hopelessmidwesterner

[hopelessmidwesterner]

This makes me laugh ever single time I see it

[hopelessmidwesterner]

they should make a version of socializing that doesn’t make you feel like you’re still the weird 12 year old kid that doesn’t know why she’s not normal like the other kids

[hopelessmidwesterner]

do you like my repetitive and outdated music taste

[hopelessmidwesterner]

The Intern

Rafe Cameron x Reader

fluff, swearing, use of y/n, au Ward is a decent parent lol, Rafe and reader work at Cameron Development, workplace crushes, fictional bands mentioned hehe, coworkers to lovers if you squint, reader and Rafe are in college, Ward cockblocking, not proofread

2k words

This came to me while listening to beachy indie rock music lol. Thought it was cute idk. Shoutout to Peach Pit and Wallows for the inspo haha

Tik tok tik tok tik tok. The clock on the wall incessantly clicks like an ear worm and Rafe grumbles as he pushes back from his desk. It’s only three but he’s already bored and more than ready to go home. It’s a Friday, which means that most people in the office work from home. He always goes in, though, mostly because working in the same house as either of his sisters is impossible. One would think with how huge Tannyhill is that he wouldn’t even hear them but the opposite is true. 

Note to self: old plantations have thin fucking walls.

From the view in his glass-paned office, Rafe can see almost all of the deserted desks. This wing of the company is reserved for the agents, HR, accounting, and his one-manned department of customer service. Cameron Development rarely gets customer complaints or troubleshooting calls so it’s typically dead in general but at least he gets to mingle with other people at the water cooler on those days. Most of the time, he's just playing assistant for his dad or the company’s other managing directors. Being the coffee boy isn’t his ultimate dream but he wants some experience doing real, traditional work while he’s in school so it suffices…for now. 

A devastating, long sigh leaves his lips and he slumps in his chair then reaches for the mouse of his computer to do something at least semi-productive. It’ll probably be something benign like cleaning out his junk emails but it beats sitting there and pouting. Just when his fingertips click into Gmail, he hears a flurry of muffled voices. He knows it to be the employees from the next office over which is always much fun-er than this one.

All the marketing, social media, and graphic designers sit in there. Always loud, always energetic. His eyes glance up right as the door connecting the two spaces opens and two women emerge. One of them is Gina, the leading coordinator of the whole department. She’s been here since the beginning and Ward always describes her as the best of the best. She’s basically an honorary Cameron but Rafe doesn’t care much about the fact that she is in here. Nah. He cares about the delightful ray of sunshine next to her. 

Y/N. Your name is Y/N. As if he’d ever forget a sacred detail like that. It’s beautiful and effortlessly fitting, rolling off the tongue in a way that always has him wishing he could say it more. You’re the new social media marketing intern but he also knows that you’re basically the coolest person in all of Kildare according to the hours of doom scrolling your socials he’s put in.

Like any curious guy with a new workplace crush, he’d googled your name on your first day after meeting you to find your Instagram and Tiktok. You’re not performative online like a lot of people your age and your posts are authentically you: thrift hauls, short video essays about various movies and music, photo dumps of the yummiest looking food he’s ever seen, selfies that are more so coincidental rather than “me me me look at me!”. It makes him feel like a creep to know all of this stuff but you’re not exactly a social butterfly so he takes what he can get.

He watches you shamelessly as you and Gina stroll across the deserted office space and towards the break room. You’re both talking about something irrelevant to work - Friday’s are slow in marketing, too - but he barely hears it since he’s so enchanted by you. You’re dressed more casually since it’s Friday: glossy Doc Marten’s, black pleated pants with a leather belt, a patterned blouse tucked into them, and an array of silver jewelry. You’re absolutely glowing today, he thinks. You’ve gone with no makeup so your skin is particularly natural looking today and your hair falls freely into smooth waves. Well, he assumes your hair is smooth. He’s down bad but not a fucking psycho. Your badge sways to and fro while you walk and you hold nothing but a huge mug with some kind of quote on it. That’s how he knows what time it is. 

“Tea time, ladies?”

You both halt in your tracks to peer over at him. Gina beams wide like a fox and you give that adorable, meek smirk you tend to do. You and Gina are the only people in the whole office who drink tea rather than coffee which doesn’t seem like a big deal but this is Kildare: gossip central. Plus, the marketing department generally has a reputation of having big mouths so it wasn't hard to find out.

“Sure is. Geez, it is dead in here. Why don’t you just shoot on home, kid?” 

“Eh, I dunno. Got nothin’ better to do, I guess.”

“Nothin’ better to do…god, you kids. Both uh’ you are so young and you just stay home in your free time, I swear.” 

