LYING HYPERION JACKASS.

         ‘not yet, but the night’s still YOUNG, isn’t it?’ glaring daggers from underneath her dark bangs and hat, it was clear that if she was to do it to anyone, he would be at the receiving end of said SMOTHERING. but her voice still remained light as she grabbed a glass from under the bar, already pouring the drink in. for a moment, moxxi debated spitting in it, but it wouldn’t be very PROFESSIONAL of her.

         ‘scooter is fixing up an old RUNNER for some kind of street racing and the claptrap spilled an entire plate of drinks on themselves and short circuited. other than that, it’s been QUIET.’ with a quiet smirk to herself, she slid the glass across the counter. ‘don’t worry, i get plenty of action.’

        FEISTY !! that’s one thing jack always did like about moxxi: the roaring flame of her personality, even if he thinks, these days, that she looks ridiculously like a clown school reject. jack feigns interest in the mundanes of moxxi’s life, accepting his drink with a wink saturated with condescension. snorts into the glass when he thinks about how AWESOME it must have been to see that claptrap go up in sparks. ALMOST wishes he coulda been there to see it.

        “I bet you do, sweetheart.” his tone is spattered with its fair dosage of jovial teasing, flow of sarcasm undercurrent, the taste of the whiskey burning down his throat. jack sets the glass down with a frown, shuddering at the DISGUSTING flavor, scowling at the bartender once he’s shaken the shit off his taste buds. “If this piss water is your best whiskey, then I was right in my assumption that you’ve seriously let this place go to the skags. What happened to you, Mox? I thought you were at least better than this.” 

         ‘that’s my line.’ her PAINTED on smile never seemed so forced as she did seeing him again, lower lip curling with disdain. she was just glad the dim, neon lights really did their best to hide his SMUG, stupid features. but the moxxi persona remained, even if she wanted to break it just to knock a few of his teeth out. but she reached into god knows where and pulled out a MATCH, taking his cigarette from him and putting it into her own mouth while lighting it in a flick of her fingers.

       after a few PUFFS, she returned the now lipstick stained cigarette to him with a raised eyebrow. ‘is that it, jack? because i have paying customers that need my attention.’

        “Don’t see a patent on it anywhere, Mox, so I guess the rights ain’t actually all there just yet. I’m sure your people are on it, though.” he’s tickled, really, watching her PRETEND that she doesn’t want to jump over the bar top and beat him lifeless. real, real cute, her little show, her little persona, plucking his cigarette from his mouth and using it up before passing it back. jack grabs his pink painted DEATH STICK and takes a long pull from it, staring her down for all she’s worth.

        here’s the thing -- - there are a loooooooootta people that jack just plain DOESN’T LIKE, for whatever reason. they’re too ugly, too stupid, too much maintenance, too time consuming, too full of shit, you get the GIST. there are NOT a lot of people that don’t like, or don’t wanna be, or don’t worship handsome jack, and when people like that show up, the man takes it as a personal affront. he’s a -- - he’s a nice guy !! fun, easygoing, only a LITTLE crazy when he has to be but COME ON, who isn’t, right? 

        ...so maybe it’s not many people that jack is bothered by. maybe it’s just moxxi, with her painted face, and stupidly FANTASTIC body. jack slinks into the bar with an unlit cigarette stuck between his teeth, dangling from the perch of his grinning mouth with intent. someone tries to light it for him before he’s made it all the way to the counter and he shoves her away with eyes rolling and a barely audible dismissal on his tongue. he PLOPS down at the counter, low lighting obscuring him from moxxi’s immediate view, but she saunters his way after a minute and jack clears his throat to grab her FULL attention, because if there’s one thing jack loves doing, it’s harassing his exes until they go NUTS. 

        “Got a light, sugar?” 

        what’s that saying about distance making the heart grow fonder? rhys’ brain dredges up the quote and he stifles a scowl as the accuracy of it burns through him, face to face with fiona for the first time in MONTHS, and finds that he... he’s kind of missed the way she talks shit like a second language and looks at him like she’s just stepped in skag shit. but she’s on his terf now, atlas property, and she looks EXTREMELY uncomfortable. good. 

        silvery metal arm waves off the security guards keeping her at bay by the entrance, MISTER CEO blessing the peons with his presence or whatever bullshit she might spew at him when their eyes meet. fiona looks, well, good. the thrill of the hunt adds a healthy glow to her skin, gold and brown eyes roaming her body from down the bridge of his nose before rhys BEAMS at her. yeah. he really did miss her.

