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Latest Posts by ll7esxs - Page 7
Hesh asking him this question as if it is logan's false having bitches😒
*sigh* okay imma let out my cursed pics from the studio
The walker training
None of my business but imma getting my nose in it, I've always thought that elias forced hesh and logan for training and etc i mean sure it is nasty how training is, but then i remember when hesh said
"Dad always said we could quit at any time, and go grab some fast food, and pig out in front of the TV all night."
But help why i think elias said it in a way that would let them think as losers if they stopped training and lived a normal life😭😭
I'm not gonna say "Oh look who i found? Its you GAHOOK🤓"
but I would say
"Not saying you’re the moon, but if I were a werewolf, I’d definitely be acting up right now."
never reblog ocs but this shyt is good
Cigarettes out the Window
Summary: Keegan probably helps Jemíma cope with cigarettes, but her habits are uncontrollable. Most normal fic with less love feelings, be real for once!
Characters: Jemíma Ámbar del Mar Hernández (OC) and Keegan P. Russ.
"but she never really quit, she'd just say she did."
And now, as I inhale the vapors again, all problems vanish for a while. The stream of thoughts becomes a long and not bothersome one, and the head clears, it was one of those rare moments when you could finally relax. When I was disturbed by Keegan's cough behind my back. I turned around to see him looking at me with displeasure.
“You promised to quit smoking.” — The man says angrily. With a quick movement of his hand, Keegan takes the cigarette roll from her. “And I'm taking that away.”
When Keegan took the cigarette roll from her, she turned around to look at him with an eyebrow furrowed blankness expression. Of course.. Jemíma made a promise to quit yet her habits... However, she used cigarettes as a form of coping. For a couple of moments, the two looked at each other with a blank expression on their faces. Keegan is very familiar with Jemíma's facial expressions. But now there is no trace of a smile on his face. Keegan knew she'd disappear for an hour and a half before the mission just for this damn bullshit and he does not even understand how he can remain calm if his teammate is standing in front of him, constantly risking her health and even her life.
“Can't you just fucking quit? Do you want to die from cancer in a couple of years?” - While expressing displeasure and anger in his words, his face remains absolutely calm. Keegan takes the cigarettes pack from her hands then he puts it in the trouser pocket. “I'm thinking about our team. What if one day you die because of this bad habit? We need to trust each other, because we are part of a family. But if I see that you are still smoking, I can't guarantee what will happen next.”
With furious eyes, Jemíma stared at the Keegan who seemed to be judging her with his eyes. She exhales the smoke from her lips after he took the cigarette from her.
“Old habits don’t change, mi senores” — The woman replied and tries to sneakily take the cigarettes pack out of his pockets again.
This time, he grabbed her by her wrists, so that she couldn't even move an inch. He had done this so quickly that he didn't even have to use his full strength.
“Don't even try it, sweetheart.” — Keegan said to her with a cold look. “This is for your own good.” — He lets go of her wrists, but keeps watching her closely, keeping an eye on her every move until he's sure she won't do anything suspicious again.
Jemíma’s face turns from anger to annoyance. She knows he's not kidding - his mind is made up. She gives a heavy sigh, clenching her fists in frustration. — “You can't forbid me to smoke just because-”
“Jemíma… If you keep smoking, your health will be so weak that you won't be suitable for combat. And I don't want you to die…” — He muttered under his breath. Keegan knows very well that it is useless to argue with Jemíma. She's stubborn, no matter whether he's right or she's right. But in this case, he's definitely right. He doesn't know of a more important reason to ban her from smoking than the life within her.
“You know you can't stop me, cabrón. I can do whatever I want!” “I can. I can and I will. And you will thank me later.”
“And remember: I'm going to be watching you closely. If I ever catch you smoking again, there will be severe consequences.” — He also warns her with a hint of severity. He knows very well that as soon as he leaves, she will just go to Ajax and ask to borrow a cigarette. But he will not allow it.
