#learn best sap coding

[loganjameshowlett]

SWALLOWTAIL

02: OVER TROUBLED WATER

pairing: joaquín torres/ex-widow!reader summary: the team stages an ambush. you and joaquín learn to trust each other a little bit more. word count: 8k+ series masterlist | previous installment | next installment

Madripoor’s neon skyline blazes like daylight, even– or especially– during the cloaked late night, early morning hours. 

It dazzles you every time. In your line of work, a trip out to the City of Anything Goes is not uncommon, but it feels like a treat all the same. Madripoor buzzes with an undeniable kind of energy. Stepping foot on its soil feels as separate from the rest of the world as would stepping on the moon. And, really, the necessity of boldness here is a breath of fresh air from the bundled up norm of your current home. Every time you’re here, you’re chasing down a lead or doing reconnaissance, but if you ignore that bit it feels a little like a good excuse to wear something nice and drink something that probably glows in the dark. 

“You have an apartment here?” Bucky asks. The alternating purple and green lights on the building in front of you bounce off his face, casting him in a pallor. 

“It’s a spider web,” you tell him, punching in the door code. “Escaping the Red Room is hard, but it’s usually not as hard as holding onto your freedom after the fact. We ex-widows have a network– information, safehouses. We do what we can to help keep each other free.”

It’s not some luxury Hightown skyscraper, but the building does alright. High ceilings and tall windows that wash the floor in a rainbow of neon lights. An air conditioner that at least partially works against Southeast Asia’s heat and humidity. You spent two months here after Maria Hill had broken your conditioning but before you made the decision to work with SHIELD. The memory draws close and complicated around your heart. 

You unlock the door, and your trio of superheroes files in on silent feet. Bucky’s eyes dart around in that familiar way, sweeping the open living/dining area for danger. In contrast, Joaquín traipses in and drops his gear bag gently on the floor next to the couch, stepping towards the wall of windows and letting out an appreciative whistle. The first hints of sunrise are blotting against the seam of the skyline blue turning to pale gray. 

“We’re meeting a friend of mine tonight at the floating markets,” you tell them, readjusting your own gear bag on your shoulder. “You might as well catch some sleep before you have to make yourselves presentable.” 

With that, you cross the kitchen and close yourself into the larger of the flat’s two bedrooms down the hall. Your gear bag lands next to the door with a thud, followed by the thump-thump of your boots being haphazardly kicked off. You fall into bed still in your clothes from the tarmac. The clinging scent of gunpowder and pine sap is momentarily overtaken by the sweet citrus smell of the sheets– comforting and familiar. You fall asleep almost immediately in the warm cradle of the bed. 

When you wake up, the sun is a fat yellow yolk low on the horizon: late afternoon. You stretch, jostling the sore shoulder you were sleeping on until it no longer twinges with every movement, and then move to open the bedroom window. A humid breeze tumbles in, dancing with the curtains and carrying with it the ever present symphony of sound that is Madripoor. For a minute, you pretend that this is just life– just your apartment, just your evening to fill how you want it. Just a woman in her city, all kinds of unfamiliarly unburdened. You close the window just as fast and make for the shower. 

There’s a cache of your clothes still in the closet from your few months calling this place home. You idle in front of the open door for a minute, clutching the front of your terrycloth towel and trying to make a choice. The floating markets are more casual, and one of the most touristy things in this neighborhood. Also colder, what with being on the river. It will be best to lean into the tourist thing. Some brighter colors or patterns, like someone who hasn’t thought a second about whether or not they’re blending in with the crowd, because why would they?

You settle on a maxi shirt dress, navy blue and drenched in little white flowers. It hugs nicely at your waist and hangs artfully loose on one shoulder, exposing a bare expanse of collarbone. Pretty good ease of movement, and the button-up aspect of the whole ensemble allows for your throwing knives in a thigh holster. You finish everything off with a sturdier pair of brown sandals. You feel underdressed and overdressed at the same time– you’re always far too conscious of wearing a disguise. You throw one longing look at a more comfortingly familiar pair of pants spilling out of the top of your duffel bag, before opening the door and heading for the living room. 

Sam is standing by the wall of windows in a button-down you can only describe as at least mildly garish. He turns at your footsteps and gives a teasing whistle. 

“Well, someone cleans up nice,” he says, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. Leave it to a man to still not understand the importance of utilizing fashion for fitting in, even after spending as much time as Sam has on the run. 

“You could learn a thing or two,” you retort. Bucky laughs from the kitchen and you whirl on him, taking in his gray t-shirt and black utility pants stuffed into heavy black boots. 

“This is not gonna work,” you tell him matter-of-factly. “We’re trying to blend in with the tourists, not get an award for most suspicious group of people at the market.”

“So, what do you want me to do?” he asks with a not my problem kind of shrug. 

“Put on some jeans, at least,” you tell him. “And I’m sure Sam has another one of these fugly shirts lying around.”

“Ha, she called your shirt fugly,” Joaquín chimes in as he comes out of the flat’s second bedroom. He’s wearing a dark green pair of pants and a beige shirt with some embroidery in a different shade of the same color. You nod to yourself in approval. At least one person gets what’s going on here. 

He stops short when his dark eyes land on you, the teasing smirk sliding off his face. They rove quickly down your body before shooting back up to make some embarrassed eye contact, as though he’d only just realized what he’d done. You prop up one eyebrow at him, and find yourself oddly self-satisfied at the color that floods his cheeks. 

“This is a great dress,” he says, voice a little dazed like his mouth is working independent from his brain. “Uh– I mean– you look great. Really.”

“Uh-huh, thanks,” you say, before turning back to Bucky and pointing a finger at him. “You– change. We’re already late.” Bucky grumbles about it, but heads into the second bedroom with Sam to find something else to wear. 

You stand in the living room, arms crossed comfortably over your chest. Joaquín is two feet away from you, dark hair and bronzed skin gilded in pink-gold early evening sunlight. He seems to be making a concerted effort to stand casually, but even you can tell he’s fidgeting to talk. 

The desire wins out, and he turns those dark eyes back on you. “So, what are the floating markets like?”

“Busy. Troublesome,” you tell him. “It’s a whole chaotic mess of docks and boats selling anything you could ever need. The lights are too bright, the music is too loud, and they upcharge everything because tourists come for a taste of the ‘dangerous lowtown nightlife’ they’ve heard so much about.” 

“Good food, though?” he asks after a moment. 

“Good food, though,” you concur. 

—

The sun has almost entirely set by the time you reach the floating markets. They are the exact riot of color and sound that you remember, sardine-packed with tourists and perfumed with the mouth watering scents of a hundred different kinds of food being cooked all at once. A part of you longs for the time to amble through the market looking for old favorite stalls and finding new ones, sampling every dish you can get your hand on, but there’s not time. You promise yourself that when this is all over, you’ll come back and stay in the flat for a week or two before heading back to Prague. It’s probably a lie, but it makes you feel better. 

“Don’t get lost,” you offer to the three men trailing behind you, before you slot your way into the surging crowd. You expertly maneuver around workers and tourists alike, stacked boxes of supplies and wares. When you reach an old favorite laksa stall, you spot her. 

Just as promised, Mali Boonmee’s head of dark, shaggy hair sticks out among the patrons– a family of sunburned and freckled ginger tourists. She’s unusually tall for a Thai girl, a collection of long, muscled limbs and a face with high, wide cheekbones that narrow into a sharp chin. You haven’t seen her since you were living in the flat, and you fight down a surge of near-overwhelming affection when she shoots a smile at you, unfolding herself from her stool to come greet you. 

“My girl,” she coos, her arms engulfing your shoulders in an instant. “How are you?” 

“Good, all things considered. You?” You return her hug in full force, squeezing her forearms when she finally pulls back. 

“Very good lately. We’ve had two widows through the web in the last few months, and I understand one of them was your doing.”

“Zarela. Took me two months, but I finally ran her down in Svalbard and sent her this way. She’s doing alright?” 

“It was a rough time, the first couple weeks. But we sent her to Dahlia in Granada. She said she wanted to be home, even if she can’t ever really be home. Helping Dahlia out is close enough,” Mali shrugs. You nod, pleased to hear that your last rescue project had found a semi-permanent home, at least. But you all know that pain. Madripoor is the closest Mali ever gets to actually going home to Thailand, setting up shop here like a moon orbiting its planet. You, historically, have stayed much farther away from home. That’s one wound you’re not quite willing to face, even now. 

“Right, well,” you move slightly to the side so that Mali can get a better look at your companions. “Mali, this is Sam, Bucky, Torres. Guys, this is Mali Boonmee, our trusted contact and my good friend.” 

“I’ve seen you, of course, Stars and Stripes,” Mali says with her winning smile. “Good to meet you all. Find a spot and I’ll get you some laksa. Then we’ll talk.” 

“She’s charming,” Sam says sincerely as Bucky shoulders his way to a cramped, empty table. 

“We tend to be,” you respond with a languid, one-shouldered shrug. Joaquín liberates a couple of unused chairs from a neighboring table, and you drop into one of them. 

“She’s an ex-widow, then?” Joaquín asks. 

“Aren’t you quick on the draw.” 

Bucky huffs out a laugh at your words, and you feel a little spark of pride. It’s easier to make him laugh these days than it was when you first met him– you chalk it up to having Sam by his side– but it feels like a real feat each time you manage it nonetheless. A minute later, Mali makes it through the labyrinth of tables and bodies, her arms laden with four bowls of laksa. She distributes them with elegant speed, before slotting into the last empty chair. 

“So, I have good news and bad news,” she says immediately. 

Sam pauses with his spoon halfway to his mouth. “Good news first, thank you very much.”

“I located your Aetos Device,” Mali responds. “The bad news is that it has already changed hands, and the group you tangled with back in Prague has melted back into the shadows.”

“Who has it now?” Joaquín asks. 

“There’s an underground group that operates here called the Golden Diadem. Mostly deal in stolen arms, the kind of shit most people think is still totally in the realm of science fiction. It’s a tight operation– usually a lot of security due to the nature of the goods. I have it on good authority, though, that the Aetos Device is going to be traveling through Lowtown and into Hightown tomorrow night. There’s a big auction at the Black Opal. They’ll be trying to get the device there at any cost.”

“Whose authority is this on?” Bucky asks, his face transformed into that familiar look of stony skepticism. His laksa sits untouched in front of him. You roll your eyes. 

“I brought us to Mali because we can trust her. So either do that, or don’t. But this is the only lead we have,” you respond before Mali can get the chance. 

“We have a good chance here,” Joaquín cuts in, clearly willing to trust Mali’s intel from the outset. “The bridge between Lowtown and Hightown is long. If we can ambush them there, we might have a chance of getting the device without them getting away.” 

“Exactly what I was going to suggest. Good thing one of these guys is smart,” Mali says. Her eyes sweep Joaquín with a newfound appreciation, which goes entirely unnoticed. You can tell he’s all in his head now, trying to plan out the ambush. 

“I’d feel better about this if we had more details. I don’t like the idea of any of us going in so blind,” Sam says finally. 

“I’ve seen the Golden Diadem do this before. Depending on the payload, it’s usually one or two armored trucks and an escort of armored cars. I’d stake out the bridge earlier in the night, but they don’t usually move until two or three in the morning,” Mali details. “That’s all I can offer. They’re being more tight-lipped about this operation than usual, evidently.”

Mali reaches into her bra and produces a slim black usb drive. You open your hand and she drops it into your palm, before you quickly secrete it into a small pocket in the inside lining of your dress. Mali nods toward it. “It’s a file I’ve been keeping on the Golden Diadem for the last year and a half, including what I have on the auctions that go on annually at the Black Pearl. If there’s anything else helpful for you to know, it’ll be in there.” 

“Thank you for your help,  Miss Boonmee,” Sam says. 

Mali nods at him, but her eyes are on you when she speaks again. “Sure thing. Drop a line if you need anything else while you’re in town.”

You all stand from the table, half-eaten bowls of laksa abandoned. Mali comes around the table and grabs your wrist before you can get away without a goodbye, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. When you separate, you’re surprised to find an involuntary smile stretching across your face. 

“Come see me in Prague someday,” you tell her, finding that you mean it. “I’ll take you to that three story club.” 

