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artdecosupernova-writing · 1 month

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Partners II

The year is 1960. Tragedy separates Ben and Reagan literally and figuratively, likely for good. On top of coping with their professional split, they now have to cope with the ever-hovering idea that they may no longer have each other to lean against when they need to, which sends both of them spiraling into their personal brands of hellish nightmares. And with over 5,000 miles between them indefinitely for the first time in 30 years, those spirals become almost impossible to grind to a halt.

Protagonists

Reagan Gilmore • 39 • August 15th, 1921 • Ireland

Reagan went on to become an internationally beloved performer and actor with a few Academy Award nominations under his belt. He's doing his level best to be the best single dad to his two kids that he can, and though he's always considered Ben to be a covert co-parent, he can't help but let his own guilt and insecurities overshadow him. Being pulled back to Ireland for an undetermined amount of time wreaks havoc on his mental state, unleashing a reckless and irresponsible component of his personality that previously went undiscovered.

Ben Murray • 35 • February 27th, 1925 • New Jersey

Ben has become an accomplished singer/songwriter in his own right, composing a few scores for films—some of which Reagan was a star—as well as topping several music charts and earning gold records in the infancy of the certification. His life with Faye and their daughter seems pristine on the surface, but he's not quite sure he wants to keep it that way. The deep-rooted emotional tribulations he'd carried with him his whole life reveals itself to be poisonous, eating away at his mental stability and his physical health simultaneously.

• • •

"You destroyed me that night, you know." Ben cast despondent eyes across the shoreline, the salt of the breeze rustling through his hair. The looming void of night and the pliant sand swallowing their feet foreshadowed their immediate futures. "I had no god damn idea what I was gonna do without you. I was terrified." A knot manifested in Reagan's chest that he couldn't shake. "What, exactly, could equal that?" He observed the fissure between Ben's brows. "What could I possibly say that would be as devastating, if not more, as tellin' you we had to dissolve our partnership?" "I don't even know." "Would it be that we can't be together anymore? After all this time?" Reagan meant to sound casual but the words made him bite a bit more than he expected. "After all we've been through? You know better than that." "It's what you're doin'. It's exactly what you're doin'." Ben finally turned to him. "By packing your shit and movin' all the way across the Atlantic, it's what you're doin'." The knot in Reagan's chest ballooned painfully into a leaky bubble of frustration he could no longer ignore. "Do you think this is easy for me? I can't take my kids, Ben. My dad has never met his grandkids and he probably never will. I can't take you. It's killin' me that I gotta leave you behind, but that's just the way it's gonna have to be, isn't it? You'll be here with your family and Faye's family and...you get to be here with my family, for fuck's sake. You're not gonna be alone this time; I am!" It dawned over Ben's face in slow motion. The swell of his throat bobbed and he dropped his gaze to the sand, unspeaking for several moments, allowing the miles of crashing waves to do the talking. The familiar reddening around his eyes betrayed his despair.

• • •

"You are possibly the most touched clown known to man," Mickey grumbled in his face. "Where is your manager and why is he allowing this caterwauling to continue?" "I don't have a manager," Ben said, breathless from nerves. "I've never needed one." Mickey's expression was hard and unforgiving unlike anything seen from him before. "You've always needed one. You needed one when you had one, as I can't fathom the meaning of letting you flounder on your own while your supposed better half sits pretty on his Hollywood throne." His gun found its way out of his shoulder holster, and a glint of the ceiling light bouncing off the gold metal and mother of pearl handle spoke words he chose not to speak himself. He pressed the tip of the weapon into Ben's shoulder. "Get out there and do your job, right now." "What the fuck, Mickey?!" Ben shoved the barrel away from him with the hand not currently pinned behind his back. "Put that away!" "You're the first man to ever say that to me. Do you feel special?" "I hate you so much. I hope you know that I hate you with all the rage I got left in me." "How ever will I live without your approval?" Mickey snapped. Though he spared a furtive peek at the gun first, Ben grit his teeth and turned a resolute glare onto him. "You wouldn't shoot me. You've protected me and Reagan for ten years, and you're not stupid enough to undo all of that by killing me. And even if you only catch an arm or a leg, I still wouldn't be able to perform." Mickey jammed the tip of the gun into the underside of Ben's jaw, sending a shock of pain through his throat and under his tongue. "Just how much are you willing to gamble in your own favor, Stick?" Mickey murmured, a perilous gleam overcoming his widened eyes.

#reblog

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artdecosupernova-writing · 1 month

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oops this was a lie

me being terrified that someone would use my drag name despite never having any interest or desire to actually participate in drag whatsoever

#not writing #I wanna do drag real bad lol

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artdecosupernova-writing · 1 month

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Excerpt St. Guess

↳ Joey peered hard through the doors, cupping his hands around his eyes to get a better look inside. "Huh," he muttered, his breath fogging the glass in front of his face. "Well, it ain't a whiz-bang in there. Guess it's not open after all. Let's come back tomorrow."

Mickey looked in over Joey's shoulder and his expression settled on a concentrated frown. Farther inside the museum, in front of what Mickey could vaguely make out to be the security office, a man in a tan single-breasted suit without a hat spoke to a much more refined, older gentleman. The younger man took a catalog envelope from the older man and smiled personably, patting him on the shoulder and engaging with him directly, holding grateful eye contact. The older man smiled as well, shaking his hand as his brows pitched in apology.

"Are there people inside?" Joey asked.

Mickey watched the younger man laugh at something and turn toward the front of the museum. "Security guard talking to the director. Likely picking up a series of misplaced paychecks."

Joey stepped away from the door and urged Mickey to do the same. "What?"

"During the renovations, the staff paychecks were either misplaced, improperly handled, or halted," Mickey explained as he moved to stand closer to Joey. "One of the security guards has just received his back pay."

"How do you do that?" Joey shrugged, mystified. "One of these days, you gotta tell me how you do that."

"And give away my secrets? Joey." Mickey tutted with a grin. "It's fairly obvious."

"If it was obvious, d'you think I'd be standin' here makin' myself look stupid?"

"Hmm," Mickey intoned, choosing at the benefit of everyone not to respond to that otherwise.

The security guard opened the door, brushing past the pair as he exited. "'Scuse me, fellas," he said, gracing them both with the same warm smile Mickey had seen inside the museum.

Mickey locked eyes with him for one moment that dragged on like several. Neatly combed, blue-black hair—dyed. Shiny. Slicked down with pomade. His eyes were green, full of life, youthful in contradiction to the shallow crow's feet at the outer corners. His smile could have illuminated an entire room.

He shifted the envelope to his other hand and bounded down the steps.

Mickey watched him, his gaze tight. Willing the man to glance back at him.

Some physical distance grew between them before he did just that. He threw one last look behind him, halfway across the street, and the friendly smile developed into one of deep understanding…an acknowledgement of words unspoken, or perhaps a pass of pleased appraisal.

Joey's stare bounced from the man to Mickey. "You know him?"

"No," Mickey said.

But he was sure he would.

#reblog

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