#visage. ; elena grey.

[gilbheart]

      𝙃𝙀 𝙄𝙎 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙇𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏 𝙏𝙊 𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝘿𝘼𝙔, the source of sun to break up the grey cloudy skies hovering over mystic falls. stefan has no idea what he's meant to her already, what's done for her. he is a beacon: something she never anticipated, but all the while, has her heart filled with gratitude. brows knit, along with a small smile to follow. eyes are brimming with vitality as she takes in his visage.

      her arms can't resist themselves; they snake around his frame and pull him close to her. here, she is safe. here, everything is alright. who would've thought that a being with such a reputation ( violence, blood, death ... ) would now be her solace. it was all a contradiction, and sometimes it made elena's head want to explode. but, in this moment, no, she didn't want to FEEL that. she wanted to accept it for what it was: TO SURRENDER. the brunette nuzzles into @hisbattles, happiness flooding into her as their bodies made contact. ❝ yeah, i'm just happy you're here. ❞

      [ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒? 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒'𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄... 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗆𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾. 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗇𝗒, 𝖾𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋. 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗇-𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇? 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗁, 𝗆𝗒 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝗍, 𝗍𝗈𝖽𝖺𝗒'𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒... ] the final sentence in for her early entry. elena sets her pen down and closes the journal. it's only morning, but one glance out her window this AM brought out those familiar pages: she could already tell what kind of day it was going to be. one of those, she sighs to herself. but suddenly, in the corner of the glass barricade that was her window, a p a r t i c u l a r silhouette appeared. the doppelgänger spots a SALVATORE; the mere recognition in itself sends a jolt to her stomach. ❝ stefan! ❞ the gilbert girl wasted no time and raced downstairs to greet @hisbattles.

[alexravennight]

          new tags, please ignore !

[viscontic]

So this one is dedicated to @kiruuuuu because I have been thoroughly inspired by their writing and although my writing pales in comparison to theirs, I still wanted to share. Thank you for all the work you put into your fics <3

 [Buck/Jackal ] probably rated T? - 1.7k words of angst. | Rook makes a mistake and Jackal suffers the consequences. 

"Do you regret it?"

The question hangs heavy in the air between them. It isn't accusing, or judging, or even angry. Just.. exhausted. Jackal stands at the window of the shared room, arms curled tightly around himself. The black bags outlined beneath his eyes is the only indication he lost any sleep. He still stands tall and proud, head held high, determined not to show any weakness at the hour he felt most vulnerable. Outside his window, all life is still. The birds had long since retreated and took their joyous songs with them. Leaves are turned over on their delicate stems. Grey streaks across the once blue sky, announcing their arrival with a thundering clap. It was a perfect reflection of the storm brewing within Jackal.

Rook stands on the threshold of the room. His head hangs low and his body trembles with silent tears. "I'm sorry, Ryad. Honest, I'm so sorry." Jackal knows it is somewhat unfair to blame the Frenchman. He knows the risks of the jobs they preformed. Buck knew the risk when he accepted the mission presented to him. "In and out, mon cheri," Buck had promised him with a soft smile and a reassuring squeeze of his hand when he voiced his concerns. "Have faith." There wasn't a doubt left in Jackal's mind.

Something went wrong, though. "Hurry," Buck hissed, taking the terrified hostage's upper arm and tugging him along. The tower was alive with war. The shouts of Team Rainbow and the White Masks echoed off the walls, drowning in the gunfire. Rook and Finka covered Buck while he adjusted the hostage over his shoulders. The man was frantically shaking his head, clinging to Buck, refusing to unclench his fists out of fear, yelling through the tape they had yet to remove from his mouth. Buck didn't have time to comfort the man, though, and hauled them both out the window. The line held fast and true. Without further delay, Buck began to climb the side of the tower with the hostage trembling on his back. Rook and Finka followed close behind.

Everything was muffled with the wind pushing against them. The French-Canadian soldier couldn't hear Rook's cries of warning.

Barely caught sight of the little white clicker that slipped from the hostage's hand.

Jackal remembers the weight of Doc's hand on his shoulder. The Spaniard felt his heart shatter and the world crumble away to darkness around him when Doc finally spoke. "The explosion was point blank. It would have been instantaneous. He didn't feel a thing." It was meant to reassure him, and yet.. "I am truly sorry, Ryad." The blank stare that answered his words was far too much for the doctor and he excused himself.

Now, Jackal turns to face Rook. How wrong he had been to hold the same faith he held for Buck to the others of Rainbow. He knows why Rook stands at his door, caught in his own silent battle. It had been late. Rook was tired. He simply wanted to finish so he could retire to a much needed rest. He should have looked closer. It was there, screaming at him in the form of little inky letters; A setup. More than just a rookie mistake. Buck is dead, and they both know who it is to bare the blame. Rook's face is a mess of tears and fear and guilt.

