#also Sam made Dream look like an idiot in front of his superiors

[box-architecture]

Analyzing… Analyzing…

Negative.

With a a huff, D.R.E. slammed the refrigeration unit shut. He was halfway through the time frame of his assignment, and he was becoming increasingly aware of its slim odds of success. There would be no penalty for failure, but D.R.E. was competent, the best of the best, and to fail at his directive (no matter how stacked the odds were against him) felt unacceptable.

An intense crash sounded behind him. D.R.E. blinked, head swiveling without regard for its body.

Oh. The earth robot had knocked itself into a pile of garbage. Again.

It was (painfully) obvious the outdated bot had been following him for the duration of his exploration, the small beeps and Redstone ticking would be giving away its presence easily, but along with its strangely clumsy nature, there was some wonder at why it attempted to evade detection at all.

Odd. (Silly. Stupid.)

He watched the robot dig itself out, mapping out his next location to scan as it vocalized its frustration. He needed to keep searching, of course. He needed to follow the plan, the Directive. But…

More information could be considered tangentially related.

The redstone bot was sinking into a junk pile, shouting in stressed exclamations. D.R.E. picked him up with as much care as he could, flying them towards a cleaner surface beneath the night sky. It squeaked, but made no attempts to attack, which he appreciated. It really wouldn't be great for their first conversation to be hindered by annoying miscommunication.

Gently, he set it down. Its eyes peeked up at him from where they had hidden, and slowly it unfolded, outdated solar panels flipping to face him.

"Oh." It said. D.R.E. let his face flicker for a moment in thought.

"Oh." He agreed. Conversations were,,,, not his strong suit. He would start with something easy. "Name?"

It's panels raised in surprise. "Oh. SAM."

"Sam." D.R.E. hummed. Like the SAM-E's on the ship. Possibly the original model, which meant it had been strong enough to survive all these years. D.R.E. approved.

"Name?"

"… D.R.E."

"Drea-mmm?" Sam tried. Despite himself, D.R.E.'s LED smile glowed a little warmer.

"No. D.R.E."

"Dream." Sam repeated, rolling a little closer in excitement. It waved at him, shaking Redstone dust from out beneath his claws.

The Redstone glowed dim on its arms, obviously manually applied over the years to keep it going. D.R.E. pulled an arm close to inspect it. The flaps on the back of Sam's torso wagged.

"Redstone. Old." He murmured. Robots hadn't needed to function through Redstone in centuries.

"Hm?" Sam was making an odd rumbling noise now, practically knocking into D.R.E. He allowed it, assured in his own ability to neutralize a threat should it become one.

"Redstone." D.R.E. said. He ran a finger up it's arm in example, before pointing to his Eye Of Ender peeking out of his own chest. "Ender Eye."

"Ender." Sam squinted at the Eye. Lightly, it dragged a claw across the pupil. It opened to scan the limb.

Analyzing… Analyzing…. Negative.

Obviously.

Sam startled suddenly, jerking away and grabbing D.R.E.'s arm. He let himself be dragged along towards a storage unit with confusion. A threat? Should he be aiming a weapon?

"Dream." It urged. "In. In in in."

"Sam?" He asked. The dust storm began to pick up around them, and he realized the issue. "Sam!"

"Dream. In." Sam commanded, and they went in. The large door slammed behind them.

It was dark. And then it was not.

Sam was eager to show its strange, pre-ship contraptions, its eyes wide with delight as D.R.E. fiddled with pistons and glowing stones and the strangest music player D.R.E. had ever seen. He chirred at the cockroach ("Fran," Sam buzzed with affection,) and glided to the screen Sam was attempting to invest him in. It was sweet, someone wanting his attention for something other than new orders to follow, a new directive to accomplish, even if he didn't understand half of what he was being shown.

(His directive beeped in the back of his memory, reminding him of what he was supposed to be focusing on. It was fine, though. Just until the storm stopped.)

He felt claws nudging into his fingers.

"Hm?" D.R.E. let his head roll idly. Sam's tail flaps wagged.

"Dream!" It said as it tucked its head into the curve of his neck. The odd rumble started up again, louder than before; D.R.E. rested his head on its own to see if he could feel the vibrations.

"Sam?"

Sam's solar panels tapped against the glow of D.R.E.'s smile before pulling away to clap. It beckoned D.R.E. over to where more oddities were piling up. A gnarled blue thing was shoved into D.R.E.'S hands as Sam looked to him for approval.

What a strange color. He scanned it.

Analyzing…. Analyzing….

Confirmed.

