Hesh Come And End Me Already

Yall better be nicer to Esraa or else

GUN, YOUR SHOTGUN WAS LITERALLY IN MA EYE😭😭🙏🏻

*UNHOLY SCREAMING*

Thank you shana!🙏🏻😔

Last song: pretend - alex_G_offline

Favorite color: Purple any shades

last book: i don't read

Last movie: The brutalist

Last Show: the boys

sweet/spicy/savory: savory

Last thing i searched for: tiktok on website :)

current obsession: cod ghosts, cod mw2 & 3 & 4 og.

looking forward: to pass my final exams!

Tagging: all my moots! mwah <3

people i wanna get to know better meme

I was tagged by @nicnevans and @i-mybrunettelady !! Hi to the both of you :]]] last song: "Mama" by My Chemical Romance

favourite colour: Red ! I love to combine it with a combo of white and light blue tho :) black sometimes too

last book: I sadly cannot remember novel wise, but comic wise it was the first Blacksad. Highly recommend !

last movie: A quiet place 2 , I really love this franchise a lot

last tv show: Dexter, albeit i just snatched glimpse of it while my dad was watching it so im not too sure whats going on plot wise xD

sweet/spicy/savory: I love salty things but lately ive been really into sweet stuff !

last thing i searched for online: "Norn exclusive faces gw2" so I know what to pick when I use a make over kit for another character xD

current obsession: Gw2 i suppose? lmao

looking forward to : The Four Wind Festival :))))) Tagging : @lady-quen @commanderteag @mithosis @siins @enkinaru @shroomlet @lyhil @shimano aaaand anyone who want to do this :3

MEMES TIIIIGHHHMMMMAA🗣️🗣️🗣️

Here we go again.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

Ashes of Yesterday

18-19 hesh walker X fem!reader! [my idea]

summary: A once cozy and intimate evening with Hesh, filled with quiet affection and whispered promises, soon transformed into something darker, a love shadowed by impending ruin. The looming presence of ODIN disrupted everything, turning your shared moment into a fleeting memory of what could have been. In the aftermath, uncertainty reigns—was Hesh still alive, still breathing, or had the chaos swallowed him whole, leaving behind only echoes of a love now distant and unresolved?

notes: SFW, then slight NSFW

2017 JULY 10TH

The golden sun hung low in the sky, bleeding its last light across the horizon where the sea and sky met in a seamless embrace. Waves rolled in gently, their white foamy edges kissing the shore before retreating, leaving behind darkened patches of damp sand that clumped together before crumbling away. The scent of salt and the distant call of seagulls filled the air, mingling with the soft whispers of the evening breeze. You stood there, feet sinking ever so slightly into the cool, wet earth, your eyes fixed on the endless stretch of water that shimmered under the sun’s dying glow.

You were waiting.

The thought was almost enough to make your heart race, though you steadied it with a slow breath. Of course, it was him—you were waiting for your boyfriend. Hesh. Or David. You had always preferred that name, something about the way it rolled off your tongue, the way it carried a sense of quiet strength. You whispered it under your breath, testing how it sounded against the hush of the waves.

The sun’s reflection danced on the water, stretching out like golden veins against a shield of deepening blue. It was mesmerizing—the way the light clashed and intertwined with the restless sea, fighting to hold on just a little longer before the inevitable descent into night. Just like time, just like memories. Just like the feeling building up inside you as you stood there, waiting for him.

It was already 11 a.m.

A sigh slipped past your lips as you glanced at your phone, your patience wearing thin. You hated how he sometimes showed up late on dates, how time seemed to be nothing more than a suggestion to him. But then again… whatever that handsome face was doing, you could never stay mad for long.