“I’ll take you up on that someday, sister,” she says, before turning around and disappearing into the crowd. 

When she disappears from sight, you turn and start to move in the other direction.. “Let’s go, boys. We have studying to do.”

–

Back at the flat, Joaquín took no time in setting up his little tech center at the small dining room table. He spread two monitors and a cache of other unrecognizable gadgets across the painted wood and was sitting locked into his screens before the rest of you had barely gotten through the door. 

“USB please,” he calls, blindly reaching an open hand out behind him. On one of the monitors in front of him, tiny-fonted code scrolls by in a blur. On the other, three windows of equally small text overlap upon each other. When you fail to produce the USB for him within a nanosecond, he waggles his fingers impatiently, casting those dark eyes over his shoulder for just a moment before they return to his screens. 

“God, here,” you say, digging inelegantly in your little pocket and slapping the little black rectangle into his palm with some force. 

“Can I take this off now?” Bucky asks, gesturing to his garish borrowed shirt. 

“Back to your uniform, Barnes. We’re doing stealth for the rest of the day,” you affirm. 

“This file is big as hell,” Joaquín mutters. 

“We don’t have time to read through all that– we need to be in place on that bridge by midnight, preferably with a plan,” Sam says. Arms crossed and brows furrowed, he looks all the part of the concerned and a little bit brooding leader. 

“We have all we need, Sam,” you assure him. “The bridge is the perfect place for an ambush, which we all seem to agree on. We know that we’re looking for armored trucks, and that we have a relatively short window of time for them to be passing through the bridge. All we need to figure out is the logistics of the ambush, and with four big brains in this room, I’m sure we can get our shit together in time.” 

“Aerial assault is the way to go,” Bucky cuts in as he emerges from the front bedroom, comfortably back in his familiar black t-shirt and black utility pants. 

“We don’t want to draw any more attention than we have to, Buck,” Sam counters. 

“I’m not sayin’ we bomb the bridge. You and the kid have wings, so let’s use ‘em. You get in quick and take their tires out from the air. We’ll have a much better chance if they’re stranded.” 

“How are we getting into the armored trucks?” you ask. 

“Metal arm?” Bucky responds quickly, lifting the arm in question. 

“Ookay then. Sounds like we have a plan in place,” you say, turning to Sam. 

He sighs. “You know, I don’t love the way you two operate together.”

“Maybe don’t drag me into your next problem, then, Cap.” You pat him on the shoulder twice as you pass him on the way back to your room. 

Once the door is closed behind you, you close your eyes and take a breath. Most of the ops you’ve been doing lately have been a lot smaller than what this one is shaping up to be– everything inside of you flexes nervously like an unused muscle around the scope and severity of it. With any luck, you’ll be able to swipe the device tonight and be back in Prague before you even start to miss it. 

You change quickly into a black pair of pants and a matching shirt that you know won’t restrict your movement, and a pair of work boots that you wear almost every day without fail. The soles have been worn smooth in several bald patches and you’ve been meaning to get a new pair, but you always put it off because you hate breaking new boots in. You grimace at the slide of them across the smooth floor and hope that your procrastination isn’t about to cost you this op or your life. 

When you return to the kitchen, Sam and Joaquín are nowhere to be found. Bucky stands at the island, back in his first choice of outfit, a mug of black coffee on the counter at his hip and a tablet in his splayed hand. From the concentrated furrow of his brow, you assume that he’s reading over some of the data dump that Joaquín had filtered from Mali’s datastick. He looks up as you come in, blue eyes meeting yours briefly before focusing back on the tablet. 

“Coffee?” he asks. 

“Please,” you nod, sidling up to the island across from him. “Anything pertinent from the data dump on there?”

Bucky plucks a maroon earthenware mug from one of the sparse cabinets and fills it from the carafe. He looks over his shoulder at you for a moment, eyes squinting in some sort of analysis, before dropping two spoonfuls of sugar in and stirring. 

“There’s no cream,” he says as he brings the mug over to you, like he knows, somehow, how you usually take it. 

“Thanks,” you nod, bringing the mug to your lips. “So?”

“Your friend told us the most important stuff already: time and place. There’re a lot of details about the Golden Diadem in that file, but mostly stuff we won’t ever need to know. I take it you know your way around here?”

“Well enough. Lived in this flat for a few months, once upon a time,” you affirm. 

Bucky nods once, decisively. “Then we defer to you tonight, alright?”

“You mean I get to wear the captain suit? Wings and all?” You grin, and Bucky lets out a snort. 

“Don’t push your luck, kid.”

You snap your fingers in mock disappointment. “All of the responsibility and none of the fun, huh?”

Bucky indulges your joke with a smile, before his face turns serious. You steel yourself, unsure what he’s thinking about, or what he’ll say next. 

“I know that you know how to run an op like this successfully,” he says. His thought seems unfinished, but the silence stretches on so long that you feel the need to fill it. 

“Exactly. You can trust me, Barnes. That’s why you dragged me out here,” you respond, brows furrowed in slight confusion. 

“I know we can trust you. We do trust you. That’s not what this is about,” he assures you with a wave of his gloved metal hand. 

“Then what is it about?”

He’s silent for a little while more, considering. When he speaks, his voice is an order gentler, and the unexpected softness grates at you. “Getting this tech back is extremely important, yes, but– don’t get yourself killed tonight, alright? I know how you were taught to operate, but this isn’t that anymore. This isn’t even SHIELD anymore. The team’s personal safety is a priority on an op like this when you’re working with us.” 

You swallow against the quick, unexpected butterfly flutter of emotions welling up in your chest. It’s the kind of sentiment that you would have scoffed at coming from almost anyone else, but not Bucky. Not the only person you got to work with in a professional capacity who understood everything that came before. He knows, intimately, what it is to be nothing but a gun in hand. Painfully aware that you are a body and only a body, that anyone you’ve ever had the courage to care about is only a body, that everything can be ripped away across the measure of one sharp intake of breath. It had taken all of your time with SHIELD to curb the bone-deep impulse to throw yourself recklessly in front of every bullet– the idea of your personhood in and of itself having a certain inalienable value is frankly something you are still learning. 

“No one’s dying tonight, Buck. I promise,” you tell him, nodding your head as if to convince both of you. 

– 

“Let me take that,” Joaquín says from beside you, extending a hand. Enclosed in his helmet and the rest of his Falcon suit as he is, his muffled in-person voice melds strangely with the crisper version of his words coming through your earpiece. 

“No, quit asking me,” you snap back with a huff. You readjust the strap of your duffel bag of gear on your shoulder defiantly. 

“Bet we could move faster if you let me carry it,” Joaquín asserts, shimmying his shoulders in a clunky and weirdly sensuous way when you cut a glare at him. 

“Insinuate that I am incapable again and I will neutralize you before the Golden Diadem ever gets the chance,” you promise. 

Joaquín holds his hands up in surrender. “Did not mean to offend and I am fully aware that you could carry out that threat with ease. I just want to be helpful.” 

You bite back another remark because, infuriatingly, you know that he’s being genuine. Back in your SHIELD days, you’d had to work with plenty of men who were condescending– purposely or unconsciously– at every turn, even when they knew your background, which, frankly, was an opinion of yourself that took a lot of balls to uphold in the face of a Red Room graduate. You were not surprised in the slightest by the number of men whose egos were that inflated, especially in your line of work, and over the years you’d gotten very good at spotting them before they even opened their mouths. Joaquín isn’t one of them, even if sometimes you catch yourself wishing that he was. 

“Take the damn bag, bird boy,” you grumble, sliding the duffel strap off your shoulder and shoving the whole thing at him. You can see his self-satisfied grin through his faceplate. 

“If you two are done, scope out your spot and report back when you’re in position,” Sam cuts in over the comms. 

“On it, Cap,” Joaquín answers. The two of you are roughly halfway across the bridge into Hightown when you stop walking. The plan is that while Sam and Joaquín will be taking turns patrolling aerially and looking for the convoy to give a heads up, you and Bucky will be setting up some ready-made traps– tire spikes, the likes– to stop them before they can make it across the bridge. Vehicles disabled, the four of you will descend on the convoy, grab the device, and get the fuck out of there. 

In theory, at least. 

“Best spot we’re gonna get,” you announce, looking up at the bridge’s support tower. It takes three seconds for you to knock out the service light, shrouding your small corner in as complete a darkness as one can come across in Madripoor. Joaquín dumps the gear bag on the ground and retracts his face plate. 

“We’re posted halfway down the bridge,” he says into his comm. 

“Saw you knock out the light. Setting up directly across the bridge,” Bucky answers. Joaquín acknowledges, before turning back to you. 

“So, we got, what? Two hours to kill? Three?” he asks, leaning against the great metal tube of the support beam. 

“On the low end of that, if we’re lucky,” you say, dropping to your knees and unzipping the duffel. You pull out two coiled up strips of tire spikes and set them on the ground for ease of access. In the dark, your hands ghost over the bulletproof vest that Sam insisted you take (“You’re the only one without a suit of armor or the super soldier serum, so you’ll wear the damn vest!”) and hesitate for a few seconds before you grab it and slip your arms through it. It’s more constricting than what you’re used to working in, but some part of you recoils at the thought of dishonoring someone’s care for your life. Finally, you grab a pair of slim binoculars from the bag and straighten up to your full height. 

“You ever done something like this before?” Joaquín asks. At your quirked brow, he elaborates, “An ambush, I mean. Or like, was it more… stealthy, before.”

“You can call it the Red Room. It’s not a dirty word,” you inform him, toggling the night vision off the binoculars and sweeping them out towards Lowtown. 

“Oh, yeah, okay,” Joaquín shrugs. “I didn’t want to bring up any memories for you or anything.”

“I remember them anyway,” you say, voice softer than before. The small kindnesses thrown your way today are beginning to pile up, and you aren’t quite sure how to hold them, or where to put them. Joaquín nods once, and silence balloons between the two of you. 

“So, ambushes? Yes or no?” he asks into the night a few minutes later. 

You swallow down a snort. “No, a teenage girl’s spywork did not typically include many ambushes.” 

“What about with SHIELD?”

“Don’t you have to patrol?” you ask, gesturing up toward the sky. 

“Nah, Sam said he’d go first,” Joaquín responds, shooting you a childish grin. 

“Lucky me,” you mutter. Silence reigns for a while more, the pair of you watching neon traffic race across the bridge from your little smudge of darkness. 

“How’d you meet Sam?” you ask, the words out in the air between you before you even realize you’ve said them. 

“The Air Force,” Joaquín answers. The corner of his lip ticks up fondly at the memory. “Run of the mill op, we met and became friends, sort of. I don’t think he fully trusted me like– well, like he does now– until I helped him with all the Flag Smasher stuff.” 

You nod. “I remember that. He spoke highly of the Intelligence kid that helped out with that situation, but I didn’t realize it was you.” 

“So, you worked with him after that?” 

“Before, after. I’ve helped these two out a couple times,” you shrug. “Met them both in my SHIELD days, but it wasn’t until I– or, you know, all of us– came back from the Blip that I ever worked closely with them. SHIELD was gone, half of the country’s heroes were on the run, and I found myself taking my own directives for the first time.” 

“Tough thing to come back to,” Joaquín remarks. You nod, keeping your eyes on the traffic. Sam and Bucky idly chatter in your ear, and the breeze off the river freezes the sweat on the back of your neck. You’re suddenly all too aware of just how much you’ve divulged about yourself to this virtual stranger. It’s halfway mortifying– a little too much time on your own and you’re spilling your guts to the first person who will listen. 

“Got through it. Made a life for myself outside of any of it,” you respond finally. Joaquín turns to face you, those dark eyes roving your face in profile. You count the bright, neon-lit cars racing past, pretending not to notice. 

He seems about to say something more, but Sam’s voice cuts through the comms, calling his name. 

“Torres, up in the sky! Keep an eye on the wider avenues– they’ll need the room to get a convoy of trucks through.” 

“Got it,” Joaquín says, his faceplate locking once again over his features. He turns to you, tapping the side of his helmet approximately where the comm speaker is. “Ring me if you need me?”

“I can hold things down here,” you deadpan. 

He grins. “I know you can.” 

He steps up onto the bridge’s waist-high railing and launches out over the river. In seconds, you’ve lost him in the sultry cloud cover over the island. 

