#(takes a long drag of a cigarette like I'm not recently 24)

[snatcher-no-snatching]

very annoying getting into a fandom where most of the audience seems to be on the younger side. there are so many concepts that are completely normal that just seem outside the realm of possibility for a teenager to even comprehend

I see SO much "how could anyone like this character, you know he's like 40-50 right?" and "how could anyone like this character, he's fat!" and "how could you like this character, he's a villain!" and so on so forth. Like, are you new here? I can only assume yes

[skyeeuphixia]

𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚋𝚢 // 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗

thomas Shelby x lover oc (dorothy) in which the new person in town may not be so new after all

Part 2! Part 1: Here

═════•°• ⚠ •°•═════

warning/s: mentions of war

═════•°• ⚠ •°•═════

Gentle footsteps echoed around the halls of the house, soft and commanding as she wobbled her way to his office, her pregnant belly weighing her down slightly. She stood in the doorway momentarily, hand on her belly, watching as he wrote as if he was writing his last will and testament. He must have been writing all day, and she wasn't entirely sure what it was he was writing, or who would read it, or if it was ever meant to be read by anyone.

"Tommy," Her voice was quiet and soft as she continued to gaze at him from across the room, though he refused to look up at her, his hand continuing to furiously dart across the paper in front of him.

"Grace,"

"It's late," She murmurs, "Come to bed,"

Tommy took out a cigarette, holding it loosely between his lips, lighting it without effort and taking a long drag, he held the smoke in his mouth for a few moments before slowly exhaling, still not looking at her, "I've got to get this done,"

She let out a small sigh, a mixture of frustration, and softness. She understood his workaholic nature, as well as his struggles to sleep, but he told her once she had stopped the sounds of the shovels that plagued his mind, and in more recent months, it seemed that that may not be the case anymore. "You're working yourself into the ground, Tommy. You need to sleep,"

He let out a sigh, his icy blue eyes finally meeting hers, "You go Grace, I'll join you once I'm finished."

She knew he was likely lying, the work was never finished and his side of the bed was almost always cold, only ever occupied when he joined her for the more intimate moments, but after a few months of marriage, and a baby on the way, she had learned when to just drop a subject, and there was no point in turning this into an argument. "Goodnight Tommy," She says softly, before turning and exiting the room, the door shutting gently behind her.

Tommy sighed as she left, taking a swig of whisky, and resting his head in his hands.

"She's you're wife Tommy, she deserves to have her husband in bed with her at night," And there was her voice once again. She returned to him everytime he drank alone, which was often, it was deceitful and torturous. Each sip would pull her from the shadows she seemingly fell into, her face becoming clearer and clearer in his drunken haze. She'd smile at him and reach out her hand, but as his fingertips brushed the illusion, she'd dissolve. Sometimes she spoke, other times she simply stared at him. And after almost 10 years of being apart, he still didn't know if her ghostly presence was a blessing or a curse.

He refused to look at her, seeing her would make everything more painful, "Will you ever leave me alone, Dottie?"

The image of Dorothy was sat on the small chaise lounge he had in the corner of his office, staring at him thoughtfully, "I don't choose to be here Tommy, you bring me here,"

"I know I do...but you're dead love, there's no other way of bringing you back,"

Dothothy gets up, walking up to him with a ghostly glide, standing in front of his desk, his eye's eventually coming up to meet hers, a sharp pang and longing in his chest. She'd be 34 now, who knows how she would have aged, but Tommy would bet all the money he had that she would have aged beautifully, yet when he looked up at her now, she was exactly how he left her. It was always the same, she was still 24 in the outfit she wore when she waved him off at the station. Her hand was on the desk and Tommy reached out to place his hand on top of hers, but of course, like all the times before, she simply faded away.

Life had to go on after her disappearance. It had to eventually. While part of Tommy wanted to dedicate his life to finding Dorothy, he knew he couldn't. He had a business to run and it would've surely fallen apart in the hands of his brothers. So he continued to work, even more broken than the war had left him. He used the first few large payments they received to pay for investigators to find her, but each was fruitless in their searches, and each of those investigators then suspiciously disappeared. He had tried everything. Investigators couldn't find her, he couldn't find her, there wasn't a single witness. So he tried to move on.

