Chapter Text
December 22, 1894
Karachi, Hindustan
The Winter Solstice of 1894 had meant the sun had risen at 07:02am and had set at 05:21pm, giving the people of Salem exactly 10 hours, 19 minutes and 5 seconds of light for the farmers to sow their sugarcane and cassava which had then been shipped off to and profited by the British; while they had been left waiting for their scraps and pity. Mara Chandala had left her occupation at the funeral home as soon as she had started showing. Three times she had gone to three separate women who could make it all go away. She had bled for days, had thrown up thrice, and had woken up someplace she hadn’t remembered going to in the first place after every appointment, but alas, her belly hadn’t stopped growing. A parasite had embedded under her skin, sharing her blood, her lifeline and, worst of all, harbouring half of her DNA. Mara had planned to leave the pest right there in the alley or float it down the river as soon as she had finished having it rip out of her.
The baby’s head had begun crowning at noon, the sun high in the sky, light breaking through the sky and kissing backs of necks and legs. But after hours of blood, screaming and tearing, it had been 05:22pm when her baby had finally freed Mara from her agony.
Maybe there had been a reason she had just missed the sun, maybe there had been symbolism behind it being her twisted body that had caused her to miss the midday rays that had scattered down the river, maybe it had been foreshadowing, foreboding, or fate.
But Mara Chandala hadn’t been able to believe in those kinds of things anymore, nor had she been able to focus on the cramps in her low stomach as the placenta had tried to crawl out, nor her blood and fluids mixing with the mud and grime of the back-alleyway, when she had seen the baby open her eyes after having had them scrunched up in cries for so long.
Not just any baby, her baby.
Staring face to face with the closest thing to herself. And for the first time ever, she hadn’t hated it. In fact, she had finally understood people who had slept on their streets with their arms wrapped around five children, whom before she had always ridiculed for their stupidity. She had understood mothers who had sat back so they could watch their children go further than they could. She had understood those who had gone to church every Sunday. It had been that, that divinity, that purpose people had found when they had prayed, something worth losing and something to fight for, that she had finally found. She had understood how God could have loved his creations so dearly to the point of self-sacrifice. And right then, her creation had stared back at her with wide brown eyes that had mirrored her own. Some would have found it mocking - seeing a version of themselves looking back at them, so sweetly untouched. Not knowing they had been a woman, destined for a life of service, that it would one day be their turn to scream as their body ripped itself apart, not knowing all the guilt that came with being alive, nor knowing their fate had been sealed by being a Dalit. But all Mara had seen had been a second chance, and as she had pressed her lips to her baby’s forehead, she had sworn that this time she wouldn’t mess it up.
In that moment, Mara hadn’t known that this had been the most love she would ever feel for the rest of her life, and that little baby cradled in her arms hadn’t known that it would be the last time she felt such love for the rest of her life. Like feeling the warmth of the sun on the crown of your head for just one sweet moment and it being taken away and replaced by suffocating darkness.
Eventually, that little baby had forgotten the soft feel of loving lips against her forehead and the scent of her mother. Though deep down, her soul had remembered the brief warmth. It had been buried in her heart, her head, and down to the bone. She had spent her life unknowingly searching for the kiss of the sun once more. Unconsciously waiting, hungry, drooling, begging for that gleam, for that familiar heat. And when she hadn’t been able to find it, her very being had cracked and splintered to try and let the light in. She had repented and worshipped and prayed until her knees had bled. Soon after, she had decided the light hadn’t been for her, and one day, she had forgotten ever feeling the warmth at all.
Unless someone had cracked her open and let the light in.
June 21, 1890
'The January'
The Summer Solstice of 1890 had meant the sun had risen at 03:44am and had set reluctantly at 08:34. The barge had swayed, the damp wood had absorbed Margaret ‘Maggie’ Shelby’s screams as a very young Pollyanna had stood close by and had tried to be helpful, feeling bad that her brother had left, intending to ‘wet the baby’s head’ in a pub instead.
Neither his mother nor Polly had been able to stop little Arthur from wailing as he had watched his mother rock the boat and shout curses at Arthur Sr. No light had been able to break into the dim, rickety boat that had smelt of salt, damp, and horse manure, and which had splintered anytime one had touched it. Margaret had peeled the wood shards off the walls as her nails had dug in.
Margaret had forced a smile and had shushed Polly, who had murmured prayers as she had fiddled with the hem of her dress anxiously. “It’s alright, sweetpea, you go rest, God’s asleep.” Something she had said often when she could tell Polly had just been nervously repenting.
But Polly, still as stubborn as she had been then, had stayed and had held her cross tighter.
Her cries of anger had morphed to ones of pain and finally ones of pure, unbridled desperation. Partially because of the pain rippling through her body, mostly because she hadn’t been able to wait to meet the baby she had waited so long for. Many would have thought, with a husband like Arthur, that every baby had been from a night of lust and release. But for Maggie, she had tried and hoped and prayed for every single one.
Each time her ankles had swelled, and her belly had grown, so had her heart. So had her hope and her reason for pushing on. Her husband hadn’t been there, and she hadn’t minded—for once, just once, something had been hers. To nurture and teach and love. Her precious baby. All hers. Each time they had come just when she had needed them, each catered to exactly what she had needed at that moment.
At 03:44am, when Arthur had been about to doze off and sunlight had crept in through a doorway, with a gasp, her Tommy had opened his eyes. Tommy had brought the light with him. Wide and glossy from his cries from kicking and screaming into the world. His quiet, whimpering cry had drowned out Arthur rushing over and tugging on her dress as he had wanted to see the baby, and Polly’s unyielding eyes staring in awe. It had been then that Polly had decided she had wanted children of her own.
