#the little contractor

[bittybattybunny]

Some more artfight mostly my bigger pieces of the year!

Two of these (the mermaids and the bottom with the Midroyahedgehog) @thepotatogremlin

@darkmedolie

@doodleimprovement

This batch defs were my favs of the year

[dragonpyre]

Stephanie Brown is to the batfamily like what Shawn Spencer is to the Santa Barbara police department

[pjshermann]

[judeaftersickness]

"You're not just my weird patient, Jude," Andy said. "You're also my weird friend." He paused. "Or at least, I hope you are."

He smiled into the phone. "Of course I am," he said. "I'm honored to be your weird friend."

(the postman, pg 230)

[praise-the-lord-im-dead]

Me: gosh trying to figure out housing feels impossible. It'd take a miracle for us to live somewhere vaguely stable

Bible reading for the day: the conversion of Saul and the raising of the dead

[envolvenuances]

and I think child modelling should be illegal I'm not even joking

[calistozom]

I'm back with my cambion and with a lil bit of completely useless information about him. And also a bit of my pain from the prev weekend. I usually spend it on all sorts of small sketches and other joys, but this time I decided to spend it on suffering and another attempt at animation (down bellow)…

So, Nazir is a devilish clerk whose distorted parody of a heart entirely belongs to the world of financial frauds, pyramids and other small scams aimed not so much at murder or robbery, but at spreading discord in society everyday life. His a very "fell in love with his work"-kinda guy, who picks up the same "fallen" servants (well, or those who can be persuaded to fall).

[healingheartdogs]

I know it's been a few years since I've run my own dog training business instead of working for someone else for exploitation wages and that previously I was working in the rural south where prices are a bit different in general, but out of curiosity I decided to look at some dog training services in my area in upstate NY today and got hit with sticker shock ngl.

Most places don't post their prices so I could only compare a few (which... I sort of get since they want to avoid competition doing what I'm doing right now lol but as someone who has run a dog training business and had business marketing included in my education it's something I see as an... *interesting* choice, because most clients want to know price up front without having to contact you and wait for a response because they probably already have a budget in mind and just want to be able to quickly see if you fit into it or not, which means not having prices posted will make some potential clients immediately look elsewhere and if you don't even have some sort of price range for services posted somewhere then most of your calls and emails will just be people asking for pricing and a majority of those calls and emails will not lead to services purchased so it ends up wasting a lot of unpaid time on office work BUT THATS AN UNRELATED TOPIC, I DIGRESS) but WOWZA the ones that did have prices posted really made me realize I do NOT live in a low cost of living place anymore.

One of the popular places here that I looked at charges $150+ for ONE training session with one of their APPRENTICE trainers. It's double that price to train with one of their more experienced dog trainers for just one session.

I looked back at some of the trainers I was competing with back in FL and NC to compare as well as the dog training school I went to just to check and see if prices were getting that high in other rural areas, and nope. Most places $300 would still get you at least three - maybe up to six - private lessons spread out over three (or six, or whatever) weeks, which is the pricing range I'm used to seeing dog trainers in the rural south suffer with because of places like Petsmart setting the pricing bar so low.

I'm pretty sure I have more formal dog training education and certification than most of the employees at this place too since even their main "behaviorist" (not a protected title in the USA so anyone can call themselves that) has no certifications listed at all that I can find, so... I guess now that I live here if I ever start training again I'm going to have to rethink my pricing lol even if I don't charge those kinds of prices I clearly still need to bump them up in this area from what I used to charge in order to be competitive with these other training businesses.

[tj-crochets]

Good news: after a lot of weeks, my air conditioner is fixed!! Also good news: I caught an error in the software at work that was impacting both contractor pay and customer invoicing! Bad news: going through large amounts of data loosely falls under the purview of the department I am now sort of in charge of, which meant my department (which is me and two other people) had to individually open every single order from [specific subset of customers] since the beginning of the year to manually check if either error had occurred. Hundreds of orders, even with a few different criteria we could use to narrow it down. It's done though! I mean the error is not fixed but previous instances of it causing problems are caught and now that we know it exists we can catch future problems before they are invoiced/paid out I have done zero crafting today and I honestly doubt I will get any done lol

[bittybattybunny]

Uhoh fish boy made her mad somehow; he's going in the ocean

[fun-kytown]

I walked into a small bookstore on Friday to pick up a book I had meant to read for months. I had just finished my previous book and, because I wasn’t home and still had four more days left visiting my sister, I decided to read ‘A Little Life.’

