• TOMMY SHELBY IMAGINES •

yours truly

*guys omg I find writing 'Y/N' as the main characters name so weird but anyways* some more pre Peaky Blinders bullshit bc I'm an emotional wreck byeeeee

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Dear Y/N,

War is nothing like how I'd imagined it to be, but also so much like what I'd envisioned all along. It's hard to explain, but I accepted the madness and chaos, but not the battles that go on in your head. Those are far much worse, I'm afraid.

It's a cry away from hell, or perhaps a bullet but only a few hours away from the place you lay awake at night thinking about me.

I stand between heaven and hell, love.

But fuck all the sappy stuff, I'm alive. And alright. But your letter nearly made me weep, woman.

I miss you too, for the record. And I will always miss you. But did you know that I see you every night? In my dreams, there you stand in my arms whispering in my ear all the things I need to hear.

I miss you very much. As a matter of fact, an innocent French woman by the name of Fleu sold me a beautiful scarf that is the softest yellow. Your favourite colour.

I plan to give it to you when I come back.

I miss you terribly, sometimes, to the point where I get sad at the thought of leaving this earth. Leaving you. I'm not a holy man, but I pray almost every night that I make it back safely to you.

At times I wonder what you're doing, but that makes me entirely sad. Knowing that you're coming home to an empty space, and sharing dinner with no one in particular.

Right?

I don't mean to ask such an awful question but with the war, and the fact that I've been away for months I wonder if you've pursued someone else.

God - I sound like a prick don't I? I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but being alone here makes me overthink. A lot.

And then I get to talking to myself about you. Creating plots and stories and memories that begin to haunt me. Then I begin to see things, like you and another man who smirks at me as he...

Fuck. I should stop writing now. I guess what I'm asking is. Am I still yours?

Is that small gold ring on your finger still on? And are you still proudly engaged to me?

Because I'm all in, and I love you endlessly, tirelessly. Wholeheartedly.

The woman who sold me the scarf wanted me to write you something, a quote from a fancy author in France. I know you speak a little, and I'm hoping you appreciate that I've been working on being more romantic.

As I write this, I also hope you know I cower and hide from my colleagues.

Car, vois-tu, chaque jour je t'aime davantage, aujourd'hui plus qu'hier et bien moins que demain.

Hope I spelt that right.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

And I can't wait to hear from you,

Yours

Thomas Shelby