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[milkiane]

Are u a Taylor Swift fan cuz maybe I’m just imagining things but I think I’ve seen some Taylor Swift references in one of ur stories?

HI LOVE, yes yes i am and i did post something where i was asking for ts prompts for my fics 😭 they’re in my wips rn and i haven’t been able to get to them yet bc school already started :’)

[milkiane]

DJO’S NEW SINGLE OH MY FUCKING GOD

[milkiane]

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐘! 🥃 ━ an eddie munson audio blurb imagine (?)

The Hideout is slow these nights.

There’s chatter, still, somewhere between the rumble of conversations in booths and the clatter of pool balls. Onstage, Old Judith introduces the next performer for the night, and you listen idly as an old crooner’s tune begins to ring across the room.

It’s not bad— Just.. horrifically mellow. If anything, the songs simply slow your world and drags the hours of your shift even longer. You settle on making small talk with other patrons, go through the motions of pouring drinks and polishing glasses to keep yourself occupied.

“That bad, huh?”

Your eyes slide over to the end of the bar. It’s Eddie.

His face is relaxed, and the beer he’s nursing in hand have warmed his cheeks into a flush. He looks.. soft, despite the all-black outfit and studded leather he has on. It’s surprisingly endearing.

“Where’s Gareth and the rest of the boys?” you ask, moving over to his end as you dry your hands off a tablecloth. You’d met the band not too long ago— they’d barged in during one of your shifts, with flyers in hand and the glorious hope of performing during one of the open mic nights. After you’d shrugged and sent them over to your manager, they’d simply been given a once-over and a vague huff of assent.

You see them weekly, now. You’d all grown to be fast friends.

“Out back with Wes,” he says, rolling the edge of his beer bottle around. You snort. Eddie narrows his eyes when he catches your eyeroll.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“There’s no paradise, dipshit,” you scoff from behind the counter. “He’s just been pissing me off lately. It’s whatever.”

“Yeah? What’d he do?”

“Stupid jokes and whatnot. I mean, you already know the kind of guy he is.”

“Yeah, he’s an asshole.” Eddie raps his knuckles against the oak wood of the bar, the glint of his rings catching the dim overhead lights. You try not to stare too long.

“Want me to beat him up for you?” he offers jokingly, knowing full well he couldn’t last in a fight for his life if he truly had to— but if you did say yes, he’d have figured a way out anyway.

(He’d do a lot of things, for you.)

You bark out a laugh at his offer, bright and musical.

(Okay, scratch that— he’d do anything, for you.)

Eddie’s skin buzzes at the sound of your laugh; catches himself hanging onto the way you’d looked as you break into that dizzying smile you always do on the rare occasions he got to talk to you. “I’m serious!” he insists, “I can like, go egg his house or something. Just get me an address and consider it done.”

“That’s not exactly a fight, Munson,” you smile, shaking your head.

“Well, there has to be something I can do.”

A pause. You cock your head to the side, leaning back from behind the counter with crossed arms. “Well, Wes is supposed to be working tomorrow night, but he’s bailing last minute and I have to cover his shift. Tomorrow’s a Wednesday, which is usually the slowest day of the bar, so I’ll need company.”

“Company, huh? You know, if you wanted to ask me out you could’ve just said so, I mean you didn’t have to make an excuse….”

“You are such an ass,” you scoff, though without heat, tossing a napkin his way. “Forget I asked, then. Your band’s up next.”

“No, hey! C’mon,” you hear, just as you turn away. “I’ll be there tomorrow. Scout’s honor!”

When you turn back to look at him, he has his hand up in salute, and you can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the sight. “You’re an idiot, Eddie Munson.”

“Yeah, well. Yours truly,” he bows.

“See you onstage,” you roll your eyes, just as he downs the last bit of his bottle and slides off his seat with a wink.

[milkiane]

hi! how much time does it usually take you to write a fic?

god i remember being able to write a fic within a day or two back in march 2021, but i’ve been soo busy lately that it takes me more than a week, sometimes a month (aka my stranger things wips). but usually, if inspiration and motivation strikes, i can have it done within a week!

[milkiane]

Hello!

