#The Declaration of Love
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theartarchive · 8 months ago
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the declaration of love by jean-françois de troy, 1731
image from artsy
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annemarieyeretzian · 1 month ago
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ROCOCO ART 🎀 love, ur local art mom đŸ©”
disclaimers and more information under the cut ✂
hi I’m annemarie and I’m an art historian! not adjuncting for the first time in five years was rly hard for me so I threw some slides together so I could still (sort of) teach the same material as my language of art class but a) I threw these slides together for instagram so space was/is limited and b) language of art is a ten week run through art history so I’m presenting only the most accessible information here – there’s so much more to this art period and to this artist! – please don’t expect it to be comprehensive and please do ask if you have any questions!
oh p.s. my first ever class of art history students came up with the name ‘art mom’ for me at the end of the quarter and yes it does make me cry if I think about it too long thanks so much for asking
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gogmstuff · 2 years ago
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Early 1730s dresses (from top to bottom) -
1730 Tea Party at Lord Harrington's by C. Phillips detail (Yale Center for British Art, Yale University - New Haven, Connecticut, USA). Probably from Wikimedia; fixed spots with Pshop 1247X1623. There are many caps and veils, square necklines, and laced bodices with revers. But full-blown panniers are not to be seen.
1730 Marquise de Gueydan as Flora by Nicolas de LargilliÚre (Musée Granee - Aix-en-Provence, Bouches-du-RhÎne, Provence-Alpes-CÎte d'Azur, France). From cutlermiles.com/portrait-of-marquise-de-gueydan-as-flora-nicolas-de-largilliere/ 1908X2484. She wears a stout Swiss belt and cleft coiffure that harken back to the late Louis XIV era.
ca. 1730 Empress Elisabeth Christine by Johann Gottfried Auerbach (auctioned, probably by Lempertz). From Wikimedia trimmed 1715X2352. She wears a round skirt and a scoop neckline.
ca. 1730 Polyxena of Hesse-Rotenburg, Queen of Sardinia by Maria Giovanna Clementi (location ?). From tumblr.com/blog/view/jeannepompadour; enlarged by half 1053X1385. Her dress has a deep V neckline filled in by a modesty piece.
ca. 1730 Rhoda Apreece, Mrs Francis Blake Delaval attributed to Enoch Seeman the Younger (Seaton Delaval - Seaton Sluice, Northumberland, UK). From artuk.org; enlarged by half 994X1200. The ruff makes this a Van Dyck revival dress. The laced vest and jaunty hat lend a casual air to the portrait.
ca. 1730 Robe volante (Musée de la Mode - Paris, France). From fripperiesandfobs.tumblr.com-post-139802377452-robe-volante-ca-1730-from-the-palais-galliera 1140X1620. Dresses before the 1750s often had cuffs that could be substantial like these.
1731 Die LiebeserklĂ€rung by Jean François de Troy (Sanssouci, Stiftung Preußische Schlösser und GĂ€rten Berlin - Brandenburg, Germany). From artsandculture.google.com/asset/die-liebeserklĂ€rung-jean-françois-de-troy/XAFpCyLiWrxHZw?h 3074X24.12. Known in the Anglophone world as “The Declaration of Love. The large patterns mark this as early century. The robe Ă  la française is firmly established in the form it would take until the late Louis XVI period.
1731 Infanta Maria Teresa Antonia de BorbĂłn by Jean Ranc (Museo del Prado - Madrid, Spain). From their Web site; removed spots and streaks with Photoshop 2621X3051. Spain was ruled by BorbĂłns after the last Habsburg was cleared out in the early 1700s.
1731 Julia Calverley, Lady Trevelyan, by Enoch Seeman the Younger (Wallington Hall - Wallington, Northumberland, UK). From nationaltrustcollections.org.uk/object/584399; erased navigation marks in corners & fixed spots w Pshop 1616X1992. Clasps replace lacing to close this bodice.
1731 Lady by John Vanderbank (location ?). From the Philip Mould Historical Portraits Image Library 920X1214. The dress is Van Dyck revival similar to the one worn by Rhoda Apreece.
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the-purvashadha · 1 year ago
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"Would you peel an orange for me?"
I would peel a pomegranate for you.