Oh.

(He would not know of Sam's panic until much later.)

-

Dream didn't look at him as they were both led away to…. somewhere? The ship was wholly unfamiliar to SAM, outside of the little screens on Earth. He'd never seen the humans in the flesh (or if he had, he no longer recalled,) and the design of the ship seemed to run wholly on Ender Eyes, the familiar Redstone Crimson absent in favor of glassy, glossy green.

Dream was familiar. He was the only reason SAM wanted anything to do with the ship anyway, which was why he gently tugged on Dream's hand with his claws, hoping to slip their fingers together.

The hope was crushed as Dream tugged his hand away. He glared, his usual smile flat and mirthless.

"SAM." He said sternly. SAM shrunk into himself. He knew Dream was still mad about the plant being missing, but they were together now, so they could absolutely go look for it later after they held hands, right? SAM didn't see a problem with that. Hand holding wouldn't interfere with plant finding. He was sure of it.

Dream suddenly drooped, anger falling away as they entered a room filled with more robots. He sighed and waved SAM off, letting himself he pulled away by a large claw and into a separate room.

Immediately another claw came down on him as he tried to follow.

"Dream," SAM called out as he scrambled to get away. He was plonked into a separation area, Redstone dust clouds in his wake. "Dream!"

What followed in the next few moments happened very, very fast.

SAM barely registered the removal of Dream's head (the depressed smile vanishing completely as he was deactivated) before he was destroying the containment cube. In a fervor he was grabbing at the claw with Dream's head and tearing the precious orb out of its arm to cradle. There was some sort of mania happening with the bots behind him, but he ignored it in favor of pushing Dream back together.

He was barely aware of the distressed noises he was making, desperate as he failed to get Dream to come back. It was fine if he never held SAM's hand again, really, he would give up hand holding forever, he just wanted Dream to come back!

He was nearly toppled over as another bot rolled to them. They shoved SAM to the side and leaned forward to inspect his work. With a tsk, they took the orb from his claws (ignoring his enraged squawk and attempts to fight them) and activated the Ender Eye on Dreams chest, setting the orb on top of the body as it begun to float.

A familiar lime smile appeared on its face. It scrunched in confusion.

"What?" Dream asked, twisting his head every which way. SAM followed the movements with complete and utterly joy.

"Dream!"

Dream looked over SAM's head, and the confusion became alarm. "SAM!"

It was then that SAM realized the room they were in was completely destroyed, and partially on fire.

The robot beside them made an amused noise before rolling out the door, ignoring the robots rioting all around.

(Tech-No. 8 was having an excellent day, and as he watched the warning signs appear with pictures of the strange SAM-E and D.R.E., he decided that it was likely to get even better. If they lived through this he might even get to make fun of D.R.E. for bringing home an incompetent sparkmate)

-

#sfw boxing #backposting #awesamwastaken #Techno just wants anarchy on an authoritarian ship #is that too much to ask #also Sam made Dream look like an idiot in front of his superiors #this is a crime #and the punishment is no hand holding #There was a PLAN Sam #the plan was GIVE PLANT TO PEOPLE #he had a JOB Sam #Also to replace the og Sam's gas mask. SAM-E's mouth area is solar panels #also he gets a tail and claws/paws because. I have demons.

[my-little-dumpster-fire]

Let it Burn. 5/?

Catch Up Here

P A R T F I V E

The weeks following the Castle’s funeral were strange. Billy was inexplicably on edge, more so than the week leading up to the actual service. At first, he was close mouthed about the whole thing, didn’t mention their names at all and wouldn’t acknowledge your attempts to bring them up, until one morning you sat across a slick diner table, drinking your coffees in silence before work. You’d excused yourself to visit the ladies’, needing a break from the deafening quiet at your table, a stark contrast from the hurried din that surrounded you, but on your way back to the table, you caught another man had taken your seat so you slowed and observed from a distance. Though you didn’t recognize the brown head that was ducked in front of Billy’s, the heated discussion taking place in only whispers told you that Billy was very familiar with the man across from him.

The man sat awkwardly, one leg extended out from underneath the table at what you assumed would be an uncomfortable angle, until the metallic glint of his ankle caught your eye. A waitress nearly tripped over the stranger’s foot and while he apologized with a sweet smile on his face, Billy looked over the man’s shoulder and locked eyes with you. Even from the distance you could tell he wasn’t pleased with the conversation, or maybe it was the intrusion had soured his previously blank stare into the hardened expression that was trained on you. Unsure what to do, you took a step towards them, and Billy’s eyes went back across the table, making it very clear that their time together had come to a close. As you approached, you heard Billy add one final thought.

