#defectillusions

Figured this one would be the most obvious choice ;^)/10. “I don’t like how you decorated the tree. Do it again.” /

Rhys takes a slow, strained breath through his nose before releasing it equally slow. He immediately grows to regret it when the stench hits him.

“Absolutely no. Get rid of it.” As much of an order as it’s a veiled plea because Rhys would rather be anywhere else than here.

you don't want to discuss it but you tagged it rhack - seems hypocritical af to me ;) but hey, you do you sweetheart

something small, i hope thats okay

The first time Rhys had asked Jack to sleep with him, the bodyguard had, admittedly, not been thinking about any of the more mundane details that would come with it. 

Rhys had had a particularly trying meeting, with the boss from Jakobs needling him unnecessarily, clearly trying to provoke the omega as a means to discredit his temerity. Jack had managed to keep the situation under control, exuding a chilly presence as well as grasping Rhys’ knee firmly under the table, grounding the omega’s frustration so that he could finish the meeting and Jack could whisk him away to somewhere more private. 

Once they’d gotten home, Rhys had sourly demanded some of the vodka he’d gifted to Jack several weeks earlier, taking an unwise mouthful and nearly losing his balance as a result of the burning coughing fit. Jack’s brow had creased in concern as he’d caught the swaying young man, letting Rhys murmur and hiccup into his jacket. 

It had been hard to deny Rhys’ watery eyes and sniffling, pleading expression once he’d finally gotten the young man up to his room, and when Rhys’ had tearfully begged him to stay, to lay besides him and not leave, Jack just couldn’t say no. 

He’d wrapped his arms securely around Rhys and fell asleep a couple moments after him, feeling very noble and snug in his role as the comforting alpha. 

But the serene moment, and Jack’s satisfaction, was broken with a start when Rhys suddenly thrashed in his arms, jolting Jack awake.

“Зайчик--?” Jack had started, blearily lifting his head only to see that Rhys was still asleep. And peacefully so--his expression was not contorted in the vestiges of some terrible nightmare. Jack watched, confused, as Rhys tossed and turned, eventually flopping onto his belly and spreading his limbs like a starfish all about the bed.

Well, Jack shook his head with a smile, at least he knew now why young Rhys’ bed was always unmade. 

WELL i kinda went into some detail over here already, but i can always say more...

So, in this AU Jack is well known around Pandora as the guy you want to talk to if you need to know something about the vaults - he’s a book of knowledge that guy, honestly. Rumours have it that he was the head of some top secret Hyperion Vault thing before the company up and left but no one knows for sure (it was top secret after all) the only thing is that this guy, who insists you call him Handsome Jack is... well... he’s kind of weird.

Oddly energetic, prone to mood swings, will be helpfully giving you directions on your map only to smother you with it a second later, yknow, the usual for your typical violent Pandoran citizen, not to mention that he sure loves to talk to himself a lot - like, a lot. You can hear his voice echoing from like a mile away (okay maybe not that far but close enough)

BUT RHYS HERE, new Atlas CEO and so desperate for that sweet, sweet Eridian loot and to be the first to crack through Hyperion’s tough defenses on Elpis (because COME ON if that doesn’t just scream invaluable riches he doesn’t know what does) so this ‘Handsome Jack’ is his best bet at getting it. Especially if he’s ex-Hyperion like everyone says.

Except Rhys was expecting some lunatic wielding a blade saw and instead he got... a pretty normal guy. A complete asshole with nooo personal space, but a normal guy none the less.  So really, it could have been worse.

I didn’t think anyone would honestly ask me anything so thanks! XD

—-So 8: There is this scene in the first fanfic I had published in a while where Rhys and Hugo are sort of going at it.

*“Rhysie,” a very annoying, fake friendly voice called his name. Rhys did not have to turn around to know it was Hugo Vasquez, his annoying fake ass boss.

“What do you want, Hugo,” Rhys said not looking at him.

“Did you get those reports done,” Vasquez asked. “I need them on my desk by 9 tonight.”

Rhys turned around. “What reports.”

“The reports I just put on your desk,” Vasquez gave him his eat shit grin.

Rhys’ jaw dropped. Are you fucking serious, “Vasquez it’s the day before Easter.”

“Yes and if you get them done you can actually enjoy Easter in your lonely apartment,” Vasquez smiled. “I would get going if I were you.”

Rhys clenched his jaw and crossed his arms over his chest. He couldn’t look at Vasquez instead he glanced at Yvette and Vaughn who look pale, they stepped back from Rhys and Vasquez.

Rhys crunched his eye brows. He felt a heavy arm lay across his shoulders. He looked up and saw that Handsome Jack had arrived. Rhys was so focused on how angry he was at Vasquez that did not even notice his boyfriend.

