#I felt great guilt and remorse as a result of his hanging death

[remembertheplunge]

Is society well served by his death?

“2/6/1995. Margin notes from the Tao of power:

Margin notes from Section 18:

Is society well served by his death? One less pre trial for Thursday. One less crazy on the street. If this is so, why did the jail guard say today ”This is so depressing, this work. I’m in school and will move on.” Was she served by his hanging death?

And, so now, I’m feeling so let down by the system. Wind knocked out. Punch to solar plexus.

Death is is damn final. 

I want to run to him on Friday to say “Don’t do it Andre. Give me a chance." I wish I’d written back to his Mom. I’m so fucking damn cold. Over fucking whelmed.

There is something wrong here. Really wrong. Death. I wonder how the “victim” feels?

Is this what they want? Society? Do they believe this is funny?

You asked me to come and see you. I didn’t. You asked when, when will you come and see me? Overwhelmed.  It’s my fault.

We all hang and sway with you, Andre.

What does your Mom think? I’ll keep my promise to the end. Why couldn’t you wait for me?

I know that they are cruel. But, why couldn’t ya give it a whirl? I mean, you were only 27 and you’d waited all these months. I mean…it was only till Thursday and I’d been working on the DA and I’d hired a psychologist.. We had a shot at time served or maybe a not guilty. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Margin notes from Section 27:

2/6/1995.  On the hanging death of Andre .

I don’t know what to say. I think that in this situation, the significant resource was the DA Court Cop Jail Societal force. It just totally failed . Total, total let down. Dead. Flat. I don’t believe in it. What happened? What went wrong? Who’s fault?

This clearly should not have happened. Clearly. Clearly.

I know, he was not sane. He was troubled. So, watch him. Talk to him. MEDICATE HIM.

DON’T SINGLE CELL WAREHOUSE HIM, ALONE,TO BE MURDERED BY HIS OWN DEMONS.

Was he served by our actions? He is society.

How ironic, they call it the Safety Center. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 2/9/1995

Maybe a big part of my job is to be there with these feelings. Full, fleshed out, absorb the human part of us, feelings.

Notes:

Margin notes  above written in the book “The Tao of Power A new translation of the Tao Te Ching by R. L. Wing.   1986

Andre was a client of mine in February 1995.  I was a Stanislauss County Deputy Public Defender then. When I say I was overwhelmed in the margin note, I mean I was overwhelmed with cases. Andre hung himself the Saturday before his Thursday pre trial hearing. In my margin note, I wanted to return to  Friday, the day before he hung himself.. I wanted to go to the jail and tell him not to kill himself

Time served meant that Andre  could enter a plea and be released and serve no more jail time.

Andre killed himself in a part of the jail called “The Safety Center”. It is located on Hackett Road.

I am not sure what Andre was charged with or what the facts of the case were.

The fact that I wondered what the victim in the case thought about his suicide would lead me to believe it was a domestic violence case. But, I don’t know for sure.

[witchsniper]

Malin Matsdotter, a first witch at Sweden.

Information from wikipedia.

Malin Matsdotter or Mattsdotter, also known as Rumpare-Malin (1613 – 5 August 1676) was an alleged Swedish witch. She is known as one of few people in Sweden confirmed to have been executed by burning for witchcraft, and the only one to be executed by this method during the famous witch hunt Det Stora oväsendet ('The Great Noise') in Sweden during 1668–1676, which ended with her execution.

Malin Matsdotter was according to protocol of Finnish heritage: she herself later stated in court protocol that she originally learned her prayers in the Finnish language. She married Erik Nilsson, who worked within the manufacture of nails and other metal threads, and had two daughters with him: Anna Eriksdotter and Maria Eriksdotter.

In 1668, her spouse was executed for having had intercourse with a cow. He had been reported by their eldest daughter Anna, at that time thirteen years old, who reported him after the sisters had been brought home after having run away from home because of the beatings of their father, after which their father ordered their mother to beat them again. During the beating, Anna reportedly said to her father: "God knows mother beats, and You beats, and I shall no longer remain silent, such a sin You have committed, all the time standing on a chair over our black cow like a roster over a hen."

Malin Matsdotter remarried a man by the name Anders Arendtsson. After her remarriage her daughters left home, stating the frequent arguments between her and her new spouse as a reason. Very little is known about Malin Matsdotter, other than fragments that came forward during her trial, which was also not much. Her profession is unknown: she is mentioned to have been active as a midwife at one occasion, but it is not known whether it was her regular profession. Though described as poor, in 1676, she owned her own house in Mariaberget in Stockholm, and she had been hired as a midwife by Anna Zippel (also accused in the same witch trial), but there is no information that she was a professional midwife, and she is not referred to as such in the court protocols. In court protocol she is referred to by the sobriquet "Rumpare Malin": the meaning of the word "Rumpare" is unknown, but it is similar to the term "Rumpoxe", which was a contemporary pejorative used for "stupid" people.

