Astor // Arthur Shelby x Reader - Peaky Blinders

Letter #18

May 1918

Dearest Astor; angel sent from heaven, before whom I bow as a mere mortal man,

I can confirm the magic potion tastes even worse than John said.

Even with it tasting fouler than donkey piss, just one glance at the photo you hid in my watch would be worth drinking it at every meal. I couldn't take my bloody eyes off you until night had truly fallen and we had to extinguish all the lamps. Have you ever been told how fucking beautiful you are? How perfect, how exquisite. I've never seen anyone like you in all my years. Fuck page nineteen, you could have nineteen whole magazines dedicated to that one photo alone.

I could go on for hours, but paper's getting harder to come by here, and I'd easily use every roll describing how badly I wish I could be with you.

It doesn't help we're in a brief period of rest in northern France now, after all that heavy fighting. They're sending us back to the front lines soon enough though and I'll be busy once more. I'm hoping by then I'll have recovered from my, er, preoccupation with my watch, and be able to concentrate on the digging and explosives.

I hope the Changretta son knows how lucky he is to be spending so much time with you. Make sure he keeps his hands to himself though, or he'll have me to answer to. Heh. Blimey, a fox-fur coat — can imagine it'd take more than a few foxes to make one of them. I don't think it's unkind to say it upset you, surely anyone who's spent longer than ten minutes with you knows what you think of animal hunting — unless you're more held back with your thoughts than I imagine you to be from your letters. 

And Jesus Christ, your grand donations plastered the biggest grin across my face. That's my fucking girl. What do oysters and foe grass even taste like? Both sound fucking disgusting if you ask me. But then I've never tried them, so maybe there's a trick I'm missing.

You say I fill you with strength, but my dear girl, it is you filling me with strength too. I reckon you can see a difference between the men here with a reason to keep fighting and those without. In the four years we have known each other, you have become my reason. Every bullet I shoot. Every tunnel I dig. Every time a bomb goes off and I'm thrown down to my feet and have to check I still have all my limbs attached. I do it all for you. For your future. Maybe even for our future together. You reckon I've changed you now you can brave Birmingham — you have changed me everlastingly.

I will gladly annihilate these men trying to blame you for chickens being fucking chickens. Just give me their names, sweetheart, and I'll take care of it. The mad chicken escapes would be fucking funny if you weren't taking the blame for so long. What's a poultry manager meant to do? Stick barbed wire over the fence? You could do that, easy. Not sure how much you'll have to pay him each year, but it seems over the top for a few pecks of corn. But then I'm not a farmer, maybe there is more that goes into containing the bastard birds. I'm sure your swearing at the whole thing will also be forgiven once you get to heaven, so you use all the profanity you want, my girl.

What does the future look like for us once I'm home? Well I would like to meet you. Maybe take you out for dinner somewhere to begin. I'll want to spend all my time with you, but I'm assuming I'll have work, and you'll have your farm and horses, so I expect we'll still be writing to each other. I've got no clue if there's a telephone at our place by now, I'll have to ask Polly and Ada, but if we do, I expect I'll be ringing you up all the time. I can't wait for the day I hear your voice for the first time, and I can't wait for every time after that. Any time you want to ride horses, I'll saddle one up and come meet you. Or I'll take the train and you can pick one of your lot you think I'd like.

As for the early morning walks, I'm just now realising we didn't factor my travel time into our agreements. See, a walk at seven-thirty means I'll need to be on the train by six, and so I'm up just as fucking early already. Do you have any ideas for how we can get around this, my girl?

I miss you even more dearly. Somehow, I feel it is getting worse with each day that goes by, but that might just be the exhaustion. I'm as ready as any man here for this to all be over, and I expect even more ready than a great deal of them.

Yours sincerely and forevermore,

Arthur Shelby. (Soldier most preoccupied with checking the inner workings of his watch every ten minutes, shortly followed by a tonic and a grimace.)