The book was just over 800 pages and I thought that it would be a good read for the next few weeks or so.

Little did I know I’d finish it 3 days later.

I hear stories all the time of people who’ve read the book. Their grievances, their frustrations, their mourning. I hear how they cried every time they opened it.

I didn’t cry once, but I feel broken.

Maybe it was because I felt connected to Jude in some way, to his trauma, to his guilt. Or maybe it was because I myself am still unable to accept my own existence, my own pain.

Though, I also feel like an imposter. A fraud. How dare I connect myself to a character so different than I?

Ever since I was a kid, I formed deep emotional connections with characters in any media I exposed myself to. I believed them to be my friends, my family, or even extensions of myself.

So, when I finish a book, I feel a part of myself is lost. Ripped away. Destroyed.

That’s the feeling I have after finishing this book.

The pain I felt was that, given the book recorded a lifetime, with the characters growing old, I remained young. I sit here, experiencing the entire life of a man, all the while I stay 19 years old in a random week of July.

And as I was finishing the book today, I sat outside in a lawn chair, under a shaded tree. Across from me, a summer camp program exited a building to eat lunch outside.

A kid sat in the chair across from me to begin eating his lunch.

He looked at me. I didn’t look at him.

“What book are you reading?” He asked me.

I brought my head up from the page to meet his eyes.

“Oh, just a grown up book about a man’s life.” And I smiled at him, trying to hide the pain the book had brought me.

“Sounds boring,” he replied, “See, instead of reading about his life, I would just live his.”

The kid continued to eat his lunch and I sat there, unable to form words.

I looked down at the book in my hands, my heart aching for the man in the book, and looked back up at the kid.

He sat in the chair, eating a turkey and cheese sandwich, peeling the crust off the bread, dropping the scraps to the ground. He tore of pieces of the sandwich piece by piece as he kicked his legs while he sat, feet swinging in the air.

“Nah, kid, just live your own life.”

And I hope that kid’s life is as wonderful as he could ever imagine. May it not be tarnished by anything or anyone evil. I wish for all his sandwiches to have no crusts for him to peel off, and for everyday to be sunny so he can play.

I hope his life is everything he could ever wish it could be.

And I hope that it’s more than that.

[pjshermann]

advertising post for my upcoming/in progress A Little Life fics bc im so excited about them and need to talk about them :D

just what the doctor ordered (title not finalized)

Fic about Andy and Jude meeting for the first time when Jude is seventeen and has a terrible, sustained episode that makes his friends take him to the campus hospital. Fic follows Andy and Jude through their relationship up until Jude's death

I won't put my child in the dark

Fic about Harold and Julia in the days and weeks and months after Jude's death. enough said about that ;)

Scones

A lighthearted, no angst A Little Life fic???? can you believe it. If you've ever watched Derry Girls you will love this one. I'm taking the scones episode from season two, and putting the Boys in the Hood in a similar situation. College shenanagins involving corpses and weed

Gnossienne

Remember when Jude said his worst nightmare would be for Harold and Julia to find out about his past through a doctors report, a photograph, or a film still? Yeah, that's EXACTLY what happens. woops

No title yet (relatively new idea so yk)

Fic about Harold and Julia meeting for the first time, with Harold finding happiness again after grieving Jacob's passing and his divorce from Liesl. First dates, wedding, and general love !

[kiwibirdlafayette]

they dont know i wrote the rest of hermits/lifers/empires crew into my osmp AU just so i could write in my head a scene where sonja meets the mounders + the roomies

[hog-zone]

incredible piece of worldbuilding here. the afterlife has a glamour system.

