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jimlingss · 4 years

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Moirai [1]

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

➜ Words: 5.8k

➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Isekai!AU

➜ Summary: Death is supposed to be the end. Or at least that's what you assumed when you're hit by a TRUCK. But the moment you open your eyes again, instead of being sent to the afterlife, you've become a baby. And not just any baby. You're the female villain of a video game.

➜ Notes: Isekai is a popular manga and light novel genre in which characters from Earth are transported into a new world.

This is the end. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” The Prince stands tall, the very furrow of his brows jarring against the cold, cordial expression he maintains — the one she had always tried to shatter. All she desired was something other than courtesy. If not affection then frustration or misery. But she supposes that anger suffices. Anger. The first time he’s ever looked at her with an ounce of any true feeling. His shadow looms over her, his status powerful as the countless eyes are narrowed in around her — he is as powerful as the people who stand behind him. Every word he speaks booms through the ballroom, a grand timbre that has long replaced the mellifluous violins. The Prince is as noble as he is righteous. He is the hero of this story. “You choose to answer your crimes with silence?!” The corner of her lips curl and cackles rasp from her throat. The noise is discordant and shrill, a mocking irony when it causes him to pull the woman in his arms closer. Even when she’s in this position, downcast head, knees burnt on the carpet, all she does is drive them closer together. “The only sins I have ever committed was loving you until my last breath.” “Guards!” Murmurs spark across the room and the knights armour clank as they approach in heavy steps. She knows these are the last moments. “The only crime I have is looking out for the empire! But you chose her.” She looks upon the girl he holds, the one who has the same contempt on her visage. And as the knights rip her away from her place, she spits venom-laced words, “A lowly baron’s adopted daughter to make your wife. I am the duke’s daughter. I am educated. I am your fiancée—” “No longer.” He condemns, “You have committed treason. Conspiracy against the crown. Attempted murder. Forgery. Harassment. Using your status to oppress the vulnerable—” “Let go of me!” she shrieks as the guards drag her down the room. It’s undignified. Degrading. “—Daring to entangle yourself with the dark arts. And you will answer to these crimes whether you choose to confess or not.” “Let go of me!” she struggles, yet no one chooses to hear. Their eyes have pierced into her, those who aren’t scandalized are snickering behind their feathered fans. But in the last seconds, status has no place. She looks to the person who matters most, the one she had spent her childhood idolizing. Her beliefs hold true. He will make a great ruler. But she will never be the one to stand beside him. She knows now. That position has long been stolen away from her. “Everything I did,” she cries, “I did for yo—” The grand doors slam shut with her pitched screams resounding. Moments later, the lively music continues, violins and trumpets crescendoing to life once more. As if her life had just not been taken away from her. As if the denunciation was merely an intermission of tonight’s festivities. Her heinous exterior is shattered by tears that no one would have sympathy for. She is limp when she is thrown into the stone jail cell within the depths of the castle. The knights twist on their heel and she is surrounded in pitch darkness with the sound of a scurrying rat echoing beside her. The only time there is light is by the dim flame of the torch, a guard accompanying a frightened servant who carries a bowl of spoiled oats. It’s not enough to satisfy the grumble of her stomach, but enough to keep her alive for the execution day. Without a silver fork or spoon in hand, a handkerchief placed in her lap, seated by a candlelit table, she resorts to using her fingers to scoop the food into her mouth. Sometimes, she thinks they forget about her. Or perhaps time is simply drawn in darkness. A second made into a minute. A minute is an hour. She is merely left leaning against the molded stone, wasted away and drunk on memories of better places. Punishment does not come in the form of her stripped title or even her head rolling away from her neck. Punishment arrives in the darkened loneliness. That loss of sanity that whisper she has failed to capture the attention of the only person she ever loved. That she failed to make him love her. Everything she did, it drove him away. Every act of love placed distance between them. Everything. Liberation comes back with the music of trumpets muffled by the stone walls. “What’s going on?” her voice is hoarse through her parched throat. The servant screams when her arm reaches past the bars to tug on the girl’s dress. Her eyes are bleary as she looks up at the girl. “Why is it so noisy?” “T-The civil war’s over.” The girl backs away and the celebrations become more distinct with the realization. “The villain is dead.” The girl withdraws into the cell and cackles rip through her lungs, resounding across the empty chambers. The servant scurries away as the knight huffs out through his nose and shakes his head. But it’s the best news she’s received since she’s been stowed away. And a smile still graces her features when she is dragged out and jostled by the knights, taken up to where the sun blinds her vision. “On the eve of the Solar Festival, we rid our empire of yet another villain and free it from treachery!” There are cacophonous cheers in the crowd. Her eyes are hurt by the sunlight and she shuts them tight. Her legs are kicked and she’s knocked onto her knees, head being shoved against wood. She wishes she didn’t have to face the sun rays. There’s no decency to give her shade. But the discomfort is over by the blade slicing through the air. She lives and both dies as the villainess — an inevitable legacy. ❇ End of Royal Romances Chapter 7 -Prince Route- ❇