“Are you really that concerned about me?” — Jemíma finally asked after all the lecture of 'not smoking', she never expected that Keegan show his feelings or anything towards her since he’s mostly an antisocial person with a stoic and self-righteous attitude. Also, she and Keegan rarely talks but today.. was something else.
Keegan was silent for a moment, not breaking eye contact with her.
“Yes, I really am.” — He said, seeming a little surprised that she even asked him such a question.
After a slight pause, he added, speaking in a low voice. — “We are a team. I can't allow any of my members to do whatever they want, even if it's harmful to their health.”
Jemíma was a little frustrated that she’ll not be smoking anymore and this bastard front of her will also keep an eye on her, alongside the health and wellbeing she had to cautiously look after. So, simply sighed and shook her head okay... Keegan gently puts his hands on Jemíma's shoulders, massaging them with his fingers a little. He has noticed that lately she has been more nervous and angrier about something. He doesn't know if these mood changes are related to her internal feelings, but he's willing to let it go if she stops smoking. “I know it's hard… But please. For the sake of your health.” — He says, looking into her eyes pleadingly, silently begging her to agree.
“I guess you’re right after all..” — Jemíma then went back to look up at night sky and lean against the railings of the balcony. The sky was now pitch black, without even one tiny star. On such a night, it was difficult to see anything. At least there was a fresh breeze blowing from all sides.
“Good. I want to see you without those cigarettes from now on.” —Keegan stood by her side for a while before he took his hands out of his pockets. He glanced at Jemíma once more and turned back to look at the sky. — “It's a beautiful night. It would be a shame if you missed such an opportunity to see it without clouds and without a single cigarette in your hand..”
There was also a strange silence. Even the usual sound of footsteps, the sound of the sea, and the wind were drowned out by this silence. Such total peace was only achieved in very isolated places. And that's what was happening now. In the middle of nowhere, when you can barely see anything at night. Only an occasional some soldiers' figures walking through the base would break this feeling.
When Keegan spoke up, she turned to look at him and then up the sky — “Indeed..”
And the silence stretched out again as waves of the sea could be heard slowly washing the shore. Nothing could be heard but their slow and steady motion, and that was why this absolute quiet was actually really comforting. There was a certain charm in the fact that every sound seemed to be absorbed by the vastness of the night.
Keegan kept quietly glancing at her, the way she watched the bright night sky…and he couldn't help but wonder what else was on her mind besides the darkness of the sky. It seemed like she was thinking about something, and it was difficult to read her emotions, yeah, she wasn't really.. open up about herself either.
However, Ajax suddenly interrupted them. — “Have you guys finished smoking? We're ready to go.”
“Yeah, we did. Let's go.”
When Ajax left, Keegan stayed with Jemíma. He pulled the pack of cigarettes and a bottle of lighter fluid out of his pocket, handing it to her. “Here, so you won’t have such opportunities as with me. I’m the last person who would give in to your whims.” — He said with a slight, teasing smile. Jemíma just rolled her eyes in response and snatched those two things from Keegan, she watched him walk away, after a moment she followed him too.
Gahly i wrote this when i was so drowsy
Ppl be asking where is the rest of the story, Go watch game of thrones sequel on neftlix😼
The urge to write about Sir David Walker burns like an unshakable fire.
Knight! hesh!
MDNI
A knight of unwavering loyalty, he carries himself with the noble grace of a natural-born leader. Time after time, as he removes his iron helmet, the details of his face come into sharper focus. His pale skin contrasts strikingly with the deep green of his eyes, and as the strands of his jet-black hair fall free, they frame his features with an almost effortless elegance. Each glimpse of him without the armor only reveals more of the man beneath—the warrior, the leader, the legend.
Each time he kneels before the king, one hand pressed firmly over his heart, it is as if he is making an unspoken vow—one of unwavering sacrifice, of blood and sweat pledged to whatever land he stands upon. His voice, low and steady, carries the weight of his devotion, each word dripping with formal reverence and gratitude. There is no hesitation, no faltering; only the ironclad promise of a knight who lives and breathes duty.