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egoschwank · 10 months ago
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al things considered — when i post my masterpiece #1304
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first posted in facebook april 28, 2024
giovanni battista tiepolo -- "the declaration of love" (1757)
"an’ if anybody asks me 'is it easy to forget?' i’ll say, 'it’s easily done you just pick anyone an’ pretend that you never have met!'" 
 bob dylan
"dreams and fables i fashion; and even while i sketch and elaborate fables and dreams upon paper 
 i so enter into them that i weep and am offended at ills i invented. but am i wiser when art does not deceive me?" 
 pietro matastasio
"i'm leaving today with nothing to say and just a suitcase of regret i can be just like you and just do what you do and pretend that we never have met" 
 al janik
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umulata · 5 days ago
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- Babe. My beautiful angel. My darling nightmare on legs. What the fuck. Is that.  - Do you like it, beloved? I designed this myself  - Wow, hm 
((happee birday @hummingbee-o0o) (i hope you'll appreciate the tears and blood that went into this horror))
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mimimar · 1 month ago
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only you
(art prints)
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flwrkid14 · 9 days ago
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Love Like a Gothic Novel
Tim doesn’t think of himself as particularly romantic.
Sure, he loves Danny—loves him with the kind of devotion that could make or break empires, loves him with a ferocity that could shake the stars from the sky. But romance? That’s always been something more suited to poetry, to grand gestures in old films, to couples who carve their initials into tree trunks and murmur sonnets beneath the moon.
Romance isn’t for people like him. It's for people like Danny.
Danny, who looks at Tim like he’s the first and only wonder of the universe. Danny, who says beloved with a reverence that makes Tim feel like something sacred, like a prayer answered in full. Danny, who looks at him like he hung the stars in the sky and named each one after the sound of his heartbeat.
Tim never stood a chance.
(Neither did anyone else who has to witness it.)
The first time it happens, they’re fighting a group of goons in an alley, and Tim hears the telltale sound of a gun being cocked behind him. Before he can turn, Danny appears—cloak billowing, eyes glowing like the ghosts in old fairytales.
“How dare you,” Danny says, voice rich and dripping with venom. “You would dare raise a weapon against my heart? Against my soul? Against the very breath that fills my lungs?!”
The gun is on the ground before the goon even realizes he’s dropped it.
Tim barely has time to blink before Danny grabs his wrist, pulling him close like they’re about to waltz. The fight is still going on around them, but Danny lifts Tim’s gloved hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles like they’re in the middle of a ballroom instead of a crime scene.
“You are safe, my love,” Danny murmurs. “Always.”
Tim is mortified.
The rest of the family is delighted.
After that, things spiral.
Danny starts leaving handwritten notes in his cape like love letters sent from the battlefield—ink-stained scraps of paper folded carefully and tucked between his gauntlets, slipped into his utility belt. Sometimes, they’re poetry, verses that read like something stolen from the pages of a forgotten novel. Other times, they’re dramatic declarations of vengeance.
(“My dearest Polaris, I have heard troubling news that someone—someone—has made you sad. Rest assured, I will handle this. I will destroy them. I will salt the earth in your name.”)
Tim never figures out how Danny gets the notes in his suit.
And it’s not like Tim doesn’t return the feelings. His love isn’t something grand or sweeping—it’s in the way he fixes Danny’s gloves when they start to fray, in the way he absentmindedly tangles their fingers together while he’s working. It’s in the late-night coffee runs when Danny’s had a bad day, in the way he memorizes Danny’s favorite food spots just to surprise him later. It's in the way he looks at him like he’s something divine.
Danny notices.
Danny always notices.
And if the family wasn’t already insufferable about it before, they’re unbearable now.
Dick sighs dramatically whenever Danny dips Tim during fights just to kiss him. Cass watches with open delight whenever Danny calls Tim darling in that rich, old-fashioned tone. Jason still won’t stop muttering about how is this our reality? Where does Timbo even find these people?
The only one truly suffering is Damian, who looks like he’s considering self-exile whenever Danny sighs, “Mon amour,” and Tim just
 accepts it like it’s normal.
(It is normal. Danny has been like this from day one. Tim is just used to it.)
And when Tim presses a kiss to Danny’s temple after a long night, when he rests a hand over Danny’s heart like he’s grounding himself there, Danny’s expression softens into something unbearably fond.
“My heart,” Danny murmurs. “My shadow, my light, my love—”
“Go to sleep, Danny.”
“
Yes, Polaris.”
(They are ridiculous. It is perfect)
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sugusoko · 3 months ago
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ff7 women in S.T.E.M.
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stannisbaratheon · 1 year ago
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- Maybe there's a way to make a profit in this. Bet on Logan. - I would, but who'd bet on you?
BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID 1969, dir. George Roy Hill
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hitlikehammers · 4 days ago
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POV: when you overhear your boyfriend’s bandmates who ⛔do not like you⛔ talking to him—about YOU
“Be real though, Ed. Harrington? You can’t actually be serious, here.” Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle. Which is to say he totally does it. He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it. “You got me,” Eddie sighs, longer and deeper than can be taken wholly seriously. “I’m running my longest successful con to date.”
rating: t ♄ tags: post-s4, established relationship, corroded coffin, as in: the gang’s all here and being VERY JUDGEMENTAL of eddie’s taste in men, and maybe steve had to pick eddie up from practice today so he overhears it WHOLLY WITHOUT INTENDING TO OKAY?, no one ever REALLY want to hear what the people they love really think of them when said people don’t know who all’s actually listening, true love, declarations of feelings, it’s actually really fucking hard to stand up to your friends, happy ending♄
for @steddielovemonth day ten: "We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love." —Dr. Seuss
also! Unnamed Freak is Doug for the purpose of this fic because the book can fuck itself I say so đŸ–€
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“Be real though, Ed,” the voice that filters through, and holds Steve’s hand from pushing the car door shut loud enough to notice, is fairly reasonable, like trying to talk down a suggestion absurd enough to send someone to the ER—which means, of the subjects at hand? It’s gotta be Jeff.
“You can’t actually be serious, here.”
Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle.
Which is to say he totally does it.
He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it.
“You got me,” Eddie deadpans, but it’s like, venom-laced. It stings just to hear and Steve’s struck with how much his life’s changed since Spring Break, and more still since
well.
Since Eddie.
Because Steve is well aware the man can cut glass with how sharp his tongue can get, they did go to high school together whether they ran in the same circles or not.
It’s just strikes Steve in the moment that not once since Vecna, has Eddie turns that tongue on him.
Now, other uses of his tongue—
“I’m running my longest successful con to date. Yep, totally pulled it over on all you bitches,” and where it could be playful, every single word is sharpened to stab, to pierce, to drag the wound out so it bleeds, like a shiv to remind someone where they fucked up, in perpetuity.
“Please applaud.”
And oh, even Steve flinches at that tone, and he’s not even the target. Hell, he’s still in the driveway—he doesn’t make a rule of crashing band practice, no matter whose parents’ garage they’re using; Eddie’s van is just regularly in the shop for one thing or another, so he’s gotta come get his man. But he doesn’t, like, push his way in. Sometimes doesn’t even get out of the driver’s seat. He knows Eddie would more than welcome him; has the handful of times he’s ventured to step in to apologize for interrupting but remind him they have to pick up the shitheads. But one: Eddie is alone in his welcome, and like, the polar opposite of the other three guys, who range from staring daggers at Steve to sneering so scrunched up to the nose that it’d give Carol Perkins at her snittiest a run for her money.
And Steve wouldn’t have made it this far if he didn’t know how to recognise where he’s not wanted, and learn how to make the calculated decision of whether to walk or push his way in. And much as he loves Eddie? Steve actually wants his friends to eventually come around from probably, like, muttering ancestral curses under their breaths at him or something.
Plus, from what Steve understands? Jam sessions are personal. Sacred. Eddie had blushes and stammered the first time he let Steve listen in on works in progress; and Steve had rewarded him for the gift of it liberally and with genuine gusto. It’s earned him repeat performances on the regular, but Steve gets it’s a private thing in general. And these guys don’t know him, don’t presently care to—don’t trust him.
He figures it’s like
masturbating in front of someone. The art thing, the depth of making music and stuff. Showing your soul a little bit, losing control for the betterment of the final product.
Now, he and Eddie definitely have masturbated together, it’s actually fantastic foreplay, or even just a deliciously sloppy go on its own. But that’s neither here nor there. And also totally fucking different.
Steve really doesn’t want Eddie masturbating in front of anyone other than him, ever again. Steve’s sure as shit not looking to on his end; definitely not with the other members of Corroded fucking Coffin.
The metaphor might have gotten away from him. But you get the picture.
“No, man,” and that’s, that’s Gareth’s voice, Steve’s almost sure. Sharper. Concerned but also caustic on the undertow. “It’s just,” he snorts, the disbelieving sort: “this can’t be real.”
Okay, yeah. Tone plus actual words add up.
“Yeah, just,” Doug laughs a little nervous, like of all of them, Eddie’s verbal attack had the most weight in tempering his response of the three of them; “blink twice if you’re being held against your will.”