Alcohol always resulted in nights like tonight, with her ghostly silhouette appearing him before him, teasing him... coaxing him to join her on the other side. Instead of filling the void, it only dug it deeper.

Then there were the women.

"Sex is sex," Arthur had drunkenly told him once and he wasn't too wrong. It was all the same, and there were plenty of options at the brothel down the road, and Lizzie Stark had extensive experience. But it wasn't the same. Tommy quickly learned that having sex for love and sex for pleasure or distraction was very different. Were his needs met every time he spent the night with Lizzie? Absolutely. But was it the same as with Dorothy? No, and it never was.

So instead he just convinced himself that she was dead. It was easier. If she was dead, being with her was impossible and he could accept that, if she was alive, she was being kept from him, and that he couldn't live with.

It made him feel slightly less guilty when he married Grace.

He had it all. The business, the grand house, the beautiful wife. And yet none of it would ever make him happy.

He let out a long sigh, his eyes going to the photo on his desk, why it was there he didn't know, he continued to torture himself, he felt like he deserved it. She looked back at him, her bright smile trying to break through the wall he had built around his heart, a stone fortress that only she had the key to. He felt judged, he was good to her...she would want him to be good to Grace.

So he got up and dragged himself to their bedroom.

•°• ⚠ •°•

It was strange feeling like a stranger in the city you grew up in. The moment she stepped onto the platform, off the train, she thought she'd feel at home, relief, a familiarity. But she couldn't feel like more of an outsider. Her heels echoed on the cobblestones, as she walked through smallheath on what would be a regular night. It truly was a town that never changed. She had seen the close-to-destroyed missing posters, and she wasn't surprised, it had been 6 years after all, anyone still trying was fooling themselves.

One thing that hadn't changed about the city was the gossip, people liked to believe that their whispers were quiet, but she had already heard so much just while leaving the station. She heard about people she went to school with being pregnant or married now, she heard about women who were now working in local brothels, a whole lot of political talk, but she heard the most about 'the peaky blinders' and 'Thomas Shelby' It didn't surprise her, she knew how much passion and drive for success he had. If he wanted his business to be successful, he would make it. And by the sounds of the whispers, he had done just that. Buying houses for his family, a big mansion for himself, a gorgeous wife with a baby on the way, tons of money, he truly had it all now.

And she was happy for him.

When she heard he had a wife, not only that but that she was also pregnant, she expected to be sadder, but if she made him happy that's all she cared about, who knows how much he had changed and how much he had struggled in and after the war, he needed someone. And even if he was doing just fine, it's been 10 years, she would never expect him to wait for her for such a long time.

It took a long time and a lot of walking before she decided where to go. She didn't know where she fit in anymore, Thomas had such control over the city, it wouldn't be long before they crossed paths and with how much he had done for himself, she truly didn't want to throw a spanner in and destroy everything that he had built for himself. She wasn't really sure why she thought returning was a good idea in the first place.

The first place she went to was her old house, she still had the keys on her. She could still remember the way and when she reached her street, she realised things may not have changed as much as she thought it did. Of course she didn't think she'd be able to go in, it likely had new occupants who had changed the locks. Though when she caught a glips through the window, she could see that her old living room hadn't changed at all.

Confused, she tried the lock, her key still a little stiff, and the door still needing and extra barge to get in. When she got inside, everything was the same. Not a cushion was moved, not a picture frame off-centre, her lipstick she had left on the side the last night she was here was still exactly how she left it. But what confused her the most, was that there wasn't a speck of dust, or grime, or mold, it still smelled freshly of her perfume. After 10 years of abandonment, the house should be disgusting and falling apart. Yet as her finger trailed over the side table by the front door, it was spotless. It didn't take long for her to figure out who was keeping her house's memory alive. She should have known that he wouldn't move on fully. Even as kids, he was bad at moving on from things.

While on the one hand, she was happy that he hadn't forgotten her, she knew if she started living here, it wouldn't take long before he found her.

