#jackothy

[fairysylveon]

y'all remember when dameon clarke quote retweeted a render of jack bending tim over his desk and called it beautiful? iconic. sublime.

[phenikas]

Jack and Tim had a kid in my game and it's the most fucked up thing I have ever seen

[zeesbumblingbees]

Jack telling Tim "I'm a feminist, fuck you"

[phenikas]

crying every day over how dead the fandom has become and how dead the rhack, rhysothy and jackothy tags are cause some people can't mind their own business and keep their trash talking to themselves which only made ppl uncomfortable posting about these ships 😭😭

Like holy shit look what you did!!! You turned away the life of this fandom in exchange for cannibalizing on your own goddamn posts!! You turned away potential new fans of other ships because you couldn't keep your stupid opinions about *literally normal ships (in comparison to, you know, actual problematic/illegal ships)* because "uWu my ship is better than this trash, you better ship it because it's not as popular!!"

Are you happy now? Are you satisfied that there's literally no one who even gives a fuck about the fandom as a whole? I hope so

[saturnberry]

Timothy Lawrence morphing into Handsome Jack because he's forgotten himself and Jack has been the only constant happiness he's experienced in his ever-changing miserable life.

He hates Jack but hates himself more or something.

[saturnberry]

God is in My Skin: a Drabble

I wrote this while listening to a twenty-minute long improv jazz piece. Apparently it made me think of Jack and Tim.

It was a privilege to know yourself inside and out. Few people across the six galaxies got to hold that achievement. Monks from Athenas were most notable in that niche. Bandits followed after, however their self-proclamation was deemed to be from delusion rather than a lifetime of meditation and dedication. 

Most people didn’t bother to learn such an intimate practice. There wasn’t a point when you struggled to survive everyday. You used your mind to worry about motors striking your home, not how to focus it to look at your internal organs. Though, some wanted to have boasting rights. 

If peering inside of your body double’s asshole after you had stretched it impossibly wide with toys and your own two hands counted as the ability to look within yourself, well Handsome Jack would add it to the list of things that made him better than everyone else around him. 

Who needed “meditation” and “self-discovery” when you had copious amounts of lube and a Saturday night with no deadlines to hold you back? Not to mention a compliant, valued employee who did anything if enough cash were held above his head, to make it all happen. 

Handsome Jack valued Timothy’s moral complex. It bent by the promise of cold-hard-cash. A man tied to a life of debt, who paid it off with his mind, body, and eventually his soul by the time Jack was finished with him. He always wanted an army of Jack’s, why not start small with one?

The only difference Jack would keep was Timothy’s submissive nature. His ability to roll over for the promise of anything nice. A bribe that climbed higher and higher, until he caved and did as was asked. 

This time it was to be a toy, an object used out of boredom. Humiliation met with chains of praise that tethered Timothy to Jack. Intimacy shared between lovers on a night to celebrate an inseparable bond, reserved for two men with nothing but hatred between them. An outsider would not be able to make sense of it. Neither men knew what to make of it either. 

Jack moved rough, like pounds of paperwork and decisions for a company known across the galaxies weighed down on every muscle. He pried the doppleganger open with his index fingers. He slowly stretched muscle until it had no choice but to give in. His nails dug into walls untouched, he explored parts that didn’t want to be seen, forced them to show him what they were. 

A kiss of air soothed the younger man and silenced him of any groans of discomfort. A calm voice after a fit of rage. The promise of something pleasant, to hold out longer. Jack thought of Timothy’s wants, his desires. He didn’t have to say a word, Jack knew him that well. It sedated him, to know he didn’t have to do anything, that Jack had everything planned. He spoiled the body double, gave him treatment that Jack reserved only for himself. 

A slap to Timothy’s ass indicated Jack had his fun. An abrupt stop to the calm. A halt in any thought that Jack wanted this to last. Not matrimony, but an exchange of part-time love. A confession before an orgasm, intoxication before clarity. The experiment was short-lived. Timothy was sent off with nothing short of a hand wave after he fulfilled his task. 

No exchange of words, no praise or approval from his boss. A wad of cash on the desk, stained in a mix of bodily fluids and lube. Not a final contact of skin on skin. Not a glance. A silent walk of shame out of the office. 

