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confusednarcissistwrites · 4 years

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Hotsy Totsy Pt. 3 (T.C.)

ahhh the last bit of prewritten work!! thank GOD. reworking my own writing from a few years ago was killing me slowly (who tf let me write). next update will be all fresh 😎 hope you enjoyyyyy. things heating up quickly!

(sexual references)

“Man, this is… crazy,” Nick said, shaking his head. He held his tongue for a moment, his brow furrowed. He knew Timothée was already grasping desperately for something that appeared to be just out of his reach, so he needed to phrase his words carefully. “Look, Tim… she’s a married woman-”

“You think I don’t know that?” he retorted, a wild, grief-stricken look in his eyes. He fell into the doorframe, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew he shouldn’t be frustrated with his friend; it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know the full story.

Nick looked at him expectantly, sitting down on the edge of his bed; he sensed this was going to be a late night.

“We met at an audition for A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the college.” Timothée stared at his hands and fidgeted a bit. “She was auditioning for Hermia and I for Lysander, as fate would have it. The connection was instant. Every moment after only confirmed what I’d known the moment I’d met her.” A sad smile graced his lips, melancholic memories of hushed conversations had backstage and through rehearsals. You glowed with life and vigor and enthusiasm; he was snared from day one. “Things quickly grew serious, and I planned to ask her to marry me. But then the draft order came.” His eyes were dark and his hands trembled a bit as he remembered the atrocities of war and the nightmares that still plagued him. He carried on, telling Nick about the day he saw your marriage announcement in the paper and how he, to this day, still believed he was in your heart, that if he could become affluent like her family he would be able to steal you away again. By the time he’d finished his sorry, he had slid to the floor, his back slumped against the door jam. “Before I left, she had promised me she was going to wait for me to return. We’d had our life together planned and names picked out for our future children; I had no reason not to believe her. A couple months at camp turned into two years, and I never heard a word from her. I think I knew then, but I refused to believe it. I kept her on my mind until it became a habit, a coping mechanism, still writing to her every moment I could.”

Nick listened intently to every word, learning every piece of his best friend’s life that had somehow been going on behind the scenes that he hadn’t caught on to; it sickened him a bit. How had he not seen the pain Timothée had been suffering this whole time?

Despite the tragic backstory, he wasn’t sure he could go along with his plan. Married is married. He’d been raised in a home with strong religious values and, though times were changing, he felt he shouldn’t act as an accessory to the two lovers finding their way back to each other.

Seeing his apprehension, Timothée spoke up again. “She doesn’t love him,” he stated earnestly. “She did what she had to so she could get the life she wanted, but she doesn’t love him.”

“How can you be sure?” Nick pressed.

Timothée paused, his eyes closing as if in prayer. “I just… know. I can feel it in my bones.”

Nick looked down at the floor, mulling it over in his mind for a few moments. He couldn’t find it in him to tell him no. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

***

Jordan sat on the vanity as you got dressed for the evening. You wore a rosy-pink, silk shift dress that came down to about mid-thigh with fringe along the hem. Your garters were nearly completely exposed, holding up your black fishnet stockings. You sat down in the chair in front of her, slipping on you Mary Janes and fiddling with the buckles.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” she noticed, pulling the cigarette from between her lips and exhaling swirls of smoke as she spoke.

“Just thinkin’” you replied with a shrug, getting up to pick out some jewelry from the many ornate boxes perched on a shelf inside the armoire. Truth was you’d been off ever since your conversation with Nick the night before.

“That’s dangerous,” Jordan chuckled, slipping off of the desk and striding over to peer over your shoulder. She was in a much more revealing outfit for her performance that evening; a gold, glittering, bedazzled leotard with triangle cutouts right at her waist, thigh high stockings, and a black velvet choker resting against her throat that completed her ensemble.

“You figure he’s gonna be here tonight?”

You huffed, wanting to ignore her as you tried to pick out a set of pearls. “I dunno.”

