#rhack fanfiction

[kidsomeday]

Happy WIP Wednesday! I hope you achieve some creative joy from it today!

Thank you! I picked a document at random and started writing, and this is what emerged.

-

This revelation deserved a great deal of consideration, but Jack had reached his limit of emotions for the day. Perhaps for the year. He decided to go to bed before any more could sneak up on him. First, he had to maneuver his way out from under six feet of lanky human. It should have been easy except for the fact that every time Jack attempted to move, Rhys responded by snuggling him even harder. He gritted his teeth and tried to convince his heart not to get involved. This was frustrating, he told himself. Not cute. Feeling like this was cute would be an emotion, and as stated Jack was firmly not having those right now.

[smpsys]

Idk if I ever posted them but

Renders based on a scene from my fic

[vole-mon-amour]

I don't know how to Google this and how to tag this, but can someone please recommend me a piece of media where the protagonist (probably more or less an average and good person, definitely sane and understands good from wrong) is canonically a good/best friend with the villain?

The protagonist doesn't want to kill the villain, nor do they want to fix them. The protagonist sees the villain's point and either thinks they're right or that whatever they're doing is kinda fun, why not let them and maybe even join them? They genuinely love their friend and aren't working with them because it'll help to save the world or whatever.

Think Batman and Joker (just like in Batman: Europa, Bat Jokes :). Think of Telltale's Batman where you can team up with Joker (a vanilla version of that, but still). Think of Bruce and Jeremiah, but Bruce loves even the post gas version of him.

Think Handsome Jack and Rhys ("I wanted to be just like him."), but Rhys teams up with Jack (and they're in love actually)

Think Pagan Min with Ajay that didn't leave at the beginning of the game, brought his mother's ashes where she wanted to be, and he's going to have a lot of fun shooting others with Pagan.

Think Joseph Seed and The Judge in FCND, except that The Judge came villingly and wanted to help.

Think of a vampire hunter that actually befriends the vampire they're supposed to kill and joins them. (Kinda Castlevania Netflix, but I want a more evil version. Like Isaac. "Because you all are so fucking rude!" Like Dracula. Yes, kings.)

I don't need two insane freaks. I want a sane person who shrugs and goes, "Why not?" And then joins their best friend who's the villain (that's maybe been right all along).

PLEASE recommend me media like that. I'll take books, TV shows, movies, VIDEO GAMES (!!! befriending the villain? let's go!). The hero saving the day? The hero fucking up the day and enjoying it!!

[gunitnekoh]

I have question for fandoms:

Is it wrong to commission art for a fanfiction IF YOU ARE NOT THE AUTHOR?

I ask because I lack drawing skills but there are so many fic scenes and ideas/head canons that I absolutely think deserve (and would like to see) made into visual art and I’m willing to pay because I see it as enriching the fandom and supporting art…

HOWEVER I was in another fandom where an artist made art/illustration for a fanfic (that they genuinely loved, they weren’t commissioned to do it) BUT things got a little heated when the artist posted the art on their Patreon. If I remember correctly the art at the time was also posted in the fanfiction, but things got complicated when the artist kept making art for that fic/AU couple and posting to their Patreon and the author felt that the artist was now making consistent money off of THEIR idea/fic that they had made and posted for free

I would appreciate thought and input

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: “...your house?” Rhys asks quietly. “Yeah? As in the house I grew up in? My room is upstairs?” At Rhys’s blank stare, she sighs, gesturing down the hall. “I live here? With my dad? “Your da—” Rhys stops abruptly, his eyes widening. “Your dad. Oh my god,” he says, burying his face in his hand. “Jack is your dad, isn’t he?” he continues, voice muffled. Angel squints at him. “Yeah? How do you know…” She trails off, connecting the dots.. “Oh my god,” she whispers. “Are you—oh my god,” she shrieks, and Rhys groans into his hand. OR: A college AU in which Rhys and Angel are friends/academic rivals, Rhys is dating Angel's dad, and it's all just very weird.

Author: @michaelandthegodsquad

[sinfulmarie]

ladies and gents i have outdone myself yet again. new chapter of Vacillation II out now !! <3

[fluffehpenguin]

I WANT TO SHARE THIS STUFF, OKAY!! I miss writing SO much and I'm getting back on the horse

Here's some snippets to help decide:

/First One:

The carrier is wrecked beyond repair. The cockpit is torn in half and he can spot pieces of the engine’s motor and its coolant leaking into the earth. He takes a full 2 seconds to appreciate that his head is still attached to his body, never mind a lack of extreme brain damage.