She gestures towards you and you grimace then give her an icy glare she pretends to not notice. Rafe stifles a laugh and shrugs, standing from his chair to follow you into the break room. Maybe today is his chance since there’s less people around.

“Sorry not all of us are party animals, Gi. How slow has it been for you guys?” 

“Well…we’ve played about six rounds of Uno and uh after our tea time we plan on playing a seventh. How many cases have you gotten in today?” 

“One and it got solved around noon.” 

“Wow. Such a thrilling day in the world of Cameron Development!” 

Everyone titters at that and Gina begins to ramble about something unrelated. She’s the type who can talk forever without taking a breath, which seems to work in his favor today since she’s too preoccupied with the electric kettle on the counter to notice that nobody is even paying attention to her. In the most un-creepy way possible, Rafe looks at you from the side to try and spark some kind of idea for a discussion point he can work with. 

Your shoes? The tattoo poking out of your shirt that he can’t even make out? Your mug? Think, man, think!

The startling sound of your phone ringing blares through the entire break room, snapping him out of his semi panicked daydreaming. Gina takes a moment to mutter something about the noise and you blush, scrambling to silence the call that’s evidently not very important since you decline it. He processes it for a moment and realizes that he recognizes the ringtone. It’s not a default kind or even the chorus to a newer pop tune, no. It’s the guitar solo from a song by a band he knows all too well. It’s his in. 

“Was that…Surf Wax?” 

Your look of embarrassment fades out when you meet his eye and you nod hesitantly, clearly shocked that anyone besides yourself knows Surf Wax’s music. They’re a beach rock band with a tiny following that’s mostly amongst older, hippie-esque crowds from the mainland. Rafe would be surprised if anyone in Kildare had ever even heard of them, truth be told. 

“Y…yeah. You know them?”

“That’d be an understatement, yeah. They’re like my favorite band ever. I didn’t think anyone else knew them.” 

“Really? Me too! Funny story. The uh drummer and one of the guitarists actually moved me in when I came here for school my freshman year. I met them at the ferry and they offered to help in exchange for the rest of my pasta salad…and that I checked out their band. The rest is history!” 

“Okay, I think that officially makes you like the coolest person ever. You met them? That’s so sick!” 

“I know, I still barely believe it!” 

The two of you begin to talk about Surf Wax to an extent that you never had before. Neither of you have ever met another fan, yeah, but until today neither of you have ever really spoken to one another besides an excruciating “how’s work?” or “wow, it’s really raining out there” moment, either. This is huge. His golden ticket. You forget about the tea and even blabbermouth Gina knows to butt out - she’s been trying to play wingwoman since you started last month - and Rafe thinks that he must be dreaming or dead by the time the conversation steers into side discussions about other bands because it gives him yet another in.

“Ugh, I love them! I have almost their entire discography in the form of CDs.” 

You’re talking about The Undertow, which is basically Surf Wax but much more mainstream. At least around these parts. It sets the lightbulb off in his head and he grins deliciously then secretly pinches himself to stay on track. You’re pretty distracting (pretty and distracting, one would say) even if you don’t mean to be. 

“Yeah? Ya know, they’ve got a local ish show coming up. About an hour on the ferry then a quick walk to the venue.” 

Be cool, be cool, be cool. Must not show fear.

“Wait, really? How did I not know about this?” 

“Well, Kildare is pretty disconnected from any sort of scene like that but, yeah…” 

Deep breaths, deep breaths. Now or fucking never. 

“...We should go, though. Tickets are pretty cheap. I mean…if you want to.” 

Please say yes. Please, please, please fucking say yes. 

“Hell yes I want to! When is it?” 

He smiles and doesn’t even think twice about it as he runs his hand over his jaw to downplay how utterly giddy he feels. Generally speaking, Rafe is a nonchalant guy but you evoke something that’s overly chalant within him. He swears that he hears church bells or some kind of big choir singing a cheesy rom com song and he opens his mouth to give you all the details about this potential date (is it a date? He’s not sure but he’ll figure it out) but then he realizes this music isn’t what it seems. It’s not There She Goes or Yellow or some other cheesy tune blasting from seemingly nowhere. It’s worse. Much, much worse. 

“Rafe, there ya are. Can’t believe everyone’s still here! Why don’t y’all go home. You’re getting paid to stay til’ 5 irregardless.”

Ward. His fucking dad. Cockblocked by his own father who, for the record, has also been on this whole wingman train for you and Rafe (alongside Gina) for the past two weeks. Rafe can’t believe it and he’s not sure if he wants to scream, cry, or just disappear as his dad enters the room loud as ever.

“You sure?” 

