Drew This Freak

David "Hesh" walker, save me David "Hesh" walker... Save me David "Hesh" walker

I'm a good person now😍😍!

Plus new me won't write weird stuff😊

Bored going to drop my music taste here (jokes on you it chages every week) and yes it is so messed up.

MEMES TIIIIGHHHMMMMAA🗣️🗣️🗣️

He is 95 in 2025 he dead now💔😔

Still thinking about how Woods was born in freaking 1930. What do you mean his parents were probably alive in the 1890s. He was a teenager in the 1940s!? He's 90-something in 2025!?

I could stay all night~ and talk about these kind of people because at first you will go like "oh maybe they are busy or having a hard time" but no babe. take it from me, they just want to show their insecurity.

In my opinion, one of the most heartbreaking things someone can do is draw people in with kindness—being sweet, warm, and seemingly genuine—only to reveal a completely different, colder version of themselves months into the friendship.

It’s like they put on a mask just long enough to make you trust them, only to later use that connection as a stage for their own bitterness or emotional detachment. Almost as if they want to recreate some toxic dynamic—acting heartless to feel in control, or maybe even to seem “cool.”

Sometimes it feels like they never truly wanted a real bond. They just wanted people around to react to them, to fill a space they never learned how to love properly. And that kind of manipulation, hidden behind fake warmth, can leave a deep mark on those who genuinely cared...

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

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

✧ Title: The last command

Special thanks to @frenchfriesandhawtguys about the idea to the end of the oneshot!! <3

✧ Characters: G!N! Reader, Hesh walker, Logan walker, Riley,

✧ Summary: You were the one who found Riley—a helpless pup, lost and trembling. You raised him, trained him, gave him a name. Through battles and quiet nights, he was your shadow, your only constant. He knew you like no other, and you, him. But everything ends, and fate never spares even the deepest bonds…

✧ Warnings: Mention of death.

✧ Word Count: 3,986 words.

The world had unraveled, torn apart at the seams.

The ODIN strike had not simply reduced cities to rubble—it had rewritten the very landscape, turning once-thriving metropolises into smoldering graveyards. Ash clung to the air like a ghost that refused to leave, settling into the jagged ruins of homes, buildings, and streets now stripped of their purpose. Civilization had fractured, splintering into desperate clusters of survivors, each one grasping at the edges of a world that no longer existed.

You were not a soldier. Not yet. Just a lone figure in the wreckage, trying to outlast the end of everything.

The forest had become your refuge. Here, the air was still, untouched in some places, yet carrying an eerie stillness in others. Towering trees cast skeletal shadows over the ground, their branches whispering secrets to the wind. And always, there was the scent of smoke—distant but ever-present—a quiet testament to the devastation that loomed just beyond the tree line.

The rest stop was a ghost of what it once was.

Cracked pavement split apart by stubborn weeds, the remains of burned-out cars sitting like rusted tombstones, their hollowed frames whispering stories of those who never made it out. The air was thick with the scent of old smoke and decay, the kind of stillness that made your skin crawl.

You moved carefully, each step deliberate. Silence was survival. A misplaced footstep, a careless sound—it could bring someone, or worse, something.

Then, you heard it.

A faint whimper.

It was soft, almost swallowed by the wind, but unmistakable. Your fingers tightened around the rusted metal pipe in your grip, your only weapon, its weight familiar yet useless against the unknown.

Heart pounding, you followed the sound, stepping over shattered glass, weaving between skeletal remains of vehicles. The whimper came again, fragile, almost pleading.

And then you saw him.

The pup was barely more than skin and bones, a fragile thing caught between the wreckage of a world that had forgotten him. His fur, once thick and proud, was now matted with dirt and dust. His ribs pressed against his skin, a silent testament to how long he had been fighting—how long he had been losing.

His wide, wary eyes met yours, flickering between fear and something else. Hope, maybe. But he didn’t trust it yet.

You crouched slowly, careful not to startle him, your voice soft against the quiet.

“Hey, buddy... it’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

He flinched but didn’t run. He couldn’t.

Reaching into your pack, you pulled out the last strip of jerky you had scavenged earlier. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. You tossed it gently onto the cracked pavement between you. The pup sniffed the air, hesitated, then, with a weak shuffle of paws, crept forward and took it.

The moment his small jaws closed around the food, something in your chest tightened.

He was alone. Just like you.

From the moment he took that first bite, Riley became a shadow at your side.

