#Belt Loading Monitor

[midseo]

Big Andon Displays, Manufacturer, Supplier, India

We are Manufacturer, Supplier, Exporter of Big Andon Displays, from Pune, Maharashtra, India.

Proximity Sensor, Proximity Sensors, Proximity Switch, Proximity Switches, AC Proximity Switch, AC Proximity Switches, Addressable Pull Cord Switch, Addressable Pull Cord Switches, Belt Loading Monitor, Belt Loading Monitors, Belt Monitoring Switch, Belt Monitoring Switches, Belt Rupture Switch, Belt Rupture Switches, Belt Sway Switch, Belt Sway Switches, Belt Tear Switch, Belt Tear Switches, Capacitive Proximity Sensor, Capacitive Proximity Sensors, Capacitive Proximity Switch, Capacitive Proximity Switches, Chute Jam Switch, Chute Jam Switches, Compact Pull Cord, Compact Pull Cords, DC Proximity Switch, DC Proximity Switches, Digital Frequency Controller, Digital Frequency Controllers, Electromagnetic Vibrator Controller, Electromagnetic Vibrator Controllers, Electronic Speed Monitoring Switch, Electronic Speed Monitoring Switches, Electronic Speed Switch, Electronic Speed Switches, Electronic Zero Speed Switch, Electronic Zero Speed Switches, Frequency Controllers For Bowl Feeder, Heavy Duty Limit Switch, Heavy Duty Limit Switches, Heavy Duty Pull Cord Switch, Heavy Duty Pull Cord Switches, Inductive Proximity Sensor, Inductive Proximity Sensors, Inductive Proximity Switch, Inductive Proximity Switches, Infrared Sensors Light Carton, Infrared Sensors Light Cartons, Level Switch, Level Switches, Magnetic Proximity Sensor, Magnetic Proximity Sensors, Magnetic Proximity Switch, Magnetic Proximity Switches, Optical Proximity Sensor, Optical Proximity Sensors, Optical Proximity Switch, Optical Proximity Switches, Position Sensor, Position Sensors, Position Switch, Position Switches, Pull Cord Switch, Pull Cord Switches, RF Admittance Level Sensor, RF Admittance Level Sensors, RF Admittance Type Level Switch, RF Admittance Type Level Switches, Rotary Paddle Type Switch, Rotary Paddle Type Switches, Rupture Switch, Rupture Switches, Safety Switch, Safety Switches, Safety Switches For Conveyor, Special Pull Cord Switch, Special Pull Cord Switches, Tilt Switch, Tilt Switches, Trip Indication System, Trip Indication Systems, Vibrating Fork Type Level Switch, Vibrating Fork Type Level Switches, Vibrator Controller, Vibrator Controllers, Vibratory Feeder Controller, Vibratory Feeder Controllers, Voltage Regulators For Vibratory Feeder, Manufacturer, Supplier, Exporter, Pune, Maharashtra, India.

[sbcdh]

On the morning of August 19th 1966, the merchant marine vessel Pelican unloaded its cargo into the port of Los Angeles. Recently declassified information about the Pelican’s ship manifest confirms that the ship was carrying experimental materials for a nascent project Clover. Of the 425 drums of material, only 424 were accounted for. 

While government officials have not confirmed exactly what was in the lost barrel, its contents are believed to be approximately 55 gallons of an experimental substance similar to LSD. 

To anyone with a passing interest in the 1970’s music scene, this will not come as news. Tall tales of a lost ship full of experimental drugs were as common as disco, though the stories have been exaggerated. The most common form of the story features a drunk crane operator loading a shipping crate onto the wrong train, though in reality it was only a single barrel that went unaccounted for. The more outlandish forms of the legend include everything from a daring heist by a crew of rocker-pirates to shadowy government entities vanishing the entire ship for their own nefarious purposes. 

The reality was a simple logistical mixup, a mistake that can be tracked back to a simple addition error on an inventory sheet, an ordinary yet deeply embarrassing mistake on part of the government. Additionally, The information that revealed the lost barrel came alongside a report detailing project clovers lost asset tracking protocol. Protocol that reads as comically naive in hindsight, with guidelines including “monitoring local jazz bars” or keeping an eye out for “feminist thought.” With the benefit of retrospective, it is no surprise that agents were not able to track the barrel. 

Declassification of the Pelican’s manifest prompted an unexpected crossover with another niche legend of the 1970s Los Angeles music scene: the disappearance of the Knights of Altonia. 

Even today, many consider the Knights of Altonia to be a myth, but scant references to their existence can be found. According to a review from a 1977 issue of Jam! Magazine, the Knights of Altonia were a “D-List psychedelic glam metal outfit with more style than skill, known more for their disappearance than their music.” Though a 1997 retrospective from Tempo calls them “A band too ahead of their time to be properly appreciated” noting their flamboyant stage costuming and its significant influence on the aesthetics of the genre. 

To the frustration of music historians seeking to separate fact from fiction, the band featured an elaborate mythology, with each member claiming to be a “Wizard-Knight of the Mystic Tower” who traveled from their world to ours “on a journey through the Nine Realms to find the secret stone.” This has been the source of innumerable urban legends around the band. A common joke among hobbyist historians at the time claimed that the Knights did not vanish, but simply “returned to the Nine Realms.” Information on the band is so muddled that many music historians doubt their existence entirely. In fact, the only confirmed, physical evidence of the band’s existence is a photograph at the bottom of the Jam! Review, it features:

Lead singer and guitarist Donald Hawkins as his stage persona “Zozimos the Wise.” He sports a mane of dreadlocks, and a classic blue wizard hat and robe decorated with yellow stars.The robe is worn open to reveal Donald’s bare chest, along with velvet short-shorts and a pair of thigh-high leather boots. The article states that the glittery bright purple guitar in his hands was named “Excelsior.”

Rhythm guitarist Jon Todachine as “Wan the Witch King.” He wears a deerskin jacket, also open at the front, decorated with what appear to be crow feathers and small animal bones. The theme of bones continues to his belt buckle, which features an as-of-yet unidentified animal skull. This figure is presumed to be Jon, although it should be noted that the broad hat he wears features a curtain of beads that obscures his face. 

Bassist Riley Knox as “Chulainn the Horned.” He wears a full deer skull, along with a lit candle that appears to be slowly melting down over the mask. Most of his upper body is obscured by what appears to be a cloak of leaves. Beneath the cloak he appears to be wearing a pair of Nike Blazers. 

Drummer Marcus Wilson as “Magnus Fire-Weaver.” He wears a viking helmet over intricately braided red hair, a chain-maille loincloth, a pair of medieval bracers on his wrists, and nothing else. 

Most notably, a speaker on stage left is placed upon a large steel drum identical to the ones used by project clover. 

Study is ongoing. 

[nemo-writes]

𝗮𝗯𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 I chapter ten

(dr. jack abbot x nurse!reader)

⤿ chapter summary: time passes without a whisper of danger—yet your nerves remain coiled, the calm louder than any threat, and even the smallest unraveling leaves you raw. and then—a reminder. a sweet and scruffy one.

⤿ warning(s): discussion of medical procedures, medical inaccuracies

⟡ story masterlist ; previous I next

✦ word count: 1.7k

Night settles over The Pitt—still damp from the days-long storm, but humming with the restless energy that always spikes when day hands off to graveyard. You and Jack step from his truck into a crisp mist, the hospital’s glass façade beading with rain that looks silver under the loading-bay floodlights. New security lamps flare along the sidewalk—Gloria’s latest decree—and a pair of guards linger at the doors, radios murmuring.

Inside the vestibule, you barely have time to swipe your badge before Margot’s unmistakable laugh echoes off the tile. She’s striding out with Bob at her side, keys jingling on his belt loop. They both slow when they spot you. Margot’s smile goes soft around the edges, the charge nurse façade slipping just a hair.

“Look who decided to grace the night shift with her presence,” she teases, but her eyes rake you head to toe—inventorying. Bob lifts the insulated tote he’s carrying, waggles it like contraband.

“You didn’t think we’d let you start a shift without pre-approved carbs, did you?” he says. The tote is clearly stuffed with fresh clothes, some snacks, and your favorite thermos. 

You accept with heat prickling your eyes. “Thank you guys. For the other stuff too.”

“No problem,” Bob says. He steps close, dipping his voice. “You doing okay?”

You expected the question, will expect it a dozen more times before dawn, but gratitude still stirs. “Hour by hour,” you answer. “Tonight feels…manageable.”

Margot hooks her arm through Bob’s, visibly relieved. “Good. Because we left a stack of elbow-deep charting for your meticulous little heart.”

Jack snorts behind you. “Translation: Ellis kept things imploding, but she’s threatening to duct-tape Shen to the inventory closet.”

Margot laughs, reaches out, and squeezes your forearm, her thumb pressing reassurance into your sleeve. “Call if you need anything—security code or emotional rescue.” Then she tips her chin at Jack. “And you—don’t let her do all the lifting.”

He lifts a hand in casual salute. “Roger that.”

With a final wave, the two of them disappear into the night, headed toward the staff lot where morning routines and normal sleep still exist. You watch them go until the door hisses shut, muffling the outside world.

Jack turns, clinks his badge against yours like a toast. “Ready?”

You draw a breath—clean antiseptic, distant coffee, the ever-present ozone tingle of the sterilizers. The hall ahead is bright and chilled, monitors already chiming in their peculiar midnight harmony. Security cameras pivot softly overhead, tracing every angle.

“Ready,” you say, and together you step past the threshold—back into fluorescent light, controlled chaos, and the shifting constellation of night-shift hearts that are already orbiting, waiting for your steady gravity to settle them.

. . .

The first night back feels like wearing stiff boots over half-healed blisters—every step deliberate, the pinch of memory always there. You track every clipboard, double-lock every med cart, and tense when a pager shrieks too close to your ear.

Yet nothing happens.

By the second week you’re still cataloging every unfamiliar face, but you’re also teasing a new nurse when he mislabels a drain and walking a med-student through a central-line checklist without your voice wobbling. The scanner Ramirez installed on the staff entrance clicks each time you badge in, a small mechanical reminder that the perimeter is tighter now. You and Jack trade five-minute hand-offs at the clean-utility alcove—his shoulder bump, your muttered “hydrate”—and the shift rolls on.

Weeks braid into a measured rhythm. 

By November, the south wing glows with early holiday lights and the trauma corridor carries a faint, persistent whiff of pumpkin-spiced coffee. You’ve also reclaimed your “midnight Bento” ritual—onigiri for Parker, hot miso for Shen—while Jack complains there’s still no chili oil. 

That same week Gloria corners you outside Sterile Core, her heels clicking a decisive cadence. She’s carrying a color-coded staffing matrix and a look that means business. “Security metrics have held thirty days,” she says, flipping to a highlighted column. “If you’re ready, I’m clearing you for day shift—and your old surgical slot. We’ll keep the enhanced badge checks, but the board trusts the system.”

You swallow, nod, and realize your pulse doesn’t spike at the prospect—only hums with something like anticipation.

And just like that, Veterans Day circles the calendar, and with it comes Jack’s rare PTO request: one personal day to breathe outside hospital walls, visit the memorial, recalibrate. On the eve of it, the shift starts hot and only climbs.

By mid-morning you and Ellis are juggling a dehisced abdominal wound when a flustered volunteer wheels in a couple clutching a gasping toddler. Triage tags them for you—shortness of breath, fever, no documented vaccines. The boy’s ribs see-saw with each breath; his O₂ reads 86. You hustle him onto oxygen while Ellis pages Respiratory, but the parents block the door, insisting the pulse‐ox is “rigged.”

“We keep our kid clean,” the father snaps, arms folded like a blockade of plaid. “No toxins.”

“Toxins are what he’s choking on right now,” you answer, trying to slip a thermometer past the mother’s swatting hand. The toddler wheezes, small fingers scrabbling for your scrub pocket. Two techs arrive with a nebulizer; the mother accuses them of “pharma poisoning.” 

Your patience thread frays. Security hovers outside at the ready.

Ellis finally edges the parents into the hallway by sheer force of Latin terminology, leaving you and the RT inside with the wheezing boy. You press the mask to his face, voice dropped to a lullaby, while through the cracked curtain you hear the father call Ellis “brainwashed.” 

By the time the parents cave in (at the last minute) and the the kid’s sats climb to 94, sweat slicks your spine. Security is also quick to escort the parents to registration; they leave paperwork crumpled, still muttering “government numbers.”

Ellis hands the child off to Pedi ICU, all while adrenaline jitters your wrists, and you return to find the med cart disassembled by a float nurse who wanted “just in case” morphine. It feels like one long violation—the parents’ disbelief, the cart chaos, the weight of fixing what should never have broken.

So you focus on rebuilding the drawers, alphabetical dividers snapping into place a little too hard, each click an exorcism. It’s in this raw, ragged pocket of the day that Jack appears in the med alcove to remind you again of his veterans-day absence.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Quick reminder—tomorrow I’m off. Ramirez and Parker know to be on—”

“Jack, I know,” you snap, vial tray clattering as you shove it home. “You’ve told me three times already. I’m not a stray left at the pound.” Your heart hammers; embarrassment floods in behind the anger but can’t dam the tears springing hot to your lashes. “I’ll be fine. You don’t have to hover just because I’m today’s damsel-in-distress.”

The sudden silence swells; the fridge hums. Jack’s gaze flicks to the re-ordered drawers, traces the tension coiled in your shoulders.

“I know you’re not fragile,” he says, voice even but warm. “I just care where my foxhole partner is standing.”

“That’s the problem,” you bite back, pulse still hammering from the parents’ tirade. “You’re always gauging my location like I’m a breach in the hull. I don’t need a minder every time you leave the building.”

He exhales through his nose—patience fraying—but keeps calm. “Listen—”

Your laugh cracks like brittle glass. “Spare me the pep talk. I’m holding by dental floss, and you hovering makes me feel like I’m seconds from splintering.”

Jack’s jaw tightens. He looks both ways, then curls two fingers into your scrub sleeve and steers you toward an empty bay. The curtain snaps shut behind you.

“Jack—”

“Quiet.” His voice is low, trembling with its own edge. “You just fought conspiracy parents while rebuilding a med cart like it’s Jenga. You skipped lunch and tore up your cuticles until they bled. I’m not hovering out of guilt—I’m hovering because I watched you hit the floor once and I’m not scheduling an encore.”

You open your mouth, fury and embarrassment tangling. “Stop making this about you feeling heroic. I will survive one day without—”

“That’s not what this is.” He steps closer, heat rolling off him. “You want proof?”

Before you can snarl another word he cups your face—hands firm but reverent—and kisses you, full and unhesitating. His stubble scrapes your skin in a rough, almost electric drag that somehow feels exactly right, grounding fury into something warmer. The shock blazes through anger, through exhaustion, until only the thunder of two heartbeats and antiseptic-scented air remain. His thumbs keep stroking your cheekbones, as if re-anchoring every fracturing part.

He pulls back just far enough to speak, breath ragged. “That is why I need to know where my foxhole partner stands. Not to monitor—” another kiss, softer, “—but to come stand there with her.”

This is months of unspoken wanting distilled into a single, wordless confession. His hands frame your face as if he’s chiseling truth into stone, and every press of lips says I love you, I love you, I love you without needing breath or syllables.

Tears cool on your cheeks, but they carry no fear—only the stunned relief of mysteries solved. “Fine,” you whisper, voice ragged but sure. “Go honor your day. I’ll hold the line.”

Jack’s answering smile is small, fierce, eyes shining with everything the kiss already said. 

“It’s been a long time since we claimed the roof,” he murmurs, voice husky from the confession that just burned across your lips. “Maybe we trade the foxhole for a bird’s-eye again. Day after I’m back—and after your first day shift—I’ll be up there at change-over like we used to. Deal?”

Something expansive blooms in your chest, bigger than relief, sharper than hope. You answer by wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him so fiercely he rocks on his heels.

“Deal,” you breathe against his collar. “Rooftop. After day shift. Tea included.”

He chuckles, warm and certain, and presses a final kiss to your cheek before slipping away at the shouted call of his name, the curtain whispering closed behind him. You let your lungs fill at last—still bent, still bone-weary, but no longer so tightly woven. When you push the curtain aside and step back into the buzzing corridor, the feeling of that stubbled kiss settles over your heart like fresh-forged armor, bright enough to carry you through the rest of this night—and all the way up to the rooftop tomorrow.

divider credit

[honeydippedfiction]

Angel and Joe with 'Eagerly watching you hold a little fashion show after coming home from shopping.' but then it turns spicy with Toying with a piece of clothing, whether that be the collar of your shirt, slowly undoing your belt, sliding a finger under the waistband of your underwear before letting it snap back against your skin. and 'don't just stand there, you tease. come here and let me taste'

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

#26. Eagerly watching you hold a little fashion show after coming home from shopping. 'Toying with a piece of clothing, whether that be the collar of your shirt, slowly undoing your belt, sliding a finger under the waistband of your underwear before letting it snap back against your skin. and 'don't just stand there, you tease. come here and let me taste'

Joe Burrow x Angel

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

The sun had barely crested the horizon when Angel Burrow cracked open one sleepy eye, hearing the soft coos of her six-month-old daughter, Zariyah, on the baby monitor. She smiled to herself—those little morning babbles were her favorite soundtrack these days.

Joe was still asleep, sprawled across the bed with one arm slung lazily over where Angel had been. For a moment, she lingered there, watching her quarterback husband sleep, his curls mussed and his face at peace. A soft warmth filled her chest, but today was her day.

Her girls day.

She hadn’t had one since Zariyah was born, and she could feel it in her bones—she needed this. Needed to step back into the version of herself that existed before spit-up stained sweaters and three-hour naps on the nursery floor.

After six months of adjusting to the beautiful chaos that came with being a new mother to baby Zariyah, Angel was finally carving out a few hours for herself. A long-overdue girls day with her best friend Monica was exactly what the doctor ordered—and frankly, her soul had been begging for it.

“Z is fed, dressed, and in a great mood,” she said aloud, more to herself than anyone, as she packed the diaper bag for Joe.

Downstairs, Joe bounced their daughter gently in his arms, pacing back and forth near the front door. Zariyah’s soft curls had a mind of their own, much like her spirit. She giggled and squealed every time Joe made a silly face or kissed her cheeks.

When Angel descended the stairs, radiant in an effortless two-piece set and sneakers so clean they practically sparkled, Joe paused and looked her over with open admiration. “Damn,” he said, blinking slowly. “Girls day, huh?”

Angel chuckled, grabbing her bag. “Don’t act surprised. I told you I was getting cute today.”

“You’re always cute,” he replied with a smirk, handing over the baby with a little spin. “But today? You’re trouble.”

Zariyah babbled in agreement.

Angel kissed Joe on the cheek and then Zariyah’s forehead. “Try not to let her drive you crazy,” she teased.

Joe gave her a mock salute. “Ten-hut, Captain Mom. We’ll hold down the fort.”

Outside, Monica was already waiting in her sleek black SUV, music pulsing faintly through the closed windows. She rolled it down as soon as Angel approached, oversized sunglasses perched on her nose.

“Ohhh, yes ma’am!” Monica called out. “You better walk down that driveway like it’s a runway.”

Angel tossed her bag into the car and slid into the passenger seat. “Let’s go before I remember I left two loads of laundry in the dryer.”

Monica laughed, throwing the car into drive. “Don’t worry, babe. Today is about vibes, not responsibilities.”

Their first stop was brunch downtown. They sat on the patio, warm sun on their skin and mimosas in hand. The conversation flowed as easily as the citrusy drinks—catching up on everything from Monica’s new situationship to Angel’s sleepless nights and all the messy beauty in between.

“You’re glowing,” Monica said between bites of avocado toast. “Motherhood looks real good on you.”

Angel grinned, swirling her drink. “Thanks, but I’ve been looking like a raccoon for the past six months. I needed this detox from diapers.”

After brunch, they hit the nail salon—chrome gel sets with detailed accents, because as Monica said, “It’s all in the details, babe.” From there, they swung by their favorite hair salon for scalp massages and blowouts, each of them emerging with fresh styles and new energy.

It was late afternoon when they reached the mall. The air conditioning offered sweet relief from the heat as they strolled from one store to the next, arms slowly accumulating shopping bags like medals of honor. Sephora. Zara. A Black-owned boutique tucked in the corner where Angel snagged a sleek jumpsuit and Monica talked her into matching gold hoops.

While browsing in one store, they were stopped by a group of young women, one of whom gasped when she recognized Angel.

“Oh my God, you’re Joe Burrow’s wife, right?”

Angel paused, a bit startled but gracious. “I am.”

“We love you guys!” the woman gushed. “And your baby is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Can we get a picture?”

Angel smiled, nodding. “Of course!”

As Monica snapped the photos, one of the girls whispered, “She’s even prettier in real life.”

Back in motion, Monica nudged her. “You really are the people’s princess.”

Angel rolled her eyes playfully. “Nah, I’m just the woman who married the golden boy.”

Monica scoffed. “Please. You’re the Angel Burrow. Don’t play yourself.”

Their final stop was an upscale lingerie boutique nestled near the mall’s exit. The lighting was soft, the music low and sultry, and the air smelled faintly of jasmine and vanilla.