Since 1668, a national witch hunt raged through Sweden since the accusation of Märet Jonsdotter by Gertrud Svensdotter in Dalarna, resulting in the establishment of witch commissions around the nation and execution of about 280 people, accused of abducting children to the Witches' Sabbath of Satan in Blockula and often judged upon the testimonies of children. The Swedish witch frenzy reached its peak with the Torsåker witch trials in 1675, and reached the capital of Stockholm the same year with the Gävle-Boy, which lead to a witch trial in the congregation of Katarina Church, known as Katarina witch trial, were children and teenagers of the Katarina parish started to follow the example of the Gävle Boy by pointing out women for abducting them to Satan. By May 1676, the Katarina witch trial had resulted in the execution of the sisters Brita and Anna Zippel, Maria Jönsdotter, Margareta Matsdotter and Anna Persdotter Lärka, as well as death in prison by suicide of Anna Månsdotter and Karin Johansdotter.

On 16 July 1676, Malin Matsdotter was judged guilty as charged by a unanimous court on the testimonies of her daughters and sentenced to be executed. The method of execution was the subject of debate in the royal witchcraft commission, who was to decide between three alternatives; the first was the customary execution by decapitation followed by public burning of the corpse; the second was that she would be subjected to torture prior to the first alternative; and the third alternative was that she would be executed by being burned alive. The last alternative was given the majority vote. The clerical commissioner Carolinus stated in his vote that the honor of God should be regarded before the personal pain of Malin and that she should be given a taste of what was awaiting her in Hell after having seduced so many souls to Satan; commissioners Ivar and Noreus motivated their vote by the deterring effect such a method would have upon the public and her accomplices, and commissioner doctor Urban Hjärne suggested that she be tortured with hot iron prior to the execution, which would make her unconscious and unable to feel pain, because her death would otherwise be too cruel, but the suggestion was revoked with the view, expressed by a priest, that the honour of the name of God was more important than Malin's personal experience of pain; the method was also deemed necessary as an example to the public and to her accomplices. She was instead to have a bag of gunpowder secured around her neck to make her death quicker. Because the court was convinced of her guilt, her refusal to admit guilt made her position worse on the eyes of the court. One suggestion was, that at the place of execution, she would be given a last chance to confess her sin; if she did so, she would be decapitated before she was burned.

The method of execution make the case of Malin Matsdotter unique in Sweden. She was the only person of the almost 300 people executed during the great Swedish witch hunt of 1668–76, to be executed by being burned alive instead of by decapitation followed by public burning of the corpse, which was the normal execution for sorcery in Sweden. Though several crimes formally allowed for public burning as method of execution, this actually meant that the condemned be "executed and burned", which meant that they were first executed by decapitation or hanging, after which their corpse was publicly burned: the method of burning someone still alive is only known to have been used in the country a very few times before, and the verdict was therefore controversial. Malin Matsdotter was the last person to be executed by burning in the capital of Stockholm, and the second to last to be executed by burning in Sweden. No other person executed for sorcery in Sweden is confirmed to have been burned alive. Because of this, she has sometimes also been regarded the only one in Sweden to be executed by burning for sorcery altogether. However, though decapitation was the customary method, they were likely at least some cases in the early 17th-century were this method may have been used. The method of execution by burning had been debated by the commission in Stockholm previously during the Catharina witch trial of 1675–76 and actually given to an earlier condemned, Anna Lärka, for her refusal to admit guilt, but it was retracted when she finally did so. In the case of Matsdotter, the sentence was to be carried out.