Which instantly comes into question when something bright orange pops up in front of him.

“-Oh, this is rich,” A figure flickers into existence, back turned. It takes its time observing the situation, shaking its head and raking a hand through its slicked hair. Said hair doesn’t budge. “You’re unbelievable,” It turns, gesturing at the torn-up shuttle, flames and all. Dressed entirely in orange hues, the electric blue eye is the only deviation from the figure’s colour palette. “I’m the one you set as the emergency safeguard?” The figure scowls, arms crossing. “O-Or are you just sadistic enough to put me in that thing,” its finger points to the hexagon on his tattered jacket, “So I can rot out here with your corpse, Jack.”

Silence and sand stands between them, unhurried. And it takes a moment to click, but when it does, it hits him like a bumper to a skag. 

“That’s- my name’s John, pumpkin, and you’re acting real high and mighty for an AI.”

◇-------◇

/Second One:

“How was I supposed to know? Come on, it’s just one bangle,” the man whines. The man matches every step Jack takes forward with a backwards step. Jack snorts. What a coward.

“Yeaah, pumpkin, and the shiny thing is much more valuable than your pitiful life,” Jack growls, pausing as he watches the man furiously shake his head. It took one more step before there was a shriek as the man’s foot hit the air- having backed out the attic’s window. His fall was stopped as Jack grabbed the stranger’s cloak, keeping him from plummeting to the ground below.

“And it’s certainly not worth the reward I’m waiting on. So, be a good boy, give me back that bangle and run along.”

There’s a moment of defiance written in a frown and lowered brows. It’s cute for all of two seconds. Jack goes from upright to being violently shoved backwards and falling onto his ass. The stranger rights himself with a gust of wind. He shoots Jack a smirk as he slides the bangle onto his wrist.

“No. I don’t think I will.”

The magic user breaks into a sprint past Jack, whose grip misses the other’s ankle. Great. First, I’m bested by a vampire and now a young, dumb mage? He growls and stumbles back to his feet, rushing after the footfalls.

◇-------◇

/Third One:

“Jack, if you wanted to dance, you didn’t have to drag us here to do so,” Rhys says, breathless as they skate through the crowd. Said crowd is not so graceful as people rush to make space for them. Thankfully, his deep maroon suit against Jack’s yellow satin waistcoat is hard to ignore.

The man in question grins. “Come on, Rhysie- it’s way more fun with an audience and booze I didn’t pay for,” he replies, clasping Rhys’s hand tighter and pulling him closer to avoid a collision.

Rhys can’t argue with that. However…

“Did it have to be on the Zanara, though?” He complains, managing not to falter as he’s flung out and twirled back into Jack’s arms.

Honestly, the entire moment is bizarre. To think that he’d be here, with Handsome Jack as both his plus one and Co-CEO, representing his company, the Atlas Corporation, in Katagawa’s pleasure palace to celebrate some mediocre Maliwan release party… Well, Rhys didn’t think he could have even survived the first thing a decade ago. How he’s surviving the last one is a miracle.

[hellofwinnie]

‼️Downhill Chapter 3 "H for the Handsome Hand" is a bonus:

⚠️ NSFT

"Ha! Pretty cool, right?"

"Yeah…hehe" Timothy wiggled his fingers faster.

"Do you feel anything?" Jack took his hand into both of his.

"Um…"

Jack pressed buttons on his holoscreen.

"Oh!" Tim sprang. "Now I do feel! Your hands are…" Tim cut off, aware of Jack's gaze on his face.

"...warm." Tim pulled his hand away, brushing his chest involuntarily. "Isn't it too sensitive? It's just my nervous system," Tim ranted as Jack's chin dropped, staring. "I naturally have more receptors- I think your doctors know this, they-".

Jack moved strangely and it made Tim, once again, reassess the risks. Did he make him angry?

"Well, Tim Tams. There's only one way to find out." Jack leaned on all four, crawling towards him.

"Is it?" Tim's anxiety returned. He tried to move back but his back hit the wall.

"Yeah. Do you wanna Jack kiss your babbling mouth, princess?" Jack moved until their foreheads met. Timothy's vision went dark for a moment as he regained strength to inhale.

Tim brought his new hand up, brushing it against Jack's face. Electricity zipped but this time inside Tim's brain.

"Jack?"

"Yes." Jack brought his chin closer, eyelashes brushing as he looked at Tim's lips.

"Yes?" Timothy wasn't able to form any words but still asked.

"Yes." Jack confirmed and tilted his head to peck Tim's upper lip.