[5mind]

[ cw for body horror, corpses, faked suicide ]

It was not unheard of for a newcomer, especially those who showed much promise, to get their corpse done. Sometimes, a simple dissapearance wasn't enough. For some, 'proof' of their death was necessary to sell the act.

But really, Antares suspected that more than anything it was just an extension of the rite of passage that was casting aside one's old life. He never had his corpse done though. He used to be a promising agent but not that promising. Plus, he didn't need to. By the time he decided to fully commit to being Antares, he had already tied up any loose ends.

In his opinion, it was enough to be considered legally dead.

All that aside, there's a reason he's at the mortician's right now. And that reason was in the bright blue ice box he was carrying.

He stopped at a nondescript door with labelled 'Prep Room'. Beneath the sign stating its designation was another one that read 'Unauthorized access not allowed'. Quite frankly, he doubted even someone with authorized access would willingly go in there. Aside from one person, that is. And that person was not him.

Antares knocked on the door. No respone. He knocked again.

"Come in." The voice was barely audible from outside. "It's not locked."

Antares sighed deeply and stepped into a room uniformly flooded with ankle-deep water. Humidity hung thick in the stagnant air. In the middle of the room, stood an autopsy table. And by that table, stood Chimaere.

'Mortician' was a loose term to describe what Chimaere did. He certainly was preparing corpses, alright. Specifically, he altered corpses no one would miss (be it parts of them or whole bodies) into looking like whoever his current client was. Often in varying stages of decomposition and/or physical damage.

Antares glanced at the body on the table. He recognised that face - he'd walked right past it just 15 minutes ago. He's pretty sure Chimaere had collaborated for this.

The next thing he noticed was that the corpse was entirely intact.

"Requested cause of death?" He couldn't help but ask as he set down the ice box he had been carrying on a relatively dry counter. Whatever it was he had been tasked with delivering was not needed for the procedure.

It was payment.

"Asphyxiation. Suicide." The mortician finally turned to look at Antares. Or was he looking at the ice box? Hard to tell through the moisture that had settled on his glasses (how was he even seeing through that?!). He smiled. Antares didn't feel like smiling back but by god did he try.

Unlike the bodies he often had to put together, the handiwork of Chimaere's body was less than perfect. In fact, it was distractingly clear that he was almost entirely composed of different bits and pieces fused into each other. And yes that included the cloak of flesh that hung off his shoulders like a quilt blanket. Assimilation was what they called Chimaere's ability. And the mortician was obsessed with it.

Antares supposed whatever was in the icebox would eventually be a part of the mortician. Thank god he didn't open to take a peek. He had no interest in the details.

Okay, he did. He just didn't want to look into it.

"Uh...right. I'll just leave this here then. The rest of the payment will be sent to your account once you're done." Without the helmet on, it was clear that Antares was trying to look at anywhere except the man he was talking to.

Chimaere nodded.

"So...uh...I'll leave you to your work?"

Chimaere opened his mouth as if to speak but did not so Antares turned to leave.

"Can you stay?"

"What?" Antares turned back.

"The body..is going to be difficult to move on my own." A transparent lie. Antares had seen the other man haul bodies like they were nothing.

"Uh huh...I'm kinda in a hurry though." Yeah, in a hurry to get out of here before the smell of chemicals and milddew sticks to his clothes for good. "Sorry. Maybe next time."

Maybe if they were somewhere else. Maybe. Just not in here. He could feel water seep into a hole in his boot that he never realised was there. Gross.

[topgunruinedme]

I'M LOSING IT (FOR YOU)

Summery:

Having been giving the chance to move all the way from his hometown out to Miramar, with the chance to work under his idol in his dream position, he hasn’t hesitated. Thomas Kazansky, the Iceman, one of the most respected and most renowned sole weapon maker in the country, having the only known contract with the Navy to date, manufacturing their new age multimillion dollar aircrafts. Sure he was stuck running around the office, grabbing coffees and managing Ice’s calendar to ensure the man got home at a reasonable time, like a desk jockey. But who would want anything more? However, three years later, he hasn’t expected all of that threatened by a pretty face with emerald, green eyes. But once the press caught a whiff of something they became hound dogs, and before they knew it there was a scandal. Iceman was dating Maverick, a green-eyed menace of a man who worked with them as a contractor within the Navy, the Captain who accompanied them at events and kept their funding flowing. The only issue is Iceman being labelled as gay was not good for business, especially not with the bigoted DADT pushing clientele they hold. Issue One: Iceman wanted him to pretend to be in a relationship with the Captain. Issue Two: Mitchell was actually a smooth bastard when he wanted to be, and he might be falling for him. Issue Three: Mitchell was actually Kazansky’s husband.