The execution was performed in the square of Hötorget in Stockholm the 5 August 1676. Malin Matsdotter was to be executed alongside Anna "Annika" Simonsdotter Hack, known as "Tysk-Annika", who had also been accused and sentenced to death on the testimony of her own children, but was to be executed the normal way by decapitation before burning. The contrast between the behavior of the two have been noted. Anna Simonsdotter was described as full humility and respect and behaved as was expected by her, and though she did not directly say that she was guilty, she behaved as was expected of her, and "by her remorse, by her psalms, and by falling on her knees and lifting her head and her hands to the sky, confirmed the justice in the verdict and the justice in the world". According to contemporary witnesses, Malin Matsdotter behaved with great dignity and courage during her execution. When asked to take the hand of her daughter to make peace with her before death, she refused. She "did not seem to fear death much, courageously mounting the stake", and even the official execution protocol noted that she "was very tough". She spoke calmly with the executioner, "allowing him to fasten her with iron by her hands and feet", and the bag of gunpowder was placed around her neck to hasten death. She talked back to the priests with her head held high when they pleaded with her to acknowledge her sin, maintaining her innocence. When her daughter cried out and appealed to her to admit her crimes "Malin delivered her daughter in the hands of the Devil and cursed her for eternity". The daughter in question would have been Maria Eriksdotter, as Anna Eriksdotter was herself in arrest as the time. The execution in itself was described:

"But though all of this was both horrifying and pathetic to look upon, those who suffered death did not shed one tear but stood by their standpoint of innocence with an unnatural courage".

Tradition claims that Malin Matsdotter did not scream but died in silence, in accordance with contemporary view that witches felt no pain.

Malin Matsdotter.

[deartoulouse]

( maxence danet-fauvel, cis male, he/him )╰ ✧ ˔ ⭒ magic is in the air ! oh wait - that’s just our newest neighbour, TOULOUSE BONFAMILLE, the TWENTY-THREE year old FREELANCE ARTIST. they’ve been relocated from pastoral city, and so far the locals claim that they’re PROTECTIVE and PENITENT, just like TOULOUSE from THE ARISTOCATS. if you ask me, they seem like the type to enjoy TUSSLED HAIR & PAINT COVERED SHIRTS. apparently, they are REMORSEFUL about entering rome pines, and i don’t think their power of PRECOGNITIVE DREAMING will help them this time. let’s just hope they can adjust to the new neighbourhood…⭒˔ ╮

✎ THE STORY

( this backstory is just working off of the brilliant creativity of marie bonfamille’s, originally written by honey over at @pinkglossed - she’s the one who came up with the basic plotpoints, and i wouldn’t dare take any credit for them ! ) 

he was a surprise, toulouse bonfamille. the first of three, he was born out of wedlock, the result of a spontaneous romance driven by greed on one side, love on the other - attitudes perfectly reflected in his parent’s approaches towards their son. no one would have ever known that daphné hadn’t originally set out to have a child by the way she treated him, seemingly perfectly suited for motherhood from the word go - though she made plenty of mistakes, as all first-time mothers do, she made up for it with plenty of attention and adoration, and even after the births of his siblings she still found plenty of time to spoil him rotten. edgar, though, was a different story - while he was able to tick the basic parenting boxes, if he ever put in an effort to be a good, caring father, toulouse can’t remember it. towards both his fiancée and children, he was indifferent at best, cruel at worst, and it would be safe to say he was far from distraught when, not long before his eighth birthday, daphné finally packed up their things and moved them out of his childhood penthouse and into the bonfamille estate, leaving edgar behind for good.

toulouse adored his new home. he felt free in the estate - his days were spent running up and down lavishly decorated hallways, shepherding his brother and sister around sunlit gardens, or, his favourite, staring up at his grandmother’s practical gallery of historic paintings. he’d loved art since before anyone could remember, and though he’d often been chastised by edgar for making a mess back in the penthouse, his room in the estate quickly became more akin to a studio, even at his young age. the longer he stayed there, the less he wanted to leave - especially when it came time for his father’s court-permitted visitations. the only time toulouse would ever put up a fight against his mother’s orders was when he had to see edgar, but according to daphné, bad dreams weren’t a good enough reason to get out of it. it would take a few reluctantly sat through visitations for what seemed to be his instinct to be proven right - though still now he wishes it hadn’t been, even if it ended up meaning never having to see him again. 

(tw: kidnapping) he was nearly nine years old when his father tried to take the three of them, and it was one of the worst days of his life. he’d put up a good fight at first, trying to channel everything he’d learned and admired about the action heroes he’d had to look up to in edgar’s place, but he was a child going up against a grown man - it was no match. all he could think about was protecting marie and berlioz, so much so that when they were finally returned to daphné and adelaide, he couldn’t fathom why they were making a fuss over him, too, instead of just his siblings like he had been - if he wasn’t already willing to do whatever it took for his brother and sister, that day certainly cemented the fact. 

despite everything, there was one good thing that came out of the short abduction: the family could put a name to toulouse’s power. what had once been just a vague sense of deja-vu was finally confirmed to be precognitive dreaming, the ability to see future events, or at least hints to future events in his dreams - but truly, toulouse wasn’t all that impressed. afterall, what good was seeing bad things happen if there was nothing he could do to stop it, especially when his dreams were as vague as they were?