–

The convoy materializes in Lowtown an hour and a half into your surveillance. Four armored trucks, just as Mali described them, and an escort of sleek black escalades in front and behind. 

“We’ve got incoming from Lowtown, central avenue,” Joaquín’s voice crackles to life on your comm. His voice is giddy when he tacks on, “I’ve always wanted to say that!”

“Central avenue is bold,” Bucky comments back. In the dark across the bridge, you see a sliver of his metal arm– where jacket just fails to meet glove– flash back the reflection of the sparse passing headlights. 

“Because they know they run this shit more than the prince does,” Sam answers. “I’m taking flight. Ground team, are you in position?”

“Ready,” you pipe up. You move further down the Lowtown side of the bridge, coil of tire spikes in your hand. Joaquín updates the convoy’s position every few seconds in your ear until you can see them yourself, dark, expensive cars like a herd at the mouth of the bridge. They stand out in their ordinary darkness among the colorful, neon-bright Madripoor traffic. 

You toss out the tire spike right before the leading pair of expensive escalades reaches you. Their tires pop, and at the speed they’re traveling, they both go skidding forward, half out of control. The first one screeches to a sideways halt, trying to regain control, and the second slams into its passenger side, sending both of them a few yards further down the bridge in a shower of sparks. The first of the armored trucks slows momentarily in surprise, and you take the opportunity to launch yourself at the back of the truck, grabbing onto a handhold and pulling yourself flush to the metal. 

“Swallowtail, what the hell are you doing?” Sam’s voice comes in through your comms, sharp with either anger or panic, you can’t tell which. You don’t answer, because– well, you’re not sure what you’re doing. You don’t have Bucky and his metal arm on hand to actually rip into the truck, so there’s no way you’re getting in. You push the thought to the side for the moment, using the handholds studding the back of the truck to climb up until you can see over the top of the truck. 

“Oh fuck, they’re not gonna stop,” you say aloud, watching as the truck continues to barrel directly towards the escalades. The cars have emptied of their passengers already, black-suited men with guns like ants across the asphalt. You loop your arm through the handhold and hunch over the top of the truck, hoping to shit that you won’t be thrown off at this speed. The truck bursts through the wrecked escalades without losing hardly any speed. Once past, you unholster your own gun, turning around and aiming a few shots at the ants; you cap one in the chest and he goes down in a splash of red across his white shirt. The rest of the convoy blocks the way before any of the others can aim a gun at you. 

But that doesn’t stop the lackey in the passenger seat of the armored truck behind you from leaning out of his window and training his pistol on your head. You know it’s about to come down to who can shoot the other more accurately from a moving vehicle first. The wind whips, stinging and frigid, at your face as you do the best you can to aim one-handed and swaying, hanging halfway off the back of a truck. Not exactly the best spot you’ve ever been in. 

The lackey gets in a shot, which pings off the metal above your head. You grunt, taking a shot at him in return, which smashes through the windshield and embeds in the seat upholstery. 

Before he can try again, a figure swoops down like some kind of vengeful pterodactyl. Joaquín’s wings pass a shadow over the convoy, blocking out the bridge’s bright lights. He grabs two fistfuls of the lackey’s jacket, ripping him easily from the truck and letting him drop to the road like so much discarded trash. He lands on top of your truck next, impossibly steady against its speed, and offers down a hand to you. In the swatching light-dark-light as you pass beneath the first street lights of high town, he looks incredibly like some kind of gallant knight in shining green armor. 

You grab his hand and allow him to pull you up. Immediately, he sets you down in front of him, his body and outstretched wings between you and anyone who might try to take a shot at you. 

“I had that handled,” you huff. 

You can see his grin through his stupid orange visor. “Totally, totally.” 

You take advantage of the relative safety of Joaquín’s wing shield to assess the situation; hanging off the back of a truck wasn’t exactly conducive to knowing anything that was going on. In the minute or so that elapsed, the armored convoy seemed to have converged around one of the escalades, herding it up through the streets of Hightown. 

“Fuck,” you say thoughtfully. “Cap, Barnes, these trucks aren’t our target. It’s the escalade between them– they’re trying to protect it.” 

“I see it. We need to isolate it from the convoy,” Sam’s voice rings through your comms. 

“Ahead of you,” Bucky answers, with a not-miniscule amount of groaning and metal-meeting-flesh sounds lurking in the background of his voice. 

“Watch my six?” you ask, turning to Joaquín. 

“Always,” he answers, a question in the furrow of his brow. 

“Great,” you say and turn, jumping off the side of the truck. 

Maria Hill gave you a gift once. Just once, in the roughly two years you knew her. Back when you were still tightly-wound and spasmodic, a wind-up doll of a girl. You hadn’t quite gotten the trick of being a person yet, and being comfortable around a team was a long way off. Hill knew it, and she also knew there was one way she might be able to reach across the chasm between her reality and your own and make you feel a little less tense. 

You don’t take the vibranium knife out often, but it’s always sheathed on you for moments like this. Angling for the roof of the escalade, you draw it out of its sheath in one swift motion and grip it in both hands, landing the blade with as much force as you can muster on the sunroof. Bulletproof glass is well and good, but it’s nothing against vibranium, and your knife goes through it like butter, anchoring you to the car’s roof even as you slide back and forth on your stomach with the movement through the streets. 

“Hey–! What’s the plan here?” Joaquín’s voice comes through your comms. He’s hovering in the air between the truck and the escalade, keeping pace with both vehicles, as though he dove after you. 

“I’m getting inside this damn car,” you respond, grunting with the effort of pulling the knife out of the glass and stabbing it back into one of the weak, spider-webbed spots before you can go sliding off the back of the car. You repeat this a few times until the glass is sufficiently compromised, and then use the butt of the handle to knock the glass inward. 

“This is a terrible idea,” Joaquín says, landing on the roof beside you. The weight of his armor sends a shudder through the car.

“I’m getting that damn device,” you tell him, maneuvering until you get a grip on Joaquín’s leg and pull yourself into a sitting position, angling your feet at the mouth of the smashed-in sunroof. 

“Stay out there, or I’ll shoot!” A tense, accented voice calls from inside the car. 

“Do you promise?” you yell back. Joaquín gives you a look, gesturing as if to say see? You turn to him, pressing your lips into a thin line. “Hey, I promised the old man that nobody will die on this op, and that’s still true. Trust me on this.” 

“Fine,” Joaquín says, though you can still feel the hesitance in his voice. “I’ll be up here, and you call if you need me.” 

You nod and slide yourself in through the sunroof, dropping low to the floor of the interior as soon as you do. A shot rings out above your head, lodging into the upholstery of the back row of seats. Keeping yourself low, you lunge to the side, pinning the gunman to his seat. He fights back, but his movements are sloppy, panicked. Someone in the higher ranks of the Golden Diadem, if you had to hazard a guess. Not one that usually needs to use his gun; he has lackeys for that. Probably used to have to get his hands dirty, but years separate him now from that version of himself. He’s forgotten what it’s like to have to face a threat head on. 

Getting the gun from him is easy. Instead of taking out your own, you point his gun back at his pallid, fearful face. The driver pins you through the rearview mirror, fury spitting in his eyes. He keeps one hand on the wheel but the other is clearly on his piece, hidden out of sight. 

“Make one fuckin’ move and I shoot him in the forehead,” you promise. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you, but he doesn’t move either. Clearly, the man he’s chauffeuring around is too important to lose to what most likely looks like an ambush of random thieves. You scan the interior of the car quickly. Beside the driver and his man, there’s only one other thing inside: a shining metal briefcase lying on the seat next to the guy. You snatch it up with your free hand.

Joaquín’s helmeted head pops over the top of the sunroof, clearly alarmed by what you just said. You’d forgotten, momentarily, that the comms were on still. “Alright, that’s enough of that.” 

“Take this, bird boy,” you tell him, thrusting the briefcase upward. He grabs it immediately, the silver rectangle disappearing up onto the roof. 

“Okay, you next. C’mon,” he says, reaching his hand back down. You give one last glance toward the driver and the sickly green Golden Diadem operant, before tossing the man’s gun up onto the roof and bracing your hands on either side of the hole you made, hoisting yourself up. Stray glass scrapes along the inside of your arm at your hasty movement, and you hiss at the sting of pain. Once you’ve half clambered out yourself, you allow Joaquín to pull you the rest of the way onto the roof. He had evidently clipped the briefcase to an attachment on his hip, and you felt a flutter of satisfaction. You’d done it, and now you could get the fuck out of this place. 

“Shit’s getting too hot, we gotta go,” Joaquín says. This time, he doesn’t wait for you to attach yourself to him, simply scoops you up around the waist and launches himself into the air. 

– 

The sun is up by the time the four of you make it back to your flat in Lowtown. It had been a whole thing: Sam insisted that he and Joaquín couldn’t just fly you back to Lowtown on account of Madripoor being more awake at night than it ever was during the day, and you had to concede him the point. But the workaround had been stashing duffel bags in some rotted out boathouse along the shore a quarter mile or so from the bridge, with civilian clothes for all of you. The clothes were musty and damp from the briney air by the time you made it to them, and you all still looked conspicuous toting around two duffel bags stuffed with the elements of Sam and Joaquín’s suits. The saving grace was that people carrying around strange, lumpy bags is kind of par for the course for Madripoor. 

The walk through Lowtown was hell, even though your flat isn’t all that far from the bridge. The excitement of the night had taken a lot out of you– more than you thought it had, until your adrenaline started to crash. 

You’re exhausted and aching as you stumble through the door of the flat, wanting nothing more than to  make a beeline for your bed. Sam and Bucky wrestle the duffel bags through the door, Bucky’s metal arm doing the heavy lifting of the one you guys had managed to squeeze the silver briefcase into. The pair dump the bags unceremoniously on the dining table, but nobody makes a move to unzip them. 

“Man, what a night,” Sam says, scrubbing a hand down his face. 

“Have you been bleeding this whole time?” Joaquín asks from beside you. It takes a few seconds too long to realize that he’s talking to you, and only then do you remember the glass scraping against your forearm. You lift up the offending appendage to find an alarming swathe of rivulets of blood in varying stages of dryness down the length of your arm. The wound is a couple inches in length and thankfully seems rather shallow, though it is still languidly oozing blood. 

“Well, I suppose I have been, yes,” you say, turning to look at him. Joaquín’s dark eyes are slightly wide with alarm, which doesn’t fade from his features in the face of your nonchalant response. 

“That needs to be cleaned right away,” he says, pointing to your arm. “We’ve been marinating in a whole host of water germs for, like, two hours.” 

You have a hand dismissively. “It’s fine, I’ll scrub it in the shower. Good as new.” 

Joaquín fixes you with an unimpressed glare that reminds you all too much of your own favored facial expression. “Let me help.”

You hesitate, wanting more than anything to dismiss the whole business. You’ve had nastier wounds in the field before by far, which also did not get cleaned and bandaged in a timely manner in half the cases. You’re still alive to tell the tale. 

“Let the kid help you while we work on busting open this case,” Bucky calls decisively from the dining table, half way through pulling the silver briefcase out of the duffle bag. He fixes you with a look over the backs of Sam and Joaquín’s head that does the job of reminding you about everything the two of you had talked about yesterday evening, or a thousand years ago. 

“Alright, alright,” you concede, allowing yourself to be herded down the hall and into the bathroom by Joaquín. It’s a cramped fit, and the buzz of the bad lightbulb pierces you with a headache almost immediately. 

“First aid is under the sink,” you tell him, and he nods gratefully. You have to suppress a laugh at the sight of him trying to fold his muscular body down into the space between the sink and the tub. He pulls back the little curtain beneath the sink and snaps up the red box wedged in between pipes and bottles of soap. He sets it precariously on the thin edge of the sink and clicks it open, before turning back to you. 

“Sit,” he orders, and you comply, perching on the lid of the toilet. His hand is calloused and warm and impossibly gentle when it cradles your wrist, bringing your bloody forearm closer to his face. 

“You’re lucky, this isn’t too nasty,” he says after a quick examination. With one hand still cased around your wrist, he uses his free hand to grab a rag and run it under some cold water from the tap. 