“Im sorry you want me to do what?” “I want you to date Pete, until this all goes down” “Mitchell. Pete Mitchell. Your husband”  “Yes” “Cool. Cool. Cool, just making sure we’re on the same page. No, my answers No” “I’m your boss” “No you’re insane. I’m your assistant, and I don’t even like Mitchell”

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Fandom: Top Gun (Movies)

Word count: Aprox. 4K

Relationships: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell/Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky & Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky & Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell & Beau "Cyclone" Simpson

Characters: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, Chester "Hammer" Cain, Darran "Copper" Wendle

Additional Tags:

Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hidden Relationship, Forbidden Love, Throuple, Mention of Don't Ask Don't Tell, Don't Ask Don't Tell, Homophobic Workspace, Old Homophobic Thinking, Inspired by Set It Up, Modern Era, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Developing Relationship, Revealed relationship, Secrete Marriage, Secretary and Boss Action, Ice is a weapon manufacture, Mav is a Navy Contractor, Beau is a Secretary and Designer, POV Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, Beau "Cyclone" Simpson is So Done, Beau "Cyclone" Simpson is a Softie, Dom Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, Bottom Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, Protective Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Married Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell is a Little Shit, Bottom Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky Lives, Protective Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, Gay Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, Soft Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, Top Tom "Iceman" Kazansky

Series: ← Previous Work Part 9 of (Jon Hamm) Beau “Cyclone” Simpson fics

   “Simpson!���

        Beau bit back a sigh at the call, irritation mounting as he gave the carrier an apologetic look as he hastily scribbled the last half of his signature on the e-pad. Snatching the flat package from the man’s offering hand, ignoring its fragile shipping label instruction stamped across the package with red ink once he caught the name of the sender, shoving it between his chest and the crook of his elbow. His own files pressed against it, wrist aching with the weight of the coffee tray, headset slanted forward on his ear, and he cursed lowly aware that there was only a certain amount of time before it dislodged and fell down around his neck. On his other hand his pointer and middle finger began to cramp with the weight on the metal hanger dug into the crease of his finger joint holding the pressed and ironed suit encased in a protective zipped sleeve, shoes safely polished and placed in a fabric protector attached to the hook adding to the weight, swaying behind him just over his shoulder as far as he could place it away from any possible spillage from the cups. He slipped past the crowded office into the left cut hallway that led to his ‘office’; which was realistically just a small cut out section of the hall which he was sure was once used to be for back up storage, which now held his small sad desk that was pressed up against the wall. A small, cluttered area which collected Kazansky’s mail and the endless phone calls and scheduled meetings, an eyesore for all those who passed it, as rare as it was, to enter the big, windowed view of Kazansky’s office.

        Using his hip, he pressed open the glass door to the office mainly due to the lack of available hands, tilting his head to press his headset against his shoulder to click the button on the side of his earpiece as he heard it emit a soft tring.

        “Beau Simpson, Kazansky Office. Please hold” he calmly answered falling into a practiced lull as he stepped further into the office, tolling his eyes and biting back irritation at finding Kazansky leaning over a chaotically overfilling desk of open books, scrolls, and blueprints spread over and under books with no care for risking damaging the prints, his paints, charcoals, and what he was assuming what was some sort of acrylic paint was smeared across the glass top desk. He mentally making a note to apologise to the cleaner before they got into tonight, wondering if that red velvet and truffle place was still open so he could order an apology gift for Darline the shift manager.

        He gently swung the suit around his body to hang it up, hooking it onto the rack by the door, neatly notched onto the old looking pipe that stuck out from the old brick accent wall which took after an industrial design. Once he was sure the suite was smooth and safely notched, he stepped back hand, quickly shifting his headpiece back into a stable position before firmly holding his files now removing the awkward pinch it was giving his elbow from clutching it for so long.