But then, with a voice like silk, you summon him to the king’s chambers. He approaches with the grace of a knight, but the moment his eyes meet yours, his entire demeanor shifts. His green eyes, once steady and fierce, now lower in respect, his body instinctively dropping to one knee before you, his hand over his heart in silent oath.
“Your grace,” he says, his voice unwavering yet soft, as if to show no weakness.
You lead him forward, your steps deliberate. He follows—trusting, obedient—until the door shuts behind him with a cold, final click.
He freezes.
His eyes flicker to the door, then back to you, realization dawning in his chest like a heavy weight. This isn’t the king’s room. This is yours.
A rush of fear surges through him, and for a fleeting moment, he is lost—unsure, afraid of what might unfold. He tries to mask it, standing tall, shoulders stiff, as if the knight within him could withstand whatever shadow looms in this room. But the tremor in his breath betrays him.
“Your grace,” he murmurs again, more softly now, his voice cracking with the first hint of doubt, “there must be a mistake. This...is not the majesy's chamber.”
He had endured countless wars, his body marked with scars from swords and battles fought. But this—this was something he had never prepared for. The weight of his loyalty, the trust he had sworn to the king, was a code he would never break. And yet, here, in this room with you, the line between duty and desire blurred.
He could feel the tension coiling in his chest, a knot of fear and respect warring within him. He knew what you wanted. He knew what you were offering. But this was not a challenge he had ever faced before. Behind the king’s back, it felt like treason. His loyalty was a chain, binding him to honor, to the trust that had been placed in him. And yet, in the face of your advances, that chain felt suffocating.
“Your grace, please...” His voice cracked slightly, but he quickly masked it, forcing himself back into formality. His hands trembled, but they remained at his sides, trying not to betray the turmoil in his heart. “This is... beyond my duty. This is a step I cannot take.”
You were so close now. He could feel the heat of your presence, the whisper of your breath against his skin. And then, it happened. You kissed his cheek—soft, gentle pecks—tracing his jawline with delicate affection. His body stiffened at the touch. His breath caught in his throat, his mind screaming to pull away, to step back. But respect, honor, duty—they all held him in place, even as his heart raced.
“I... I cannot,” he whispered, his voice strained, desperate to remain the knight he had always been. His eyes closed for a moment, trying to block out the overwhelming presence of your proximity. “Please, my lady... I cannot touch you. Not like this. It would dishonor my place, the king’s trust... my oath.”
Even as he said it, the struggle was evident in the tension of his muscles, the way his jaw clenched. He didn’t want to hurt you, but the lines of loyalty and respect were drawn too firmly for him to ignore. Yet his body, betraying him in its every moment of restraint, could not help but tremble at the closeness, at the kiss that lingered too long, too near.
You could see the hesitation in his eyes, the strain in his every movement. His honor, his oath—it was all he had, all he was. But you could feel the weight of your desires, pulling you closer to him, drawing you into this forbidden game.
“Don’t fight it, David,” you whispered softly, your breath warm against his ear. You reached out, brushing a lock of his black hair away, letting your fingers linger against his skin. “I know you want this. I know you feel it too.”
His body trembled, his every instinct screaming for him to pull away, to retreat. But you were relentless, your hands tracing his jawline, your fingertips grazing the steel of his armor, so close—so close to touching the man beneath. His breath hitched, and the words that escaped his lips were nothing more than a breathless murmur.
“Please... my lady...” His voice was low, almost desperate, but his eyes never left the floor. “This is... I cannot—”
You cut him off, your hand now gently resting against his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “You think I don't see the way your body betrays you?” you purred, inching closer until your lips were almost on his. “I know what you want. I know how this feels for you.”