“I don’t usually make such rookie mistakes, for the record,” you respond, trying for humor. It’s true, though– a rucked up sleeve and the vulnerable expanse of your skin against glass, all of it is just dumb, and you still can’t believe you were so careless. He’s right, you really are lucky it’s not any worse than it is. 

“Were you a little distracted?” he asks, mouth stretching into a shit-eating grin. The rag rasps against your skin, clearing away flakes of dried blood, as you glare up at him. 

“We needed to make a quick getaway, if you’ll recall.”

“Mm. I recall some other things, too.” The stupid grin fades into something smaller, more real. 

“Yeah, so do I,” you hum. “Thanks for having my back out there.” 

Joaquín shrugs. “S’what we do. You know, on a team. Not so bad, is it?” 

You huff out a laugh, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, whatever.” 

Joaquín puts the rag aside and grabs an alcohol wipe from the first aid kit. He rips open the packet with his teeth and takes it to your wound with practiced precision. You hiss at the sting, and Joaquín absentmindedly rubs his thumb across the red, irritated skin of your forearm. The tiny, careless comfort sends your heart stumbling over itself. He doesn’t even look at you as he does it, like it’s nothing. Like such small acts of care are common and expected in his life and for the people around him. The thought floors you. 

Sam’s head pops into the bathroom as Joaquín is rummaging in the kit for a correctly sized bandage. 

“You guys are gonna want to come out here,” he says, his brows drawn and serious. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, fighting the urge to shoot immediately to your feet and directly into Joaquín, standing as close to you as he is. 

“We got something in that briefcase, but it’s not what we’ve been looking for.” 

[winxanity-ii]

⌜I Love, Robot | Chapter 01 Chapter 01 | origins⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

You were once a child who knew nothing of struggle or scarcity. Life on the upper decks of the Weyland-Yutani starship felt like a dream. The air was clean, filtered to perfection, and your every need was met without a second thought.

Your parents were brilliant, their minds always buzzing with the latest programming codes and technologies. They were among the best, head honchos of the engineering department, and their talents kept them in high demand.

You, their prodigy, were a happy child, blissfully unaware of the harsh realities below.

But ignorance, as you would learn, could only shield you for so long.

As you grew, you became aware of your intelligence, a budding brilliance that mirrored your parents'. They often boasted about how you could write basic code before you could write your own name. Yet, with brilliance came curiosity, and with curiosity came questions—questions about the world outside your pristine bubble.

You remember a time when your family didn't have to worry about the smog suffocating their very lives. You could run through the gardens, feeling the warmth of artificial sunlight on your skin, never once thinking about what lay beyond the walls. But everything changed when your parents began to speak out.

They'd seen the reports, heard the stories from the miners, and it disturbed them. They became voices of dissent, advocating for those on the lower decks, the ones who toiled away in the filth and grime of the mines, who could barely breathe through the toxic fumes.

Their activism was a risk—a risk that cost them dearly. Accused of inciting unrest and defying company orders, your family was demoted, stripped of all privileges, and sent to the Weyland-Yutani mining colony, Jackson Star.

It was a far cry from the life you knew. Gone were the days of endless blue skies and breathable air. Now, you were surrounded by a world of gray, with the stench of sulfur and smoke clinging to your clothes and filling your lungs.

The fall from grace was swift and brutal. The once-respected engineers became just another pair of hands in the mines, their skills deemed useless in this new, harsh reality.

You watched as the light slowly faded from their eyes, their spirits crushed under the weight of their circumstances. Your father, once so proud and strong, became a shadow of his former self, and your mother, who always had a kind word, grew silent and withdrawn.

And then came the sickness.

The smog that choked the colony was more than just an irritant—it was poison. Day by day, it sapped the life from your parents, their health deteriorating before your eyes. You did everything you could to help, scavenging for medicine, trading anything you had of value, but it was never enough.

You remember those final days vividly. Your mother's labored breathing, the way your father’s hands shook as he tried to comfort her. They were wasting away, and there was nothing you could do but watch. One evening, as the dim light of the colony's artificial sun began to fade, your father called you over. His voice was weak, barely more than a whisper.

"Y/N..." he croaked, his hand trembling as it reached up to cup your face. You leaned in closer, tears blurring your vision as you tried to hold onto every word, every moment.

"Hold on to what's important to you," he rasped, his eyes searching yours, filled with a depth of sorrow and love you'd never seen before. "Never let go... no matter what."

You nodded, a sob caught in your throat, and clutched his hand tightly, feeling the frailty of his grip. "I promise, Dad..." you whispered, your voice breaking. "I won't let go."

He gave you a small, pained smile, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. "Good... that's good..." His voice trailed off, and you watched as his eyes slowly closed, his hand slipping from your face, leaving a chill that seemed to seep into your very bones.

You sat there, holding onto him, as the weight of his words settled into your heart. The air was heavy with silence, broken only by the faint, distant sounds of the mining equipment outside.

You felt a hollowness festering inside your 12 year old body, a void that seemed to swallow everything. Your world had crumbled, and all you had left were his final words echoing in your mind.

In that moment, something inside you hardened. The innocence of your childhood was gone, replaced by a steely resolve. You would survive, no matter what. You would hold on to what was important. You would never let go.

☆

☆

After your parents died, you found yourself alone and lost, wandering the vast expanse of the mining colony. Without any clear direction or place to call home, you eventually took to the scrapyards, using what little you had—a keen mind and nimble fingers.

Every day, for the next 3 years, you sifted through the piles of discarded machinery and broken parts, looking for anything of value. You used your skills, the ones your parents had taught you, to piece together whatever you could: small trinkets, makeshift tools, anything that might fetch a few credits in trade.

You built yourself a makeshift hovel in the middle of the junkyard, hidden from sight by towering heaps of scrap. It wasn't much, but it was yours—a sanctuary in the middle of chaos. The days were long and hard, but the work kept your mind busy, away from thoughts of loss and the life you once had.

One day, while rummaging through a particularly dense pile of debris, you stumbled upon something unusual. It was an android, half-buried under a mass of metal beams and broken equipment. Its face was scratched and dirt-streaked, revealing a complex mesh of synthetic skin and exposed circuits beneath.

The android had a human-like appearance, with dark skin that was scuffed and cracked from years of neglect. Its eyes, though lifeless, seemed almost too real, capturing an uncanny valley between human and machine.

The android's limbs were twisted at odd angles, with wires protruding like exposed veins, and its clothing—a faded, grey jumpsuit—was torn and stained with oil and grime. Despite its rough exterior and the damage it had suffered, there was something about it that drew you in. Perhaps it was the way its expression, frozen in a state of calm observation, hinted at a life once filled with purpose.

You spent hours digging it out, piece by piece, until you could drag it back to your hovel. Even in its broken state, you could see the remnants of advanced engineering—smooth, precise joints that suggested strength and agility, and a flexible, durable frame designed to withstand the harshest environments.

You marveled at the craftsmanship, recognizing some of the programming patterns from your parents' work, and wondered what stories this android could tell if it could still speak.

For days, you tinkered with the android, trying to bring it back to life. You knew a bit about androids from watching your parents work, but this was beyond anything you had attempted before. Still, you were determined. You worked late into the night, using any spare parts you could find, trying to restore its power core, to no avail.

As time passed, you continued to scavenge for more parts, your father's words echoing in your mind: "Never let go... no matter what." Bit by bit, the android slowly began to look more presentable, but even then, it wasn't enough.

Until one day, it was.

You were digging through a pile of freshly brought scraps when you spotted it: a small, seemingly insignificant power regulator bulb. It was the kind of part that, while easy to overlook, was a crucial part to getting an android's systems up and running.

The bulb had been haphazardly tossed a few feet ahead of you by a group of scavengers, its glass exterior glinting faintly under the dim overhead lights.

Your heart raced, your mind running thousands of miles a minute. Zoning in on the piece, you slowly stood up, casually making your way toward it. You knew better than to rush; showing any sign of interest could draw unwanted attention. In this place, the second someone realized you wanted something, they would place a price and drive it up, child or not.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

You were just a few feet away when it happened. A man, covered head to toe in soot and wearing a worn miner's jumpsuit, trudged over with a small wicker basket. His shoulders sagged as if he carried the weight of the world, his face etched with deep lines of exhaustion. He reached down and picked up the bulb, turning it over in his hands.

You held your breath, praying he would dismiss it as junk and toss it aside. But instead, he placed it carefully into his basket with a few other scraps.

For a moment, your world seemed to collapse. That part was your key to finally completing the android, the culmination of all your hard work. Your father’s words surged back to you, steadying your resolve: "Never let go."

Determined not to lose this opportunity, you put your plan into motion; the distant hum of machinery a constant reminder of what was at stake.

You'd become an expert at blending into the background, a necessary survival skill your parents had once joked about, saying you could disappear in plain sight.

As you trailed the man, you kept to the shadows, watching his every move while he searched for more useful scraps. He finally set the basket down to dig through a pile of metal parts.

Seeing your chance, you moved in. Almost soundlessly, you walked over on the tips of your toes. The man glanced your way but then returned to his task, not seeing you as a threat. You slouched slightly to appear even less noticeable and then made your move.

Heart rattling in your chest, you crept closer. Instinct took over, and before you knew it, you’d swiped the bulb from the basket and slipped it into your pocket with practiced ease.

You turned to leave, adrenaline pumping through your veins, but the man was quicker than you anticipated. His hand clamped down on your shoulder—firm, but not unkind.

"Hey," he said, his voice calm but commanding. "Now what are you planning to do with that?"

You froze, certain you were about to be dragged off and punished. But there was something in his eyes, a curiosity that made you pause. "I... I need it to fix something," you mumbled, not meeting his gaze.

"Fix what?" he pressed, crouching down to your level. You could see now that his face wasn't unkind—worn, but not harsh. "Show me."

Swallowing hard, you decided to take a chance. Maybe it was the way he spoke, or maybe it was the loneliness that gnawed at you every day, but you found yourself leading him back to your hovel.

It was a small space carved out among the towering heaps of discarded metal and machinery. The majority of the space is filled with scraps and trinkets you've collected, tools scattered around like fallen leaves.

On the left, a table was piled high with what appeared to be completed gadgets and tech—your attempts at salvaging something useful from the wreckage. The man paused at the entrance, taking a moment to absorb the chaotic arrangement of your makeshift workshop.

His eyes roamed over the space, and before he could ask where you managed to gather all this, something else caught his attention. Among the chaos, there was one object that stood out—a small, pristine picture tablet sitting on a shelf. It showcased a beautiful family of three: a gorgeous woman, a handsome man, and a young child who bore a striking resemblance to you.

He would have brushed it off as just another trinket, but he recognized the faces in the photograph. It was hard not to on Jackson Star. The infamous Tallings family—once high-ranking members of Weyland-Yutani, who fell from grace after daring to speak out about the harsh realities of life in the colonies.

Suddenly, everything about your hovel started to make sense to him. Rumors had circulated for years about what happened to the Tallings' child, the prodigy. Many believed the child had died from sickness, just another casualty of the harsh conditions on Jackson Star or some other far-off base.

Seeing you here, in the flesh, was a surreal revelation. The man was snapped out of his thoughts as you moved further into the surprisingly deep hovel, heading towards a large tarp in the back corner.

With a determined look, you pulled it back to reveal the broken android underneath, its once smooth features now marred by scratches and dents.

The man let out a low whistle. "Well, I'll be damned," he murmured. "You found yourself an android. And you've been working on it all by yourself?"

You nodded, suddenly feeling very small under his gaze. "I don't really know what I'm doing outside the coding," you admitted quietly. "I just… I thought maybe I could fix him."

The man looked at you for a long moment, then at the android. "I think I might be able to help with that," he said finally. "Name's Marcus. And this here is a rare find, kid. N-D-255's were one of Weyland-Yutani's first artificial people. You've got a good eye."

Hope flickered in your chest. "So, you'll help me?"

He smiled. "On one condition. You let me take you back with me when we're done. Can't have a kid like you out here alone."

You hesitated, glancing around your makeshift home. It wasn't much, but it was all you had known for a while now. Still, the thought of a real home, of not being alone... "Okay," you whispered. "Deal."

☆

☆

Over the next few weeks, you and Marcus worked together to bring the android back online. It wasn't easy, and there were many late nights where you doubted it would ever work, but Marcus was patient and kind, always encouraging you to keep trying.