The first night, he barely slept. Every snap of a branch, every distant echo of destruction sent a tremor through his small frame. He would lift his head, ears twitching, eyes wide and searching. You found yourself murmuring reassurances in the dark, your hand resting over his frail body, offering what little warmth and comfort you could.

The forest became home. Together, you picked your way through the wreckage of a lost world—fallen trees, broken highways, the hollow husks of abandoned gas stations. Scavenging was a way of life now, and Riley learned fast. He stayed close, his sharp eyes watching your every move. When you signaled, he listened. When you stopped, he froze.

Days bled into nights, and Riley grew. His ribs became less pronounced, his legs steadier, his steps more confident. He was no longer the frightened pup trembling beneath the wreckage. He moved with purpose now, following your every step, learning your cues. He knew when to be silent, when to alert you with a quiet growl, when to run.

He was more than just a companion now.

He was family.

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

The sky burned with the colors of a dying day—deep orange fading into crimson, casting long shadows over the broken world. The distant skyline stood jagged against the horizon, its skeletal remains silhouetted by the last light. What had once been towering monuments of civilization were now crumbling reminders of what was lost.

You sat beside the small fire, its flickering glow offering the only warmth in the cool evening air. Riley lay beside you, his head resting on your lap, eyes half-closed but still listening, always listening. His breathing was slow, steady, the rise and fall of his chest a quiet reassurance that, for now, you were both safe.

You exhaled, watching the flames dance, then glanced back at the ruins in the distance. The world had fallen apart, but here, in this moment, there was something left to hold onto.

“We’re gonna get through this, buddy.”

Riley’s tail thumped once against the dirt—a silent promise.

And in that moment, you knew—whatever came next, however dark the road ahead became, you wouldn’t walk it alone.

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

You hadn’t realized naming a dog would be such a challenge.

There you were, perched on a fallen log near your makeshift camp, Riley—well, the pup—sitting in front of you, his wide, eager eyes fixed on you, ears perked. He tilted his small head slightly, as if waiting for a command, or maybe for you to finally settle on a name.

His fur was looking healthier now, the days of rest and the food you’d managed to find filling him out a bit. He was starting to trust you more, the tentative steps he’d once taken now replaced with more confident movements. But despite everything, he still had that look in his eyes, the one that said you’re still the one in charge.

"Alright, buddy… we gotta give you a name," you murmured, rolling a small stick between your hands. Riley’s tail thumped once on the dirt as if agreeing.

You tried a few out loud, each one punctuated by a hopeful glance at his reaction.

"Max?"

Nothing.

"Scout?"

A slow blink.

"Ace?"

A lazy yawn, like he couldn’t be bothered.

You huffed, exasperated, and stared at him with a raised brow. "You gotta help me out here, pal."

Riley tilted his head again, as though he was genuinely considering your words. But after a moment, he simply licked his paw and gave you that look—the one that said, You’re the one with the ideas, human.

You sighed. Naming him was going to take some time.

Then, out of nowhere, a memory surfaced—a distant echo from a time when the world still made sense.

It was from an old movie, the kind you used to watch on lazy afternoons before everything changed. There was This dog named Riley. The dog had saved his friends countless times, charging into danger without hesitation.

"Riley."

The pup’s ears perked instantly, his eyes locking on yours, curiosity sparking in them. His tail gave a tentative wag.

"Riley?" you tried again, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

This time, he let out a tiny, almost uncertain ruff—a sound so small, yet somehow, it felt like the weight of the world had shifted. His first bark since you’d found him.

You couldn’t help but laugh, a rare, genuine sound that felt good in your chest. You reached out, your hand finding his ears, ruffling them gently. "Alright, Riley it is. Hope you like it, 'cause it’s sticking."

From that moment forward, Riley wasn’t just a stray dog in a broken world. He was yours. And you were his.

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

A few weeks had passed, and Riley had grown into his name—stronger, sharper, more confident. He stuck to your side like a shadow, his trust in you solidified by every meal shared, every long night spent keeping watch over each other.

It was during a routine scavenging trip to an abandoned military outpost that you found it—an old, dented dog tag machine, half-buried beneath layers of dust and rust. Most of the base had been stripped clean, but this? This was something special.

You grinned, glancing down at Riley, who sat attentively beside you, his ears perked.

"Looks like it’s time to make it official, huh?"

The machine groaned to life after some trial and error, its gears grinding stubbornly. You fed in a blank tag, punched in the letters carefully, and waited as it clanked and stamped the metal.

