#charles francis hall

[charlesdesvoeux]

reading up on other polar expeditions and stuff after watching the terror is so crazy. like what do you mean there was a captain who died after probably being poisoned by the ships doctor??? what do you mean the first guy confirmed to have set foot on the north pole got there via snowmobile???

[polarexplorerspoll]

POLAR EXPLORERS SHOWDOWN: ROUND 2

[crozierslanding]

Narrative of the second Arctic expedition made by Charles F. Hall

Charles Francis Hall’s diaries from 1864-69. Get it while the Internet Archive is working again!

[dweemeister]

Murders in the Rue Morgue (1932)

For the bookworms reading this, fair warning: there have been almost no faithful film adaptations of an Edgar Allan Poe work. In the absence of any cinematic-literary faithfulness to Poe’s bibliography, there still remains a plethora of big-screen Poe adaptations that, from a cinematic standpoint, are simply mesmeric to watch. Robert Florey’s Murders in the Rue Morgue, starring Béla Lugosi one year after his career-defining role in Dracula (1931) and released by Universal, is one of the earliest such adaptations. Its atmospheric filmmaking reminiscent of the tangled geometries of German Expressionism and Lugosi’s creepy turn in a starring role may make Poe loyalists furious, but one hopes they can also see the remarkable craft of this film, too.

Though lesser known than both Dracula and Frankenstein (1931), Florey’s Murders in the Rue Morgue came about due to legacies of both those productions. Following the successful release of Dracula in February 1931, Universal considered Lugosi as their go-to star for horror films. Producer Carl Laemmle Jr. – the son of Universal’s chief executive and co-founder, Carl Laemmle – wanted Lugosi to play Frankenstein’s monster (often mistakenly called “Frankenstein”), and even had Lugosi play the monster in several minutes of test footage. That footage, now lost, is one of horror cinema’s greatest sights unseen. Sometime after that test shoot, Universal gave director James Whale a first-choice pick for his next project after the rousing critical and commercial success of Waterloo Bridge (1931). Whale chose Frankenstein, requested a screenplay rewrite, and cast the British actor Boris Karloff in the role. As consolation, Lammle Jr. gave the Hungarian American Lugosi the starring role in Murders in Rue Morgue.

In a Parisian carnival in 1845, we find ourselves in a sideshow tent. There, Dr. Mirakle (Lugosi; meer-AH-cull, not to be pronounced like “miracle”) provides a presentation that is anything but the freak show the attendees are anticipating. He unveils an ape, Erik (Charles Gemora – an actor in an ape suit; some close-up shots are of an actual ape), whom he claims he is able to understand and converse with – even though Erik is unable to speak any human language. In the audience, Mirakle spots a young lady, Camille L’Espanaye (Sidney Fox), and asks her to be his intrepid volunteer for a demonstration. The demonstration goes awry, to the ire of both Camille and her fiancé, Pierre Dupin (Leon Ames). As Camille and Pierre exit the carnival, Mirakle orders his assistant, Janos (Noble Johnson), to trail them. Thus sets in motion the film’s grisly plot.

The film also stars silent film comic actor Bert Roach as one of Camille and Pierre’s friends, Betsy Ross Clarke as Camille’s mother, character actor D’Arcy Corrigan as the morgue keeper, and Arlene Francis (best known as a regular panelist on the game show What’s My Line?) as a prostitute.

Murders in the Rue Morgue, with a screenplay by Tom Reed (1925’s The Phantom of the Opera, 1931’s Waterloo Bridge) and Dale Van Every (1937’s Captains Courageous, 1942’s The Talk of the Town), is one of the most violent pre-Code horror films from the early synchronized sound years. It was so violent, in fact, that Universal’s executives harbored trepidation throughout its entire production and demanded narrative and structural changes that ultimately harmed the film (including cutting grotesque and violent sequences, leaving behind the current 62-minute runtime). The best example of this damage comes from the film’s opening third. Unbeknownst to the carnival attendees, Mirakle has been performing horrifying experiments involving cross-species blood mixing and, through heavy implication by the filmmaking and Gemora’s performance, bestiality (hey, it’s a pre-Code movie!). Originally, Florey’s adaptation of Murders in the Rue Morgue began with Mirakle and Janos abducting Arlene Francis’ streetwalker and Mirakle’s torturing and experimentation on her. Only after that did the film transition to Mirakle’s sideshow presentation.

The reordering of these two scenes – in the final print, the sideshow opens the movie and the abduction and experimentation follows a turgid romantic scene between Camille and Pierre – makes the sideshow opening seem sillier than it should be. If the original order had been kept, Florey’s initial intention to instill dread during the sideshow only after the abduction and experimentation scene – as the audience would be well aware of what Mirakle is capable of – would have made the film’s exposition feel far less stage-bound and hokey than it does. The abduction and experimentation scene’s blood-curdling horror remains (the scene contains a boundary-pushing combination of bestial and religious allusions that some modern filmmakers might not even dare to push), but the romantic scene immediately preceding makes for a rough tonal transition. In comparison to later horror films from the Hollywood Studio System released after stricter implementation of the Hays Code in 1934, these scenes – in addition to a later investigation and the film’s finale – hold up wonderfully.

