vanessa wilde

In case you haven’t seen it, I can highly recommend the movie Wilde (UK, 1997) by Brian Gilbert. Watch the trailer.

It’s starring Stephen Fry as Oscar Wilde, who owns the character so completely, you do not want to believe the real person might have been different from his warm and charming interpretation in even the slightest way.

Lord Alfred “Bosie” Douglas is played by the young Jude Law.

Here are the original boys:

The pictures are all stolen. Sorry Internet.

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2015 Met Gala | China: Through the Looking Glass | Part 2

{Fashion in the captions ↑}

For @likethetreesinthewild we have their character Gwena!  I must admit this is a theme after my own heart – a western-inspired fantasy world?  Yes, yes, and treble yes!  So it was a lot of fun to design her.  I’m not an expert on western-wear, but in my visual research I found a thousand and one examples of pistol braces – I went with a style that allowed me to show what else she was wearing, hopefully that’s cool, and hopefully you like her!

That ending was a lie. Here’s what really happened. (Penny Dreadful AU, post-finale, Vanessa x Ethan, ~2000 words.)


Vanessa is tired.

Darkness pulls at her; an ever-present caress, promising warmth, and safety, and love. It is a lie. She knows this now. She has always known it. But in those lonely nights, when she lay alone, forsaken, forgotten, the lie was her only companion. Her only friend. Her only love.

She is surrounded by candles, but still, the darkness perseveres. It is in her very bones, a heavy thing, and she is tired, so tired.

Giving herself into Dracula’s arms has brought a reprieve, a peace of sorts. But that, too, is a lie.

Ethan is a sudden storm in the calm, a splash of bright red in the dark, an angry gash in porcelain skin. His roughness is out of place here, in this place of soft light and candles and calm. It hurts to look at him. He is fierce, and desperate, and hopeless. He is honest, and she is surrounded by lies.

She can see it in his eyes when she asks him to pull the trigger, the echo of that night not too long ago, when he held a gun to her head and she prayed that he would end it.

“No,” he says, just like she knew he would.

Once, she would have been above begging. But she is tired, and she cannot hold back her tears, and she cannot look at him for much longer. “Please. Ethan. Let it end.”

She reaches for the gun, and she guides his hand around it, her eyes never leaving his.

His fingers curl around the handle. The metal presses against her stomach.

And then he tosses it aside.

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