He flinched, a quick, sharp movement, as though your touch burned him, and yet there was a part of him—no matter how much he fought it—that wanted to stay. Wanted to let go of the chains of duty and fall into the heat of the moment with you. But this... this wasn’t him. This wasn’t how he had been trained. He was a knight—loyal, honorable, untouched by such temptations.
“I cannot...” His words faltered again, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Not like this. I’m sworn... I am sworn to the king. To my vows.”
“You think I don’t know that?” You smirked, your voice dripping with both amusement and longing. Your hands slid across his chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles beneath the fabric. “But I also know what you truly crave, David. You don't need to be a knight for this... not with me.”
His body recoiled, every muscle taut with resistance, but his mind was fighting a battle he had never known. The voice inside him screamed to pull away, to hold onto his duty, but there was something else—a new, unfamiliar ache that surged within him every time your fingers brushed his skin, every time you closed the distance between you.
“Please,” he whispered, his voice a raw plea as he struggled to back away, to put space between you. But the room was too small, the door locked. There was no escape. No way out. And as he looked into your eyes, he knew he was fighting a losing battle.
“You think you can just walk away from this?” you whispered, your hand sliding from his chest to his neck, fingers gently curling around his jaw as you tilted his head up. His body trembled beneath your touch, but still, he couldn’t find the strength to stop you. His green eyes darted to yours, full of uncertainty, a silent plea for mercy. He didn’t know how to say no—not to you, not to the heat building between you both.
“Let me show you, David,” you murmured, your lips ghosting over his as you leaned in closer, your hands tugging at his armor, loosening it just enough to feel the warmth of his skin against yours. “Let me show you that surrender isn’t weakness... it’s freedom.”
His breath was ragged, the knight’s resolve breaking piece by piece, and yet, in the back of his mind, the training, the vows, screamed at him to resist. But his body—his body told a different story. He had never been in a situation like this. He didn’t know how to pull away anymore. The lines had blurred, the honor he had spent years protecting now felt like a distant echo, drowned out by the weight of your touch and the unspoken promise in your eyes.
Then, it happened.
As if your touch was the spark to a flame that had been smoldering too long, you closed the space between you, your lips finally meeting his in a kiss that was both gentle and forceful, tentative yet inevitable. For a moment, Hesh was frozen, his body rigid, fighting every instinct he had ever known. His mind screamed to pull away, to hold onto the duty that had defined him for so long.
But your lips were soft, persistent, and he couldn't deny the pull. His heart raced in a chaotic rhythm that mirrored the storm of emotions inside him. He wanted to resist, but with each press of your lips against his, a part of him crumbled. His hands twitched, unsure whether to push you away or pull you closer. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, and he felt the weight of it—every hesitation, every unspoken word.
And then, something inside him gave.
His hands, once clenched tight, finally reached for you, trembling at first, then firmer, as though the walls of his resolve were falling. He could taste the hesitation in the kiss, the battle between loyalty and desire, but it was too much—too overwhelming. His lips parted, and he kissed you back, not as a knight, but as a man. A man who had never known this kind of hunger, this kind of need.
The kiss was more than just a meeting of lips; it was a crossing of boundaries, a surrender to something neither of you could fully control. His body reacted instinctively, pulling you closer, his hands finding their way to your waist, his breath shallow against your skin as he fought to regain his composure.
But it was too late. The moment had taken root, and nothing in the world could undo it. He had crossed the line, and there was no going back.
how i feel after writing this
this shit rocks actually because im ovulating
The urge to write about Sir David Walker burns like an unshakable fire.
Knight! hesh!
MDNI
A knight of unwavering loyalty, he carries himself with the noble grace of a natural-born leader. Time after time, as he removes his iron helmet, the details of his face come into sharper focus. His pale skin contrasts strikingly with the deep green of his eyes, and as the strands of his jet-black hair fall free, they frame his features with an almost effortless elegance. Each glimpse of him without the armor only reveals more of the man beneath—the warrior, the leader, the legend.
