This Is Absolutely Wonderful

This is absolutely wonderful

I say: Johnathan Harker, Basil Hallward, Alan Campbell, C. Auguste Dupin, Roderick Usher (gotta throw Poe in), and Victor Frankenstein

Which gothic lit characters would have braces during their teenage years tho

Bro. If Edgar Allan Poe wrote The Picture of Dorian Gray 😩. I’m not sure if he’d do it better but…TPoDG is classified as gothic literature and in seeing the gothic sense of that novel versus the gothic sense of Poe’s work, I feel like Poe would put his own twist on it. It’d just be different. The time eras in which both Poe and Wilde wrote were different and definitely influenced their gothic literature as a whole. But as someone who loves Poe just as much as they love Wilde ✋, it would be so cool to see a Poe-ified TPoDG.

I might want to draw something based on all of this 😶

Someone please go back in time and give this idea to Poe he'd do it so much better

Will it be heartbreak or death?

I agree ☝️

How the Daisy-coming-to-tea scene should’ve gone

Portraits of famous 18th and 19th-century Gothic fiction writers.

Horace Walpole (1717 - 1797) // Ann Radcliffe (1764 - 1823) // Matthew Gregory Lewis (1775 - 1818) // Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley (1797 - 1851) // Edgar Allan Poe (1809 - 1849) // Anne (1820 - 1849), Emily (1818 - 1848), and Charlotte Brontë (1816 - 1855) // Oscar Wilde (1854 - 1900) // Bram Stoker (1847 - 1912)

Some time ago, I wrote out an outline for a role swap au (I would give you the link, but tumblr doesn't like when I do that), and over the last few days I have written a chapter of this au (I don't have a name for it yet, so suggestions are appreciated!). Thank you to everyone who interacted with my first post, and please, let me know what you guys think, I loved hearing your feedback!

DISCLAIMER: I am not a professional writer by any means, and admittedly it has been a while since I've read the book in depth. Some characterizations may be a tad off, but I've tried my best to keep canon in mind, while also changing them to reflect the new context. Additionally, I am not from, nor have I ever been to England or anywhere near the UK. Though I have put in a lot of research of the time, I have only a base understanding of the period, so things may be somewhat inaccurate.

In the golden afternoon of a warm August day, Dorian Gray sat across from Lord Henry Wotton, engaging in light banter. The two men would be involved in a scandal and crime in the coming years, but on this day, they discussed their friend, Basil Hallward.

Some months ago, Basil had been accused of unseemly behavior. Everyone involved in high society might have turned a blind eye, but when evidence from that night was presented, most turned away from the painter. Fortunately, the courts didn't find Basil worth the time or resources to jail; instead, they took away his wealth and the rumors took away his clientele. His name was only spoken in warnings or vicious gossip.

Dorian and Henry were left to watch as it all happened in a whirlwind of speculation and accusations. Though they offered help, the artist declined, fearful of what might have befallen his closest friends should they try and intervene on his behalf. In truth, his concerns were for Dorian; he had known Lord Henry would somehow be unaffected as usual.

What the artist did not know was that the lord was far from unaffected.

“He refuses to speak with me,” Henry grumbled as he smoked, “Does he think I would mock him over this?”

Dorian smiled politely, still unused to such a sight. In the time he had known the man, Henry had seldom shown any emotion besides amusement and glee. The recent event had not only revealed that the lord was capable of more than that, but that he was particular to worry.

“We've known each other for years, surely he knows that I would never make light of a situation like this!” he puffed his cigarette—his fourteenth one in the hour and a half Dorian had been there, “Especially because it's him!”

“Perhaps he's embarrassed,” Dorian offered halfheartedly. He understood Henry's worry; he himself had been concerned ever since the night after the trial. Until that night, Dorian had thought himself as the one person Basil could never turn away. After a panicked cry and slammed door, he revised his outlook on his perceived favoritism.

“Embarrassed? By what? Some daft rumor?”

“It was more than a rumor, Harry. He lost everything. People refuse to even say his name!”