She really shouldn't have come home.

•°• ⚠ •°•

Tommy's footsteps echoed around the streets of small heath, making people split like the red sea as he approached them. It was clear to anyone who had even an ounce of observational skills that he was in a terrible mood.

In fact he had livid.

Someone had been inside Dorothy's house.

It was the universal unwritten rule of small heath that no one but him was allowed to step foot near or in her house. Just a week after he had returned from war someone asked him about buying the house, and Tommy didn't hesitate to take his eyes, he probably would have killed him if John and Arthur didn't hold him back. Tommy used to visit the house every day, 10 years later he visited once a month, and always on the anniversary of her disappearance, which was today. He only trusted one other person to go into the house and that was Polly, who went in every other week to clean it, making sure to leave everything exactly how she found it.

But when Tommy went to visit before going to the tailors, the doormat in the hallway had a corner upturned, a small detail, but enough to let him know someone else had been inside, Polly would never be so careless.

So it's safe to say he was raging, and definitely not in the mood to have to pick up one of his suits that had been tailored for another of Grace's charity events, which Tommy was starting to get really sick of as they weren't genuine and just for appearance and to make her look good to the other rich wives that attended, that and show off her bump. Tommy's entrance was loud as the door swung open, banging against the wall, his coat damp from the mist hanging through the street. The shop was empty but had it not been everyone would have promptly left, not wanting to be anywhere near the black cloud that is Thomas Shelby.

He doesn't even bother to look at the shop employee, who had her back to him, as he slams slightly more money that was due on the table, "Here to collect. Shelby," he practically barks out. The employee turns around, and promptly drops what she was holding in shock. When Tommy realises that she's not immediately moving to get his suit, he raised his eyes to look up at her, meeting the beautiful green eyes he had been dreaming of for years, but convinced he'd never see again. His breath catches in his throat and while it felt like he got a massive and painful electric shock to his heart, for the first time in so long, there was a small warm feeling in his heart.

Dorothy. Ten years older but unmistakably her.

The two of them just stared each other for what felt like an eternity before he finally found his voice, though it came out shakey and gravelly.

"Dottie?"

Dorothy's eyes soften noticibly, her vision clouding slightly with tears, she lets out a breathy chuckle, looking down for a brief moment, "I always told you to stop calling me that, I didn't realise how much i'd miss it," she says breathily, her eye's meeting his once more.

Tommy swallowed, his gaze fixed on her face, tracing the lines of time that hadn't stolen her beauty, only softened and deepened it. She was older now, yes, but she was still his Dorothy—Dottie, his Dottie. His heart ached with the bittersweet realization that time hadn't touched his feelings for her, even though it had changed so much else.

"I thought you were dead,"

She looks at him sympathetically, "I don't blame you for thinking that, most people who go missing for more than a week don't come home,"

"How long have you been back for?"

"Just two days now," She answers honestly, "Didn't know where else to go,"

"Why didn't you come back earlier?" His voice bringing its more rough and serious tone.

His question caused a shift in her eyes, she suddenly looked very uncomfortable, "I couldn't," She said simply, it was evident she didn't want to discuss the cause of her disappearance, at least not in this context, which was frustrating for Tommy, she had just returned after disappearing for a decade, and wouldn't tell him where she was, but he decided to just let it go.

"I came back for you, like I promised," He like the memory was still a fresh wound, "But when I got back Poll said you'd been gone for over a year,"

"I saw the missing posters,"

"Polls doing,"

She chuckled, "I should have known,"

For the first time ever between the two of them there was silence, but it was awkward, neither of the knew what to say. A whole decade had passed and so much had happened, hell an entire war had happened since they last saw each other, and whatever caused her to go missing, and then there was...

"I'm married now," He says, without even really thinking, but he had to tell her, he had a life that he had built up, a life that didn't include her, he had Grace, and she needed to know that.

She gave a kind but slightly sad smile, "I heard, whispers of her pregnancy and charity ball have been going on all over the town," She says, moving to grab his suit from off the rack. "That's one thing that's not changed about here, the gossip."