They all chuckle, but it’s toned down the whole way around—even Steve can clock that. These guys are boisterous when left to their devices, Steve’s taken note of that. Mostly watching from the sidelines—almost exclusively when they don’t know he’s there to watch.
Again: does not condone eavesdropping.
Does not try at all to refrain from doing it.
“I mean, you don’t expect us to believe you’re actually fucking him,” and oh, yeah, okay: Steve was pretty sure he was the topic conversation here, and despite some of the setbacks of recent years, he’s not insecure when it comes to relationships especially.
He’s definitely the only one fucking Eddie. And Eddie’s the only one fucking him.
And while he doesn’t really hold it against these guys for being wary of him—he wasn’t really a perpetrator of their high school woes, but he definitely didn’t do anything to make them less
woeful—so he’s mostly bummed about it for Eddie’s sake, and on principle, but like, seriously.
Doubting Steve successfully scoring Eddie Munson? Like, Eddie’s a catch, Steve of ll people is well aware, but. Steve’s also been long past fishing the shallow end of the pond, y’know?
Give him some credit.
“Right,” Steve narrows back in on what’s happening in the garage that he’s definitely feeling less guilty bout, seeing as he’s definitely a subject of the debate unfolding, but Eddie sounds
angry. Pissed off in that way he gets when he’s fed the fuck up.
“I’m out,” Steve hears scraping of equipment, the guitar case flipped open; “can’t actually make it next week,” he adds like a footnote.
It’s clear within a second he’s the only one who takes it with that same
energy.
“But we have to practice before the open mic—” Jeff, ever the voice of reason, sounds baffled; on his way to ticked off but not quite there yet.
Eddie, however—as is his wont in this type of mood—could not give two shits where the people around him land on the anger-o-meter; he’s exceeded them, even if only in his own head, and they are all therefore irrelevant to his very responsible decision to put distance between himself and doing something stupid he can’t take back.
It’s not the nicest way to deal but, honestly? Steve’s mostly just proud of Eddie for sticking with a coping mechanism that, while not without consequences, generally works better than most.
“I’ll see you guys in two, then. Probably.” And the case clicks shut, definitive, and Steve’s proud of that too; that Eddie’s not digging a hole when the guys re trying to bait him, intentionally or not, over Steve.
Steve doesn’t need Eddie to complicate his band, his friendships, over what the two of them have. One, it’s not their fucking business. And two?
Steve doesn’t thing he’s being self-important in saying he and Eddie
are bigger, and more, than even the very beat high school band.
Not that Steve would ever ask Eddie to choose or some bullshit like that. And he really does believe Eddie’s going places, if that’s what he decides he wants. But
there’s that.
Then there is them.
Different, like, stratospheres.
“What the fuck came up that you can’t make it next week? When we’re staring down our first actual shot at Battle of the Bands this year,” and yeah, of course, if anyone’s gonna try to drag the whole thing out, it’s Gareth. Kid’s got a fucking temper.
“Something more important.”
Which yeah, that’s what was going through Steve’s mind, basically, but—
“The hell could be more—“
“I have plans,” Eddie hisses, viper-quick and fucking deadly, shuts them all right up for it, but then he spins a 180–preens so big Steve swears he can hear his shoulders go back and his chest puff out:
“It’s my anniversary.”
So
yeah. Just because it was where Steve’s head had just been at doesn’t mean his whole chest goes all gooey to hear it said out loud.
And in front of Eddie’s band, who
they aren’t hiding from, but they have discussed keeping kinda mum around. For the same kinds of reasons Steve’s been privy to just in the past couple minutes.
But then Eddie’s voice follows the feeling in Steve’s chest like they’re tethered there, and honestly, more times than not?
Steve thinks they just might actually be, and he’s not proven wrong with the way Eddie halfway coos:
“Our anniversary.”
“Your what?”
Jeff, again, is that middle ground: actually confused, laced with being angry that Eddie’s ducking out.
“Six months,” Eddie answers, soft-like, a little dreamy but in this way that’s rooted somehow still, and in being struck all over again by a level of shock Steve understands, sometimes feels in reverse, but still doesn’t understand being felt so deep as it sounds, now, when it’s applied to
him.
It’s wild y’know?
“I’m like,” Steve hears Eddie’s curls brush against something as he shakes his head—Steve’s money’s on him crouched by his case, or having it already slung over his shoulder:
“Never thought I’d get something to celebrate like that in the first place, but get to keep it, that long without fucking it up?”
Steve, again, wants to give up the pretense and walk the fuck in there and kiss the shit out of his boyfriend because one, same, but two?