        “Sir” he acknowledged lightly as he stepped further into the office pointedly ignoring the man lounging in the plush lounging chair that sat on the lush, carpeted area. The darked haired man’s legs were spread, uncaring for the way that his uniform formed tightly over his thighs, lips turned downwards, brows furrowed slightly, fist pressed against his chin looking bored. The mans seamed to light up as he entered, head dipping up at the sound of his voice lips curling up in pleasure, forcing him to bit back his retort as he slid the books aside to create space and placed his files onto the desk, careful to not damage anything Ice might be working on but also not allowing the files to be re-swallowed by the mess and lost forever.  

        “Simpson” Kazansky muttered distracted as he tapped the dull side of his pencil against his jaw in thought one palm pressing against the desk, hunched over as he worked. “Did you get my dry cleaning for tonight’s gala?”

        “Steamed and hung sir, shoes are polished as well. The car will be picking you up from the office at 9, and the speaker should greet you upon arrival”. He began to quickly scan the table picking up the books that looked untouched for a while flipping them shut and began to stack them in a pile creating some space that he knew was pointless because it would only be swallowed again once he left. “Don’t forget you have a lunch in Manhattan with Cortell at 12, the car will arrive in the lobby at 11:20. Then you have two hours of sketching time before you have blook meetings with the committee”.

        He had hardly finished his mental recalling of his boss’s calendar when a hand cut through his vision snatching one of the coffee cups, pointedly the one black dot on the lid, from his tray causing him to scowl. He glanced up and glared at Mitchell who calmly grinned at him from his new position leaning back against the table, sipping from the brim staring straight at him, baiting him.

        “Actually” he drawled, “That was mine”.

        “No bed side manors for the guests Cy?” Mitchells lips tipped into fond a fond smile.

        His teeth grated at that horrible nickname; the man hadn’t flattered since he first met him. Giving people callsigns is his thing, Tom had explained to him once when he first joined the company, clearly over trying to argue the calling card of Iceman, once the name flowed through the correct Navy channels it seemed people were much more willing to work with Kazansky, so he had left it at that. Don’t ask what you don’t want to know, his grandmother had told him once. Especially when apple pie was involved.

        “Not to uninvited guest, not particularly no”.

        Kazansky reached out blindly, snapping his fingers insistently causing his eye to twitch in indignation as he silently passed the man the remaining warm coffee, leaving his hand empty other then the tray which he untucked from its folds, flattening it and placed the dismantling tray into the bin, taking a moment to try and regain his composure.

        “And here I thought you loved me Cy” Mitchell chuckled lightly.

        “Only the amount of money you make the company sir,” he bit back, releasing a silent shuttered breath, turning towards them with a customer service smile, patient but deadly.

        Mitchell smirked lazily kicking his leg out his hip pressed against the glass looking lazily at ease in such an awkward position. “Well, you know how sort after and irreplaceable I am”

        He hummed “I didn’t realise the Navy had a special place in their hearts for recruiting garden nomes”.

        Mitchel’s expression tightened, smile turned sharp, “Don’t get cute with me boy”.

        “Cute, you must be mistaken, I’m nothing but polite and efficient” he calmly stepped closer reaching out around the man towards the side table and extending a bowl of butter drops Kazansky liked keeping by his desk for when he was thinking, “Candy drop?”

        The man scoffed roughly rolling his eyes so aggressively he hoped they would fall out of his skull and cause his to drop dead- placing the drink down on the table grumbling as he bitched “Who gets soy milk in their coffee anyway?”

        “People who have an intolerance to lactose. Now if I had known you would be here, if you have scheduled an appointment, I would have gotten you a coffee in your order”.

        Mitchell tisked dismissively, “Isn’t it your job to keep track of Tom’s schedule?”

        “If you actually scheduled, then yes”.

        The man eyes flickered to the documents on the desk eyes catching the red ink, grimacing as he took another sip. “You know when I send mail labeled fragile, I intend you to be fragile with them Cy”.