Pressing her forehead to Tommy’s, he had been colder than Arthur had been. Skin tinged blue from the complications of the birth, muttering prayers into his skin, their eyes had locked.
Those eyes. Her saving grace.
As Tommy had grown, Margaret had quickly realised she had been wrong. Tommy hadn’t brought the light with him; he had been the light. Not just to her but to every single one of her beloveds. The sun the family had orbited around. Someone for Margaret to confide in, someone to put Arthur in his place, to teach John how to be a gentleman, to protect Ada, and ultimately, to raise Finn.
As Margaret had made her way to the Cut in March of 1908, she had regretted almost everything she had done with her time on this planet—other than Tommy. Her final prayer before she had braced herself had been for Tommy to know that, oh, how she had hoped he did.
But alas, how could Tommy have known he had been the light, when he had looked in the mirror and had seen none? Shining the light on others, he had assumed they had been the light. So, he must have been the darkness.
So that had been what he had become, it had been all he had allowed himself to be. Until it really had been all he had been, he would never have known his mother’s prayer, nor would he have known the light had been coming from him, nor would he ever have forgiven himself. He would never have known that it had been him who had brought the sun to his mother. All he would have known was that it hadn’t been enough. He hadn’t been enough. He would have spent his life trying to do more, exceed himself, be enough, save his family from his darkness by letting it engulf him and him alone. And eventually it would have, and it would have entrenched him and his family in the darkness. Only then would he have realised.
Unless someone had cracked him open and shown him the light.
Amita Suman// Dahlia Chandala
"Some people deserve punishment."
Cillian Murphy//Thomas Michael Shelby
"You think punishing yourself changes who you are?"
George Mackay//George Wood
"I knew you; I don't remember the last time I was sure I know you. When people ask me about you, I never know what to say, because I have the same questions as them."
Vera Farmiga//Margaret 'Maggie' Shelby
"Lord, be gentle with my boy, he's not made for the rough like he believes he is."
Paul Anderson//Arthur Shelby
"My angel."
Tommy Flanagan //Arthur Sr.
"No son of mine would associate with any 'darkie'."
Helen McCory//Pollyanna 'Polly' Gray
"Tommy told me you were smart...smart women know better than to lie to me."
Joe Cole//John Shelby
"Of course you can tell me, I'm your best friend, aren't I?
Alfie Evans-Meese//Finn Shelby
"I'm glad you're here. Everyone is."
Sophie Rundle//Ada Shelby
"You're the only person I'd want as my maid of honour."
꧁𝙒𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙃𝙮𝙢𝙣 𝙏𝙤 𝙑𝙞𝙧𝙜𝙞𝙡 ꧂
꧁♦ AUTHOR'S NOTE ♦꧂
𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈˙ᵕ˙
𓆉: TYSM for reading!!! I love Thomas Shelby so much, he's such a cleverly written character, in this fic I do plan to delve more into his life before war and I write a lot about each individual character's past and their development. I love writing the pre-war Shelby family!
𓆉: Dahlia's a character i've had in my head for literally two years, my girl is made up of a lot of guilt, self-sabotage and destruction but i love her. It follows Dahlia's life, her friendships with different characters and her character development as she's just as much a main character as everyone else, you'll see her with all characters. It includes lots of flashbacks to various Peaky characters bc I just honestly love this show and these characters (watched it approx. seven times) and flashbacks to Dahlia's past.
𓆉: Parallels to/influenced by the story of Icarus...
𓆉: Certain chapter titles will reference the Macbeth monologue, as it aligns quite well - it will make more sense when you actually see it...
𓆉:Tommy needs someone to match his freak!!! More 'academic rivals' than an extreme 'enemies to lovers' Slow burn it is a very very slow burn be warned (it's gonna be rocky), they're both pretty difficult but they do develop a lot over the acts, twin flame trope, nightmare trope (i can't help myself), trauma bonding, grumpy x sunshine but it alternates who's who, (some would say grumpy x grumpier) "I didn't know where else to go" trope, FOUND FAMILY, actually nuanced Female OC not just the badass trope, slowly slowly realising and falling in love, eventual smut, NO CHEATING, NO LOVE TRIANGLE!
𓆉: Please lemme know what you guys think, please comment and leave kudos i love reading them, I know it can be daunting but everyone's friendly and hilarious, kudos are my only indication that people are enjoying my writing, so if you like it please do leave kudos. Shout out to my silent readers too:) I have put some tags that may imply this is an 'X Reader' because fics I have seen with OC's tend to also have tags like 'TommyShelby/You' but even though x reader fics are fun, this is not one. If that's what you're looking for, I'm sorry this is 'TommyShelby/OC'
𓆉: Quite detailed writing, mainly because I've just thought about these characters so much (been planning for two years) but I don't add in extra detail that doesn't have a purpose do not worry:) It is to be quite a long fic and a lot of character development and ups and downs, but oh Dahmmy, you are so so dear to me:((
^^ As it is detailed, I've tried very hard to make it the book understandable even if you haven't watched any or all of PB, that being said, if you're ever confused please just lemme know and I can explain:)
𓆉: The beginning does not have many flashbacks as the scene is being set but then we delve deeper into their pasts a few chapters in. What kind of scenes do you guys wanna see?
𓆉: TW: Period typical racism and sexism, self-harm, lot's of religious guilt, death, violence (as much as there is in PB), Inspector Campbell being alive for two, unfortunate seasons.
𓆉: Tiktok account with edits of this fic: sweeetbabyangelll