Dumbass.
Steve goddamn adores him.
“You mean, with Harrington?” Gareth’s spitting and Steve just shakes his head, a little sad—he doesn’t know what’s crawled up that kid’s ass about him, man; he’s not so much younger that Steve never saw him or didn’t know of him but godDamn: the circles he ran in at the time weren’t the ones doing shit yet when they were in the same elementary school, Steve was barely popular in middle school, and come high school the worst anyone he knew did to the frosh was bang them into a locker—not great, but.
Not worth this shit. And the worst part is if he doesn’t know what’s crawled he did to really piss Gareth off this bad? He can’t even try to Harrington-charm his way back into the guy’s tolerable category. Like, even his best fucking not-pot brownie recipe didn’t sway the fucker.
“Yes,” Eddie is answering, the answer emphatic, like he’s brimming with feeling over it, but then clipped too, like demonstrating that he was brimming and is now being forced to clip it all backis very much the intent: “of course I mean with Steve, who the fuck else?”
It’s not lost on Steve how Eddie says his name. Ever. All the name.
But right now, how he’s making a point to say it in that warm, kinda
beloved way, when anyone else uses his last name in a way that’s anything-but.
“You cannot be—” Gareth scoffs, Steve can imagine him throwing up his hands, that sort of deal, but then Eddie comes in, and it’s a tone Steve’s only ever hear when he’s about to run a campaign into the ground where the characters may never recover, and if somehow manage it, they’ll wish they hadn’t:
“Oh, I am deadly serious.”
Because it’s not Steve’s character, but in defense of Steve’s relationship, that tone trickles something molten through his veins and prickles up his spine and
he’s gone have to stick that one in his back pocket to explore at a later date, for sure.
“Six months?”
Jeff—and Steve kinda likes Jeff, and not for the reason his bandmates would like, that he kicks around Hawkins after graduation, too, but more because Steve knows why; that’s to make more money for a college outside Indiana, and Steve thinks that’s fucking cool—but it’s here where Jeff dips fully away from being angry to being stupefied. Steve lets himself smirk at nothing because fuck yes: him and Eddie.
Six whole goddamn months.
“I was actually gonna ask you guys to come over soon, introduce him properly and stuff,” Eddie says, the disappointment in his voice again; Steve’s niggling desire to go and hug him from behind, maybe kiss under his ear a little, back in full force.
“He picks you up from practice, we see him,” Doug pipes back up, likewise confused, but Steve just takes the useful confirmation that no one did catch on that he pulled up ages ago, now.
“We know who Steve Harrington is—” Gareth snaps, protests in the way that betrays his eye-rolling, his thin-wearing patience.
“No!”
And that comes out of Eddie fierce enough to echo down at least half the block they’re on—seems like Eddie’s patience was worn out a while ago.
“You don’t!”
And everyone is silent in that way Steve knows all too well: when shit’a gone down but now you’re waiting in the edge for the worse thing to hit.
Then it does:
“And it’s a good thing I didn’t bring it up because you dipshits aren’t ready,” Eddie snaps, says dipshitso different from how he does with the Party, theirParty, their kids; he says it here with something real fucking close to disgust.
“Asking hostage questions, fuck off,” he huffs, and Steve hears Eddie’s footsteps, can’t tell if he’s gonna leave it at that, come find Steve and know he’s been standing there but that’ll be fine, it’s not like Steve wasn’t going to let him know as soon as they left—but then:
“Look,” and Eddie sounds the way Steve sounds when he’s pinching the bridge of his nose to fight a growing migraine, the sting of tears for all sorts of pain behind his eyes, and that hurts to hear from his boyfriend, like, a lot.
It fucking hurts.
“I am not just fucking him,” Eddie growls through the bridge-pinching pain; “I mean, fuck yes, I am, but,” and Steve hears the way he swallows all the way down the drive:
“I’m in this for the long haul,” Eddie tells his bandmates like throwing down a gauntlet; “and if you can’t respect me enough, and my choices, that stings,” Steve knows Eddie shrugs then: “but I’ll live.”
Steve’s about a millisecond from saying fuck it, opening the door just to slam it to announce his approach, and then going to physically grab his boyfriend, drag him to the car, and park in the abandoned lot down from the Wheelers’ neighborhood to kiss him senseless because that’s the closest place he can think of and he doesn’t think he’ll make it to either of their homes before he can’t fucking handle himself.
“But if you are gonna disrespect the man I love, no. Absolutely not.”