"What else have you heard?" He asks, almost dreading the answer.

She brings the suit back over, laying it over the counter, "That your business is thriving, all the whispers about the peaky blinders, that you live in a mansion, that you've gotten everything you worked so hard to get...I'm proud of you Tommy, you deserve every good thing that's come your way,"

"Dot-"

"I'm not here to mess up everything you built Tommy. I don't blame you for moving on and as long as your wife is a good to you and you're happy then I'm happy for you. You deserve happiness and I'm not apart of that anymore. I'll be leaving in a few days, I just needed to find somewhere to get myself on my feet,"

Each word hit him like a punch to the gut, and Tommy found himself unable to think properly. How did she always do this? How did she still, ten years later, break down his walls and still be such a kind soul?

He nodded, handing her the money for the suit, their hands brushing for a brief movement, electricity flowing through each of their fingers, her hand was warm and this time, she didn't disappear, it was all real.

"This is far too much," She observed, counting the money.

"To get you back on your feet," He says, not looking at her, "Goodbye, Dorothy."

"Goodbye Thomas."

•°• ⚠ •°•

It had been a few days since Tommy and Dorothy's paths finally crossed, and Tommy had found himself unable to focus on anything but their meeting. She was alive, and that news brought a relief to his heart that he had never experienced on that level before. But she would be leaving soon, maybe she already had, he had given her more than enough money to leave and find somewhere else to comfortably live.

He sighed as he rubbed his face with his hands, as he sat at his desk. But in doing so he caught a glimpse of his calendar, and more importantly the date it was...today would be their anniversary, he had asked her to be his on this exact day 19 years ago.

Tommy didn't believe in a god, or magic or fate. But everything the past few days was far too perfect to ignore. Dorothy returning right at the 10 year point. Their anniversary being today. And he'd been looking for an out for months now that wouldn't leave him alone once more. Everything was pointing to her. The world wanted them.

In that moment he made his decision.

•°• ⚠ •°•

"Should'a known i'd find you here,"

He approached the large oak tree, taking a breaif moment to look across the vast field. He hadn't been back since the last time he was here, 6 years ago, when it was cold and grey and had lost all life. And yet, with her return, the sky was blue, the wildflowers covered every inch of the field except for the small patch of bright green grass she was sat in. Ocassionally the odd rabbit or deer would appear, before quickly being spooked off. It was just how it used to be.

"Had to return just one more time, it's t-"

"The most beautiful spot in all of Birmingham," He finished for her, causing her to look up at him. To her, Tommy had always been the most beautiful person ever, and 10 years later that opinion hadn't changed. 10 years older, yet just as gorgeous. She could see the pain and hurt in his eyes from 4 years of war, she felt devastated that she wasn't there to support him once he came home. 

Neither of them spoke, there was so much to say that neither of them had any idea what to say. Tommy simply sat down next to her, their shoulders touching as he looks out at the vast field, taking out a cigarette and smoking it it with strange grace. 

Eventually Dorothy couldn't take the silence anymore.

"Tommy what ar-"

"I broke things off with grace," He spurts out, not looking at her, shocking her.

"Tommy! She's your wife and she's pregnant, you can't just break things off with her!"

"The baby's not mine, love," He admits, looking at her, "She came to birmigham after having left for a while, going on about how she was pregnant and it was mine. I married her so the baby wouldn't be born out of wedlock cause that's the right thing to do, but the dates didn't match up. It's not mine,"

"Why did you stay with her?"

"She was good to me when she wasn't lying, being a spy, betraying me or arranging awful events that are just made to make her look good. If I'm being totally honest, I needed something to distract me from you, but now you're back,"

"Now I'm back," She nods.

"And I'm not letting you go," He whispers, his hand moving to hold the back of her neck, his thumb gently stroking the side of her face. Dorothy relaxes into his touch, and the two of them rest their foreheads together, the two of them finally free to love each other once more, maybe it wouldn't be exactly like it was before. Both now broken in their own ways. But the feelings hadn't changed. 

"I love you Dottie,"

She pulls back to look at him.

"Don't ever stop calling me that."