Jordan rolled her eyes. “What's going on in that pretty head of yours, doll? And don’t say it’s nothing because you know I’m gonna keep buggin’ until you give it up, so you might as well just start,” she chided.

“I just-” you began, clearly flustered. “I’m going through some personal things, okay?”

Jordan went a bit wide-eyed at your snappy reply. “Fine, fine,” she submitted.

You looked at yourself in the mirror as you adjusted the layered pearls that laid against your chest. Would he be there tonight? Noticeable circles were under your eyes, and you looked less than yourself. You patted on a bit more powder, adding some body glitter here and there.

“I’m sorry, J,” you sighed, shaking your head a bit. You turned to see her as she headed toward the door. “I’m just a little tense is all tonight. I’ll be fine soon.”

“I know you will, doll,” she smiled reassuringly, slipping out of your dressing room.

As she stepped out, the door to the manager's office at the end of the long, narrow hall cracked open. Lola, a new fan dancer from Chicago, came slinking out looking blatantly disheveled, red lips smeared and mascara lines down her cheeks. Jordan’s brow drew together as she tried to get a better look. She stepped behind a stage prop, her back to it and her neck craned to watch as the girl scurried away. Before the door closed completely, Jordan caught a glimpse of James sitting on his desk shirtless and his trousers hanging loose.

She quickly stood, ready to storm in there and demand an explanation, but that’s when she saw you standing in front of your dressing room looking shell-shocked. Your entire body was tense and your face white as a sheet. She hurried over to you, pulling you back into the dressing room and closing the door to avoid making a big scene. She had no idea what to say, her mouth open as she grasped for words.

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered, your eyes wide and quickly welling up with tears. The fear coiled in your stomach tightened around your guts, your subconscious hissing cruel “I told you so”s. You shook your head almost violently, expelling them. Short gasps left your parted lips as your chest refused to let your lungs expand.

“Y/N, you need to breathe, love. Come on, in and out,” Jordan quaked, gripping your hands tightly in her own.

You watched her with your eyes that burned from unshed tears, shakily following her breathing she modeled for you. Your chest heaved, and your mind fought hard to clear itself from all the horrible conclusions the other part of you wanted to jump to.

Eventually, she managed to calm you down, but your hands continued to tremble. Jordan looked over you worriedly, feeling like she didn’t know what to do for the first time in awhile.

“I’m- I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” you shuddered, pulling away to clean yourself up in the mirror.

Jordan sat looking a bit dumbfounded. “What?” she asked, unsure she’d heard you correctly.

“I’m sure it wasn’t what it looked like.” Even you could hear the slightly hysterical edge to your voice.

“Y/N-“

“No,” you interrupted in a clipped tone. “This will never leave this room.”

While a woman confronting her husband wasn’t something that happened then, Jordan had never had any of it. She also never had believed you to be a woman to be pushed around, and normally you weren’t. Your lifestyle wasn’t one of a typical domestic wife, and, being an educated woman, you’d taken your fair share of guff from conservative men. Yet, you’d never been one for confrontation, especially in your current emotional state.

Jordan shook her head in disbelief. “Y/N, he has no excuse for-”

“If you are my friend,” you choked, “you will pretend nothing happened.” Your voice was broken, but unyielding.

Her face softened slightly, and she stepped back, her hand on the doorknob as she shook her head. “You are upset and don’t know what you’re saying. I’ll see you after the show,” she replied, leaving and closing the door gently behind her.

Nausea washed over you and you bolted for the bin, the contents of your stomach evacuating unceremoniously. Your whole body heaved as you were sick repeatedly, the brief glimpse of your disarranged husband playing over and over in your mind. Denial was a hell of a drug, but your body was beginning to reject it. A quick knock at your door informed you that you were expected on stage in ten. You quickly began to clean yourself up, knowing that once you left that room, you were Daisy: the beautiful, the talented, the flawless. Hotsy Totsy would never know you as anything different if you had any say.