I hope you are doing well and thank you for your writings a lot. They bring me comfort and warmth 💖

🥺🥺 this immediately brightened up my night — it’s been terrible so far 😵‍💫 i love you! <3

[milkiane]

wish i had a lover! instead i have depression

[milkiane]

first day of school went surprisingly well 🥳

[milkiane]

I’M HOME, SWEETHEART. eddie munson.

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summary: they say home is where the heart is but eddie’s home and heart is you.

warnings: just fluff and love! lovesick eddie! profanities and very slight suggestiveness. gif credits to @his-name-is-ed.

word count: 2.2k

“i’m home, sweetheart!”

never once did eddie go home without making his arrival known, not when he finally has someone to go home to. it’s a gesture of simplicity, yet it carries a deep feeling of intimacy and saccharine for him.

you two went through hell and back trying to save up for your own place, your home — for your life together — but it was all worth it in the end because now you have a dainty apartment in michigan, stable jobs, and food on the table. it’s far from hawkins and its dark secrets but not far enough for dustin and the gang not to visit.

he groans softly as he locks the door, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension, eyes momentarily closing. he lets the strap of his guitar bag slide down from his arm, alleviating the digging into his skin. and then —

CRASH! — eddie stumbles over an ottoman that he swore was never there before. he stands up straight and scans the room. it was redecorated. he sighs, shuffling around the new arrangement of the apartment.

“eddie?” 

eddie turns around to find you in a shirt twice your size, you were rubbing the sleep out of your eyes — and then with the pitter-patter of feet and the jingling of a bell, your dog runs towards him, greeting him with a pushing weight on his legs.

“sorry, did i wake you?” eddie frowns, rubbing the spot behind willow’s ears as he gestures to the living room. “didn’t know our interior designer came to visit.”

you smile sheepishly, squishing your face against his chest as you hug him. he pulls you closer, planting a kiss on the crown of your head. your words come out muffled, “i missed you today, had to get my mind off things for a while.”

“s’okay, sweetheart. i missed you, too, so much,” he mumbles, slowly swaying you in place. “but next time, tell me, yeah? nearly kissed the ground before i could even kiss your pretty lips.”

you laugh softly, pulling away from his embrace to give him a kiss, a quick one that issues a whine of protest from your boyfriend. “take a shower and then we can kiss all you want. you smell like mike’s socks.”

eddie grumbles, tugging your arm to give you another kiss; seconds longer and sweeter until he has to pull away to breathe. eddie wishes he didn’t have to so he kisses you again. “go back to bed, baby, i’ll be with you before you know it.”

and true to his word, eddie walks into your shared bedroom, fresh out of the shower. you look up at him from the solace of the warm duvet. your head is the only thing peeking out. it’s cute.

“aren’t you looking very comfortable?” he grins as you make grabby hands at him. he flops down the bed with a bounce, wrapping you in his arms.

“much better,” you sigh in contentment.

he tilts up your chin to give you a kiss, ever so soft and slow; no one’s in a rush, it’s all at the moment, one of which eddie wishes to live in forever. there’s a hint of morose gnawing at his chest — the thought of how he could just spend every waking and sleeping hour with you in his arms.

he thinks of how the world can be cruel by depriving him of the time to spend more with you. instead, he gets stuck day after day in a stinking bar with drunkards who do not appreciate the art of metal — aside from the owner, mrs. duran, who loves their setlist. bless her heart.

he does believe in the saying ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder’. it does, it really does. he finds himself missing you, thinking of you, yearning for you. 

but then he thinks of your beautiful smile — and maybe another thing — and it’s enough motivation for him to get through his day and get home to you.

being lovesick is an incurable disease, he thinks, vastly lethal when it’s with the right person. there is no cure, but even if there is, eddie will not as much blink an eye for it. he’s been with you for three years and counting, and his love for you has never faltered — like poison, it grew, it spread, it flourished — but it isn’t as ruthless as death, no. it gives him life, it gives him love. 

it’s everything every person can ever dream of; finding the love that makes everything make sense as if it has all along. 

and eddie, who up until this moment marvels over his felicity, has just so happened to find both friendship and love in you. he’s the happiest he’s ever been, starting from the moment he met you, it never wavered.

he drapes the blanket over the two of you and turns the lamp off, enveloping you in darkness.

“i love you, eddie.”