“Miss me, pumpkin,” Jack said. He smiled at Vasquez. “So what does Wallet Head want.” Jack asked Rhys.

Rhys unfolded and placed his hands on his hips. “He wants me to finish a report he just placed on my desk that is due by nine tonight..” Rhys raised an eyebrow.

“Ah, well I am sure that Vasquez here can start on the paperwork, and what he doesn’t get done he can leave for you,” Jack said. “Which should be nothing because no good, sane, boss would assign loads of paperwork right before a deadline.” Jack gave Vasquez his own eat shit grin.

Vasquez grabbed at his shirt collar his face now red. “Of course, sir.” He then ran off into the growing crowd.*(It’s long)

Well I like this one because most of the fanfics I read Jack is an ahole (of course) but at the same time it is apparent his isn’t a total ahole the whole time bc of his daughter Angel. I just want to show more of that side of Jack…even though right after this scene he acts like a complete ahole again. (Haha)

14: Well "just sit in front of your computer and start typing” Ohkay but if you don’t know what you wanna write how is that gonna help?

I have adhd so sitting in front of a computer, making me feel like I’m chained there to help me write does not work. At all. (I end up on tumblr xD)

So my advice is to take a walk and start acting out scenes in your head (and if you still can’t come up with an idea at least you are doing something more productive than staring at a blank document and a blinking curser)

17: I wish I could write a story from front to finish. My problem is always the cornbread center. It’s always mushy!

I mean I have my beginning figured out and I have the ending wrote but sometimes I can’t complete a story bc I can’t get from A to B (which is my problem IRL with my books I try to write)

(If anyone has advice for that please tell me…I need help with my cornbread lol)

—

“You know,” Sasha takes a longer sip of her Margarita before waving the empty glass in the general direction of a small scene where the band she has had come play at her wedding was performing just mere moments ago, “technically they are not so bad…”

Next to her, Fiona is rapidly downing one shot after another, “technically, yes. Would have been better if they had been doing the same song… “ and she’s right because Rhys’ droney love ballad doesn’t exactly agree with the cacophony of ‘sick’ solos Jack is currently wringling out of the abused bass guitar, still stained with a few speckles of blood. See, the band just wasn’t playing what he wanted to hear and Jack, as always, had to take matters into his own two hands, sending a few punches flying and chasing the hastily retreating band members with some choice words.

“You have to give it to the man however, Jack surely has improved since I last heard him butcher some innocent violin…” leaning between the two sisters, Athena snatches one last shot glass and knocks the drink back.

“Yeah, Vaughn said he saw him downloading tutorials into his systems this morning…” Fiona clearly isn’t happy about having her alcohol taken away from her, rolling her unfocused eyes around in search for some more. This is the exact moments the two men start giving it their 200%, Rhys dropping any pretenses of retaining any rhythm and just trying to scream over the thumping bass. “I am too sober for this second hand embarrassment…” It’s time to make a beeline for the bar and get another round of suspiciously purple, glowy kamikazes.

“Well, they clearly aren’t. Wanna bet how long it will take for this to turn into a fight?” Sasha seems to be absolutely delighted with the whole situation and the prospect of betting easily serves to lift her sister’s sour mood.

“God fuckit, what a fucking useless, steaming pile of skag ass crack NUTBALLS!” Rhys’ brain is struggling to piece contradicting sensations currently assaulting his half asleep mind. On one hand, there is a heavenly scent wafting through the whole apartment. On the other there’s Jack… ”…thunderous wafflecunts arghh…” who seems to be quickly burning through his whole vocabulary, “you jizz-dribbling, trashcan humping fuckballs!” closely followed with more indecipherable grunts and the sound of something breaking. A quick glance at the softly glowing clock confirms that it’s 4 a.m and while pulling a pillow over his head and going back to sleep sounds like the most preferable option, the ever more creative string of curses and the smell of freshly baked goods do a fairly good job of dragging Rhys out of the bed.

