“If you want to torture people without wasting a bullet, kill me. I helped them escape. I’m responsible for all of this. They couldn’t have gotten here without my help. It’s my fault, so if you want torture, let them know that they aren’t getting out again because they don’t have me to help them.”
“Y/N, stop.” Aris begged me.
“Y/N,” Mary sighed. “You can’t do this.” I sniffled, glancing at her, but keeping a brave face.
“I don’t want to.” I admitted, “But it’s the only way. This way not as many people die.” I sighed, looking back at Ratman. “Kill me, kill me,” I begged. “Before I decide to fight.”
“Y/N, please, you have to fight. You can’t just give up.” Newt told me. I shook my head.
“I am fighting. I don’t want to die. Do you think I want to die knowing that you won’t remember me? Do you think I want to die knowing you don’t know anything about me? Do you think I want to die knowing that it would hurt my friends? My family? I don’t wanna die.” I told him, looking back at Ratman. “I don’t want to die. So please, just kill me already.” I pleaded. Ratman aimed the gun at me, cocking it. I gulped. “But do me one favour, when you pull that trigger, look me in the eye while you do it.” I interrupted. He smiled, coldly.
“Gladly.” He said, venomously. I breathed a shaky last breath, then held it, looking at Ratman waiting for the bullet to kill me, removing every bit of memory from my brain.
There was a bang, but I didn’t feel any pain. I didn’t feel any of my blood.
I looked around, seeing Teresa, holding the gun, but it didn’t shoot me.
“I couldn’t let you die.” She muttered.
“What did you do?!” I yelled. I looked at the ground in front of her, seeing Mary dead. I sobbed, feeling my heart break, I clenched my chest. “Oh my god…” I muttered.
“Y/N, no-” Aris warned. I stood up stubbornly, Ratman threatened to shoot me, but I broke the tape around my wrists and took his gun, aiming it at the sky as he held the trigger. I kicked him then elbowed his neck. I hit his head with the back of the gun, rendering him unconscious. All the guards had the gun pointed at me.
“Don’t shoot. We need her.” Ava Paige ordered, appearing beside Teresa.
“Do you?” I asked, tilting my head. “Great, so you can’t really do anything to hurt me, huh?”
“On the contrary.” Ava lifted her finger and the guards pointed the gun at Thomas and Newt. I pointed my gun under my head.
“You pull the trigger, so will I.” I threatened.
“You wouldn’t.” She gambled. I smirked, lifting the gun and pointing the gun towards, the sky, shooting. I pointed the gun back at my head.
“I am an emotional ticking time bomb holding a gun to my head, do you really want to risk it?” I threatened. She lifted her finger again, the guards lowering their guns. I walked to Mary, who was dead before I got there. I looked at Teresa.
“Give me one good reason why I should ever forgive you.” I demanded. “She was the closest thing I had to a mother. How dare you kill her. How dare you.
“Y/N,” Thomas warned.
“When I ran away, she was there. She protected me!”
“She gave you to Wicked!” She defended.
“Yeah, back when she worked for them!” I argued. “She doesn’t anymore! Are you saying that people like her don’t deserve a second chance?!”
“Wicked is good, Y/N,” Ava promised. I rose my eyebrows.
“Is that really what you believe?” I questioned. “That you’re doing good?” I asked. “Look around you, Ava! You’re not a doctor! You took an oath!”
“I’m not breaking it.” She told me. I scoffed. “I will, according to my ability and judgment, prescribe a regimen for the health of the sick.” She defended. I rolled my eyes.
“You’re forgetting the last part to that line: but I will utterly reject harm and mischief.” I reminded her, she seemed taken back. “You broke the oath.” I told her. “I don’t care what you think, but you can’t expect that oath to defend you if you broke it. You think this isn’t harm? You think this isn’t mischief?” I asked, “You aren’t worth it.” I told her. She looked insulted as I looked down, dropping the gun. “I’m tired of fighting, so you can take me, but if anything else were to happen, I’m either pulling the trigger, overdosing myself, or finding other ways to mess up your plans until another person can stop them for good.” I kicked away the gun. I walked to the ship.
“Y/N-” Newt began. I ignored him, wanting to be alone.
I was tagged by the ever so lovely @abovethesmokestacks to make a mood board for myself. I think I did good. This sums me up perfectly. Tea, sleep, music, smiles, animals, love, nature, food and coffee..
I am tagging
i’m already tired of all the volpina/lila hate s o here you go, you wonderful pro-lila/volpinas. i’m here 4 y’all so take this little drabble.