***

“I need a drink,” Nick grunted, hoisting himself from the desk chair he’d been sitting for the past hour, writing intensively.

Timothée hung his coat up on the hook and dropped his briefcase carelessly, just glad to be home. “I’ll pull something down,” he replied, heading over to the liquor cabinet.

“No, no, Tim. Don’t be a bluenose. I want to go out. I could go put in word with Cousin...” He raised his brows, knowing how to convince Timothée into doing what he wanted tonight.

He turned to him disdainfully. “Nick, I’m pretty tired. I don’t think I can handle that all tonight..”

“We are going. Go get dressed,” he insisted, grabbing Timothée by the shoulders and turning him to go upstairs to change.

He huffed but complied anyways. Subconsciously, he was eager to see you again, no matter how many nerves and feelings it stirred up inside of him. He changed into more casual wear: slacks, a white button up cuffed up to his elbows, and his favorite suspenders.He peered into the mirror, mussing his hair a bit before hurrying downstairs.

Nick was in similar attire, but with a striped shirt and a bowtie. “You ready, man?” he asked, slapping a newsboy cap on his head.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go before I change my mind,” he chuckled.

***

The high-end club was busy and bustling as always that Friday night. Cigarette smoke plumes hung heavy in the hot air, and every person had the Devil’s brew gripped tightly in their fists. A swing group played on the stage while a small group danced the Charleston below them. Timothée couldn’t help but smile as they came in: it really was soothing to his soul to be in such a carefree setting filled with so much life.

As the band’s song came to a close, an announcer came bouncing out and up to the mic. “Ladies and gents, please put your hands together for the lovely and exotic Ladies of Godiva!”

A flock of feathers came shuffling out onto the stage, three pairs of feminine legs peeking from below the large fans. The band began to play a soft and slow ballad beat. One by one, the women began to reveal themselves from behind their ivory plumes, but only in teasing glimpses that fell in time with the music. Eventually, three, jaw-dropping, dark haired women stood on the stage. Their fans were discarded to the floor to reveal bejewelled, scanty bodysuits and long, stocking-covered legs. They all huddled around the microphone and hummed sweet harmonies along with the saxophones and trumpets. Both Timothée and Nick, and every other man in the joint, were held captive. However, it was Nick who was truly in awe. In fact, he was particularly enamored as he took in the sight of the daring girl he’d met a few days before looking absolutely sinful on stage.

Timothée caught him gaping and planted his elbow between his ribs with a smirk. “Put your tongue back in your mouth, dude,” he snickered, leading him over to the bar.

Meanwhile, you stood backstage listening to Jordan and her girls, feeling guilty for snapping at her earlier. James brushed by you, catching your hand and giving you a wink on his way by, on his way to do god knows what with god knows who. He didn’t even notice when your hand quickly pulled out of his as though it were a hot flame. You wanted everything to be okay, but it was still too fresh in your brain. Before you knew it, Jordan was brushing past you with the other girls, giving you a soft smile. You smiled back, feeling a bit of relief that she wasn’t too upset with you for your outburst.

“Next up, our Lady of the Night: Miss Daisy!”

You quickly slipped into your role, a pout on your lips as you strutted on stage. The feeling of hungry eyes didn’t even phase you anymore. However, your heartbeat quickened slightly as you imagined one certain pair of eyes. You pushed that to the back of your mind and focused on the feelings bubbling in your chest. A thought came to you suddenly, and you turned on your heel to bend down to whisper into the drummer’s ear. He then, in turn, murmured down to the rest of the band while you returned to the mic. “Good evening, how is everyone doing so far? Everyone have a drink?” Your voice was low and sexy, the crowd curled into the palm of your hand as they cheered and whistled for you. “Well, I have a little something special I think you all are gonna like tonight alright?” You looked to the drummer, and he gave you a nod of confirmation that you returned.

