—   *   for west   /   how am i doing with joseph  ;  always accepting.

     The days were bleeding together. The bunker looked the same, no matter the time of day, it was hard to think that time was even passing at all. Her shouting, scooting her chair around like it would help her any, had passed into slumped exhaustion as her wounds would just burn with too much movement. Joey tried not to sob when she thought about it too much, but the tracks on her cheeks spoke enough to that—and Holland Valley had heard them already.

     Sick fuck had broadcast her screaming and crying, and Joey hoped with all her might that if she got out—when she got out—she would never hear them.

     Still, regardless of the anger and exhaustion, she couldn't help but flinch and straighten to attention upon hearing noise at the door. She was expecting John, one of his men, but Joseph—The Father himself, gave her pause. She stared at him in silence, waiting for someone else to walk in, questions and comments slowly cropping up in her mind. Where's John? Why are you here? Are you going to help me? No, she'd seen him before. She wouldn't be here. Then—Then, her mouth picked her response without much thought, Joey lurching forward as if it would put more effect behind the words.

Since the beginning, from the exact moment the helicopter went SCREAMING towards the ground, Rook knew he’d be in for a tough fight. The glares he’d gotten in the church from Joseph’s HERALDS to one of the cultists willingly THROWING themselves into the helicopter’s blades was already more than any NORMAL person could handle. But now, hanging upside down from his seat, Rook found himself fading in and out of consciousness. Vaguely, he could hear Nancy begging for someone, ANYONE, to answer. 

Even further, he could still hear Joseph’s haunting voice SINGING. 

A hand raises to his head, touching at the bloody wound just above his eyebrow. The smell of gasoline invaded his senses, clouding up his already dizzy mind. Rook had to get out of here. He had to get EVERYONE out of here before something bad happened to them. 

Man.

Fuck helicopters and fuck cultists. 

Rook shifts in his seat, bracing one arm against his leather while stretching out with the other, swiping at the headset that dangled tantalizingly out of his reach. Come on come on come on. Another swipe. Another miss. The voice was growing closer, louder than a hum and setting Rook’s nerves on fire. No one else in the helicopter was moving; possibly knocked out in the crash. It just made him strive HARDER to get to the headset.

His hand closes around the device after one last grab. Rook’s other hand comes towards it also, making a quick and proper adjustment for him to speak-

            It was time to end it. Weeks of planning and fighting had lead up to this moment. The two leaders stood tall. Behind them awaited their silent armies. “No one else has to die.” Rick’s voice sounded hoarse as he addressed the savior standing in front of him. Too many people had died. Friends, family… now his own SON rested in a fresh grave. Shutting his eyes, tears as painful as his blistered hands threatened to fall. “We can end this now. No more bloodshed.”

lemme smash

     Gabriel’s ushering goes unheeded. Deafened by retaliation – it’s like a reclaiming and the blood pumping inside him makes him feel very much alive. Instead of a retreat, he pushes forward, gun first, but pausing its onslaught of the wreckage Negan’s huddled behind. This just started ( he’s not ready to end it ).

     ❝ I told you. Didn’t I? ❞ He asks, despite the growing sound of walkers moving in towards them, making retreating back’s not half as possible.