“Just...tell me if he reaches out,” he said, sounding less forceful, more resigned, more like the man whose lap you’d been perched upon as he cried into your chest.

The stranger stood and offered a sympathetic frown. “You really think he will?”

“Yeah. I do.”

The man’s eyebrow shot up, but he nodded anyways, excusing himself as he pivoted around you and gestured past Billy’s table. You smiled awkwardly and noticed the surprise on his face when you joined Billy where the man sat moments ago. You played with your hair a little and turned your head to the side, not wanting the gentleman to think this was some morning after ritual of Billy’s. Soon the man was gone and Billy was staring into his coffee, the steam rising stood out against the dark fabric of the vest he wore, his jacket hung carefully on the hook next to your booth. You asked what that was about, but Billy simply shook his head without lifting his eyes, your name such a quiet breath, you weren’t sure if he’d really said it.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he started and again your heart sank. Try me, Billy. “They taught us...” Billy looked over and out the window, dragging his upper lip between his teeth while seemingly searching for something. The right words? Or maybe an answer to some unknown question, lingering on the busy street outside. “When you’re a marine, everyone thinks that all you know how to do is kill.”

“It’s so much more than that,” you jumped in, quicker than you should have, but you needed him to know that you knew, that you would never think of him as a killer despite an impressive record that supported the opposite. “It’s more than that. That’s what Anvil is,” you reached across the table to grab his hand, but thinking it might be too much, you slowed the motion, barely brushing your fingertips over his knuckles before dropping your fingers in between his, in a loose hold that kept your hands connected, but not caged. “You’re not killers and you’re giving these guys the chance to use what they taught you in the first place.” Your brief diatribe was nothing compared the way Billy talked about his dream for Anvil. It wasn’t one of his impassioned speeches, but you swore you caught a smile turning up Billy’s lips as he listened to you defend him and his company.

“They did teach us to kill, but they also, taught us to survive...in impossible circumstances, against all odds, we were expected to finish the mission, to stay alive.” He continued as if you hadn’t spoken at all and you listened intently as always. “Had to protect the investment,” he chuckled darkly, leaning back and lifting his eyebrows as a challenge to anyone who dared to defy him, but no one did. You took the briefest moment to look over him, ready for work and ready to take on anything in two out of the three pieces of his suit. You knew the value of that investment, but you were certain Billy only knew the number value. He was starting to, but some days he appeared clueless to the personal stake you held this particular one of Uncle Sam’s $120,000 investment. “This one time, we were running- well, it doesn’t matter really, but we were up in these hills outside of Najaf and two of our guys got separated from the team,” Billy took a breath, nearly chuckling while your face was frozen, waiting for what happened next. “Those idiots were alone out there for nearly two weeks. Our guide kept telling us they wouldn’t have made it, but...never doubt a marine’s ability to survive.”

“Billy, this isn’t Iraq,” you pointed out as sympathetically as you could.

Billy sighed and leaned back over the table. He was propped up on his elbows and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he spoke quietly. “Did you know they haven’t found his body?” Frank. We’re talking about Frank. “Curtis,” Billy lifted his head and tilted his chin toward the door. The man that was here, ok. “It’s like he forgot what it’s like...forgot what he’s like.” Billy shook his head, in disbelief or maybe disagreement and in a flash one of his strong hands was was at his forehead, long fingers combing through his hair. “He thinks Frank is gone.”

“And you don’t?” You asked.

“I don’t.” That worried you. Billy glanced out the window again, he’d been doing at that a lot and suddenly it occurred to you that he’d been looking for someone specific. Frank. His brother. Billy pulled his phone from his pocket, the vibration alerting him to a message without interrupting. He scoffed at the screen and laid it face down on the table between you. “Curtis,” Billy nodded toward the door again and you hoped that maybe one day you’d get a real introduction to someone in Billy’s life, but you didn’t suspect it would happen any time soon and you’d have to be okay with that. “He wants to start this...this group for vets,” Billy sneered at the word. He was proud of his service, he loved being a marine, but something about the word veteran didn’t sit right with him. He was a former marine, his vernacular. Maybe he preferred the compartmentalization. He was a marine and now he was a CEO. He didn’t seem to want his identity trapped in the past. Billy Russo was always looking forward, not back. Another thing you’d grown to appreciate about him. If you were a fool, you might say that you loved it.

“Does he want you to join his group?”

