ours. Mine, Cas’s, Sam’s. Long story. But he’s a good kid.” He nods, knowing he oughta give more information, but not really knowing how.

“Who woulda thought, Dean Winchester, a dad.” Ash ribs with a grin. Dean laughs back and nods. His life hadn’t really screamed stability and mentorhood. His death still didn’t.

“Yeah, I… I haven’t exactly been a star father-figure…” Dean shakes his head. The conflict in his head that culminates in Jack is confusing as hell, but three things win him over. The first is Jack’s innocent, naive face looking up at him for any kind of approval or wisdom. A kid. Just a kid. The second is Cas’s face as he smiles at him that one night over a whiskey glass, the prideful joy as he tells Dean he always believed in Jack. The third is the pit in his gut of all the times he acted like his dad to Jack. And no matter what, Dean can’t leave those memories be. He can’t have Jack remember him like that, and he can’t look Cas in the eye knowing he didn’t do everything he could to make things right. “But that’s gonna change, if it fucking kills me. We gotta save him when we get Chuck, guys, we gotta.” 

“We will.” Kevin looks at him with an overly-confident smile. “We can’t lose. You’ve got me, now!”

The rest of them bust out laughing, and Kevin fakes offense. “You’re right, Kev. Don’t know what I’m so worried ‘bout.” 

Tag List (ask to be added or removed):

@dochunterwitch  @justonecitizenoftheearth @gnbrules @purpe @castiel-is-a-cat @alienapparatus @damian-janus-pendragon

[roominthecastle]

Okay but Sting’s Desert Rosé... I am officially fixated on this one

bc Cheers!!!!

bc I’m almost sure it’s Michael’s handiwork. He has the ability to construct such things + a history of hiding puns in them, e.g. “Strangers Under the Train” & “Bend It Like Bentham” can be spotted in the background in his trolley problem simulation (TPS)) + Janet doesn’t leave the tape room

bc it specifies that the bar serving as a framework for this (forbidden) meeting w/ Eleanor is named after Sting’s Desert Rose which Sting described as a song of romantic-sexual longing placed within a larger philosophical context - “romantic love as an analog for the greater love of God” [x] and thus redemption (see the “Redeem Yourself” poster on the wall by the door).

Now overthinking/reading into things is my forte, and that’s exactly what’s happening behind the cut, so beware:

The puns in Michael’s TPS have direct relevance not only to the “practical nature” of the simulation at hand (strangers are literally under the trolley as they keep mowing them down amidst spurting blood and flying body chunks that “curiously” only hit poor Chidi despite Eleanor’s close proximity), but also cleverly hint at Michael’s own feelings on the issue that won’t get revealed until later. Bentham’s famous “greatest-happiness principle” governs his actions when he chooses to sacrifice himself to give Eleanor & the others a chance to secure passage to the real Good Place where eternal happiness awaits. He “bends it like Bentham”.

IF we can take TPS as precedent (and that’s a big if, I know, but it’s fun), then Sting’s Desert Rosé is also likely to be more than just a simple pun. Then it is both relevant to the practicalities of the situation at hand (it is a bar that serves wine) and to feelings which have not been articulated yet and will come into play later. Michael’s solution to the trolley problem (self-sacrifice) develops silently and remains in the background until a situation demands its disclosure. The implication of Sting’s Desert Rosé is a feeling of deep longing for the love of a woman and even that of a higher being (God) - a painful desire to return to the “good place” (or the “pre-fall” condition).

Michael is already invested in how Eleanor sees him and he also wished to follow them to the real Good Place, but since he is still a demon, gaining both her & (the show’s version of) God’s love (=entry) must feel like a long shot at best. I think he became painfully aware of this as a result of those ethics lessons and his billion failed attempts to sneak into the Good Place. All this likely informed his trolley problem solution, too. Being made aware of how fundamentally disqualified he is hasn’t enabled him to change it, it just made him feel miserable since the longing is still there, a longing no other “sane” demon has. Yet it doesn’t stop him from trying to help the others, which makes me wanna wrap him in an eternal hug.