Each time he kneels before the king, one hand pressed firmly over his heart, it is as if he is making an unspoken vow—one of unwavering sacrifice, of blood and sweat pledged to whatever land he stands upon. His voice, low and steady, carries the weight of his devotion, each word dripping with formal reverence and gratitude. There is no hesitation, no faltering; only the ironclad promise of a knight who lives and breathes duty.
But then, with a voice like silk, you summon him to the king’s chambers. He approaches with the grace of a knight, but the moment his eyes meet yours, his entire demeanor shifts. His green eyes, once steady and fierce, now lower in respect, his body instinctively dropping to one knee before you, his hand over his heart in silent oath.
“Your grace,” he says, his voice unwavering yet soft, as if to show no weakness.
You lead him forward, your steps deliberate. He follows—trusting, obedient—until the door shuts behind him with a cold, final click.
He freezes.
His eyes flicker to the door, then back to you, realization dawning in his chest like a heavy weight. This isn’t the king’s room. This is yours.
A rush of fear surges through him, and for a fleeting moment, he is lost—unsure, afraid of what might unfold. He tries to mask it, standing tall, shoulders stiff, as if the knight within him could withstand whatever shadow looms in this room. But the tremor in his breath betrays him.
“Your grace,” he murmurs again, more softly now, his voice cracking with the first hint of doubt, “there must be a mistake. This...is not the majesy's chamber.”
He had endured countless wars, his body marked with scars from swords and battles fought. But this—this was something he had never prepared for. The weight of his loyalty, the trust he had sworn to the king, was a code he would never break. And yet, here, in this room with you, the line between duty and desire blurred.
He could feel the tension coiling in his chest, a knot of fear and respect warring within him. He knew what you wanted. He knew what you were offering. But this was not a challenge he had ever faced before. Behind the king’s back, it felt like treason. His loyalty was a chain, binding him to honor, to the trust that had been placed in him. And yet, in the face of your advances, that chain felt suffocating.
“Your grace, please...” His voice cracked slightly, but he quickly masked it, forcing himself back into formality. His hands trembled, but they remained at his sides, trying not to betray the turmoil in his heart. “This is... beyond my duty. This is a step I cannot take.”
You were so close now. He could feel the heat of your presence, the whisper of your breath against his skin. And then, it happened. You kissed his cheek—soft, gentle pecks—tracing his jawline with delicate affection. His body stiffened at the touch. His breath caught in his throat, his mind screaming to pull away, to step back. But respect, honor, duty—they all held him in place, even as his heart raced.
“I... I cannot,” he whispered, his voice strained, desperate to remain the knight he had always been. His eyes closed for a moment, trying to block out the overwhelming presence of your proximity. “Please, my lady... I cannot touch you. Not like this. It would dishonor my place, the king’s trust... my oath.”
Even as he said it, the struggle was evident in the tension of his muscles, the way his jaw clenched. He didn’t want to hurt you, but the lines of loyalty and respect were drawn too firmly for him to ignore. Yet his body, betraying him in its every moment of restraint, could not help but tremble at the closeness, at the kiss that lingered too long, too near.
You could see the hesitation in his eyes, the strain in his every movement. His honor, his oath—it was all he had, all he was. But you could feel the weight of your desires, pulling you closer to him, drawing you into this forbidden game.
“Don’t fight it, David,” you whispered softly, your breath warm against his ear. You reached out, brushing a lock of his black hair away, letting your fingers linger against his skin. “I know you want this. I know you feel it too.”
His body trembled, his every instinct screaming for him to pull away, to retreat. But you were relentless, your hands tracing his jawline, your fingertips grazing the steel of his armor, so close—so close to touching the man beneath. His breath hitched, and the words that escaped his lips were nothing more than a breathless murmur.
“Please... my lady...” His voice was low, almost desperate, but his eyes never left the floor. “This is... I cannot—”
You cut him off, your hand now gently resting against his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “You think I don't see the way your body betrays you?” you purred, inching closer until your lips were almost on his. “I know what you want. I know how this feels for you.”