“Because they are all hypocrites! They've done much worse than our dear Basil, yet they act as if he murdered someone!”

“They've done more for less.”

“Yes! They have! It is infuriating to see all of this happen and then to have Basil turn me away, to avoid me! I don't understand any of it,” the lord ended his rant with a scowl.

“I invited him to tea today.”

Henry perked up, “Did he say he'd come?”

“No, but I'm sure he will.”

“Why's that?”

“Because I'm leaving.”

Basil Hallward followed the servant into Henry's study. This was the first time he had ventured out of his home since the trial and the first time he would see Dorian and Henry after that night. He wrung his hands nervously as the servant notified the lord and Dorian as well. The servant motioned him in and then closed the door behind him.

In a blur of blonde, Dorian tossed himself into Basil's arms, tightly hugging him.

“Dorian!”

“Basil, I knew you'd come!” he grinned and guided the man to sit nearby Lord Henry, who had hurriedly stabbed his cigarette into an ashtray. He attempted to look composed, but relief could be clearly seen in his eyes.

“Basil, it's good to see you're alive,” the lord tried to say smoothly, “I knew you'd come out eventually.”

“Liar,” Dorian hissed, “Basil he was worried sick! I can't get the smell of smoke out of my hair because of him!”

The lord cleared his throat, “Dorian, don't pout, it mars your face.”

Dorian stuck his tongue out, then turned to Basil, “Please stay for a while? I can't stand Henry when he's worried.”

“Oh, I'm sure it wasn't so bad,” Basil fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve, “Are you really leaving Dorian?”

The young man froze and looked at Basil and then to Henry for help. Eventually he solemnly nodded, “In about a week.”

“How long will you be in France?”

“I'm not sure,” the young man said, “Apparently my songs are quite famous there and an unexpected number of orchestras have asked me to play with them.”

“It could be anywhere from a year to ten,” Henry supplied, “It might become a lifetime.”

“Nonsense!” the blonde cried, “I will return. I would never leave the two of you behind.”

“Don't limit your experience because of us, Dorian,” the lord smiled sardonically, “France is known for its many delights, someone with your beauty can easily experience them all.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, “I had to deal with this for weeks, Basil. You're the only one who can temper Henry's philosophical ramblings. I'll die if I have to listen to another!”

“Well, you have nothing to worry about, you're leaving for France in a week,” Henry chuckled, but his smile fell when he looked towards Basil, “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Basil said unconvincingly, “I'm happy for you Dorian, truly I am. But I will miss you greatly.”

The young man smothered the other man in another embrace, “Basil, I'm going to miss you the most! I'll write to you, I promise!”

“Calm down, Dorian,” Basil focused on the divan past Dorian, “I don't think you'll have the time to do so.”

“I'll make the time,” he insisted, “Always for you.”

“What about Henry?”

The lord scoffed good naturedly.

“Harry doesn't appreciate my letters. He says he adores my romantic notions of friendship, then throws them away in front of me!” Dorian glared at the man in question, “And I'm not a boy, I'm twenty-four!”

“You do act like a child,” Basil admitted.

“Basil!” Dorian gasped dramatically and threw himself onto the nearby divan, “I have never been so betrayed! I shall never recover!”

Basil smiled. Henry motioned for him to sit next to him, then gently grasped the other man's hand, “I am happy to see you again.”

The trio found themselves locked in easy conversation about everything and anything but Basil's situation or the events leading up to it. Easy laughter and general pleasantries were shared all around, but the knowledge of the limited time they had pressed heavily against them.

“It's getting rather late,” the painter stood up, “I should leave.”

“Stay for the night, Basil,” Henry said.

“No,” he said far too quickly to be reassuring, “No, I couldn't possibly do such a thing.”

The reason went unsaid.

“You'll come by tomorrow, won't you?” Dorian fluttered his lashes at the man, “And every day, until I leave?”

“I can try,” Basil said, uncomfortable with the intensity, “But I'm not sure I'll be very entertaining to be around.”

“We can keep our meetings in our respective houses,” Henry offered.