You’re sweet in your asking. Of course you are. He can tell you aren’t quite ready to end this conversation but it’s also 3:30 on a slow ass Friday and you have a tendency to work late most days. You deserve a break, therefore he doesn’t blame you.

“‘Course, I’m sure.” 

“Hmm, okay. Well, have a good weekend. I’ll see you guys on Monday. Uh…Rafe, I’ll text you about that concert?” 

Shit, you really are leaving. He should be bulldozing his way into prolonging your presence but the fact that you’ve promised to text him of all things does things to his head. Things that will surely make him feel like a lovesick wimp in hindsight later on. You’ve got everyone on staff’s contact information, he can’t fathom that he never thought to check the directory until now to get the ball rolling sooner. Choking a bit, he offers out a pained nod whereas Ward roars in a jolly tone that often makes everyone forget his position even if it’s briefly.

“Mhm! Get some rest and let loose, you’ve been workin’ hard!” 

You smile gratefully and wilt away after that, throwing Rafe an apologetically soft look as you do so. You’re out the door and padding back towards the marketing office before he can even think of an excuse to follow you and it’s then when Ward bursts in even further, elbowing his only son with a cheeky sort of air to him. 

“So, you’re finally going out, eh? Gi texted me that you guys were seriously talking so I raced here from the investor’s lunch.” 

Rafe fumes. His cheeks are hot, his nose is hot, his ears are hot. His eyes do that deadened, enraged thing and his expression tightens. He cannot stand Ward right now. Worst wingman that ever wingman-ed. 

“No, dad. No the fuck we are not. Somebody barged in before I could seal the deal.” 

“Really? Who? Gina? I told her to quit lurking!” 

“Oh my God. I’m going to strangle you.”

[hopelessmidwesterner]

waiter! a bullet in the head for me please

[hopelessmidwesterner]

[hopelessmidwesterner]

the sunset light on the wall of my kitchen just absolutely stopped me in my tracks

[hopelessmidwesterner]

look we need to talk.........idiot to idiot

[hopelessmidwesterner]

thinking about how in 2022 after season 4 came out i knew they weren’t gonna bring Eddie back so i, at 18 years old, spent the summer writing an entire 7 episode screenplay for a hypothetical season 5 in which he was brought back 🙂‍↕️ i wish i still had it because it lowkey ate

[hopelessmidwesterner]

I get to be more free as an adult than I ever did as a child and I think more kids need to know that. as a high schooler part of what made my depression so bad was being told over and over again that it was the most carefree time of my life. while I was trapped in an abusive home + amongst bullies at school + in a body that wasn’t right for me. opportunities to be carefree don’t end when you turn 18. you can be more you than ever as an adult and that’s such a gift. I know ‘it can get better’ is an annoying thing to see over and over when you’re as trapped as I was back then. and I know that if you’re still a kid you deserve to be free right this second. but it can and will get better and this is not where life stops being interesting. promise

[hopelessmidwesterner]

The Pinky Promise

Rafe Cameron x Reader

swearing, fluff, au where Ward isn't a dick, reader is in college and isn't originally from kildare, pussy whipped rafe, a little angsty at the end, allusions to a shitty past (reader), very domestic and cheesy, loosely inspired by my current student loan debt LOL (pls help)

2.3k words

Rafe comes home to you after a long business trip.

“R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to me. R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Take care, TCB…” 

It’s Aretha. Or maybe Etta. Rafe can’t remember but he hears it the moment he parks his truck and kills the engine. It’s been a long and grueling couple of days for him - he’s been out of town to visit a few of Ward’s properties: three condos in Charleston, a development in Virginia Beach, and an office space in Little Rock. Real estate isn’t the dream at all but it’ll do for now since you’re still in school and working at the same time. He can’t fathom sitting around and doing whatever he pleases all day while you work yourself to the bone in class and at the local newspaper so he took this up a little after you started dating. The money is good but it gets exhausting just like every other gig. He’s glad to be home. Well, he’s glad to be at your home. 

It’s a tiny one bedroom house that looks more like an upscale beach hut than anything else but it’s your biggest pride and joy since you thought you’d be doomed to living in moldy apartments and your own car for eternity. The Camerons had helped you score a good rent rate on it, of course they had, and Rafe practically lived here more than Tannyhill since you moved in last Spring. It’s just a stone’s throw away, which is a big plus on top of the waterfront view. 

The kitchen windows are wide open, hence the audible music that plays from the little vintage radio you’d thrifted a few months ago, and he smiles when he sees you obliviously wind by the sink with a big bowl of God knows what. As he nears the porch, he can smell that you’re cooking a late dinner. He guesses it’s soup given the time of year but whatever it is, he knows it’ll hit the spot.