        “Nothing you ever send is fragile Mitchell, and if it was important, you would have hand delivered it” he informed him well aware of the man’s habits having them drilled into him for the last three years and counting.

        “Don’t be dumb Cy, if it was that important you wouldn’t even know about it” Mav smirk was sharp, taunting him.

        Before he could reply a low thrumming filled the room sounding more like something was dying, calling out in agony.

        “Simpson, the computers beeping again” Kazansky muttered waving his hand in a general direction to his left.

        That…was a computer?

        Frowning he stepped away from Mitchell and addressed the desk before him, flipped over books, carefully closing them and stacking them into tower, rolling up scrolls before finding the said object buried under an avalanche of notes, only to sighs heavily.

       “It’s beeping because it’s overheating again. Sir, you need to close the tabs you’re not using, or you’ll overload the system-” he reminded him for the umpteenth time.

        “They’re all important to my work-” Kazansky glanced up eyes narrowing on him as if threatening to close his…109 tabs… was life threatening. Why the hell does he work for this man again? Ah right, despite the shit hours, endless workdays and wanting to quit at least 27 times an hour, it was great experience on his record, and it came with good pay for someone in his position. Enough to have a decent apartment, care for his cat Phranch, and small French bulldog Pez, his endless succulents and the climbing plants that were taking over his bathroom and fire escape. It allowed him to wear decent business wear to work, his dress shoes, ironed business trousers neatly tucked into his white button up which was rolled up to his elbow with a brown belt to tie it together. Kazansky never specifically said he needed to dress to impress but considering he always walked around in a suit it was heavily implied, and it wasn’t like he could wear his sweater wear around here in his position, he’d get trampled on.

        “I know sir, but the more the computer overheats the quicker it will die”.

        “That’s idiotic,” he heard the man mutter attention stolen by a stray line, that he leaned over the table, bitting the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth in concentration as he gently adjusted the line of the frame to the canopy of the newest F-22’s.

        Deciding that it was a lost cause attempting to argue with the man who clearly didn’t quite grasp technology the same as the other bothersome man in the room, he picked up the laptop rescuing it from its doom sliding it under his arm resisting the urge to flitch as the hot object pressed against his skin just below his rolled sleeve. There was no point trying to fix the problem here, he would need to bring it back to his desk and cross refence the tabs with Kazansky’s open projects before actually deleting anything. Why the man couldn’t simply use the desktop on his desk was beyond him, let alone the tablet he ended up retrieving every so often when the man’s carelessness fried something, no doubt at the bottom of the draw of his neck, he’d have to charge it up, it was just as frustrating to care for but thankfully Kazansky had a better understanding of it, even if it was only the sketching app. Ironically the man had no issues working a phone, he just simply chose to ignore calls.

        Ignoring the way the laptop pinched at the hair on his arm he took the time to order the files he placed on the desk, placing the more time pressing on the top of the pile and the people he personally thought deserved to wait longer just purely from being dicks on him on the phone on the bottom, idly listening to Kazansky quietly mutter to Mitchell about the design for the sleek airframe, as he tugged a pen from his pocket and placed it on top. A 0.5 needle point, sleek but precise, something he knew Kazansky would want, the man was cold and cutting, and he displayed those exact traits in his mannerisms and signatures. He knew that Kazansky would get to them eventually, the man always did a scan of the desk after lunch taking the time to check over the files and [placing aside the work he completed before sinking into his creativity zone. The files where always signed at the end of the day so he didn’t particularly care how long it took or what exactly the man’s process was.

        He twisted, fingers tightening around the laptop as Mitchells eyes jumped up from the table where Kazansky was running his pen over a mechanics of the inner engine and those green eyes softened watching him even with those tugged tight smiles he always got when he knew the man was tired and stressed. He ignored him, even when he waited anxiously with a bated breath, uncomfortableness itching at his chest, as Mitchell let the tense moment drag in silence instead of butting in and trying to get him, to rise for his bait as he usually did in moments like these. Always gleeful to steal a moment or two to send him off out of the office in a foul mood ensuring he wouldn’t bother them for a few hours, always dragging it out as long as he possibly could before forcing himself to face the man again trying to hide the way his fists curled, or the tenseness in his gaze as it scanned over the man as if he wasn’t even there. Much to Mitchell’s endless amusement.  