Eddies voice is a deadly sort of whisper. Steve would cower at it, the way it washes through a person, if he hadn’t just
said.
That.
“You love him?”
And for what Steve thinks is the first time since he climbed out of the car and committed to listening where he wasn’t invited, Gareth sounds
muted. Genuinely asking a question.
Steve, for his own part, kinda expected that he’d be more breathless, heart racing and shit, to hear the answer but in reality?
“Of course I love him.”
Steve already knew that in his cells, in his bones.
In his steady, not all-that-fast but particularly-especially-happily beating heart.
“Have you guys, like, said it and stuff?”
And of course Steve already knows that answer, both the literal one and the one that matters more, but he does perk up a bit, curious to hear what—if anything of note—Eddie chooses to give away here.
“He has,” Eddie says, and now
now maybe Steve should stop listening because this part, the way Eddie says that as flat fact—Steve doesn’t knowthis part beyond speculation. But

“I wanted to, like,” and eddies voice can’t hide the way he’s gotta have that soft smile, the one he used to hide behind his hair before Steve started pulling it back to see in full, so now he only brings his hair out just to tease, to okay.
“I don’t think I’ve wanted much in my whole life, but he’s,” and Steve thinks he hears how Eddie chews his bottom lip for a second, in the subtlest click of how it slips free before Eddie takes a deep breath and—
“He doesn’t know what he’s worth,” Eddie starts, a little mournful almost, even, and Steve is unexpectedly glued to the spot in his fucking Nikes.
“He doesn’t understand that I’d sell the sun and the moon just to keep him,” Eddie’s saying, and with passion. With whole-ass honesty. And here, maybe, is where Steve gets to have some of the heart:fluttery feeling after all:
“He comes out the gate with the whole you don’t have to say it back and I just,” Eddie sighs, sniffs a little before heaving another breath deep enough to stretch his shirt, which Steve’s not imagining or anything, at all;
“I couldn’t say it, not right then, and risk him everthinking it was something I’d done to like, match. Like that I didn’t mean it with everything I’ve got, when I mean it with everything I’ve got and then also everything else. Like, anywhere. Ever.”
Steve realized he’d stopped breathing at some point when the little dots start floating in front of his eyes and he sucks in a shaking breath because: he’s known Eddie loves him. Unshakeably.
But, but all this—
“I couldn’t say it and have him ever wondered if I wouldn’t rip my heart out of my chest just to keep his safe.”
And of-fucking-course Steve’s pulse is running fucking riot about how much he’s in love right now, make no goddamn mistake. Jesus, he—
“Fuck.”
And Steve has never heard Gareth Emerson pushed just this side of speechless but: that’s the best way Steve can describe the kind of breathless wonder he says it with, like watching a rare bird take flight.
“You mean it.”
And Steve can pick out Eddie’s huffs and categorize them, on demand at this point: he doesn’t need to see the eye-roll to know Eddie’s deemed the expression of pure shock to be so beneath him in this specific context that he’s deemed it unworthy of any more attention.
His heart’s not jumping that loud to have missed it. So.
Steve just kinda grins toward the blacktop under his shoes.
“Why didn’t you,” Doug starts, still—usually, really, in Steve’s limited experience at least—the peacekeeper, the one who’s most invested at the human level when he’s not getting swept up in whatever the rest of the gang has deemed the cool thing to laugh at or make fun of at any given moment.
The huff Eddie gives this time is his incredulous one, which allows for just the slightest bit more consideration:
“The fuck do you think?”
The slightest bit, being the operative point.
“I’d hoped you’d take it better but,” Eddie adds, and there’s less drama in it than Steve might have expected. He’s being serious with them, and he sounds
disappointed.
Steve kinda want to make some kind of noise, give away his position, and just
hug Eddie tight from behind, if nothing else. Be there. Solid against him, wrapped up around him. Never wavering. Always at his back as much as at his side.
But Eddie’s not done:
“I’m not even asking you to like him, just be decent,” and it sounds like it hurts him to say as much, and Steve knows why; he genuinely despises when anyone thinks Lea with a the very beat thing about Steve. Steve believes this to be n unreasonable standard, and has expressed as much to Eddie who nods and smiles and kisses Steve’s forehead and does absolutely nothing to change his stance, but deep down?
Steve fucking feels so
loved for it.
“And like I said,” Steve can hear the judgement in Eddie’s tone clear as day; “you’re not ready, and I’m not putting him in that kind of situation.”