“i love you, sweetheart.” not i love you, too — i love you. because he did not need you to say it for him to support the idea that he loves you. it’s not a too, it’s not an also, it’s not an as well; it’s i love you. 

it’s a declaration that is instilled within the abyss of our hearts. therefore it should be veritable as it is brought out only by the intensity of our affection — felt to such a visceral degree. it’s the coup de grace of every profession of love ever made. 

“more than your guitar?” you tease sleepily.

eddie scoffs, “let’s not go that far, babe.”

you chuckle, placing your head above his chest to listen to his heartbeat. thump… thump… thump…

“i’m kidding, baby. i love you…” he repeats, this time softer as he slowly succumbs to sleep and the dreams of you.

sunlight trickles through the window pane of the bedroom, sheathing a warm kiss on eddie’s skin. he groans softly, mindlessly patting around for you only to find your side of the bed cold and empty.

he yawns, rising from the bed with a stretch to wake his sleeping limbs. he shuffles out of the room, picking up the discarded socks on the floor. he makes a detour around the room, shooting the deserted clothes in the hamper.

eddie doesn’t mind it, really. no matter how many times you forget to pick up your socks or put your shoes in the rack, he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

he wouldn’t have a place to call home if it didn’t have even a trace of you in it. the place will simply be called a house or an apartment, but not a home. it would be undeserving of that title if it doesn’t have your clothes lying around, or you spontaneously rearranging the furniture, baking cookies, dancing in the kitchen, or sleeping with him in his bed. 

it shows signs of living, of laughter, of loving. with pictures gracing the mantelpiece, a sweater of yours thrown over the couch, and your diverse album records that are mixed with his — it paints the perfect home for him.

he finds you on the balcony, a mug of coffee in hand.

you feel him before you see him, arms making their way around your waist. eddie presses soft kisses on your neck, trailing from your cheeks and up to your forehead. he puts your coffee cup on the table, turning you around to kiss you on the lips.

“good morning, gorgeous,” he whispers, smiling at the feeling of you against him. his cold hands slip under your shirt and you jump at the temperature, pulling away from him.

“cold!” you chastise him, placing his hands over your shirt instead.

“but that’s why i need you to heat ‘em up for me,” he whines, trying to sneak them back under again, lightly brushing them higher… and higher… until…

“eddie!” you smack his hands away, laughing at his poor attempts. you look down at your sock-clad feet and his bunny slippers-clad ones. it didn’t fit even half of it, his heels were poking out. “...are those my slippers?”

he models them. “you like ‘em? they’re new.”

“yeah, it looks better on you.” you tease, grabbing your coffee cup from the table and his hand with the other, dragging him back inside. “c’mon, let’s make some breakfast.”

“what do you mean?” he asks in faux confusion, pulling you in the direction of the bedroom. “i’m right here, woman! here’s your breakfast — bon appétit, ma chérie.”

“you’re insufferable!” you laugh, pushing him away.

“you’re telling me you don’t want a piece of this?” he gestures to himself and when you shake your head ‘no’, he dramatically falls back onto the couch, clutching his chest as if he was shot. “how shall i live knowing thou love of my life no longer desires me and my di-?” 

“woah!” you interrupted with an incredulous laugh, pulling him up on his feet. “that’s enough, romeo,”

“-displays of affection.” eddie finishes with a pointed look. he teasingly squints his eyes at you and he clicks his tongue. “what were you thinking, you perv?”

you playfully roll your eyes at him, making your way towards the kitchen. “we need some eggs, by the way. can you drop by the store to get some?”

“if i get a kiss, i would.”

“i’ll give you two.”

“deal,” he grins, immediately sauntering towards you. he tugs you by your waist and gives you a sweet kiss and two and three, and then more.

you pull away, patting his cheek. “i said two.”

“you gave me more anyway,” he quips, giving your butt a quick smack. “be back in a second, sweetcheeks.”

“i’m home, sweetheart!”

eddie groans at the smell of bacon, immediately making a sharp left to the kitchen. he places the box of eggs on the counter and stands behind you, chin resting on your shoulder. “smells amazing.”

you smile, looking away from the pan for a moment to start preparing the eggs when —

“OW!” eddie yelped, pulling away from the bacon he was trying to steal. he blows at the burn prickling his fingers, hissing at the sting.