Handsome Jack didn’t need cheap prostitutes to occupy his time when he had his best employee chained with lifelong debt at his beck and call. Timothy Lawrence didn’t need a lover when he had a boss who graciously fed him crumbs of the tastiest morsel he couldn’t afford. 

Of what he never had the privilege to taste in the first place. 

[saturnberry]

I'm really starting to love these two :)

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[saturnberry]

Something something suggestive imagery and Tim denying his sadistic and perverted tendencies because it's all Jack's fault. From a headcanon that Jack made/makes his body doubles do a rigid workout routine even though that man has no athletic capabilities himself. Just look at him. Toothpick leg havin' ass. Carb addict. Dadbob. He can't even run right.

Drabble below the read more.

“Shut up. You don’t understand.” Jack’s protest came out as a whine more than anything imitating intimidation. His muscles quivered with the strain to lift his body out of the chair. They gave up supporting his weight and the CEO fell onto the cushioned material with a grunt. A day after Jack joined Timothy at the gym and he was reduced immobile from working his muscles on what he had labeled a ‘light workout’. Pathetic is what Tim thought. In his head. He was sure Jack would airlock him if he muttered it out loud, especially when he was already cranky.

Jack tested him. Tim bit his tongue in front of his boss too many times to count. Jack had a mouth, used it to taunt people he knew couldn’t talk back to him. That was his little game. Timothy could be just as sassy, just as mean. He blamed it on Jack’s DNA. Truthfully, Timothy was mean from birth, he didn’t have the confidence nor good looks to get away with it before. 

Jack made a startled noise and wriggled when Timothy squeezed his outer thigh. The body double rolled his eyes, “I don’t understand?” Timothy leaned forward and trapped Jack in the chair, not that he could get up anyways. “I’ve done this routine weekly,” Tim dug his fingers into sore muscle, “and ran around the moon,” the dull ache became a line pulled until it threatened to snap, “and got shot at.” Jack’s yelling dissolved into whimpers when Timothy’s grip pulled away. “But sure. I don’t understand your pain.” 

Like a tight line of muscle and fiber, Timothy’s patience was that of a hair. It didn’t take much to make him snap, especially under Jack’s employment. Tim hated that part of himself. What once he could control being in the hostile environment of beratement from his mother and of professors and adult bullies. With the smug bastards of Hyperion and the spoiled King himself on the other hand, Timothy couldn’t help it. Being forced to act like Jack on the daily did not help it either. 

Thick, calloused fingers pressed into strained muscle. It was akin to scrubbing blood from clothes. Timothy’s face was focused as he worked, determined to  please his boss so both men could return to more important things. Not that listening to Jack scream wasn’t important. It was different, more pleasant than listening to his own terrified and agonizing screams from gunfire. 

Jack squirmed with every glide of Tim’s fingers. Soft grunts and moans slipped from his lips. His brows pulled tight together, eyes fluttered between closed to wide open, head thrown back against his chair. It was lewd. Shameful.

Timothy locked identical eyes with Jack. His fingers moved to Jack’s groin, and massaged the area. He pushed his fingers up towards Jack’s stomach and earned an inhale through the teeth. Pulling his fingers back down the thigh pulled a shaky moan from Jack’s mouth. Like playing a violin, each glide of the bow pulled sweet sounds from the ever-so-tight strings. 

Moving slow drew relaxed moans from Jack. Faster, and he grunted. Circling a particularly tight knot made Jack’s core tighten and he shot up to grab Tim’s wrist with a demand, “stop”.

“Stop? Oh we have a long way to go if you’re still in pain, Jack.” Tim pulled away to let ‘his’ splitting image breathe. A smirk threatened to creep on his lips. He shouldn’t, it was mean, but God did Jack deserve it. “You’re so tight…” it felt weird coming from his mouth towards Jack of all people. It did pull another moan from the real Jack. It was like looking in a mirror, if the mirror inverted an image,  “It’ll take a bit to fully work you out.” Jack groaned and shot Timothy a glare, “This is your fault. You pressured me to do your workout.”

Tim tuned Jack out. He wanted to tell Jack off then and there, but he liked living, sort of. There he went again, testing. Maybe if the real Jack wasn’t lazy, he’d be able to do his own workout routine. Timothy felt blood form in the inside of his mouth. “Sure. This is all my fault, Jack. We’ll go with that.”