
blake kathryn

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Janaina Medeiros
sheepfilms

oozey mess
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Sweet Seals For You, Always

Product Placement
Xuebing Du

izzy's playlists!
noise dept.

ellievsbear
occasionally subtle
Peter Solarz
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Discoholic 🪩
$LAYYYTER

JBB: An Artblog!
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@ossurita
[1/5] Every adaptation of L’homme Qui Rit: Dea
[2/5] Every adaptation of L’homme Qui Rit: Josianna
the players of the grinning man: the bitter cold-hearted clown, barkilphedro.
Louis Maskell and Tom Hardy’s School of Eye Acting™
+ bonus
romeo and juliet, act i scene 5 // the grinning man (2016)
for ao3 writer winter_hiems, who has written the eros/psyche TGM au i never knew i needed, a drawing i whipped up using my favourite pink/purple aesthetic, with looks based on the 2014 PSYCHE: a rock opera for which i found no video but some photos with a very shirtless eros and i was like aight yes that’ll do. shamelessly copied a pose from hugh douglas hamilton’s painting, cupid and psyche in the nuptial bower.
God of Love, Blind Girl (Words:5635)
Disfigured during the war against the titans, the god of love never expected a mortal princess to fall in love with him.
After an unexpected shock has terrible consequences, Dea must travel into the depths of the underworld in order to save her husband’s life.
(An Eros and Psyche AU with Gwynplaine as Eros and Dea as Psyche)
@look-at-your-shattered-children wanted to see Grinpayne in the Beast’s post-transformation outfit and I’d be kidding myself if I didn’t want to see it too, so here he is in all his lordly finery 🥰
You may think that had the offer been made to him to remove his deformity he would have grasped at it. Yet he would have refused it emphatically. What! to throw off his mask and have his former face restored; to be the creature he had perchance been created, handsome and charming? No, he would never have consented to it. For what would he have to support Dea? What would have become of that poor child, the sweet blind girl who loved him? Without his rictus, which made him a clown without parallel, he would have been a mountebank, like any other; a common athlete, a picker up of pence from the chinks in the pavement, and Dea would perhaps not have had bread every day. It was with deep and tender pride that he felt himself the protector of the helpless and heavenly creature. Night, solitude, nakedness, weakness, ignorance, hunger, and thirst—seven yawning jaws of misery—were raised around her, and he was the St. George fighting the dragon. He triumphed over poverty. How? By his deformity. By his deformity he was useful, helpful, victorious, great. He had but to show himself, and money poured in. He was a master of crowds, the sovereign of the mob. He could do everything for Dea. Her wants he foresaw; her desires, her tastes, her fancies, in the limited sphere in which wishes are possible to the blind, he fulfilled. Gwynplaine and Dea were, as we have already shown, Providence to each other.
(The Man Who Laughs by Victor Hugo)
They spoke, they cried, they babbled, they murmured in a mad dialogue of joy! How are we to paint thee, O joy!
“My life!”
“My heaven!”
“My love!”
“My whole happiness!”
“Gwynplaine!”
“Dea, I am drunk. Let me kiss your feet.”
“Is it you, then, for certain?”
“I have so much to say to you now that I do not know where to begin.”
“One kiss!”
“O my wife!”
“Gwynplaine, do not tell me that I am beautiful. It is you who are handsome.”
“I have found you again. I hold you to my heart. This is true. You are mine. I do not dream. Is it possible? Yes, it is. I recover possession of life. If you only knew! I have met with all sorts of adventures. Dea!”
“Gwynplaine, I love you!”
(The Man Who Laughs by Victor Hugo)
“What was that?” she asked.
“Nothing,” replied Gwynplaine.
And he smiled. He had just burnt the duchess’s letter.
The conscience of the man who loves is the guardian angel of the woman whom he loves.
Unburdened of the letter, his relief was wondrous, and Gwynplaine felt his integrity as the eagle feels its wings.
It seemed to him as if his temptation had evaporated with the smoke, and as if the duchess had crumbled into ashes with the paper.
Taking up their cups at random, and drinking one after the other from the same one, they talked. A babble of lovers, a chattering of sparrows! Child’s talk, worthy of Mother Goose or of Homer! With two loving hearts, go no further for poetry; with two kisses for dialogue, go no further for music.
“Do you know something?”
“No.”
“Gwynplaine, I dreamt that we were animals, and had wings.”
“Wings; that means birds,” murmured Gwynplaine.
“Fools! it means angels,” growled Ursus.
And their talk went on.
“If you did not exist, Gwynplaine?”
“What then?”
“It could only be because there was no God.”
“The tea is too hot; you will burn yourself, Dea.”
“Blow on my cup.”
“How beautiful you are this morning!”
“Do you know that I have a great many things to say to you?”
“Say them.”
“I love you.”
“I adore you.”
(The Man Who Laughs by Victor Hugo)
Thanks to @ladytrelaw today is probably an angel day.
Some Like It Hot (1959) dir. Billy Wilder + letterbox reviews (insp.)
the carved kiss of kindness
compilation of Barkilphedro being like…. that
well, i made it. barkilphedro voice-cracking compilation.
grinpayne being a sweet and polite boy for four minutes and eleven seconds