Steve sucks on the inside of his cheek, lest his grin at the way Eddie is not just defending him, but
protecting him, not his honor but his heart

No ones ever even tried that before. Steve may not need it, or maybe he just learned he couldn’t survive needing it.
Getting it now
now it’s just

Wow.
“And I’m in this for keeps, like, this is a forever type thing, so long as he wants it,” Eddie saying, explaining the color of a sky to a small child like what these words are that fundamental, that unalterably true. “So—”
“We’ve known each other forever, man,” Gareth eventually mutters, sounds indignant, but mostly gutted.
Steve knows before it happens that it’s not gonna make a difference.
“And we can still know each other. Just not everything, anymore,” and Eddie does sound a little sad but he’s
he’s a monolith, unshakable. “I don’t trust you with the parts that revolve around him, yet,” and Steve feels more than hears the ways his friends deflate, maybe shrink for being deemed so
insufficient. In the eyes of their ostensible leader, no less.
“Eddie, we didn’t,” Jeff starts, slow, and he doesn’t sound remorseful but—Eddie has all those coping mechanisms for a reason, right?
Because he’s quick to feeling, good and bad, and sometimes neither is fit to the moment.
Steve can’t help but be kinda glad Eddie doesn’t bother with those mechanisms just now, though, if it means he gets to hear this part:
“I know you didn’t, that’s the fucking problem,” Eddie groans, Steve can see the way he lens, bends at the knees and throws his body around a little in sheer, undiluted exasperation. “
“Because I could tell you he’s changed since school, and that’d be true, but that’s not even it,” and there’s more of the frustrated stomping round, Steve can hear it, but he’s
he’s ready distracted by that thing in his chest that has to has to be tied up in Eddie’s, too, that thing tugging on him to pay the fuck attention.
And who is he to ignore it?
“he was never who we thought he was in school in the first place. He is,” Eddie licks his lips, just to snack them loud:
“He is kind and funny, and goofy, and such a fuckin’ nerd, and he’s smart in these incredible ways where he’s sees what everyone else misses, and he’s protective as fuck and he’s got a heart of gold,” and Eddie’s voice only gets more heartfelt in its own right that longer he goes and Steve just, he’s, it’s—
“And I would tear my skin off just so it doesn’t get so much as a scuff on it,” Eddie ends with the most scathing delivery imaginable: he fucking meansthis shit. And Steve is going o live and die next to this man, scuffed heart still kept safe to the fucking end, he will swear that shit to anyone who needs to hear it.
He is going to have a whole fucking life with Eddie Munson, and love him for every single breath of it.
“And I don’t trust you guys yet not to tempt me to tear off my skin,” Eddie says finally after enough silence to catch his breath, and temper his tone just enough to sound tired; a little dejected. “I don’t trust you with him, and until that changes, we’re still friends,” Eddie sniffs, breathes out long; “you just won’t get to know about that part of me.”
He says it so simple, like he’s not half-cutting off some of the longest, closest friendships he’s ever had, and for Steve.
Steve doesn’t know if it makes him a person, or a really selfish one or whatever, if he doesn’t feel any urge to talk Eddie down, to make him walk it back just a little.
He doesn’t think he cares, though, either way.
“Seems like a really big part of you,” Doug says, deflated entirely.
“It is,” Eddie answers, unapologetic in a way that swells and sparkles in Steve’s ribs. “He is.”
“You’d walk from the band?” Of course Gareth asks, but it’s the first time he sounds small in his words. Like he maybe knows the answer, and isn’t so okay with how he got around to it even before Eddie wishes all doubt:
“In half a fuckin’ heartbeat.” Boom. Done. No hesitation whatsoever.
Less than half-a-fuckin’-heartbeat.
“That’s not what I’m saying I’m doing right now, but,” Eddie laughs a little, and that probably cuts deeper than anything for the boys, Steve suspects, especially when Eddie makes it unquestionable:
“It’s not even a question.”
And
maybe that drives a knife deeper for the band, but for Steve?
Steve kinda wants to
giggle, or some shit. He hadn’t realized just how much he wanted someone who answered a question like that, exactly like that, who talked about Steve exactly like that, without anything to gain, just because they
believed it.
“Jesus,” Gareth mutters, sounds kinda blindsided, kinda thrown and then some.
“If we,” Jeff clears his throat after a long period of quiet; “if we do better, could we meet him someday?” And the way he says it, earnest and shit:, like he wants to at least think about, at least maybe try:
“Like, really meet him?”