If we look at the lyrics and compare/contrast them w/ the show, several thematic similarities emerge. (ofc these could be entirely accidental and/or irrelevant, but they are still there, imo)

“I am looking for myself and my loved one”

The Algerian Arabic intro (which sounds almost like a prayer) sums up Michael’s journey of discovering what it means/feels to be human. Such a journey inevitably involves the pains & pleasures of choice, of identity forging, and the experience of love (returned or otherwise). Janet started out as an anthropomorphized mainframe and now, after a social “evolution” induced by environment interacting w/ some unique “susceptibility”, she is questioning what/who she is. Michael is in the same boat: he started out as an office drone demon but that’s not quite what/who he is anymore. Both were obedient workers “pre-programmed” to serve but now they make their own paths separate from their kind. They threw out the rulebook and are actively choosing the recipients of their devotion, even when those recipients can no longer remember them.

“I dream of love as time runs through my hand those dreams are tied to a horse that will never tire My life is for you”

Janet gravitates toward Jason and Michael toward Eleanor in particular. They have to let them go at the end of S2 as another round of experiment kicks off, but one connection, in form of ticker tapes, remains and we can see them holding and reading these w/ unwavering commitment. It’s likely just a coincidence but a very nice one still, so I am going there: the word “ticker” can refer to a watch (and thus time), the heart, and the machine connecting Michael and Janet to Eleanor and Jason respectively.

The titular desert rose is not without concrete relevance, either. All her life Eleanor lived in Arizona which is home to several deserts (Sonoran, Mojave, Chihuahuan). This is at the core of one of my favorite gags where Michael keeps asking the freshly rebooted Janet for Eleanor’s file, and she keeps handing him cacti instead. Then, when she finally produces the file, it still has a bunch of cactus pictures in them. If we roll w/ this desert connection, then Eleanor = desert rose def works too (+ she is wearing red in the bar scene)

“This memory of Eden haunts us all This desert flower This rare perfume, is the sweet intoxication of the fall”

The fall and Eden are key elements in Genesis. Eve shares the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil w/ Adam and they get booted from paradise. Something similar happens in the show, too, albeit w/ some neat twists. Eleanor insists that Michael attend Chidi’s ethics lessons (=“tree”) where they acquire knowledge (=“fruit”) of, yes, good and evil. She shares it w/ him and it changes Michael, which leads to his disobedience or “fall” and ultimate banishment as their “good place” gets completely disassembled.

Michael has a spark of deviance in him from the get-go, an innate urge to color outside the lines, but he starts to cross them in earnest only after Eleanor enters the picture. First, it’s in the form of 802 reboots, which is 800 more than he is authorized for, but he gets fixated on besting her. The 2nd big moment is when he takes his senior staff pin (the very symbol of everything he ever wanted) and pins it on her, irrevocably betraying everything he previously stood for. He pulls a sort of “reverse Lucifer” (his “rebellion” takes place in the show’s approximation of hell and is driven not by pride but by humbling himself) but it’s patterned on the fall of man. This mix of demonic and human heritage would be very in-keeping w/ his character: a demon longing to experience what it’s like to be human.

“No sweet perfume ever tortured me more than this.”

It is one of the greatest sources of irony in the show how the torture master ends up tormenting himself with and within the very framework he constructed for others. At the end of those 802 reboots, nobody is suffering more than Michael. His subordinates may be frustrated but they eagerly turn his failures to their advantage while the ultimate responsibility still rests w/ Michael who, already after the 2nd failed reboot, runs the very real risk of dying the only death his kind is able: the eternal shriek. The four humans endure a measure of psychological-emotional torture, but they forget all but the last week of their afterlife due to rebooting, whereas Michael remembers everything. He has to endure failure over and over again bc Eleanor keeps figuring him out, upping the pressure w/ each reboot, and, finally, exposing him to blackmail by his own underlings. This is when he reaches complete isolation which is a special kind of hell even within hell.

This 1st type of torture Eleanor (unwittingly) puts him through is mental in nature. She repeatedly hits him where it hurts the most at that time - his sense of intellectual superiority -, gradually evicting him from a life he’s known since forever. The direct continuation of this process is when she makes attendance of Chidi’s lessons compulsory, which again forces him to fully confront the fact that he’s not always the smartest guy in the room, not always in control, and - most importantly - that it’s okay bc the others are there to help and guide him when he’s in need.

