More prop practice, this time with Moiraine’s angreal, the ivory woman. Still getting use to how Procreate’s layers and mixing works but I’m pleased with how it’s holding up versus my Photoshop workflow. It’s also nice to do some simple painting exercises.
Russian Kobra red dot (Cobra collimator) sight provides accurate target acquisition under any light conditions: bright day light, twilight and moonlight night. Kobra red dot sight has 16 levels of manual brightness adjustment of sighting marks (reticules).
With a Cobra red dot sight, you can easily acquire target with both eyes open that provides unlimited field of view, especially when you need targeting small and moving objects efficiently.
When targeting with Kobra red dot sight the shooting distance is limited only with the precision of the shooter’s eyesight. There is no alignment but to place the reticule on the target.
Shooter can choose from four types of reticules (sighting marks) and 16 levels of brightness simply pushing buttons of Cobra red dot collimator scope. Reticules are: Dot, T-bar, V-bar, V-bar with dot.
Zeroing of Kobra red dot sight by means of windage and elevation wheels is similar to any optical scope. Once you zero Cobra red dot on your gun, you do not need to rezero the sight when taking it off, transporting and following mounting it back on the gun.
Shooter can adjust windage and elevation of the Kobra red dot collimator sight with a simple click of the wheels within the range of 100 to 600 meters.
Cobra red dot scope has light and robust shockproof, waterproof, dustproof design which provide excellent performance under extreme weather conditions: from - 40 to +50 °С, heavy snow, tropical rain, hoarfrost, fog, desert.
Kobra red dot sight weighs less than 410 g.
Diameter refers to the height of a wheel, the roller derby standard for such is 62mm. There is a direct correlation between diameter of the wheel and top speed. The larger the diameter, the greater the potential top speed (all other factors being equal). The wheel literally rolls out further along the ground for each full rotation, the distance compounds quickly.
ACCELERATION + DECELERATION
The other popular diameter wheel, 59mm, is only 3mm shorter but those 3mm create quite a different feel. It takes more energy to reach the same top speed of a larger wheel (all other factors being equal); however, the advantage is in the responsiveness.
Consider this: When you spin around in circles, you turn slower with your arms away from your body; once you pull your arms in, you spin faster with less effort.
Same thing with the 59mm wheel. The closer that weight is to the rotational axis (hub in the case of a wheel), the less effort it takes to create speed in a spin. And conversely to stop - because physics.
Maneuverability is The width of wheels simply refers to how wide the wheel is, and this also varies. Width affects the contact patch of the polyurethane with the ground. The larger the contact patch, the greater the stability. Conversely, the smaller the contact patch, the greater the maneuverability.
FRICTION + AGILITY
This is pretty simple. The wider the wheel, the larger the contact patch and the more friction you have. Friction equals stability and also means you have a large contact patch to dig in with your plows. It also means that your wheel protrudes more can can get tangled in your wall.
A narrower wheel means draws the weight distribution closer to the midline of the body. This physically changes where your edge is located and how far your plates have to move to be capable of engaging your edges. A narrower wheel also means less friction which means that it is easier to pick up the wheels off the floor. The result is faster feet. Faster feet increases maneuverability.
Widths vary from 35mm-44mm (roll line makes even narrower I believe).
As with all gear changes, there is an adjustment period. Different wheel sizes wheels are fun to play around with! Consider this before only changing up the hardness of your wheels.
A/N: A commission for the lovely @anikokinoshi. He asked for Neo/Blake and said I could go wild with it, so I wrote a little mafia AU intrigue. No pronouns for Blake; She/Her for Neo.
Word Count: 1080
If Neo were just a smidge less neurotic they might have wound up killing each other. There was nothing holding that woman together except a string of promises, vows made to more solid people. Blake didn’t blame her; if you blink and the whole world changes, what do you have to anchor yourself to?
The people Neo attached herself to were her anchors. Sometimes money exchanged hands but mostly it was people she used to reaffirm her own existence.
For the past few months, since they had started working together, Neo decided Blake was going to be her newest anchor.
TODAY, I give thanks for the light that exists within each one of you.
TODAY, I acknowledge that your quest for light beyond shadow, your desire to defeat your own cynicism, your work at believing the impossible possible, your faith in change and the ability of humankind to transcend past transgressions and overcome the shortsightedness of ignorance and fear, and our collective effort at stretching the boundaries of reality, has enabled us to achieve the dream that is TODAY.