You grew to trust him, even look up to him.

As you carefully lifted the flash drive-shaped device, which Marcus called the "Reboot Key," he stood beside you, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. "Alright, kid," he began, his voice calm and steady, "this is the moment of truth. Remember, it's okay if things don't go as planned the first time. Sometimes, you have to go back to the drawing board. What's important is that you keep trying, alright?"

You nodded, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling inside you. You were standing above the android's head, both of your faces level with one another.

The android had a gentle, almost puppy-like expression on its face, its synthetic features designed to seem approachable and non-threatening. Its lips, though motionless now, had a subtle pout, giving it an almost childlike innocence.

You couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for this machine that seemed so lifelike, yet so fragile in its current state.

"Okay, here we go," Marcus said softly, guiding your hand toward the side of the android's neck. "You need to insert the Reboot Key right here, in this small port. Make sure it's aligned properly, then give it a twist."

With a deep breath, you carefully inserted the device into the port. Your hands were steady, but you could feel your heart racing in your chest.

As you twisted the device, a small spasm shot through the android's body, its limbs twitching for a moment. You gasped and pulled back slightly, but Marcus squeezed your shoulder reassuringly.

"Just a momentary glitch," he said. "Let's see if it worked."

A second later, the android's eyes flickered to life. They were dark and deep, with a subtle glow that made them seem almost alive.

For a moment, those eyes zeroed in on you, and you felt a strange connection, as if the machine could see right through you. Slowly, you backed away, moving to stand next to Marcus as the android sat up.

It felt like an eternity as the android continued to stare at you, its gaze unblinking and intense.

Then, it blinked, its expression softening as it turned its head to look at Marcus before shifting its attention back to you. "N-D-255, Weyland-Yutani synthetic human with mining and guard functions."

You felt a surge of joy like you hadn't felt in so long. Your body trembled with excitement as you stepped forward, a smile spreading across your face. "What is your name?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

The synthetic's lips seemed to fall into an even deeper pout, and its head tilted slightly to the side, almost cutely. "I...I don't know."

You fidgeted awkwardly before turning to Marcus. "What should we do?"

Marcus looked as if he were holding back a grin, finding the entire situation funny. "I dunno kid, how about you name him? I mean, you did find him after all."

"N...Name him?" You began to suddenly feel self-conscious as you turned back around only to have the android staring intently at you. You glanced back over at Marcus, who gave you an encouraging nod, a warm smile on his face. "Uh… how about… Andy?" you suggested hesitantly.

The moment the name left your lips, you wanted to punch yourself. Andy? Really? What did it even stand for—android? How original… But as you looked back at the synthetic, you saw its lips curl into a slight smile, its head nodding in acceptance.

"Designation accepted: Andy," the android replied, its small. "Thank you for giving me a name."

With a happy squeal, you turn and throw your arms around Marcus in a rare moment of unguarded happiness. "We did it!" you exclaimed. "We really did it!"

Marcus chuckled, ruffling your hair. "Yeah, we did. And you know what? I think it's time I took you home."

True to his word, Marcus introduced you to his wife and daughter, Rain. She was about your age, a few years younger—three, to be exact. When you first met her, you were about fifteen, and she was twelve.

From the moment you arrived at her home, Rain was like a shadow, sticking to you like glue. She had a fiery spirit and a boundless curiosity that quickly became apparent.

Despite the age difference, she admired your resourcefulness and determination, and the two of you formed a bond that was hard to break.

Over the next few months, Rain was your constant companion. She'd be there every time you and Marcus worked on Andy, eagerly watching as you updated and built upon the android. Her eyes would light up with every new piece of tech you explained, her enthusiasm infectious.

Whenever you went diving for scraps in the junkyard, Rain would tag along, insisting on helping you find whatever parts you needed, her small hands surprisingly adept at sorting through the debris.

She was determined to learn from you, often mimicking your actions and hanging on your every word. There was something about her unwavering trust in you that felt both reassuring and heavy—a reminder of the role you’d inadvertently taken on, not just as a friend, but as a protector and mentor.

You found yourself growing fond of her fierce spirit and relentless curiosity, her presence becoming a bright spot in the otherwise grim surroundings of the colony.

As the weeks turned into months, the two of you became a team, navigating the scrapyards and working on Andy together. With every shared adventure, every quiet conversation under the stars, your bond deepened, forging a bond that would stand the test of time and adversity.

It was then you realized: you'd do anything to protect her.

☆

☆

One late night, Marcus came home from the mines, exhausted from a long day's work. The house was dark and quiet, with only the soft sounds of his wife sleeping in the next room. He expected to find both you and Rain asleep as well, but instead, he saw a dim light flickering from the corner of the workshop.

As he stepped closer, he spotted you hunched over one of Andy's arm panels, a single candle casting long shadows around you. Rain was fast asleep in a chair next to you, which you had padded with some old blankets to make a makeshift bed. She looked peaceful, her small body curled up and her face relaxed in sleep.

The android, still in a state of disrepair, stared intently at you as you worked, its dark eyes reflecting the soft glow of the candle. You were rambling softly to Andy, explaining what you were doing and why each piece was important, almost as if teaching him as you went along.

Your concentration was so deep that you didn't notice Marcus until the sound of his heavy boots on the floor pulled you back to reality.

Looking up, your face broke into a warm grin. "Hi, Marc. Can I get you something?" you asked, quickly putting Andy into sleep mode to not startle him.

Marcus just smiled and shook his head, walking over to where you sat. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Rain's forehead before settling into a chair next to you.

He didn't need to ask why you were still up; he already knew the answer. This wasn't the first time he had found you working late into the night, lost in your thoughts and projects.

The two of you sat in peaceful silence as you continued upgrading Andy's arm, the only sound being the soft clicks of your tools and Rain's gentle breathing.

After a while, you broke the silence, your voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you for everything, Marcus," you said, still focused on your work to avoid looking at him directly. "Really, I mean it."

Marcus chuckled softly. "You thank me nearly every month, Y/N. There's nothing to thank me for."

You sighed, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I know," you replied. Your gaze shifted to Rain, who was still sound asleep beside you. "But truly, if you hadn't found me and taken me in, I don't know what I would've done…"

Marcus nudged you gently, his voice soft but firm. "You'd have done what you've always done—survive," he said, gesturing to the various trinkets and gadgets you'd built and sold over the months to help support the family. "You've got that spirit in you, Y/N."

You waved his words away, a bittersweet smile on your face. "I know that, but eventually, I think I would have lost the fight, ya' know?" Your eyes lingered on Rain as you spoke. "Life isn't really worth living if you don't have something—or someone—to live for."

The room fell silent again, but this time it was different. Marcus looked at you with a newfound respect, seeing not just the lanky teen he'd taken in months ago, but a young person who had grown and matured in ways he hadn't quite realized.

You were more than just a survivor; you were becoming someone with purpose.

"I'd like to code Andy with a specific directive," you said suddenly, breaking the quiet. "To always ensure Rain is safe…"

Marcus started to object, suggesting that both of you should be Andy's priority, but you cut him off gently but firmly. "If there's ever a situation where one of us needs saving, I want it to be her. No point in having a synthetic get confused by probabilities or choices. I know what I'd do—I'd always choose her. No matter the chances of success."

Marcus sighed, understanding your resolve. He knew that even if he wanted things otherwise, you would probably find a way to change it behind his back. With a resigned nod, he agreed. "Alright, we'll do it tomorrow," he said softly, standing up. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, a gesture of quiet affection, before carefully lifting the still-sleeping Rain into his arms with a small grunt.

As he turned to leave the room with Rain in his arms, you watched them go, a sense of determination settling over you. You knew then, more than ever, that you would protect her at all costs.

A/N: hi guys, this was a sort of deep dive into the backstory of Y/N and the growing bond with Rain, so others chapters won't be as long. see you guys next update; don;t mind the typos, etc..... AHHH I couldnt help myself, i fear I've fallen in love with a synthetic being 😩🫶🏾 Andy, my love~

[storiesofsvu]

For the character ask game: 1-6, 33, and 36-40 for our girl rita 💜

sending you the strength to survive work! 🫶

omg bestie thank you!

1- canon i outright reject.

omg. fuck. it used to be the whole Tucker x Rita thing (though it was a deleted scene so i dunno if it counts) but honestly I can lowkey see it lol.

uhmmm....i honestly can't currently think of anything but guaranteed half way through my shift i'll remember something.

2. a canon or hc hill i will die on.

the easiest one. homegirl is not straight. she has too much chemistry with basically everyone, theres between the lines flirting and eye fucking going on all the time

3. obscure headcanon

her hands are ALWAYS cold. like, even in summer, freezing. she likes to torture rafael by shoving them into the back of his shirt when he's least expecting it. (though he welcomes it on the days his migraines are acting up cause it actually helps)

4. favourite line

i have to agree with you on the "oh look, a baby." cause its just SO fucking perfect and i also feel the same lol. i think the "well if it was all hunky dory" line has to be in there too. cause its just fucking hilarious in the worst way. i like to believe barba bet her she couldn't fit the phrase into her cross and she was all "fucking watch me."

5. best personality trait

how ferociously protective she is of the people she loves and the people who need it most. we see it come out with Avery Jackson and with Abbey from dowland, and those are just the canon examples lol. She'll do whatever she has to and is fiercely loyal to the people she loves most/love her the most

6. worst personality trait

the way she can get relatively snippy pretty quick. esp if she's tired or stuck on something, the frustration builds up fast and she snaps. a lot of the time it's frustration towards herself but it ends up getting projected onto someone else by accident.

33. something guaranteed to make them cry

ooooo.... on the deeper side: being told she's not good enough. no matter whether that's professionally, personally, tied to a romantic aspect. she's a bit of a perfectionist/still learning how to let go of being a perfectionist and it can deeply affect her

on the more fun side: i think she's a fucking sap and cries at the sappy parts of movies.

36. their favourite season

autumn. easily. it's cooled down a little bit, the slew of tourists have returned to their homes, the leaves are start to turn, it always makes her think of the school year and how september was a fresh start, a new year, new class/teacher, new friends, the back to school shopping (you cannot tell me rita calhoun does not go stationary supply shopping every year for a little happy boost. and she's extremely organized and colour coded). in another life she would've been a teacher and now i'm sensing an AU forming in my mind.. fuck... okay, some SVU as teachers headcanons coming later. someone remind me! (she's obviously the queer english teacher who everyone's in love with and is making all the girls question their sexuality)

37. what they really think about themselves

oh man this shit is deep.

she knows she's good at her job, she knows she's attractive. she's content in her life, and doesn't believe a person needs a partner to like "succeed" in life, (and this is about to get heavy oop). but there are days that she truly thinks she's unlovable. likely stems back to her childhood, and continues through her life as she never manages to lock down a solid relationship. so she's just come to terms with it over the years.

38. favourite holiday

my instinct was New Year's Eve. fancy parties, champagne, getting dressed up, fireworks. it seems the most up her alley. she frequented bigger parties when she first started working, but now she likes to host more intimate ones at her apartment (cause she obvi has a prime view of fireworks and like hell she's going to times square)

a close follow up is memorial day weekend or july 4th cause those are prime times to go out to the hampton's or on the yacht.

39. favourite game

.....i feel like SO many people would say chess for her but i think she fucking hates chess. OH GOD i can see her absolutely crushing it at poker and taking everyone's money...this is awakening things in me. yeah, poker definitely works.

40. favourite book

oh god...i have NO idea. i don't know enough books that aren't contemporary romance/modern shit or like, Freida thrillers lol. i do canon her as a lover for reading, a lover for romance, she has a HUGE book collection and while at least half of those ARE nonfiction, she prefers fiction to escape into at the end of the days. probably not a lot of fantasy, but definitely love stories.

oh my god that was truly the best. thank you so much! i hope you're having the best day ever! <3

50 random character asks.

[dailycharacteroption]

Soulforger (Pathfinder Second Edition Archetype)

(art by Marvin Walford on Artstation)

A running theme with a lot of fantasy fiction, particularly anime, is the power of the will and determination, which cuts through opposition and hardship like a fine blade.

Normally this is metaphorical or indirect, with said fighting spirit allowing them to endure and recover from the hardships before them with shocking proficiency… but sometimes it also means literally cutting through the opposition.