Because David—yes, David—wasn't like the others. He wasn’t like the teenage boys who stumbled through their words or the young men who tried too hard to impress. He carried himself differently, with a quiet confidence that made your heart race. His strong, well-built frame, the kind that spoke of strength without arrogance. That voice—deep, rich, dripping with a natural charm that sent a thrill down your spine every time he spoke. Oh, and those lips. God, you could kiss him forever, drown in the warmth of his embrace, lose yourself in the way he made you feel…

A sudden sound shattered your thoughts.

The sharp crunch of footsteps against the sand. Steady, deliberate, familiar.

You turned instinctively, already knowing. The weight of his presence, the way he walked, the way even the smallest sounds seemed to carry meaning when he was near—you could recognize him anywhere.

And there he was.

David.

“David, you fuck—” The words shot out before you could stop them, frustration bubbling up as you turned to face him, ready to argue about his horrible sense of time.

But before you could go on, his arm was already around your waist, pulling you in with that effortless strength of his. And just like that, the fire in your chest wavered. He was smiling, that lazy, charming smile that had a way of making you forget why you were mad in the first place. His eyes drank you in like a man starved, like he had been counting the seconds until he could see you again.

“Miss me?” His voice was a low murmur, teasing, smooth as ever.

You placed your hands on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. A part of you wanted to melt into him, but you weren’t going to let him off that easily.

“I would keep missing you by not going out with you anymore. Is that what you want?” You arched a brow, your tone sharp, but he only sighed, his smile never faltering.

Shaking his head at your words, he met your gaze, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your waist. “Babe, you know how busy I get.” yup with daddy training.

There it was. The excuse. One you had heard before, one you understood but still hated.

The city hums softly around you as the cool air whispers past. But none of it touches you—not the chill, not the restless rhythm of the world—because his arms are wrapped securely around you, holding you close as you walk together. His dark grey jacket is thick and slick, carrying the scent of crisp air and something undeniably him. The fabric brushes against your cheek as you lean into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath.

His dark green pants rustle slightly with each step, a quiet rhythm against the pavement. The sound blends with his voice—low, rich, and endlessly smooth, like raindrops sliding down glass. It drips into your ears, every word soaked in something warm, something familiar. "How was your day?" he asks, his voice melting into the cool morning.

You sigh, your own voice slipping easily into the space he’s made for you. "It was fine," you murmur, though the way you relax against him says more than words ever could.

He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest, vibrating against your skin. "Just fine?" There's something playful in his tone, something that makes the corner of your lips tug upward despite yourself.

The world feels distant, blurred behind the warmth of him, behind the quiet intimacy of a simple walk. And in this moment, wrapped in the sound of his voice and the steady warmth of his embrace, the rest of the night ceases to matter.

"I literally just started the day with you, david."

-----------------------------------------

small roadside diner, the kind that seems frozen in time. Neon lights buzz overhead, casting a soft pink and blue glow onto the pavement, their reflection shimmering in puddles left by a recent drizzle. Through the wide windows, the warm glow of the interior spills out, painting the time with something that feels familiar, something that feels like home.

Inside, the scent of sizzling burgers and fresh coffee lingers in the air, mixing with the distant hum of an old-school jukebox that crackles with a song from decades past. Red leather booths line the walls, their surfaces softened by years of late-night conversations and quiet moments shared over plates of fries and milkshakes. The clink of plates, the low murmur of conversations—it all feels like background noise to the only thing that really matters: him.

Before you even have a chance to glance at the menu, he orders—your usual. Not in a way that makes you feel small, but in a way that makes you feel known. Like he’s memorized the details of you without even trying, like he’s paid attention in all the little moments when no one else did.

"You always take forever to decide anyway,and end up with the same thing" he says with a smirk, his voice dripping with that effortless warmth, that teasing edge that makes you roll your eyes but smile anyway.

He doesn’t sit across from you. No, he slides into the booth right beside you, close enough that the heat of his body seeps through his jacket, through your sweater, through the space that barely exists between you. His thigh presses against yours under the table, solid, grounding. One arm stretches along the back of the booth, not quite touching you, but close enough that you feel the weight of him there. A quiet claim.