TODAY, I acknowledge that even my own success is a simple spoke in the wheel of our collective success, and that our collective success is in response to all of the individual effort that we have put forward in our individual lives, in private moments, in private struggles against our lesser selves.
Some of us worked on being more honest.
Some of us worked on being more kind.
Some of us worked on not hiding our emotions.
Some of us worked on becoming less angry.
Some of us worked on becoming better listeners.
Some of us worked on facing our fears.
Some of us worked on remembering to say thank you.
Some of us worked on trusting our loved ones.
Some of us worked on having more faith.
Some of us worked on detoxifying our environment.
Some of us worked on detoxifying our minds.
Some of us worked on monitoring our diets.
Some of us worked on strengthening our discipline.
Some of us worked on broadening our skills.
Some of us worked on learning new languages.
Some of us worked on becoming better parents.
Some of us worked on becoming better friends.
Some of us worked on remembering our dreams.
Some of us worked on forgiving the past.
Some of us worked on strengthening our bodies.
Some of us worked on sharing and giving back.
Some of us worked on taking on greater responsibility.
Some of us worked on our art.
As a result of all of the work that has been done quietly in our individual lives, we have collectively contributed to the blossoming understanding and simplest expression of what God is. God is our good, and even the good we do for our self counts. Each fully blossomed flower on the hillside of our destiny adds to the broadened spectrum of our being. And together, we create more than beauty, more than fate; we evolve the depth and scope of the All-Seeing.
We may never see it reported through the media, but there is more good happening in this world than evil. There are more children smiling in this moment than any single one of us could fathom… and someone just fell in love, and someone just helped a stranger, and someone just scored a goal, and someone got their hearing back, and someone’s joking with their co-worker, and someone’s sitting in the kitchen, while the rest of the household sleeps, writing a poem.
Today, I give thanks for all of the good that has gone unrewarded, for every kind word, action, or deed. Today, I gave thanks for the God that is within each and every one of you, that is us, when we claim who we are.
SUMMARY: Everyone knows you and Daryl Dixon avoid each other, his southern attitude of knowing everything driving you away. And you’re fine with it like that, until Rick send you both out on a run that goes downhill quickly.
WORD COUNT: 4,421 words (holy crap guys)
NOTES: none really… this takes place at the prison, just an fyi
It was the Honda again. The stupid rustbucket of a car, a lousy excuse for a vehicle, had a flat tire year again and refuses to start up again. This is the third time this month and despite (y/n)’s pleas to ditch the car, Rick says every vehicle is as valuable as gold (and she can’t really disagree).
(Y/n) stands over the engine with grease smeared on her hands, a rag hanging from her back pocket that matches the black that paints her skin. She groans in frustration as she steps back. She hits the heel of her hand hard on the hood rim, and a shooting pain goes through her arm that only makes her groan deeper.
“Car troubles?” a scratchy voice asks and she quickly spins around. It’s Daryl Dixon, the man she refuses to talk to due to his rough demeanor and southern superiority attitude. They’ve never gotten along; her quiet and calm approach to things never settled with Daryl’s shoot first and ask later way of life.
“One could say,” she mumbles, crossing her arms. Daryl steps up, looking down at the engine and back up at her. He scoffs and steps back, scanning her from head to toe.
“You don’t know shit about cars, do you?” he asks, and (y/n) can’t help her jaw from dropping at the comment.
“Excuse me?” she snaps.
Daryl chuckles as she turns to the car, looking back at him moments later.
“A few hoses got loose,” he says, grabbing a wrench and tightening them up. “Simple things, sunshine.” She scrunches her nose at him behind his back as he stands, and he looks back at her. He reaches around her and grabs the rag from her pocket without touching her, but the motion still makes her jump while he laughs. She grits her teeth and slams the hood down as he cleans his hands, refusing to look at him.
Rick walks up to them, hand on his belt buckle. “Good to go?” he asks her.
“Sir yes sir,” she mumbles, Daryl still laughing at her slightly.
“Great,” he says, “because you two are going on a run.”
(Y/n) turns around at the speed of light, a stern look in her eyes. “But it’s getting late,” she argues, trying to avoid Daryl’s eyes on her. The last thing she wants is to be alone with him, actually talking and being around each other. She doesn’t know if he’ll ignore her or if he’ll pick on her, but she wants to avoid finding out.
“You’ll make it back,” Rick reassures her. He hands her his red-handled machete. “I trust you both to make a run this late.”