Timothée leaned against a wall in a more secluded part of the club, eating up the swagger that poured off of you. His imaginings of what you’d become after all those years had far from given you justice. You were not at all shy; you never had been, but seeing you right where you had told him you wanted to be made him bubble with contagious pride. His eyes widened when you growled out the first note over the nearly silent club. Once everyone recognized the tune, cheers and hollars joined your voice, many girls hopping up and pulling their dates over to dance. All he could see was you.

“You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog snoopin’ round the door..” Your body rocked to the percussive beat, your face scrunched up in emotion. “You told me you was high class, but I can see through that..”

You dug up the rage bubbling in you and growled it into the microphone, feeding off of the audience’s shouts and howls. Your hips snapped to the beat as you danced and sang your heart out.

Timothée watched you with a nearly predatory gaze. Hunger bubbled up in him; he was greedy and desperately wanted to pull you away from all the lustful men in the audience to be his and his alone. He wanted to feel you up against him again like the many escapades you two had had in college.

Your last note rang out over the crowd of cheers and catcalls, your chest heaving from not only the exertion of your performance, but also the emotions rushing around your mind. You stayed in character despite it all, but found your eyes searching the audience.

Suddenly, there he was, his eyes already on yours.

Timothée was deafened by his heartbeat in his ears as his eyes met yours. Somehow, he managed a small smile.

You quickly came to, realizing you were staring on stage. Your eyes flitted away, but you were clearly distracted as you waved and slipped off stage. You easily let Jordan pull you out and down the stairs and into the alley outside to get a little break. Everything felt like a blur.

Nick, who had been mingling around the club, watched as you two bolted outside; he knew this was his opportunity. He looked around for Timothée but couldn’t seem to spot him. He figured he was probably drinking somewhere and headed the direction you had left, weaving between the dancing bodies. He was met with a big man in a bowler hat blocking his path.

“And where exactly do you think you’re going punk?” he questioned, his thick New York accent making him almost unintelligible.

“My name is Nick Carraway. I’m a cousin of Y/N’s, Miss Daisy,” he explained, trying not to cringe at the brute’s horrid smell.

After a moment of contemplation, he stepped aside. “You best keep your hands off the ladies or I’ll bash your little head in, ya hear me?”

Nick nodded quickly, hurrying past him and out into the alley. Girls in skimpy feathers, jewels, velvet, and silk stood about in little groups, gossiping and sucking on cigarettes or cocktails. It was a lot of the young bachelor to have to take in, but eventually he spotted you. Girls shot him dirty looks and muttered things from “whatcha you lookin’ for? your ma?” and “who is this little peeping Tom!’ to “Hey, sugar. Wanna ride?” and many other crude things that made him blush hotly.

“Cousin Nicky? What are you doing back here?” you said, spotting the tall boy weaving through all the girls and looking incredibly uncomfortable. You heard Jordan laugh softly behind you, clearly amused by how flustered he was.

“Y/N! You were fantastic as always!” he smiled, giving you a small side hug. “You and Jordan were both uh, stunning! Yes, you were stunning.” He flushed, shaking his head as he stumbled over his words helplessly.

Both you and Jordan just laughed and thanked him. However, you could tell there was more to what he had to say.

“Anyways, Y/N. I wanted to ask you something, um, privately,” he stammered.

You gave Jordan a little look and she politely excused herself, brushing by Nick and making him blush again.

“Go ahead,” you ushered, curious as to what was so important.

“Well, I was hoping you’d join me for tea and luncheon tomorrow,” he said.

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing a bit. Did he know? “And you needed to ask me this in confidentiality because..?”

“Oh well, I um, have a… male house guest currently. I wouldn’t want to start any sort of rumours or anything.” It was a lame cover up and you both knew it.

“Will this ‘house guest’ be joining us?” you asked, trying not to be too conspicuous.

“Well, I suppose you’ll have to just wait and see,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck.

“Alright, Nicky. What time?”

