↳ 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 - 𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙮 𝙗𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨

♧

word count; 2150
warnings; none

Being the youngest sibling merits a long list of pros and cons. Your family are incredibly protective over you, hence why there is always at least one Shelby with their eye on you. You're never alone because there's always someone you can talk to. If you land yourself in trouble you instantly have a hand to hold.

At least once a week you team up with one of your brothers to pull a prank on the next unsuspecting person to enter the grand house. It certainly brightens your mood to see poor old Tommy lose his temper before marching after you.

On the other hand you're not always taken seriously. In their minds, young means clueless, though they phrase it in a more polite manner. Most likely because they think you're sensitive too. No one wants to hear otherwise despite your best efforts to interject during family meetings.

Singing is your passion. It helps you focus, it lifts your spirits. You found it enjoyable when you were a child and it's stuck with you as you grew older. Many nights ago Finn had poked his head around the door upon hearing you singing to yourself, curled up by the crackling fire waiting for your aunt Polly to return.

"Singing again?" He smirked. "You should consider it more seriously. You're fuckin' talented you know?"

While he intended it to be a simple, lighthearted comment to elicit a laugh from you, his words seemed to replay in your head over and over like a stuck record. They continue to swirl around your brain even now, whilst you mind your business in the empty pub.

Ada and Polly are seated together at the bar, engaged in causal conversation with drinks occupying their manicured hands. Your brothers however are causing a racket. It's mostly Arthur and his naturally booming voice, though it grows louder the more drinks he gulps down. John only encourages him as always.

"Eh." Arthur lightly nudges your arm with his elbow. "Go on. I won't tell if you don't." He taps his nose and guides a drink into your hands. You barely open your mouth when it's taken from you by a stoic Tommy.

"When you're eighteen." Is all he utters. Bringing his cigarette between his lips to take a brief drag, exhaling a silver cloud as John smacks the table and Finn guffaws at his jokes.

"Sorry kid." Arthur mumbles, genuinely disappointed. You offer him a smile and sit up straight.

"I have a proposition for you all." You announce. It's surprising how quickly they fall silent to direct their attention to you, waiting patiently with open ears. "I want to bring back singing in the Garrison."

"Why?"

"Because, Finn, this place needs a little something to bring it back to life. Everyone here is miserable. It's the same routine day in day out: wake up, go to work, come to the Garrison to blow your earnings, repeat. People could use something simple to lift their spirits."

He scoffs. "You know I was joking the other night?"

"Really? I had no idea." He rolls his eyes at your sarcastic tone, slumping in his seat. "I decided to take your words seriously."

"No shit."

"Hold on," Tommy leans forwards to glance at Finn. "You're responsible for putting this idea in her head?"