The funeral is a blur for Jackal. He hears the quiet murmuring and can feel the looks of sympathy burning holes in his soul. He hears the words they speak, offering sincere condolences. Outwardly, one might believe he was taking the whole situation surprisingly well. He sits slouched in his chair, but his eyes remain dry, albeit hazy and unfocused, staring straight ahead but not quite seeing. When it's his turn to speak, he recounts each memory he spent with Buck with a strong clear voice and his head his held high. On the inside, he breaks with each word he forces out. He spent so much time crying in the days leading up to this moment that he doesn't believe he could possibly shed more tears even if he wanted. His fingers tap on the podium. He avoids eye contact and instead opts to stare between the isles or at the paper between his fingers or anywhere that isn't Buck.

It's all surreal, and he's unsure of what to do with himself other than stare blankly at the engagement ring that adorns his finger. He gently twists it with his right hand and runs his finger over the simple band. A symbol of Buck's promise to always love him, in sickness and in health. To always cherish him.

Till death do them part.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Jackal barely reacts when Mira's hand slams into his shoulder and forces him to turn and look at her. "You could have been killed!" Her tiny face is alight with anger. Beneath that she hides her fear. Jackal has become reckless in the weeks after the funeral. He's sloppy when he checks his corners and on more than one occasion fails to clear a whole room. It put him at odds with Ying, who believes his careless behavior should have him removed from the team until he can clear his mind and realize he is risking more than himself.

The next thing she says breaks whatever is left of Jackal's heart. The wound left on his very soul is ripped open once more, and this time around, as Mira turns her back to him, he is left by himself to bleed and die. "I am glad Sebastien is not here to see you like this, mi hermano. How his heart would break.."

The range becomes Jackal's haven after his argument with Mira. He finds himself there in his free time, mindlessly shooting targets. His aim has gotten sloppy, and some of his shots miss the targets entirely. He doesn't stop, though. It becomes a repetitive task the slips past his thoughts and into his subconscious; Remove the empty magazine. Insert the next. Pull the slider. Fire. Reload. Fire.. Reload..

When he's not at the range, Jackal wanders the Hereford base. He appears less and less in the cafeteria until eventually he simply stops going, stops eating. He starts to drop weight. He rarely sleeps. Avoids contact with the other operators whenever he can. He's become a mere shadow of the man he was, and Mira finds herself afraid her brother-in-arms would never cope.

He's back at the range again. Another argument with Mira. It was common these days and it was tearing the GEO team apart. Fire. She said he couldn't be trusted. Fire. Claimed he was a danger to himself, to the team, to the operation as a whole. Fire. How dare she? Fire. Him, of all people, untrustworthy? Fire. He wasn't the one who slacked off. Fire. He wasn't the one that got Buck killed. Reload. Fire. There was blood on his hands, oh yes. Fire. He was ruthless, then and now, on the field. Fire.. He took the lives of many terrorist. Fire... There would be no room for him in heaven. Fire. But at least he could say he wasn't responsible for the death of one of their own.

Jackal pauses with his finger hovering over the trigger. It's the last round, the last magazine. His thoughts are ablaze with frustration, anger, and grief. He takes this moment now to stop and breathe. Turns the pistol over in his hand. It's a beautiful thing, with an ivory grip and well-polished sleek black barrel. It'd once been Buck's but was given to him as a gift shortly after their first date. Jackal had always treasured it but did so now more than ever. His last relic of Buck was both an image of beauty and destruction. Suddenly, a great calm settles over Jackal. Holding the pistol in his palm once more brings the answer to him. He should have seen it from the start. Mira was right, always had been. He is finally ready to heal. But first, the final shot. He takes aim just as he always did. There was no uncertainty left in his grip. Fire.

After her argument with Jackal, Mira seeks out Rook. He's no better off than Jackal is. The difference is he surrounds himself with his friends, seeks solstice in their words. He's fighting his own internal war and paying the price for his mistakes. Mira doesn't blame him. It was a mistake, yes, but what has been done is done, and no amount of wishing or 'what if's' was going to fix that. She knew this, and so did Rook. She seeks the man out. it's a conversation long overdue, but he takes it well.

"Please, Julien. Talk with him. He is hurting, and I think now you are the only one who can help him." Rook hasn't spoken to the Spaniard since delivering the news of Buck's death. He approached the man a time or two only to be brushed away, though he couldn't say he blamed Jackal. He was responsible for Buck's death. It was a tough pill to swallow, but he did it, and he paid his amends. There was still a loose end, though, and it was time for Rook to mend that, too. "Of course, Elena. I shouldn't have waited so long.." Mira sends him away to the range- no doubt Jackal would be there blowing off steam- with an understanding and relieved smile.

Rook swallows an assortment of emotions once he reaches the doors to the range. Anxiety, doubt, guilt, uncertainty. He reminds himself that this is to provide Jackal the closure he needs, to help both of them move past the loss of the departed beloved, to heal and continue to fight for what was right. Once he finds his resolve, he gives himself a tight determined nod and pushes his way inside.

He finds Jackal at the fifth stall on the right. The moment he spots the man, all of his doubts and worries flood back in an unstoppable torrent. As always, Jackal's ivory pistol is well groomed. If inspected under a microscope, Rook was sure he wouldn't find even the smallest speck of dirt. The man himself has a serene visage, as though he’d found what he needed to accept... everything.

And as Rook watches the fresh trickle of blood pool beneath Jackal's head, he realizes he killed more than just Buck that day on the tower.