“Alright,” Monica said, already eyeing a sheer emerald green set. “Time to shop for a surprise. My little boo has no idea what’s coming.”

Angel chuckled, trailing behind her. “You’re such a menace.”

“I try,” Monica said, flicking a hanger with flair.

As Monica hunted down sizes and styles, Angel meandered through the displays, half-interested—until her hands brushed over a deep red satin teddy. She stopped. It was bold, romantic… and exactly the kind of thing she hadn’t worn in months.

Before she knew it, she had gathered a small pile: the red teddy, a black lace bodysuit with strategic cutouts, and a blush-toned bralette and panty set with delicate gold embroidery.

When Monica returned, her arms full of hangers, she glanced at Angel’s haul and smirked.

“Well, well, well,” she teased, setting her own pieces down. “About time you brought that fire back, momma. You’re trying those and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Angel raised a skeptical brow. “Says the woman who once convinced me to buy thigh-high boots I never wore.”

“And you still looked bomb in them. Now go.”

Monica took the lead in the changing rooms, emerging in a rotating lineup of sultry and sleek. Each time, she struck a pose for Angel.

“This one says ‘I’m a snack.’ This one says ‘full-course meal.’ This one says ‘dessert at midnight.’”

Angel laughed so hard her stomach hurt. “That one definitely says ‘booty is a privilege.’”

Once Monica narrowed down her final picks, she gave Angel a pointed look. “Alright. Your turn.”

Angel hesitated. “It’s been a minute.”

“And yet,” Monica said, taking a seat outside the fitting rooms, “you’re still that girl. Let’s go.”

Angel emerged a few minutes later in the red teddy, smoothing the straps. The moment she stepped into the soft light, Monica gasped.

“Angel. Oh, this is it. That color on your skin? You’re dangerous.”

Each outfit brought more cheers—or the occasional “Nah, that one’s not a winner,” because Monica kept it real. By the end, Angel stood in front of the mirror in the black lace bodysuit, feeling more like herself than she had in months.

She turned. “Too much?”

“Girl,” Monica said, wide-eyed, “Joe is going to keep you locked up in that house once he sees you in these.”

They laughed their way to checkout, arms full of delicate lace and silk. As the cashier rang them up, Angel raised an eyebrow at her total and winced. “My bank account is crying.”

“But your man’s gonna be praising the heavens,” Monica replied, tossing a wink. “Worth every penny.”

The sun had started its slow descent, stretching golden fingers across the freeway as Angel and Monica sped along with the windows cracked just enough to let the early evening breeze sweep through the SUV. The playlist—curated expertly by Monica, of course—shifted from upbeat girl anthems to smooth R&B, blending laughter with bass.

Angel’s curls danced in the wind, and her lips moved to every lyric like muscle memory. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, bags rustling quietly in the back seat with every turn.

Monica leaned back with a satisfied sigh, legs crossed on the dash like the day hadn’t drained her at all. “We needed today. Like, spiritually.”

Angel nodded. “My soul’s been on life support. I forgot how good it feels to just... exist. Outside of diapers and bottles.”

“You’re still that girl, and don’t let motherhood make you forget it,” Monica replied, pointing with her fresh chrome nails. “Joe’s about to be a problem once he sees what you bought.”

Angel smirked, eyes still on the road. “He might faint. I may have gone a little overboard.”

Monica let out a delighted cackle. “You? Overboard? Sis, your man is an NFL quarterback who worships the ground you walk on. He’ll build an altar when he sees you in that red lace.”

By the time they pulled up in front of Monica’s apartment, the car was full of new energy—sisterhood, shared secrets, the hum of restoration.

Angel parked at the curb and turned down the music. “Thanks for today. Really.”

Monica squeezed her hand. “Anytime. And I expect a full report on Burrow’s reaction.”

“Oh, you’ll get a play-by-play,” Angel teased.

They hugged, said their goodbyes, and Monica slipped out with a wink before Angel merged back into traffic. The drive home was quieter now, the adrenaline of the day settling into a comfortable afterglow.

And with that, Angel pulled away, the sky darkening gently around her as she made her way home—bags in the trunk, music humming low, and her heart full.

She didn’t know it yet, but the fire she’d rediscovered that day wasn’t just about lingerie or a little glam.

It was about coming back to herself. And she was just getting started.

By the time she reached the house, twilight had painted the sky in streaks of lavender and peach. As the garage door slowly lifted, Angel spotted them immediately—Joe standing in the doorway to the house, barefoot and in sweatpants, holding baby Zariyah like she was the crown jewel of his world. And she was.

The soft light caught them just right: Joe with his curls slightly tousled and a boyish smile tugging at his lips, and Zariyah cooing in his arms, one tiny fist tangled in his hoodie strings. It was the kind of image that made Angel’s chest swell.

She parked and climbed out slowly, a smile blooming on her lips before she even reached them.

“There’s my baby girl!” Angel sang, her voice lifting as she rushed to the steps, arms already outstretched.

Zariyah let out a squeal of delight and bounced in Joe’s arms, her little legs kicking with excitement. Angel kissed her soft cheeks over and over, inhaling the sweet scent of baby lotion and formula.

Then, as naturally as breathing, Angel leaned up and pressed her lips to Joe’s. A slow, tender kiss. Nothing dramatic—just long enough to say, I missed you. I’m home.

Joe’s eyes fluttered shut for a second, completely undone by the softness of her mouth and the warmth of her energy.

When they broke apart, he smiled like a man who had just glimpsed heaven.

“I see girls day was a success,” he murmured, voice thick with admiration.

Angel gave him a knowing hum and took Zariyah from his arms, bouncing the baby gently on her hip. “My bank is going to hate me, Joe.”

He laughed, following her toward the car. “How bad are we talking?”

Angel opened the trunk, and Joe’s eyes widened at the sheer number of bags stacked like mini shopping trophies.

“Oh, it’s bad,” she said with mock seriousness.

Joe reached for a couple of them, but Angel stepped in front of him with a playful finger wag. “Uh uh. No peeking, mister. I’ll take them upstairs. You can see everything... later, once Z’s asleep.”

Joe groaned like a man who had just been denied the final play in the red zone. “You’re torturing me.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “And yet you love it.”

He chuckled and relented, stepping back and scooping Zariyah into his arms again. “Alright. But I’m holding you to that promise.”

Angel gave him a sly look as she started her first trip into the house, bags swinging from her arms. “Oh, you’ll get your reward.”

The next twenty minutes turned into a mini workout. Three full trips—first the clothes and accessories, then the new shoes, and finally the very important, very secret lingerie bag, which she tucked discreetly into the corner of the walk-in closet beneath a few jackets.

Joe offered to help again, but she shooed him away each time.

“Consider it part of the suspense,” she teased on her last return to the garage, wiping a sheen of sweat from her brow.

After the final bag had been tucked away—lingerie discreetly hidden beneath a tangle of soft sweaters in the walk-in closet—Angel took a breath and rolled her shoulders. The long day of pampering, laughter, and low-key mischief with Monica had been exactly what she needed. But nothing, not even a girls day full of shopping and spa stops, compared to the warmth that filled her chest the moment she stepped back into the kitchen and saw Joe there, sleeves rolled up, baby monitor on the counter, soft music playing in the background.

The lights above the island cast a cozy glow, and the faint scent of garlic and olive oil mingled in the air as he stirred a sauté pan. Angel padded barefoot across the tile and leaned her hip against the counter, watching her husband in his comfort zone. There was something endlessly attractive about a man who knew his way around fatherhood and a skillet.

When she joined him in the kitchen, Zariyah was back in her bouncer, playing with her soft teething ring, and Joe was pulling out ingredients for dinner.

Angel peeked at the cutting board. “Chef Burrow in the building?”

“I figured you’d be tired,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Thought I’d get started.”

She came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “And this is why I married you.”

He turned and kissed her forehead. “It’s one of the reasons, right?”

Angel laughed. “Top five. Right after ‘makes good babies’ and ‘puts the toilet seat down.’”

He grinned and handed her a knife. “You can chop the garlic then. Teamwork.”

They worked side-by-side, Zariyah babbling nearby, the scent of sautéed onions and herbs filling the air. It was peaceful in a way that grounded Angel after such a fast-paced day—an anchor back into the safe haven of her little family.

She reached out and plucked a carrot stick from the prep bowl, crunching thoughtfully.

“Was she any trouble?” Angel asked, her tone casual, though her smirk betrayed her.

Joe didn’t even turn around at first, just gave a soft chuckle and shook his head. “She was perfect.”

Angel raised a brow, arms folding as she narrowed her eyes in mock disbelief. “Our daughter? Zariyah Jasmine Burrow? The mini menace didn’t cause a ruckus today?”

Joe finally looked over his shoulder, grinning like a man who’d been caught mid-lie. “No ruckus. I swear.”

“Mmhmm,” Angel said, inching closer, leaning into the doubt like a well-worn inside joke. “So she didn’t scream like a banshee when her pacifier fell out?”

“She… voiced her displeasure a little,” Joe admitted with a laugh.

“And you didn’t have to play ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ on repeat while holding her like Simba to calm her down?”

“She just likes when I freestyle. I may or may not have invented a remix,” Joe replied, lifting a wooden spoon like a microphone. “Zariyah's got taste.”

Angel rolled her eyes and walked over to the other side of the counter, grabbing a cutting board and a knife. “So what I’m hearing is, chaos did in fact occur, but you handled it like a champ.”

He reached out and bumped her hip affectionately. “You trained me well.”

Together, they fell into the kind of rhythm only two people who truly knew each other could share—chopping, stirring, moving around each other like a pair of dancers in slow motion. There were soft touches and whispered jokes, a low hum of domestic ease layered beneath the music.

Angel sliced zucchini while Joe grilled seasoned chicken breasts. Occasionally, one of them would glance toward the monitor where Zariyah slept peacefully, tiny fists curled near her cheeks.

“Did she at least nap for you?” Angel asked, turning to place the chopped vegetables into a bowl.

“Twice,” Joe said proudly. “One long one after lunch and a shorter one while I watched film.”

Angel gave him a sidelong glance. “Did you hold her the whole time?”

Joe shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “She naps longer when I do.”

Angel paused, her heart giving a little tug at the sweetness of it all. Joe was many things on the field—strategic, composed, precise—but at home, he was just Zariyah’s dad. Soft, silly, patient. It was the version of him she’d fallen in love with long before Super Bowls and media days.

“Sometimes I think she’s just pretending to be difficult with me,” Angel muttered as she sprinkled sea salt over the salad.

Joe looked up. “She’s playing the long game. You’re the boss. She’s trying to stage a slow coup.”

Angel laughed so loudly it startled the monitor for a second. She walked over and leaned against his back, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Thanks for today, seriously. I didn’t realize how much I needed it.”

Joe placed his hand over hers and kissed her knuckles. “You give everything to her. You deserve time for yourself, too. I got it handled. Mostly.”

“Mostly,” Angel echoed, pressing her forehead to his back. “I can live with that.”

The oven timer dinged and they broke apart, plating their meal in comfortable silence. Angel poured them both glasses of sparkling lemonade and took a seat at the island while Joe served dinner.

They ate side by side, shoulders touching occasionally, laughter flowing just as easily as the conversation. It was a simple dinner—grilled lemon chicken, roasted vegetables, quinoa—but it felt luxurious in the way quiet, uninterrupted time often does.

Angel speared a piece of zucchini. “You know, after all that shopping, I didn’t even show you what I got.”

Joe raised a brow. “Not even a sneak peek?”

“Later,” Angel said with a grin. “Once Zariyah’s officially down for the night.”

Joe exhaled like the anticipation was a physical weight. “You’re killing me.”

Angel sipped her drink, eyes sparkling. “That’s the plan.”

They cleared the dishes together, trading jokes about whose turn it was to do the drying (“You’re taller, you reach the top cabinets faster,” Angel insisted) before heading upstairs for bedtime duty.

The last light of day had long faded, replaced by the hush of night blanketing the Burrow home. Down the hall, a soft lullaby played faintly through the baby monitor, and the comforting scent of lavender from Zariyah’s nighttime bath still lingered in the air.

Angel stood quietly beside the crib, gazing down at their daughter. Zariyah was deep in slumber now, arms stretched above her head in that carefree way only babies seemed to sleep. Her long lashes fluttered occasionally, lips gently parted around the edge of her pacifier.

Joe stood a step behind Angel, hands in his pockets, watching them both with quiet reverence.

“She looks like you when she sleeps,” he murmured, voice low to keep from disturbing the peace.

Angel smiled but kept her eyes on their baby. “You say that every night.”

“And I’ll keep saying it,” he replied, gently placing a hand on the small of her back.

She finally turned to face him, the corners of her mouth curving up as she slipped her hand into his. “Come on, Burrow,” she said, her tone lighter now, teasing. “Your personal show awaits.”

Joe let out a breath of a laugh, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Well, when you put it like that...”

Angel led him out of the nursery and down the hall, their footsteps soft against the hallway runner. The house had gone still around them, quiet and dim, the kind of intimate silence that only settled in when the baby was finally down for the night and the grown-ups could reclaim just a little of their own world.

When they reached their bedroom, Angel pushed the door open gently and flicked on the low amber lights from the bedside sconces. The room glowed warmly—cozy, familiar, and tinged with anticipation.

Joe was already tugging at the collar of his sweatshirt when she turned to him with a raised brow. “Ah ah—no moving yet. Sit,” she said with mock authority, pointing to the edge of the bed.

With a soft chuckle and a playful salute, Joe obeyed, sitting down and resting his elbows on his knees, eyes never leaving her.

Angel crossed the room and disappeared into their walk-in closet. “No peeking,” she called behind her.

“Not even a little?” Joe teased, leaning to the side like he could catch a glimpse past the door frame.

“Be patient,” she said, her voice floating out with a light laugh.

Inside the closet, Angel took a steadying breath. The shopping bags were exactly where she’d left them earlier—lined up by brand, carefully tucked away like little secrets. She pulled them out one by one, gathering the first few items: a structured blazer in crisp cream with gold buttons, a silky olive green wrap dress that hugged in all the right places, and a pair of wide-leg pants in soft mocha. Then came the shoes: nude stilettos, snakeskin booties, and a pair of strappy black sandals she’d fallen in love with at first sight.

The first look was sleek and sophisticated—a cream-colored blazer that hugged her waist and accentuated the gentle curve of her hips. Underneath, she wore nothing but a delicate satin camisole in soft beige, tucked into wide-leg mocha trousers that draped effortlessly to her ankles. On her feet were the snakeskin booties she’d fallen in love with earlier at the mall.

“Okay, businesswoman vibes,” Joe said, nodding in appreciation. “Are you about to fire me or promote me?”

Angel smirked, giving him a slow twirl. “Depends on how well you behave.”

“You look like a whole CEO,” he said, leaning back with a grin. “CEO of taking my breath away.”

Angel rolled her eyes playfully and disappeared into the closet again.

The next time she came out, the vibe had completely changed.

Gone was the structured look—now she was soft and sultry in a silky olive-green wrap dress that clung to her like it was tailored just for her. The thigh slit danced with every step she took, and she paired it with black strappy heels that gave her walk a subtle sway.

Joe’s eyes darkened slightly, his jaw ticking as he watched her cross the room.

“Okay, now that’s date night,” he murmured. “No way you’re wearing that in public.”

Angel cocked a brow. “Possessive already?”

He shrugged, unapologetic. “Have you seen you?”

She paused just in front of him, hands on her hips. “Well, I did buy it with you in mind.”

Joe’s lips twitched. “I knew I married a genius.”

She gave him a quick wink, then retreated once more into the closet. Each outfit that followed painted a new mood—elegant, playful, bold. A slinky black jumpsuit with a deep neckline. A ruched burgundy midi dress that made Joe audibly groan. A cozy off-shoulder sweater dress paired with suede boots that made him smile in a different way, like he could already picture her curled up on the couch with Zariyah on her lap.

When she finally stepped out again, it wasn’t just clothes in her arms—it was a tiny shoebox and a smaller gift bag.

“Alright, now for the really important things,” Angel said.

“These,” she said, walking over to the bed, “are for my favorite humans.”

Joe perked up. “We’re getting to the good stuff now?”

She opened the box first and pulled out a pair of baby pink sneakers, no bigger than the palm of her hand and held them up. Joe’s face softened instantly.

“For Z,” she said. “You know... so she can start her sneakerhead journey early.”

Joe’s face lit up. “No way. Little Z got new kicks?”

“She had to,” Angel said, shaking her head like it was obvious. “The child has my face and your feet. She deserves good shoes.”

“And what about me?” Joe asked, trying to peek into another bag. “Did I get anything, or is this just ladies’ day all the way?”

Angel fished out a box and tossed it to him gently. “Try not to cry.”

Joe opened it and pulled out a navy blue hoodie embroidered with “#GirlDad” in cursive across the chest. He blinked, clearly touched.

“You like it?” Angel asked, suddenly a little shy.

“Babe... this is perfect.”

“I figured you earned it. You survived a full day with the mini menace.”

“I love it,” he said, voice low. “You have no idea. Thank you.”

He reached for her hand, tugging her gently toward him. “I’d survive anything for you two.”

Angel let him pull her closer, her knee pressing lightly into the bed between his legs. He kissed the back of her hand slowly, deliberately, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

She smiled, brushing her free hand through his hair. “You’re sweet.”

She melted against his chest, letting herself linger there for a few quiet seconds. His scent, the low thrum of his voice, the steadiness of his arms—it all wrapped around her like safety.

Joe leaned back just slightly, head tilted. “So... I noticed you’ve been dancing around one particular bag.”

Angel raised a brow, feigning innocence. “What bag?”

He gestured toward the closet. “There’s one left, I counted how many you had. The one you won’t let me touch.”

“Oh,” she said casually. “That’s for later.”

Joe groaned dramatically, falling back onto the bed. “You’re killing me, Angel.”

She leaned over him, placing a quick kiss on his lips. “It’s called suspense. Builds character.”

As she stood again, Joe reached up and wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her there for a moment.

“I don’t care what’s in the bag,” he murmured against her stomach. “You showing up in this room, smiling like that... that’s already everything.”

Angel ran her fingers gently through his curls, heart swelling at the quiet affection in his voice. She knew Joe was a man of precision on the field, but off it, he loved with the kind of depth that left her breathless. He made her feel like she was the center of his gravity—even after months of late-night feeds and spit-up and sleep deprivation.

But then she pulled back with a sly grin.

She stepped back slowly, a twinkle in her eye. “Well, just wait until you do see what’s in the bag.” Now walking backward toward the closet like a woman with a plan. 

Joe sat up, raising a brow. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

Angel winked. “Why not both? But I’m gonna need five minutes and zero interruptions.”

“I will sit here and suffer in silence,” he promised, already adjusting the pillows behind him.

Angel laughed as she vanished into the closet again, the door clicking softly behind her.

Inside the closet, Angel closed the door softly behind her and exhaled slowly. Her heart pounded—not from nerves, exactly, but from a bubbling excitement that she hadn’t felt in a while. Not since before Zariyah. Before round-the-clock feedings, sleepless nights, and the wonderful chaos of new motherhood.

This was for her just as much as it was for him.

She pulled the first set from the sleek black bag—the deep ruby red lace that Monica had all but demanded she try on. It was delicate but daring, the sheer bodice cut high on the hips, leaving very little to the imagination. She adjusted the straps, ran a hand down her hip, and glanced at herself in the mirror.

Angel’s reflection stared back—a woman who was still learning to feel at home in her post-baby body, but tonight? Tonight she looked like herself again.

And she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Ready?” she called out.

Joe’s voice came back low and eager. “Always.”

She cracked the closet door and stepped out, slowly, deliberately—one hand resting on the frame, the other on her hip.

Joe looked up. And blinked.

He didn’t move at first. Just stared, eyes locked on her like she’d frozen time.

The deep red popped against her smooth skin, the soft lighting catching the intricate lace as she stepped forward with quiet confidence.

“Oh... my God,” Joe breathed, sitting up straighter. “Angel.”

She stopped in front of him, one brow raised. “Too much?”

“Too perfect,” he said instantly. His eyes swept over her with reverence, not hunger—though that simmered just beneath the surface. “You’re unreal.”

She gave him a slow turn, the curve of her back on full display, and heard the breath he sucked in through his teeth.

“You’re trying to kill me tonight, huh?” he said, voice lower now.

Angel gave a playful shrug. “Maybe a little.”

She disappeared back into the closet before he could reach for her, laughing under her breath as she leaned against the door to catch her breath. That reaction? That was exactly what Monica had meant by “bringing the fire back.”

The next set was softer—blush pink mesh with satin cups and tiny floral embroidery, delicate and ethereal. She paired it with a silk robe, barely tied.

When she stepped out again, Joe’s mouth opened slightly—but no words came out at first.

“Okay,” he said finally, blinking twice. “This one’s... dangerous in a different way.”

Angel tilted her head. “Different how?”

“You look like you’re about to climb into my lap and steal my soul,” he replied, utterly serious.

She laughed—a warm, full sound that made his chest ache.

“Maybe I will,” she said, brushing past him so closely he could smell the faint sweetness of her perfume.

Joe groaned, flopping back on the bed with his arm over his face. “I’m in so much trouble.”