He flinched, a quick, sharp movement, as though your touch burned him, and yet there was a part of him—no matter how much he fought it—that wanted to stay. Wanted to let go of the chains of duty and fall into the heat of the moment with you. But this... this wasn’t him. This wasn’t how he had been trained. He was a knight—loyal, honorable, untouched by such temptations.
“I cannot...” His words faltered again, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Not like this. I’m sworn... I am sworn to the king. To my vows.”
“You think I don’t know that?” You smirked, your voice dripping with both amusement and longing. Your hands slid across his chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles beneath the fabric. “But I also know what you truly crave, David. You don't need to be a knight for this... not with me.”
His body recoiled, every muscle taut with resistance, but his mind was fighting a battle he had never known. The voice inside him screamed to pull away, to hold onto his duty, but there was something else—a new, unfamiliar ache that surged within him every time your fingers brushed his skin, every time you closed the distance between you.
“Please,” he whispered, his voice a raw plea as he struggled to back away, to put space between you. But the room was too small, the door locked. There was no escape. No way out. And as he looked into your eyes, he knew he was fighting a losing battle.
“You think you can just walk away from this?” you whispered, your hand sliding from his chest to his neck, fingers gently curling around his jaw as you tilted his head up. His body trembled beneath your touch, but still, he couldn’t find the strength to stop you. His green eyes darted to yours, full of uncertainty, a silent plea for mercy. He didn’t know how to say no—not to you, not to the heat building between you both.
“Let me show you, David,” you murmured, your lips ghosting over his as you leaned in closer, your hands tugging at his armor, loosening it just enough to feel the warmth of his skin against yours. “Let me show you that surrender isn’t weakness... it’s freedom.”
His breath was ragged, the knight’s resolve breaking piece by piece, and yet, in the back of his mind, the training, the vows, screamed at him to resist. But his body—his body told a different story. He had never been in a situation like this. He didn’t know how to pull away anymore. The lines had blurred, the honor he had spent years protecting now felt like a distant echo, drowned out by the weight of your touch and the unspoken promise in your eyes.
Then, it happened.
As if your touch was the spark to a flame that had been smoldering too long, you closed the space between you, your lips finally meeting his in a kiss that was both gentle and forceful, tentative yet inevitable. For a moment, Hesh was frozen, his body rigid, fighting every instinct he had ever known. His mind screamed to pull away, to hold onto the duty that had defined him for so long.
But your lips were soft, persistent, and he couldn't deny the pull. His heart raced in a chaotic rhythm that mirrored the storm of emotions inside him. He wanted to resist, but with each press of your lips against his, a part of him crumbled. His hands twitched, unsure whether to push you away or pull you closer. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, and he felt the weight of it—every hesitation, every unspoken word.
And then, something inside him gave.
His hands, once clenched tight, finally reached for you, trembling at first, then firmer, as though the walls of his resolve were falling. He could taste the hesitation in the kiss, the battle between loyalty and desire, but it was too much—too overwhelming. His lips parted, and he kissed you back, not as a knight, but as a man. A man who had never known this kind of hunger, this kind of need.
The kiss was more than just a meeting of lips; it was a crossing of boundaries, a surrender to something neither of you could fully control. His body reacted instinctively, pulling you closer, his hands finding their way to your waist, his breath shallow against your skin as he fought to regain his composure.
But it was too late. The moment had taken root, and nothing in the world could undo it. He had crossed the line, and there was no going back.
how i feel after writing this
this shit rocks actually because im ovulating
IS JOY ILLEGAL IN THIS FANDOM??
Now I'm wondering, sure, they got Ajax's body back to bury, did they get Elias's too? They were in enemy territory, after all.
He caused a tsunami btw
literally died while making these
Gang doesn't know I fw this ost
Some super quick doodles! <3
me after reading this
When the Smoke Clears
Hesh's thoughts aftermath after Logan gets taken
Horror.