•°• ⚠ •°•

fin

[foxxdoolz]

Journal (6-10-24)

I was told journaling is good for the mind. I don't believe that steaming wad of bullshit, but here we are.

Maybe there's something to say about something. But even as I type this, my mind his blank. Blank like always. Always blank. I've given it a phrase at this point.

The Art of Destroying Your Life.

Because, truly, at this point, it's my greatest piece of work to date. Not the scripts I have written, not the films I've made, but my inherent ability to feel nothing about my life.

I'm happy sometimes, sure, sad sometimes, but I can't run away from this crippling feeling of nothingness. That I simply just exist. And I love existing and breathing and loving and thinking.

I think about how, right now, at the age of twenty-one, I live surrounded by trash. Not hyperbole. Rotting takeaway on the floor, liquor cans standing right next to it, snack wrappers taking up an entire side of my bed so no body could sleep near. I find it totally disgusting, and yet I continue to let it rot.

Living is monotonous. And I love living, but I can't help the thoughts that any time I smile or laugh, am I just sliding a mask on? Am I truly content if the second I am away from whatever is immediately making me happy, I feel nothing?

I get into these slumps where I don't feel like existing. Not that I want to stop existing, no, but I don't want to be perceived, I suppose.

I remember the first time I felt this way. Eighteen. The retail place I worked at just closed down, my stability of my favorite job ever, gone without my say. And there would be weeks that would pass where I didn't shower, ate filth, the only moments of happiness coming from fleeting moments with my friends.

And, then, I applied to a film school, halfway across the country, and I felt invigorated. I had a goal to achieve. I had something to do. And I was constantly working towards that goal.

And now, I'm at that film school, I've achieved that goal, and now it's just life. I just go to school, go to work, eat filth, and don't shower until I have to be perceived.

I wonder if these slumps existed before I was eighteen. If that's why I took my first drag of a cigarette at thirteen. If that's why I first stole a crappy seltzer from my mom at fourteen. If that's why I first coughed marijuana from my lungs at fifteen.

I no longer smoke weed, having stopped when I was about seventeen, and, though it may sound like it, I don't drink often. I like to drink socially, but the thought of drinking alone is boring. The cans on my floor are from weeks of long shifts at work.

I confided in a friend of mine recently that I want to go to therapy. Therapy costs money, money I do not have when I am living paycheck to paycheck. But, hopefully in the near future, I can take that step. I'm an open book, really, and I love talking to people.

I've been thinking about my grandma a lot recently. My dad's mom. She passed away when I was five. I only have one memory of her face, and the memories of my father's face when talking about her. I think about how my dad was barely an adult when he lost his mom, only thirty-five, when there was still so much more he needed from her. Cancer is a fucking mess, I suppose.

I also think about he was only a little bit older than I am now when he lost his own father. A good for nothing, angry drunk, but still his father. How, among the myriad of shitty stories I've been told, my dad still thinks so highly of his own father. Idolizes him, loves him, despite the bullshit.

I wonder if my dad looks at my mom's parents and feels a pang of jealousy. Still alive, still healthy, not miserable drunks doomed to cancer or psychiatries. Jealous that my mom's family, for all of the assholes and strange people, is massive, when my dad has very little.

My mom with too many brothers and sisters to remember the names of, and my father with his two sisters, and newly found half-brother. I think it meant a lot to my dad to find his family growing. It's only been a few years since he's known his half-brother, and it's only been a few times I've seen my half-uncle, but a little bit of light comes back to my dad's eyes when he's around. A light that fizzled when his mom died.

The same light that re-entered when his long-divided cousin and him got back into contact. Once again, cancer is a fucking mess-

...

I think I'll have to come back to this. I'm pretty sure something just dropped into my tub, like an alive thing.

At first I thought it was just one of my neighbors when I heard something fall behind the wall, and then I heard the unmistakable sound of something clawing at ceramic.

I went to go investigate, thought I saw something move in the darkness of my bathroom, and promptly slammed the door closed.

I need to ready myself before I can check it out. Maybe it's a rat, or a pigeon, or maybe I just need to go to sleep.

-PCD