When you pulled the tag free, you held it up to the dim light filtering through the cracks in the ceiling.

RILEY LOYAL TO THE END

You let out a low whistle, nodding in approval before threading the tag onto a spare chain. Kneeling, you gently fastened it around Riley’s neck, the metal cool against his fur.

“There you are.”

Riley shook his head, adjusting to the weight, then looked up at you with those bright, intelligent eyes. His tail thumped against the dusty floor, and then, for the first time since you found him, he let out a full, happy bark.

That was the moment you saw it—not just gratitude, not just trust.

Pure joy.

One afternoon, while resting near the crumbling remains of an old gas station, an idea struck you. Riley had grown sharper, faster—he had a knack for moving quietly when he wanted to. So, why not test it?

"Alright, riley," you said, stretching out on the cracked pavement. "We’re gonna play a game. If you can sneak up on me, you win."

Riley tilted his head, ears twitching as if considering the challenge.

You turned around, pretending to be unaware, staring off into the distance like you weren’t listening.

For a few moments, nothing. Just the wind rattling the rusted-out signs and the occasional creak of an abandoned car settling into the dirt. Then—so faint it was almost imperceptible—soft paw steps, the tiniest crunch of gravel shifting under careful weight.

You tensed, a grin tugging at your lips. He’s good.

But before you could react—

WHAM.

Riley pounced onto your back, sending you sprawling forward with an excited bark.

“Damn it—Riley!” you burst out, laughing as you hit the ground. He scrambled over you, tail wagging like crazy, tongue lolling out in sheer triumph.

You rolled onto your back, breathless, grinning up at him. "Fine, fine! You win!"

Riley let out another happy bark before flopping onto your chest, victorious.

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The tunnel was your only chance.

Above, the world had become a graveyard—charred buildings, shattered roads, the sky thick with the lingering ghosts of fire and death. The air reeked of ruin, the scent of the ODIN Strike’s wrath still clinging to everything like a curse. And now, the Feds were closing in.

You pressed your back against the cold concrete, every muscle tight, one hand gripping Riley’s collar. He was still small—still young—but he was smart. You had to believe in that. You had to believe in him.

"Riley," you whispered, your breath unsteady, barely audible over the distant hum of approaching boots. "You have to listen to me, okay?"

He looked up at you, ears twitching, his wide, trusting eyes searching yours. His tail—usually wagging, usually full of life—hung low. He could feel it, the weight of your fear, the edge of your desperation pressing into the space between you.

The tunnel’s exit loomed ahead, blocked by thick metal bars—rusted, unyielding. But near the bottom, just barely visible in the dim light, was a gap. Small. Too small for you. But just big enough for Riley.

You swallowed hard, nudging him forward. "Through there, boy. Go."

He hesitated. Whimpered. His paws barely moved.

Because he knew.

If he left, he might not see you again.

"Riley, please!" you begged, your voice barely more than a breath.

The sound of boots crunching over shattered concrete sent ice through your veins. They were close. Too close.

Desperation clawed at your chest as you reached down, running a trembling hand over Riley’s fur one last time. His body was tense, his wide eyes pleading with you, but there was no time. No choice.

You pushed him forward.

"Go."

He whined, resisting, his paws digging into the dirt. But you didn’t let up. With one last shove, he squeezed through the opening, his tail the last thing you saw before he slipped to the other side.

"Good boy," you whispered, your voice breaking.

Riley turned, ears perked, golden eyes locked onto yours. He waited, tail twitching. Waiting for you to follow.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you grabbed the nearest thing—an old, rusted metal sheet—and shoved it over the hole. The sharp screech of metal against stone made your skin crawl as you forced it into place, sealing the gap, locking him out.

Riley barked, panicked. Scratched at the barrier.

You pressed your hand against the cold metal, eyes squeezing shut.

"I’m sorry, buddy," you choked out.

Then, the shouting started.

Flashlight beams cut through the darkness, bouncing off the tunnel walls like hungry eyes searching, closing in.

The Feds.

They had found you.

But you didn’t turn. You didn’t listen. You didn’t care.

All that mattered was on the other side of that rusted metal barrier.

You pressed your forehead against the cold surface, your breath coming in quick, shaky gasps. “Riley, you gotta go!”

A sharp whine. Scraping paws. The sound of his nails against metal, desperate, refusing to leave. His ears flattened, his body low. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand.

Tears burned hot, but you held them back. You had to stay steady. For him.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your chest tight, your throat raw.