Headbeams. Fuck. You never thought it would be like all those cheesy movies — the third Batman film, Grey’s Anatomy, the Simpsons, hell even Attack on Titan. But nope. They’re right. Time really does slow and your life really does flash by your eyes when you’re in the moment of your death. But instead of feeling grief for yourself, all you can think about is what an absolute idiot you are. You really shouldn’t have jaywalked at night. That cheesecake in the fridge was supposed to be yours! And holy shit, your parents are going to be really fucking mad that you died at only twenty— The truck slams into you before you can finish your thought. …………... ……….. ……. ….. ... .. . Strangely, it doesn’t hurt. Maybe because it happened so fast. Maybe the initial impact was already enough to end your life. But you’re left feeling an empty void inside of yourself. An overwhelming agony that this is the end. That you never got the chance to fulfill your dreams, enjoy the fruits of your labour, that you never got to reach the happiness you wanted. You have regrets. Not for the things that you did. But for the things that you didn’t do. But well….you suppose there’s no use in lingering in it. Death is the end. This is the end. ……. ….. ... .. . “—ook...t ...er...!” “..hush!” What? Why are you hearing noises? Why does your face feel warm? Are you in...heaven? Some sort of afterlife?! Oh man, you knew you deserved this! Fuck yes! You might have kicked that kid’s shin in the fourth grade and totally lied to your manager that one time that you cleaned the ice-cream machine when you didn’t, but your wrongdoings aren’t that bad. You open your eyes. Unusually, your vision is blurred. All you can make out is a fuzzy figure looming over you. Your mouth opens— “Waah!” What the fuck. You can’t speak. Each time your lips part, drool dripples onto your chin. In a panic, you try to move your body, but quickly find yourself heavy and practically stuck. You cry out and swing your arm, and that’s when your hand flashes before your eyes. Your pupils focus and you realize that your hand is tiny. That you can barely curl and uncurl your fingers together. Holy shit. Holy fuck— You’re a baby. Wailing sobs burst out of your tiny lungs. You don’t know where you are or how this happened. Your last memory is being hit by a truck! The figure looming above you comes closer. “What is wrong with her?!” The woman sounds annoyed, but it’s not like it's your fault. This is just a lot to take in. Your mouth is blocked by a pacifier being shoved in. Immediately, you spit it out and the woman sighs. “Why is she being so fussy?” That’s not the issue, lady! Christ, you wish you could communicate with her. You feel yourself being picked up and she angrily mutters, “If the Devereux household wasn’t paying me so much, I would’ve just thrown you out the window.” Wait. Say what now? Devereux? Why does that sound so familiar? You hear another woman’s voice, one that’s higher pitched and softer. “What’s wrong with little Anastasia?” “Have you finished hanging the laundry yet?” “Yes, I have.” You’re being passed on and your sobs subside in favour of a frown. Anastasia? Anastasia Devereux. You remember cursing that name out loud before, but where was— Oh my god. Oh my god! It’s impossible, but the truth is right in front of your eyes. You’re living through it right now. This isn’t a dream. No. It’s your game, Royal Romances. You’ve been reincarnated into the fictional country of Ashea. And of all people, you’ve been reborn as the villainess, Anastasia Devereux. You burst out crying again. // A man in a coat and frilly shirt enters the room. Your head adjusts to see through the wooden bars of your bassinet, vision becoming clearer by the day. You know who he is without an announcement. Your father. At least he’s supposed to be. “How is the child?” he asks the maid. “She is healthy, your grace. She may be a bit fussy at times, but she sleeps and eats well.” He hums and leaves shortly after, never once coming to personally see or even hug you. What an asshole. This entire world is fucked. You’re fucked. Royal Romances is a love story game between a heroine and several potential matches depending on the route you take. Yet in every route, the main protagonist's rival, the Marquess and the Crown Prince’s fiancée, ends up co-conspiring with the villain and dies because of his crimes. Or exiled. Two options. And you’ve taken her place. But now that you think about it, that’s so unfair! You didn’t care much about Anastasia while playing, other than wanting her to get the fuck out of the picture for your OTP ship to sail. But why should the villainess shoulder the villain’s crimes?! If anything, it was him who coerced her! All Anastasia wanted was to be with the Crown Prince! He was the only person who ever showed her an ounce of kindness! Oh god. All you know now is that you don’t want to die. You died too early in your past life. “Anastasia.” You’re shaken awake from your thick slumber by soft cooing. A quiet woman’s voice calls and when you open your eyes, you’re able to focus on a woman you’ve never seen before but is familiar at the same time. She smiles and picks you up. “Good afternoon.” Instead of fussing around like you usually would, a triumphant smile spreads into your face. Fucking finally. It’s the first time you’ve seen your ‘mother’. Maybe she’s just been recovering from the birth these past few months. After all, there’s no way the family would actually just abandon you to a bunch of maids— “Oh my goodness, Elanor!” A shrill voice has your senses tingling. There’s another woman sitting at the rounded table fanning herself with an orange, feathered fan. “What a lovely daughter!” “Yes, she really is. She hardly cries.” Now that’s a big fat lie. You’ve probably cried a thousand times since you got here. It’s not your fault the maids don’t know how to put you in anything other than scratchy dresses and forget to change your underwear after you’ve shit yourself. Another stranger approaches you and practically digs their nose into your face. Her floral perfume almost has you retching and spewing out an entire bottle of milk in her face. “She is simply too delightful! She has Herrick’s eyes and your nose.” “Really now? I think she’s growing up to look more and more like the Duke each day.” “Oh she’ll grow up to be a beauty. You are truly blessed, Elenor.” Cordial laughter fills the room. Motherfucker. She’s just using you as a decor! You’re a prop for her to show off at her tea party! She doesn’t care about you whatsoever. But fine. You can play along with her. It’s not like you have any choice. You muster an enormous gooey smile, channeling all the cuteness you know you must have and instantly, several of the ladies swoon. It’s an overwhelming victory! But one that requires a lot of energy when you were just awakened from your nap — and squeezing your butt cheeks results in the grumble of your stomach. Being a few months old, you have poor control of your digestive system. So it’s no surprise that smiling so hard makes you shit your pants. Oops. The lump falls into your cloth diaper and instantly, your mother’s brow twitches. The stench reaches her nose and the nostrils of the lady intruding into your space who immediately draws back in disgust. But what the hell are they expecting?! You’re a baby! All you do is eat, sleep and shit! “Edith!” Your mother’s shrill cry has the maid coming into the room. “Yes, your grace?” “Take Anastasia.” She passes you off without even looking and you’re swiftly taken away from the room, hearing the laughter and conversations resume the moment the doors close. So cruel! “Ugh. I’ve never seen a baby who cries so much,” Edith complains and plops you into the bassinet instead of comforting you. If you had limb strength and mobility, you’d slap her for being so rude. The younger maid with the higher-pitched voice looms over you. “Maybe it’s because she knows the Duke and Duchess never come to visit. She’s missing the comfort of a mother and father.” Thank god someone can sympathize with you! As incompetent as Joan is — to the point where she’s checking your pants for the tenth time when you’re really just crying because you’re starving — at least she’s not a Karen. Clearly, the bar is quite low. “Well, it’s expected.” Edith steps away to fold the basket of your dresses. “The Duke and Duchess tried having children for years and the only child they have is a daughter who can’t even carry the family name. If it was a son, it would be different.” “I don’t understand.” Joan rushes to the head maid’s side. “Usually daughters are treasured in noble families.” Edith looks around and lowers her volume. “Don’t you know?” “Know what?” “Keep your voice down! If you say this outside, even I won’t be able to help you.” There’s a pause. “The Duke and Duchess aren’t real nobles, they don’t have any noble blood. The Duke’s late father, Arnold, fought heroically in the war and that’s why the King granted his family the title.” “Oh…but...what does that have to do with anything?” “Noble society is different from how we know it, you naive girl. No matter what you do, hundreds of eyes are constantly on you. It’s full of scrutiny and someone in power today might be exiled tomorrow. Having a son would’ve made it easier for the Devereux household to maintain their title and prestige.” Joan sighs, finally realizing why things are the way they are. She comes to you and leans over the bassinet. “Poor thing. It’s not even her fault.” She gives you her finger and you happily wrap your entire hand around it. Hell yeah! Finally someone’s feeling bad for your shitty situation. But the older woman with wrinkles around her eyes scoffs. “There’s no use worrying about her. You should be more worried about yourself. If the House of Devereux fails to keep their power and wealth, we’ll be out of a job.” Joan hums and pries her finger away from your grasps. You frown and the next time the head maid feeds you, you puke all over her. But you know what she said is true. It’s the reason why the real Anastasia felt like she needed to become the crown princess, why she tried so hard to make everyone around her approve of her. Aside from loving the Prince, she was desperate for recognition, desperate to fulfill her family’s wishes, and to maintain her family’s lineage without slipping from the status quo. But you’re different. You don’t care about those things. You’ll prove yourself on your own and do whatever it takes to survive. Quickly. Quickly! You want to grow up and walk on your own two feet so you can protect yourself. After all, no one else in this house will. You stretch your arm in the air, curling your fingers together, staring up at the starry mobile. But it’s hard in the body of a mere infant and you fall asleep in the midst of your exercise session, succumbing to the temptation of slumber with heavy lids.