even though all three children came out of the ordeal in one piece, it was clear that it had affected toulouse deeply - in the weeks following, he’d only get a few hours of sleep a night, often too paranoid about leaving the doors and windows unlocked and unwatched, and when he did finally drift off, his restless dreams barely left him feeling rested. he put a lot more effort into trying to appear ‘tough’, in school especially - even years after what had happened, he made sure to surround himself with friends who made him seem more imposing, as afterall, it was a lot easier to keep an eye out for his siblings when he was keeping watch from the top of the foodchain. the self-imposed duty of being the ‘man of the house’ weighed heavily on his shoulders, only made heavier by his lingering guilt that he hadn’t been able to do more to help his siblings when he was a kid - though he was still close with his mother and could happily while away an evening lounging around with or teasing his brother and sister, there were plenty of times that he’d need to seclude himself to avoid snapping at them like he so often did his teachers in school. 

unable to properly talk about the kidnapping, not even to his family, the only escape toulouse had was his art - though perhaps not always shown in the subjects of his work, every piece he produced was, truly, a part of him, the weight of the brushstrokes or the carelessness of the colours a snapshot of how he was feeling or what he was thinking about. over the years, it became difficult to find anywhere to even just sit down in his room - what with all the sketchbooks, canvasses, boxes of paints and piles of brushes, the only place someone could relax was his bed, but even then, his dreams, turning more frequently to nightmares, made that difficult, too. 

even almost a decade after what had happened, toulouse was still struggling with the weight he was carrying - he hadn’t properly cared about his grades in years, he didn’t seem to have much of a plan for his life after school, and as it became clearer that his powers didn’t have much of a practical application, he simply didn’t know what to do with himself. all of that changed, though, when he met his mother’s new boyfriend - given his only other experience he’d had with a father figure, he’d been more than apprehensive about ‘thomas o’malley’ when daphné first delivered the news, but once they met, it barely took any time at all for him to warm up to the newcomer. thomas was just like the characters he’d spent his childhood trying to replicate, but though he was tough, impressive, he was still sociable, still charming, still kind. despite how short a time he’d been with the family, he ended up being the only one to get toulouse to properly open up about his feelings, and though he helped him stay tough, he helped him mellow out at the same time, as well as gave him the confidence to start putting his paintings out into the world, something he’d only ever really done for friends of his grandmother’s who were looking for portrait artists. even though it was somewhat late in the game, with toulouse being seventeen when they met, he tried to do everything he could to take after and make his new role model, his soon-to-be-step-father, proud. 

(tw: death) against all odds, toulouse was actually able to demonstrate a decent turnaround at school, managing to let his walls down in his final year and drawing in friends who liked him for his genuine charm rather than his status in the social hierarchy. he’d spent most of his school years seeing art classes as nothing but a distraction from what he actually wanted to do, but once he started trying to be as passionate in the classroom as when he was at home, he found himself becoming something of a standout to his art teachers, so much so that he not just won himself a few academic awards, but through one of these awards, an invitation to attend a fine arts school in paris. though he’d joke it was a fluke based on his name, he truly wanted nothing more than to accept - if only to make adelaide proud. see, he’d been trying to pay more attention to his dreams, and though they were as vague as ever, he knew there were bad signs - he spent most of his final year of school hanging around his grandmother, if only to be safe, but eventually, his worst fears were proven right. he was just as distraught as the rest of the family when she passed, but what really broke his heart were the reactions of his mother and sister, and though he was supposed to be on a boat bound for france only a couple weeks later, he knew there was no way he could leave them behind. 

instead of following in the footsteps of the greats, he chose to stay a kid from a middle-of-nowhere island in the mediterranean - though his personal art was still a release for him, he tried to use his skills to provide for his family, finding odd jobs both around pastoral city and online, doing everything from selling his old art to designing patterns, illustrating kid’s books to painting shop wall murals. though over the next five years he did sometimes reconsider whether or not he’d made the right choice in declining the paris offer, in the end, his desire to be close to his family always won out - eventually, he only moved because there was literally no other choice.

toulouse hadn’t slept well in the weeks leading up to the fire - though he did sometimes get just normal dreams, the catastrophic nature of the ones that kept visiting him were starting to feel far too frequent to be a coincidence. as always, there was nothing he could do when the blaze actually came except for make sure his family were all accounted for - but as he crossed into rome pines, he left not just his home, but his life’s work behind. in his rush to make sure everyone was safe, he neglected to save even a single sketchbook, and the realisation crushed him more than anything else. his canvases had held his growth, his soul - and they’d only served to be kindling.   