Respect ends and simmers into the radio host’s voice the moment he twists the front door’s knob to let himself in and it feels like one big sigh of relief. The host confirms that the song was in fact by Aretha Franklin and she introduces the next song, yet again from a 1960s Detroit act. My Girl swells into the air, almost perfectly in sync with Rafe’s action of slumping his backpack down onto the scuffed wooden floor. 

You’re so sucked into the music and the task at hand that you don’t pick up on his presence or hear the loud bump. Hell, you didn’t even notice when the truck’s blaring lights swept over this side of the house when he first pulled in. You’re humming and standing at the stove, stirring a big pot of something that smells even better now that he's inside. He watches you like you’re a dream, you are, and he doesn’t bother to fight the smile that tugs at either end of his lips.

You’re out of your work clothes, dressed in a baggy tee shirt that he knows is his and a pair of fuzzy socks that go up just past where your ankle meets your leg. You’ve always been an advocate of no pants at home, tonight is no different. Your hair is messily tied back and you have something on your face. He can’t make out what it is since you're turned away but he guesses it’s some kind of lotion or maybe even food that you’re unaware of. He drinks you in one final time then sighs loud enough for you to hear and he basks in the slight jump of fear you do. Always so skittish. 

“Gah! Jeez, Ray. I didn’t even hear you come in. Damn near gave me a heart attack.” 

You’re laughing as you say it so he knows you’re not actually ticked off and you set the big spoon in your hold down into the pot before dusting your hands off on your (his) shirt. He just shrugs and eliminates the distance between you two, taking long strides until he’s towering over you with that same old grin you fell in love with. 

“Sorry. Was just lookin’.”

“Lookin’ at what? Me and my under eye patches? So hot.” 

“Mm, so that’s what these are.” 

He pokes one of the green tinted patches and you swat his arm away, feigning annoyance while his hands find their rightful places on your hips. 

“Don’t touch! I’ve still gotta keep ‘em on for like another eight minutes!” 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatcha cookin’?” 

“Soup! Your favorite, too!” 

“Crab chowder?”

“Mhm! Boss man let me go a half hour early so I went to the market. Figured I’d make you something nice since you’ve been out and eating nothin’ but hotel food this week.” 

“You always make me somethin’ nice. You’re like Gordon Ramsey but hotter…and nicer I guess.”

You shake your head at his ridiculousness and he pulls you in tighter, earning a delighted squeal from your mouth as he litters your faces with the tiniest of pecks. They’re gentle and unrelenting, trailing from the edge of your jaw to the top of your head. He only gives in and practices restraint when you angle your mouth just right so he actually kisses you because as he came to find a long time ago, kissing you makes the world stop.

You’re warm like a little ray of sunshine despite your somewhat hard exterior and he’s overstimulating in the best way possible. Lips clash, contented hums fill the room, the serum from your patches stains his cheeks, and it’s just the two of you in those precious seconds. He wishes he could do this forever but he supposes a life spent with you will suffice instead. 

“Miss me?” 

“‘Course I did. Did you miss me?” 

“Is that even a question?” 

“Guess not…You hungry?” 

You swipe the glossy residue off his skin with the pad of your thumb and he scoffs once you pivot to rub your hand excessively over his buzzed hair. It’s fuzzy since he just got a fresh cut before he left and you always find it hilariously entertaining for reasons unbeknownst to him.

“Starving. Soup’s almost done?”

“Mhm! Just gotta wait for the rolls to finish. They should be done any minute.”

“Rolls? Babe, you spoil me.” 

You shrug and give him a cautious kiss on the tip of his nose. He doesn’t expect it so he laughs and crinkles his face up once you snake out of his hold to give the soup another hearty stir. 

“Says you. Go shower n’ unpack. It’ll be done once you’re out.” 

“You sayin’ that I smell or somethin’?”

“No, I just know you’ve been on the road all day and showering usually mellows you out.” 

“Well what if I wanted to hang out with you?”

“We’ve got all the time in the world for that. Go. You can eat and tell me all about your trip once you’re done.” 

“You promise?”

You only hold up your pinky after he questions that. It’s not only cute but it’s a callback, too, and it makes his chest heat up with adoration. Pinky promises. It’s an inside joke since you always do that like it’s some soul-binding thing whenever the idea of a promise comes up. It’s childish, maybe, but it’s kind of your thing. 

“Pinky promise.”

“Damn. I can’t argue with that, can I?”

“No, sir.” 