Four years later. “Are you colouring, my lady?” “Nooo.” You’re writing. And it’s not just anything — it’s battle plans. To anyone, it’s merely incoherent scribbles, a result of poor motor skills you have yet to refine. But it’s actually your life or death. You don’t need status or power. Living in the countryside and living fruitfully is good enough. All you want is to live a long, peaceful life. In the original story, after Anastasia’s eighteenth birthday, she was condemned for countless crimes, thrown in prison and then executed within the matter of weeks. All because of three people: the heroine, the Crown Prince, and the villain. To avoid the effect, you should avoid the cause. Therefore, you need to do whatever you can to avoid these three! It’s genius! Truly, if anyone knew how your four year old brain operated, you would be hailed as the next prophe— “Get ready.” Edith interrupts your train of thought, coming into the room and swiftly shutting the door behind her. “Why?” “You’re having lunch with the Duke and Duchess.” “But I don’t wanna,” you whine, especially when Joan starts collecting the crayons. You stand up before Edith can drag you and you stomp your feet. Why would you want to go have lunch with them when the amount of times you’ve seen them in four years can be counted on both hands. “Don’t be spoiled. Come here.” You stick out your tongue instead and the moment Edith’s fingers come to snag you, you swiftly dart and run as giggles squeak out of your body. “My lady,” Joan sighs, at a loss as well. The two of them try to corner you, but you dive to the left when there’s a chance. The original villainess was always quite upright and strict, especially with herself. It’s reasonable considering the way she was raised and the massive burden placed upon her. But kids can get away with a lot more than adults and you’d prefer to take advantage of that while you still can. “Stop playing around!” Edith finally snags the back of your nightgown and you laugh, still thrashing against her hold until she plops you down on the vanity chair. “You’re such an unruly troublemaker,” she mutters as she grabs the frilly dress you’re about to be changed into. And just for that comment, you undo the pins she puts into your hair when she’s not looking. It drives her crazy. But your little antics are stopped the moment you’re sitting at the dinner table. The height of said table reaches your collarbone and the chair you’re sitting in overwhelms your form. The atmosphere is stiff and tense, your father sitting at the head of the table and slicing into his meat while your mom’s posture is upright and she chews gingerly. Unlike the maids, you won’t test your luck with the Duke and Duchess. God knows they might send you to some kid ranch for the next ten years to reform yourself. But you also know you can’t get any cuter than this. You’ve seen yourself in the mirror — soft skin, big eyes, a button nose and chubby cheeks. Who knows what puberty might do to you someday, but for now, you’re as cute as a four year old can get. And why not use that as a weapon in your arsenal? “Momma.” You interrupt the silence and your mother across from you looks up. You give a full smile with teeth, quirking your head to your shoulder and open your arms as wide as they can go. “I like you this much!” Oh. Hell. Yeah! You can feel it. You’re totally gonna win them over— Her head swivels over to the Duke. “Don’t you think it’s time to teach her manners?” Wow. That’s cold. Stone cold. “Edith.” Your father glances over his shoulder and the head maid steps forward. “How’s Anastasia’s development?” The older woman clears her throat. “She’s a bit wild, your grace.” You glare at her for exposing you like this. “However, she can write the alphabet and read through storybooks on her own. She seems to be a bright child.” Damn straight. Of course, you’d be able to pick up the language of Ashea quickly. You still have the memories of your past life. The Duke hums. “Then she can start training to be the crown princess.” You nearly choke on your broccoli. But you hastily compose yourself and look up at your father. “What’s that?” “Don’t ask questions,” your mother quips and the room simmers down to the uncomfortable silence again. It’s so ridiculous — the very definition of jumping the gun. You aren’t the Crown Prince’s fiancée, but they’re already considering you a candidate before you’ve even lost your baby teeth. Not to mention, it’s all useless anyway. The original Anastasia never became the princess and you have no plans of even meeting the Prince. “Do you know what happened in the year 921, my lady?” the tutor asks later on, pushing up his rounded spectacles up the slope of his nose. You’re slumped over the table, one arm rested with your cheek squished in your hand, focused on twirling the quill with two fingers. God forbid Edith or your mother witnesses your awful posture, but no one’s ever interested enough to sit in on these dumb tutor sessions. They’d fall asleep instantly. “The war of Winter,” you mumble and the tutor’s eyes light up and he enthusiastically nods. “Yes! The most momentous moment in the history of Ashea. A great dragon rose from the mountains and in the war of Winter, great King Baek, the light priestess and fierce knights of the royal palace came down the lazy brook from Stoughsby Peaks next to the then Canary district which sold fabrics and spices up until the year 914 when the famine of 914 came—” The tutor drones on and on. But one thing grabs your attention. You forgot there was magic in this world. “Ummm,” you interrupt him in the middle of his tangent. “Did King Baek kill the dragon by magic?” “Great question. King Baek in the summer of 896, seven years after he was born, started to learn the art of swordsmanship through rigorous training with the fierce knights of the royal place who was then under the rule of King Ennik—” You don’t know why you asked. “How do you start doing magic?” you interject again. “Well, magic is part of everyone and it’s everywhere. But some are more attuned to it than others. It requires vigorous training, the most talented magician was Ruffus Dolores who dedicated his life living in the Magician’s Tower and wrote most of the magical texts we have today.” You look at him, curiosity finally alight in your eyes. “Can I do magic?” There was never magic on Earth in the twenty-first century aside from Harry Potter or Twilight, if Edward’s sparkling constitutes as magic. But if it’s anything like those movies, then you’re psyched! You can wingardium leviosa yourself and yeet out of here. Unfortunately, your excitement is short lived. “The House of Devereux isn’t very magically inclined,” the tutor says and your eyes dim again. You’re not completely surprised considering Anastasia was never much of a fighter in the game. She just splashed water on the main character’s face a lot and made players like you curse her out. “However, while magic is an inborn talent and comes naturally, skills always have to be honed. There’s still a chance you may have magical abilities. We’ll just have to see as you get older.” You hum to yourself. // Edith pulls the curtains together haphazardly, the moonlight crisp where the gap is and sheds a silver sliver onto the carpet. Joan takes the tray with your finished glass of milk, nearly toppling it over and shattering the glass, but finding balance in the nick of time. “Goodnight, my lady.” “Night night.” Your hand peeks out from the covers and you wave. “Don’t get out of bed or else,” Edith warns in a low tone. “The Duke won’t be happy to hear if you’re found wandering in the halls or sneaking into the kitchen again.” You giggle. “Bye bye.” The door shuts, darkness engulfs your bedroom and you count to ten within your head. The moment the seconds are up, you throw the covers off of you and slide off the high mattress. You come to your desk, grasp the heavy duty textbook off of it and lug it over to the windows. The enormous book sits on your lap as you lean against your bedpost. The moonlight illuminates