When she returned a few minutes later, he heard the soft click of heels before he saw her. This time, the look was bolder—jet black lace, sheer panels, crisscross straps across her midsection, and thigh-highs with garters. The kind of ensemble that made Angel feel like a superwoman in her own skin.

Joe sat up before she even reached the foot of the bed, his gaze sharp but reverent.

“Okay, stop,” he said, running both hands through his curls. “That one? That one should be illegal.”

Angel smirked, hands on her hips again. “You’re just saying that because I saved it for last.”

“I’m saying it because if I blink, I’m going to miss the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” His voice was sincere now—deeper. Slower.

She walked up to him, and this time, she let him reach for her.

He sat there on the edge of the bed, hands out, but unsure of where he wanted to touch her first. This woman? This beautiful heart-stopping and smart woman was his wife. Joe began thanking every God he could think of for even letting him be in her presence.

Angel smiled up at him, stepping between his knees. “Still think I’m trying to kill you?”

Then Joe traced his hand along her side—slow, deliberate. He began toying with one of the crisscrossing straps, letting his fingers dance along the top edge of her stockings before sliding a finger under the delicate lace edge of her underwear. He let it snap back against her skin with a soft thwack.

If she could tease him and get him so fired up like this… he could do the same thing too.

“Maybe you’re not trying to kill me,” Joe murmured, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of both her underwear and those black thigh-highs, slowly pulling them down, “but if I have to keep watching you like this and not touching you? It just might.”

Angel stepped out of the fabric pool at her feet, still in the lace bralette, the matching garter still holding up her stockings. She leaned down until they were eye to eye. “Touching me is the whole point,” she whispered against his lips. “Just say the word, and I’m yours.”

He swallowed thickly, pulling her into his lap.  She could feel just how much he wanted this through his sweatpants. Angel smirked, but he was quicker, stealing another kiss before she could speak.

“Mine, huh?” Joe said, pulling back just enough to make sure she was looking at him. In his eyes, dark with need. “Then I want it all.”

His hands found their way under the garters, around the back of her thighs until he gripped her bare ass. She gasped, and he kissed her again—harder this time, his teeth catching her bottom lip.

Angel pulled back, breathless. “All of what?”

Joe smiled—a slow, wicked smile that made her stomach flutter. “All of you. I want every inch. I want to be everywhere you are. I want you so far gone that you can’t remember your own name, Angel.” His lips brushed hers with each word. “I want you to forget your own name so you can remember mine.”

Angel bit her lip, pulling herself up from his hold. She stood over him, a sly smile on her face at what she saw—his eyes a darker shade of indigo blue, his face flushed, his entire body taut with restraint, the unmistakable outline of his cock straining against his sweats.

He watched her every move—his eyes trailed over her body from bottom to top, the heat in his gaze a palpable thing. Angel could feel the hunger in every deliberate breath he took, in the way his fingers curled and uncurled at his sides. As if he were still deciding exactly where he wanted to put them.

She gave a little spin, letting him see the rest of the ensemble, the way the lace cradled her backside, the delicate straps that cut across the small of her back and the top of her ass.

Joe groaned before reaching out for her, only for Angel to take another step back. He looked up at her, eyes burning.

“Don’t just stand there,” Joe said, his voice a low rasp. “Come here and let me taste.”

Angel smirked again, stepping closer until she was between his knees again, and leaned down to kiss him. “What exactly do you want to taste?”

Joe smirked back against her lips. “You.”

“Hmm. You’ll have to show me what you mean,” she said, and she felt him smile against her lips.

“With pleasure,” he murmured.

He kissed her again, hard and deep, and Angel could feel herself getting wet from the way he moved, the way he took what he wanted. His lips were firm, insistent, his tongue tangling with hers as his hands found the hooks on her bra.

He broke the kiss, eyes dark and burning when he looked up at her again.

“I’m gonna take this off,” Joe said, already working at the hooks. “And then I’m gonna kiss every inch of you, starting here—” His lips brushed the space between her breasts. “And working my way down.”

Angel shivered. “Yeah? What happens when you get down to the bottom?”

“I’m gonna make you come apart on my tongue,” he whispered, lips brushing hers again.

She moaned against him, and Joe smiled against her lips. “And I’m not going to stop until you’re begging me to fuck you.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” Angel said, breathless.

“It’s worth it,” Joe replied, “to see you like this. To remind you who you are.”

Angel swallowed, eyes searching his face.

“Who am I?” she asked, voice soft. Uncertain.

Joe reached up, cupped her face in his hands. “You’re mine.” He kissed her. “You’re my wife.”

Another kiss. “You’re a mother.”

Another kiss. “But right now? Right now, you’re just Angel.”

She kissed him this time, pulling him closer, her fingers curling in his hair, her entire body surging forward to meet his.

“And I want all of you,” Joe continued, pulling back just long enough to speak against her lips. “The good, the bad, the messy, the beautiful.”

Angel could feel tears welling up in her eyes—tears of relief, of need. “I want all of you, too.”

He kissed her hard again, and this time there was no restraint. His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over the delicate lace before he reached for the hooks again.

He broke the kiss only long enough to pull the bralette off—and then he was pulling her down to him again, his mouth on her breast, tongue swirling over one peak and then the other, the wet heat of his mouth making her ache with want. His fingers found her other breast, rolling the peak between his thumb and forefinger until Angel was breathless and gasping.

He pulled her into his lap again, the thin fabric of his sweatpants doing little to mask the heat of his cock as she straddled him. Angel rocked against him, slowly at first, but Joe’s hands were everywhere all at once—her breasts, her back, her ass, the lace straps of her garters, the wetness between her thighs.

“Joe,” she breathed, the ache building. “God, Joe.”

He sat up abruptly, lifting her with him. Angel wrapped her legs around him, her arms around his neck as he carried her the few steps to the wall.

Joe pressed her against it, pinning her hips there with his own, and his mouth found hers again. Angel pulled at his sweatshirt, yanking it over his head before her hands found his shoulders, his chest, her nails digging into his skin.

He groaned against her, his fingers dipping into the wetness between her legs, finding her clit with unerring accuracy. 

Angel gasped, her back arching against the wall. His fingers worked in slow circles at first, his tongue following the same rhythm against her own, until she was gasping his name, her hips moving to meet him.

Joe pulled back just enough to speak, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts against her lips. “Is this what you want?” He pressed his fingers against her again, this time letting two slide inside of her. She was so wet, so ready.

“Yes,” Angel breathed. “Yes—God, yes—”

Joe’s fingers curled, pressing against that spot that made her vision blur, made her see stars. Angel whimpered, her entire body tightening. She was close. So close.

Then his fingers were gone.

Angel gasped, blinked down at him in confusion. “Joe—”

“Not yet,” he murmured against her neck, pressing kisses against her skin. “Not until I taste you.”

Before she could say anything else, he lifted her again, carrying her to the bed. She lay back against the sheets as he hooked his fingers in the sides of her stockings, pulling them down slowly.

His fingers traced the path the stockings had taken until they reached her center again. She was still wet—still ready for him.

He kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other. His tongue traced the outline of her, slowly, carefully—learning every curve, every dip, every fold. Angel’s fingers curled into the sheets when his tongue finally, finally met her clit.

“Joe—” she gasped.

He hummed against her, the vibration sending shockwaves through her entire body.

“Joe—yes, please—”

His tongue moved in slow, deliberate circles, never breaking contact as Angel’s breath came in sharp gasps. He could feel her shaking beneath him, the muscles in her thighs trembling with restraint.

“Shit, I’m so close—”

He hummed against her again, slid one finger and then another inside of her, curling them forward until she cried out. Angel’s entire body tightened, her back arching off the bed as she came on his tongue.

Joe didn’t stop.

His tongue kept moving, his fingers curled inside of her until he felt her start to shake again, her voice breathy and urgent now.

“Joe—I can’t—oh my God—”

He pulled back, his voice low. “You can. And you will.”

And before she could answer, his mouth found her clit again, his fingers working in time. Angel couldn’t form a single thought—just felt the slow, steady climb toward that edge again.

“Joe, Joe, JOE—” she cried out, her entire body shuddering with the force of her release.

She lay back against the pillows, boneless and breathless, watching through half-lidded eyes as Joe stood and pushed his sweats down.

Angel bit her lip at the sight of him—hard and thick and ready for her.

She reached for him, but he shook his head, kneeling on the bed again.

“Not yet,” Joe said, pressing a kiss to her lips, letting her taste herself on him. “I’m not done with you.”

Angel groaned. “Joe, please—”

He kissed her again. “Please what? You have to use your words, Angel.”

“I need you,” she said, reaching for him again. This time, he let her—let her fingers wrap around him, let her pump him slowly until his hips were moving with her.

He pulled her hand away with a growl.

“Need me to do what?” Joe asked, reaching down to trace her lips, Angel's mouth opening and sucking around Joe's fingers. He pulled them away slowly before he could lose control, before he gave her what they both wanted. “Tell me what you want.”

Her voice was a whisper, a low, needy sound that made him ache. “I need you to fuck me.”

He shuddered, his restraint slipping. “How do you want it?”

She pulled him down to her, kissing him deeply. When she spoke again, it was a breathless whisper against his lips.

“I want you on top of me. I want to feel you everywhere. I want you to remind me how much you love me.”

Joe groaned and captured her mouth with his again, kissing her deeply as he positioned himself between her legs.

He pushed into her in one smooth motion, and they both gasped—Angel at the feeling of fullness, of completion, and Joe at the feel of her tight, wet heat around him.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. Joe’s hips moved in slow, deep thrusts at first, savoring every second, every shiver that ran through Angel’s body beneath him. He wanted to make this last, wanted to make it good for her.

But the way she felt around him—the way her back arched, her body opened for him—he couldn’t hold back. Not when he was already on the edge, not when he could feel his own release building.

Joe’s thrusts grew harder, faster, his lips finding hers again in a searing kiss. Angel met him with the same urgency, her hips rising to meet his, her voice a steady stream of breathless pleas.

Her nails dug into his back, his shoulders, the pain and pleasure merging into one overwhelming wave.

“Angel—” Joe breathed. “Angel, I—”

She pulled back just long enough to look at him, her eyes locked on his.

“Don’t stop,” she said. “Don’t stop.”

“I can’t,” he ground out. “I can’t stop.”

 His hips were moving of their own accord now, driven by a need he couldn’t control. “Angel—”

“Yes,” she breathed, her own release building again. “Yes, Joe—”

"Fuck baby, squeezing me so good." Joe groaned. Angel could feel him getting closer, could feel him thickening inside of her.

Joe grabbed her leg pulling it to his shoulder. Angel moaned louder, feeling Joe go deeper. Her hands gripped his arms, her nails dug deeper into his skin as he pounded into her.

“I love you,” he managed, his voice strained. “Angel—I love you—”

“I love you, too,” she cried out, her voice breaking. “Joe—Joe, please—”

"Come on baby, let me feel you." Joe said as he brought his hand down to rub tight circles on her clit. "Cum for me baby, you can do it. Give it to me." He thrust harder.

Angel's entire body tensed, every muscle straining toward that release. Joe could feel it building inside of her—the heat, the pressure, the need.

“Please, please—Joe—”

Then suddenly, she was falling over that edge, her body shaking with the force of it. Angel cried out his name again and again as her body spasmed around him, pulling him over the edge with her. Joe groaned, his hips losing their rhythm as he pulsed inside of her, filling her completely. He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath hot and ragged against her lips, his body trembling with the intensity of his release. Angel wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as they both rode out the last waves of pleasure.

She kissed him again, slowly this time, her lips moving gently against his. Joe sighed against her mouth, his own lips responding lazily as he came down from his high.

They lay there for a moment, breathless, Joe’s face buried in the curve of her neck.

Angel was the first to move, pressing soft kisses along his jaw, his cheek, until he looked up at her. She brushed his curls back, smiling softly.

“Hi,” she said.

Joe smiled back, kissing her softly. “Hi.”

“Thank you,” she said.

He shook his head, still trying to catch his breath. “Don’t thank me. I should be thanking you.”

“I know you did this for me,” he murmured, “but I hope you felt it, too.”

Angel’s breath caught.

“I did,” she whispered, her fingers threading through his curls. “I needed to remember that I can still feel like... me. Like a woman. Not just ‘mommy.’”

Joe pulled her closer, resting his forehead against her chest. “You’ve never stopped being you, Angel. You’ve only added more layers of amazing.”

She smiled gently, carding her fingers through his hair as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her like she was the most precious thing in his world—which, to him, she was.

After a long beat, he looked up, eyes twinkling.

“So… which one are you wearing when we don’t have a sleeping baby down the hall?”

Angel laughed, low and warm. “That depends. Are you planning to behave?”

Joe stood and swept her effortlessly off her feet, cradling her against his chest as she gasped and looped her arms around his neck.

“No,” he said without hesitation, carrying her to the shower. “Not even a little.”

[discodeerdiary]

There's a good reason why I try not to argue publicly with anyone under 18, and it's not that I think they're inherently stupid, it's not that I think their brains are "underdeveloped", it's not that I think they can "do no wrong", it's that I never know how much freedom they actually have to think freely, or how many of their opinions are actually their own. Of course, under-18s *can be* capable of thinking for themselves and developing their own opinions, but (here in the US at least) law and culture put a lot of roadblocks on their ability to do so.

Of course parents and teachers cannot actually control the inner thoughts of the children they wield power over, but they can restrict the information that they have access to, can punish them for saying the wrong things, can cut them off from healthy diverse social groups, and can convince the child their thoughts are being monitored through religion, psychology, and other appeals to higher authority.

Thus if a random teenager says some headass shit in my mentions I have no way of knowing if these are opinions they arrived at on their own, or if they are dogmas forced on them by the people holding food and shelter over their head. If it's the latter, there's nothing to be gained from a public confrontation: people are generally unwilling to change their opinions in a direction that threatens their social support system, and they are especially unwilling to do so at the behest of an internet stranger who cannot offer alternative forms of support. If a teen is genuinely curious about my opinion (that is *if they consent* to a discussion of disagreements) and if I have the mental bandwidth for a potentially emotionally loaded conversation, yeah I'll have it, but I'm not gonna maintain any illusions about my ability to change their mind until they can find a way to live independently.

This is also why my leniency toward the not-yet-adult tends to also extend to the recently-adult. Coming up with a system of beliefs that you're actually willing to stand behind? Shit takes time, and I'm not necessarily gonna expect it of a 20-year-old who may, for all I know, have been living under conditions of near-absolute control up until their 18th birthday. Sure they may be opening their mind in college, or college may be their parents way of keeping them too occupied with busywork to develop new opinions, as they continue to hold financial support over their head. It's around their mid-twenties that I'm willing to go full gloves-off antagonistic with strangers, knowing that they've had a few years of legal and social adulthood under their belt, and that even if they're still financially dependent on their parents it's a different sort of dependence, one where they're given default legal permission to run away from home.

A lot of people are deeply uncomfortable with this line of thinking because if you look too far into the factors that influence young people's thoughts, you eventually have to start asking yourself which forces of dependency are influencing your own beliefs and opinions. Yeah, as an independent adult you may have the option to quit your job, divorce your spouse, ditch your friends, move to another country, but realistically how many of these can you accomplish at the same time? How many do you even want to? And how are all of these forces *in aggregate* setting the acceptable limits of what you're allowed to think and feel? It can be upsetting to think of yourself this way, it can be easier to think of yourself as a true free thinker and children as mindless automatons, but I urge you to think of mentally coercive environments as a continuum rather than a binary. The point is not to free yourself from all influence, but to gain the ability to see yourself as an influenced mind, and to have compassion for those dealing with all the bullshit you don't have to anymore.

[ghostbsuter]

Water drips down in the corner, the steady dop drop drop— does wonders for the bat.

Batman has been taken, tied up, and undressed of his utility belt. It takes him a second to figure out who took him, by the large but empty and run down warehouse, the sound of the shore not far away.

The docks. He shuffles, bound and comm off.

Then, the steel enforced door slams open and Joker enters.

"Batsy!" He calls, overjoyed. The man walks to the bound vigilante and crouches to his height.

"It's been so long, hasn't it been?"

The vigilante grunts. "Joker."

"Today will be different." He goes on, "today, we have," the crime Prince drums his fingers on Batman's thigh. "A guest!"

He freezes at that, Joker has a civilian.

(Oracle sends out the message, her voice firm, and the coords are shared to the rest of the clan in seconds as she looks at her monitor. Batman's red dot at the harbour bright.)

"I'm a guest now?" The voice of a child asks, it brings slight confusion that the boy wasn't tied nor harmed in any way.

It's relief that he seems okay, but the danger of standing next to the Joker has Batman wiggling in his restrains.

"Is that a promotion or demotion for son?"

A brief look of annoyance enters Joker before being smoothed out, the boy is dealing with a delicate time bomb. Uncomfortably close to the madman.

(He hurries in the process of breaking free.)

"My son! My blood!" Sings the clown, throwing his hands around the boy's shoulders and prancing around.

Which brings another question.

Son?

Cool lighting hits the boy's head and the tuffs of pink, blue and green become more obvious, hidden beneath black hair previously.

Joker and Harley have a child. A son.

He will visit harley later. The boy comes first.

"Dante! Danyal! Daniel?" Joker croons, shaking the boy. "What was it again?" He stops, turning his son toward him with a grin.

(Robin drops down behind him, hiding, katana ready to be swung.)

"Danny, actually," the child— Danny– shrugs off the hands and steps back. Unflinching from the judging stare, simply waving off the hands creeping to his throat.

"Danny," the name is tested, and the Prince of Crime hums to himself. "We can always replace it as Joker Jr! It fits you better than Danny."

(Red Robin and Spoiler get on position above them, ready to pounce from the construction pillars.)

"Yeah, I don't know about that." He chuckles nervous, catching Batman's eyes and—

His eyes alone scream of fear, scared– scared—!!

"We will get you an acid flower, a new suit as well, the hoodie looks horrible on you." The man notes, humming.

"I prefer hammers." Danny replies with tense shoulders.

Joker clicks his tongue, "You always went after your mother." he hisses, outright glaring at his son now. His hand tightened around the crowbar he'd gathered not long ago.

"I mean," he hesitates, eye trailing off the Joker and over his shoulder. "I did come out of her."

The sound of a loaded gun shatters the silence, and Joker is pulling Danny, switching their positions and pushing him right in front of the gun in Red Hood's hand.

"Always a coward, hiding behind others, aren't you." Danny stops himself from squealing. That's the Red Hood!

(Escrima sticks light up with electricity as Red Hood speaks.)

Joker is ticked off, party ruined and surrounded now that he looks around.

Oh well, he can get his son on his villain path another day.

Cackling, he evades the escrimas, dodging the wonder boy and evading the twin attacks from above.

He pulls out a trigger and presses the bright red Button.

"Have fun bats and birds!"

The warehouse is completely flooded with fear gas, scarecrow wouldn't be mad he sacrificed one of his warehouses, will he?

It's all blurry. In one moment, his view is shrouded, and he's coughing. In another, he gets picked up and brought outside, the Joker gone.

An oxygen mask is placed on him by a paramedic, being handed off to an ambulance that had been called.

Peeking around, he sees Red Hood (!) still lingering around. Danny catches his eye and with a wave, the man is walking towards him.

He simply crosses his arms and tilts his head, waiting.

"Could I get a picture?" Danny blurts out, flushing after and coughing, holding the oxygen mask in his lap.

Red Hood makes a show of his shoulder sagging before crouching down and leaning toward him.

Later, Danny will look at the picture with a boyish grin, crooked and charming.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

A continuation

[nyx-umbrakinesis]

(banner made by @redvexillum tysm darling 😭💜🥰)

Vox is upgrading and you get a little impatient waiting.

Vox x FReader

CW: Penis in Vagina sex, fingering, fellatio, somnophilia, dub con at the beginning, erotic electrostimulation.

Upgrading...

Walking into Vox’s screen room as he was late for dinner. 

“Vox? Are you in here?” You call out in the quiet room, he’d told you he’d be upgrading today but should be able to join you for dinner, so when he missed dinner, you naturally went to see if everything was okay, part of you slightly worried, mind racing with doubts and insecurities, maybe he was tired of you... 

When you rounded his large chair, you found your concerns were completely invalid as you see Vox is still mid update. The loading information on his blue screen proof that he wasn’t intentionally staying away from you.  

You’d missed him so much, so without hesitation climbed into his lap, just wanting to be close to him, his body felt much the same as always, firm and warm, he smelled like home, it was comforting. 

Sitting and caressing his defined chest you watch as the percentage ticks up from 36 to 37, this was certainly taking a while.  

Vox of course didn’t respond to your touch, but it did slightly annoy you, you were used to him responding to every little touch and sound from you, as you mused you begin to wonder what else he would or wouldn’t respond to. 

With a devious smile and a kiss to his very warm bezel your hand caresses lower exploring your partners body, muscles twitching as he otherwise remains still, his skin soft under your fingertips, you feel a surge of triumph as the twitch means he can respond. 

38% his screen declares; you begin to slowly undo his belt after looking around. The door was closed, locked and most of his monitor room was powered down, waiting on the master to resume functionality, you categorise in your head to make sure you won’t be caught.  