After a much-needed shower and a quick unpacking, Rafe’s headed back down the stairs and into the kitchen with a fresher air to himself. He’s dressed in an old pair of sweats that hang low on his waist and nothing else, water droplets still clinging to his muscled arms and the fine hairs on his head. Your under eye patches are gone now and you’re serving up the biggest bowl imaginable for him to eat since you’re positive he skipped stopping for lunch just to save time. 

“Bon Appétit!” 

You set the steaming bowl in front of him paired with a roll and a glass of his favorite whiskey on ice. He thinks that he wants to kiss you all over again but he starts to scarf down the food instead so you don’t scold him like a disappointed mother. You take your usual spot at the table perpendicular to him with your own food and he fires away without you even having to ask. He carries you through the entire week despite the fact that you guys called on the phone most nights. From the starchy hotel sheets to the boisterous construction managers he worked with, he makes sure not to miss a single detail so it’s like you were there with him. By the time he even gets to the events of his drive home today, his spoon is scraping the edges of the nearly-cleaned bowl. 

“You want more? There’s a bunch left, potatoes were on sale so I made a triple batch.” 

You’re already standing to get him another serving even though you’ve barely made a dent in your own but he stops you with a hand to your forearm. 

“I got it.” 

“But…”

“Tell me about your week now. C’mon, eat.” 

“Fine.” 

You grimace, he grins. Classic. You sit back down and sigh while he gets himself another bowl. He carries it along with two more rolls balanced in his mouth back to the table, which makes you both giggle. You begin to tell him about your week which was much less glamorous than his since it was just routine stuff but he listens and engages like you’re reading his favorite book to him. You have his full attention as you fill him in on this week’s island gossip, the new story you were running at work, and the upcoming tattoo appointment you had. He nods as he shovels the food into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten in years and he only interjects once he starts to feel it in his stomach. 

“Mm. This is seriously off the hook, ma.” 

He groans and takes the final bite before his spoon falls and clatters against the ceramic of the bowl. You make the face you always do when he praises your cooking that says ‘you’re being dramatic, it’s just food’ and finish your own with a few more civil bites. 

“I’m being for real. You sure you wanna finish out school? Cuz you could be a great chef. Be my personal cook or somethin’.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Besides, I already do that for free.” 

“You could be gettin’ paid. Jus’ sayin’.” 

“I know. I prefer to be up to my throat in student loans instead.” 

It’s a joke. He knows that based on the little chortle you do in between words while you help him clear the table but he also wants to make sure that you know he isn’t going anywhere, that life doesn’t always have to feel like you’re living on shaky ground that could collapse at any given second. You crave independence and he respects that but a little support never hurt anyone. 

“You know I could basically vanish your student loans by…tomorrow, right? You don’t gotta worry about that.” 

“I…I know.” 

You’re still not used to having someone so giving in your life even though you’ve been together for almost 2 years and it shows by the flicker of absurdity that passes over your face. It’s brief but notable. 

“I just don’t want you to have to do that. You’re not the one who decided to go to college with barely any money in your pocket. I’m the one who did that. Plus, I’m already never gonna be able to pay you back for all the nice stuff you keep buyin’ me.” 

“I don’t want you to pay me back. I don’t expect anything in return when I do that stuff. I get you things because they make me think of you. N’ your loans won’t really even make a divet in our accounts. Dad’s a millionaire, remember?” 

“I know. I’m…you know I’m not used to this stuff.”

“What, kindness?”

“Yeah…but you know what I mean.” 

He does. He always does and that makes life much easier and digestible most of the time. He’s the embodiment of safety and security, something that was definitely not a consistent theme in your lifetime before you moved to Kildare. You still pinch yourself at times to make sure he is real, that this is real, but the pinches have been fleeting with time.

Rafe leaves the conversation at that. He doesn’t argue or insist like he did in the beginning. He just pulls you into an overbearing side hug at the sink and presses another kiss to your temple, keeping his lips there. 

“I’m just sayin’. I’ve got us. I’ve got you. Through college, your career, and whatever else happens down the road. You can breathe for once.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, watching the faucet’s water pour down onto the dirty dishes that you already know Rafe is going to bump you aside to do. It sort of feels like time ceases as you process his words and formulate a response. You could just pacify him with the typical ‘I know’ but you’ve missed him and you’re beginning to understand that he’s authentic in what he says, what he does, and who he is. It makes you feel stupid that you didn’t totally grasp that from the get-go but as he always reminds you, healing takes a frustrating amount of time. 

“You promise?”

It’s just a murmuring of words but it may as well be screamed from the depths of your chest. It rings through his ears, bounces between the house’s walls and echoes into the calm sea out front. He’s prideful over the fact that you’re not just brushing the topic off; you’re following through and acknowledging his semi-vulnerable promise. Well, almost a promise.