“Please, Basil,” Dorian clasped his hand together as if he were praying.

“Alright, I'll see you tomorrow.”

“And the day after?”

“Yes, every day until you leave.”

Dorian grinned triumphantly, “Oh, before you leave—!”

The blonde fished through the inner pockets of his coat and pulled out a small wooden box with a crumpled bow.

“Oh, it looked nicer before,” he muttered. He handed it to Basil.

It was a brown ornate box with a golden key on the side of it. The top of the box had an intricate carving of what was assumedly a floral scene. Dorian winded the key, then opened the box and turned it towards Basil. On the inside, it had three miniature orchids, one red, one purple, and one white, each with a basil leaf adorning the sides.

Then a gentle melody filled the room. It was beautiful, delicate, and filled with a sense of longing. The orchids slowly turned, like they were dancing.

“Is this one of your songs?” Basil asked.

“Yes.”

“I haven't heard this one,” Henry leaned forwards.

“That's because I finished it a few weeks ago. It's for you Basil.”

“The box or the song?” the lord looked at the artist who appeared shocked.

“Both!”

“Both?”

“I wrote the song for Basil,” Dorian beamed, “Then I had the box commissioned. You two are the first people to ever hear it, besides me of course.”

“You wrote this song for me?” Basil murmured, “Why?”

“Because you're his favorite,” Henry joked.

“Because you mean a lot to me, Basil. No one can do what you can with your paintings. I have never met someone so intelligent, yet so careful and caring. I wrote that song to express the beauty of your soul,” Dorian confessed. Henry opened his mouth to speak, and the young man threw a pillow from the divan at him, “What do you think?”

Basil looked at the man in earnest, “I think I'm going to cry.”

“Oh!”

“I was going to tell you,” Henry said. He patted the seat next to him, “Bring him here, Dorian.”

Tentatively, the blonde led the crying man to sit, then frantically said, “If you don't like it, I can take it back. I didn't want to hurt you.”

“You haven't,” Basil sobbed, “I promise, I'm not hurt.”

“No, really, Basil, if you dislike it at all, I'll take it back and throw it away or burn it or whatever you like. Just tell me and it will be gone.”

“And throw away your work?! I'd rather die!”

Lord Henry shook his head, “Why are you crying then, Basil?”

“It's just,” Basil wiped his eyes and took a shaky breath, “It's just moving, that's all. Do you really believe that about me, Dorian?”

“Yes. Every word. If you'd let me, I would like to name the song after you. I want you to be known for centuries after today.”

A sob escaped the painter, “Oh, how I wish I could capture beauty as you do! To be able to do such a thing, I'd do anything! I would befriend the devil himself!”

“Basil,” Henry laughed, “That is quite unlike you!”

Dorian giggled behind a pale hand, “Besides, Harry is right there, Basil.”

Henry threw the pillow at Dorian. Basil genuinely laughed for the first time in a while.

At his home, Basil laid in his bed, still awake despite his many attempts.

He couldn't stop thinking about the end of the week. While he was happy for Dorian, he was worried too. Dorian wasn't the most responsible and he was often too willful for his own good. A week from today, he would be all alone in a completely different country. Basil hoped that the young man at least knew someone there and wasn't rushing into this as he normally did.

He got up from his bed and searched for something to busy himself with. Eventually his eyes landed on the small music box Dorian had given him. He picked it up and clutched it to his chest, then, feeling childish, shyly placed it back down.

Basil sighed as he absentmindedly turned the key. When he had it far enough, he let it play as he sat at a desk to sketch. He drew flowers, houses, and then Dorian. Surrounded by flowers, the young man smiled in the sketch and Basil felt a sense of sadness flood him. He tore the page and returned to bed, falling asleep to the music box's gentle song.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed, again let me know what you think! The song in the music box can be whatever you want, but I personally think it's Million Miles Away from "Belle" because the lyrics that play in the only music box version will be painfully ironic in a few chapters. Also, Sam Yung has a beautiful extended piano and string arrangement that would totally be Dorian's composed version.

Next chapter we'll meet the capitalist!