You reach over without hesitation, plucking a few golden fries from his plate and popping them into your mouth. The salty warmth melts on your tongue as you give him a defiant look, eyes gleaming with challenge. "Oh, really? Then gimme your fries."

He doesn’t protest—just watches you with that unreadable expression, shaking his head as he raises his hands in surrender. "I mean..." he drawls, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, "they were there before we got here."

Your chewing slows. The flavor in your mouth suddenly seems questionable. You blink at him, processing his words, and his eyes flicker with amusement as he leans back against the booth, watching your reaction unfold.

"Bon appétit, babe," he adds smoothly, voice thick with mock innocence.

Your stomach drops. Your eyes widen. Wait... what?!

He doesn’t break character, just sits there, arms stretched along the back of the booth, looking effortlessly smug as you freeze mid-chew. The betrayal. The horror. Are these—were these—leftover fries?!

You stare at him, your entire existence now hinging on whether he’s serious or just messing with you. And that’s when you see it—the slightest twitch at the corner of his lips, the glimmer of laughter barely contained behind his cool expression.

You grab a napkin, ready to spit them out if necessary. "You’re kidding, right?"

He finally breaks, a low chuckle escaping as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Relax, princess. They’re fresh, took some before ya."

You shove his arm, groaning as he laughs, the sound deep and unbothered. You should’ve known better. He always does this—always keeps you on your toes, always finds a way to turn the moment into something his.

-----------------------------------

You can’t help the incredulous laugh that escapes your lips as you glance at David, eyebrows raised. "Oh my god, David. You must be tipsy or something. Why would you wanna order a milkshake with two straws? That’s just too cheesy!" You almost can’t believe your own words—yet here you are, staring at him as he casually sits back in his booth, the grin never leaving his face.

David chuckles softly, adjusting his position like he's already won. He stretches his arms out lazily, his casual demeanor only making him seem more dangerous in his charm. His eyes glint with mischief as he leans forward, elbows on the table.

"Come on, babe. It’s romantic," he says, voice dripping with that playful confidence that makes you both roll your eyes and want to punch him at the same time.

You stare at him, your lips parted in disbelief. Romantic? You feel your face scrunch in a mix of amusement and disbelief. The sheer cheesiness of it hits you all at once—yet, there’s a spark of something else, something you can’t quite place. "Oh, wow..." You shrug dramatically, trying to feign disinterest, but the way your lips curl upward betrays you.

David leans back, watching you with the same unshakable grin, as if he knows you’re secretly enjoying his ridiculousness. He knows he’s won, and the corners of his mouth twitch like he’s savoring the moment.

The waitress arrives a moment later, balancing the absurdity on her tray—a milkshake in a glass, topped with whipped cream and a cherry, two straws sticking out from either side. You look at it, then back at David, who meets your gaze with exaggerated sweetness.

"See? It’s just like the movies," he says, his voice a little too syrupy for comfort.

You roll your eyes, but deep down, you can’t help the warmth that spreads across your chest. Maybe it is cheesy, but it’s him. And you can’t deny that, despite yourself, there’s something a little romantic about this absurd moment.

"Fine," you sigh, grabbing one of the straws, and you watch his face light up as he grabs the other. He’s always so effortlessly him, and no matter how cheesy he gets, you kind of love it.

The laughter never stops, rippling through the both of you as you try to sip from the milkshake at the same time. It’s absurd, ridiculous, but you can’t seem to stop, even as you both end up laughing harder with every awkward slurp. David’s totally watching you out of the corner of his eye, trying to act all cool and nonchalant, but you can see the mischief dancing in his gaze. His lips curl with a grin every time you pull the straw from your mouth at the same time, as if he's savoring every goofy second of it.