the cover and you flip to the magic section at the back, the noise of the pages soothing in the quiet space. Magic — not only is it interesting to you but it could be a great defense mechanism if worse comes to worse. Who knows. It might just add to your battle plans and help you survive. Your pointer finger underlines the sentences and traces the words as you read the introduction slowly. After reading, you learn that magic is more intuitive, rather than a particular procedure. You push the textbook aside and hold your hands out. Shutting your eyes, you try your best to envision light. You try to imagine light engulfing your figure and form, causing your skin to glow. Peeking with one eye open, there’s— Absolutely nothing. Well shit. Maybe the tutor was right. Maybe there is no real magical talent in your bloodline. But there’s no harm in trying to dabble in it a little more. You conceptualize fire in your brain. And when you look in your hand, you’re ecstatic to see a tiny flame actually flickering in mid-air. Oh shit! It worked! But it smothers out a blink later. You try to visualize water next to see if your magical expertise lays within the element. When you open your eyes, your breath hitches at the water droplets floating in your palm. And for once, it doesn’t completely vanish within a second. A grin spreads into your face. But as if Lady Luck wants to slap you, the moment you get hyped, the water splashes into your lap. It looks like you peed yourself. “Really?!” You sigh, ready to give up. Maybe you don’t have a knack for magic after all. You turn to grab the textbook, but the heftiness is awkward in your grasps and your thumb slips, accidentally flipping over the next page. The page’s heading makes you stop. Oh yeah. Dark magic exists. Might as well give it a shot while you’re at it. Like all the times before, you shut your eyes and hold your hands upwards. You try to imagine darkness — the similar kind that’s already filled your bedroom, or like the empty void that you were plunged in after being hit by that truck. That abyss of nothing, of pitch black. Suddenly, you feel a pressure on your shoulders. It’s heavy. Comforting. Eerie. All at the same time. Your lashes flutter open and your breath is plugged in your nose. Darkness has overwhelmed the room. It bleeds out of you, consuming your form like smoke, the hue of ink spilt on oil. It covers the silver moonlight, erasing the sliver casted on your carpet and what was translucent through the curtains. Exactly like the empty void, the abyss of nothing. It’s trying to consume you. There’s a shriek from outside your room. “All the candles just blew out!” Panic drains blood from your face and you drop your hands, flailing your arms as if you can dispel the black before it wraps its hands around your throat and submerges you completely. It fades, the moonlight traveling back onto you again and you shove the book underneath your bed. You’re still shaking as you climb back into bed. God knows you’re never going to try that again. // So you might not have an aptitude for magic after all. But the grief is short-lived after the realization that it’s not a toy or something that comes out of a magical wand for you to fight Dementors with. But there’s still a lot of ways you can protect yourself. You just have to get creative. “I wanna do that!” Your nose, forehead and palms are pushed against the glass window as you peer outside. Joan frowns and peeks out. “You want to go flower picking, my lady?” “No!” The useless maid finally looks to the two guards sparring with one another out by the field. “You want to sword fight?” “Uh-huh.” She bursts out laughing and you whirl around in irritation. “I wanna! Pretty please?” How else are you going to protect yourself? If you can’t use magic, then you need to go the melee route and pick up a sword or at least a bow and arrow. “You would have to ask permission from the Duke himself, my lady.” Joan turns away to make your bed, expecting you to give up. When it comes to asking your parents, it’s too much of a hassle to get involved with them. But this time, you don’t concede. She’s surprised when you tug on her dress. “Okay.” The Duke’s study doors are imposing on their own. Without needing to open them, the twisting ornate patterns on the wooden surface are enough to eerily remind you of exposed arteries. It feels like you’re approaching the principal’s office — a nervousness of the impending doom. You’ve always been careful to steer clear any place your mother or father might be. The study on the third floor, the gardens, their bedroom. And any time you passed, your steps would quiet. It’s not like you’re scared of them. Frankly, you’re just annoyed at how nit-picky they are. But you remind yourself you’ve been through worse — you once spent an entire summer in customer service serving food in the twenty first century for god’s sakes! With that in mind, you throw open the doors. Joan, behind you, practically flinches. Your father’s sitting behind his oak desk, quill and parchment in hand, and he looks above his rounded spectacles. You give your most charming smile. “Hi, papa!” He looks to the older girl and deadpans, “What’s the matter.” The maid clears her throat, clearly distressed that she’s been dragged into this. “Uh, well, your grace, my lady, uh, she…..well…” “I wanna do sword!” You tottle towards him and round the desk to come eye to eye with his knees. C’mon, as uncaring as they are, they gotta at least care a little for their daughter, right? You’re too cute to ignore all the time. You flutter your lashes for good measure. “Pretty please?” The Duke’s brow quirks. “You want to learn swordsmanship?” You enthusiastically nod. “Uh-huh!” He stares at you. You stare at him. The older man sits back in his chair. “It wouldn’t hurt to learn an interesting skill or two. It might make you stand out.” Those two lifelessly said statements alone are enough to make you happy. Even when he resumes his paperwork. “I heard from your tutor that you’re a fast learner.” You’re surprised the old fart said something good about you, but of course you are! You’re technically twenty four now. Mathematics is truly universal when you can recall the basics and the language is easy to pick up. You’re already dumbing down everything to not make it weird. “Maybe you’re not so useless after all,” he mutters from the corner of his mouth, no longer sparing you a glance. You hold back a scoff. Instead, you force a smile and a sweet giggle. “Thank you, papa! I like you too!” You wonder if this is why Anastasia tried so hard. The only time she gains recognition in her family is when she’s focusing her time and energy into studying and proving her worth. If so, it’s depressing. You wish you had more sympathy for her when you were playing from the heroine’s perspective. But you’re beginning to understand her better and better. Why she did what she did. How she became the female villain. “Fight me!” You point your wooden sword at the knight whose eyes are wide. You bet he didn’t expect to be sparing with a four year old when he was assigned to protect the Devereux house, but this is a matter of life and death for you. “Hurry!” “Y-Yes, my lady.” You smile, gripping the handle tighter. He comes up and weakly slashes you and you’re able to root your feet into the ground and keep yourself from stumbling back. He’s obviously not trying very hard, but it’s good enough for now. Slowly but surely, you’re finding a rhythm into things. In your spare time, you learn the history of Ashea, read books and plan the next steps in your battle plan of avoiding all main characters of the game at all costs. You’ll protect yourself no matter what it takes. And you’ll survive no matter what happens.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #bts series #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts fanfics #man I wanna tag who the main member is bUT I DON'T WANNA SPOIL IT YET #anyway hope this is intriguing #this chapter gets the ball rolling #they'll be 8 chapters in total