(Y/n) looks over her shoulder at Daryl and he nods a few times, picking his crossbow up from a fallen filing cabinet. “Better get moving,” he says, and she sighs as she realizes there’s no way she’s getting out of this.
Daryl gets into the driver’s seat and before (y/n) can climb into the passenger seat, Rick takes her hand. She turns to him.
“I know you don’t talk to him,” he says lowly, and she nods. “He’s not a bad guy, trust me.”
She nods slowly. “I trust you, Rick Grimes,” she tells him. “Always have.” He smiles at her and she returns it, climbing into the car.
Carol and Carl open the gates and they drive out, the trip already awkward. (Y/n) shifts in her seat, scooting down and resting her knees on the dash. Daryl looks to her as he drives, leaned back in his seat.
“Where we headed to?” she asks, looking over as he steps on the gas more.
“Small shops across town, about half an hour out from here.” She nods, setting the machete on the floor. “Quick in and out, we should make it back by nightfall.” (Y/n) looks at him once more, quickly putting her eyes back on the road as he catches her staring.
Half an hour later, like he said, they make it to their destination. Three small shops: a boutique, a pharmacy, and a small food mart. All look rummaged but worth a shot.
With weapons raised and ready, they walk to the first shop. (Y/n) picks the lock with two bobby pins from her hair and let’s them in. The shop is quiet and still full, clothing lining the racks and shelves of all colours and sizes. Daryl shines a light around the shop and (y/n) lowers her weapon.
“How many people do we have?” (y/n) asks.
“Something around eleven,” he answer, slinging his bow over his arm. “The baby, too, soon enough.”
(Y/n) nods and throws open the large duffel bag in hand. She grabs the jackets from a rack and throws the last few in along with some blankets and gloves. Daryl watches as she stands with the bag, his eyes for some reason stuck on her body as she grabs socks from a bin and claims them as theirs.
“Here,” she says, handing him the bag and throwing his mind off. He takes the bag and she opens her backpack, grabbing a couple baby outfits from the back and throwing them in. She snatches some tiny blankets and socks and zips up her bag.
“Good?” she asks, looking up at him. He looks down and nods twice, his stare back on her as they leave the shop. Daryl puts the bag in the back seat of the Honda and follows her to the pharmacy.
They walk to the door and Daryl puts an arm in front of her as they hear a loud crash inside. He instinctively pushes her behind him and busts the lock, greeted by three walkers. He takes one out and (y/n) pushes past him, slicing the head off another and stabbing it through the eye. Daryl kills the third and suddenly the shop is quiet.
“Stay tight,” he whispers, and she does as he says as they walk to the back.
(Y/n) curses to herself as they find the shelves empty, nothing in sight. “A bust,” she tells him, and he nods.
They break into the third shop through a conjoined door. It’s quiet like the first, but barren like the second. (Y/n) manages to find three sodas, a beer, and two cans of corn. Daryl comes across a half pack of cigarettes, four cans of beans, and a matchbook.
“At least we got the jackets for winter,” (y/n) mumbles as she zips her bag up, and Daryl can’t disagree. As December rolls in, temperatures have been dropping. And at night, winds pick up, and anyone left exposed to the cold would be lucky not to come down with some sickness after one night.
“We need to get going,” Daryl says as he puts his bag on his back. (Y/n) nods and they walk back through the pharmacy and out to the car. They throw their bags into the back seat and hop into the front, turning around and heading back to the prison.
Daryl looks at her about five minutes down the road. He wants to say something for once, but doesn’t know what to even say. He wants to find out who she is, wants to know her story and hear her words. But as the engine sputters down slowly and he pulls to the side of the road, he just finds himself cursing under his breath like her.
“Shit!” he growls, hitting the steering wheel.
“Simple things, huh?” she snaps, and he shoots her a mean look that makes her go silent and rigid in her seat.
Daryl gets out of the car and as he goes to pop open the hood, he freezes, something behind them down the road catching his eye. (Y/n) frowns, watching him as he runs to her door with urgency.
“Get out, now,” he says lowly, taking her hand and pulling her. She grabs her machete and as she stumbles out of the car, she sees the massive hoard of walkers just fifty feet behind them. The sound of the old engine must have attracted them and masked the noise of the walkers all at once.