though he’s managing to keep on as a freelancer, again, something’s shifted - the work he’s getting paid for is the only work he’s managing to finish. every time he’s tried to do something personal, he can’t help but get dragged down by guilt halfway through - though it’s not as if unfinished work is something new, not being able to produce a single finished piece is killing him. he knows there’s not much he could’ve done, but still, he can’t help but feel responsible for the devastation, that he didn’t do more to help people in advance - even with most of the money he’s making going towards those who need it, he doesn’t feel like it’s enough. it’s overwhelming. 

he’d say he was burnt out if the irony of the phrase didn’t hurt so much. 

✎ THE PERSONALITY

though toulouse has always had a tendency to lean into sarcasm and appearing to not take things too seriously, he is, above all, an incredibly caring soul, no matter how much he tries to hide it. this is perhaps best demonstrated through how seriously he takes the duty of protecting his family, especially his brother and sister - though he would, of course, be the first to make fun of them, being the eldest, he’s the first person someone would have to answer to if they were to wrong either of them. in general, though, he feels a strong sense of responsibility, even for things entirely out of his control, something which mainly manifests itself in guilt. 

despite how burdened he feels by his responsibilities, toulouse can be very charming and casual - so long as proper emotional talks are off the table, he can happily while away a day just chatting to someone. though there are times that he does just need to be alone, more often than not he prefers to be by someone else’s side, and he much prefers undertaking new experiences with someone there with him. though he’s mellowed out somewhat since he was a teenager, he does still occasionally try to put up his more tough persona, if only as a safeguard for himself or, more importantly, someone else. 

even when he’s acting more laid-back and humourous, he is still quite sensitive to the feelings of others. there are times where it wouldn’t be unfair to call him childish, but this would rarely be high-stakes moments - he’s always very intentional with what he’s saying, what his tone is, and though he can get it wrong sometimes, for the most part, he does his best to keep what he’s adding to a conversation in line with the context of who he’s talking to. even so, he can still be reactionary at times, and occasionally has a bit of a short fuse sort of temper - just because he tries to note what's going on around him doesn't mean he can't jump to wild conclusions.

✎ HEADCANONS

he was given lessons in many different artistic fields as a child, and though painting is obviously the one that stuck, he is a pretty decent singer and knows a fair bit of piano. of all the endeavours he was encouraged to pursue, sculpting is the only one he genuinely grew to loathe - clay just never ended up his friend.

also thanks to his grandmother, he speaks fluent french.

though toulouse is what he introduces himself as and is known as in his family, he isn’t entirely opposed to nicknames - the most common is lou/louie, or some variation of it. 

literally incapable of having tidy hair. it’s clean as anything, sure, but it’s always proved to be absolutely impossible to style neatly.

his full name is toulouse matisse bonfamille, but neither of his namesake henris are his favourite artist - he leans more towards the works of théophile steinlen, alfonso ossorio, and joaquín sorolla. 

[posidven]

《 alarm clocks 》- RK900 x Reader

warnings: some angst + death 

word count: 880

a/n: this was gonna be a cute little fluff piece, but damn did this baby take a turn.

Mornings were never your thing. Nines often spent the time dragging you out of bed, becoming your 'living’ alarm. As much as you loved your job at the DPD, the early hours certainly got to you. 

On one particular morning, you lied there in a half-asleep lingo, dreading the moment your actual alarm would sound.

It doesn’t take long for it to happen. The blaring noise fills your bedroom along with the feeling of agitation hanging in the air while you bury your head deeper into the pillow.

The figure beside you shifts as you click the alarm off. You decide to do as your first instinct suggests, retreat. You submerge your body further into the blankets to avoid the outside world. Nines scrutinizes your attempt as he withdraws from stasis.

“You know you’re going to have to get up,” he alludes, sidling out of the comforter, causing you to miss the weight on the other side of you almost instantly.

“Why is that? We could take the day off, you know.”

“As much as I would adore spending the day with you here, we have work to do.”

He slips out of his clothing from the prior night, covering his body with his normal android attire, signature white jacket and all. His unprofessional side was a view of the android only you got to see. The side that allowed you to fall deeper in love with him as time passed on. You prop your chin up and your hand, observing his tranquil movements.

“Five minutes. If you knew the great joys that are sleep, you wouldn’t want to leave either,” you point out, motioning to the mattress around you.