Indeed, sometimes what you get is a character that can literally manifest a weapon (or armor or shield or whatever) from their very soul, turning their determination and resolve into a literal armament for them to use to defend themselves and/or destroy their enemies.

Pathfinder and Starfinder really like this concept. From the gloomblade fighter and spellblade/mindblade magus archetypes of First Edition to the Solarian being a whole class in Starfinder, so it only makes sense that they’d carry forward the concept into Second Edition as well, with some unique twists.

Because yes, your character can create such an armament purely from their soul, upgrading it over time, or they can basically have their soul eat a real weapon and then manifest it later. Either one is functionally the same mechanically.

So let’s see what’s in their metaphysical arsenal, shall we?

This archetype does have a whole subsystem associated with it, so let’s go over that first. Essentially, a soulforger can either create or consume a weapon, shield, or armor set, and can later summon it at will. There is some leeway for having a pair of one handed weapons, a supply of ammo, having a specific magical item, or even weapons that attach to other equipment like shield bosses, so you have some flexibility.

From there, each weapon gains a special essence power, such as shaping the armor to grant a special movement speed, turning a melee weapon into a returning thrown weapon, giving the item an aura of fear, reducing the effect of debilitating conditions on the wearer, sapping the life force of foes, healing the wielder, magically guiding strikes, protection from hostile magic, resistance to elements, empowering the weapon with elemental power, slowing foes, bouncing projectiles back, and increasing the durability of a shield.

However, these items are partially maintained by the wielder’s force of will and conviction. As such, breaking one’s own personal code, set down when you forge the spiritual construct, can weaken and even invert the powers granted by essences. Repeated violations without repentance can even permanently destroy the magical construct, requiring them to create a new one and re-evaluate what they’re willing to live up to.

No matter if the weapon was consumed or created from the wielder’s soul, however, it can still be reshaped and upgraded in the same way as other items.

With that out of the way, let’s talk about the archetype itself, starting with the dedication. This essentially gives you the entire ability to soulforge and summon your armament in the first place, plus the ability to reshape it and change the essence power once a week.

In a desperate bid, some soulforgers can unleash a surge of energy to briefly empower their armament in a pinch, increasing the accuracy of their weapon or the protection of their armor or shield, however, it has a chance to destabilize the armament, causing it to dematerialize.

Others learn to reflexively summon their spiritual construct when the battle is joined or they find themselves at the mercy of a hazard.

Masters of the art eventually learn to create multiple such armaments, and prove able to manifest their essences all at once, but this can also lead to compounded corruption if their resolve has been wavering in recent history.

If you want to play a character that is never truly unarmed, this archetype might appeal to you. It’s certainly the best option for emulating several first edition archetypes that manifest weapons or armor from magic and spiritual power. However, any class can make use of it in the right situation, though some casters might have to take some feats to really make it work. However, for the character that really wants to be all magic all the time and never bother with weapons, having a crossbow or backup melee weapon that is crafted from raw magic can be a good compromise.

The one thing that might vex some players is that this archetype basically invokes an additional code of conduct on the character with very real consequences regarding the archetype if they fail. However, folks that are used to playing characters with such codes likely won’t have too much trouble with this.

Inspired by tales he had heard of a pistol that shoots sunlight as a weapon against vampires and the undead, Telgrin the inventor has been trying to create his own elemental weapon. While he has succeeded in creating a crossbow that arcs electricity from it’s loaded bolts, the true marvel of the weapon is that he stores it within the blueprints he has memorized… inside his head.

The memories are dim now, but Defender-18 can recall a few fragments of being a guardian of some sort, wielding a powerful shield of light to protect… someone, something. The only thing the android can remember clearly now is the shield, every single detail of it. While it is long gone now, he can still manifest the idea of it when needed.

While her typical day to day is as a diplomate and legate, Nahaya is still a champion at her core, taught how to manifest her determination and righteousness into literal armor by a planetar angel. She proves that she is no mere pencil-pusher.

[fountainpenguin]

I am back on my Kick Buttowski: Suburban Daredevil nonsense and I have to say, no canon ship will ever hit me in the way that Kendall/Ronaldo did.

I am so incredibly in love with the vibe that is "Two absolute NERDS are head over heels for each other and go out of their way to do nice things for each other" - supporting each other in presentations, remembering each other's birthdays, arranging dinner for each other, covering for the other in front of the principal, gasping in horror when the other gets in trouble - "but as time passes, the viewer gets to watch the slow unraveling of one of them secretly falling out of love with the other but not being emotionally ready to admit it yet." That is incredible.

I adore the K/R ship because it lasted so long and it was never considered a big deal. It was just "Yeah, they're dating. They do dating people things. Literally no one is jealous of them and no one ruins their social life. Keep scrolling." It was mainly in the background and they were adorably obsessed with each other up until they weren't. And again, that was that. No explosive break-ups, they were just... sweethearts.

Ronaldo gushing over Kendall's Halloween presentation instead of going trick-or-treating is my everything. He adores her.

Diagnosed with loving his girlfriend disease.

They are a TEAM!! Do not separate them!!

The "show, don't tell" between them with the way they behave is fantastic. Kendall went spelunking for cave sap so her boyfriend would have a nice birthday present AND she took him out to dinner. Ronaldo brings her "educational chocolates." He writes poems for her in binary code. He supports his girl during class elections even when she's frustrated and snippy with him.

He went to her Delaware Awareness Month party. He brought a sign that said "I've been to Dover." He came back for Poster Awareness Month. He's so supportive and she's so silly. Kendall's wild and she seems like she should be the "popular girl" trope but she is actually just a massive nerd who likes algebra and stocks and I love her.

I love Ronaldo hiding in a cabinet and Kendall spinning her wheels to distract the principal so he won't get busted for sneaking into the office. Ronaldo went out of his way to be nice to his rival and learn new skills so he could impress her. They're so good.

They are not even main characters and we still got scenes of them being adorable, as a treat. Kendall literally calls him "the dark one." That's hilarious. They lean together and whisper in the hallway like goofballs. Then they scamper off to hide in the AV closet with papers covered in doodles and poems, being romantic little NERDS!!

This scene's funny because they weren't even holding hands a few seconds ago- they just grabbed for each other when they realized they weren't alone. Apparently the canon is that they were a thing for a while before this episode and I think that's beautiful. Just... out there living their best off-screen lives. Love that for them.

imo we need more media that plays puppy love relationships with all the adorable sweetness of potentially being endgame even if they're NOT intended to be endgame. I'd like to see more kids' cartoons showing that it's okay to have a good time with someone else, and you don't have to grow up to marry the first person you dated... It's okay to consider your options... It's okay to date and have fun and explore your feelings and like people and then go your separate ways and not be endgame. I wish I had more of that.

I've binged Kick Buttowski multiple times- it's a good pick-me-up and it's one of my silly faves. I really like the character relationships in it. It's got a down-to-earth contemporary vibe despite being all about action. It has one of the truest "We really are best friends who support each other through everything" friendships I've ever seen. It's got pathetic noodle rich boy Gordie. It's got Mouth, king of the shopping mall after-hours. It's got Emo Kid who's... Emo Kid. It's got Brad and Brianna... It's got Ronaldo/Kendall... They're all hilarious.

It's got Kick learning to respect his identity as Clarence the caring big brother as much as his identity of Kick the daredevil. It's got Kick protecting Ronaldo for a week because Kick's his understudy who desperately does not want to be Romeo in the school play. It's got the line "Let's go down to Foreshadow Park! Somehow I knew we'd all end up there." It's got the bee of the month club sending free samples in the mail, when will I ever be this funny.

It's goofy and fun to watch and that's why it's this week's Recommendation Wednesday <3

[violetsvisions77]

The Return

What has it been, like 15 years since I’ve last posted on Tumblr AND painted!?

Whack…

I can’t say I know this platform that much anymore, and I’m due for a refresh (or crash course, all them veteran Tumblrers share your wisdom to fill me in if I’ve missed much).

Ngl. Writing this makes me feel old, I’m 34 by the way (since we’re doing introductions now?). I guess that is old in internet years. I know the zoomers think I’m a living relic, anyway.

Hey I survived Y2K, Ebola and really traumatically cruel 90’s Christian school teachers (IYKYK)

Anywho.

Where have I been these last 15 years?

Other than opening and then closing a business during the pandemic and nursing that wound, I think my last profile/posts (that no longer exist, hopefully) involved my broken engagement, that then turned into a bro-code breaking wet dream dating the best friend for 5 more years, that I’m still getting therapy for today. Love

Yeah. Love the whimsy of betrayal, lies and dudes manipulating naive hopeless romantic girls, who desperately needed confidence way more dick.

Oh… welcome to my tumblr 🥴😉

You’ll see a lot of rage-induced, ADHD fueled ramblings here with lots of other colorful sprinklings catapulted into the mix (y’know, kinda how the name Technicolor Ramblings implies). Not colorful how you think tho. Literally I’m an indigenous hairdresser and artist: Tater-baters and red hat brigaders leave wake (in fact take that lil Mayflower ass back on that sailing the ocean blue bullshit outta here and hope the killer whales getchu along the way too)

Anyway. Where were we?

Oh yeah, my hummingbird painting. Because like, that’s here so let’s talk about that instead of your daily dose of post-pandemic rantings and landback diatribes…

Right, so, this painting that’s not finished yet. It’s a Walela (Hummingbird in Cherokee. Yes I’m Tsalagi). The flowers all have meaning I’ll speak of later, but in short my life, more or less, has been saved by birds. My body has tried to kill me so many times, but picking up the simple hobby (should be something we all do, btw) of feeding birds and nectar-feeders has honestly saved my life and refocused my depresso messo of a fucked up mind.

My ancestors reminded me that I was here to be a steward. I have gifts. Feeding the birds and punishing the squirrels with spicy bird feed when they knock my cardinals off the feeder was my path in life (fr can we talk about what antagonistic little bitches squirrels can be?) Just joking… I’m indigenous, I love all animals and those lil fuckers do make me chuckle from time to time…

Lmao, okay okay, back to my sad sap story-turned influencer Tedtalk blog:

(Fr tho) I almost forgot myself, but the birds reminded me. I’m compassionate, I’m vibrant, I’m a work of art. I’m also crazy- like legit can’t keep my train of thought worth of shit, whatever the hell that means… (for laymen’s terms; I’m a bird brain)… but I’m me. An air sign, and an observer of nature, an indigenous woman who hails from descendants of Anitsiskwa (bird clan). Birds show me who I am. Weird little shits, but beautiful and so very valuable to our ecosystem. Each have their unique call(ing), colors, and purpose in this world.

And to be real, we waste so much of our own air chasing ideas of ourselves that’s based off others. We spoil so much of our own magic when we don’t love ourselves enough to foster the gifts we were given, that is MEANT to be shared

Magic. Yeah, Harry ain’t the only wizard here.

We each have our own rizz, y’all.

Mine is to feel, create and share, like many artists. That’s why it’s a blessing I can paint this Walela after a 15 year art hiatus. It’s my gift to share from the magic I contain.

Our experiences are meant to be the wisdom we learn from.

Our experiences were meant to heal.

And the experiences we foster into gifts of wisdom and art, are how we heal ourselves and others. It’s all tied together.

I feel like I haven’t always been good at that, using my experiences and turning into gifts to share. But with enough conviction, life is about second and third chances. So… with limited resources from our broken bird brain, we’re off into the races, my friends. I’m here to find, foster and share my colorful, weird and flighty magic again.

So without further ado as the Tumblr curtains open once again: I hope, if you done did the stumbler upon my Tumblr, you enjoy my own personal magic ✨

(It’s batshit crazy)

🥴😘

[academyy6]

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[derinthescarletpescatarian]

When people say they enjoy things, they usually mean one of two things. The first is that these things are fun; that is, they satisfy immediate emotional needs or desires for pleasure. Candy Crush is fun, for people who are into that sort of thing; waterslides are fun, watching TV is fun. Fun, in the way I'm defining it for this post, is the party food of pleasure; immediately and usually temporarily satisfying, and after that, mostly satisfying only as a happy memory (although some of these activities, like watching a TV show, can generate further opportunities for pleasure down the line like daydreaming, discussion, and making fanart). Like party food, this kind of fun is a good thing to have, and someone who doesn't get enough of it is at high risk of stress-related health concerns. Also burnout. A lack of fun is a major contributor to burnout.