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topsytervy · 3 years

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Kooky Pogues

Blurb: Your two friend groups don't really get along...until they do

*I'm literally only tagging this as Rafe since it mostly focuses on Rafe but it does involve a good chunk of the others so yeah*

Word Count: 5,414

Warnings: semi-canon Rafe, mentions of cocaine, mentions of drinking, mentions of abuse if I remember correctly, swearing, grammar/spelling mistakes, I think that's it

Little notes real quick:

-we're pretending gold is not a thing here, Peterkin is still alive and has not been murdered, and Sarah didn't cheat on Topper.

-I'm from Wisconsin so I chose Wisconsin cause I know Wisconsin and I don't have to really do research on it so I'm sorry if you hate Wisconsin. Believe me, I do too sometimes.

-And last is this came about cause I feel like if the kooks and pogues didn't hate each other, they would be like that one group of friends in high school that everyone just knows. They would be THAT group.

I was originally going to do something like this as a Christmas blurb where everyone was friends and they and the reader all go get a tree and decorate and shit but that obviously never got posted.

Lowkey kind of want to write more things about them as an entire group of friends though.

Anyway, enjoy :)

~~~~~

You moved to Outer Banks from Wisconsin your freshman year of high school and it was...different to say the least.

The weather was the main thing.

In all your entire sixteen years on earth, you had never experienced a hurricane. Snowstorms were common in Wisconsin so those you didn’t mind, minus the shoveling that your parents had you doing afterward, and you were still a little iffy on tornadoes considering you experienced maybe three in your whole life, only one hitting the town you grew up in and the other two just being warnings.

Hurricanes though were an entirely different category and it was safe to say that you were freaking out because you had never personally experienced one yourself.

And here was the entire town of Kildare knowing what to do and being pretty calm about it.

So, naturally, you stuck out like a sore thumb when you were in the store and trying to figure out what you would need.

It just so happened that three boys would be in the same aisle as you and one of them would be way too observant for their own good.

“She looks confused,” Kelce said from his place next to Rafe who was currently figuring out what soup he wanted.

Rafe and Topper glanced over to see who he was referring to and saw you, scanning shelves as you fiddled with a hair tie on your wrist.

Rafe shrugged, turning back to look at the soups. “Or she’s just a little nervous about Agatha. Believe it or not Kelce, I’m pretty sure some people still get nervous when it comes to storms.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I recognize her.” Kelce squinted, trying to get a good look at your face which caused Topper to sigh.

“Maybe she’s a touron and now she’s stuck here because of the storm.”

Kelce looked at his two best friends. “Well, the least we can do is help her.” And then he began walking towards you.

Rafe and Topper looked at each other before making their way after their friend.

“Need some help?”

You jumped slightly at the voice and whipped your head to see three boys standing beside you. You placed a hand over your heart and closed your eyes. “Sorry. You startled me.”

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have crept up on you like that.” He apologized before repeating his question. “Do you need some help?”

You hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. I’m not exactly from around here. I’ve never really dealt with a storm like this before.”

“Where are you from?” Topper asked.

“Wisconsin.”

It’d be a lie if they said they weren’t a little taken aback by your answer, expecting it to be a state at least somewhat nearby. Not necessarily in hurricane territory but certainly somewhere closer to Outer Banks. Not a state from up north.

“Wow, okay. So this must be different for you.”

You nodded in response and Kelce smiled. “No worries. You’ve got three of the best people here to help you out.”

You chuckled before introducing yourself. “I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Kelce, that’s Topper and that one’s Rafe.” He pointed to each one who did a little wave.

Your smile didn't falter as the names of the three boys rang a bell in your brain.

You were warned about those three when you met the pogues a couple of weeks ago.

“Trust us, Y/N. They look nice but that’s just cause of their nice ass clothes. They’re the spawns of Satan.” John B had told you at The Wreck after school that day.

He, JJ, and Pope met you at school earlier that day and had told you that you needed to meet the other member of the group, Kie, and that you would love her.

Kie came around with some food and she rolled her eyes at the boys before turning to look at you. “They’re not the spawns of Satan per se. They just act like spoiled brats and like they’re God’s gift to everyone.”

“No. They’re spawns of Satan.” JJ sided with his best friend, grabbing a couple of french fries and shoving them into his mouth.

“No, JJ, you’re the spawn of Satan.”

“The point is,” Pope interrupted before an argument could break out, “not exactly the best people. Specifically Rafe.”

But now, there you were, standing with the three boys you were warned about as they helped you grab things that would prove useful in the storm. They even helped you load everything into your car.

“Thank you, guys. I probably would’ve been stuck in there for way longer than necessary if you three didn’t help me.” You smiled as Topper closed the trunk to your car.

Rafe shrugged. “No problem. You better hurry back home though. Don’t want you getting caught in Agatha.”

You looked towards the sky and grimaced at the darkness before saying thanks once more as Kelce opened your door and you climbed in, waving goodbye to the boys as they waved back.

Before you could pull out of your parking spot, Topper was holding his phone screen up, his Snapchat on display. You quickly grabbed your phone and typed in his snap username before adding him and he added you back. “Let me know when you get home or I’ll be watching the news like an old man for the next week.”

You shot him a thumbs up before reversing out of the parking space and driving away.

“She’s sweet,” Rafe commented as they watched your drive out of the parking lot.

The other two nodded in agreement before heading to Kelce’s car, Rafe and Kelce both telling Top to send them your username.

You thought the same thing about the three kook boys because, in your mind, if they thought they were so high and mighty of themselves, they wouldn’t have helped you out the way they did.

Now here you were, two and a half years later and still friends with two groups that hated each other. Both groups were incredibly confused at the fact that you were friends with the other and neither group liked the idea of sharing you with the other but you told them that they wouldn’t have to mingle with each other.

As much as you wanted to be able to hang out with all your friends at once, you knew that wouldn’t happen without a fight breaking out and you didn’t want to deal with that.

The only issue you had with your friends was Rafe and his relationship with coke, knowing damn well that him being high didn’t help anything in the least when it came to the pogues, especially JJ.

