Hyperion: a series of massive self-owns, but in yellow.
There’s an un-fun way to invalidate the warranty on a huge and expensive space station, and then there is the fun way. Just saying.
While I’m deeply embracing some cyber Rhack feels here, I admit it does also look like Jack might be fattening Rhys’s hair like a christmas goose until those front wisps get through that difficult to handle stage. Vaughan sneaks into Rhys’s bedroom each night, and razors half a millimetre off his hair just in case.
Attempt at a Fiona. This is the vault hunting equivalent of holding a buttercup under your chin: Just grab that chunk of eridium ore and jam it right under your face, and if it lights up you’re totally green to go throwing yourself into mortal peril. [Disclaimer: may not accurately reflect the advisability of throwing yourself into mortal peril.]
Just imagine my face this morning when it occurred to me that “Orgy Room Lifeguard” is a legitimate career option in this universe.
With added Janitor!Rhys, making this the nsfw coffee shop AU you never needed or wanted.