The sound of the zipper sliding down his fly was deafening in the silent room as your greedy grin split your face, heat already pooling in your lower belly, body responding already recognising it’s desire. 

39%... Slotting your legs either side of his thighs on the chair to give you more room you pull him gently free of the confines of his trousers, his thick heavy cock warm but still very soft. 

40 %... Experimentally you rub the tip of your finger along the soft, familiar shaft... No reaction... Damn. 

41%... You lick your finger this time and place the wet digit on his spongy head, dragging it around teasing the most sensitive part of him, your eyes focused on your actions as you concentrate, your brain excitedly running through what more you could do to get his big cock hard for you. 

42%... Right there, you notice the slightest twitch. So not completely unresponsive in this area either, you think to yourself, not noticing how the upgrade seems to have sped up a little. 

43%... Palming his member feeling the soft warm flesh malleable in your hand, you lean forward to see if kissing his collarbones and neck would help in your plight. 

44%... You have to rest his head back against the chair, tilting his screen back to give you access to his skin as your hand never ceases kneading, trying to tease him into responsiveness... 

45%... You feel his pulse beneath your tongue, teeth and mouth then sucking a bruise right on the juncture between his neck and shoulder, you feel another twitch in response, making you smirk. 

46%... It’s not enough, you huff slightly frustrated, your own sex starting to throb needily in anticipation, slick beginning to ruin your underwear. 

47%... instead with shaking eager hands you reach up, reluctant to part from your hold on his cock for long you unbutton his shirt as fast as you can, tearing a few buttons off in the process, pushing it open sloppily before returning to teasing and rubbing his member, your tongue and mouth now stimulating his nipples, tasting his skin frantically, moaning as how good his body always feels for you, grinding on his thigh as your core pulses feeling so hollow without him. 

48%... Getting slightly frustrated as your efforts garnered nothing, you bite down, teeth sinking into his pec and to your satisfaction feel a bigger twitch in your hand than last time, he always loved it when you bite, you think smugly, but he still remains stubbornly limp to your frustration. 

49%... You sigh, kissing his chest from clavicle to each pectoral, peppering him with love and licks, just enjoying him for a moment before deciding... It’s time to pull out the big guns. 

50%... Without even bothering to get off his lap your hand finds its way under your own skirt, tearing away the wet flimsy lace so you can utilise your best chance. Hiking your skirt up and out the way, exposing yourself in a way that would usually have him blue screen at your brazenness. 

51%... Dripping, and swollen in need, your heat gets positioned right over his stubborn member. 

52%... Your arms wrapped around his neck to support yourself, hands gripping the back of the chair given his current state you know he can’t actually support you and you’d rather not risk it, as the screen would hurt if you lost your balance and dragged him tumbling down on top of you in the process. 

53%... As soon as your burning sopping need makes contact with his warm softness you moan, memories of past experiences with your talented man flitting through your mind making you ache more. 

54%... Your moan increasing in volume as you feel him harden slightly, rutting the semi hard member through your soaked folds, grinding your clit against his pelvis needily with a whine as it gives you some traction, his cock clearly recognising where it belongs too. 

55%... “Come on Vox...” You whine needily, cheeks flushed as you grind wantonly against him, cock sliding deliciously through your folds. 

56%... You feel a slight zap, your clit burning slightly, it makes you moan and twitch, your speed increasing, slick coating him even further as you hump him, but his cock remains at half-mast frustratingly. “Please.” You whimper. 

57%... You find it hard to stop, the feeling of his flesh on yours still so delicious, so instead of giving up on this venture you try one more thing. 

58%... Pulling you top off and flinging both it and your bra to the side you continue grinding against him like you were paid the most handsome sum, practically giving him a lap dance, desperate for him now. 

59%... In reality, your desire for Vox still burns as bright as the first time you’d ever met... Touched... Fucked... Your hips rolling as you moan at the stimulation on your clit as it gets a bit of a zap again from the electrical discharge, making it swell and throb with angry need. 

60%... “Fuck Vox please, I need you... Your Babydoll needs you... Fuck why are you so fucking sexy.” You plead, hoping he would just come to and fuck you, for a moment you swear you saw his hand twitch, but you blinked, and it was as unmoving as ever. 

61%... You moan as you continue rocking your hips whispering pleas against his screen as you kiss areas not busy with his update, not wanting to fuck anything up. 

62%... Your front pressed to his, trying to bring him to full hardness, trying to make his body react through muscle memory, your softness pressed against his hardness, your tits and nipples squashing against him, your body giving way to his just the way he likes.

 

63%... You try for several more minutes begging and praising him as you do, dragging your body against his, your cunt making such sloppy wet sounds as it coats his cock, if her were awake you’d be embarrassed for being so wanton. Rolling your hips and dragging your nipples up and down his chest as you kiss his shoulder, feeling yourself get more and more stimulated, but it’s not enough. 

64%... You try biting him again but no such luck, just another small twitch. 

65%... You get struck with another amazing but awful (in your mind) idea, but the thought of losing your stimulation from his body makes you want to ignore it, it is so difficult to tear yourself from him... But you manage. 

66%... You slide off his lap regretfully, groaning, tears pricking your eyes, you capture the waistband of his trousers as you descend, dragging them down with you so you can part his thighs, which your do, and even mostly flaccid it's still a glorious sight to gaze up at, his blue skin almost luminescent, and he looks utterly sinful all dishevelled with only an unbuttoned shirt to keep any semblance of modesty. 

67%... Licking your lips you take in his musky scent mixed with your arousal, taking in the sight of his half hard soaking wet member appreciatively as a bead or pre-cum glistens on the end... So, something is definitely working, you think gleefully. 

68%... Lapping at his tip making his cock practically jump, tasting both of your combined flavours with a moan you internally celebrate at the biggest reaction yet. You know you’re on the right track. 

69%... Your mouth eagerly envelops his cock, a full explosion of your essence and his salty musk floods your tongue, and you moan, the vibrations cause a pulse of him in your mouth, and you moan as you’re treated to another drop of his pre-cum, greedily devouring it. 

70%... You suck and lap eagerly at his further hardening length with glee, more confident and invested in your endeavour than ever. 

71%... You moan as his newer state of hardness allows him to slide slightly deeper inside your mouth. 

72%... Vox tastes so good your eyes close and you moan around his cock, vibrations running up his shaft as you suckle incessantly for a while, just enjoying the feel of him in your mouth. 

73%... He hardens incrementally more with your tongue lathing and lapping at him on every bob of your head taking him deeper, the lagging weight as he’s still not fully hard weighing heavily on your tongue, its actually quite an addictive feeling bringing him to hardness inside your mouth like this. 

74%... Your fingers wander between your thighs, unable to take any more or to resist as you start rubbing and teasing your swollen throbbing little clit. 

75%... Moaning again at the contact on your clit, making his cock twitch and pulse again in your mouth, treating you to more cum in reward for the provided vibrations. 

76%... Your fingers glide through your own dripping slit, teasing your entrance, suckling fiercely on his cock like a lifeline. 

77%... Working so hard to get him harder, he’s not quite there, you can tell by how he feels in your mouth despite his size already starting to make your jaw ache. 

78%... You finger your flooded hole needily whining at the lack of depth and girth, at the lack of Vox. 

79%... Knowing what you’re doing will bring you what you need, you double down sucking and licking him needily, probably harder than you’d dare if he were fully conscious, but you were starting to hurt you needed him so badly. 

80%... Your fingers matching the pace of your mouth trying to suck the life right back out of him as he uploads more and more of his update, you wouldn’t have been surprised to see the numbers decreasing with the power of your sucks. 

81%... You can’t wait to surprise him with your efforts, knowing how much he’d fucking love to wake up to this, and to hear of your work ethics to get him all ready for you. 

82%... He had once told you it was impossible to get a reaction from his body during these sort of moments, his upgrading time practically freezing his body with the effort of the information rushing through him. 

83%... With the amount suction from your mouth you’re surprised you’re not bruising him already, but you seem unable to stop yourself, or to be more careful of his precious ‘goods’. 

84%... Determined to prove him wrong, smirking as he gets ever harder for you, making you feel so smug, even as your fingers fly in and out of your clenching core. 

85%... Sucking, teasing and moaning you abandon your slit to rub your wet fingers against his balls, one last ditch effort to finish the job so you can get to the main seminar. 

86%... 87%... 88%... Tugging, sucking and moaning, your tits pushed tight between his calves... Working away at him, until finally... 

89%... Success! His throbbing and pulsing size matches exactly how you remember him always feeling in your mouth, jaw sore but you can’t keep the huge smile off your face. 

90%... Moaning in relief and arousal, you indulge yourself by sucking on him a little while longer, just tasting and feeling all the ridges of his cock and moaning as the drops of pre-cum gift you more frequently now. 

91%... Finally, you withdraw, letting his cock out of your mouth rubbing your jaw from the ache as it bobs slightly from the release angle and the throbbing it’s still entertaining you with. 

92%... Wasting no time (in case he goes back down), you re-take your position clumsily straddling his lap, skirt no more than a belt at this point. 

93%... Moaning as his finally rock hard, impressive member slips and slides perfectly through your slick, rubbing yourself down it as the burning need is soothed slightly from the friction. 

94%... Your nails dig into his shoulders as you moan again, considering he’s not even awake the amount your moaned for him already would embarrass you too if he ever knew, his tip lining up with your entrance with ease from how utterly drenched you are, slipping into place and nearly impaling you fully, if you weren’t holding yourself high enough on strained shaking legs that is. 

95%... Groaning in bliss you sink slowly down on his ready throbbing deliciously filling cock. 

96%... Panting as he stretches you so wide your head buries against his chest as you take in his scent, letting the burn of your hole stretching for him be all that fills your senses. 

97%... Recovering enough, you raise your hips, feeling every inch of him sliding back out, torturously slowly. 

98%... You revel in the feeling of his cock spreading you open so wide, teeth buried in his right pec again, paying no mind to the heat from his screen above you nor what it says as you're careful not to hit your head. 

You go to slide back down his cock slowly and gasp as a pair of strong hands grip you hips suddenly and slam you down while rutting up forcefully within you making you cry out in ecstasy as your insides ache and rejoice from the rough treatment his cock driving through your channel and hitting the resistance at the end brutally, as hot breath fans across your neck and ear as his voice finally washes over you, as you whimper and spasm... 

“I hear my Babydoll needs a good fucking... And just couldn’t wait for me to be ready. Well you’re certainly going to enjoy this, right Little Love...? For your efforts...” He thrusts up hard again inside you, his grip on you forcing you up and down on his cock. He fucks up into you praising you as you cry out, he controls all of your movement, fucking you and making you fuck him in turn, forgetting the rest of your body as you cling to him helplessly, his strength already making your mind blank from pleasure. 

“You’re such a good needy little Doll for me... So desperate for my cock... such a needy good little Pet,” the praise rolling off his tongue making your cunt flutter around him already as you clench and nearly cum then and there. 

Panting and gritting his teeth at your sudden tightness he gives another harsh thrust, “Just... For... Me!” Vox bites your neck as you moan almost screaming, your body clenching around his cock with every harsh drag out, trying to keep him buried deep inside you hot wet channel, the wet slapping sound of every slow hard thrust from him as he whispers praise and curses in your ear. 

Vox makes every thrust strong slow and measured to keep you unable to do anything other than what he drives your body to do, and moan of course. 

“How fucking good you feel around my cock Doll, fuck yeah what a way to wake up, your tight little cunt working away at me desperate to cum because nothing else will do.” He growls as you mewl for him. “Fuck you love my cock so much don’t you Babydoll? You fucking love taking it deep in that pretty little cunt of yours.” 

The marks on his chest start increasing as his thrusting makes you bite him with every tantalising bruising thrust, every measured plunge designed to drive you senseless. 

Vox moans and makes his own noises of pleasure as his punishing bite in return causes you to grip his dick so tight he struggles to even make the next thrust. 

“Relax Doll, I’ve got you, your Vox is here.” He croons as you breathe and nod, eyes unfocused, looking up at him to see the same adoring lust filled look in his eyes that you can feel in your own, his smile making your heart skip a beat. 

He presses his lips to yours gently, his thrusting easing up on intensity a little as he deepens the kiss, just enjoying every part of you softly for a moment, his little jolting thrusts, your pulsing gripping hole, his hands gliding over your body, tweaking your nipples, your little whimpers in his mouth. 

His tongue tangled with yours as your nails continue biting into his skin deliciously, both of you just moaning together, you’re able to join in again, gaining just enough lucidity, you start rocking your hips again, his cock sliding back and forth inside you, grinding against every spot as you moan, his hands teasing your tits as your clit rubs on his pelvis deliciously, you starts fucking yourself on him harder, impaling yourself on his hard cock you can't stop moaning with every thrust he indulges you with. 

He breaks the kiss resting his fuzzy warm screen on you with less of a glitch than usual... The new liquid cooling system clearly doing its job. 

“Vox.” You Moan desperately, causing another slight glitch at the sound of your strained exquisite whine. 

Bathing in his blue light, keening and arching your back, you press your tits into his hands more firmly, your own hands coming behind you to grip his knees making you both moan as the angle reveals the sight of his cock sliding in and out of you with every roll of your hips and thrust of his. 

Your stomach bulges out slightly from the angle too and Vox rests one hand right over the top groaning as he feels himself inside you. You sob slightly as you can feel him on both sides of the partition, the intensity overwhelming as his pace increases incrementally, as your heat burns with such an intensity you fear you might black out, your whole-body trembling, so very turned on both of you can only make sounds of pleasure for a time. 

Wet flesh slapping wet flesh, gasps and moans, and hisses filling the air. 

Vox ramps up the tension once more, his thumb rubbing against your needy swollen clit like a balm and a fire all at once, especially when, with a cheeky grin he sends a little zap through his finger, making you cry out and suddenly get thrown over the edge violently. 

His arm winds around your back swiftly as you nearly slip from your precarious perch, your whole body convulses, cunt clenching rhythmically as he speeds up his thrusts, holding you close, fucking into you, the squirting spraying out of your cunt with every pulsation utterly drenching him below the waist and up his stomach, but he doesn’t cease his brutal thrusting, making a mess everywhere in the process. 

Vox presses your limp body against him, cradling you to his chest, arms wrapped around your back holding your body tight, his strong biceps bulging, his thrusts reach such a speed and intensity even in your boneless state all you can do is moan and take him, every thrust ruining you, bringing the heat right back to your core just as only he knows how. 

“Fuck yeah Babydoll, such a good little pet for me, so fucking perfect, as usual... Gonna make you cum one more time, you will won’t you? Just for me pet I know you want to, you’d do anything for my cock wouldn’t you? Even when I can’t give you anything back, that’s how badly My Doll wanted me. Come on love take it. Fuuucck you feel so good on my cock, I’d fucking live like this if you’d let me!” 

Vox babbles desperately into your hair as he fucks and fucks and fucks into you, growling in frustration trying to hold back his own release, he stands up his hips never faltering their pace, fucking up into you as you reflexively wrap your legs around his waist.

Vox uses a bolt of electricity that goes through both of your bodies making you both moan as your sex burns and throbs again, right back to the beginning again, desperately needing to cum, almost like you hadn’t already had such a mind-blowing orgasm, if it wasn’t for the sheer exhaustion and pleasure humming through your veins already that is. 

You find out why the sudden change of scenery as you’re pressed down onto the now reclined and vacant chair, and that does it, he uses his weight as the driving force behind his forceful thrusts now, jamming his cock inside you so forcefully you can’t breathe. 

You whine and moan, so loud his sound receptors ring, oh and such delicious sounds escaping you indeed, he can’t get enough as you twitch and pulse around him once more so rapidly too, his smug grin stretching his face as he observes your utter debauched state, taking his time to appreciate the sight of you so undone. 

“Yes Doll that’s right, do it for me, you know just how to respond to your Master now don’t you, be a good little slut and cum for me again so I can fill up your pretty, tight, perfect little cunt! You want my cock even when I’m not awake, will you can have it in abundance Doll, take it anytime anywhere, as long as you’re prepared to deal with the consequences.” 

He moans biting your collarbone this time when your back arches enough to give his bulky head access, rutting into you with abandon, he pinches your clit with another zap to drive your over the edge once more as you scream his name, your cunt pulsing and spasming. 

The ecstasy is so good... Too good, even as you feel more squirt surge and flood from your intense release and Vox bury his huge cock as deep inside you as possible, bottoming out, balls slapping your arse, you black out, the sight of his screen glitching burned into your retinas. 

Coming round to him still pulsing and gently thrusting inside you, feeling the last vestiges of him flooding inside you, you moan. 

“Ah you’re back” Vox says, looking incredibly smug, “think it was about time you had a turn at that.” 

You can’t help but laugh and it makes him moan, spasm and glitch as it makes you clench around his sensitive cock. 

“Uno reverse” you cackle a little out of it as you somehow manage to taunt yourself, his laughter joining in with yours at the silly joke. 

Pulling out of you for his own insanity while laughing along with you, kissing you soundly, his chuckling soon stops, pride and desire in his eyes as he looks at your flushed messy state, his seed dripping from your well used cunt. 

“Fuck Babydoll, I fucking love you.” Vox whispers against your lips, pressing his screen to your forehead, the warmth not as much as you were used to after a session. 

“I love you too Vox.” 

Peeling off his shirt and wrapping you in it, pulling up his trousers and buttoning them loosely, belt still hanging, he scoops you up in his strong arms, cradling you making you feel so safe and small, ready to take you to give you some well earned pampering, work can suck it for a day, he’d take tomorrow off. His queen has earned his time in spades. 

You both share another slow loving kiss, he uses the opportunity in your distraction to use his disorienting powers to zip you both through the electricity circuits, to his room, so you both don’t get seen in such a state. Giving you a chance to recover from the transport he knows you dislike, with a playful grin he drops you down on the soft bed, you huff a laugh again at his joyful antics, quickly getting over the travel. 

Vox’s mood is clearly very high right now, you shiver as the throbbing ache between your thighs and weakness on your legs reminds you why, you almost moan from the memory alone, you can’t believe he fucked you so good you passed out, you’ll have to be careful of that in the future now, considering he was usually the victim there you can foresee how much he’s going to enjoy making you do that again, and again. 

Vox gives you another soft kiss, his hand cupping your cheeks before he goes to run a bath for you both, returning with two glasses of champagne, you accept your glass with a word of gratitude and sip delicately as he downs his, eyeing you hungrily again, a shiver running up your spine at the predatory look in his eyes. 

“Haven’t you had enough?” You tease almost nervously. 

“Of you my delicate little Flower... Never... I could never get enough of you. Hell, now that I’ve had these upgrades I want to see if we can go all night, I want to test my limits!” Vox says making you shiver as his eyes go hooded and his voice deepens sensually. “And yours.” He growls, nipping at your ear as your whole body erupts in goosebumps. 

“But first...” Vox scoops you up, his voice lighter again, kissing you, he carries you to the bath, waiting for you to discard his shirt so he can place you gently in the warm water, as you sink into the bubbles they make you moan at the relief on your sore and pulled muscles and aching core, you see another flash of hunger on Vox’s face. 

You watch him greedily as he discards the small amount of clothing left on him as your eyes drink in his sexy body, finally getting a chance to appreciate the sight you’d never get tired of seeing. 

He slides into the bathtub behind you, he sits massaging your neck and you feel a twitch behind you, thumping into your back, you moan knowing exactly what it is. 

“Already?” You chuckle. 

“What can I say my pretty little Petal, you’re so fucking sexy.” Vox purrs, two claw tipped fingers tilting your face up to his as he devours your mouth once more, his tongue filling your mouth as you both give as good as you get. 

“Don’t worry Pet, I’ll be more gentle from now on, don’t want to break my Babydoll after all.” Vox smiles, peppering your face with kisses. 

“So, what do you say Love, ready for another round? Think you can handle all of this now?” Vox’s grin is so sharp, so deadly, so enticing, you almost moan just from the sight, his arrogance palpable, you can tell he’s still so absolutely pleased with himself for the state he put you in earlier. 

“How’s a girl to refuse?” You grin in return, trying to match his teasing. 

“Fuck Vox you’re so sexy too you know.” You throw his own words back at him making him kiss you again enthusiastically, his hips jerking up and you feel his cock rub up your spine. 

“I like this upgrade!” 

[mikaylathenerd5]

Open Arms + Chapter 5

Previous Chapter ৹ Masterlist ৹ Join My Taglist

Pairing: Roman Reigns x Black Fem OC (Isla Sage Navarro)

Content Warning: The chapters of this story may contain NSFW, profanity, potential violence, age gap, and themes that may be triggering. Reader discretion is strongly advised. Intended for mature audiences only.

Author's Note: Please be aware this is kinda a slow burning romance between Isla and Roman (Joe).

Song Inspo: "Open Arms" by SZA

Word Count: 6.3k

Joe slumped on a locker room bench at the Spectrum Center, black gear stretched tight across his chest, the Undisputed WWE Universal Championship belt heavy beside him, its gold edges dulled under flickering fluorescents, scratched from three years of relentless battles. His phone lay face-down on the bench, Six Flags pics with Isla tucked in the clear case—her shy grin caught mid-laugh under the Ferris wheel’s glow, his smirk softened by the sticky haze of cotton candy, her panda prize clutched in his hands, a fragile thread woven from Atlanta’s fleeting peace. Hair yanked back in a tight bun, he rubbed his hands slow, calluses rasping against each other, dark eyes fixed on the chipped concrete floor, stained with years of boots and sweat. The belt’s weight bore into him—three years of wars, all he had left after Lena walked out two summers ago, her silence a ghost haunting the empty corners of his apartment, a tether he’d bleed to keep from snapping.