He shakes his head, but not without a trace of a minuscule smile across his lips.

“Fine, I’ll start the coffee pot for you,” he glances you over for a moment, his LED flickering a soft blue. “Don’t forget to put my shirt in the laundry.”

You beam softly to yourself as he leaves the room. You sink into the entanglement of his turtleneck and blanket that’d kept you warm for the entirety of the night before. Your body begins to relax once again, even though you knew the android would be back in five minutes, on the dot.

He’d never had thought that such a simplistic memory would be such an important one. Watching you lay there in his clothing, making your morning coffee, driving into work together. It was normality that he couldn’t help but appreciate. 

For the first time since deviancy, he was thankful for his programming. If he were human he wouldn’t be able to remember the sound of the voice, or the diminutive wrinkles around your eyes as you giggle too hard, or even the little jokes you’d poke at him throughout the day. 

If he were human he wouldn’t know the last insult you’d shot at Gavin, the last place he’d felt your lips, or the way you swirled around at your desk when you were stultified or stressed.

Thanks to his programming, these images of you were permanently ingrained in his memory. He could never forget these details that seemed so unimportant in the moment. Something humans could never experience. 

He couldn’t help but feel guilty about forcing you to leave the comfort of your shared bed that morning. If he would’ve allowed you to stay there, comfortable and happy, you would’ve still been with him. You would’ve still been alive.

He knew it wasn’t his fault, that he couldn’t of known. But standing there, dressed in all black he couldn’t help the guilt.

Your death was the result of the two you chasing down a man accused of murdering 14 deviants. The suspect had thrust Nines into the wall, stunning him for a quick moment. He’d yelled for you to wait up for him, but you continued to chase the guy down. You and him reached the end of the roof before Nines could catch up and a shot rang out.

He could feel his thirium pump pound in his throat as he watched your body crumble into the concrete. He rushed towards you as the man made his swift escape.

He could feel your small breaths as the life poured out of you in thick blood, the crimson color staining his jacket. The android watched the light slip away from your eyes as you took one final breath.

He replayed the occurrence over and over again. Why couldn’t you just wait for him? He could’ve thrown himself in front of you, taking the bullets. Deviant or not Cyberlife could always send a new RK900. There was no way to send a new Y/N.

At that moment he felt a new emotion. Guilt? Remorse? Anger?

Now, he watches your coffin sink into the ground, dirt hurled on top of it. He takes a sharp inhale, realizing this was a final goodbye to the one he loved most. 

Nines returns to the home the two of you once shared, a wave of emptiness washing over the place. He lies back on the bed, still unmade from the last time you were in it. The android latches his eyes shut and returns to his mind palace. A place where he could still see you. 

[megansescape]

Revenge isn’t easy part 2.

A/N: this was written by @megansescape and @evilskank-inthemegacoven (used to be @deals-with-demons) for Buddy Challenge: Mix and Match.  The prompts we chose was Siren, Old Photograph and “They ate my tailor!”. The prompt we chose is bolded. Please enjoy and all feedback is greatly appreciated. Tags are below th cut, tags are from @mrswhozeewhatsis tag list.

Summary: Lucifer talks you into going out for a night of fun.

Warnings: Yelling, Fluff , Nightmares, Blood, Mentions of Death, Very light Angst.

Lucifer x Siren!Reader

Words: 2244

Beta’d by: @megansescape

Gifs/pictures not ours

It was a monday, it should have been like any other monday. You would have sent your husband to work, clean the house, prep the meal and took some time for yourself. Except today was no ordinary monday, today was the day that your life would change forever.

You had been feeling sick for awhile and a few days ago you had nipped to the doctor and had them do a pregnancy test. You had been told you would receive a phone call today with your results. You had yet to tell your husband, the last thing you wanted to do was get his hopes up.

-RING-RING-RING-

The sound of your phone echoed through the house. You darted over to it, answering it breathlessly. “Hello?”

The voice of the doctor’s receptionist was on the line. “Mrs Y/L/N?”

“Yes, speaking.” You hated the hesitation in your voice.

“Congratulations Mrs Y/L/N. You’re pregnant. The doctor has asked that you call up next week to book a exam.” Tears sprung to your eyes, you were pregnant. There was a child growing inside of you.

“Yes, of course. I’ll call next week.” You were barely holding back tears of joy.

The receptionist hung up and you placed the receiver down with a shaking hand. Finally all your hopes and dreams were coming true.

Fade to black.