        “Fiona. Glad you could make it.”

whatever the fuck this meme is | ACCEPTING !!

[ trail ] for your muse to start a trail of kisses down my muses neck.

        it’s something to get used to, having someone around to receive affection from that jack doesn’t normally feel the urge to eviscerate. it’s not quite accurate to say that he JUMPS at the sudden feeling of lips on his neck, but it’s something akin to that indeed. he hadn’t even heard rhys come in, but jack resists the pull to the gun strapped to his belt, a defense mechanism. being ceo means a LOT of people wanna see you dead -- - naturally it comes with being a HERO. grunting, jack twists around to give rhys a quick once over. 

     a pleased sigh leaves his lips at the feeling of rhys’ hands running along his back, a hand coming up to comb through the soft tufts of rhys’ hair. this is a heavy and loaded decision, both sides having their set of pros and cons—no matter WHAT they end up choosing here. the hand that isn’t combing through rhys’ hair is picking at the cuticles of his thumb with the nail of his index—a nervous tick he’s had since he was just a k i d—he wonders if it’ll be passed on to their child… if they do decide on not terminating.

“ we shouldn’t think about it too long though, y’know ? if we’re not ready, we wouldn’t wanna like… get attached. and things can get a little more complicated the farther along you are. “ tim acts as if they’re gonna take MONTHS to finally decide on what they’re gonna do—though a small part of his brain tells him that they’ve b o t h already made up their minds here. 

     “ we could figure it out, rhys. we always do. that’s how we work. “ timothy’s positive attitude sees nothing but the good in this situation they’ve found themselves in, pulling back from rhys with a soft smile on his lips as calloused hands come up to cup his face. “ we’ll think about it. “ he agrees, a sharp nod of his head as he leans forward to press a kiss to rhys’ forehead. 

        WE COULD FIGURE IT OUT. WE ALWAYS DO. rhys hates that timothy is right, that by their very nature the two of them are ALWAYS getting themselves into trouble and finding their ways back out of it. it really, truly is how they work. he also hates that he doesn’t hate how right tim is even a little, about everything that he’s said. soft touches, gentle kiss, and rhys finally... relaxes, blows out a sigh as he brings both hands up to cover tim’s on his face. 

        “We’re going to keep it, aren’t we?” whispered words are a bit accusatory, not aimed at his boyfriend, but aimed at THEM, as a UNIT, because he knows himself. knows timothy. knows that they can SAY they’re going to think about it, but ultimately what they mean is that they want a family. one plus one plus one equals three, and a smile twitches at the corners of rhys’ mouth as he considers two little feet running around THEIR penthouse. imagines bitty, knobby little knees digging into his stomach as a child clambers into their bed before the sun has even fully kissed the pandoran sky. 

whatever the fuck this meme is | ACCEPTING !!

[ trail ] for your muse to start a trail of kisses down my muses neck.

        arms drape over his shoulders, pleasant warmth of a soft body along the stiffness of his back, and rhys can tangibly FEEL the stress easing out of his everything as sasha’s lips meet the back of his neck. he’ll hum, suddenly content, the clipboard in his hands an afterthought now that SHE’S here.

        “Hello to you, too.” rhys sighs, quirking a brow as he turns to look at her over his shoulder. “Can I help you with something, or are you good back there?”

     timothy feels disgusted with himself and the way jack’s petname gets to him, gaze settled intently on jack’s pocketwatch and the fluorescent blue glow it gives off—the exact same as his own, but in this very moment is WAY more interesting to look at and examine every single little detail it can possibly give him. 