The second kind of pleasure that most people talk about is rewarding activity. The lack of rewarding activity in one's life is a major contributor to depression. It creates a sense of purposelessness and worthlessness and generates a low attention span, sapping the ability to feel long-term motivation or pleasure. People usually try to pick themselves up with the first kind of fun, which is a band-aid but not a very sticky one; the lack of rewarding activity grows and festers over time. Rewarding pleasure involves working on something long-term that feels worthwhile. There are usually also spots of fun (or you wouldn't have gotten into the activity enough for it to become rewarding), but there also tends to be long slogs that aren't that fun. Nevertheless, when people report on doing said activity, they will speak about it with great enjoyment and remember it being enjoyable and claim they like it. (I like being a writer. Writing can sometimes be boring as shit.) (Look into Csíkszentmihályi's work on experience sampling and flow states for more info on this, it is FASCINATING.)

In Reality is Broken, Jane McGonigal sums up what she thinks are the most important contributing factors to rewarding activity. These are not the only factors, but I agree that they're a good baseline of the critical ones. I'm going to paraphrase them using different language. The four big contributors are:

Satisfying work. This is the vaguest one because different people find different things satisfying. Basically, the task itself should feel productive, and you should not feel bad about doing it to the point where it causes you distress. Satisfying work involves clear goals with actionable steps and a clear product, preferably something that you can see, touch or use. A clean house, a new high score, a freshly built table, a happy child.

Mastery. Rewarding pleasure is often something that you can get better at. There are things to learn, practice, improve. Improving your ability to solve tricky code problems, getting better at painting landscapes, figuring out fun new strategies in Magic: The Gathering, being able to build computers better or faster or cheaper. Mastery does not require becoming the best at something (although some people enjoy that specifically also), merely seeing progress in yourself and being able to take pride int he fact that you are better than you were.

Social connection. Rewarding pleasure often involves social or community connection. A long-term social group that discusses fan theories of their favourite show. Your weekly tabletop rpg. Teaching a room full of kids who to make leather belts. Working at a small bookshop and making small talk with all the tourists. Some people find social activity to be fun in the 'immediate pleasure' kind of way, some don't, but it is a critical factor in mental health and in the long-term... rewardingness (?)... of a hobby. Animals can also partially fill this niche, but be warned, they are far, far less effective than people. Your cat might be able to stop you from committing suicide today. You cat alone will not make your life satisfying.

Contribution. Humans are community animals and have a need to be something larger than ourselves or, more specifically to be of service to something larger than ourselves. Looking after kids, cooking big meals for others, creating art or physical products for others. Teaching the next generation how to read. Serving your God. Saving a species of small fish from extinction. Volunteering at your local charity shop or soup kitchen. Being a member of a crowd to reach the Guinness World Record for "most people fit into a storage crate". Making useful tutorial videos, being an entertainer, joining your local queer support group or political organisation. Humans fucking love to be part of something bigger than their own brain and they fucking love to help people.

The world is full of rewarding activities, and not all of them rate high in all four categories. The woman working in the charity shop warehouse and chatting with her coworkers isn't necessarily all that interested in mastery of her job (although I've worked in these places and some people do take pride in learning to be as efficient as possible), the musical hermit training to become the best violinist in the world might not be all that interested in social connection or how the audience actually feels about him. You might have noticed that I've listed hobbies, jobs, and non-employed but important life work (volunteering and childrearing) as possible rewarding activities; you can find rewarding activities everywhere. (In fact the lack of rewarding pleasure in our work lives is a very serious problem that companies keep trying to condescendingly band-aid over. The late David Graeber had a lot to say about this and I highly recommend his work, particularly Bullshit Jobs, which is a book specifically discussing the lack of above points 1 and 4 (satisfying work and sense of contribution) in so many modern workplaces and its distressing psychological ramifications). Rewarding activities are not 'fun' all the time; in fact, Csíkszentmihályi's work found that many of them are quite unfun most of the time. They do, however, create long term pleasure, and are emotionally and psychologically critical.

One final point: research shows that computer stuff counts less. This isn't a 'hurr durr edison was a witch get off your damn computers and get a real job' point; plenty of people do most of their rewarding activity on computers, because the supply cost is so low (most of us already own some kind of computer) and it's so much easier to find an existing community. But it does, psychologically speaking, count less; your brain isn't very good at seeing computers stuff as as 'real', on a primitive sensory level, as things you can touch with your hands or people that are right in front of you. Your massive community of fellow fans on the internet are less effective at filling your social needs than the crochet club at your local library, even if you like the people on the internet much more. It doesn't have to be everything, but ideally you should have at least one physical meatspace social club and at least one physical meatspace hobby, craft, or volunteer job. (They can be the same thing. You can volunteer at a soup kitchen for both.) They don't have to be the most important thing -- I care way more about my writing (electronic) than my crochet (meatspace) and I do the writing a lot more -- but the meatspace thing should exist, if you can manage it.

I think people get mixed up a lot about what is fun and what is rewarding. These are two very different kinds of pleasure. You need to be able to tell them apart because if you don't have a balanced diet of both then it will fuck you up, and I mean that in a "known cause of persistent clinical depression" kind of way.

[proexcellencysolution]

SAP ABAP on HANA Training for Beginners – Proexcellency, Koramangala, Bangalore, India

Proexcellency provides a specially crafted SAP ABAP on HANA training program for beginners, the perfect gateway to any budding professional looking to establish a lucrative career as an SAP developer. Based in Koramangala, Bangalore, India, Proexcellency is known for providing top-notch real-time SAP training for meeting the requirements of the industry. This is an introductory course all about learning ABAP programming fundamentals and the capability of SAP HANA in-memory database. The course material is full of major topics like HANA architecture, Core Data Services (CDS), AMDPs, performance optimization, and native SQL strategies–described in concise, easy-to-refer-to terms for beginners or newcomers. Conducted through interactive web sessions by industry experts, the training involves hands-on practice, case studies, and mini-projects to establish clarity and usability. Proexcellency also provides career support services such as resume assistance, mock interview, and placements to assist beginners in getting their first SAP job. With its introductory strategy, Proexcellency's SAP ABAP on HANA course is most sought after in India, and students from Hyderabad, Pune, Chennai, and other cities sign up for it. If you are a beginner to SAP and want to acquire the technical skills organizations need now, this is the best opportunity. Join Proexcellency's SAP ABAP on HANA entry-level course and begin your SAP journey with the best possible start with the expertise and confidence.

Use Promo Code: PROMAH and You will get more discount.

[khushidw]

Calculator in SAP using New ABAP Syntax

Create a simple calculator in SAP using the latest ABAP 7.4 and 7.5 syntax, designed for modern SAP S/4HANA development. This tutorial demonstrates how to use inline declarations, the VALUE, COND, and CASE expressions, and efficient data handling techniques to build a clean and optimized arithmetic calculator. Ideal for SAP ABAP beginners and professionals looking to upgrade their skills, this guide helps you understand how to write concise, readable, and performance-driven ABAP code using new syntax features. Learn step-by-step how to implement addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division using best practices in ABAP programming. Perfect for those preparing for technical interviews, SAP projects, or wanting to practice functional coding in SAP NetWeaver.

[pmsaptech]

Learning from the Best: SAP S4HANA MM Institutes in Bangalore You Should Know About

SAP S/4HANA has become the cornerstone of modern enterprise resource planning (ERP), and with companies around the world adopting this powerful suite, there's a growing demand for professionals trained in its different modules—especially SAP S/4HANA MM (Materials Management), FICO (Financial Accounting and Controlling), and SD (Sales and Distribution). For aspirants in Bangalore, this growing need has led to the rise of quality training institutes, and among them, PMSAP Technologies has carved a strong name for itself.

In this blog, we’ll explore what SAP S/4HANA MM is, why Bangalore is a hotspot for SAP training, and why PMSAP Technologies stands out as one of the best SAP S/4HANA MM institutes in Bangalore.

Why SAP S/4HANA Matters in Today’s Digital Business World

SAP S/4HANA is an intelligent, next-generation ERP suite that offers businesses real-time insights, simplified data models, and superior performance. It allows organizations to run operations faster and more efficiently by leveraging in-memory computing.

Modules like:

SAP S/4HANA MM (Materials Management) manage procurement and inventory processes,

SAP S/4HANA FICO streamlines financial operations, and

SAP S/4HANA SD supports sales and distribution cycles.

These modules are essential for businesses to stay competitive in an increasingly digital world. As demand for SAP experts continues to rise, so does the importance of enrolling in the best SAP training institutes in Bangalore.

Why Bangalore Is the Ideal Place to Learn SAP S/4HANA

Bangalore isn’t just India’s tech hub—it’s a melting pot of innovation, startups, global enterprises, and educational excellence. Here’s why it’s a great place to pursue SAP training:

Proximity to Tech Companies: With top MNCs and SAP implementation partners based in Bangalore, students gain exposure to real-time project opportunities.

Expert Trainers: The city attracts experienced professionals who offer industry-aligned training.

Networking and Placement: The ecosystem supports career growth through meetups, job fairs, and placement cells.

All of this makes Bangalore a top destination for anyone looking to build a successful SAP career, especially in modules like MM, FICO, and SD.

SAP S/4HANA MM: A Crucial Module for Supply Chain Success

The SAP S/4HANA Materials Management (MM) module is integral to managing a company’s procurement and inventory processes. It helps streamline purchasing, vendor management, inventory tracking, invoice verification, and warehouse management.

Some key skills covered in MM training include:

Material master data management

Procurement lifecycle

Inventory and stock management

Invoice verification

Integration with other SAP modules (FI, SD, WM)

A comprehensive SAP S/4HANA MM training course empowers professionals to optimize supply chains, reduce operational costs, and contribute to strategic procurement goals.

PMSAP Technologies: Leading the Way in SAP Education

If you're looking for one of the best SAP S/4HANA MM institutes in Bangalore, PMSAP Technologies is a name you should definitely know.

Here’s why PMSAP Technologies is trusted by students and professionals alike:

1. Comprehensive Course Structure

PMSAP offers well-structured courses that cover theoretical concepts, practical applications, and real-world scenarios. The SAP S/4HANA MM curriculum is designed to align with the latest industry standards and SAP certification guidelines.

2. Expert Trainers

All trainers at PMSAP Technologies are industry-certified professionals with hands-on experience in SAP implementation projects. Their training methods are interactive, practical, and tailored for easy understanding.

3. Live Projects and Case Studies

Learning SAP is not just about memorizing transaction codes—it’s about solving business problems. PMSAP incorporates real-time case studies and live projects to help learners understand how SAP works in actual company environments.

4. Flexible Learning Options

Whether you're a working professional or a fresh graduate, PMSAP offers weekday, weekend, and fast-track courses to fit your schedule. Their flexible approach ensures no one misses out on the opportunity to learn.

5. Placement Support

PMSAP Technologies offers strong placement assistance, helping students connect with recruiters from top companies. They guide learners with resume building, mock interviews, and job referrals to maximize employment opportunities.

6. High Success Rate in Certification

The institute boasts an impressive success rate in SAP certification exams. Their training methodology includes mock tests and Q&A sessions specifically designed to prepare students for certification.

Also Explore: FICO and SD Modules at PMSAP

In addition to MM, PMSAP Technologies is also recognized as one of the best SAP FICO training institutes in Bangalore and best SAP S/4HANA SD institutes in Bangalore.

SAP S/4HANA FICO Training:

This module is ideal for those interested in accounting, finance, and controlling processes. It covers:

General ledger accounting

Accounts payable and receivable

Asset accounting

Internal orders

Profit center and cost center accounting

Students are trained on how to generate financial reports, track budgets, and ensure compliance using SAP tools.

SAP S/4HANA SD Training:

This module suits those focusing on customer relationship management and sales operations. Topics include:

Sales order processing

Pricing and taxation

Shipping and transportation

Billing

Credit and risk management

The course ensures you’re ready to handle complete sales cycles and customer-related transactions in SAP environments.

Who Should Join SAP S/4HANA MM at PMSAP Technologies?