You can feel him in your peripheral vision, that silent, confident he knew this would be fun vibe radiating off him, like he’s having the time of his life with this stupidly romantic moment. But the second his eyes meet yours, that playful glint falters. For a second, he hesitates, and you catch it—a flicker of something else. It’s almost as if the whole scene becomes suddenly too intimate for him, too real.

He pulls away with a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as if this whole thing was a little too much even for him. "This is so stupid," he mutters, but you can tell he’s loving every second of it—loving you.

You, on the other hand, are struggling to keep it together, your face turning pink as you hold the milkshake up to your lips, trying desperately to control your laughter. "David, stop! I’m gonna choke on it!" you manage to say between fits of giggles, though the words sound barely coherent because of the laughter bubbling up inside you.

He’s not making it any better. Each time you say something, he lets out another chuckle, the sound rich and warm, just enough to make you nearly lose it all over again. The look in his eyes softens as he watches you try to compose yourself, that lovestruck gaze creeping up on him despite his attempt to stay cool.

And there it is—that soft, unmistakable look on his face when he pulls back from the milkshake. It’s almost too much—he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in this little corner of the world, and all that teasing, all that laughter fades away into something much deeper. Something warm. Something real.

God, you love him, you think, and in that split second, you can see he feels the same way, too.

You pull away from the milkshake, nearly spilling it, as your laughter bubbles over. "Stop it!!" you gasp between giggles, swatting at him playfully. The sound of his deep, wholesome laughter fills the diner, the kind that makes everything around you seem a little brighter, a little warmer. The moment stretches between the two of you like a beautiful, shared secret, and he turns his head away to stifle another chuckle, but you can still hear it—soft, full of love, the kind of laughter that makes your heart skip a beat. He just loves the way your eyes shine when you’re happy, loves seeing you this carefree.

Finally, the milkshake sits forgotten between you as you both catch your breath, the laughter dying down to a soft hum that lingers in the air, like a melody that won’t fade. You both smile at each other, the playful tension slowly melting away into something quieter, something more intimate.

And then it’s back to the streets again, your hands casually brushing against each other as you walk side by side. The time feels like it’s made just for you two—your feet moving in sync, It’s almost magical, the way everything feels so effortlessly right.

You both stop at a nearby ice cream cart, and he orders two cones—one chocolate, one vanilla. You lick at yours, slowly, savoring each bite. But before you can finish, he’s already done with his. Of course. Typical. He looks down at you with that mischievous smile of his, his eyes bright under the streetlights.

"You gonna finish that?" he asks, a playful edge to his voice, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. But before you can even answer, you’re standing between his legs, your back resting against his chest as you keep eating, your ice cream melting slowly in the warmth of the light.

His arms slip around you, settling comfortably at your waist, pulling you closer. He leans against the brick wall, his chest solid and steady behind you, and for a moment, just feeling. The world feels distant, muted, like it’s all happening in slow motion around you.

You tilt your head back just slightly, meeting his gaze with that same teasing smile, and in that moment, everything is perfect. He holds you, not tightly, but enough to remind you that he’s there, that he’s yours, and this simple, silly time is the kind of memory that will last forever.

You finish your ice cream, the sweetness lingering on your lips, but it’s the warmth of his arms around you that makes your heart feel full—like you’ve found exactly where you’re meant to be.

---------------------------------

The date lingers like the final notes of a favorite song, the world around you quieting as the air grows colder, the warmth between the two of you still burning strong. You feel the weight of the moment, the way everything—every laugh, every glance, every touch—has led to this. But deep down, you both know it’s time to wrap up. And even though neither of you wants to face it, the inevitable is here.

He pulls his phone from his pocket, glancing at the screen, his expression shifting just slightly. You know what’s coming before it even happens. "Hate saying goodbye," he mutters, his voice tinged with reluctant fondness as his thumb hovers over the call button. His eyes meet yours, the unspoken words hanging between you two. You both know the date is winding down, but neither of you is quite ready to let go.

his phone buzzed with a call from Elias, his campfire plans waiting. Of course, you think, feeling a twinge of disappointment in your chest. He takes the call, his voice low but laced with that same playful edge he always has.