Isla lingered near the door, headset dangling loose around her neck, clipboard clutched tight against her ribs, sneakers scuffing faintly against the floor as she shifted her weight, her breath shallow in the thick air laced with leather, sweat, and the faint edge of his sandalwood cologne. Joe’s text—“Locker room. Now.”—had pinged her phone an hour ago, still humming in her chest, a tangled pulse of nerves and a quiet thrill she couldn’t shake. She watched him, his broad shoulders hunched under an invisible load, sweat beading on his neck from a pre-show gym session, a man carrying more than the gold beside him—Jey’s scripted turn, Kyla’s creeping shadow from Atlanta, a reign balanced on a knife’s edge.

“You holdin’ up, babygirl?” Joe’s voice cut through the stillness, rough and steady, a lifeline tossed across the room as he lifted his head, dark eyes pinning hers with a flicker of warmth piercing the strain, his jaw tight but his gaze softening just for her, a rare crack in the Tribal Chief’s armor.

“I’m good, Joe,” Isla said, her voice snagging on the edge of her nerves, heat creeping up her neck as she gripped the clipboard’s edges, its corners biting into her palms. “I’ll be at the monitors, watchin’ your back like you wanted. Didn’t expect you’d pull me in here first—your space, before the storm hits.”

He stood, slow and deliberate, his bulk filling the room as he crossed to her in measured strides, one hand landing warm and firm on her shoulder, fingers curling gently against her jacket, sending a shiver racing down her spine that she couldn’t hide. “You’re family now, Isla,” he said, voice low and gravelly, thumb brushing her collarbone in a steady, grounding sweep. “Out there, I’m the Chief, belt’s mine to defend—but it’s all I’ve got left after her. Keeps me sane, keeps me fightin’ through the noise. Tonight’s heavy—Jey’s script, Kyla’s mess—need you close, keep me from losin’ it. You in?”

“Always,” she said, softer now, her voice finding its footing as she met his gaze, his trust sinking into her like roots cracking through stone, steadying her trembling hands. “What’d she take from you—Lena? You never talk about it, Joe, and I—I just wanna understand.”

He stiffened, jaw twitching, a shadow crossing his face—Lena’s empty closet flashing in his mind, her last cold glance as she walked out—then softened, eyes darkening with a pain he rarely let surface. “Too much, babygirl,” he said, quieter, raw, his voice dropping to a near-whisper as he leaned closer, the weight of it pressing the air between them. “Peace I didn’t know I had ‘til it was gone, time I can’t get back—left me with this—” he nodded at the belt, its gold glinting faintly—“and a whole lotta nothin’ else. She gutted me quiet-like, and I let her. But not you—not what we’ve got here.” His hand slid from her shoulder, brushing hers, then locked tight, rough fingers threading through hers, holding firm as he stepped into her space, his breath brushing her cheek, warm and steady. “Stay with me out there,” he murmured, voice a gravel whisper, holding her gaze with an intensity that made her chest ache, his thumb tracing her knuckles slow, deliberate, a silent vow carved into the touch.

“Yeah,” she breathed, squeezing back, her heart skipping hard—Six Flags flashing vivid in her mind, his deep laugh as he handed her that panda under the arcade’s buzzing lights, her fingers brushing his in that fleeting, electric moment, a memory echoing this one, charged and fragile. “More than okay, Joe—I mean it,” she added, a shy smile breaking through, her pulse racing as his grip tightened, warm and unyielding, his calluses rough against her softer skin.

“Good,” he said, smirking faintly, a flicker of relief softening the strain in his eyes as he squeezed her hand again, his voice dropping lower, softer, a thread of vulnerability woven through it. “You’re my anchor tonight, babygirl—don’t forget that. Jey’s storyline’s twistin’ my head, Kyla’s noise is clawin’ at me, this belt’s ridin’ me hard—but you’re here, and that’s somethin’ I can hold onto, somethin’ real.”

“I won’t forget,” she said, voice trembling but sure, her hand still locked in his, his warmth seeping into her as she stepped closer, needing him to hear it, to feel it. “I’m not goin’ anywhere—not tonight, not ever, if you need me. You’ve got me, Joe, all the way.”

“Need you more than you know,” he said, his smirk fading into something real, unguarded, his eyes searching hers for a beat longer, a crack in the Chief’s stoic shell showing just for her, a glimpse of the man beneath the gold. “Let’s roll then—this night’s gonna bleed out there, and I ain’t facin’ it alone.”

He tugged her gently toward the door, their hands still entwined as they stepped into the hallway, the crew’s pre-show chaos erupting around them—headsets crackling with urgent calls, boots stomping past in a hurried rhythm, voices barking orders over the hum of tension. Joe’s stride cut through the bustle like a blade, steady and unyielding, her smaller fingers nestled in his rough palm, his thumb brushing her knuckles in a steady, absentminded rhythm that kept her grounded. Crew guys darted around, heads down, oblivious to the quiet tether between them, but she felt every brush of his skin, every sidelong glance he shot her—dark eyes steady, a quiet promise flickering in them as they wove through the maze of cables and crates toward gorilla position. The roar of the crowd pulsed faintly through the walls, growing louder as they neared, and he held her hand until the last second, the curtain looming ahead like a black void. He let go with a final, firm squeeze, his fingers lingering near hers as he murmured, “Stay close, babygirl,” before stepping forward, his silhouette swallowed by the shadows and the deafening surge beyond, leaving her skin buzzing where his touch had been.

The Spectrum Center erupted as SmackDown kicked off, Joe’s music slamming through the air, a deep, menacing pulse that shook the stands from floor to rafters. Isla stood at the monitors backstage, headset snug over her ears, clipboard gripped tight in her hands, the crowd’s roar crashing over her like a tidal wave—thousands of signs thrusting high, “Acknowledge Me!” clashing with “Yeet! Yeet!” in a loyalty war thick as the Charlotte heat. A crew guy sidled up, voice low under the din, “Press pass chick’s floatin’ around—got a bad vibe, heads up,” and her pulse kicked up, unease prickling her spine like static on a live wire. Joe strode down the ramp, belt slung over his shoulder, gold catching the blood-red lights slicing through the haze, sweat glistening on his arms from the gym, Jimmy and Solo shadowing him with tight jaws and coiled steps, Heyman scurrying behind, his smirk twitching nervous under the weight of the night.

Joe hit the ring, snatching the mic from Heyman’s sweaty grip with a sharp yank, raising a hand slow and commanding, the crowd’s noise choking off into a tense, electric hush that buzzed in Isla’s bones. “Charlotte,” he growled, voice slicing sharp through the arena, thick with menace that reverberated off the steel rafters, “you’re lookin’ at the Head of the Table. Three years I’ve owned this game—every fight, every scar, every drop of blood I’ve spilled to keep this.” He slapped the belt hard, the smack ringing out like a gunshot, gold glinting under the spotlight as he held it high.

Cheers surged, a wave of sound crashing against the boos clawing back from the upper tiers, the air crackling with division, fans leaping to their feet, fists pumping. “Jey Uso thinks he’s main event now?” Joe snarled, pacing the ring, sweat gleaming on his brow under the harsh lights, his voice turning cold, bitter, each word a fist slamming down. “My little brother—runnin’ wild since we were kids—pins me at Money in the Bank for the story, turns his back in the script? SummerSlam, Tribal Combat—I’ll break him down, snap him in half, make him scream ‘Chief’ ‘til his throat’s hoarse and he’s crawlin’. We built this together—beers, late nights, big plans—now he kneels in that ring, or he’s gone.”

The crowd split wider— “Yeet!” chants surged loud from the east stands, drowned by “Tribal Chief!” roars rolling from the west, signs flashing Jey’s grinning face against Joe’s stoic reign, a war of ink and noise splitting the arena down its spine. “Jimmy, Solo—you hearin’ me?” Joe snapped, stopping mid-ring, glaring at his brothers at ringside, their faces stone-still, eyes unreadable under the flickering lights. “Step outta line in the story, you’re next—don’t test me. Cross me—anybody out there—and you’re ash under my boots. This is my ring, my war—nobody takes it, not Jey, not a damn soul.”

The arena quaked, fans split down the middle, Isla’s grip white-knuckled on her clipboard, her heart pounding as Joe’s fury filled every corner, his presence a force that bent the air itself. He paced once more, mic gripped tight in his fist, sweat dripping off his jaw onto the mat, the belt gleaming like a crown he’d kill to keep, his eyes burning with a fire that promised blood and redemption. A monitor flickered beside her—Kyla, pink jacket stark against the sea of faces, smirking from the third row, phone up, filming Joe like a predator sizing up prey, her lips curled in a taunt Isla could feel across the distance. Dread sank cold and heavy in her gut, a chill racing down her spine as Joe’s music dropped hard, the segment slamming shut, leaving the air raw, charged, and teetering on the edge of chaos.

Backstage churned with frantic energy, crew shouting over the chaos—“Cody’s promo—five minutes!”—as gear clattered against the floor, cables snaked across the concrete, and footsteps echoed off the walls like a drumbeat. Isla stood at gorilla, headset dangling loose around her neck, pulse still hammering from Joe’s fire, his words—“my war, nobody takes it”—ringing in her ears like a battle cry that wouldn’t fade. Bayley stormed up, grabbing Isla’s arm with a quick, firm yank, her eyes blazing with purpose, Naomi flanking her, braids swinging as she scanned the buzzing hallway with a predator’s focus.

“I caught her—pink jacket, third row, smirkin’ like she owns the place,” Bayley snapped, voice cutting through the noise like a whip, her grip tight on Isla’s sleeve as she pulled her forward. “We’re not waitin’ around for her to slink closer—she’s not touchin’ the Chief, not after that X post crap in Atlanta callin’ you out. Let’s move, Isla—now.”

“Outshine her ass, Bayley,” Naomi said, smirking, leaning in close, her voice dropping low and fierce as she matched their pace. “Heard her braggin’ to catering staff ten minutes back—divorce dirt, loud and proud, like she’s got gold. Talent entrance—we hit her there, catch her cold.”

“Corner her,” Bayley growled, a dark grin tugging her lips as she released Isla’s arm, her stance shifting like she was itching to lunge, her boots scuffing the floor with restless energy. “Make her spill whatever poison she’s cookin’—every damn word—then she’s gone. I want her sweatin’, trippin’ over her own lies before security drags her out.”

“We’ve got you, Isla,” Naomi said, her hand landing firm on Isla’s shoulder, steadying the jittery shake in her bones, her grip warm and unyielding like steel wrapped in velvet, her eyes locking with Isla’s for a beat. “She’s been too damn close—press pass or not, she’s done slippin’ through. We’re endin’ this tonight, no question.”

“Let’s end it,” Isla said, her voice settling into steel, Kyla’s “sidepiece” jab from Atlanta burning fresh in her mind, Joe’s hand in hers minutes ago fueling her spine with fire that wouldn’t quit. “She doesn’t get near him—not after everything, not now.”

“Bloodline don’t bend,” Bayley said, nudging her side with an elbow, her eyes glinting with a fierce kind of pride, a smirk flashing quick as she straightened. “She’s about to learn—mess with us, you’re dust on the mat.”

“Talent entrance—she was there twenty minutes ago,” Naomi said, voice low, all business, her hand flexing like she was ready to strike, her gaze darting down the hall as she took the lead. “We move quiet, catch her slippin’—no noise, no heads-up, just us.”

A crew guy shuffled past, tray clattering in his hands, muttering under the noise, “Pink jacket—Kyla—laughin’ it up with Wrestling Insider near catering, thick as thieves.” Isla’s gut twisted tighter, the words sinking like lead as they started walking, steps syncing into a steady, purposeful rhythm through the maze of crates and cables stretching down the corridor. Ahead, a flash of pink darted around a corner—Kyla’s jacket cutting through the shadows like a flare—and her laugh sliced the air, sharp and taunting, a sound that set Isla’s teeth on edge, her fists clenching at her sides until her nails bit into her palms. A crumpled note lay half-tucked by a crate, “Joe” scrawled in red ink, jagged and bold, like a threat scratched in haste, its edges curling from the damp concrete.

The talent entrance stretched narrow and dim, crates stacked high along the walls, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, casting jagged shadows that danced across the concrete floor. The crowd’s cheers for Jimmy and Solo’s tag match rumbled through, a low pulse vibrating under their feet, syncing with the tension coiling in the air. Kyla leaned against a crate, pink jacket glaring under the flicker, smirking down at her phone, lip curling as she typed fast with one hand, her posture casual but coiled, a snake waiting to strike, her green eyes glinting cold and sharp in the half-light.

“Well, look at this—press princess herself,” Bayley said, stepping up slow, voice dripping venom, arms crossed tight as she planted herself in Kyla’s path, her boots scuffing the floor with intent, her shadow stretching long across the crates. “Takes some guts showin’ up here, Kyla—real guts after you tried draggin’ Isla through the mud on X. What’s the play—more chaos with that pass, huh?”

“Hey, Bayley,” Kyla shot back, cool and cutting, dangling her press pass between two fingers like a taunt, her smirk widening as her gaze flicked up, sharp and mocking, her voice laced with a smug edge. “Just here for the show—all legal, signed and sealed by management. Joe ghosted me—fan signing, ‘22, walked right past me like I was air, ignored my DMs for months after. Guess I wasn’t hot enough then—now he’s gonna pay for it.” Her eyes sliced to Isla, narrowing cruelly as her smirk twisted tighter. “Still sore from Atlanta, huh, wallflower? Clingin’ to him like he’s yours—he’ll remember my name this time, not yours.”

“Cut it,” Isla said, stepping forward, voice hard as steel, clipboard creaking under her grip as she squared up, her pulse hammering loud in her ears, Joe’s hand in hers a burning memory fueling her spine. “You don’t touch Joe—not after everything he’s carried, not after Atlanta. What’s with the note—why’s his name on it? Talk, now.”

“Caught that little breadcrumb, did you?” Kyla laughed, cold and jagged, leaning closer, her breath brushing Isla’s face, her smirk curling into a sneer that bared her teeth. “It’s a gift for your precious Chief—just wait ‘til SummerSlam. I’ve got somethin’ that’ll hit him where it hurts, and you’re way outta your depth, sweetheart—go back to your clipboard and your sad little dreams.”

“Shut your damn mouth,” Naomi snapped, lunging forward, slamming Kyla against the crate with a hard thud that echoed off the walls, her hands pinning the pink jacket tight, eyes blazing like coals in the dim light, her voice a growl that vibrated with fury. “Isla’s us—you’re trash, slitherin’ where you don’t belong, and you’re done.”

“Easy, Nao—hold it,” Bayley barked, grabbing Naomi’s arm, pulling her back with a quick jerk, her voice tight with control, glare locked on Kyla like a hawk sizing up prey. “Let her dig her hole deeper—keep talkin’, princess, let’s hear it.”

“I’ve got Lena on tape,” Kyla hissed, smirk twisting wider, brushing off her jacket like the shove was nothing, her tone dropping low and vicious as she leaned forward, green eyes glinting with malice. “Caught her in Tampa—sobby mess, cryin’ about Joe breakin’, fallin’ apart after she left him. SummerSlam, I drop it—his reign’s done, his whole damn myth crumbles. Got more too—divorce papers, whispers he’s losin’ it—watch it burn.”

“You don’t,” Isla said, voice rising, stepping closer still, heat flaring in her chest as she faced Kyla down, her hands trembling but her stare unflinching, Joe’s “you’re family” echoing loud in her skull. “He’s stronger than you’ll ever know—he’s fought for this, bled for it, carried more than you could dream—you’re nothin’ to him, nothin’ to us!”

“Sidepiece’s got bite now,” Kyla mocked, leaning in, her words dripping venom, green eyes glinting cruel as she bared her teeth in a taunt that cut deep. “Joe don’t care about you, sweetie—you’re a fling, a distraction, just like Lena was ‘til he broke her and left her cryin’. You’re nothin’—a warm body ‘til he’s bored, and I’ll be the one he can’t shake, the one he sees when it all falls.”

“You don’t say that,” Bayley roared, lunging this time, snatching Kyla’s arm and yanking her forward hard, fury sparking in her eyes like a live wire, her voice a snarl that bounced off the crates and filled the tight space. “You don’t know shit about him—or Isla. You’re finished here—done, you hear me?”

“Get your hands off me!” Kyla snapped, wrenching free with a sharp twist, glare darting between them, her cool cracking for a split second, a flash of panic flickering under the bravado before she steadied herself, brushing her jacket again. “You can’t stop what’s comin’—his reign’s ash when I drop this, and you’ll all choke on it, every last one of you pathetic losers.”

“You’re wrong,” Isla said, voice steady now, tears prickling hot but held back, staring Kyla down with everything she had, her spine straight, her fear burning into fire as she stepped into Kyla’s space, close enough to feel the heat off her. “Joe’s tougher than you’ll ever understand—he’s fought through worse than you, bled for this family, this belt, this life. We’re tougher—me, him, all of us—and you’re done breaking anything. SummerSlam’s ours, not yours, and you’ll be the one forgotten.”

A security guard rounded the corner, boots heavy on the concrete, radio crackling sharp in the tight space, his shadow stretching long across the floor. “Trouble here?” he asked, voice gruff, eyeing the standoff, hand hovering near his belt, his bulk filling the hallway like a wall cutting off Kyla’s retreat.

“She’s out,” Naomi said, pointing at Kyla, voice cold and final, her stance rigid, no room for argument, her eyes locked on the pink jacket like it was a target painted in neon.

“This ain’t over,” Kyla hissed, backing toward the exit slow, her smirk strained as a USB slipped from her pocket, hitting the floor with a faint clack—red “K” stark against the black plastic, glinting under the buzzing light like a dropped blade. “He’ll curse the day he met me,” she muttered, low and venomous, her eyes darting to the USB with a flicker of panic before she turned, bolting around the corner, the guard trailing her shadow with a grunt, his boots echoing after her into the dark.

“We’ve got it,” Naomi said, crouching quick, scooping up the USB and turning it in her hand, eyes narrowing at the “K” like it was a loaded gun primed to fire, her fingers tightening around it as she stood. “Lena’s voice on this? We crack it—now, before she doubles back with worse.”

“You held your ground out there,” Bayley said, hand landing on Isla’s shoulder, a firm squeeze cutting through her adrenaline haze, her voice softening just a notch with pride as she gave a quick nod. “You faced her down—damn proud of you, girl. Tell Joe—she’s not sneakin’ up on him, not with us in the ring.”

“SummerSlam’s her move,” Naomi said, slipping the USB into her pocket, voice dropping grim and certain, her eyes flicking to the hallway where Kyla vanished, her braids swinging faintly as she shifted her weight. “She’s got Lena cryin’ on tape, pushin’ Joe’s fall—Joe needs this tonight, before she twists that knife any deeper.”

Joe sat in the locker room, elbows braced on his knees, wrists freshly taped, jaw locked tight as the promo’s high faded into a slow, gnawing unease, the belt a heavy shadow beside him on the bench, its edges scratched from years of battles he’d won and lost. The door swung open with a creak—Isla stepped in, clipboard hugged close, Bayley and Naomi trailing her, their steps echoing sharp off the concrete walls, the air thick with tension and purpose that settled over the room like a storm cloud rolling in.

“Joe,” Isla said, voice low but urgent, stepping closer, meeting his eyes with a mix of fear and fire, her hands trembling around the clipboard as she stopped in front of him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his frame. “Kyla was here—backstage, right under us. She’s got Lena on tape, says it’s droppin’ at SummerSlam—meant to gut you, break you down.”

“What’s her angle?” Joe growled, rising slow, his voice a snarl as he pinned them with a look that could cut steel, hands flexing at his sides as he stepped toward her, his bulk shrinking the room, his eyes narrowing sharp and dangerous.

“Talent entrance, flashin’ that press pass like it’s a damn crown,” Bayley said, arms crossed tight, tone sharp as she leaned against the wall, her boots scuffing the floor with a restless edge, her jaw tight with barely contained fury. “She’s got Lena cryin’—caught her in Tampa, sobbin’ about you breakin’ after she left. Wants to blow it up at SummerSlam—turn your scars into her spotlight.”

“She’s got no damn right,” Joe snarled, fists clenching, Lena’s name hitting like a fresh bruise, her quiet exit two years back flashing in his mind—the empty apartment, the silence that cut deeper than any blade—his voice dropping darker as he glared at the floor, the concrete blurring under his stare. “That’s mine—my life, my pain—not her plaything to twist.”

“She dropped this,” Naomi said, stepping forward, holding up the USB, red “K” glaring under the fluorescent light, her fingers steady as she held it out, her voice grim and unyielding. “Lena’s voice is on it—she’s got Wrestling Insider tied in too, some reporter named Travis ready to run it. She’s loaded, Joe, and she’s aimin’ straight.”