(Y/n) runs to the backseat and slips her backpack on, grabbing Daryl’s as he retrieves his crossbow. She goes to grab the massive duffel bag but Daryl grabs her arm. He pulls her from the car and slams the door shut, taking her hand and running to the left. They run through the woods, the sound of walkers close behind as the cold wind bites their flesh.
They come to a steep drop off and they try to stop, grabbing branches and digging their feet in, but they fall the twenty feet.
(Y/n) lands with a low yell, pain in her back and side. She looks down, realizing that somewhere in the fall the machete must’ve sliced her left side open. She cries out and Daryl quickly runs over, helping her stand and pressing a strong hand to the wound. He grabs the machete with his other and they continue to run, and as Daryl takes one quick look back, he catches the sight of a few walkers falling the same way they did.
After a few moments, (y/n) falls from the pain, Daryl not quick enough to catch her. She cries out and Daryl leans her against a tree. Her shirt is bled through by now, making him panic and her want to yell in frustration.
He lifts her shirt carefully and finds a long wound about six inches in length, deeper than he though it would be. He opens his backpack and grabs a large rag, pressing it to her side as he pulls her to her feet.
“What are we gonna do?” she asks, gasping as they walk. “The temperature is dropping and it’s getting dark.”
“We’ll find shelter,” he says, grunting as he lifts her over a few fallen logs. “Gotta be a shack around here somewhere…” (Y/n) nods, wanting not to doubt him, and grips his jacket as she tries to continue walking.
About ten minutes later, they come across a faint trail. Daryl chuckles softly and they walk about a hundred feet down the tracks. (Y/n) sighs with joy and relief as their eyes land on a small cabin, still in tact.
“What did I tell ya, sunshine,” Daryl mumbles as he kicks the door open. (Y/n) scoffs and looks around the tiny structure. Its just one room, makeshift shelves on the wall and a small mattress on another. There’s a closet open with brooms and a sink next to it, but otherwise, the cabin is empty.
Daryl walks to a chair and helps (y/n) sit slowly, and she has to grit her teeth to keep from yelling out. Daryl drops his bag and bow with the machete as she does the same. He runs to one of the shelves and finds an old lantern. He grabs the matches from his pocket and lights the lantern, lighting up the small, windowless cabin.
He drops to his knees next to (y/n). He takes his knife and grips her shirt, ripping it off without waiting for her to argue. He looks at the wound, trying to clean up the blood that still comes out relentlessly.
“Small med kit in my bag,” she manages to say. He scrambles for her backpack and opens the large pocket. He finds a small blue box at the bottom and opens it up to find some bandages, alcohol wipes, and a small needle and thread.
Daryl places the lantern on the sink next to (y/n) and threads the needle, (y/n) shifting at the thought of stitches without anesthesia. Of course she has a high pain tolerance, but she avoids needles as much as possible.
“Ready?” he asks as he wipes up the blood.
“No,” she winces, scooting down so he can fully get to the wound.
“Just look at me, sunshine, it’ll be over before ya know it.” She nods and watches him as he begins to stitch the wound. She gasps, accidentally flinching back. Daryl takes his other hand and grabs her right side, holding her in place as he pulls the thread through. She grips the chair, her teeth clenched as he continues to stitch her up.
After a grueling five minutes, the wound is stitched. Daryl drops the needle to the kit and wipes up the blood on her and his hands. He takes the large bandage wrap and carefully sits her up, letting her rest her weight against him as he wraps the wound up.
“See, that wasn’t so bad,” he jokes, and she groans as she leans back in the chair. Daryl stands and grabs a blanket from the top shelf. He covers the mattress and sets the lantern next to it. As he turns to (y/n), he notices how bad she shivers and realizes she doesn’t even have a shirt anymore.
He takes his vest off and his long sleeved shirt, leaving him in an undershirt underneath. He walks to her as she watches him closely, trying to figure out why he was caring so much. He helps her get the shirt on slowly and stands her up. She falls as she steps, Daryl quickly catching her before she can hit the floor beneath them.
He lowers her to the mattress and grabs the chair, jamming it under the handle of the cabin door so no one can get in. (Y/n), still shivering, wishes she would’ve at least grabbed a blanket out of that duffel bag.
Daryl sits next to her, frowning when he sees a line of sweat on her forehead while she shivers. He reaches over and places the back of his hand to her forehead. He pulls his hand back when he feels heat, as if a small fire lives in her skull.
“Blood loss,” she whispers, “possible infection if the fever doesn’t drop.” She grits her teeth, wrapping her arms around herself. “Dammit, it’s cold.”