I didn't know how to feel after Elias was killed in front of me with a bullet to his brains. I had watched the way the blood pooled around him, the same blood that was pumping through my veins, through Logan's veins.
Actually...
How was I supposed to react when he told Logan that he was proud of him as his last words? Why not me? Why not us? I had always tried to be a better person by taking care of Logan, I loved him dearly as a brother. I was there for him when dad wasn't.
So why was he given all the credit? What did I miss through the years to not even get a single word of appreciation?
How come the mask was given to him instead? Was I not worthy to inherit it?
Did I not resemble dad enough to even be considered to be given it?
Was I lacking something? Did I try too hard?
I didn't know.
All I knew was that I wanted Logan back. Even if I did envy him a little bit after Elias's death. Sure, I was angry at Rorke for killing him - but I was even angrier that dad never told me that he was proud of me, that he actually cared for me, to tell me that he was glad that I held my ground and gave support even when the world was crumbling around us, Odin.
That I had taken care of Logan when he wasn't there to do it himself. That I had taken the responsibility even if I didn't have to, there was no need to yet I did. My brother looked up more to me than Elias.
So why?
What did I get in return?
Nothing.
Just death.
Just the sight of dad dying and Logan getting taken away from me.
I failed.
I failed to protect both of them.
I failed to be a good soldier.
But most importantly, I failed to he a good big brother.
How could I have been so careless?
How could I have been so sure that Rorke was gone? Dead? How?
I should have known better that Rorke could come crawling back immediately for revenge. I knew how he was, we all knew, so why? Why couldn't I have been more cautious to prevent this?
Why couldn't I have been stronger to go after him?
Why did my body lock up?
Why?
All of these were questions I didn't know the answer to. No matter how much I tried to think, to figure, to solve, I couldn't come across a conclusion.
Besides one.
I wasn't worthy enough to be any of the things I was.
Logan was, he was ruthless, silent. There was a reason why Rorke took him instead of me. He reminded him of Elias - of himself. That same silent courage Logan showed, and I didn't.
I tried, I really did. But I failed.
Was all of my effort for nothing?
So far, it's being proven that way.
No matter how much me and the team are trying, we can't find Logan's location. His last known location was more than half a year ago, who knows where he could be now.
Who even knows if he's still alive or not.
What if he had already been turned into a Fed and was being trained to hunt the rest of the Ghosts down right now?
I don't want to think of it like this, but the dreaded possibility is starting to become a true fact as the days pass.
I don't want to lose Logan, my baby brother. I just can't.
I have already lost dad, and I can't lose Logan, too. Hell, even mom isn't with us anymore. She would have known what to tell me, what to do.
But she isn't here anymore either.
It's just me.
I would have to step up to bat, to be the lone player, and score the point.
To be the one who gets a headshot.
A bullseye.
I've prayed to God, even though my belief in him had been teetering on the edge of completely dissolving. But after everything that happened, I found myself clasping my hands together, on my knees, and mumbling the prayers mom had taught me. After all these years, I still remembered them by heart.
I've prayed for forgiveness, for Logan's health and well-being, that he's still alive, still fighting, still being stubborn to not turn into a Fed.
I don't know what else to do besides pray. I know it's a desprete action, but who else can I go to for help? There's no one here for me.
No one.
God, Logan, please be alive.
I miss you.
We all miss you.
Dont worry, we're all coming for you. We're searching, planning.
And when we do find you, God will, I will fucking kill that motherfucker Rorke and burn the Federation bastards down to the ground. For dad. For all of us Ghosts.
For you.
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?
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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.
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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.
If merrick had mistaken who is the elias's ghost mask for merrick: oh man for who?...i think it is for hesh cuase he is the oldest!
hand it to hesh
elias in his grave cause he is biased for logan:
my new pfp, pls don't take em (literally post it)
he is driving like the brakes are optional
Keegan hand the keys over
YO WATCH OUT WATCH OUT