Fresh Graduates looking to start a career in ERP systems

Working Professionals wanting to upskill in supply chain or procurement

IT Professionals aiming to switch to SAP consulting roles

Domain Experts in logistics, inventory, or materials who want to get certified

With industry-relevant training and a student-first approach, PMSAP makes SAP education accessible and impactful for everyone.

What Makes PMSAP Technologies Different?

It’s not just about being one of the best SAP S/4HANA institutes in Bangalore—it’s about how PMSAP goes the extra mile:

Personalized mentorship from SAP experts

Interactive sessions that foster clarity and confidence

A supportive learning community

Real-world insights shared by industry veterans

Constant updates on industry trends and SAP technologies

Whether you’re diving into SAP for the first time or upgrading your skills, PMSAP Technologies provides the right guidance, tools, and motivation.

Success Stories from PMSAP Alumni

PMSAP Technologies has helped hundreds of students land jobs at leading IT firms, MNCs, and consulting companies. Alumni often praise the hands-on training, supportive faculty, and placement guidance they received.

Many now work as:

SAP MM Consultants

SAP FICO Analysts

SAP SD Associates

SAP Functional and Technical Consultants

Their feedback highlights the value of practical training, confidence-building, and exam readiness that PMSAP fosters.

Final Thoughts

If you’re serious about building a rewarding career in SAP, the right training institute can make all the difference. With its deep commitment to quality education, real-world learning, and student success, PMSAP Technologies shines as one of the best SAP S/4HANA MM institutes in Bangalore.

Whether you’re drawn to MM, FICO, or SD, this is your chance to learn from the best. Explore course options, connect with expert trainers, and step into a future full of exciting opportunities.

Start your SAP journey with PMSAP Technologies and unlock the skills that global enterprises are looking for.

[sapblogging]

Is it possible to learn SAP UI5/FIORI in 30 days?

Yes, it is possible to learn SAP UI5/FIORI in 30 days, provided you dedicate consistent time and effort. With a structured learning path and the right guidance, you can grasp the fundamentals of UI5 framework, Fiori design principles, and how to develop responsive and modern SAP applications.

Beginners should start with HTML5, JavaScript, and XML basics, then gradually move to SAPUI5 controls, MVC architecture, data binding, routing, and consuming OData services. Daily practice and building small projects will boost your hands-on skills. While 30 days is enough to gain a strong foundation, mastering advanced topics and becoming job-ready may require ongoing learning and real-time project experience.

Based on my experience, Anubhav Oberoy’s training is one of the best choices to learn SAP UI5/FIORI. His course is well-structured, practical, and aligned with real industry use cases. What makes his training unique is the clarity with which he explains complex concepts, making it easier even for non-developers to understand. He covers both frontend and backend integration with real project scenarios. If you’re looking for online training, first attend his LIVE demo session. Here is the link:

🔗 SAP Fiori Tutorial Class on VS Code | SAP Business Application Studio | Live demo on 9th June 7 AM

[christina-robert]

Style Redefined: Best Melbourne Fashion Stylist for Confidence

In today’s fast-paced world, personal style is more than just aesthetics—it’s an expression of confidence, individuality, and self-respect. Whether you're dressing for the workplace, an event, or everyday life, your wardrobe speaks long before you do. When your style aligns with your personality, the result is unmatched confidence. That’s where a professional can make all the difference—and why working with the best Melbourne fashion stylist is a smart move for anyone looking to redefine their image.

Confidence Starts with the Right Look

We’ve all stood in front of our wardrobe thinking, “I have nothing to wear.” More often than not, the problem isn’t quantity—it’s clarity. Style confusion can sap your confidence and leave you feeling unsure about how to present yourself. A well-curated wardrobe, on the other hand, empowers you to walk into any room knowing you look your best.

Style is not about following trends; it’s about knowing what works for you. This is where a personal stylist steps in—someone who understands your lifestyle, body shape, and preferences, and crafts a look that reflects your best self.

Why a Fashion Stylist in Melbourne Matters

Melbourne is a city known for its vibrant fashion culture, creative energy, and diverse style influences. From corporate offices to casual laneways and elegant events, Melbournians are expected to keep up with ever-evolving fashion norms. It’s not easy—but with the help of an experienced personal stylist in Melbourne, you don’t have to do it alone.

A fashion stylist helps you navigate the overwhelming choices, eliminate guesswork, and create a wardrobe that enhances your personality and suits every aspect of your life. Whether you’re in a new career phase, experiencing a body transformation, or just tired of your current wardrobe, styling support makes all the difference.

Style Isn’t Just for Celebrities Anymore

Gone are the days when only A-listers could afford a stylist. Today, personal styling is for anyone who wants to simplify their wardrobe, dress better with less, and boost their self-image. A great stylist doesn’t just hand you clothes—they teach you how to see fashion as a tool for empowerment.

Working with a stylist helps you:

Identify your personal style code

Build a capsule wardrobe tailored to your lifestyle

Eliminate shopping mistakes and save money

Feel more confident in both casual and professional settings

And most importantly—it saves time. No more hours lost to indecision or wearing outfits that don’t make you feel amazing.

What Sets the Best Stylists Apart

Choosing the best Melbourne fashion stylist is not just about hiring someone with fashion knowledge—it’s about finding someone who gets you. The best stylists combine technical skill with emotional intelligence. They listen, observe, and translate your lifestyle into looks that reflect who you are and who you want to become.

They also bring clarity to your wardrobe. They’ll sort through what you already have, recommend versatile additions, and help you build looks that feel both polished and effortless. More than just shopping assistance, it’s about creating a system that makes getting dressed enjoyable again.

How Styling Builds Lasting Confidence

One of the biggest misconceptions about fashion is that it’s superficial. But ask anyone who’s ever walked into a room feeling underdressed or out of place—how you look can deeply affect how you feel.

Here’s how working with a stylist elevates your self-esteem:

You discover what truly flatters you. No more dressing to hide—you’ll learn to dress to highlight.

You feel prepared. With every outfit curated for you, you’ll always feel ready for what the day brings.

You feel in control. When your wardrobe works, your mornings run smoother—and so does everything else.

You feel proud. Expressing your personality through clothing is a daily act of self-respect and creativity.

Is It Time for a Style Refresh?

If you’re stuck in a style rut, avoiding mirrors, or unsure how to express yourself through your clothing, it might be time to rethink your wardrobe strategy. A personal stylist doesn’t just change what you wear—they change how you feel about what you wear.

And the best part? You don’t need a huge budget or a whole new closet. You just need a clear plan, the right guidance, and a stylist who knows how to bring out your best features through fashion.

Step into Confidence with Christina Robert

If you’re ready to experience the difference that professional styling can make, now’s the time to meet Christina Robert—the best Melbourne fashion stylist dedicated to helping individuals discover their most confident, stylish selves.

Whether you're looking to overhaul your wardrobe, prepare for a special event, or simply gain clarity in your everyday fashion choices, Christina offers tailored solutions that are both empowering and practical.

Rediscover your personal style. Rebuild your confidence. Work with Melbourne’s trusted stylist—Christina Robert.

[sap001]

Is it better for freshers to learn SAP UI5 Fiori?

Yes, it's a great idea for freshers to learn SAP UI5 and Fiori. As the SAP ecosystem continues to evolve, businesses are rapidly adopting modern, user-friendly interfaces like SAP Fiori. This has created a high demand for professionals skilled in UI5 and Fiori, even at the entry level. For those starting their careers, learning SAP UI5 Fiori opens up exciting opportunities in SAP development, functional consulting, and user experience (UX) design. It also provides a competitive edge, as most companies now prefer professionals who understand both the backend (like ABAP) and the frontend (Fiori/UI5) aspects of SAP.

Fiori is the future of SAP, and having expertise in it can help freshers land promising roles in large organizations, particularly those undergoing S/4HANA transformation. With a focus on HTML5, JavaScript, and responsive design, SAP UI5 Fiori is perfect for tech-savvy beginners looking to make a strong mark in the SAP domain.

As per my experience, Anubhav Oberoy’s training is one of the best if you're serious about learning SAP UI5 and Fiori.

He explains each topic in-depth and connects it with real-time project use cases, which makes learning easy and practical. 👉 If you’re interested in online training, first join his LIVE demo.

Here is the link: SAP Fiori Tutorial Class on VS Code | SAP Business Application Studio | Live demo on 9th June 7 AM

[smartpartsexprts]

Why Smart Parts Exports Recommends castrol oil for Peak Engine Performance

When you’re shipping OEM spare parts every day—as we do at Smart Parts Exports—you quickly learn that no replacement part can perform at its best without the right lubricant. That’s why we stock and export the full range of castrol oil, the world-renowned choice for drivers, fleet operators, and workshops that refuse to compromise on quality.

1. The Science Behind castrol engine oil

Your engine experiences extreme heat, high RPMs, and relentless friction. Premium castrol engine oil is formulated with advanced Fluid Titanium technology that adapts under pressure, keeping critical metal parts separated even in the harshest conditions. The result? Up to 30 % better wear protection and a cleaner engine for longer service intervals.

Key Benefits of castrol engine oil

Thermal stability – resists breakdown at high temperatures.

Low-ash additives – protect catalytic converters and DPFs.

Fuel economy – reduced drag improves mileage by up to 3 %.

Whether you drive a compact hatchback or manage a fleet of heavy-duty trucks, Smart Parts Exports can ship the exact viscosity grade of castrol engine oil—from 0W-20 to 20W-50—anywhere in the world, with special logistics routes into Russia, the Middle East, and Africa.

2. Smooth Shifts with castrol transmission oil

A great engine still needs flawless power delivery, and that begins inside the gearbox. castrol transmission oil (manual or automatic) uses advanced anti-wear chemistry and shear-stable polymers to guard against metal-to-metal contact while keeping shift feel crisp.

Why Upgrade to castrol transmission oil?

Extended gearbox life – up to 2× longer between overhauls.

Lower operating noise – quieter cabins and improved driver comfort.

Enhanced clutch friction – smoother, faster gear engagement.

Smart Parts Exports carries the full Driveline portfolio, including Castrol Transmax CVT and DualClutch formulas. Ask our technical team to cross-reference your OEM part number and recommend the precise castrol transmission oil for your Honda CVT, ZF 8-speed automatic, or classic synchromesh gearbox.

3. One-Stop Lubrication: Genuine castrol car oil Variants

The term castrol car oil covers a spectrum of specialized blends: synthetics for high-performance sedans, mineral oils for vintage classics, and Low-SAPS variants for Euro 6 diesels. Each product passes rigorous ACEA and API standards, giving you confidence that warranty requirements are met.

Popular Lines We Export

Castrol Brand

Typical Use-Case

Available Grades

Edge

High-performance, turbocharged engines

0W-20, 5W-30

Magnatec

Stop-start city driving

5W-30, 10W-40

GTX

Older engines needing added sludge control

15W-40, 20W-50

All these fall under the broader castrol car oil family, ensuring you receive a tailor-made solution for your driving style and climate.

4. Why Buy Castrol oil from Smart Parts Exports?

Authenticity guaranteed – 100 % original seals and batch numbers.

Global logistics – door-to-door delivery in over 80 countries.

Competitive pricing – wholesale rates direct from Castrol distributors.

Expert support – multilingual team fluent in English, Russian, and Arabic.

As a leading exporter of genuine Volkswagen, Suzuki, and Mann-Filter parts, we know how vital it is that every component—fluid or solid—meets OEM specifications. Our deep inventory of castrol oil products lets workshops bundle parts and lubricants in a single shipment, cutting freight costs and customs delays.

5. Getting the Right Oil: Simple Ordering Process

Send Your Inquiry – Share the vehicle make, model, and engine code.

Receive a Quotation – We match the correct castrol oil variant and provide Incoterm-based pricing.

Approve & Pay – Multiple payment modes, including LC and secure online transfer.

Track Your Shipment – Real-time updates until the order reaches your warehouse.

Conclusion

From protecting precision-machined pistons to ensuring silky-smooth gear changes, castrol oil remains the benchmark for automotive lubrication. Smart Parts Exports is proud to supply the complete lineup—castrol engine oil, castrol transmission oil, and every specialized castrol car oil—so your vehicles run cleaner, longer, and more efficiently.

Ready to experience the Castrol difference? Contact Smart Parts Exports today and let our team build a customized lubrication package that powers your performance and protects your investment.