     “ i did already know that. “ boy did timothy know that. considering all the times he’s been MANHANDLED in bed as if he weighed nothing to the hyperion ceo. despite being his exact weight and size. though when jack finally lets him go and leaves his side, timothy’s fingers SHAKE as he reaches for his mask sat on jack’s desk, can barely even get it to actually clasp shut as he attempts at putting it back on. it’s a comfort, as odd as it may seem. a mask is a mask, hides what’s underneath—which is exactly what timothy WANTS here. 

     he’s so SICK of going under a doctors knife for this smarmy dick—no matter WHAT jack makes him feel. thirty-six hours to alter his entire life—another ten to erase every single document that proved timothy lawrence was a living and breathing human being. just gone from existence. permanently now, timothy’s not gonna kid himself anymore. this trip was a one way ticket, timothy was just too dumb to really realize this. “ oh, thanks. that’s super duper generous of you. “ nothing but sarcasm soaks his words as he stares at jack’s reflection in the window, arms coming up to fold over his chest. 

     there’s a pause between jack’s d e m a n d and timothy’s actual actions, teeth sinking into his plasticine lips before he finally rounds jack’s desk and moves to stand beside him at the window. mismatched eyes ( both in PERFECT 20/20 condition. but tim assumes that’s certainly going to change soon enough ) watch what’s going on outside, tracing every single c r a c k in pandora’s moon—eplis—before he spares a glance at jack. he knows he shouldn’t question jack’s policies here, but he can’t h e l p i t. “ why do i need the scar too ? it’s not like anybody’s gonna see it anyways… “

        it may seem to timothy to ALL be semantics, performative and asinine, but it’s only because he doesn’t know what’s at stake -- - and jack doesn’t have the time to sit him down and lecture him on the benefits of taking into consideration all the angles and possibilities. jack’s got BANDITS on his trail. he needs his ass covered, and timothy lawrence is jack’s INSURANCE PLAN. tim’s hips fits into the palm of jack’s hand, a strange look on jack’s face, fleeting before it melds back into nothing, as he turns back out to peer into the vast emptiness of space. it’s a juxtaposing force, the blackness out there ;; full of life, yet so silent. so cold. the hero imagines that’s what d e a t h must feel like, too. 

        “Completely confidential, what I’m about to tell you, Tim, so don’t go... I don’t fuckin’ know, parading anything around? Whatever.” there is no way for jack to look tim in the eyes and say i think i’m going to die out there, and i need you to be my LIVING LEGACY when i go. even jack hates the idea, crazy as it may be, that he could EVER be killed -- - christ, he’s gonna have the W A R R I O R. but even the bravest men have their fears. all of jack’s fears revolve around the concept of being lost to the tides of death, because he can’t die. he can’t, he has so much business that still needs to be done, and no PSYCHOPATHIC BANDITS are going to derail that. still... insurance plan. 

        there is nothing in jack’s hidden expression that betrays what he feels, but his voice is laden with seriousness.

        “Just -- - if anything ever happens to me, all of this is.. it’s yours, Tim. Hyperion, Helios, all of it, and if it’s gonna be yours, then you need to be me, and to be me you HAVE to be authentic. That’s why I need you to take the scar.” honesty comes with great difficulty, and great TRUST. there has been so much betrayal in jack’s life and he just needs tim to NOT be another mistake, to be someone WORTHY of what jack may be forced to leave behind. with his hand on timothy’s hip, jack urges the man in closer, presses their bodies tight, side to side, while he still gazes out, out, out. “The chances of me dying are slim, of course, because I’m INVINCIBLE, baby, but it’s... you’re my fail-safe, Tim. Right now you are the most valuable asset I have. So please... please, Tim. Don’t hold this against me. I NEED you.”

     incongruous eyes dance along rhys’ frame, taking in the way he looks and the gorgeous golden accents on the lapels of his jacket. rhys is PRETTY, and e v e r y other compliment in between that as well. but thinking of rhys as anything BUT his guard, well that’s just… completely unprofessional. he’s known rhys since he was a teenager, timothy’s positive it’d just turn out to be WEIRD anyways. but he grins, reaches for the complimentary water set in front of his plate—cause HE’S rhys’ date now. “ it suits you very well, rhys. “

     he spares a glance down at himself and shrugs in response, a soft laugh falling past his mouth. he’s wearing a simple suit, that’s it—that’s really all his job requires. and it sure as hell beats whatever jack tried to make him. way too many goddamn layers. “ this is basically what i wear all the time. “ he sets the glass of water down after he’s finished taking another sip, soft little hum leaving his lips. “ absolutely, rhys. i’m nothing BUT a gentleman. “ 

        tim’s eyes on him leave flames in their wake, scorching rhys down to the bone, chipping away at his flimsy barriers of profession. rhys is so F U C K E D, so positively fucked, and he knows that this is the case when he actually spares a chuckle at timothy’s horrid suit pun. he opens his mouth, prepared to speak, but is interrupted by their waitress returning ( what poor damn timing ) to take their orders. gnocchi vegetable soup for rhys, and plain old lasagna for timothy, who looks bashful and far too cute for a man his age as he places his order. 