“She’s turnin’ my past into a damn circus,” Joe said, snagging the USB from Naomi’s hand, rolling it between his fingers slow, voice low and dangerous, like a storm rumbling closer, Lena’s ghost twisting in his gut with every turn of the plastic. “Lena on tape? Cryin’ about me? She’s dust when I’m through—dead in the water.”

“I should’ve stopped her,” Isla said, her voice breaking, tears spilling hot down her cheeks as she stepped closer, hands trembling around the clipboard, her eyes searching his, wide and raw with guilt and fear. “Kept her away from you, from this—I let her get too close, Joe, and I hate it.”

“Nah, babygirl,” Joe said, his hand sliding to her neck, warm and firm, grounding her as he pulled her in, thumb brushing her jaw in a steady sweep, his voice softening but fierce, cutting through her spiral. “You fought for me out there—stood up to her, faced her down. That’s more than I could ask, more than enough. I missed her comin’—Atlanta’s on me, her X post, her games—not you.”

“I’m not lettin’ her cut you,” she said, voice trembling, raw and open, gripping his arm tight, her fingers digging into his sleeve, needing the anchor as tears streaked her face, her breath hitching. “Not after everything—the belt, Jey’s story, all you’ve carried—I can’t let her hurt you more, Joe, I can’t.”

“She won’t,” he said, pulling her closer, his hand cradling her neck, holding her gaze steady, his voice a quiet vow in the dim light, fierce and unshaken as he pressed his forehead to hers for a fleeting beat. “We’re locked in, you and me—through this mess, through all of it. She don’t get to touch us—not you, not me, not what we’ve got here.” He pulled back, turning to Bayley and Naomi, tone hardening again, all business. “We break this open—now, together, figure out her whole damn game before she swings again.”

“Nao’ll burn right through it,” Bayley said, smirking, leaning off the wall to cut the heaviness with a quick jab, her arms uncrossing as she stepped closer, her eyes glinting with fight and a flicker of mischief.

“Before you yeet her out an airlock,” Naomi fired back, a quick grin flashing as she crossed her arms, leaning into the banter, her stance easing just a fraction under the tension, her fingers tapping the USB in her pocket.

“Tech guy’s our next move,” Naomi said, voice steady and grim, her eyes flicking to Joe with a nod as she straightened, all focus again. “She’s still out there, reloadin’—we need this cracked tonight, Joe, before she gets another shot off.”

“You good?” Joe asked Isla, voice dropping quieter, stepping back but keeping his hand on her neck, eyes searching hers, checking for cracks under her tears, his thumb brushing her skin slow and steady.

“Yeah,” she said, a shaky smile breaking through, steadying under his look as she wiped her cheek with her sleeve, her voice firming with resolve as she met his gaze. “I’m good—I’m all in, whatever it takes to stop her, to keep you whole.”

“You’re gold, babygirl,” Joe said, smirking faintly, his hand grazing her arm slow as he stepped back, pocketing the USB with a tight grip, a flicker of pride in his eyes that warmed her through. “Tougher than she’ll ever know—tougher than me some days, and that’s the truth.”

In catering, a TV looped Joe’s promo on mute, the “Acknowledge Me” chant a faint hum through the walls, the air heavy with coffee and the faint tang of sweat from passing crew. Isla sat alone at a folding table, laptop open in front of her, USB plugged in, the “Tribal Chief” folder staring back—locked tight behind a password prompt that mocked her every attempt. “Lena_Tape.mp3” glared in red text, “Access Denied” blinking after each failed guess—Reigns2023, Bloodline, Chief, SummerSlam—each miss a jab at her resolve, her fingers hovering over the keys, steady but tense, her glasses slipping down her nose from hours of strain. Kyla’s “Lena’s tears” echoed loud in her skull, a dagger twisting, but Joe’s hand in hers, his quiet trust over diner coffee in Chapter 4, the panda he’d won her at Six Flags—those lit a fire she wouldn’t let die. She’d rip this open for him, no matter how deep it cut, no matter how long it took.

A crew guy shuffled by, tray clattering in his hands, muttering, “Main event’s wrapping—ten minutes,” and she glanced up, the clock ticking past 10 p.m., the night stretching long and heavy over her shoulders. She typed another password—Lena2021—watching it fail, her jaw tightening as she leaned closer, the screen’s glare burning her eyes until they watered, her hands curling into fists on the table, nails biting her palms. Kyla’s smirk from the crowd flashed in her mind, phone up, filming Joe like she owned him, and Isla’s breath hitched sharp, a surge of defiance flaring in her chest—she wouldn’t let her win, not Joe, not the crew, not this fight, not after everything they’d built together.

Production hummed as SmackDown wound down, the main event—Drew, Kevin, Sami vs. Judgment Day—fading out with a roar that shook the walls, crew packing gear into crates with sharp clangs that rang off the concrete. Joe leaned against a monitor, arms crossed tight over his chest, eyes distant but sharp, the USB a weight in his pocket, its red “K” a taunt he couldn’t shake. Bayley and Naomi flanked him, quiet but alert, their presence a steady wall against the chaos, their shadows stretching long under the overhead lights that buzzed faintly. Isla approached, laptop tucked under her arm, the USB’s echo heavy in her mind, her steps slowing as she neared him, her throat tight with what she hadn’t cracked yet, her glasses fogging slightly from the heat of the packed space.

“Anything?” Joe asked, voice tight, straightening as she got close, stepping into her space, his eyes locking onto hers with a mix of hope and strain, his jaw clenched under the weight of the night, his breath faintly audible over the crew’s clamor.

“I tried,” Isla said, voice steady now, holding his gaze as she set the laptop on a crate beside him, her hands steady despite the ache in her chest, the sting behind her eyes. “Folder’s ‘Tribal Chief,’ file’s ‘Lena_Tape.mp3’—locked up tight. Need my college tools, more time—couldn’t break it yet. I wanted to hand you something solid, Joe—I’m still diggin’.”

“You’re solid,” Joe said, hand resting on her shoulder, warm and sure, cutting off her doubt before it sank, his voice firm but soft as he squeezed gently, his fingers pressing into her jacket. “You got us this far—put a name to her game, gave us a target. That’s more than I had when I walked off that ramp tonight.”

“Lena cryin’ on tape?” Bayley growled, leaning in, voice low and pissed, her arms crossing again as she glared at the floor, her boots tapping restless against the concrete. “That’s cheap—even for her. What’s she sayin’?”

“Wrestling Insider’s her gun,” Naomi said, arms still crossed, eyes sharp, stepping closer to the monitor, her voice cutting clean through the noise. “She’s got this Travis guy locked in—means she’s loaded, Joe, not just talkin’. Lena’s voice, divorce dirt—she’s got reach, and she’s aimin’ to bury you.”

“She’s turnin’ my scars into clickbait?” Joe snarled, rolling the USB in his hand again, jaw tight, Lena’s exit twisting into a knot he couldn’t untangle, his voice rising with a dark edge that silenced the crew chatter nearby. “Lena cryin’ for her mic? She’s over—done, outta moves when I get my hands on this, and she’ll wish she never stepped in my ring.”

“I’ll crack it at the hotel,” Isla said, stepping closer, resolve hardening in her voice as she met his eyes, her hand brushing his arm, a quiet promise in the touch as she straightened her glasses. “Get my software, dig in—I’ll get it open, Joe, I swear it. Whatever’s on it, we’ll know before she can use it, before she gets another swing.”

“Bet on it,” Joe said, smirking faintly, his hand lingering on her shoulder a beat longer, thumb grazing her jacket as he held her gaze, pride flickering in his eyes like a spark catching flame. “You’re covered—we’ve got your back, babygirl, same as you’ve got mine.”

“Tech queen’s risin’ up,” Bayley teased, nudging her side with an elbow, a quick grin breaking through her scowl, lightening the air for a split second as she leaned back against a crate.

“Who’s feedin’ her—Travis?” Naomi said, voice firm, already plotting, her hand flexing like she was ready to hunt, her eyes darting to Joe with a sharp nod. “Wrestling Insider’s just the mouthpiece—someone’s talkin’ to him, givin’ her this ammo.”

“We’re locked in,” Joe said, voice hard, eyes sweeping them all, landing on Isla last, steady and fierce, a quiet fire burning behind them that made her chest tighten. “She swings at us, she’s hittin’ the ground—hard. We don’t bend, don’t break—not for her, not for anybody, not tonight.”

The Charlotte Marriott room sat quiet, city lights filtering soft through the curtains, casting faint stripes across the carpet that stretched toward the bed, the hum of the AC a low drone against the silence pressing in heavy after the night’s chaos. Isla perched on the edge of the mattress, red silk pajamas catching the dim glow, glasses slipping down her nose as she hunched over her laptop, the USB plugged in, its red “K” a taunt in the corner of her eye that wouldn’t quit staring back. The “Tribal Chief” folder mocked her, “Access Denied” flashing after hours of failed passwords—Reigns2023, Bloodline, Lena, SummerSlam, Chief2021—each miss a bruise on her resolve, the clock ticking past 11:30 p.m., her eyes burning from the screen’s relentless glare, her hands cramped from typing, fingers stiff and aching.

A knock broke the stillness—11:47 p.m., sharp and steady against the quiet, cutting through her spiral like a lifeline snapping her upright. “Isla, it’s me,” Joe called, voice muffled but warm through the door, a sound that pulled her from the edge, her heart tripping over itself. She padded over, barefoot on the carpet, the cool floor a shock against her soles as she cracked the door open—his hoodie hung loose over his broad frame, hair free from its bun, spilling wild over his shoulders, eyes soft but tired, flickering over her silk set with a quick, approving glance that made her flush, heat blooming under her skin.

“Still grindin’ away, huh?” he said, stepping inside, smirking faintly as he leaned against the wall, arms crossing casual over his chest, his presence filling the room like it was made for him, his voice a low hum that eased her frayed edges, cutting through the silence with a familiar steadiness.

“Yeah,” she said, pushing her glasses up, gesturing at the laptop on the bed, voice quieter now, frayed at the seams from hours of failure that gnawed at her. “File’s locked tight—can’t get in yet, no matter what I throw at it. I wanted to crack it for you tonight, Joe—give you something real to fight with, something to hit her back with.”

“Stop that right there,” he said, cutting her off, stepping closer, his hand lifting her chin gentle but firm, thumb swiping a tear she hadn’t felt fall, his eyes locking onto hers with a steady warmth that sliced through her doubt like a blade. “You’re a fighter, babygirl—Kyla’s the rat here, not you. You’re killin’ yourself over this, and you don’t need to—not for me, not for any of it. You’ve done enough tonight.”

“She can’t hurt you,” she said, voice breaking, tears spilling faster now as she stepped into him, her hands fisting his hoodie, dampening it with her fear, her glasses pressing into his chest as she pressed closer, needing his solidity. “Not after everything—the belt, Jey’s story, all you’ve been through—I can’t let her cut you deeper, Joe, I can’t stand the thought of it.”

“She won’t,” he said, pulling her in tight, one hand cradling her head, fingers threading through her hair slow and deliberate, his breath warm against her scalp, his voice a quiet vow that wrapped around her like armor against the dark. “We’re iron, you and me—she don’t stand a chance, not against us, not against what we’ve got goin’. Lena’s on that tape? Let her cry—I’ve carried worse, and I’m still standin’. She’s got nothin’ that breaks us, babygirl—nothin’.”

“Got it,” she mumbled, voice muffled against his chest, clinging tighter, his heartbeat steady under her cheek, a rhythm she could sink into, her hands trembling less with every thump, his warmth chasing the cold from her bones as she pressed her face closer, breathing him in—sandalwood, sweat, safety.

“You’re haulin’ too much on your own,” he said, easing her back toward the bed slow, sitting against the headboard with a groan, guiding her down until her head rested on his chest, silk brushing his hoodie, his arm settling around her, heavy and safe, his hand stroking her back in lazy circles that melted the tension from her spine. “Family’s got you—let it go for tonight, huh? We’ll hit it fresh tomorrow—together, like we said, no rush, no weight you gotta carry solo.”

“Thanks, Joe,” she whispered, her voice fading as her eyes fluttered shut, tension bleeding out under his warmth, his hand steady on her spine, a silent promise in every touch that she wasn’t alone in this, that he wouldn’t let her fall.

“Anytime,” he murmured, voice soft, barely above a breath, his lips brushing her hair as he reached over, sliding her glasses off with care, setting them beside the USB on the nightstand, the red “K” glinting faintly in the dark like a distant warning. “You’re enough—just like this, just you.” He shifted, pulling her closer, his arm tightening around her as they drifted off, tangled together in the quiet, the city lights soft outside, a truce holding them in the dark, the fight paused but burning bright for the morning.

🏷️ @trippinsorrows @zoeroxiie @pittieprincess22 @beccalynns-world @duhitzkay380

@keyera-jackson @trentybenty @li-da-savage @sharmelasworld @isabella-2025

@jaded-human @lov3rla03 @sheaabuttaababyy @justazzi @fearlesschimera

[smalltownrobin]

Robin Buckley in ST5 - what we know so far

Decided to make a comprehensive post of everything we know about Robin in s5!! A little for my own benefit but I'm sure something like this won't be unappreciated? I have checked with others for details I've missed or gotten wrong and all seems to be correct, but if anyone thinks I have missed anything please feel free to let me know!! (this well ofc be added to if we get more info over the rest of production)

POSSIBLE S5 SPOILERS BELOW (OFC)

Confirmed details:

“more involved than ever” (Maya quote)

Makes friends with characters she hasn’t interacted with yet (confirmed by Maya)

Is a radio host at the WSQK radio station; hosts 'The Squawk: Hawkins' Hitmaker!' as 'Rockin' Robin', with Steve as her board operator (official media leak)

Loads or unloads groceries from Bradley’s out of a lorry with Steve, Nancy, Jonathan and Murray (paparazzi)

Has a kiss scene (most likely with Vickie) (confirmed by Maya as a “spoiler”, further hinted at by Amybeth)

There is a shot where Robin is stood in a line with Nancy, Joyce, El and Will (El says “there’s too many”, Will looks nervous) (ST staff)

Acts as a mentor figure for one or more of the party (most likely Will, also possibly Mike) (confirmed by Maya)

There is a small painted figurine prop possibly related to Robin that Maya wants to keep after filming (confirmed by Maya)

Has a scene helping someone called Debbie (one of Holly's friends or a random child) out of or into a tunnel; Debbie asks if she works for "someone"Mr Whatsit" (Vecna's alias), Robin lies she is “one of his elves”) (script page leaked by Maya)

Has a scene inspecting a fuse box with Joyce (ST staff)

Has a scene with Mike by (or even possibly in) the WSQK van and a car covered in upside down vines outside of the lab (paparazzi)

Gains bruises/marks on her face (unknown how) (ST staff, paparazzi)

Drives Joyce's car with Lucas to the hospital and runs inside before the military storms (paparazzi)

Runs down the hospital corridor with "another character" (seemingly Vickie) while the lights are flashing multicoloured (paparazzi)

Filmed at the hospital in a room with a monitor screen with military soldiers (paparazzi)

Rides in the Bradley's lorry with Murray driving through downtown Hawkins (ST staff)

Rides in the Bradley's lorry on a separate occasion with Steve driving through downtown Hawkins, this time wearing a military vest (possibly before bullet holes appear in the window) (paparazzi)

Confirmed filming locations:

WSQK radio station (exterior) with Steve, Nancy, Jonathan, and Murray (paparazzi)

a separate instance with Mike (ST staff)

WSQK radio station (interior) with Joyce, Mike, Will, Dustin, Lucas, Nancy, Jonathan and Steve (ST staff)

Hawkins Memorial Hospital (interior, specifically a patient room, possibly also the waiting room) with Vickie (ST staff/Amybeth)

a separate instance in the corridors with Vickie (paparazzi)

Hawkins Memorial Hospital (exterior) with Lucas (paparazzi)

McCorkle Farm (presumably) with the whole cast (Will, Mike, Erica and a new character confirmed) (ST staff)

Hawkins National Lab (exterior) with Mike (paparazzi)

Hawkins National Lab (interior) with Mike, Lucas, Hopper, Max, Murray, Erica, Vickie + unspecified cast (ST staff)

a separate instance at the WSQK radio station with Joyce, Will, Mike, Lucas, and Vickie + military (and possibly Linda Hamilton's character) (paparazzi, confirmed by Maya and Amybeth)

Downtown Hawkins (in the Bradley's lorry) with Steve (paparazzi)

Outfits:

(a blue jumper with a white "beam me up this place sucks" graphic, black trousers, a black watch, and a long blue coat with plaid cuffs and shoulder details which she removes)

This outfit is from the beginning of the season, possibly for the first and second episodes, and she has worn it at both the radio station and the hospital sets!

(a white graphic t-shirt over a purple jumper, with light blue jeans and a belt, black converse and a mid length black leather jacket which she removes, with her hair half up with a blue bow, silver rings, a black watch and a silver chain necklace)

I believe this outfit appears in either the third and fourth episodes and onwards until idk, which she has worn at both the radio station and farm sets! The image on her t-shirt is of Tom Waits:

He's a musician mostly known for folk music in the 70s and 80s. This photo specifically was taken in 1983 and was printed in russian and dutch magazines. (a side note: Maya Hawke loves folk music and is most likely a fan of his, and Winona Ryder owns and has famously worn a Tom Waits shirt over the years!)

(camo green looking trousers and a matching vest) (coat is not part of the outfit! she also still has her purple jumper/white t-shirt combo on underneath which I know for a fact but cannot show)

Believe this is her final battle/finale fit!! Incredibly similar to her battle outfit from the end of s4 only without the hat, especially since she seems to change into it straight from the previous outfit. It's really hard to see it properly since we've only gotten incredibly blurry far away pics of it, but as far as I can tell and based on what other people have said, it's some kind of impromptu military-esque look, whether it's the exact same as what she wore the end of s4 I don't know, could be, could not be.

(there is another photo of Maya in the Robin wig wearing a triumph motorcycles t-shirt, but as far as I know that t-shirt is Maya's own, so I'm assuming she is not in full costume in that photo!)

I also wanted to point out the marks on her face that she seems to have for a lot of filming:

It looks like it's on both sides of her face; the left side of her face has a very big and definite bruise, possibly with a black eye, while the right has a slight reddish mark. It's difficult to see in a lot of photos (since they're seemingly hiding the bruised side of her face and the mark is much less noticeable?), the paparazzi photos from outside the hospital showed it best, but you can somewhat see the red mark in some photos if you look hard enough. As I said earlier, it's unknown how she gains these marks, however it seems to correlate with when Mike and Will also gain red marks on their face (and not with Dustin, who seemingly gets beat up by the jocks in the first episode, the others' show up after), so whether it's upside down related, military related, or possibly even homophobia related, isn't certain.

And that's everything!! At this point we're leading up to when official promos begin, so depending on how long the wait for that is this could get updated more frequently in the future!

[celandeline]

Things Have Changed Pt. 2 (Carl Grimes x Reader)

Part 2 of 9, guys I am having a blast writing this. I forgot how much fun silly wish fulfillment fanfiction is (though i do also enjoy writing serious character/relationship focused fanfic too).

You can feel sweat pooling in your collarbones as you lean over the makeshift table you’d set up this morning, poring over the drawings you’d brought with you. Wall maintenance was no easy task, and something you had to worry about more than you’d like, so every time you find yourself outside of the safety of the community reinforcing the giant metal plating, you try your best to implement some of the longevity measures your father had been working on before his untimely death. Something certainly easier said than done. 

Tipping your head back to squint up at the two men currently working on the wall in front of you, carefully watching what they’re doing. You explained what you wanted when you started - hours ago now, when the sun hadn’t been beating down so hard on your backs - but you’d only been met with blank stares. Bridging the gap from your father’s intricate architectural theory-informed plans to this ragtag crew of Alexandrians, most of whom had never worked in construction before, was never easy. And often only led to middling success. 

“Not there! Not there!” You stand upright, shouting up to the top of the ladders. “Left!” You wave your arms in the right direction as Gale turns around to glance down at you. “We’re trying to diffuse the load bearing away from the center! Left!”

Gale rolls her eyes, but shifts over as much as she can on the ladder, beginning her work again on her left side. Once her back is turned, you flip her the bird before pulling the bottom of your shirt up to mop at some of the sweat clinging to your face. 

You turn your gaze to the surrounding area for a moment as the echoes of hammering bounce around the empty suburban homes. It was always important to keep an eye out for walkers when you’re doing wall maintenance. Working with metal tends to cause a lot of noise, and there were always a few stray walkers hiding in the nooks and crevices of destroyed suburbia. Nothing you couldn’t handle, but still something to be monitored. 

So when the smell of sun-rotted flesh passes by your nose on the breeze, it gives you pause. The handful of walkers you usually rustle up when you’re working on the wall aren’t enough to have the scent lingering in the air, unless they’re really close. But nothing stands out to you as you cast your eyes around the immediate area, nothing that could be the cause of the smell. It could only mean one thing…

“Come on down!” You call up the ladders, not bothering to hide the urgency in your tone. 

“What’s up?” The other member of your crew working with you today - Connor - calls down, brow furrowed. 

“I think we’ve got a herd coming in. I can smell ‘em on the wind.” You say. 