“She’s such a liar.”
The words are like a stab in her chest. They follow her around wherever she goes, reverberating in her mind and off the walls around her. Her chest begins feeling tighter and she wants nothing more than to go home, to just skip one day, but it is only the beginning of the school day and there is no turning around.
Lila hugs her books a little bit more tightly, ducking her head down and avoiding confrontation with nearly everybody. All she needed to do was suffer silently through her classes and then she would be allowed to go home – or somewhere.
Luck was clearly not on her side when Chloé and Sabrina blocked her path, arms crossed and looking more superior than they really were. “So, I heard you were BFFs with Ladybug – oh wait, or was that just another lie?” Sabrina began giggling behind her hand at Chloé’s not-so-witty remark, encouraging the blonde to continue. “Is there anything you’ve said that’s not a lie?”
“Leave me alone,” Lila demanded, a ferocity in her eyes that Chloé did not anticipate. With a scoff, she stepped aside, giving Lila just enough room to pass by.
“Fine,” Chloé huffed, flipping her ponytail and walking away. “I don’t have time on my schedule for liars like you, anyways.”
Lila squeezed her eyes shut, a massive headache overtaking her. This isn’t my fault, she thought, blinking her eyes in an attempt to clear her mind. I’m not… a liar. I just… I want to be liked.
Had she really managed to convince herself that her lies did not make her a liar?
The tip of her toes caught on the edge of the stair and she fell to her knees, books scattering across the floor. Nobody made a move to help her, though; they barely even glanced in her direction.
They only saw her as the new girl who lied.
Someone knelt down in front of her, gathering all of her books in her arms and offering them. “Are you okay?” came a soft voice.
Lila’s head lifted and she was dumbfounded. Surely everybody disliked her or heard of her mistruths by that point. “Um, yeah! I’m fine.” Her mouth tugged into a frown and she could feel her lower lip trembling, so quickly she averted her gaze to the floor once more.
“You’re new, right? Lila?” She was startled by a hand in her face, but when she looked up, the girl was smiling kindly down at her. “I’m Marinette. It’s nice to officially meet you!”
Hesitantly, Lila took her hand and lifted herself from her spot on the ground. She half-expected Marinette to play some sort of trick on her, so she was fairly relieved when there seemed to be no ulterior motive.
“You should come sit with me and my friend Alya,” Marinette suggested. Not once did the friendly grin slip. “We’ll all get along great, I bet!”
Her green-eyed gaze slid from Marinette to behind her, where the girl she knew to be Alya sat waiting. A welcoming wave was sent in her direction upon eye contact and it reassured her like nothing else.
“Sure,” Lila nodded, somewhat smiling herself. “Hey, did you know that I know–”
“You don’t have to lie to impress us,” Marinette said suddenly. The smile did drop and the intesity of her gaze made Lila feel smaller than before. “You can be real with me, okay? I want to know you for you.”
Lila’s face flushed a dark pink as she marvelled at Marinette – at her beacon of hope. Then, all at once, she smiled so big that it stunned Marinette, nodding excitedly. “Yeah, okay!”
Lisa Marie wandered into the den. She had that “moody Elvis” look. There was so much of her father in her that it hurt to watch her. The same blue eyes with the low fire burning. The cat moves seen on a thousand screens and stages.
She sank down on the couch by me. On the green lawn outside, her Grandfather, Colonel Beaulieu watched our steaks smoke and hiss on a stone fire pit he brought back from a trip out to the Orient. Mrs. Beaulieu was out in the kitchen, fixing salad and things. Looking at her profile, you could see where Priscilla got her beauty. Dinner was to be at seven. That was the usual hour at the Beaulieu home.
“Charlie,” Lisa Marie said, softly. “Yes, ‘Punkin,’” I said, taking off my reading glasses. She dragged her toes through the thick carpet.
Elvis liked to roam around the house to find someone to talk to. Often, absentmindedly, he would pick up my electric razor and knock the beard off his face while he talked.
“I was reading one of those books,” Lisa Marie said. “You know. The ones that talk about Daddy.” I nodded and waited. She needed time to say it her own way.
“Those books” were the sort written quickly and shoved into print by strangers to make a fast buck after her father died.
She looked up at me at last. I was glad to see the Presley fire flicker anew at the bottom of her warm eyes. “Daddy could act crazy,” she said. “But he didn’t act the way some people say he did all the time.” She looked at me in silence. Vulnerable. Waiting for me to reassure her in some way.
I stayed in Elvis’ home for 17 years. There were so many good memories to tell her about her father - so many good memories.