This breakthrough gives way to the 2nd, more complex phase that involves (social) emotions that tend to develop as a result of cooperation (esp the kind Team Cockroach engaged in). We can already see their effect creep in when e.g. Michael is plagued by fear at the possibility of losing his friends or when he experiences the first sharp pangs of remorse. He is no longer immune to the full palette of “human suffering” bc he cares and even loves now, and it all stems from and loops back to Eleanor. She is the one he desperately clutches after the dangers pass, it’s her disappointment that slices through him even though he let the rest of them down too, and it’s her “progress reports” that fill his life after they have to part ways.

In this new phase he is forbidden to help or have any kind of contact, but when he can no longer stand doing nothing, he has to risk everything again in exchange for a few minutes w/ her. He could have easily nudged her in the right direction w/o revealing himself - the way he did when he saved her life. But no, this time he shows himself, prompts her to just ramble on about Kangaroo Jack, which, objectively speaking, is an insane risk to take when you can get caught every second, so you know Michael only took his feelings w/ him and left objectivity behind, and, at the end of it all, she still looks at him and sees a total stranger bc this is the only way for her to gain entry to paradise.

Now that’s some exquisite torture in a bar named after a song of romantic-sexual longing placed within a larger philosophical context.

[rfhusnik]

I’m A Private I - But I’m Not Alone

Written By:  Charles Platt

I doubt there are any hard core rules, figuratively written in stone, which govern the phenomenon known as “good writing.” And thank God for that! But there are some (in my opinion) valid guidelines which, if not followed, could render one’s prose efforts confusing and perhaps even non-readable.

Still, for some reason, George Jennifer, the mayor of the city in which I now reside, keeps asking me to submit written pieces to him for possible submission to what he hopes is his readership. And I always tell him, “With all the literary type people who live in our city, why do you continually ask me to write for you?”

And he usually replies something like this:  “I think it’s because, unlike many of the people you’ve just referenced, you grew up near this city. Thus, all your life you’ve been aware of what’s going on here. And the fact that one area of a nation can exist impervious to the problems and basic lifestyles of that nation has always been known to you. Plus, for four years you were in what probably is the ‘strictest’ branch of the American military; and your love affair with the Parisian woman Valerie Danns has been the subject of much speculation. But for this particular written piece, I guess I’d like you to just reminisce about your past, and tell us how ‘everything’ looks from your perspective today. Oh, and if it’s alright with you, our next submission will be from you also. It will be a letter you sent from Paris to my mayoral predecessor Ralph Hawk. And after that is submitted, I intend (having already secured his permission) to republish Joseph Same’s reaction to his encounter with Mona Lisa.”

“Well,” I replied, “that reaction to Mona Lisa is the stuff of legend in my opinion. I agree with you there. But I know that’s been released to the public previously. And, in fact, my letter to Ralph, which you’ve just spoken of, may have been also.”

“Well, if they have been, they deserve one more go around,” said the mayor. And that ended our conversation. So, I guess I have a forum here today. And I’ll use it to illustrate what I call my “investigations into the philosophies of living.”

Oh, sometimes I feel like I’m looking at a picture of myself that's hanging on a wall. And in that rendition of myself, all the images around me are ever changing. But it always appears as though I’m being bombarded by structures of sound and sight. My eyes are closed, and my hands are on my ears. And the heaviest bombardment seems to be coming from behind me. And when I see myself in that portrait, I’m troubled by this question:  What is the proper assignment of importance to all that’s been, is now, and may yet be?

And, to be truthful, I find that usually my thoughts are less focused upon the assumptions, beliefs, decisions, and acts of today, and more upon those same four phenomena as they unfolded years ago. But in those bygone thoughts I often feel befuddled and betrayed. Sometimes situations, occurrences, and people from the past that and whom I thought I understood then, reappear in my mind now somehow out of focus, or reconfigured. And whenever I experience that realization of possible falsified or incorrectly interpreted memory, I wonder what effect or effects that non-clarity may have had upon my existence as it is today.

Nonetheless, I also know that many people don’t like to differentiate between what we might term “large” or “small” deeds. To them every act was either right or wrong. Yet, how about this as an answer to what becomes of the judgement of large and small deeds? Let’s say that the verifiably significant actions of all mortals are judged swiftly and correctly by the Master of the Universe, while all such actions as might be termed of common and everyday happenchance, enter what might be called a purgatory of all that’s lesser, there to be analyzed by a panel of equally divided judges, as appointed by God and Lucifer.