Tim gave into the kiss, relaxing his lips and nibbling Jack's. Jack moved his head brushing his tongue on the smooth inner border of Tim's mouth.

"Remember every move this hand will make, pumpkin. There will be a test." Jack smirked and took Tim's robotic hand in his. Jack pulled it closer, bringing it past his chest and abdomen, stopping on his crotch.

"Fuck." Tim whispered in realisation.

"Exactly." Jack mumbled into his mouth and wriggled to increase the pressure.

Read the rest here

[th3atr3phant0m]

Promises

Rhys had had a less than optimal past as far as dating experiences went. He hadn't always been the best judge of character and he'd paid because of it. Of course, Rhys had plenty of wonderful people in his life- his beloved best bro, Vaughn, and their mutual friends Sasha, Fiona, and Yvette. There were fantastic people in his life and his standards for how people should treat him had increased from allowing people to walk all over him like a doormat to actually demanding basic respect from those around him. He'd come a long way over the years and both he and Vaughn were incredibly proud of that. Still, that didn't negate the impact his past had had on his life. 

Rhys wasn't a complete moron- on some level, even back when he would accept any kind of horrible treatment from everyone around him with minimal complaint, he was aware that some of the things he dealt with from others were… extreme. He knew that some of the things he allowed to happen shouldn't happen. He knew that some things were too far. 

But he had been desperate and he had been stupid. 

Really, that stupidity and his warped perception of how his relationships with other people should work were what lead to Rhys ending up in the worst romantic relationship he had ever had: his revolting coworker Hugo Vasquez. 

Read the rest here!

[biohazard-inevitable]

Chapter 3 of High Score Hero is up!!!!! Please feelnfree to go read it I’m shakin the rust off my brian gears and its getting GOOD!!!

[kidsomeday]

You're Nobody Til Somebody Wants You Dead, please!

Thank you so much for the ask! Sorry for the delay. Jack's love language is vowing vengeance, I'm pretty certain.

-

“Long story short, Angel made a compelling case for me being the worst person who had ever lived,” he said. “And after taking some time to cope with that I realized she may have been right. So I started working to try and fix what I could. Like getting her to be able to survive without constant eridium again so she can leave. Work on giving her freedom.” 

His throat was beginning to hurt. He blamed it on shooting whatever rotgut he had grabbed from his alcohol cabinet and refused to acknowledge the fact that he felt near tears.

“She hates me, and I deserve it. But she’s still my daughter, Rhys. I’m still the one that’s supposed to protect her. And now these…these bastards think they can go after her. Plotting to kill me? That’s fine. If I don’t get at least three assassination attempts a week I’m doing something wrong. But plotting to go after her? I won’t just destroy them. I’ll destroy everything they’ve ever loved, no matter how briefly, and only after they lay weeping in the dirt begging will I finally be merciful enough to end their pathetic existence.”

[smpsys]

So I might've-

(I originally wrote it and posted it halfway asleep and it was notttt good, so I went and rewrote it and now it's better!)

[zeebeesinning]

🔞 Just A Fantasy (Based In Reality) 🔞

A Rhack NSFW one shot.

Please read the tags before reading the fic. Do not engage if it's not something you like.

[READ HERE ON AO3]

[zeebeebirdy]

What does it mean to be alive?

Well Jack can't even begin to answer the question, because he doesn't know what being alive means anymore. He's dead.

Right?...

[TW: Jack's death, exestential descriptors revolving around dying/death, corpse imagery, and a brief description of vomiting.]

_

Silence.

Wrapping around his bones, burying its roots between the frail cracks father time caused. Filling his lungs, consuming the space, suffocating the notion that air could ever re-enter again. Tangling around his veins, pretty like lace, decorating the delicate wires that gave him life, then pulling tight, sharp like barbwire.

There's nothing behind his eyes, nothing between his ears. His tongue has ceased, the muscle limp and useless. The last time he saw the sun, he saw fire. The last time he smelled fresh air, he smelled ash. The last time he spoke, his words fell on deaf ears. Now there's nothing.

Now there's silence.

Silence, and darkness. They've become one, a demonic joke taunting him.

There used to be something in the early days of this infinite silence, something better. There was a light, consuming the darkness, lifting his body, like he was weightless. The space around him never changed, it remained a white vois and his body kept rising, flying high into the abyss, never reaching its destination. Sometimes he felt what he thought were rain drops, and his skin became their deep puddles, rippling with each droplet's fall. He never saw them, nor did he get wet, but the delicate ricochet caressing his body was familiar; it felt like the rain back home.