He sticks his pinky out before you can even move out of his way and it hangs in front of your face, waiting for the deal to be sealed. You scoff out of disbelief even though you actually can believe it and you hook your own pinky around it, pressing a chase kiss to his knuckles as per usual. 

“No backin’ out now, Cameron.” 

“Wasn’t planning on it.” 

[hopelessmidwesterner]

Welcome To The Real World

Rafe Cameron x Reader

fluff, swearing, reader is new-ish to Kildare, slight angst, like one use of y/n, reader described as a girl, au rafe, dad rock bands (creed, 3 doors down) mentioned lol, grumpy reader

2.1k words

Based off of this imagine I posted a little while back. Enjoy, mwah!

It’s a slow day in Kildare. Winter always brings this cold, almost isolating atmosphere to the island since peak travel time doesn’t start until late Spring. This also means that the tips are less and so is the fun when it comes to your job at the country club and its attached amenities. All you deal with are snot-nosed kooks who think they know everything day in and day out and it’s afternoons like this where you start to actually miss the oblivious tourists. At least they tip well and can hold a conversation without being egotistical. 

You’re killing time by restocking the bar even though it was already practically full when you first clocked in around noon. You hum along to the barely audible song on the overhead radio as you do so. You think it might be an older song, something a dad would listen to like Creed or 3 Doors Down, but you don’t care much since the rare noise of the main door opening captures your interest. You stand from the wine fridge down below and wipe your hands on your black slacks before gazing over. You’re hopeful that it’s an actual customer or maybe one of your more likeable coworkers since you’re holding down the bar by yourself while the wait staff gossip out back but any semblance of faith in that burns out when you glance at the all too familiar island asshat (that’s what you call him, anyway): Rafe Cameron. 

He’s dressed in the typical kook outfit: a polo, khakis, sneakers so white that they’re blinding, and a rolex worth more than a year of your rent. He’s always been just like the rest of those rich douchebags from the clothing to the ego but as much as you hate to admit, he is more tolerable when it comes to conversation. Despite his hot headed reputation, he treats you like a human and he’s much calmer than his jerk friends. He tips a little too much, too. It doesn’t mean you have to like him or put up with his constant flirting, though. 

“Why the sour face? You’re not pumped to see me or what?”

He does that ol’ Cameron smirk. The one that evidently drops the panties of every girl on the island. Every girl besides you, that is. You wear a repulsed expression as he nears the bar and you prepare yourself for whatever bulshit he has in store. None of his minions are with him which you find odd but it’s menial in hindsight. 

“No. Can’t say that I am. The usual?” 

You gesture towards the expensive bottle of Johnnie Walker behind you even though it’s not even 3:00 P.M. yet. Who are you to judge? Winter in the Outer Banks often means darker days for everyone, even the elite. Those sad drinkers are a big reason why the club even runs accordingly during the non-tourist season so you’re never one to harp on things unless they start a fight or black out on the polished floor. 

“No, no. I’m not here for that.” 

“Oh. Why are you here, then? Restaurant doesn’t open for another hour and a half for dinner.” 

You’re confused and that’s putting it lightly. People only come to this part of the club for food and drinks: the rest of the place is for golf (duh), a general store with merch and gear, and a pool that’s reserved for members only. He knows that, too, since he is a lifelong member himself. The only logical explanation is that the boredom of January has really gotten to his head so he came here to mess with you just so he can say another day wasn’t put to waste. Lucky you. 

“Well, actually…I came here to apply. The dude up front said to go here.” 

“Apply? Like…for a job?” 

“Yeah. For a job.” 

It’s rude but you do in fact laugh right in his face. A kook let alone one of his status applying for a job that paid 17 an hour at best? It’s the biggest joke you’ve ever heard in your life. All of those people no matter how old either live off their own family’s wealth for life or they join ‘the family business’ which mostly just means that they’re mooching with a cover. 

“Hey, I’m serious. I’m looking for a job.” 

“What’s wrong with Cameron Development? Dad doesn’t trust you to do reception work or anything like that?” 

He rolls his eyes instead of getting genuinely mad like any other kook would. It’s part of your dynamic - if you can even call it that - friendly banter. Well, he means it to be friendly whereas you mean it to be bitchy enough so he leaves you alone. You’ve never been sure if you actually want that, though. He’s pretty damn confusing. 

“C’mon. You gonna give me an application or not?” 

“...Fine. Can I ask why now, though? Like…aren’t your people kinda set for life?” 

“My people? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know…Kooks. That’s been my understanding, anyway. You know I’ve only lived here for a year or two.”

“I’m aware…You should know why over everyone else, though. You’re the reason I’m doing this.” 