“C'mere,” he says, pulling her to him. He lies down and she does too, Daryl wrapping his arms around her. She buries her face into his shoulder and he avoids her wound as he pulls her body against his for warmth. He reaches over and turns the lantern off, and the cabin becomes a deathly black colour.
Daryl runs a hand up and down her back, brushing her hair off her face and neck. He’s not sure why caring for her came so natural, why he felt inclined to take care of the girl he’s never said more than a sentence to at a time. He confuses himself almost as much as he contradicts himself, leaving (y/n) in the same mindset as him as she falls asleep.
Daryl, though, stays with his thoughts and the sounds of the harsh winds outside for a while longer, until he can fight sleep no more.
Daryl wakes first, small rays of light coming through cracks in the wood walls. He looks down at (y/n), her face in his chest and arms between their bodies for warmth. She shivers slightly still, and Daryl places his hand to her forehead; still hot.
“(Y/n),” he whispers. He taps his fingers lightly on her back and she groans, moving closer to him. “You’re burning up again, sunshine, we need to get back.”
She sighs but stays still, making Daryl frown. He sits up and lifts her shirt, carefully moving the bandages. The wound is bleeding slowly, the skin red and puffy. He shakes his head and skips his vest on, moving the lantern to the side. He helps (y/n) sit up, brushing her hair out from in front of her face.
He grabs a water bottle from her bag and hands it to her, letting her down half the water. He drinks the other half and tosses the water bottle to the side. He empties her bag into his and zips it up, sliding it on his back with his bow. He ties the machete to the side and sets her empty bag on the shelf.
“Come on, sunshine,” he says, and she would’ve scoffed at the on going nickname if she wasn’t in so much pain. He stands her up and walks her to the door, kicking the chair down and opening the door. (Y/n) closes her eyes from the bright sun as they walk out, Daryl checking the area for walkers.
He turns to her slides one arm under her legs and another behind her back, picking her up easily and holding her to him. She doesn’t protest, both knowing they won’t make it far if she tries to run or even walk. She rests her head on his chest and he begins walking.
They make it to the road without running into a walker. The car is still there in one piece, and Daryl prays he can get it running. He opens the back door and sets (y/n) inside so she can rest. She gladly sits down, out of breathe from simply just being moved.
Daryl walks to the hood and opens it up, cursing under his breath. The hoses have come loose altogether, two of them torn in the center simply from stress and age. He slams the hood shut and walks to (y/n).
“Thing’s beyond repair without parts,” he tells her, and she sighs. “Its about a three hour walk on foot-”
“We can’t leave this bag,” she tells him. “We need it for winter.”
“We can have Glenn drive up and get it,” he says lowly, “but if we don’t get you back soon, you’ll be in big trouble with that wound.” She sighs and drops her head in defeat.
Daryl reaches beside her and pulls a jacket out of the bag, sliding it onto (y/n). He grabs another for him and keeps it unzipped, but zips (y/n)’s up high. They’re thinner jackets than the rest, but enough to keep them from freezing on the long walk back.
Daryl helps (y/n) stand, and she whimpers in pain as she does. He wraps an arm around her waist and they begin walking, (y/n) leaning on Daryl for support.
She’s thankful for the sun shining down. Without it, the cold breeze might know her to her ass and she thinks she would never get back up. The cold air tortures her frail and achey skin. She wishes she would’ve waited at the cabin, maybe send Daryl for help, but she knows she would never let him make this trek alone in a world like this.
About an hour into the walk, the longest hour of her life, they run into a rogue walker. Daryl let’s (y/n) stand on her own as he shoots an arrow through its eye easily, pulling it out and slinging the bow across the backpack again.
He turns back to (y/n) and sees a red stain on the left side of the shirt, making him run back to her. Her eyes flutter shut and he catches her, setting her down on the concrete. He lifts her shirt and sees part of the stitches have reopened, making him growl in frustration. He looks around for walkers and when he sees none, he picks (y/n) up.
“Stay with me,” he mutters as he begins walking, looking down at her. Her head lies on his chest, her body slack and eyes shut. She still burns up, her pulse slow and wound still bleeding. He prays they make it back in time for her to get help.
By the time the prison is in sight, Daryl is exhausted. He sets (y/n) down and opens a water bottle, drinking some. He pours some on her lips and her eyes flutter open as she drinks greedily, coughing as she sits up.