"I should probably head back… but I don’t want to," he says, his words drifting into the cool air between you two, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone else. The sincerity in his voice is enough to make your heart ache, a quiet longing tugging at you.

You turn toward him, giving him a little pout, and holding his arm like you don’t want to let go. "Seriously, just a few more minutes!" You’re pleading now, though you know it won’t make much difference. You’re asking for the impossible, but you can’t help it. You want more of this moment, more of him.

He chuckles softly, looking down at you with that same mixture of affection and reluctant amusement. "I don’t wanna go, ya know?" he admits, his voice softer now, like he’s wishing he could stretch the moment out forever too. "But the old man’s gonna lose it if I don’t show up for the campfire."

You can hear the quiet laughter in his voice, but there’s a flicker of something else—something real, something that tells you he feels it too. That feeling of not wanting to leave, not wanting this night, this connection to slip away. You both know the clock is ticking, and no matter how much you wish for more time, it’s slipping through your fingers.

As he reach up to your place, the step slows to a stop, the time now settled around you both like a soft blanket, almost too perfect to end. He glances over at you, his lips curling up into that familiar, lazy smile of his.

"Best damn date I’ve ever had." He says it like it's a simple fact, like there's no debate, and for a moment, you're not sure whether he’s talking about the milkshakes or the laughter, or maybe just you. It doesn’t matter. You feel the warmth of the moment settle between you, just as real and as easy as breathing.

You reach for the door handle, but before you can even make a move, he leans in, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. The sudden proximity, the softness of his touch, makes your heart skip. You freeze, your breath catching as he leans in, his lips brushing yours, slow and lingering—like he's savoring the moment, like he's trying to make sure it doesn’t slip away. You could stay like this forever, the world outside fading, everything narrowing down to just this—a kiss between two people who don’t want the night to end.

As his lips met yours, you could feel the intensity behind the kiss—a rush of warmth that made everything around you fade into the background. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, a quiet expression of concentration flickering across his face as if he was trying to savor every second, trying to make the moment last as long as possible. But there was something more behind it, something raw. It was clear: he didn’t just want this kiss, he wanted more. The way his body leaned into you, his lips pressed against yours with an almost desperate slowness, told you everything you needed to know.

Your breath hitched as his lips moved with a deep, unhurried tenderness, and you could feel the intensity building between you both. But before you even had a chance to process it, he pulled away just enough to look at you, eyes dark with something that felt like both hesitation and longing. And without another word, he leaned in again, this time kissing you more deeply, more urgently. His lips met yours with a heat that sent a rush of fire through your veins, and you found yourself pulling him closer, instinctively, your hands reaching up to wrap around the back of his neck, drawing him in.

His arm slid around your waist, lifting you just slightly off the ground, pulling you even closer. The movement was effortless for him, like he knew exactly how to hold you, how to make you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. The kiss deepened, both of you lost in it, in the warmth and the pressure that seemed to build with every passing second.

And then, in the midst of it all, you both heard it. A loud whistle that traveled from one of the nearby houses—a neighbor who must’ve been watching. The sound of it, light and amused, almost seemed to break the bubble of heat surrounding you both, but it only made you both smile against each others lips, knowing you didn’t care who was watching, because this moment—this heated, tangled mess of emotions—was yours and his alone.

He pulled away just enough to glance at you, his breath ragged, both of you caught in the aftershock of what you’d just shared. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the neighbor’s teasing, not the time, not even the fact that the night had to end. You were right here, with him, wrapped up in something that felt both too big to fully understand and too perfect to let go of.

When he pulls away, it's with just enough space for him to look into your eyes, his voice a whisper, soft and teasing, just enough to make you smile. "Don’t get yourself too emotional to miss me, sweetheart," he says, the words wrapped in that familiar playful edge, a wink accompanying them.