You had learned that at a party when Sarah had found you and informed you that JJ seemed off and he wasn’t talking to anyone. You decided that you would try to talk to the blonde and excused yourself from the kook boys, telling them you wouldn’t be long, before following Sarah to where the pogues were.

Sure enough, there was a lively conversation going around but JJ wasn’t really participating, just nursing a beer as he stared at the sand underneath his boots.

You sat down next to him and bumped your shoulder against his, causing him to glance at you and send him a small smile. “What’s up, J?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged and you nodded.

“You sure?”

JJ looked at you and noticed the concern in your eyes, sighing as he turned to face you. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, Y/N/N.”

You frowned at his answer, not liking what that could mean. “JJ, are you in trouble?”

“See this is where the line gets blurry for us cause you and I have different definitions of trouble.” JJ took a sip of his beer as you stared at him. It didn’t take long for him to break underneath your gaze. “It’s just my dad. Like I said, nothing I can’t handle.” He mumbled, finishing off his drink.

You immediately placed your cup on the ground and wrapped your arms around the blonde in front of you. He placed his head on your shoulder and you heard him sniffle. “Wanna go somewhere away from here and talk, bud?” You felt him nod and you whispered an ‘okay’ before unwrapping your arms from around him and leading him away from the party and farther down the boneyard.

You spent the next hour listening to JJ before wiping his tears and pulling him in for another hug, rubbing his back as you did.

And that was when Kelce, Topper, and Rafe had decided to go look for you. Rafe had had a line or two during the time you were with JJ and was already slightly on edge, thinking that maybe you got swept up with some touron on your way back and they were getting a little too handsy without your consent, when he spotted you holding JJ.

Before anyone could stop the oldest Cameron, he was storming over to you two, not amused with the fact that he, Kelce, and Topper were getting gypped out of their Y/N time. After all, it was their turn to have you for most of the night since the pogues had you the entire day yesterday.

“Alright, Maybank, you’ve taken up enough of her time!” He hollered, Kelce and Topper behind him just in case they needed to be there to drag their friend off of the younger boy.

JJ, however, misread this action as a threat when he turned to look at Rafe and he immediately went into defense mood, standing up as he let go of you and put on his tough-guy act.

You stood up and stepped between Rafe and JJ to serve as a barrier of some sort to make sure no fists would fly.

“Rafe, I promise that I’ll be back soon but I gotta help JJ with something first.” You told him gently, suddenly aware of how quickly this situation could escalate considering this was a party and there was definitely some alcohol consumed by both boys.

“What? Do I gotta get hit by my dad too so I can have some time with you?” Rafe spat.

Your hand came to your mouth as your eyes widened. You couldn’t believe Rafe would say that.

JJ stared at Rafe as he kissed his teeth before turning to look at you. “I don’t think you should be hanging out with Rafe for the rest of the night, Y/N. He’s high and he’s enough of an asshat when he’s sober so god only knows what the hell is going to go down when he’s higher than a damn kite. I don’t want to risk you being around that.”

Your gaze shifted to Rafe and saw his expression flicker from anger to hurt for a second before shifting back to anger. “Maybe she shouldn’t hang out with you ever again JJ considering all the trouble you get into. I don’t want to turn on my tv one day to find out one of my best friends is dead in a ditch because you decided to do something stupid and drag her along.”

JJ laughed. “Says the guy who is friends with Barry, the most dangerous drug dealer in town. You put her life at risk every time you screw him over.”

You sighed and rubbed your temples. “Please stop.” The two arguing boys looked over at you as Topper and Kelce kept observing the situation. “JJ, We’ll talk more tomorrow. I’m going to take Rafe home.”

JJ looked between you and Rafe before sighing, running one of his hands through his hair before nodding. “Yeah. Alright. Be safe and text me when you get home so I know you made it back safely.”

“Yeah. Of course.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and his went around your waist for your goodbye hug. “Everything's going to work out in the end, mkay?” You whispered. He nodded, squeezing you a little before letting go. You turned towards Rafe and let out a breath.”Let's get you home, Cameron.”

You held out your hand for the keys to his truck as you, Rafe, Kelce, and Topper all made your way back to where the cars had been parked. “Do you two need a lift back as well?” You asked Kelce and Topper, trying to tell them that you and Rafe needed to have a one on one conversation.

And by some miracle, Kelce seemed to pick up on that because he immediately turned Topper into the direction of the beer pong table and went “Hey, isn’t that Chrissy. I still owe her a beer pong match.” And ushered the slightly confused blonde towards the direction of this person named Chrissy.

You walked to Rafe’s truck and climbed into the driver’s seat as he climbed into the passenger, both of you feeling strange sitting in the seats the other would usually sit in.

You weren’t going to lie, you were a little scared to drive Rafe’s truck considering your car was a 2002 Chevrolet Prizm and, let’s be real, there is quite the size difference between a truck and a little old car like that, but you would rather drive a vehicle you weren’t exactly used to than let Rafe drive while under the influence.

You started the car and carefully pulled onto the street, making your way towards your house since your family was on a weekend trip on the mainland, one that you politely declined because you did not want to share a hotel room with your two younger siblings and your parents, and you especially did not want to either share a bed with your siblings or sleep on one of the chairs like you had done countless times before.

About ten minutes into the twenty-minute drive, you heard Rafe mumble something.

“I’m sorry?” You asked, glancing over at him.

“I said you missed the turn.” He repeated, slightly louder this time and referring to the road you needed to get to Tanneyhill.

“I was thinking we could stay at mine tonight, bud.”

Rafe tapped his finger against his thigh as he nodded, becoming nervous at how quiet the ride had been thus far and how you hadn’t even yelled at him on his behavior towards JJ. At how he completely ruined your night just because you were checking up on one of your friends like you always did.

You were there for Topper and Sarah both when they broke up, JJ when things got bad with his dad, Kie when she felt so overwhelmed with the kook life and the expectations, John B with DCS, Pope while he was stressing about his scholarship, Kelce when he felt like he wasn’t good enough and, of course, Rafe with his drug habit.

You should be pissed at him right now for getting mad at you helping out a friend.

You were five minutes away from your house that sat on the edge of the Cut when the silence became too much for Rafe and he snapped. “Can you just fucking yell at me already and get it over with!”

You jumped slightly at the sudden outburst before glancing over at him. “Why would I yell at you?”

You had yet to yell at any of your friends, even when they were being childish and very anti-pogue or anti-kook.

“Because we should still be at the boneyard, dancing, getting drunk and whatnot but instead you’re here, driving me back to your house because JJ and I had a spat.”

You shrugged. “Am I upset that you dragged me away from a serious conversation with J? Of course. But if you think I’m going to yell at you for it, then you really must be high.”

“I’m not that high. JJ was being dramatic back there. I had two lines, that’s it. Two lines barely does anything for me anymore.” He muttered.

You pulled into your driveway and parked his truck next to your car before turning off the engine, turning to face Rafe. “Why did you say that, Rafe?”

A confused look crossed his face. “Cause it doesn’t…” He replied slowly, thinking you were talking about his comment about the lines.

“No. Why did you say, in front of JJ, that thing about having to have your dad hit you too in order to get some time with me?” Rafe’s gaze dropped to the floor and he fiddled with his fingers, shrugging in response. “You do know, Rafe. It wasn’t just to get under his skin this time.” Your voice was soft as you spoke, scared that anything louder would spook him and put him on defense. “What’s wrong, bud?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if it’s bothering you.” You unbuckled your seatbelt and turned your entire body to face him.

He sighed. “I just feel like every time I need to talk to you about something that happened with my dad, something else always comes up with JJ and his dad that involves you having to go patch him up or something. I’ve maybe talked to you twice about something that went down with dad.” He whispered.

“Rafe, just because I go to help JJ, doesn’t mean you can’t text me to come over after and talk to me about your problems.” You explained.

“I just don’t want you to get overwhelmed with everything. I feel like everyone goes to you for their issues and I don't want to add on to whatever stress you're already dealing with."

You sat there in silence for a few seconds.

"Is that why you turn to coke? You feel like you can't talk about your problems to anyone or you feel like a burden if you try to?"

Rafe shrugged. "I don't really know. It's an escape from everything, I guess."

“Oh, Rafe,” You leaned over his center console and wrapped your arms around him.

That’s all it took for Rafe to lose any composure he had, breaking down and letting out everything he had bottled up right there in your driveway.

You sat there in his truck, stretched over his center console as you hugged him, listening to him as he spoke through his sobs, your hand rubbing his back in soothing circles.

"I wish I wasn't such a fuck-up." He sniffed when he had finished.

"You're not a fuck-up, Rafe."

"Yes, I am."

"Stop talking about yourself like that, Rafe. I hate it when you put yourself down.”

“Sorry,” He mumbled, “I just wish I was better. Is that better? I wish I was more like Sarah. I wish I was the son dad wanted."

You pulled away from him. "Everyone has their flaws, bud. You can always get help and I'll always be here for you through the ups and the downs. You know that right?" Rafe nodded. “Feel a little better?”

“Yeah.”

You smiled at him before opening your door and hopping out. “Let’s get you to bed then.”

Rafe followed your actions and as he stood behind you, waiting for you to unlock the front door, he spoke so quietly you almost didn’t hear him.

“Can you come with me tomorrow? To get help?” He was staring at the ground, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

You looked back at him as you opened the door. “Absolutely.”

****

You stood outside with Topper and Kelce, nervously fiddling with the ring you had with your finger as you waited for Rafe.

Three months had passed since he entered rehab and you had visited him a couple of times during his stay but not as often as you had liked considering you still had school and work.

Your head whipped up when you heard footsteps approaching your small group and you grinned when you saw Rafe

You let Topper and Kelce greet him first as you took in the small amount of stubble on his face and his slightly longer hair. Rafe pulled away from the two boys before walking over to you and engulfing you in a hug. You immediately reciprocated the action, smiling as you did. “You look pretty damn good, bud.” You told him. “I feel pretty damn good.” He answered back, pulling away as he held you an arm’s length away. “Any girls or guys I should know about that have magically appeared in these past three months?” You laughed as you shook your head. “No. No girls or guys you need to worry about.”

Rafe made a noise of approval before turning to face the entire group. “Just so we're clear… I call shotgun.”

You and Kelce both groaned as you all walked to Topper's car, Rafe grinning as he yanked open the passenger door. As you buckled in, Topper started the car. “Alright. What are we doing so I know where I'm going?” “As much as I would love to join you, I promised my parents I would watch the twins while they went out shopping for my birthday present.” You stated. Kelce made a face. “Shouldn't they go with your parents to get you a gift?” “Here's the thing about my brother and sister, they get distracted easily and have to constantly be reminded by my parents that they are not here for them, so mom and dad have found it easier to leave them at home with me and just find a gift that they can just say is from everyone.” You explained as Topper headed towards your house. Rafe shrugged. “Fine by us. That leaves us alone to discuss your gift.” He smirked as he looked back at you. You rolled your eyes. “You don't have to get me anything.”

“We know but we want to.” Topper’s eyes met yours through the rearview mirror. “Fine but if I end up spending my birthday in the hospital, you three are paying the bill.”

Kelce, Rafe, and Topper all saluted you, causing you to roll your eyes once more before the conversation turned to catching Rafe up on everything that had happened while he was gone.

The three boys all waved goodbye to you before waving to the twins who were looking out the window.

“So where are we going? The mall? That little boutique she likes?” Topper reversed out of the driveway before glancing at his two friends. “TanneyhillWheezie. I need to grab my wallet and I'm hoping Sarah's there.”

Kelce and Topper stared at the older boy in shock, never having heard those words come out of Rafe's mouth before. Kelce leaned forward and placed the back of his hand on Rates forehead. “You feeling okay, man?”

Rafe swatted his hand away. “Just drive to Tanneyhill.”

Topper did as he was told, driving the route he knew all too well. Rafe was out of the car before Topper had fully stopped, heading straight into the extravagant house and up the stairs. He stopped in front of Wheezie's door and knocked on it, only for it to open seconds later. “Hey,” He greeted. Wheezie's face lit up at the sight of her brother and she tackled him in a hug, causing him to stumble a little. “Damn, Wheezie. Did you join the football team while I was gone?” he laughed, wrapping his arms around her. “Did you get my letters?” She queried, looking up at him. He nodded. “All thirty-six and a half of them.”

“I sent you thirty-seven.”

“Didn't anybody tell you that if you send someone a letter and it only fills half the page, it only counts as half?” Wheezie rolled her eyes. “Whatever. The main thing is your back and now I don't have to write letters anymore. I can just text you.”