And then, with everything you had left, you gave the only command that mattered now.

“RILEY, RUN!”

For a moment, there was nothing. Just silence. Just pain.

Then—a hesitant shuffle. A broken whimper. And finally… footsteps retreating into the darkness.

He was gone.

And you let him go.

A single gunshot rang out, sharp and brutal, shattering the fragile silence that had settled between you and Riley.

The bark that followed was filled with fear—a terrified yelp that sent a raw, jagged pain through your chest.

You didn’t dare turn around.

Riley hesitated, just for a moment. You could almost feel the tug-of-war in his small frame—the pull of loyalty to you and the primal instinct to flee. But then, it happened.

Instinct took over.

You heard him move. His paws, frantic but determined, pounding against the tunnel floor, growing fainter with each passing second. He was gone. He was safe.

And you—you—you were left behind.

A cold chill wrapped itself around your spine, but you barely felt it. Your knees hit the ground with a dull thud, and you slumped forward, your hands pressing into the cracked, gritty surface beneath you. The weight of it all—everything—pressed down on your chest, suffocating you. You had done what needed to be done. He was safe.

The sound of boots crunching over debris drew closer. Their shadows moved across the tunnel walls, a harsh reminder of how little time you had left.

A voice. Harsh. Commanding.

And then, without warning, another gunshot.

This time, it wasn’t distant. It wasn’t a warning. It was meant for you.

The world blurred as the bullet hit its mark—pain exploded in your side, white-hot and consuming. The world tilted, your breath coming in shallow gasps, your vision tunneling. The echoes of the Feds’ movements seemed to stretch endlessly, like the whole world had slowed down, as if time was offering you a moment of clarity before everything fell apart.

You fell.

Your body hit the ground with a sickening thud, your limbs stiffening as blood seeped from the wound, dark and thick. Your breath came slower, weaker, the pulse of life fading with each passing second.

But through it all, one thing remained—the thought of Riley.

You were going to die, but he was free.

And somehow, that was enough.

The last thing you felt was the cold concrete pressing into your cheek as darkness overtook you, swallowing everything—until there was nothing left.

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

The world was quieter now. Not peaceful—never peaceful—but quieter. The aftermath of the Odin Strike had left behind a broken world, a barren wasteland of ruins and forgotten memories. The land was scarred, roads cracked and decayed, cities swallowed by ash and dust. And somewhere in that bleak emptiness, a lone German Shepherd sat beneath a crumbling highway overpass, staring at nothing.

His fur, once proud and sleek, was now darker than the debris that surrounded him—matted, tangled with dried mud and remnants of days spent surviving. His paws, once small and fragile, had grown into powerful things—calloused and worn, built for running, fighting, surviving in this new, unforgiving world.

But despite his strength, despite the muscles beneath his fur and the fire in his eyes, he looked small. He looked lost.

Hesh was the first to see him.

"Logan." The older brother’s voice was a low murmur, his gaze locked on the dog as he stepped carefully over the cracked pavement, eyes narrowed in thought. Logan barely had time to react before Hesh started walking ahead, rifle steady at his side. Logan followed, his steps silent, a practiced hand ready to grip his weapon at a moment’s notice. They had seen stray dogs before—feral, hungry, desperate for survival. But something about this one made them stop.

Maybe it was the way he sat so still, shoulders slumped, head bowed as if the weight of the world had crushed him down into the dirt. Maybe it was the faint, haunting glint in his eyes—something empty, something lost, like the dog had seen too much to ever trust again. Or maybe it was the dog tags hanging loosely from his collar, swinging in the wind, half-buried beneath the grime.

Hesh crouched down, lowering his rifle, his movements slow and deliberate. The dog’s ears twitched at the sound of his approach, but he didn’t snarl, didn’t growl, didn’t back away. He just… stared.

Logan stood back, rifle in hand, his eyes on the dog as Hesh extended his hand toward the collar. The dog made no move to resist—he was too tired, too broken. Hesh’s fingers brushed over the dog’s tags, gently wiping away the dirt to reveal the engraved letters.

The name struck him immediately.

RILEY

The second line made him pause, a soft exhale escaping his lips as his fingers traced the engraved words.

LOYAL TO THE END

"Riley."

The name hung in the air, a weight too heavy for the desolate world around them.

Logan blinked, his mind racing. Riley? That wasn’t a stray dog’s name. That wasn’t the kind of name you gave to something forgotten or abandoned. That was a name meant for someone who mattered, someone cherished. A name that had been given with care, with love, with meaning.