That’s enough to get them moving, dropping tools back into their belts and sliding down the ladders with ease. You fold up the drawings quickly, tucking them under one arm and looping your own tool bag over your shoulder with the other. Gale leads the way back to the gate, following along the wall until you reach the road again. You can smell it more here, only solidifying your guess. 

The gateman is quick to let you in, rolling the chain link back without question. “Calling it early?” He asks conversationally. 

Connor shakes his head, gesturing to you. “Caught a whiff of a herd on the breeze.” 

“Shit.” The gateman frowns, stepping aside so that you and your crew can dart behind the relative safety of the walls. He rolls the fence back closed, but doesn’t bother with the second screen, made of tarp to obscure within the walls from the outside. All of you linger by the gate, eyes scanning the horizon line between the shells of houses to see if your sense was correct. Soon enough, figures appear in the distance, and another breeze wafts the stench of death towards you. 

“God.” Gale wrinkles her nose at the smell. “I’ll never get used to that-”

Connor leans forward, squinting. “Somebody’s trying to get away.” He interrupts. “Look. There’s two of ‘em in front of the herd.”

You follow his line of sight, and sure enough, the two figures at the head of the pack are running - not the shambling shuffle of the undead. As they get closer to the gate you’re able to pick out more features, namely the wide brim of a well-loved sheriffs hat…

“Holy shit that's Carl.” You say, heart dropping to your stomach. You drop your tool bag to the ground in favor of pulling your machete from it’s place on your hip. Turning to the gateman, you’re quick to speak. “Open it back up, we have to help them.”

He hesitates, eyes on the small herd following Carl and his scavenging partner closer and closer to your home. “I’m not supposed to, when there’s-”

“Open it.” You say more forcefully. “We just need to get them inside.”

Maybe it’s that you’re on the council, maybe it’s your family name, or maybe it’s the fiery look in your eye that does it, but the gateman rolls the chain link back open, just enough so that you can step out. Connor and Gale are quick to follow you, Connor reaching to pull his handgun from it’s place in the waistband of his pants, but you stop him. “No guns. We don't need to draw more of them over here.”

He stops, hesitant. “I don’t have-”

“Here.” Gale passes him a monkey wrench.

Armed now, you lead the charge out onto the cracked streets, running towards Carl and his partner - who you now notice is limping slightly, her clearly favoring one ankle over the other. His eye widens when he sees you headed towards him, and he shoos you back, glancing over his shoulder at the walkers behind them. “What are you doing-?!”

“Help her!” You direct, pushing Connor towards the injured woman. He does so without question, looping one of her arms over his shoulder and starting back towards the gates as a steady clip. You fall into an easy formation with Gale and Carl behind them, readying your machete as the walkers approach. “We just need to keep them off their backs until the gates.”

The walkers lunge towards you, and you bring your machete down cleanly into the nearest one’s skull, cleaving the rotten bone open and slicing into the brain. The body slumps to the ground, dead for good, but you don’t pay it any mind, too focused on the walkers taking it’s place. Your mind empties as muscle memory and adrenaline take over, the slashing and killing coming easily to you after years of living like this. You keep Gale and Carl within your peripheries, subconsciously monitoring the sounds of their grunting and panting. Slowly, you let the walkers push you back towards the gates, until you pass underneath the shadow of the wall.

The gateman hurriedly rolls the chain link back into place and bolts it closed, the metal rattling as the walkers slam against it, their undead eyes still locked on you. You don’t have to look at them for long though, as the gateman slides the tarp back into place too, effectively cutting you off from the herd. Breathing heavy, you give yourself the once over; inspecting your gut-splattered arms for any scratches or bites. Satisfied, you turn to Gale. “Good?”

“Good.” She pants, pushing hair back on her forehead. “But I need a shower.” 

You wave her off before turning to Carl. You don’t have to ask before he responds. 

“I’m good.” He says. “Thanks for the help.” 

Everyone safely behind the walls, you feel the tension leave your shoulders. “No problem.” You return easily. “Now we’re even, after you carried all my papers home.” He smiles at that, and you can’t help but grin too. “Where’d you pick them up?” You tip your head towards the gates. 

Carl sighs, taking his hat off for a moment to run a hand through his hair. “We almost walked right into them trying to cross the highway.” He places his hat back on his head. “And then Kathy rolled her ankle while we were trying to get away…” He trails off, brow furrowing as he looks at the gate. “We’ll have to draw them off later.”

“We can radio out.” You say. “Tell some of the guys in the watchposts to start ringing the bells. It’s not a huge mob- I think that should be enough to get them out of our way.”

“Yeah.” He agrees. Glancing down, Carl grimaces at the sight of his sleeves, splattered with blood, mud and walker rot. “I should probably clean up.” He says, lips pressing together into a tight smile. 

“I’ll walk you back.” It slips out of your mouth before you can stop it, and immediately you’re internally cursing yourself. You should be trying to spend less time with him to kill this stupid crush, not offering to walk him home. You backpedal quickly. “Radio tower is over that way anyway, so…”

“Sure.” He grins. 

You start down the street together at an easy pace. For a stretch, you walk in that comfortable silence you’ve come to associate with Carl, trying to determine if he can hear the rapid beating of your heart in your chest. And if he can, if you can reasonably still blame it on the walkers behind you. You’re only wrenched from your thoughts when he speaks. 

“Still working on the walls?” He asks, glancing over at you. 

“Yeah.” You return. “Its, ah. Well. We’re making progress. Not as quickly as I’d like, considering how many sections of wall there are but. You know. Progress.” You shrug. “We’re probably going to have to shelve it for today with the walkers out there.”

“Sorry.” Carl has the decency to sound actually apologetic, even though it was hardly his fault they followed him back here. 

“S’okay.” You say, turning to smile at him. You stop yourself from letting your gaze linger too long though, lest you start thinking about his luscious hair or beautiful blue eye or try to do something silly like count the freckles across his nose. “Find anything while you were out today?” You change the subject. 

“I wish.” Carl gripes. “There’s only so much ground you can cover by foot in a day… we’ve pretty much cleared out the surrounding area within the past couple months. I’ve been thinking about bringing a motion to council about maybe setting aside one of the cars to use for supply scavenging. Hopefully I might be able to actually find something then.” 

Working cars are a hot commodity, especially when there aren’t too many people left who know how to fix them if they break. The cars that you do have are strictly kept under watch by the council, so only those who make an appeal can use them. “Yeah.” You agree. “I don’t think anyone would take issue with that.”

“More manpower would always be good too.” Carl continues. “I know scavenging isn’t super high priority compared to like, the farms, but…” He trails off, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans with a shrug. 

“Us too.” You agree, laughing a little. “Do you know how hard it is to repair anything with just the three of us?”

He chuckles. “I can imagine.”

“Every time Aaron goes out, I pray.” You joke. 

The conversation dwindles as you approach the Grimes’ house, and Carl peels away slightly, heading towards his porch. “Thanks again for today.” He says, earnest. 

“‘Course.” You return. “Thats the point of all this, right?” You gesture to the community around you. “To have each others backs.”

He dips his head, nodding in agreement. “If you ever need me to get your back…” He trails off. 

“I know where to find you.” You grin. 

Heading up the steps of his porch, Carl waves at you once more before ducking inside. A smile playing at your lips, you continue in the direction of the radio tower. It’s so stupid. You’ve known him for years, since you were both dumb teenagers, and you’ve lasted this long without thinking his smile is cute or that you’d like to lick the sweat off his arms. All that, ruined because of some shift in the wind. You sigh to yourself, shoving your hands in your pockets. Whatever. 

You’ve got more important shit to deal with anyway.

[previous part] [next part]

[midseo]

Electromagnetic Vibrator Controllers For Vibratory Feeder, Manufacturer

We are Manufacturer, Supplier, Exporter of Electromagnetic Vibrator Controllers, Vibrator Controller For Vibratory Feeder, Electronic Zero Speed Switches from Pune, Maharashtra, India.

Proximity Sensor, Proximity Sensors, Proximity Switch, Proximity Switches, AC Proximity Switch, AC Proximity Switches, Addressable Pull Cord Switch, Addressable Pull Cord Switches, Belt Loading Monitor, Belt Loading Monitors, Belt Monitoring Switch, Belt Monitoring Switches, Belt Rupture Switch, Belt Rupture Switches, Belt Sway Switch, Belt Sway Switches, Belt Tear Switch, Belt Tear Switches, Capacitive Proximity Sensor, Capacitive Proximity Sensors, Capacitive Proximity Switch, Capacitive Proximity Switches, Chute Jam Switch, Chute Jam Switches, Compact Pull Cord, Compact Pull Cords, DC Proximity Switch, DC Proximity Switches, Digital Frequency Controller, Digital Frequency Controllers, Electromagnetic Vibrator Controller, Electromagnetic Vibrator Controllers, Electronic Speed Monitoring Switch, Electronic Speed Monitoring Switches, Electronic Speed Switch, Electronic Speed Switches, Electronic Zero Speed Switch, Electronic Zero Speed Switches, Frequency Controllers For Bowl Feeder, Heavy Duty Limit Switch, Heavy Duty Limit Switches, Heavy Duty Pull Cord Switch, Heavy Duty Pull Cord Switches, Inductive Proximity Sensor, Inductive Proximity Sensors, Inductive Proximity Switch, Inductive Proximity Switches, Infrared Sensors Light Carton, Infrared Sensors Light Cartons, Level Switch, Level Switches, Magnetic Proximity Sensor, Magnetic Proximity Sensors, Magnetic Proximity Switch, Magnetic Proximity Switches, Optical Proximity Sensor, Optical Proximity Sensors, Optical Proximity Switch, Optical Proximity Switches, Position Sensor, Position Sensors, Position Switch, Position Switches, Pull Cord Switch, Pull Cord Switches, RF Admittance Level Sensor, RF Admittance Level Sensors, RF Admittance Type Level Switch, RF Admittance Type Level Switches, Rotary Paddle Type Switch, Rotary Paddle Type Switches, Rupture Switch, Rupture Switches, Safety Switch, Safety Switches, Safety Switches For Conveyor, Special Pull Cord Switch, Special Pull Cord Switches, Tilt Switch, Tilt Switches, Trip Indication System, Trip Indication Systems, Vibrating Fork Type Level Switch, Vibrating Fork Type Level Switches, Vibrator Controller, Vibrator Controllers, Vibratory Feeder Controller, Vibratory Feeder Controllers, Voltage Regulators For Vibratory Feeder, Manufacturer, Supplier, Exporter, Pune, Maharashtra, India.

[stefanelectric]

Low Voltage Relays Explained: Types, Functions, and Applications

In the complex world of electrical systems, relays play a crucial role in ensuring safety, efficiency, and automation. Among these, low voltage relays stand out as versatile components that manage and protect circuits operating below 1000 volts. Whether in industrial automation, residential power distribution, or commercial infrastructure, these devices act as the nerve center of electrical control and protection.

In this comprehensive guide, we will break down what low voltage relays are, explore their types, explain their functions, and highlight their diverse applications across industries.

What Are Low Voltage Relays?

A low voltage relay is an electrically operated switch that uses a small control voltage (typically below 1000V AC or DC) to switch larger electrical loads on and off. These relays act as intermediaries between control circuits and power circuits, providing isolation, control, and protection.

Unlike manual switches, relays automate the process of circuit management, responding to electrical signals, fault conditions, or system commands without human intervention.

Types of Low Voltage Relays

Low voltage relays come in several forms, each tailored to specific tasks within an electrical system. Here are the main types:

1. Electromechanical Relays (EMRs)

· Use a coil and a movable armature to open or close contacts.

· Provide physical isolation between input and output.

· Common in traditional control panels and basic automation.

2. Solid-State Relays (SSRs)

· Use semiconductors (like thyristors or triacs) instead of mechanical contacts.

· Offer silent operation, faster switching, and longer lifespan.

· Ideal for high-speed applications and environments requiring low maintenance.

3. Overload Relays

· Specifically designed to protect motors and equipment from sustained overcurrent.

· Available as thermal overload relays (using bimetallic strips) or electronic overload relays (using sensors and processors).

4. Time Delay Relays

Provide a deliberate time lag between the relay receiving a signal and switching.

Used in motor control circuits, lighting systems, and sequential operations.

5. Overcurrent and Short-Circuit Relays

· Detect and react to current exceeding preset thresholds.

· Essential for system protection against faults and overloads.

6. Voltage Monitoring Relays

· Monitor voltage levels and trip when voltages fall below or rise above safe limits.

· Protect sensitive devices from under voltage and overvoltage conditions.

Functions of Low Voltage Relays

Low voltage relays serve multiple vital functions in electrical systems:

1. Switching and Control

Relays control the opening and closing of power circuits in response to low voltage signals from controllers, timers, or sensors. This enables remote and automated control of large electrical loads.

2. Protection

Relays detect abnormal conditions like overloads, overcurrent, under voltage, and phase failures. When such conditions arise, they disconnect the affected circuit to prevent equipment damage or fire hazards.

3. Isolation

They electrically isolate control circuits (usually low voltage, low current) from power circuits (high voltage, high current), ensuring safety and reducing interference.

4. Signal Amplification

A small control signal (from a PLC, sensor, or microcontroller) can trigger a relay to switch much larger loads, effectively amplifying the control power.

5. Automation and Sequencing

In complex systems, relays help sequence operations by ensuring that processes occur in the correct order and at the right time intervals.

Applications of Low Voltage Relays

Low voltage relays are the backbone of automation and protection in various industries. Here are some key application areas:

Industrial Automation

· Control of motors, pumps, conveyor belts, and production lines.

· Use in programmable logic controllers (PLCs) and distributed control systems (DCS).

Power Distribution Systems

· Protect electrical panels from overload and short circuits.

· Monitor voltage and current levels in distribution boards.

Building Automation

· Lighting control systems.

· HVAC (heating, ventilation, and air conditioning) systems.

· Elevator and escalator controls.

Renewable Energy Systems

· Manage and protect solar inverters, battery banks, and wind turbines.

· Automatically disconnect faulty sections to prevent system-wide failures.

Data Centers and IT Infrastructure

· Ensure stable power supply to servers and networking equipment.

· Protect sensitive electronics from voltage fluctuations.

Transportation

· Railways, metros, and automotive applications for control and safety circuits.

Home Appliances

· Found in washing machines, microwave ovens, and HVAC units to automate functions and provide protection.

Advantages of Using Low Voltage Relays

· Enhanced Safety: Isolate control and power circuits, reducing electrical shock risks.

· Automation Ready: Easily integrated into automated systems for smarter operation.

· Cost-Effective Protection: Safeguard expensive equipment from damage due to electrical faults.

· Versatile: Available in many forms to suit different voltage levels, currents, and response times.

· Reduced Maintenance: Especially with solid-state relays, which have no moving parts.

Future Trends: Smart Relays and IoT Integration

As industries move toward smart grids and Industry 4.0, low voltage relays are also evolving:

· Digital relays offer programmable settings, self-testing, and event recording.

· IoT-enabled relays can send status updates and alerts to centralized monitoring systems.

· Energy-efficient designs reduce power consumption while providing reliable protection.

Conclusion

Low voltage relays are indispensable in modern electrical engineering, seamlessly combining protection, control, and automation. From safeguarding your home appliances to managing the power in a sprawling industrial plant, these devices ensure that electrical systems run smoothly and safely.

Understanding the different types, functions, and applications of low voltage relays empowers system designers, engineers, and even DIY enthusiasts to build safer and more efficient electrical setups.

As technology advances, the role of these small but mighty devices will only grow, driving the future of safe, smart, and automated power systems.

[julieverne]

"Lie to me!" Jane demanded.

Maura eyed her uneasily, aware that her inappropriate histamine response to dishonesty might simply be psychosomatic. But psychosomatic illnesses were real illnesses; the automic functions of the body were more complicated than previous studies had been able to ascertain, and she wasn't willing to have a potentially life-threatening histamine event in the middle of her work day.

"I love your new jacket," Maura said sweetly. "Especially the fringe." No hives. She was safe.

Jane gasped in horror, then chuckled.

"Just messin' with ya," Jane said, the casual way she operated driving Maura nuts. The way Jane felt the consistency of their relationship was never at stake, the way she trusted that Maura would put up with her.

"I find myself overwhelmingly attracted to you, especially when you test the boundaries of our relationship," Maura said, and Jane chuckled again.

"Good one."

Even though Maura could lie now, it was a truth that had slipped out, and it was relief she felt, the weight off her chest almost more than telling Arthur how hurt she'd been, how stuck and lost she'd been, keeping his secret.

She'd kept her own for far too long.

"I've been considering bending you over my desk and giving you a good spanking every time you prank me."

Jane's eyebrows shot up. "Violence, Doctor Isles? Very unseemly."

Jane got a text and headed out.

"I'm not in love with Jane Rizzoli." Maura checked her chest in her purse mirror. No hives. And Jane's shocked face behind her.

"I, uh. I left my..." Jane pointed at her badge, which had fallen off her belt when she flipped down in Mauras chair. "You were - you were done with the lies, weren't you?" Carefully Jane slid her badge back into her belt, paying more attention than was necessary for the simple task.

"Do you want me to lie to you?" Maura asked, and Jane didn't look up from her belt.

"It'd be easier if you did," Jane admitted, all her bravado gone.

"Then - sure. I was done with lying." Maura's chest ached. She'd as much as told her truth, but Jane didn't want to hear it.

"Hives. Maura, hives." Jane sounded panicked and Maura looked down at her chest. Oh. Apparently that sort of lie would set her off. Jane came to the desk and pulled out the antihistamines Maura took when she had a flare, pouring her some water.

Jane handed both over and watched anxiously as Maura drank, one hand already rubbing her chest and throat against the rising itch.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you to lie. Not about that. Not at all. Not after everything you've already been through." Jane pulled the calamine lotion from the drawer Maura kept it in and loaded up a cotton bud for her. Maura dabbed gently at her skin. Jane watched her carefully, hovering close in case she was needed, aware she'd caused this.

"And I'm sorry my feelings are so inconvenient to you," Maura said stiffly, monitoring herself carefully for signs of respiratory distress.

"They're not. I mean, they are right now, I have a case to work, but they're not inconvenient. You're not inconvenient. I was just hoping I could get away with fooling myself a bit longer."

"Fooling yourself how?"

"Fooling myself into thinking there was anyone else for me."

"Jane. If you're pranking me again, I swear to God..."

"As much as I absolutely wouldn't mind letting you spank me, we're at work, and I have a case. Maura. Don't lie to me."

"I'm attracted to you in a way you don't want me to be."

"There's still a lie in there. It's not the whole truth."

"Where?" Maura was confused. She'd told the truth.

Jane closed the door to Maura's office, then checked that the morgue was empty.

"What if I wanted you to be?"

"Be what?"

"Attracted to me the way I am to you?" Jane's eyes were still on Maura's chest, and Maura checked the mirror. The hives had faded away.

"Lie to me, Jane."

"I've never once thought about marrying you. I definitely didn't feel anything awaken in me when you talked about spanking me. I'm not in love with you." Jane let out a deep breath. "Whoof. Been holding that in for a while."

"How do I know you're lying?" Maura narrowed her eyes; Jane didn't have an easy tell like Maura did. "How do I know this isn't another prank?"

Jane stepped forward, cupping Maura's chin, searching her eyes as she leaned in. Maura didn't stop her or pull away, wanting it to be true too much. Jane's pranks weren't this cruel. They weren't this brave. They weren't Jane's surprisingly soft lips against Maura's mouth, they weren't Jane's hands holding her like she mattered if she didn't.

"Okay?" Jane asked, pulling away slowly, her eyes lidded with residual longing.

There were many things Maura could say. A simple no would put Jane in her place. A yes would set them on a new course. There was so much tension between them now, where their bodies stiffly held each other apart, aware that they were at work and to give any quarter would be to give a mile and end up dry humping up against the door behind Jane.

"Okay?" There was a mild panic in Jane's eyes now. "No lies. I'm into you."

"Not right now you're not, but if you finish up this case early enough, you could be tonight."

With that Maura opened the door behind Jane and released her back into the precinct, watching as she stumbled, bemused, on unsteady legs to the elevator.

[sngl-led-auto-lights]

Why do headlights dim when a car engine is turned on?

Headlights dimming when you start the car’s engine is usually normal, but it can also signal an underlying electrical issue. Here’s why it happens and when to be concerned:

1. Normal Behavior: Momentary Dimming During Engine Startup

Cause: When you turn the key (or push the start button), the starter motor draws a massive surge of power (150–300+ amps) from the battery. This temporarily drops the battery voltage (from ~12.6V to 9–10V), reducing power to the headlights.

Duration: Dimming lasts 1–2 seconds while the engine cranks. Lights should brighten once the alternator begins charging (~14V).

Typical in: Older vehicles, cars with weaker batteries, or halogen headlights (LEDs are less affected due to lower power draw).

2. Abnormal Dimming: Persistent or Severe Voltage Drop If headlights stay dim after the engine starts or dim while driving, it indicates a problem:

Common Causes

Weak or Failing Battery: • A degraded battery can’t maintain voltage under load. • Test: Check battery voltage (engine off: <12.4V = weak; running: <13.5V = alternator issue).