        He turned his attention to his boss, trying to bite back his irritation when the man didn’t even bother to acknowledge him. Only a few more years. Only a few more years, he reminded himself. Then I can have enough experience under my name to work my own firm, to get a better job where it's my designs that are being followed instead of running coffee orders like I was Kristien fucking Stewart.

        “Do you need anything sir? Or am I to return to my desk?”

        “No”. The blond waved him off dismissively, “Push back my meetings for an hour, I don’t want to be disturbed”.

        His eye twitched, hand shifting ever so slightly behind his back, view obscured, as his fingers curled into a fist. Placing a painfully fake smile on as he nodded empathetically “Of course sir”.

        Did he not just tell the man he had an appointment? An important one. Like hell he was pushing that back, the man could work in his designated sketching time. Did he know how much time he spend negotiating with this firm? How many people he had tried to be calm with as they cursed him out? How many hours of overtime he had put in to just keep up with the work load this meeting created to begin with. NDA’s, contacts, security details.

        Did he know how long this took to set up?

        “That means you too Mitchell” Kazansky’s unimpressed drone cut through his anger with a sharp flash of gratification at the disgruntled and offended look the other man wore. Mitchell immediately moved forward towards Kazansky who didn’t even bother to glance him with a look, a noise of protest already bubbling from his throat when the moment was interrupted by his headset beeping with an withholding call, reminding him that he still had someone on hold.

        Pushing back the urge to groan knowing fully well he was in for a tongue lashing due to the wait, he smiled, clicking the side button reconnecting the call. Moving towards the doorway towards his desk as he put his all, whatever will to live that was left at 9:30 in the morning, into an energetic bubbly voice that was expected of him for his position. “Thank you so much for holding. How may I-” his sentence was cut short, tongue catching behind his teeth in alarm jaw clenching, as his strid stalled in the centre of the room, “Mhh. I understand”.

        To his left, Kazansky finally glanced up brows furrowed half in annoyance and the other in intrigue. “Simpson?”

        “Cy?” Mitchell stepped forward towards him as if it would help the distress flooding through him, those green eyes searching him for some sort of unnamed response.

        His smile felt strained as he silently walked towards the door pausing, releasing the pressure bar holding the doors open and flicking the lock shut. He then stepped back towards them, closing the distance hastily with three long strides placing the computer on the computer on the files, ignoring the way the computer whined in complaint when he opened a new tab. Lips pressed as he hummed in agreement again, along with the man on the phone who ratted off in a confused half panic. “Don’t worry Marty, I'll handle it, yes, goodbye” he reached up numbly clicking the button as the call finished staring up at the two men.

        He clicked on the newest post on the webpage and glanced up at the two men offering them a grim look as he twisted the computer around to reveal the page. “We have a problem”.

        There sitting on the screen, loud and proud, was an image of Kazansky, stone faced in his usual business attire hands folded behind his back. Mitchell beside him, looking slightly more human, one hand in his pocket, the other fiddling with his lapel, although the man’s head was tilted slightly towards Kazansky’s, the angle of the photo making it look deceptively like they were speaking to each other quietly. Secretive. Intimate. And above it all, in capitals with colours flying across the screen labelled:

KAZANSKY Co., OWNER OFFICIALLY LEAVES HIS COCKPIT, ONLY TO ENTER ANOTHER: THE GAY STORY OF A CENTURY!         Thomas Kazansky one of the youngest CEO in Marmari, who had not only managed to double his worth in five years but to successfully secure the one deal that had everyone at war. A naval contract.          Only now it leads to a more interesting story. After all it’s not everyday you hear for the rich falling for the commoner. Thomas Kazansky or affectionately called Iceman by his colleague Captain Pete “Maverick” Mitchell, was recently appointed the soul contract for a classified military intelligence service, important enough that he was given a Captain to work with. A Captain, who’s has been spotted on several occasions leaving his personal building, and office at odd hours. A naval officer who is comfortable enough to stand so close to the Iceman, a man who it turns out, may not simply be a man. But rather, a boyfriend.          It will be a surprise to everyone here when I inform you with utmost glee that Thomas Kazansky is gay! Confirmed face to face by a trusted anonymous source of mine. Not only is he gay, but the suggestion of the image above sealed my suspicion, Iceman is dating Maverick! Well, I guess we all know who’s who in the relationship…Click here to read further… View count: 2,408 Comments: 1,002 Reposts: 456 Posted 8 minutes ago, 27th September, 2022.