Suddenly there were flashes of colour. Blood was everywhere, stark against the white carpet, splattered along the walls of your home. All you could hear was the voice of Henry Winchester. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You woke with a start, sweating profusely. Your eyes took in the dark room around you and you lifted a shaking hand to your mouth, desperately trying to muffle your cries. Not knowing that Lucifer was at your door, listening with a heavy heart.

--

You had been working with Lucifer for a little over a month now; and still you woke up thinking about who you had lost. It was the reason you were able to keep fighting; the reason you even woke up anymore.

You turned to see him staring at you, amusement in his eyes. “What?”

Lucifer shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Whatever.” You looked back towards the bookshelf, trying to find the book you needed. It was just your luck that it was about three shelves above your head, making it extremely difficult to reach. You tried everything, stretching yourself, standing on your tiptoes but still your fingertips could barely graze the book's spine.

Suddenly you felt a warm body press against you, pushing you into the shelves slightly. His arm reached up to grasp the book you had been reaching for before he stepped away, allowing you to catch your breath. You spun around, taking in his smug form as he held the book in his hands, passing it to and fro.

“Can I have the book now?” You asked, annoyed at the fact he had helped you.

He seemed to mull your idea over. “Hmmm I don’t know.”

“Just give me the book Lucifer.” You were so very close to losing your temper.

“Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t.” He laughed. “Maybe you should ask me nicely.”

You gritted your teeth. “Lucifer, will you give me the book please?”

“Nope.” He replied popping the ‘p’. “I think I am going to hang on to this until you learn to have some fun.”

“I don’t need fun!” You shouted. “I need to kill the Winchesters’!”

He tsked. “Do you know why so many monsters fail to kill the Winchesters?”

You thought a moment. “Because they didn't have what it takes?”

Lucifer smirked. “They had what it took and had reasons, just like you. And like you, they didn't have fun every once in awhile.”

You licked your lips as you thought, sighing you finally decide to show some interest. “And what would you suggest?”

“Let’s go out, hit the town.” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Really? That’s your great plan? Go out partying.” You scoffed at him, reaching to grab the book once more.

He pulled the book out of your reach once more. “Yes, that’s my plan. You need to find a reason.”

“A reason? I have plenty of reasons to kill them.” You snarled at him.

He shook his head. “Not a reason to kill them.  Everyone has a reason to kill them.” You looked at him confused. “You need a reason to survive them, a reason to live. Most monsters live from moment to moment, not living past their next impulse. You are different. You have had reasons to live before, you can have that again.”

“I can never have that again.” You shook your head sadly. “Their grandfather took that from me.”

“Then you won’t avenge your family.” Lucifer shrugged.

You sighed deeply, dropping your head. “Fine, I will go but that doesn’t mean I am going to have fun.” Lucifer laughed and handed you the book. “Besides I don’t even have anything to wear out.”

“Don’t you worry about that. I will sort out everything.” He smirked. “You just go get ready. I will get my men on it and I will find the best entertainment around.” He left the room quickly, making a call on his phone. You made your way to your bedroom to begin getting ready for your first night out in years.

--

A little while after you got out  of the shower, you heard a large bang. Listening carefully at the door, you could hear that Lucifer had lost his temper and was currently throwing things around. You opened your door slightly, clad only in your towel. Looking down the hall towards the library you suddenly saw the coffee table come flying out of the door, hitting the wall opposite, sending wood splintering everywhere.

“I’ll kill Crowley, you mark my words! How did he even find out?” Lucifer’s voice shook the walls.

All you could hear was a vague mumbling response, curiosity wrapped around you, pulling you out of your room. Mindful to keep the towel tight around you, you made your way to the library, carefully avoiding the broken wood. You watched from the doorway, shocked at the carnage inside the library. You loved the library and he had destroyed it.

Rage filled you and you went storming inside, uncaring about your state of undress. “HOW DARE YOU?” Lucifer turned to you scared. “What did you do to my library?”

He stuttered slightly, unused to your rage. “I..I..Crowley...He.”

“Oh he broke in here and did this, did he?” You cut him off. He shook his head, looking remorseful. “So what is your excuse?”

“Crowley sent some of his men after one of mine and I lost my temper at the news.” Lucifer explained.

“Seriously? It is one man, easily replaced.” You sighed, annoyed at the whole conversation at this point.

“It wasn’t just some man.”

“Oh it wasn’t, was it?” You scoffed. “Whatever you say.”

“They ate my tailor!” He cried out.

You lost your temper then, all sense of reason leaving you. “DON’T YOU DARE SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT!” You advanced on him, punching his arm as soon as you were close enough. “You are a goddamn archangel and the Devil himself, ACT LIKE IT!” With that you stormed off, leaving a stunned Lucifer stood there, gaping after you.