Like Eddie means enough that he’ll try, and that sings sweet in Steve’s veins because goddamn straight, his Eddie deserves that from the people hecares about. No matter who or what Steve is, Eddiedeserves that much, and so much more.
But he sounds like even just this is something amazing, Steve can hear the smile in his voice:
“Yeah, man,” he answers Jeff, claps him audibly on the shoulder; “I look forward to it.”
And shit, y’know what?
So does Steve.
“See you in two weeks,” and Eddies footsteps follow, guitar slung over his back for the way his weight falls with each one, but then:
“Eddie!”
That’s Doug; the footsteps stop close to the edge of the garage door as another set rushes to catch up, where he’ll see Steve if he walks much farther, where Steve’s got his hand on the door handle of the car, slowly inching it open to push shut and look wholly-unsuspicious now that Eddie might be followed out to his ride:
“Get him flowers. For your anniversary,” Doug says, tone low like a secret; “I know, like, it might seem like guys wouldn’t want flowers, but,” and Steve actually has to strain to hear the next part:
“My mom gets my dad flowers on his birthday every year, and he lights up like the Fourth of July.”
Steve remembers the first time he ever got flowers. His favorites, even if he thinks he only knew it subconsciously because they were handed to him with the stammering explanation of I don’t even know if you like flowers, or like these ones, but you look at them when we’re out, like, just walking or something and your eyes linger, and these ones just remind me of you and—
Apparently, Steve loves hyacinths. And sunflowers make Eddie think of him.
Because of course Steve’s first gift of flowers came from Eddie.
“Thanks man,” Eddie sounds the lightest, most genuine Steve’s heard him since he pulled up and got out of the car; “they’re already ordered.”
And Doug chuckles, and Steve?
Steve bites down his smile to less exploding-star levels—if he’d just pulled up he doesn’t have a reason, save that Eddie is enough of a reason in Steve’s eyes, his mind, the way his chest expands just thinking on him—as he pulls the car door closed again, loud enough to be noticed.
For Eddie to walk out of the garage fast as anything and meet Steve with a smile of his own that justifies the fuck out of where Steve’s had started, anyway.
All star-bright and everything.
â™„ïžđŸŽžâ™„ïž
✹also on ao3✹
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btw this is either titled ‘halcyon shoegazing’ or ‘heart in your shoes’ so if you have an opinion you should maybe tell me or something, my brain’s tired and is resisting decisions rn
✹permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here
divider credit here and here and here
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livelovecaliforniadreams · 8 months ago
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2x8 | 3x5
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homeforclones · 10 months ago
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The difference between Season 1 and Season 3 of the Bad Batch
Season 1: Omega: Crosshair, can I have a hug? Crosshair: The audacity??? Of this Child??? Nothing would revolt me more than to show any kind of weakness to sate your neediness. Season 3: Omega: Crosshair, you're getting a hug. Crosshair: The charity??? Of my Sister??? Nothing would give me more joy than to be hugged by the Literal Angel that you are, though I am a lowly worm.
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sunny-knight · 2 months ago
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WOWIE! THIS WAS A GREAT IDEA, FRISK!
Extra:
Frisk: Next time you should take Sans!
Toriel: THERE WILL BE NO “”NEXT TIME””
Papyrus: WHATS THE PROBLEM, MS TORIEL?? ITS PERFECTLY SAFE, YOU CAN TRUST ME!!
Sans: next time we should totally go when its night out so we can see the stars.
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lastly, a work in progress 😭😭
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youkaiyume · 3 months ago
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"You know, I could pull up a million islands, but if you're not there to land on them..."
AUGHHHH WHAT DO YOU MEAN Maui has spent his entire life pulling up islands and doing heroic deeds for the love and adoration of humans only to NOW say that he only wants to do it for MOANA!!!!!
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1bibypersecond · 3 months ago
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Christian Linke, co-creator and showrunner of Arcane, stated that Sky represents the Hexcore, guiding Viktor toward achieving his desires: influence, power, and ultimately, the Glorious Evolution.
But I can't help but look at these pictures and wonder if there was some kind of disconnection between the script and the animation, bc she's nothing but supportive.
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She looks like she's against baddie Viktor and she's worried about him bc he's crossing the line :/
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She even tries to hold his hands, like 'are you okay?', and he pulls them away qwq
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On top of that, she genuinely looks scared when he agrees to work with Ambessa??? I’d understand if she were smiling or something, but she’s not.
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And the sadness in her eyes when Viktor says goodbye... her expression tilts with pain
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Did I miss something? Where is she supposed to be manipulating him?!?!
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