Hesh exhaled, his breath a quiet puff in the silence. His thumb traced the worn edges of the dog tags, rough against his skin. The metal was scratched, dented—scuffed with the wear and tear of time, but still legible. The kind of damage that came with a life lived, not a life discarded.

Someone had loved this dog once. Someone had named him. Someone had cared.

And yet, here he was—alone. Lost in the ruins.

And that look in his eyes? It wasn’t just exhaustion.

It was grief.

Hesh’s could not help but a pang of sympathy gnawing at him. He didn’t know what had happened to Riley, what had brought him to this broken place, but he could see it in the dog’s posture. The slump of his shoulders. The way he sat still, like he was waiting for something—someone—that might never come.

Something twisted inside Hesh’s chest, a silent ache that didn’t belong in a world like this.

Carefully, cautiously, Hesh reached out, his hand hovering for just a moment before it landed on Riley’s head. The dog stiffened at first, body rigid under the touch, but didn’t pull away. His ears twitched, the only sign that he was aware of the warmth that spread from Hesh’s palm, the unfamiliar but not unkind gesture.

"You're Riley, huh?" Hesh murmured, his voice softer now, quieter.

Riley blinked up at him, but didn’t wag his tail. Didn’t show any sign of comfort, but didn’t show fear either. His gaze, distant and unreadable, met Hesh’s for a long moment before shifting back to the ruins—those ruins that had stolen everything.

"What happened to you, boy?" Hesh whispered, fingers running lightly over the dog’s collar. It was old, but sturdy, built to last. The leather was weathered, but well-kept. Someone had taken care of this dog once. Someone had made sure he was protected.

Hesh let out a slow breath, shaking his head as he watched Riley. The world felt heavy around them, as if it was bearing down on them all. He had seen it before—animals discarded, forgotten, left behind in the wake of chaos. But this one… this one was different.

"Someone left him," Hesh muttered, his voice low, as if he was speaking to himself more than Logan.

"Or he lost them." Logan’s voice was steady, quieter than usual, his eyes never leaving the dog.

Riley’s response was a soft, pitiful whine. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t desperate. It was just… aching. The kind of sound that resonated deep in your bones, a sound that said the dog was feeling everything the world had taken from him. Everything he had endured.

Hesh stared at Riley for a long moment, his mouth slightly parted. The air between them hung thick, filled with the weight of everything unsaid.

Finally, he let out a sigh, a long exhale that seemed to release all the tension he hadn’t realized he was holding. He straightened up, his fingers brushing against Riley’s fur one last time. “You’re not alone, boy.”

Hesh nodded, giving the dog a firm pat on the head before standing. "C’mon, bud. You comin’ with us"

Riley didn’t move at first. His eyes flickered between the two men, uncertain, still unsure whether to trust, still wary of the world that had brought him to this place. The pain in his eyes was raw, but there was something else there now—a flicker of hope, a spark of something long buried.

For the first time, Riley moved.

He lifted his head, his gaze locking with Hesh’s for just a moment. Then, without warning, he glanced at Logan, the young man who had stood back, silent but understanding. And as he looked between them, something in his posture shifted—his shoulders relaxed just a fraction, the tension easing.

Slowly, tentatively, Riley’s tail gave a hesitant wag.

It wasn’t much. It wasn’t a joyful greeting or a sign of excitement. But it was enough. It was enough to let them know that, for the first time in a long while, the dog was willing to trust again. He wasn’t just a stray anymore. He wasn’t just a creature wandering the ruins. He was Riley—and for whatever reason, these two strangers weren’t strangers anymore.

They saw him.

Hesh and Logan exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. No more words were needed. They had all been through too much to waste time with them.

Hesh extended his hand again, this time offering it not just to Riley but to the bond that was beginning to form—between them, the dog, the broken world around them.

Riley took a step forward. Then another. And as his tail wagged just a little more freely, they all took their first steps toward something new, something uncertain, but something together.

In the silence that followed, it wasn’t just the ruins that felt a little less broken. The world, the future—everything felt a little more hopeful.

When i see the memes in this fandom get more notes (like from 70-100 or higher) than ACTUAL good fic, and then yall say we are having a lack of fics and hcs😭😭😭🙏🏻

“They wouldn’t enjoy/do/act like that!” How do you know? Did you ask the fictional character that does not exist and is fictional?