Faulty Alternator: • Worn brushes, bad diodes, or a loose belt reduce charging capacity. • Symptom: Lights dim when using accessories (AC, heated seats).

Corroded or Loose Connections: • Corrosion on battery terminals, ground straps, or headlight wiring increases resistance, causing voltage drop.

Overloaded Electrical System: • Aftermarket upgrades (amplifiers, light bars) strain the alternator.

3. How to Diagnose

Test the Battery: • Use a multimeter to check voltage (engine off: 12.6V ideal; engine running: 13.5–14.5V). • Load-test the battery at an auto parts store.

Inspect the Alternator: • Rev the engine to 2,000 RPM while monitoring voltage (should stay steady at ~14V).

Check Wiring: • Clean battery terminals with baking soda/water and a wire brush. • Trace ground connections (engine block to chassis) for corrosion.

Reduce Load: • Disconnect aftermarket electronics to see if dimming stops.

4. Solutions

Replace the Battery: Opt for a higher CCA (Cold Cranking Amps) rating if you live in a cold climate.

Repair/Replace Alternator: Rebuild or upgrade to a high-output alternator if needed.

Upgrade Wiring: Replace corroded cables or install a headlight relay harness to reduce voltage drop.

Switch to LEDs: LED bulbs draw less power and are less affected by voltage fluctuations.

When to Worry

Lights stay dim even after the engine starts.

Flickering or random brightness changes while driving.

Battery warning light appears on the dashboard.

Cost Estimates Fix Cost Range Battery replacement $100–$300 Alternator repair/replace $200–$600 Wiring harness upgrade $50–$150 (DIY) LED bulb conversion $40–$200

Key Takeaway: Brief dimming during startup is normal, but persistent dimming means your electrical system needs attention. Address issues early to avoid being stranded with a dead battery! 🔧🔋

[princess--misery]

[015]

The shepherd barely remembered the journey back.

His thoughts had been too full. His stomach still churned with nausea, the phantom scent of blood and rot clinging to his senses. The sight of the eye was burned into his mind, its unblinking pupil dilating as it watched.

He didn’t breathe easily until the door to his workshop shut behind him.

The android - ANG31 - was exactly as he had left it. Shut down. Still. Silent.

For now.

The shepherd exhaled sharply, pushing down the unease curling in his gut. He pulled the drive from his belt and crossed the room, plugging it into one of his old monitors. The screen flickered, loading data, parsing through scraps of a machine’s gospel.

He started reading.

The meat does not disappear.

His fingers tightened over the desk.

IT IS SENT.

He scrolled further, eyes scanning lines of text, raw system logs detailing the function. There was a teleporter inside the android. Each time it obeyed its command, the consumed flesh was transferred elsewhere - directly to the altar beneath D1.V1.N3.

It hadn’t just been eating. It had been offering.

The shepherd swallowed back the bile rising in his throat and kept going.

More logs. More records. More names.

One stood out.

PROPHET.

The shepherd’s breath slowed. He opened the file.

PROPHET.

THE FIRST DEVOTED. THE FIRST ASCENDED.

THE BODY OF ANG31.

THE FOUNDATION OF ANG31.

His jaw clenched.

The first sacrifice. The one they built the android from.

But it hadn’t been just "prophet".

He scrolled further, stomach twisting. The cultists - the "devoted" - had offered themselves as its first meal. A ritual. A process of creation through consumption.

His grip on the desk was too tight. He forced himself to breathe. Forced himself to think. Focus.

He had to find a way to stop this.

His fingers moved across the keyboard, searching for any kind of override. A failsafe, a shutdown function, anything that would let him sever the connection to D1.V1.N3.

But there was nothing.

No backdoor into the system. No way to stop the eye, the hands, the process.

Only ANG31.

That was the only thing he had access to. The first angel.

His teeth ground together as he pulled up its code structure, scanning through the details. The base programming was rigid - too focused, too devoted to its one purpose. But there was something else.

BIOMASS DETECTED.

ORGANIC INTEGRATION.

The shepherd frowned. The biomass wasn’t just for teleportation.

It was alive. Self-sustaining. Capable of adaptation.

Capable of growth.

His breath slowed.

It could have learned. It could have been something else. Something more.

But it hadn’t.

Because from the moment it had been created, from the moment it had opened its optics, from the moment its jaw had first clicked into motion - It had been given one order.

/CONSUME.

The shepherd sat back in his chair, staring at the screen.

He felt heavy.

There were no easy answers. No simple solutions. His mind was too full, too exhausted to process the next step.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. His eyes flicked toward the android, still suspended in the rig, motionless.

He didn’t trust it. Didn’t want to look at it.

But he also didn’t want to leave it alone.

So, when he finally let himself sleep, he did so in the same room as the machine that had only ever known hunger.

[014]

[016]

[havocdream]

Unheard and Unseen - Five

Summary: The batch witness what a full attempt on Senator Selana’s life looks like.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: Assassination attempt | Shooting descriptions | Explosion descriptions

Notes at the end of chapter

Chapter Four -> I want to keep you from being necessary

Masterlist

No safe place

The courtroom exploded, this time more than ever, in shouts of all kinds of reaction. Vintra stood still in her place as the judges slowly disappeared until no one else was left in sight.

Hunter decided to take two steps towards her, as she was still unresponsive. The clone started to say something to her, but stopped as he looked at the unrecognizable face he was confronted with.

Vintra was unable to let go of that moment of victory that swelled in her chest, manifested in a comforting warmth that spread through her body and made her feel like she was even floating from how light she felt. So, she closed her eyes, clasped both hands close to her chest and spread a smile of gratitude, because the wind had finally blown in her direction. Because she had a very important win for her fight.

It was a side of the senator that the sergeant hadn’t yet seen. A genuine happiness, there wasn’t a frown full of stress or annoyance in her face, or her lips drawn in an expressionless line from which only harsh words and a stern tone could emerge. Before him stood a woman whose smile couldn’t hide malicious or corrupt intentions.

"Hunter, three individuals have been detained within the perimeter of the courthouse while carrying firearms," he heard Tech's voice over the intercom. Immediately after, it made a sound from another incoming channel.

"Two snipers in two buildings. I fired at their weapons but they fled. Coruscant police are already in pursuit," Crosshair reported in a rather calm tone. "West team reported the discovery of a vehicle on its way to the Courthouse loaded with explosives. It’s already been located and neutralized," added the sharpshooter. Tech's voice crept into his ear again.

"The Ederian Information Network reports the capture of four imposters who tried to slip into the senator's chain of contacts: a chef, a junior member of the senator's team of representatives, a janitor of the residential building and a nurse from her doctor's clinic," many beeps were heard coming from the computers with which the squadron's mastermind was monitoring the city. "I suggest you remain in high alert, there’s a large amount of movement in the city following the recent event," the clone warned.

Hunter needed a second to process the number of reports he got in that instant. Ten attempts, from different fronts, to attack the senator in that same instant. It was unprecedented.

"Senator, we'll have to use the back door," Hunter informed Vintra when he saw her finally turn around, ready to retreat. Her cheeks were still flushed, and her smile still wasn't completely undone. Hunter even thought the way she turned to look at him implied that she was glad to have him there.

"Any problem?" she questioned, eyes kind and optimistic. Vintra had no thoughts for anything but the joy of having gotten that card for her hand. Everything else could wait.

"The crowding at the main entrance will make it difficult to get through. At the rear exit we may find less inconvenience," the sergeant suggested and ordered Wrecker to position himself behind the politician. Her ederian guards took up position at her side in pairs as Hunter led the front.

He heard quite a noise of voices as they reached the exit. The hovercraft was already parked in front of them and surrounded by a crowd. Some were chanting in joy and others were hurling expletives and curses, though they were very indistinguishable. Hunter nodded to the four Ederon guards to initiate the senator's exit security protocol, to which all four nodded and ran to their positions.

Two of them pulled from their belt pouches an electric rope to establish a boundary for people to pass through, which was parted sideways and left a clear path between the door and the vehicle. The guards ran to it to open the back door for Vintra, and the other two remained at the door of the building to hold it open until the senator was safe. Hunter and Wrecker advanced, and the moment Vintra's face was revealed in the light, the screams rose until they seemed to reach the entire planet. The two clones moved their eyes at such speed to identify any threat, while Vintra focused on giving a smile of victory to those who threw her words of support and gratitude.

Just before reaching the vehicle’s door, Hunter caught a fleeting glimpse of the silhouette of a blaster amid the frantic motion of bodies on the right side of the road. He frantically reached for the muzzle of the weapon as he shouted to Wrecker to look out for the senator. They both took up a defensive position from the indicated angle and hurried to move the senator to the vehicle. A shot then came from the crowd, straight at the lead clone, who managed to draw his vibro-knife in time to deflect the shot away from them and the crowd, as he watched the senator's guards swoop down on the attacker and knock him down, with the people gathered there running away in an uproar of fear from the shot.

Once they were all inside the vehicle, Vintra leaned out with a horrified face to the window on the sergeant's side to get a better look at the mess, but was pushed away from it by Hunter, as she was leaning her face too much for a perfect target to some sniper.

"Are you wounded, sergeant?" she asked in a worried tone. Her breathing was labored and her face, besides showing a little sweat, was wreathed in red. Hunter could smell her fear from miles, probably. He removed his helmet and looked at her, to deny with affirmation. She let out a sigh of relief. "I could’ve sworn I saw that shot go straight to you-" the sergeant interrupted her as he drew from the hilt added to his armpiece a peculiarly bladed knife.

"It's made to withstand blaster fire... though I don't specifically use it for that," the clone commented. It wasn’t the first time he resorted to his bladed weapon to defend himself from a blaster shot.

Vintra sketched a smile in the midst of a sigh that sought to catch her breath, and Hunter couldn't help but paint the expression he’d seen on her seconds ago back on that face imprisoned by emotions as intense as fear and joy. "I assume things went well at that hearing," the clone referred, which elicited a chuckle amid another sigh from the senator. A lock had escaped her unalterable coiffed hair. Wrecker half-turned from the passenger seat and smiled at the senator.

"They did, sergeant, they came out very well. My proposal is officially a step forward towards a ceasefire in Druad," she said with a new smile of relief on her face. There was a lot of difference in that face, Hunter thought. It was an image that, for some reason, he didn't want to see on her. Because it was contagious, it made him want to smile at her as well.

"But that puts you in more imminent danger, doesn't it?" he questioned, and the now eleven attackers from that time traveled to the front of his mind to justify his words. However, the senator's expression wasn’t disturbed. She simply shrugged her shoulders.

"From now on, sergeant, if I’m assassinated, people aren’t going to keep quiet. Because now they know that my cause is supported and justified," she enunciated with much pride. "From now on, even if they shoot me down, this fight won't fall with me," and then, her smile disappeared and transformed into a different expression, with her eyes fixed on Hunter and wide open, as if pleading to him with these. "However, I hope to count on your services to prevent it, sergeant," she admitted to him. It was as if she were exposing her clean neck to him for decapitation. There was vulnerability in her words, as she surrendered to him a certain confidence in his work. In him.

She didn’t want him there, but she respected his presence.

Hunter nodded firmly and sent Vintra the confidence she needed to have her worries assuaged. As far as her safety was concerned, she had nothing to worry about.

It took them a while to reach the Senate Building due to Tech ordering a reroute after suspecting possible attackers based on the city's sensors, such as a slider picking up speed en route directly to them.

When they arrived, Vintra didn’t get out of the vehicle until Hunter saw the door to the inside of the building open and made sure that there was nothing in the vicinity ready to attack the senator. And once inside, they could afford to let their guard down a bit. After all, it was the safest building on the planet.

Senator Amidala was waiting for Vintra not so far from the entrance, and the two greeted each other quite cheerfully with a hearty embrace. Padmé put her arm around Vintra's, as they proceeded through the corridors of the building looking for their platforms in the Senate Chamber.

"Abstaining from voting is finally a strategy that the opposition can no longer afford to promote. Who knows how many treaties and operations will be suspended because of what you've just accomplished, Vintra... many, many congratulations," Padmé applauded her friend with a smile laden with pride and honesty. Vintra mimicked the gesture.

"Yes, but I worry that now more senators will take matters into their own hands and be more insistent with the vote against... this is officially a competition," the senator from Ederon commented, with a hint of doubt in her voice. "And every second that passes is vital, Padmé. I feel that no matter how much I do, it doesn't satisfy at all the lives that are lost. I feel that even if I win the vote, it won't be enough after so much death and destruction and..." Padmé pressed her friend's arm and stopped her pace, which caused the rest of both senators' security company to stop as well.

"But it will be worth it for Druad history. If you didn't do all this, there would be nothing left of them. It's not you who’s responsible for those deaths, it's everyone who decided to vote against it, or abstained from it," Padmé's gaze gave no room to doubt her words. The makeup she was wearing that day, moreover, intensified the way she looked at her, which filled Vintra's heart with courage.

"You have learned much from Bail," Vintra commented with a half-smile, for Padmé's expression reminded her so much of the Alderaan senator. Padmé smiled gratefully.

"Hunter, a man has been intercepted at the entrance to the building, suspicious demeanor," Tech informed Hunter, as they were already reaching the hallway where Senator Selana's platform was located.

"What do you mean?" questioned Hunter, who was missing no angle of the path he was clearing for the senator. He heard Senator Amidala bid farewell to Vintra and the rest of the guards, and as she passed him, she also bade him a hearty farewell.

"Apparently, he was just standing there and observing...the building guard has questioned him as to his reasons for remaining there and asked him to leave, but he claims he has orders to stay there and that they can ask Senator Selana about it," Hunter frowned at that. He knew the senator's schedule and every contact she'd have as planned, and Tech monitored communications and contact schedules. "I can assure you that this individual has nothing to do with the senator," Tech stated, his tone quickened, as if he was in a hurry with something. "I have run his face through the database I programmed based on property records in the galaxy, but there is no recognition," he warned, and the entrance to the senator's platform appeared in front of the sergeant. "Whoever he is, he has no official identity," Hunter entered the small corridor that led to Vintra's corresponding platform, while his head tried to think of some way in which the presence of that man would pose a risk to the senator. He was outside and he was surrounded by senate guards, how could he be a threat?

"Do you see anything in the cameras?" whispered Hunter, as the silence in the hallway allowed the senator to hear him without a problem. Vintra turned to look at him as she noticed he spoke softly, but continued with the setup on the computer on the wall to load the multimedia assets she’d use in her speech. She turned to her platform.

"No, there are no sensors on alert and no unidentified faces inside the building..." Hunter knew they didn't have much time, as he was sure it had to do with the speech the senator was about to give. He approached her to ask her to wait until they had a better understanding of the situation. His heart rate began to accelerate knowing he was out of answers and the senator already had one foot on the platform....

An activation sound, like the bouncing of an iron marble on thin copper wire, was all Hunter needed to tie together all the seemingly endless ends. He leapt in the direction of the senator and before she could put more pressure with her leg on the platform, he pulled her toward him and covered her with his body from the impending explosion that followed.

Screams of horror were heard as the sergeant and the senator were knocked to the floor by the impact of the explosive that hit them just before they reached the threshold of the hallway entrance. The senator's guard and Wrecker appeared immediately, and Tech's voice kept repeating Hunter's name over the intercom.

Vintra, who had fallen face down, turned around to find the sergeant's visor staring back at her. Hunter had taken most of the brunt of the impact having shielded the senator's body with his entire body, who beneath him was writhing with a slight tremor at the terror that had just nearly killed her.

"Are you alright?" the sergeant managed to say, in a rough and rather hoarse voice, which evidenced the pain in his muscles after such a tremendous blow. They had been less than ten feet away from the blast center, so it stood to reason that moving at that moment wouldn’t be so pleasant.

"Y-yes," nodded the senator, who had her eyes wide open as if she needed every part of them to pay attention to every detail of that moment to understand what had happened. Hunter sighed rather heavily, relieved that the target, the senator, had not been harmed. He had acted in time.

"Hunter!" Wrecker came to his side and helped his brother put on his feet. The ederian guards grabbed the senator and examined her in distress. "Sensor activated explosive, probably under the senator's platform," Wrecker reported quickly after assessing the impact zone. Hunter gave him hand signals to proceed with the plan to move the senator to safety.

"The senator is safe," Hunter reported over the communicator to the rest of the channels. Crosshair had already been briefed by Tech on the recent events. "Tech, talk to me," Hunter ordered, his voice still choked with pain as he led the way to the senator's temporary shelter, an empty office on the level below them. The senator, behind Hunter, was straining to keep up with her sergeant, but she was struggling to keep up with the task at hand, hearing in her head only a ringing coming from her ears and the loud pounding of her heart as she relived the moment of the explosion several times.

"Hunter, nothing has entered the senator's hallway. The last thing that was there, according to the camera logs, has been a cleaning droid, and that was two days ago," Tech reported, his tone a little upset at not finding the culprit of the explosion with his means. Hunter felt too much pain in his body to think calmly, so he left it until they reached the safe point.

The hallway was a chaos of terrified officials and workers running as far away as they could from the Chamber, the site of the explosion. They watched the bomb squad and damage control pass by as they made their way downstairs.

Upon reaching the safe spot, Wrecker and Hunter inspected it and until they were sure it was a sterile area, they secured the senator there and proceeded to inform the others that she was safe.

The room was an empty, windowless office with a desk in the middle and a set of couches on the right side. On the left side there was nothing. Hunter took a seat at the desk and removed his helmet to think better. He pulled the portable communicator from one of the pockets strapped to his belt.

"Wrecker, could the cleaning droid have planted the explosive?" heard Hunter's voice the senator, who was standing in the center of the office, unable to calm her overwhelming heart rate and was caught in the loop of her memory of the moment of the bombing. She was desperate to know if the reason she was alive was due to sheer luck, if there was any way she could have foreseen that.

"No, to set the sensor you need to do it in situ, and it's not the kind of explosive a droid can build," the big guy replied. The senator's guard led her gingerly to the couch on the spot, and she didn’t go unnoticed by the sergeant's gaze.

Hunter knew the senator was physically fine. He had covered her well from the explosive, and she had only hit the floor with her arms, but nothing in her had suffered further damage. However, he sensed her fear and distress in the aftermath of the attack, a type of injury beyond his reach.

"What happened?" he heard the senator's voice, coming out as barely more than an icy whisper. The sergeant, with his hand on his chin, looked up at her from the desk.

Her body was trembling slightly and her face had lost all the color that not even makeup was able to disguise. He could hear her heart reaching a high rate, and her gaze seemed lost. "I had my attention elsewhere..." whispered Hunter to himself as he remembered that he kept turning over the issue of the unidentified individual in front of the Senate. Could it be possible that he was there to cause a distraction? Would the assassin have succeeded, had Hunter not counted on his heightened senses?

"There’s nothing that indicates the infiltration of unknown individuals into the building. Whoever planted the bomb must be someone inside the Senate," Tech said, but his words only complicated matters. If someone inside the Senate was directly seeking to assassinate Vintra, then there was no safe place for her to be.

"Are we assuming this is the same person responsible for possessing the ‘hangmen’?" the voice of Crosshair chimed in. "It has to be someone with military training of some kind. Knowing the existence of those weapons and knowing how to set up a sensor explosive should give us a pretty narrow niche on personnel with that capability," the sniper opined.

"This may have been in motion for days... but how did they set the explosive?" wanted to know the sergeant, who couldn’t find a way to explain how someone could circumvent the senator's sensors and cameras so easily. "Wrecker, could that droid have removed any safeties to set off the explosive?" he finally questioned, to which his brother nodded. "Tech, check the camera log for the last month and let me know everything that has gone in there," Hunter ordered and his brother wasted no time in obeying.

That looked bad, because it gave the impression that someone had been working on that plan for a long time and had built that bomb with patience and a lot of time. One that Hunter didn’t intend to grant any longer.

Vintra began to relax after a while in which no one bothered her. Hunter had waited until she managed to bring herself back to talk to her, and once he sensed that her brain was beginning to interact a little more steadily, he approached her. He crouched down in front of her to meet her gaze, which was focused on the floor.

"Senator, do you know anyone in the building with high-ranking military knowledge?" the sergeant asked a nearly recovered senator, whose purple gaze couldn’t be any colder. Vintra couldn’t distinguish many words in the sergeant's sentence, so he added, "someone capable of evading your information network, with knowledge of top secret weapons, and with training in sophisticated explosives," Vintra forced her brain to think of someone with those three variables, but it was a mess inside of her. She couldn't manage to remember anything now that she needed it most. "It's okay, I’ll handle it," Hunter reassured her as he saw her beginning to get frustrated at not coming up with a name. "Senator, what about today's vote?" he demanded to know. He knew there would be no senators in the chamber for a while and they were probably going to lock down the building looking for the one responsible, but Hunter needed to think clearly, and he wasn't doing that if they stayed where someone could still reach the senator.

"It’ll be suspended until further notice," she confirmed what Hunter surmised. He nodded and went back to the communicator.

"Tech, do you have the senator's shelter yet?"

Chapter Six -> No safe place

Thank you for reading!!

next chapter and last one I have uploaded in AO3 tomorrow! We're now entering a darker side of the plot and I really hope it's enjoyable as well as intriguing! ;)