He looked toward his minion and laughed. “She is something else, isn’t she?” The minion laughed with him nervously, relaxing slightly at his master’s mood change. Lucifer suddenly stopped laughing. “What are you laughing at? Get some more men and get this room cleaned up. I want it looking better than new for when we get back.” Lucifer then teleported himself to his room and began to get ready.

--

You paced your room; half mad from the scene that had just played out and half nervous of what to put on. At first you were going to tell Lucifer the night had been canceled due to his temper but after some thought you decided you might like a night out. You stopped pacing to look at all the different clothes you had drug out. Nothing seemed to be right, throwing your hands up, you let out a scream of frustration.

There was a knock on the door, pulling you from your thoughts. You stomped over to the door, wrenching it open, scaring the poor minion on the other side. “What?”

He shakily handed you a large box. “Lucifer asked me to give you this, for tonight.”

You snatched the box. “Thank you, bye.” You slammed the door in his face, throwing the box on the bed behind you. Letting out a sigh, you felt guilt wash over you, you quickly opened the door back up, calling out to the minion as he walked down the hall. “Hey!” He turned around, nervousness written across his face. “Sorry about being so rude, it’s not your fault. Have a nice day.”

You smiled at him and happily received a large smile back from him, he waved a goodbye and made his way back down the hall. You gently closed the door and made your way over to the bed, taking in the crumpled box. Taking off the lid, you stared at a gorgeous yet simple black dress, with delicate lace detailing. You had to admit, he had good taste for being the devil. Gently lifting the dress form the box, you began to finish getting ready.

--

You and Lucifer had been out at a club for about an hour. You never thought Lucifer would be one for clubbing but he made it his own. He would constantly change the music with a click of his fingers, making it so the only music that played was music that the two of you liked. He would dance along goofily but he made it look good.

You were trying your hardest not to enjoy yourself but it had been such a long time since you had fun, you were being sorely tempted to let go. You sat at the bar, drinking your drink, watching him the dance away. He would try and get you to get up and dance with him, but you always shook your head.

--

Two hours you had been at this club and Lucifer’s antics had driven most of the customers from the building. You had given into his cues and danced with him a little, laughing for what felt like the first time in years. When you had looked at Lucifer, and the two of you laughed, you looked into his shining eyes and felt a cool wash of dread fall over you. You felt too comfortable around him and that couldn’t be allowed. You broke away from him and gave him a tight smile, making your way to the bar once more.

This time you focused on your drink and not Lucifer. It was not long before one of the few remaining guys sat down beside you.

“Hey there.” He gave you a soft smile.

You hesitated then gave a friendly smile “Hi.”

The guy leaned in closer to you. “I’m Rick, so I was wondering if you came here often?”

You rolled your eyes, Rick was attempting to flirt with you and all you wanted was to enjoy your night out. “No I don’t, and sorry Rick but I’m really not interested.”

Rick’s smile faded then returned. “Give me a chance, I’m a really nice guy.”

“I’m sure you are but like I said I’m not interested.” You took a drink and sighed, if you ever decided to be interested it would be for Lucifer, not some drunk. You clenched your fist and quickly got rid of that thought; there was no way you could be happy again.

He leaned in a bit closer, his hand only inches from yours. “How about one dance?”

You scooted away. “No, now please leave me alone.”

He shook his head. “Not until you agree to one dance.”

You were about to get up and walk away when you felt an arm on your shoulders, when you looked up you seen Lucifer with a big smile on his face. “Is this guy bothering you, babe?”

Rick looked Lucifer up and down and backed away from you. “I’m sorry, I uh didn’t realize she was with someone.”

Lucifer nodded. “I understand, but I do believe she let you know when she said she wasn’t interested.”

Rick stood up. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” He gave a smile and walked away.

Lucifer sat down where Rick had just been moments ago. “That was fun.”

You couldn’t help but give a wide smile. “Yeah it was.”

Lucifer held out his hand. “Should we call it a night?”

You looked him up and down as you thought about taking his hand, maybe you could give in to the devil. He had been nothing but nice and understanding to you since the two of you started working together; he had even helped when you woke up with nightmares.

Finally you took his hand and stood up with him. “Yeah, let’s call it a night.”

----

Getting back home, Lucifer leaned in close; his face inches from yours. At that moment you actually wanted him to kiss you, instead he smiled said goodnight then walked away.

You stood there a moment before running up behind him. “Lucifer!” As soon as he turned you leaned up and kissed him.

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