“Almost home, sunshine,” he says and she sighs. “Good to walk?” She nods and he helps her stand, putting the water bottle in his bag. He unstraps the machete and hands it to her as they break through the tree line.
(Y/n) shuffles behind Daryl as he begins to take walkers down, shooting two and retrieving the arrows. One comes at (y/n) and she swings the machete, crying out and falling to her knees as the walker goes down. Daryl runs to her and stands her up, pulling her as he shoots another walker.
Her cry got the attention of Rick near the gates. He squints his eyes and tries to make out who it is. As he sees it’s Daryl and (y/n), he yells for Glenn and swings the gates open.
Daryl keeps (y/n) pressed to his side and she takes down another walker, yelling in pain as she does so. Rick runs out to them, and Daryl shoots another walker.
“Grab (y/n)!” he yells, taking out his knife and stabbing a walker in the head. “Get her inside, now!”
Rick pulls her from Daryl as she yells in protest. “No, help him!” she fights. Rick pulls her into the gates and she falls into Glenn. She watches as Rick sprints back to Daryl, who is surrounded by walkers now. She cries in pain and Glenn helps her sit down as Rick and Daryl run into the courtyard.
She looks up at them with tears in her eyes from pain and fear- fear that Daryl just risked his life for hers only to get himself killed. But as he drops to his knees in front of her, she sighs, blinking the tears back.
“You stupid redneck,” she hisses, “you almost got yourself killed.” He laughs once, picking her up and walking her in with Glenn and Rick. They open the doors for them and (y/n) sighs again, resting her head on him.
As they walk in, Lori and Maggie run to them. “What happened?” Lori shouts, brushing the hair out from in front of (y/n)’s face.
“Long story,” Daryl answers, setting her on a bunk in a cell. He lifts her shirt up and cuts the bandages away, Maggie gasping from the wound as Carol walks in.
“All things considered, you stitched it up well,” Carol tells Daryl. “It’s getting infected though. Maggie, get the alcohol and some clean bandages. Glenn, run and find me a knife and make it sterile- I need to remove these stitches quickly.”
“Wait, why?” (y/n) asks.
“I need to burn the dead flesh away and stitch it back up-”
“Oh, hell no,” (y/n) cries, sitting up. Rick grabs her shoulders and pushes her back down as Daryl cuts her shirt away. “No, ain’t no way you’re doing this!” she yells.
“Hold her down,” Carol said sternly as Maggie and Glenn run in with supplies. The blade he has is red hot, making (y/n) struggle more against Rick.
“No!” she argues, and Daryl sits on her legs, holding her arms against her chest. Maggie runs to her feet and holds them down, Glenn standing next to Rick and carefully keeping her head pressed to the pillow.
“(Y/n), you have to stay still,” Carol says lowly, and (y/n) whines as she stops struggling against them. Carol looks at Rick and Daryl, all three nodding. And with that signal, Carol touches the blade to her skin.
(Y/n) cries out like no one has ever head, her body jerking against the weight of Daryl on top of her. Carol moves the hot blade down the wound, the stitches coming apart and the skin burning. The agony becomes unreal for (y/n) and she screams again, and sound Daryl wishes to never hear once more.
“(Y/n), look at me,” he says, and she opens her tear filled eyes. “Eyes on me.” She gasps for air and grits her teeth as Carol begins burning the wound, and she tells against bared teeth as she closes her eyes. “Eye on me,” Daryl repeats, and she gasps as she looks back up at him.
“There,” Carol says, dropping the knife. She removes the burned stitches and Lori hands her the threaded needle. (Y/n) doesn’t cry out as Carol stitches the wound. She’s too tired to do anything but look up at Daryl and wish she would pass out from the pain.
“I need the bandages,” Carol says, and Lori hands them to her. “Sit her up.” Everyone moves back from her and Daryl stands up, helping (y/n) sit. Carol wraps the bandages around her torso and tapes them off.
“Thank you,” (y/n) manages to say as she looks at Carol. She just smiles weakly at (y/n) and stands, walking out with the supplies. Maggie and Glenn follow with Lori, and it’s just Rick, Daryl, and (y/n).
“So what went wrong?” he asks. Daryl sits behind (y/n), letting her rest her head on the pillow in his lap.
“The shit car,” she hisses.