Then, without any explanation, the lights went out. The white turned into something beyond just black - it became nothing. He couldn't touch, he couldn't see, he couldn't even acknowledge the very essence of existence, it was just a dull nothingness, drilling into whatever insignificant miniscule spark of life still clung to the universe he once lived in. Memories melted away, hopes and desires turned to ash, and the motivations that built him into the man he was collapsed, turning to dust.

If he could ask questions - if he even knew what questions were and why a person would ask anything and what it meant to propose such curiosities in the pursuit of answers - he might go beyond the obvious. Who was he, what did he like, what did he hate, they were all surface level. Sure, they were foundations to building an image, but it didn't dig deep enough. If he had a consciousness that could ponder his nonexistence, he'd ask something specific, something only he would want to know, and no one else. He'd ask a question so powerful, it could, potentially, reignite his soul, and burn a blaze to the infinite depression which surrounded him.

But he couldn't do that, because in his realm of nonexistence, where consciousness felt as frail and weak as a whisper in a tornado, what even were questions?

Ironic, it seemed.

What even was irony?

Death bonds the existence of flesh and souls, and proves that there's more beyond the physical reality, beyond the spacetime, matter and energy that makes life real. Death, in all its glory, allows there to be more. It's through the decay of flesh that life may rise, proving how delicate a heartbeat is, and how powerful actions are.

Death is terrifying, but for those still alive, it can be beautiful. They don't know what's to come yet, and that unknown which inflicts spine-chilling fear, it pushes them to act. To laugh, to cry, to fall in love, to break hearts, to exist and take for granted every second that there is an existence.

They can't hear the silence. Not yet.

Death.

Silence.

Rain…

He misses the rain. He misses the cold crawling over his skin, and the craters filling with water as the sky tears open, pouring an ocean over the planet. He misses running through the mossy green forest a few miles behind his home, arms out wide touching the soaked leaves and tall grass and trees. He misses the squelching mud beneath his shoes, thick enough to grab his foot, toiling to keep him stuck, if even only for half a second. He misses pushing his hair out of his face, realising just in the knick of time he's at the edge of the cliff before Tangled-Shimalayan drop. He misses looking down, wondering what the fall might feel like–

Then he realises, those are pieces of a memory.

To miss something - anything, let alone a specific moment in time, means he has feelings, and emotions, and a consciousness that can store them. To know a place, or the feeling of a touch, it means there's something to know and be.

The silence that's been his only loose concept of existence is, itself, dying, and in its wake gives way for his life.

He had a life. He had a body, and a soul, and a family, and friends, and enemies, and…

Jack. John? No, Jack. Definitely Jack.

Handsome Jack.

There's an electrifying pulse reverberating throughout his body, and suddenly he's plunged into existence. He gasps abruptly, sitting up in a flash and sputtering out a painful, jagged chorus of coughs, heavily panting when he's able to catch a breath. His eyes are on fire, absorbing the intense colours filling his line of sight. It's all blurry for the first few minutes, but even with only the pixelated shapes, it's too much.

His heart is beating, he can feel it in his throat, like he's being beaten over and over again with a steel pipe, and oh god…oh no, oh fuck–

He turns to his side to throw up violently, and tumbles off the metal table he'd been laid upon. He lands with a hard thud against the cold tiles, hands holding him up, and without any sort of control, lets loose the thick, chunky black mold that's been filling the contents of his stomach. It comes out like a waterfall, and the smell is putrid, like something has been rotting away for years.

There's a faint voice behind him. If he wasn't so bewildered by the overwhelming existence his body found itself to be in, he might have heard:

"You still sure resurrection was a good idea?"

[sinfulmarie]

hi basically i can't stop writing so . chapter three of vacillation II was just posted <3

[fluffehpenguin]

STUDY IN ORANGE - CHAPTER 1

A Study in Orange - Chapter 1 - fluffehpenguin - Borderlands (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]

“I’m the one you set as the emergency safeguard?” The figure scowls, arms crossed. “Are... Are you just sadistic enough to put me in that thing,” its finger points to the hexagon on his tattered jacket, “So I can rot out here with your corpse, Jack?”

Silence and sand stand between them, unhurried. And it takes a moment to click, but it hits him like a bumper to a skag.

“That’s- my name’s John, pumpkin, but you’re acting real high and mighty for an AI.”

it's here! after 4+ years of working on it, picking it up and putting down writing, the re-do is here!!

also I'm looking for a beta/proofreader - feel free to dm me if you wanna volunteer!! it won't be fast paced, since I'm a slow writer, but I tend to make a lot of grammatical errors & I'd love someone to bounce ideas off of!!