You laugh softly, shaking your head, the lingering warmth of his kiss still dancing on your lips. "You’re such a tease," you reply, a smile tugging at your own lips.

He chuckles, his eyes crinkling with amusement, the teasing smile never leaving. There’s a moment of silence between you, but it’s comfortable, easy, like you both know this isn’t quite over—not yet.

With one last wink, he pulls back just a little, his fingers brushing over yours before he finally lets go. You watch him, standing there just a moment longer, like he’s reluctant to leave but knows he has to. And even as he walks off, part of you knows this goodbye is just a brief pause, a chapter that’s far from finished.

------------------------------------

me writing this fic to heal myself because i am like this rn with the problems are happening to me

u will be missed lo

Forsaken

Logans POV from the Pit

One - The beginning, or the aftermath?

Just when he thought that everything was alright, that everything was over and done with, that they had got their revenge and justice for all those people that had died, for Ajax - it all crumbled down in one minute

Rorke.

How the fuck did he survive?

He remembered Hesh had smashed his skull with a fire extinguisher, he himself had shot him straight in the chest with a twisting speeding bullet, and Rorke was drowned in water almost an instance after the glass broke. How could he survive?

Maybe this is why Rorke was such a dangerous Ghost. Keyword, was. He was no longer a Ghost, he had lost that title a long time ago when he had betrayed the squad. Elias had told him.

But why did he come back even if he did survive all that? Why was he so intent on taking him? Why not his brother? Why not both of them? Shouldn't Rorke have just run back to whatever hole he came out from and went back into hiding and recover from that hit? So why? Why did he take him with him despite everything?

Did he really remind Rorke that much of Elias?

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────

Two - The Silent Mind

He abruptly coughed dryly as the thoughts in his mind swirled around, lying on his side, choking for those few seconds as he gasped for air.

Eventually, the coughing fit of a storm calmed down - not without leaving tears in his eyes, that is.

He was dehydrated. Thirsty and starving. Weak and frail. His throat felt like it was burning, an irritating tightness being felt as the reflex to cough kept attacking him over and over again like raining bullets. Like a thorn was lodged in his throat, and he couldn't get it out, an endless cycle.

He weakly shifted his head from the side-laying position to look up, eyes bleary. All he could see was that same old metal wire barrier between him and the outside world. It was dark outside, the dark looming trees blocking out any sort of excess moonlight as they silently wavered in the breeze, the scent of all sorts of vegetation and dark mushy wet soil wafting down to him.

It was quiet, too quiet.

Too peaceful. Like the calm after a storm. Expect, he was in the storm still.

He would have used this time to take a moment to collect his thoughts and maybe even get some rest - if only it weren't for the fact that pipes were all up his ass, to clense his bowels, and the dirt ground was crawling with insects. He couldn't lay down even a second without hearing the sounds of those fucking teeny tiny legs scittering and scattering around. It grossed him out, even if those things couldn't exactly hurt him. His limbs were tied, keeping him in place with no way to move around into a better position to avoid the bugs on the ground. Zero proper blood circulation, so he felt tense and tight in place.

He was literally kissing the filt on the floor, even if it was just the side of his face. It smelled like shit, like grime. He really wished he didn't have the sense to smell right now. Didn't it smell worse because one of the Fed's took a piss on him?

Well—not on him, more like near where he was placed. He couldn't remember exactly, though. His mind was fogged up.

He knew this wasn't even the beginning of what he would have to go through. All he knew was that his brother and the entire Ghost Team were coming to save him. They wouldn't leave him behind, now would they? He was sure that they were currently trying to track down his location. Maybe they had already found it and were making a plan to attack - though that was probably a stretch.

He reminded himself to relax, to not get too hopeful or excited. It had only been a couple of months, right? He wasn't too sure as to how much time had passed, but he knew it had a long time judging by the amount of weight and muscle mass he had lost. He knew his hands would be all shaky if he was told to hold a rilfe, hell, even the same pistol he used to shoot Rorke would have the same result.