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creek-cryptid-deluxe · 4 years

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Oh man.... I got the balls to casually confront my dad about his behavior last night while we battled at Pokemon gym at the park (because there are a total of 8 gyms in the park area & a couple dickheads went through & parked themselves in literally EVERY gym which is poor etiquette & pretty pointless since you can only earn 50 coins a day so we took 2 for our team because fuck those guys.)

He was bitching about something at work & how he works with ignorant Trump supporters (which isn't surprising since this is Texas & they are all walking stereotypes of middle class suburban Texas white ladies down to the fluffy bleached hair, too much makeup, & rhinestone cross accessories).

I casually said, "Yeah I've noticed the more upset you get with how ignorant people are acting about the pandemic & the election, the more fucking insufferable you get."

Dad: "Yeah I know."

Me: "You are back to interrupting me and when you do let me finish, you tack on some ignorant comment afterward & I have to correct you because... well it's ignorant. You also will argue literally ANYTHING with me. Hell, I can casually mention that the forecast says tomorrow it will rain with a high of only 35 & you'll immediately chime in with 'Well according to MY app, it's only supposed to be cloudy with a high of 37.' It's absolutely obnoxious & it's getting nearly impossible to not snap at you because holy fucking shit. Find a healthy way to channel your anger or whatever. Quit taking it out on me because I'm about to just stop talking to you because it's making me angry & I don't need that shit."

Dad: "Yeah. You're right." Then he walked off with the dog.

So he KNOWS he is doing it. He KNOWS it's making me rage. He just can't help himself apparently because he doesn't have a healthy way to handle his shit because his generation refuses to learn any sort of coping skills or do anything to better themselves because they are apparently perfect & we all just need to accommodate their trash behavior.

I guess I'm just gonna start calling him out when he does it. Every. Single. Time.

In unrelated news, remember my buddy J who is kinda a flake & is struggling to overcome his 3 year descent into depression & alcoholism? If so, you'll remember that last week, in a huge step to overcome his stuff, he started AA & set a standing movie date with me to fill time on the day he is most prone to drink from the time he wakes up til he passes out. I take all meet ups scheduled with him with a grain of salt because he flakes a lot but...

Last week he came & we watched the movie Thoroughbreds (which is an amazing movie btw, I absolutely LOVE both the actresses in it) because he hadn't seen it. He text me yesterday telling me that he'd picked a movie for this week (which is also another one of my favorites, The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus. Love the concept, love Terry Gilliam, love that Tom Waits is the devil, love that they did kill the film after Heath Ledger's passing but found a way to continue while still using the footage they had filmed with him).

I am obviously delighted that he is continuing to uphold the standing date because it means he is making a concentrated effort to keep himself from drinking. Me getting to see my person on the regular is just a bonus.

Also, when chatting with Em about this, she 100% called me out. Her response was "Awww it's always really nice when the person you are in love with makes positive changes!"

Um... excuse me?

I can't be salty though because she's right. I've been in love with him for the last 4 of the 5 years I've known him. I obviously haven't made this known to him because I would rather have him in my life as a friend than not at all. And i know that if I confess it won't go well because our relationship started via tinder, we dated for like 3 weeks before we decided to just be friends because we are basically the same person & my introverted personality encourages his introverted traits & he wants to date someone who counters those tendencies. Which I get.

So yeah. Besties. And sometimes when we are both single, there is cuddling because he gets really touch starved. I'm obviously totally on board with helping him with that. Especially since I have been touch starved lately but cannot stand being touched by people that I don't implicitly trust due to a history of abuse. Plus, I know he won't try to put the moves on me because he knows my physical situation.

ANYWAY Sunday! Standing movie date still on! Super proud of my boy!

[ DISCLAIMER: UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES DOES ANYONE HAVE PERMISSION TO REBLOG THIS POST. if you reblog, I will find you, I will send you a very abrasive rude message, & I will block you. Thanks! -Dumpster Fire Management ]

Lowkey, sick of having to do this but recently some jerkface showed me why it is important. 👍

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