“idiot! why would you get it from the pan? it’s hot!” you scold him, a laugh escaping your lips as you turn the stove off.

“i know that now.” he glares at you before his face contorts into a puppy dog look. he pouts at you, burned hand extending towards you. “i need you to kiss it better.”

you scoff in mock disbelief, turning your back to him as you fix up the eggs, stove back on.

“y/n,” he drags out, like a child having a temper tantrum. “you’re being mean. what if i die, huh? what if the burn spreads through my body and i get a heat stroke? it will be too late! — you have to tell dustin i love him but he will never have my d&d set.”

“you fucking drama queen.” you poke his side, grabbing his hand and giving it soft kisses. “s’that good now?”

“i think it needs more, doc,” eddie sighs dramatically and puckers his lips. “here, too, or else i’ll die of lack of air!”

“lack of air?” you laugh in disbelief. “how is that-”

“because you! you are the air that i breathe…” he pretends as if it was his last breath before he theatrically falls to the ground, eyes closed and tongue poking out as though proclaimed dead.

you snort in amusement, softly kicking at his side. “c’mon, munson, stand up and i’ll give you a proper kiss.”

and just like that, he’s standing straighter than he ever was before. you lean on the tips of your toes, holding his face in your hands as you smother him with kisses. i love you i love you i love you — you whisper in every butterfly kiss. i love you i love you i love you — you continue to say it.

eddie smiles at your affection. he used to believe he was undeserving of love — your love to be exact; your soft and loving love. it was beautiful. it was like no other. he believes he’s living in a fairytale except there were no adventures, no strife — it was just straight to happily ever after. 

your smile parallels his; soft and lovelorn. you pull him closer, kiss him on the lips, and it's just as magical as every other one you had before — its spark never losing its touch. it still makes your hearts flutter, cheeks warm, minds fuzzy.

i love you i love you i love you — eddie whispers in between kisses. and fucking shit, was it true. he would give up everything if it meant stopping time just to be in the moment with you. be it that moment, the night before, or the day after this — he doesn’t care which moment it will be because every moment with you is a moment he will cherish for eternity.

with you, he is home and you will forever be his as he is yours. he is home. your home.

he’s home, sweetheart.

“do you smell burning?”

“fUCK THE EGGS- !”

© milkiane 2022. I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO MODIFY OR REPOST MY WORKS ON ANY OTHER PLATFORMS.

[milkiane]

Im finally on summer break between quarters so im celebrating by drawing those stranger gays

[milkiane]

I’M SO UPSET I’M NO LONGER BLONDE

[milkiane]

i posted the little photoshoot i did in instagram and i’m so happy about the outcome 🥹

[milkiane]

Gorgeous gorgeous girls are anti romantics irl with a shelf full of romance books

[milkiane]

hello just popping in to say you’re the best and i hope you’re having a wonderful day !!! ૮₍´˶ᵔｪᵔ˶`₎ა

I LOVE YOU AND I HOPE YOU’RE HAVING A WONDERFUL DAY 🥺<33

[milkiane]

I'm also year 11 this year and I'm so nervous-- and the fact that the next summer I'll have to study for year 12 is just so much worse

RIGHT?? i’ve been so anxious and stressed the whole week about that fact — but good luck to you! i hope you have the best year despite everything. my inbox is always open for a chat if you wanna talk <3

[milkiane]

my social studies professor just said that she has tumblr what if she’s seen me here i will never attend her class again

[milkiane]

LIANEEEEEEE !!! hi i hope you’re well <333

SORIN HI !! I SHOULD REALLY CHECK MY INBOX MORE OFTEN 😭😭 I WISH I COULD BE DOING WELL BUT 11TH YEAR IS STRESSING ME OUT. I HOPEE YOU’RE DOING BETTER THO <33

[milkiane]

does every other young adult lesbian or bisexual or whatever have a little memorial somewhere in their hearts to all the girls they loved (or almost loved or almost almost loved) when they were too young and repressed and afraid to do anything about it, a shrine to all the puppy loves and summer romances and first kisses they might have shared if it hadn’t been for the shame, the doubt, the self-hatred, the fear, a monument to all that could have been if they’d have had the courage or simply lived in another time and place where they could have tried, where they could have loved and been loved, or am i just uniquely nostalgic and lonely on this thursday night