The Garrison, usually thick with smoke and sharp deals, buzzed with something softer today—laughter, the clinking of cutlery, the rare sound of peace in the Shelby world. At the long table sat Tommy with Grace, little Charlie on his lap and Ruby in her arms. John and Esme nearby, their brood of Duke, Esmaerlda, and Matheo chattering over lemonade and half-eaten pies.

Then the door swung open.

Arthur Shelby stepped in—6'3", a ruthless, unhinged storm of a man. The kind of bastard you don’t cross unless you’ve already written your will. But today, beside him, was his grounding force—his cinnamon roll wife, YN—and trailing behind them were their three sons: Maximus (9), Alessio (8), and Leo (7).

And everyone in the pub knew: the Shelby mini-army had arrived.

The boys walked like little soldiers, all sharp edges and swagger, every bit their father’s sons. But the moment YN gave even the softest look or snapped her fingers, they'd come running, ready to shield her with their fists. Protective, loyal, dangerous—just like their old man. And when Arthur gave them one sharp glance? They stood straighter than any army line-up, like they were reporting for duty.

Arthur (grinning as he pulls YN’s chair out):
"Alright, alright—family lunch, no punchin’, no swearin’... at least until after dessert."
He lights a smoke, smirks at his sons already eyeing the pudding tray, then leans in and kisses YN’s temple.
"And you lot—if anyone so much as looks at your mum wrong, you know what to do."

The boys nod in sync. The whole Garrison? Yeah, they don’t dare blink wrong in her direction.
Because behind that sweet smile of hers... is a family that would burn the world down for her.