If he was given a mirror, he knew that he wouldn't even be recognizable...would his brother even recognize him after all this? Would he have changed that much?

He tried not to think about the bad parts too intently. He knew the team was working on his case, after all...

No Ghost ever got left behind.

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────

Three - Denial and Acceptance

Hesh?

Is...is that you?

He couldn't believe it

After so long, he had finally been found

Finally. Finally he would be given freedom and be reunited with the only family he had left. He would tell them all about what the Feds had done to him and they'll all help burn the place down, first was getting him to safety

He waited in the hole patiently, his heart pounding in anticipation. He waited, his body language tense and trembling in faint happiness. He knew he had heard his brother's voice, he swore he also heard that same rumble of Keegan's voice in line with Hesh's.

So, where were they?

His head was spinning as his back slumped against the dirt wall after waiting in place for 10 minutes. Did they lose his trail? Did they retreat? Did they get caught? What happened? There was no way they would leave him here.

No.

No, they weren't like that

Had he been dreaming about them?

No, it couldn't be. It felt too vivid, their voices, to be fake. He hadn't lost his sanity that much, right? Right. There was no way...

...then why would the voices suddenly disappear when he paid attention to them and expected something to happen?

He started to repeat the names of all the Ghosts to himself, mumbling silently from his bloody and cracked lips as his hands clasped together in almost a last attempt of desperation - as if he was praying. The memories of everyone he had flooding his mind like a tidal wave, the more notable memories featuring him and Hesh in the past, before they got into any of this, this whole mess. They had wanted to become something, not immediate soliders. But when Hesh joined, thanks to their dad, he also found himself joining, wanting to follow his brother...

If only he knew that he would be ending up here. And probably end up losing his brother, too. He had already lost his dad due to this job. Who else did he have to lose? Hell, even Ajax was dead. So, who was next? Him?

No.

They wouldn't kill him. He knew Rorke wanted him to himself. That man himself said he wasn't going to let him be a Ghost, ever.

Truly, he wanted to die. To kill himself to end all of this. But he didn't. His brother kept him alive. The idea that survival and freedom were still on the plate for him kept him alive. Even if it was slowly starting to slip away from his fingertips.

Qestion was, how long could he maintain this for before Rorke ripped his mind apart from the very stem and took a look inside to see what he could tweak and eliminate.

Could Rorke really make him forget who he was? He didn't want to believe it. But he knew what the Fed's were capable of. If someone like Rorke lost his way, there was no doubt that someone like him would have the same fate.

Question was how long his stubbornness could keep him going. Question was how long he could resist the Federation's advances. Question was how long he could hold on to his identity.

Hopefully, the name "Logan Walker" wouldn't become a former.

Hopefully, it wouldn't become a lost identity.

That is so Hesh-core. I can totally see it:

Hesh is in the kitchen, being his usual chaotic self, covered in flour because he’s "helping" bake something.

Riley walks in, wagging his tail, completely innocent.

Cue Hesh getting the dumbest idea ever.

He dips his hand into the flour, grinning mischievously. "C’mere, buddy."

SMACK. Full handprint right on Riley’s face.

"There riley! Now you’re an official Ghost!"

Riley just stands there, blinking, while Logan sighs in the background.

Riley sneezed. Then wagged his tail.

But Hesh? He was beaming. "Logan, take a picture!"

And then there is a flour print on hesh's lips.

Because Y/n kissed him after they put flour on their lips.

WHAT? I'M PLAYING THAT'S IT BYE.

@gunnrblze this was anons video 🫡

"I can change him" Why?did he shit himself?

So hey your hcs are good written and i like them!, Although I really think it is too much if every boo crew character has a healthy breakup...

How anon expected cod ghosts to react when their s/o tells them they wanna break up with them: