❝Oh, the secret night we promised never to speak of? That night?❞
❝Could you at least try to focus? We're looking for water, not testing the limits of my patience.❞
෴⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄෴⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ ෴⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄෴⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄෴
known as the resident 'Pogue Captain', Laia wears her re...
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"And, drum roll, please... See that small girl standing next to Pope? That's Laia, my cousin. Uncle Teddy's kid. She's 16, just a few months younger than the rest of us, and known around here as Surfer T's daughter—the Kildare's Surfing Princess, if you believe the hype. I like to say it with pride, but she swears she'll murder me if I call her that again.
Laia's our unofficial Pogue Captain, a title she's never actually asked for but somehow earned. She's got this wild streak that's impossible to miss, wearing her rebellious nature like it's a custom-made badge. With that crown of dirty blonde curls, light chocolate brown eyes, and sun-kissed olive skin, she doesn't just blend in at the Cut—she stands out, in the best way possible. She's all sharp wit and fearless courage, a mouth that could slice through a brick wall with sarcasm alone.
Yeah, she's got some delinquent tendencies (don't we all?), but there's something else beneath all that trouble. Laia's sharper than she lets on, and there's this untapped potential that only shines through when you least expect it—like when she's the one to come up with a plan that actually keeps us from getting caught.
But Laia's more than just reckless stunts and snarky comebacks. She's a friend you can count on, even if it means diving headfirst into a mess she didn't cause. And when she's not out running wild with us, you'll find her at the animal shelter, full-time. She's got this softer side, all wrapped up in fur and feathers and broken wings. The Kooks might look down on her, but even those stuck-up residents of Figure Eight have to admit, there's something magnetic about Laia—something they secretly admire but would never say out loud.
With a mom she never knew, a dad who's been gone for months, and an uncle that vanished off the face of the earth, Laia's only got me. And, well, I've only got her. Good thing we've got the Pogues—our real family, the only one that matters."
- John B. Routledge, while he watches Laia Routledge grin heartily as she pushes JJ Maybank to the floor of the twinkie that caused the boy to hit his face on Pope's feet.
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warning!
This fic's got a fair bit of cheek and plenty of grit: foul language (enough to make a sailor blush), underage drinking (because we're all young and reckless here), more running around than a pack of headless chickens, plus a fair share of boozing and drug talk. Expect some steamy shenanigans, a good helping of violence (truly, it's practically a sport), and themes of loss, heartbreak, emotional scars, and the usual family-sized baggage. If that's not your cup of tea, best pop off now. Otherwise, dive in at your own risk, and don't say you weren't warned. Cheers!
disclaimer!
I don't own Outer Banks—that's all the creators' gig. They've got the rights, and I've just got a wild imagination and too much free time. This wee piece of fanfiction is purely for a bit of fun, so don't go thinking it's official or anything. Now, as for the bits I do claim—my original characters (lookin' at you, Laia), plot twists, cheeky dialogue, and any snazzy slang I've thrown in—those are all mine. Hands off, alright? No nicking my ideas. Cheers!