Rafe laughed as he let go of her. “Fair enough. how are you? Has dad been giving you a hard time?” he dropped his voice down, not knowing where his dad was. “Not really. He didn't like it when I asked about you though. I once asked if we could visit you and you would've thought I told him I was pregnant and dropping out of school.” Wheezie casted her gaze down to the floor. “I had to have Topper or Kelce send out the letters for me because dad ripped up the first one I wrote you. It was like he wanted to wash you from everyone's memory. He even yelled at Sarah when she told him that it was pretty fucked up to rip up the letter when I was just trying to stay in touch with you through a hard time.”

“I'm sorry, Wheeze.”

She shrugged. “It’s fine. At least you’re back.”

Rafe gave her a small smile. “Is Sarah home or out?”

“Her room. Kie’s over though.”

“Thanks. I’ll catch up with you later. We’ll watch a movie or play a game or something.”

His half-sister nodded before heading back into her room, closing the door behind her.

“That was the cutest thing ever. She almost makes me wish I had a little sister. Almost.” Topper said from behind Rafe, causing him to jump a little.

He pushed past his two friends to head towards his sister’s room, knocking on the doorframe as he peeked in.

Sarah and Kie both looked towards the door from whatever show they were watching and Sarah gave him a smile. “Howdy, howdy. You’re back.”

“Yeah and we all need to talk. That means your boyfriend and his friends too.”

“Cutting straight to the point, I see. Why do we all need to talk?” Sarah questioned.

“Because it involves Y/N and her birthday.”

“We already got her a gift,” Kie stated, turning her attention back to the tv.

“That’s great and all but I think she’d like to have all her friends together on her actual birthday than have to spend it splitting the time between her friends cause she’s scared they’re going to turn it into a battle of who’s the better friend group.” Rafe looked between the two girls.

“Rafe, buddy, I love you and all but what the hell is bringing JJ, John B, and Pope over going to do? It’s going to end horribly.” Kelce spoke up.

“We’re all going to have a nice little chat and sort out our differences even if it takes all night and watching a movie with Wheezie.”

Kie sighed. “She did once tell me it’d be nice if she could hang out with everyone at once, she just doesn’t want to make things worse between the two groups.”

Sarah picked up her phone. “I’ll call John B and tell him I need help moving something and that he should bring Pope and JJ to help."

Within twenty minutes, three sets of footsteps were sounding throughout the house as the three boys thundered up the stairs.

"Alright, we better be getting lunch for doing this." JJ stopped in his tracks when he saw the three kook boys. "And I'll be leaving now. I'll just have a peanut butter sandwich for lunch instead." He said, turning around to leave.

"Oh no, you're not. You three are going to join this therapy session whether you guys like it or not." Sarah stared at them as she stood up, beckoning them inside.

"I would just like to point out that any 'therapy session' with him, usually ends with fists." John B pointed towards Rafe.

"Believe it or not, Rafe suggested this," Sarah informed her boyfriend.

"And that's not the least bit suspicious to you."

"If you three want to do something nice for Y/N/N this year for her birthday, you'll sit your asses down and participate." Kie glared at her three friends. The pogues exchanged looks and Kie snapped. "Sit!"

"Sitting." JJ flopped onto the desk chair as Pope and John B filed in, Sarah closing the door behind them.

***

A week later, you waited for your parents by the door, your younger siblings next to you as you three slowly grew hungrier waiting for your parents to make sure they had everything they needed.

"By the time you two are done, the day's going to end and we'll have to wait until next year to celebrate Y/N's birthday," Sammy called out.

"Yeah. And then you'll need to have two cakes. One for her seventeenth birthday and one for her eighteenth." Alex added.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help complaining yourself. "Seriously. Can we go? You said that if we didn't leave now then everything would go to shit and that was ten minutes ago!"

"Okay, okay!" Your dad and mom came rushing out and you all exited the house. "I thought I raised you three to have some patience."

"Well, when you say 'don't have any snacks between now and dinner' and your kids listen for once, your children aren't going to have a lot of patience." You patted his back before taking your spot in between the twins in the backseat.

As you drove to The Wreck, you continued asking what the surprise was.

"Is the family visiting from Wisconsin?"

Your mom shook her head. "Just wait and see."

Alex leaned over. "Trust me when I say that you wouldn't guess it in a million years." Your brother grinned.

"Welp, here's high hopes but something I wouldn't guess in a million years, did you get me a Ferrari?"

"Hell no. I'll get a Ferrari before you do." Your dad shot at you as your family pulled into the parking lot of The Wreck.

You followed your family inside, Mr.Carrera wishing you a happy birthday as you passed him, and just about passed out from what you saw.

Gathered around the table, laughing and chatting as if they were all old friends, were your two friend groups.

"Oh my God. I think I'm hallucinating. Dad, you might have to take me to the hospital."

"There she is! The birthday girl. Welcome to the seventeen club!" JJ hollered.

You rolled your eyes as you walked over, your family following as you went around and hugged everyone. "What the hell got all of you to hold hands and have a civil conversation?"

"You'd be surprised how therapeutic hitting someone with a pillow can be," Pope commented.

"You will also be surprised at how quickly a bunch of teenagers will bond together to make sure a thirteen-year-old doesn't win monopoly," Kelce added.

Your brows furrowed in confusion and Topper smiled. "The point is, we all have reconciled and you do not have to worry about someone bouncing someone's head off a wall on purpose."

You nodded slowly before taking a seat in between Pope and Sarah. "I think I've entered an alternate universe."

"Trust me, you haven't." Mr.Carrera reassured you as he brought over the cake.

The group sang happy birthday and you smiled before blowing out the candles, your dad and Mr.Carrera beginning to slice the cake after the candles were removed.

"Alright, so who was the mastermind? It has to be one of the reasonable ones." You took your plate from your dad as you looked around the group, grabbing a fork. "Unless it was one of these two which I wouldn't doubt if they managed to lock you all in a pantry or something one day." You motioned to your brother and sister with your fork.

"Actually, it was Rafe."

You looked at Kie before turning your attention to the guy across from you who shrugged. "It was nothing."

You shook your head. "Well, I'm just going to say it right now, don’t be offended if I don't love your gifts cause all of you together takes the cake for the best gift."

"Wow. Cheesy much." John B teased.

You went to respond but heard a whistle cause the whole group to turn towards the noise. Your mom stood with a camera in her hands, a smile plastered on her face.

"Alright. All of you together for a picture now because two groups have become one and this must be documented or no one will believe it."

You all moved around slightly so everyone could be seen and smiled, listening to the click of the camera that told you the photo was taken.

You leaned across the table towards Rafe. "Thank you."

"No. Thank you."

~~~~~

#rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe outer banks

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