        “What the fuck is that”. Mitchell was starting at it, had been staring at it for a good few minutes as if reading it, and rereading it again, as if that would change the words on the page.

        “A scandal” he offered.

        “An anonymous source?” Mitchell sounded scandalised, furious, as if this was his own reputation literally falling to the ground around him. The Man snarled shoving off the desk forcing himself into a pace with a sharp calming breath which seemed to be failing as the pent-up man reached out towards the desk as if to throw something only to stop himself mid motion. “Who’s going to believe this shit?

        He glanced at the scene tiredly in growing temptation, mentally wincing at the views listed there, “Around two, three thousand as of right now” and growing.

        “Three thousand?!” Mitchell stared at him, “How the hell do that many people have spare time to read the news during work hours”

        “You always mange to find time to bother me at work during work hours” Kazansky muttered, he had relocated, numbly moving away from his desk barley missing spilling his dirty paint water onto his work in his haste to collapse into the plush chair Mitchell had abandoned earlier. His elbows on his knees, hands pressed together, fingers pressing against his lips in contemplation, tying to find a way out of…this.

        “You need to do damage control” he said quietly, “We need to put a statement out, debunk it all. The longer we wait the harder it will be to contain. But we don’t want to do it too soon, or they’ll think we’re trying to hide something”.

        “Meaning hell take damage either way” Mitchell sounded deflated, defeated, dropping back into the plush chair across from Kazansky with a weary groan, “Shit Kay-”

        “I know” Kazansky mused, “I know”.

        “What the hell are we going to do?” Mithcell scrubbed his face, “You know Cain and Wendle won’t tolerate colours around your name, even if it’s only a rumour-”

        “They’ll bounce” he offered, “Unless they were convince otherwise, and we offer them something more important than their own pride”.

        “What would possibly be more important?” Mitchell snapped.

        He worried his lip, “Darkstar” he broached carefully.

        Kazansky head snapped to him, “What?” he asked tensely.

        Mitchell had gone pale, still.

        “Where did you hear about that?” Kazansky demanded, “That’s confidential. They require Naval credentials to access”.

        “Cains sends emails, I read emails. It’s not hard to put together sir. He’s been emailing for a few months about it, trying to bring it back into motion, apparently it was shelfed back in 1986 after a pilot died during testing-”

        “Nick Bradshaw” Mitchell bit out sounding far more breathless than he should, “His name was Nick”.

        Shit.

        They knew him.

        He hated when he stepped into unventured land. It was an unmarked minefield waiting to blow. “He’s been trying to push the initiative” he continued quietly, “Apparently with your approval he can override the board of director votes and put it into motion. If we give him that, then…he won’t be thinking about anything the news prints out. Other than how much money he’s going to make”.

        “And Wendle?” Kazansky asked quietly, head bowed somewhat terrifyingly similar to one praying in purgatory, his own time spend on his knees in the small purgatory momentarily flashed behind his eyelids, the total sense of helplessness and weighted lack of navigation.

        “Well sir, let’s just say I have enough collected on him from his drunken loose tongue at the last event to hold him off for a while, until we can pin him with those dirty under the table deals, he’s been doing with Russia”.

        “He’s dealing to Russia?” Mithell muttered, “That’s the worst country to try and blackmail”.

        “No one said he was smart, and no one said he was the one trading. We just need to make it believable”.

        “You can’t get rid of a scandal” Kazansky glanced up with a solemn acceptance, nodding his head slowly in acknowledgment, “You can only make a bigger one”.