“Went out last night, got cut off by a herd of walkers before I could check it out,” Daryl explains. “Fell down a drop off in the woods and the machete got her side. We managed to find a small cabin and stayed there. When I went back to check the car, I saw the hoses ripped and we just headed back.”
“There’s a bag in the car,” (y/n) says as she catches her breath. “Jackets, blankets, the things we need to make it through winter. Glenn needs to go and get it soon-”
“Don’t worry about that right now,” Rick says. “You need to rest.” Rick kisses her forehead and walks out, letting silence take over the small cell with Daryl and (y/n).
“Thank you, Daryl,” she whispers after a minute of silence.
“Don’t have to,” he says, and she scoffs. She goes to say something but figures that with him it’ll be useless. So instead she reaches up at takes his hand, squeezing it once. He looks down and watches her she keeps his hand in hers and lies them above her chest, and he sighs as he sees her falling alseep with her head on his lap.
Constant-velocity joints (aka homokinetic or CV joints) allow a drive shaft to transmit power through a variable angle, at constant rotational speed, without an appreciable increase in friction or play. They are mainly used in front wheel drive and all wheel drive cars. Rear wheel drive cars with independent rear suspension typically use CV joints at the ends of the rear axle halfshafts, and increasingly use them on the propshafts. [Source: Wikipedia]
I rewatched the Sormik makeup/breakup plot and listen I will never be over that subplot:
-The fact that the whole fight is because Mikleo wants to be able to fight with Sorey and defend him, while Sorey just wants to keep Mikleo safe. -The fact that Sorey KNOWS that Mikleo wants to protect him, but doesn’t want him giving his whole life to Sorey if that’s not what Mikleo wants. -The way Sorey grabs Mikleo by the shoulders, trying to convince him that it’s not anything to do with his ability, he just wants to keep him safe. -Mikleo gently removing Sorey’s hands. -No that one deserves two because it really effs me up: MIKLEO GENTLY REMOVING SOREY’S HANDS like he loves Sorey and loves that Sorey wants to protect him as much as he wants to protect Sorey, even though he’s being an idiot about it, he’s so sad that they’re fighting, he gently removes Sorey’s hands from his shoulders because they need a minute to breathe JUST KILL ME -Lailah immediately picking up on both of their feelings. -The fact that Sorey knows that Mikleo is too smart to put himself in danger even if he’s emotional -Mikleo following the party around -Mikleo grabbing the bow, knowing he’s going to be using it one way or another -Mikleo stepping in when the party gets in trouble -Sorey’s face when Mikleo says “I AM as stubborn as a rock” and realizing that Mikleo’s been following them -Mikleo getting in Sorey’s face saying “There’s something you don’t understand!” ie I want to be with you, no matter what! -Sorey’s “I DO understand! I just didn’t want you to get involved!”ie I know you do, I just wanted you to be safe! -”Get over yourself. Do you really think this is your dream alone?” IE That’s selfish and I’m going to stay by your side because this is OUR dream and fulfilling it is worthless if it’s not the both of us -Lailah’s “Oh my!” When Mikleo says Sorey knows his true name -The fact that Sorey already knew Mikleo’s true name -The fact that the Sormik armatus is revealed so much more dramatic than the Lailah/Sorey one, despite being the SECOND, not the first, armatus -”This is our armatus!” ”I’ll do the aiming, Sorey!” listen just kill me -The fact that Sorey was so distraught without Mikleo that he couldn’t remove the armatus, but once they make up it’s simple. -”Lost those training wheels, look at you” in Mikleo’s FLIRTY VOICE -The post-battle tickle fight -Alisha’s comment about being envious of them, in a way -The fact that an early-game fight and makeup was also used in Tales of Graces with romantic Cheria/Asbel, and this one was so much more effective and meaningful imo -probably more tbh because I LOVE THIS WHOLE ARC
When you begin to use the third eye common symbols in this world begin to suddenly have this strong spiritual appeal. Suddenly things we take for granted are no longer so simple. Wheels correspond to the Norse Odin, The Vedic Indra, the Celtic Taranis, The Jain cosmology cycle, the birth charts used by astrologers all have a common pattern. Now look at a car, driven by wheels and steered by one as well. The symbols of Hekate are keys. Keys turn on the ignition. This ignition can be metaphorically used to the power of the solar plexus which is our inner will which is driven by the third eye chakra (ajna in Sanskrit which also means command) we are in a world of symbols. We are our own symbols meanwhile studying the very symbols we make up our society of. We are the universe reflecting itself :) namaste!