     angel didn’t Q U I T E understand what she had done to her mother, but she does know that she’d rather be home with her right now. death isn’t exactly something angel’s gotten a very good grasp on, not yet at least. but soon she would. with years time, she’d feel the death of herself, imprisoned and used simply for jack’s gain. but for now she’d be blindly happy, ignorant to what would become of her future. 

     “ i wanna go home with mommy. “ she mumbles softly, keeps herself tight against her father’s leg as they move to jack’s office. maybe it wasn’t so bad on helios, jack did let her play around in his office as he worked, as long as she promised to be careful. though she longed to play outside, possibly even with other kids her age. to make friends with them, instead of chatting up a conversation with a claptrap unit. though they were interesting to talk to, they could keep up with her boisterous personality, it didn’t change that they weren’t real people. 

        jack TWITCHES at the mention of -- - of his late wife, and angel k n o w s that they’ve talked about this, about how they cannot talk about her mother for... for reasons that jack understands she’s still too, too young ( SO YOUNG ) to comprehend. his fingers only grip slightly too harsh against the back of her small head, resolve pulling his hand away with a sigh that expands his whole diaphragm. it takes a LOT to keep his jaw from clenching when he speaks to her. she’s a kid. a child. his baby girl. and she just doesn’t KNOW. “You know that you can’t be with -- - with mommy, Angel.”

        through the halls, around every corner, jack is hyper-vigilant of their surroundings, until they are disappearing through the doors to his office and he can breathe another sigh, this time one of relief that no one has noticed his precious GEM. a real diamond in the rough, jack thinks, flipping on the light in his office and guiding angel to the desk with a hand at her back. she goes to her seat with no objections, and jack goes to his to start another long day of slaving away at a frickin’ keyboard for too little recognition. one of these days, people are gonna have a change of heart for all the work he’s done for this E N T I R E goddamn company. 

               SLEEP   is a   rare commodity  ;;    only acquired in small quantities  ,  usually plagued by all the shit she so desperately represses in her waking hours.   The   booze   helps  and so does he  ,  when she can get him into bed and   keep him there     —-     there’s something   COMFORTING   about not being   a l o n e.

                  Which is why his sudden prodding triggers a   groan,  her disapproval evident as she blindly searches for a spare pillow  ,  fingers clutching fabric in a vice grip as it’s raised off the mattress and collides harmlessly against his head.   Eyes peel open then  ,  poorly suppressed smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.          ‘    You’re off to a   great start,    ’          she comments airily  ,  fingertips move to gently rub the sleep from her eyes.  

               ‘    Sleeping in was   heavily impliedwhen I said you should take the day off  ,   hon.   Y’know  ,  since it hasn’t exactly been high on your list of priorities lately.    ’ 

        “Sleep is for the weak, Sasha.” bright laughter, a single hand coming to his defense as the pillow hits him, the SMILE on her lips unmissable. it’s how rhys knows that she’s only a LITTLE annoyed by his actions, easy enough to make up for by dipping down to kiss her noisily right between her furrowed brows. her corralling him into time off, however brief, comes from a place of well meaning intent, and even rhys, who searches for a reason to be bitter in EVERYTHING, cannot begrudge her concern for his well-being. 

        he may be 28, but he is not the best at taking care of himself -- - sasha helps, though. keeps the ceo in line, for which he is INFINITELY grateful. annoying her until she’s smiling and laughing is his method of repayment. he rolls back over, flopping onto his back and grinning over at her as she rubs her fingers into her eyes to clear them of the drowsiness. “Besides, being awake doesn’t mean we have to get out of BED. We could stay here all day.”