“Wants me to lead it with him,” Billy rolled his eyes and leaned back against the red plastic booth, drawing his coffee up to his lips. You watched as he mumbled something before taking a drink. Not a sip. Billy’s teeth flashed as you took his moment of occupation to speak.

“There are other ways to help,” you added before he could start on his list of reasons why he shouldn’t be involved. Despite following orders for most of his life, you always felt that Billy was natural leader. It was one of his many attributes that contributed to Anvil’s rapid growth. He cocked an eyebrow at you from over the blue ceramic rim. “Anvil employs a lot of...men and women that served. It would look good for you to support a resource like that for them.”

“You mean money,” Billy said quickly, placing his mug back on the table and letting it echo.

You sighed and waited for him to look at you before speaking again. “If that’s how you want to do it, then yeah.”

Billy stared out the window again for a few more long and quiet moments, before nodding and turning his head to face you again. “I can do that.”

.

.

.

Someone as powerful and as smart as Billy didn’t often meet people with whom he was equal. He had a substantial appetite for being the best in the room, at something, at anything, and in as many areas as he could. At work, he reigned supreme in terms of wealth, power, and looks. At events where the hands he shook wrote checks with more zeroes than his, he survived on his charm, his ability to converse freely with those below and above him with both ease and amusement. If ever there existed a man more charming, there was no doubt that the former marine could rest easy, knowing the probability of being bested in close combat was next to zero.

You noticed a particular gleam in his eye when you two would stray from his usual haunts, finding yourselves in a seedier bar surrounded by working class patrons, where he knew he was superior to all the other men in the room. You stood a little closer to him walking into places like that, easing your own anxieties, while fueling that unquenchable macho fire that burned within him. It wasn’t often that you viewed Billy as a protector, but when his hand grazed your back or the side of your waist as you walked together, you felt completely at ease. Inexplicably so.

Nights like that gave you a small glimpse behind the curtain. His hair was not so expertly gelled down, sometimes done so purposefully to fit in with the relaxed atmosphere, sometimes the very opposite and it was a day he spent more time than usual running his fingers through it, indulging in one of his few nervous tics. You expected that nobody noticed it was a tell, as he still looked incredibly controlled with one hand pulling attention back to a face set in his confident stare. His legs were just as long, striding out in front of him, when they were clad in a dark denim as opposed to the expensive suit pants to which he’d grown accustomed. His arms somehow managed to look stronger in a long sleeved tee, bunched up at the elbows to expose the forearms that bore your mark. Only on nights out in dives, did he allow the mark to breathe. You couldn’t be sure if you found him so stunning in such settings because of his laid back appearance or if it was because you only really felt like his when he wasn’t hiding that damned mark.

Your mark, the perfect match for Billy’s, was more discretely placed on the underside of your bicep. Nights out for beers instead of expensive wine, meant you felt bolder with the mark. A sleeveless top under your leather jacket that was shed the second you two crossed the threshold into warm lights and air that smelled like stale tobacco and kitchen grease. You flagged down the bartender, flashing the whole room your version of the cyclone proudly. When seated, you played with your hair, tossing it in a relaxed mess to one side, then the other always with your left hand, catching Billy’s gaze travel from the mark you shared, up over your shoulder to the side of your neck, then finally to your eyes every time. It was the only time you toyed with him, the only time you felt you could. The black eyes of your match contained an enigmatic heat at the sight of your arm that shot through you, warming and confirming that at least on some level, Billy was yours and you were his.

These nights, over the clink of glass bottles, through the orangey haze of the room, across a glossy wooden bar or a rough table top, felt more real to you than any of the countless moments you and Billy shared by candle or sun light. They felt like falling in love. Conversations were easy and Billy’s smiles even easier. Despite the fraction of your time that was dedicated to him, it was growing harder and harder to imagine your life without Billy in it. The days you didn’t see each other, your mind seamlessly drifted back to the dive bar, sitting in a booth next to Billy, one arm thrown carelessly over your shoulder, his long fingers mindlessly tracing the lines of your tattoo as he spoke, letting you see more of the spark behind those black eyes than anyone could imagine was present. These nights were the cornerstone of your somewhat diminishing belief in soulmates, but it was also the comfort, the simplicity, and the realness of these nights that made the rest of your suffering so worth it.

@something-tofightfor @actuallyazriel @iaintnofurry @cerezahowl

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x reader imagine #billy x reader imagine #billy russo x reader fanfiction #let it burn #billy russo soulmates au #soulmate tattoo #pre punisher s1 #punisher au #the punisher fanfiction #the punisher #sorry frank #its an au but i couldnt stop this