“I’m what?” 

You stop dead in your tracks, shoes squeaking on the floor, as you make your way from the bar and towards the general manager’s office to fetch a paper application. You’re the reason he’s applying for his first job at the ripe age of 22? 23? You aren’t sure how old he is, honestly, but he seems to be around your age so he can’t realistically be a day over 25. None of it makes sense. 

“Yeah. I heard what you said to the cart girl last week, ya know?”

“What I said to the cart girl? What the hell are you…” 

“How us kooks don’t know the meaning of hard work? We’re all copy and paste, each one worse than the last? How you’d never consider going out with one unless they joined the real world? Ring a bell?” 

“Oh.” 

Oh was unfortunately right. You remember the exact conversation clearly since it was only last Thursday. Too bad you had no idea that he was listening at the time. Averting your newly-ashamed gaze from his blank one, you force your feet to keep moving towards the office while you try to recover. It’s a poor attempt but an honest one. 

“Well…why do you even care what I think? It’s not like I’m important or…anything like that.” 

“That’s a dumb question.” 

You scoff and the noise muffles since you’re behind the office door now but he still hears it. Of course he does. You continue to speak feistily after you locate the applications, plucking one from the stack along with a pen that most likely doesn’t have much remaining ink. 

“How is it a dumb question?” 

“Because you know why I care what you think. You should, anyway.” 

You don’t, if that wasn’t already obvious. 

“Enlighten me.” 

You hand him the flimsy application with its dull pen and he sighs but doesn’t deny you as he hops up onto a bar stool. He’s uncomfortable, you think. Either that or just extremely pensive. Again, he’s confusing and hard to read. You suppose that you can be that way, too. 

“Just think. What would I have to gain from you by getting a job based on what you said to your coworker?” 

For a moment, it feels like he’s baiting you but he isn’t. He’s leading you to the answer even though he still wears the same expression of steel as he scribbles his information down. It feels weird to see him so serious, so un-joking. You can’t hide behind a condescending laugh this time. Your words from that conversation circle around your head while he continues to dot his i’s and cross his t’s.

“Kooks wouldn’t know hard work if it punched them in the face…all of them are the same, privileged, assholes…like copy and paste….holier than thou mentality…I would never even think about going out with one of them unless they joined reality and got out of their posh bubble.” 

Right when he finishes with his signature at the bottom of the application’s back side, it hits you like a twelve ton semi truck all at once. There’s no way, you think. There is absolutely no way or chance that Rafe fucking Cameron is doing this just to score a date with you of all people. You’re just the bar girl for crying out loud! You’re rough around the edges, profane (even on the clock), and your RBF is something that will go down in history. You always consider his flirting to be innocent: just flirting to flirt even if it's with the island’s fresh, not so nice, meat. But here it is. The truth staring you in the face like death with a hospice patient. It sounds daunting but that’s because it is and it’s almost too much to handle. 

“Don’t look so gobsmacked, jeez.” 

His laugh is back as is his smirk but he’s still uneasy. You guess that he doesn’t do this sort of thing often if at all. Makes sense. 

“I’m…I’m not.” 

“You are. No point in denyin’ it, Y/N. Do I turn this into you or…?” 

“Y…yeah, I’ll file it. You should get a call for an interview by tomorrow from someone. It depends on if you applied to be a…oh. You’re applying for everything? Even maintenance? That job sucks in the summer.” 

“A job is a job, isn’t it? As long as it gets me to the real world, huh?” 

He’s taunting you like he always does but this time it doesn’t fill you with disgust and you don’t even form the idea to flash him your index, middle, and ring fingers with the signature catchphrase of ‘read between the lines’. Your stomach just does a million little flips and your face warms up like it’s the height of August. He notes it but chooses to acknowledge it later like the teasing shit he is.

“You’re serious about this? Do you even know what you’re getting yourself into?”

“Yeah, I’m serious. And nope. I guess I’ll find out along the way.” 

A prolonged moment of eye contact follows his response. It’s tense and speaks a million words in a way that real conversation could never do. He’s for real and it both terrifies and excites you. You don’t know if you want this or not so you leave the ball in his court. 

“Whatever, dude. You need anything else?” 

“N…well, yeah. Just a question, actually.” 

“Shoot.” 

“It’s a little presumptive but uh…lets say I get a job here.” 

“I’m listening…” 

“Would you be free for dinner? A movie? Something along those lines?” 

“Assuming you make it past training? Sure, why not?” 

He beams like the sun and doesn’t care to shield it from you or anyone. You think that seasonal depression must be really prominent in the Cameron family if something like that gets him so visibly geeked and he utters out something along the lines of “sweet, see ya later” before he’s exiting to go do…well, to go do whatever kooks do when they aren’t golfing or spending sickening amounts of money, you guess. 