Poking his head into the kitchen, Rhys sleepily takes in the absolute pandemonium that the place has become. Amidst the smashed plates on the floor, assorted vegetables and fruits strewn all over and the dusting of flour clinging to every surface, stands the culprit behind this mayhem, with yolk dripping from his sleeve, a smear of chocolate across the bridge of his nose and hair turned matted and off-white with what looks like icing sugar. Jack is too busy shooting accusatory glares at a batch of chocolate-chips cookies chilling innocently on a baking tray, to notice at first that he has company. Rhys could ask what’s happened, of course he could, but ultimately, what would be the point, Jack is a man who follows his own paths, however twisted and winding those paths wouldn’t be, and usually it was best to leave him to his own devices lest one ended up caught in the crossfire. However, positive feedback tended to yield much more favourable results, especially if it overlapped with Rhys’ own agenda, agenda that now demanded to sate his simmering hunger. So he opts for stalking closer to the baking tray, one hand already reaching for the still warm cookies.“Damn, ‘m hungry as tits, good you got something nice for me…” His attempt is foiled when a spatula, still sticky with dough, smacks his hand away.“Watch your fucking language dickcheese!” Rhys feels strangely offended, “this garbage isn’t good enough to eat.”Ask Rhys and he’ll tell you that the cookies look perfectly fine, golden brown and with half melted chocolate dotted here and there. Before he can protest, the cookies are snatched right from under his nose and disposed in the, more or less, vicinity of the trash bin. What a shame and he has to wonder how much his dignity would suffer if he came back later to eat them straight off the floor. By the time he’s done contemplating it, Jack has slowly spiraled into yet another angry monologue, “stupid, turd ridden shitfuck!”“Okay, okay, calm down, wanna make another batch?”“We’re outta chocolate chips you twat!” Like it’s Rhys’ fault! The nerve of this man! For a few seconds Rhys chews on his bottom lip looking for another solution.“Fine, how about something else? What have we ingredients for?”With a much calmer hum, Jack nudges a bunch of carrots lying on the floor, “carrot cake?”“Mmm, sounds good to me, need a helper? I could, uh…” it’s no secret that Rhys and any form of baking or cooking don’t go together unless you need something set on fire but his intentions are pure, “I dunno, hold a cookbook for you? Read the recipe out loud?”That doesn’t seem to be the best thing to propose, the other man instantly fluffing up like an angry cat, “what kind of chef you take me for?! I don’t need help. Or stupidass cookbooks for that matter, everything’s in here pumpkin.” A tap to the side of his head indicates what he has in mind. And maybe, Rhys wonders, that’s where the problem is all along, but he values his life enough not to voice his doubts.“Then how about a uhh…” it’s too late at night to easily come up with a good solution to this, “an assistant? How does that sound?” Damage control! Bingo.“…fine.” Scratching his chin, Jack regards him with a thoughtful stare, clearly trying to figure out what to assign to his assistant so nothing ends up in flames, “get those carrots and start shredding…”“Oh, I don’t need to I’m already…” with a crooked grin, Rhys hikes his shirt a little bit higher, “…shredded.”His joke is only met with an unimpressed tilt of one sharp eyebrow.

Watching Jack enter his ‘baking zone’ is unlike anything Rhys has ever experienced, only comparing to how focused the man got whenever he got something sharp in his hand and a victim strapped to a chair. He waltzes through the kitchen to the beat only he can hear, measuring ingredients rather by handfuls than cups, and quietly murmuring something to himself. Jack breaks out of his ‘zen’ only once the carrots have been grated and the second Rhys spots an egg nonchalantly juggled in flour-stricken hands, he instantly regrets not putting, or owning for that matter, an apron. He has less than a split of second to grab a bowl and protectively clutch it to his chest.“You’re looking too fucking clean, we’re about to get down and dirty baby!” The egg catches him just above his dick, “shitfuck!”Jack only cackles and makes a rude comment about Rhys being bitchy while ovulating.All things considered, the man has always performed better when in front of an audience, carefully sifting the dry ingredients into the wet ones and adding a pinch of this or that as he goes. Eventually, after Rhys has dutifully lined the cake pan, the batter ends up scooped into it and the whole thing lands in the oven. Even if Jack won’t find the cake up to his standards this time, at the very least he’ll have Rhys to blame for that and, as much as it won’t be pleasant, he knows a few tricks how to placate the other man. “And now we wait for the dickwheel to be ready so I can cream this pie with some quality Handsome Jack-special icing!”30 minutes is a lot of time to keep Jack distracted enough to stop the nervously pacing in front of the oven but Rhys may have an idea how to go about it. With a hand fisted into the front of Jack’s shirt, he tugs him closer to stare down the length of his nose into brilliant green and blue eyes, “thought you said we were outta chocolate…” he follows the soft hum of his words with a tongue eagerly running over the streak of chocolate still stuck to the other’s face.

Set somewhere between bullet hearts and bulletprone ;^) it originally was meant to be in the story anyway, just maybe, not exactly like that but oh welp.

Still can take some more prompts if ya have any

Easing Jack into his new responsibilities, shouldn’t be Rhys’ job. But then again, there is no one else who could do it better, no one with more pride in what Atlas has become and he’d rather suffer through it now, so the man doesn’t end up dropped into the thick of it once the doom’s clock chimes its final tune. Not when we’re talking about Rhys’ beloved baby. So that’s how the two of them end up on a cruise taking them through more remote Atlas’ facilities.