When he assigned this piece to me, Mayor Jennifer said it was basically an open forum. Yet, I know he wanted me to say some words about Valerie Danns and myself, Thus, I’ll leave you with what follows.

About three years ago, Valerie and I were honored to meet a writer from outside our city who’d written a poem about us. And I guess somehow he’d become fascinated with the love affair between Valerie and I. And his poem “For Charles and Valerie” will forever touch the hearts of the two of us.

Yet, ours had been a somewhat difficult relationship. I’d met her when I’d been sent to Paris by my city’s then mayor Ralph Hawk. And of course I’d become infatuated with her, and she with me. And it was very difficult for us to say goodbye to one another on the day I needed to leave Paris and return home to the U.S.. She wanted me to stay with her in the city of light, but of course I couldn’t. So I told her that someday, one way or another we’d be together again and…

But then came that day some years ago when Valerie joined me here in the U.S.. I’d been living with my mother on our old farm about nine miles outside “the city.” And I’ll never forget how “overwhelmed” my mother was when she finally met Valerie for the first time. And her first words to her were “I know you’ve heard about that city that lies about nine miles down the road from here. I don’t know if it’s that city’s strangeness that’s brought you and my son together, but I know he loves you, and I’m sure you love him too, and for my part, you can stay with Charles and I here in this old farmhouse for as long as you want. Of course, I’d like it if the two of you married soon, although I must admit that years ago I never imagined I’d have a French daughter – in – law”!

“But there’s one thing I won’t permit here Valerie. Today, just as I did many years ago with Charles, I’m asking you to promise me you’ll never set foot in that city down the road.” (We did move there later.)

And I’ll never forget how Valerie answered her! Although this was their first meeting, she called her mom and said “Mom, surely you know that your son was in that city many times before, during, and after his years in the Marine Corps. And if it hadn’t been for the man who was that city’s mayor then, Ralph Hawk, Charles and I would have never met. But I understand your concerns. How many other cities have some residents who never age? And what other city can say that Jesus Christ actually stopped a robbery within it, and thereby most likely saved a young man (Joseph Same) from a life of crime?”

“Well, avoid it and its influence as much as you can,” said mother.

“We’ll try,” said Valerie.

As I near the end of this written piece, it’s my hope that you as readers will be able to comprehend how emotionally difficult it was for me to have been in love in Paris – especially at such a short span of time after I’d served four years in the Marine Corps. But there’s no doubt in my mind that Paris is the greatest city on Planet Earth. Yet, I’m thinking a lot of its grandeur and mystique would have never been known to me had I not met and fallen in love with Valerie Danns there. But then, that fact often sends my thoughts off in a very different, yet actually very similar tangent. I’m wondering what my life would have been like had I not experienced even some of its least important events and most minor physical and mental images.

And since we’ve come back to America from Paris, one of the things Valerie and I have most enjoyed is simply engaging in conversation with some of the new artistic type people who’ve resettled in our city. And of course I’ve gleaned many diverse nuggets of possible lifestyle alternatives from them. But I guess the one that sticks with me the most wasn’t a great piece of philosophical disclosure. It was simply an observation I’ve long suspected is true. And God, it haunts my soul! “You’re living in the past.”

And yet sometimes I fear the problem here is that I just can’t be sure of what all that’s occurred has really meant. I know we shouldn’t be looking back, still what can one do with a resume that’s haunted? And I guess it’s not haunted only by events and deeds which today we understand as having been evil, but also by what today we know of as having been good, or sometimes even very positive for our future.

And of course the greatest of that latter type of shocking developments has been mentioned by me in print before. The first time I saw Valerie enter that restaurant, and saw her focus those French eyes upon me, I felt a sense of trepidation such as I’d never known before. Even during four years of active service in the U.S. Marine Corps, I’d not known such a jolt upon my being as that.

It was as though a surge of electricity shot through my body from head to toe then. And it seemed then as though my entire being was going through some sort of convulsive wave which caused it to move in all directions simultaneously.

And I knew immediately that one way or another I’d “have” that French girl forever. Either I’d have her someday as a flesh and blood companion who’d share my life, or else I’d have her as an everlasting memory, surely to be the greatest of those bygone thoughts which vex me yet to this day. And then, oh God, on moments like this one, when I’m trying to communicate significant episodes of all that’s happened previously, she’d come back to me! And standing in front of me, she’d ask “Weren’t you and I supposed to be together eternally?”