The moment the door snaps shut, your smile returns. It was hard to bite it away while he was in here but you accomplished it and now you have free reign. You can’t quite believe that the annoying pest of a guy that always bugs you with wild discussions and extravagant orders is the same person who has you grinning like a lovesick idiot at this moment but you figure you have to dwell on it later instead of now since your manager finally shows up, snaking his way through the kitchen and into the main dining room to prep for service. 

“Who was that? Anyone important?”

“Oh, just an applicant.” 

You nod at the freshly filled page and he saunters over, reading it with squinted eyes and an obvious look of shock at the name. 

“The Cameron boy? Really?”

“Mhm.”

“You think he’d be a good employee? We need another caddie so I might take him up on this if you think so.” 

“You want my opinion? I’m just a bartender.” 

“And? You’re the longest lived worker here besides me. You’re basically assistant manager at this rate, too.”

“Do I smell a promotion?”

“Maybe. Just answer the question. Should I bother putting time and energy towards this kid or should I recycle this?” 

You think for a moment even though you don’t really have to. The answer, or at least your own answer, is pretty damn obvious. 

“You should. Seems eager to learn and even more eager to work. He knows his way around the course, too. He’d be a great addition to the team.”

[hopelessmidwesterner]

"no worries" ah but that is where you are wrong. there are many worries

[hopelessmidwesterner]

Are they ‘trauma dumping’ or are they just discussing their life experience and you are such an asshole that you can’t stand to be confronted with information that makes you uncomfortable for 0.005 seconds???

[hopelessmidwesterner]

fandom space so delusional i forgot that eddie wasn't still alive

[hopelessmidwesterner]

i feel like im in the sims where it takes 5 hours to make pasta and then u have to immediately go to bed

[hopelessmidwesterner]

Eddie Munson Relationship Headcanons!

fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, drugs (weed), swearing, the term headcanon here is a loose one lol, mentions of rock music (Heart and Motörhead) and anxiety

☠ First met you in the main office of Hawkins High one fateful day. You were new to town, there to pick up your books and schedule, whereas he was there because he'd been sent down for the sixth time this year (and it was only September) due to a bong he made in art class that he swore was supposed to be a vase.

☠ Absolute sucker for casual, stay-in dates. Some weed, a collection of horror flicks, and enough snacks to feed an army? Say less.

☠ Writes you notes as much as he can. You'll find them in your pencil case, your books, your car, and even in your own back pockets. They're usually short and sweet things, always decorated with a goofy little doodle.

☠ Super touchy but in the most innocent, instinctual way possible. A hand on the small of your back, weight leaned into your side, a knee bumped into your own, finger hooked through the belt loop of your jeans, etc.

☠ Was super dead set on that whole "i only listen to metal" facade until you came along and saw the secret Nancy Wilson poster in the back of his closet. You taunt him about it constantly.

☠ A tried and true gentle giant, especially when you're upset about something. He's softspoken and more intimate in some odd way whenever you're crying or simply overstimulated, running a hand up and down the length of your back.

☠ Played the waiting game for far too long. In his mind, someone as great as you would never think of him as more than a friend, so he swallowed his feelings for several months until he choked and couldn't take it anymore.

☠ Might be a little scrawny and clumsy but he won't hesitate to go up to bat for you any day of the week. Some creep hitting on you at a show? One of the jock assholes giving you shit for something? Dustin being a little too harsh with his friendly, boyish teasing? It didn't matter, he was gonna step in.

☠ Graduated, got a real job at a local music store, and quit dealing (excluding to you and your friend group) all because of you. You didn't ever ask or suggest it, either. He just knew you deserved more than what his reputation had become.

☠ Anxiety fears him but in great contrast, you're basically the poster child for unease, worry, and nervousness. He doesn't understand it but he does all he can to soothe you during panic attacks and exhausting days where your head gets the best of you.

☠ Told his mom's grave about you once he realized you were more than just a crush.

☠ Took you to see a Motörhead cover band a few towns over for your first date. He'd been a ball of sweat and nerves since he wasn't sure how you'd take all the hard moshing and noise but you were on cloud nine from the moment you entered the dingy club hosting the show. You both left with wide grins and a few bruises as collateral.

☠ Realized he was deep in love with you just a month after you started formally going out. You'd gone to a rowdy party one of Gareth's cousins was throwing and some drunk guy had been shit talking Corroded Coffin, eliciting you to stand up for the guys like a feisty bulldog that even he was a little scared of.

☠ He's your first everything and you're his.