Crucially, Tom Reed and Dale Van Every’s screenplay alter genres from Edgar Allan Poe’s original short story. With the introduction of hobbyist detective C. Auguste Dupin, Poe’s The Murders in the Rue Morgue is a foundational piece of early Western detective fiction. Or, in Poe’s words, Murders in the Rue Morgue is a “ratiocination tale” – a name that was never going to catch on in any century. Poe’s Dupin, a character who later influenced Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes and Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot, undergoes a name change in Reed and Van Every’s adaptation, and we do not see nearly as much deduction and investigating here as in the short story. Reed and Van Every’s screenplay, which delete all but two scenes from the Poe short story, also elevate one of their own creations – Dr. Mirakle – at the expense of Dupin. In addition, it is clear early on who is responsible for the violent acts within the narrative. And, unlike the Poe’s original short story in which Dupin and the unnamed narrator read about the violence in the newspaper, the film shows these acts explicitly or the lead-up to them. Director Robert Florey’s film is decidedly a horror film, not a mystery.

Having Béla Lugosi in the cast in his first film after Dracula is a surefire way to confirm that you are making/watching a horror film. Reed and Van Every’s clunky dialogue might not do Sidney Fox and Leon Ames any favors, but it is a gift for Lugosi. Lugosi’s heavily accented English typecast him later in his career to mad scientist and vampire roles. Nevertheless, who else could stand there – with a mangled tuft of a wig, a makeup department-applied thick unibrow that appears to barely move, menacing lighting from a low angle – and tell Fox’s Camille (after receiving a gawking from Erik, the ape), “Erik is only human, mademoiselle. He has an eye for beauty,” with incredible conviction? The opening minutes of the film at the sideshow, because of the reordering of the film, are heavily expository and contain the bumpiest writing of the entire film. But Lugosi, with his signature cadence (notice how and when Lugosi uses silence and varies the speed of his phrasing – very few native English speakers naturally speak like that) and his physical acting, presents himself perfectly as the societal outsider – remarkably intelligent, but perhaps mentally unhinged. Lugosi’s performance completely outshines all others in this film. Here, in a magnificent performance, he confirms that his acting ability on display in Dracula was no fluke.

Early Universal Horror of the late silent era and early sound era owes a sizable debt to German Expressionism – a mostly silent film-era movement in German cinema in which filmmakers used distorted and geometrically unrealistic sets to suggest mental tumult and dread. Working alongside editor Milton Carruth (1932’s The Mummy,1943’s Shadow of a Doubt) and production designer Charles D. Hall (1925’s The Phantom of the Opera, 1930’s All Quiet on the Western Front), cinematographer Karl Freund (1924’s The Last Laugh, 1927’s Metropolis) found a team of filmmakers that he could work with to set an aesthetic that could do justice to Murders in the Rue Morgue’s macabre plot.

It also helped that director Robert Florey wanted to make something that looked closer to Robert Wiene’s The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1919, Germany) than Dracula. Together, Freund and Florey worked with Hall to achieve a set design that created long shadows and crooked buildings and tents more likely to appear in a nightmare than in nineteenth century Europe. The final chase scene across angular and rickety rooftops used leftover sets from The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1923). All this endows Murders in the Rue Morgue with a gruesome atmosphere, oftentimes cloaked in dust and early morning mist.

For Freund and Florey, each saw in the other a kindred spirit in their appreciation of German Expressionism. If they could not achieve just the right shadow, they would instead paint it onto the set itself (painting shadows was commonplace in German Expressionism, but never in Hollywood movies). To achieve the ideal lighting for some of the rooftop or near-rooftop scenes, they shot outdoors, in chilly autumn weather, past midnight – most black-and-white Old Hollywood films, due to technical limitations at the time, shot nighttime scenes inside soundstages. In an era where cameras usually stayed frozen in one place, Freund invented the unchained camera technique, allowing cameras to creep forward into a set rather than relying on a cut to a close-up. Though the unchained camera is not as present here as in other movies involving Freund as cinematographer, it makes the viewer feel as if they are moving alongside the crowd at the carnival, as well as imbuing the audience with a terrible anticipation for what terror lurks around the corner. Freund and Florey’s collaboration was one of like-minded men, with similar influences and goals. In what was their only film together, the two achieve an artistry with few similarities across much of American film history.

Initial reception to Murders in the Rue Morgue was cold, in large part due to the film’s shocking violence and awkward acting. Despite finishing the film under budget, Robert Florey hit the apex of his career with Murders in the Rue Morgue. The disapproval from Universal executives took its toll, and given that Florey was on a one-film contract with the studio, he never returned. The French American director would bounce around studios over the next decade – from Paramount to Warner Bros. back to Paramount to Columbia and back to Warner Bros. – mostly working on inexpensive B-pictures, occasionally making a hit such as The Beast with Five Fingers (1946). Florey spent his later career with television anthologies: Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Four Star Playhouse, and The Twilight Zone.

For Lugosi, Murders in the Rue Morgue was the true first step for the horror film typecasting that he sought to avoid. Once considered by Universal’s executives to be the successor to the late Lon Chaney (The Man of a Thousand Faces passed away in 1930), the failure of Murders in the Rue Morgue among audiences and critics gave Universal pause when it came to extending Lugosi’s original contract. But the early 1930s were Lugosi’s most productive period in films, and they contained his finest, most memorable performances.

In recent decades, the reputation of Murders in the Rue Morgue continues to gradually improve, as do many films that once caused a stir due to their content during the pre-Code years. Awkward supporting actors aside, when one has Béla Lugosi cloaked in the shadows of German Expressionism and the spirit (albeit not so much intentions of the original text) of Edgar Allan Poe, what results is a foreboding work, one worthy to carry Universal’s horror legacy.

My rating: 7/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog. Half-points are always rounded down.

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

[newpolartimes]

Introducing the New Polar Times

Are you an independent researcher, writer, artist, or creator? Are you fascinated by the history of polar exploration and looking to explore this in your work? The New Polar Times needs you! We’re working on an upcoming collaborative literary and arts magazine that will showcase the talents, interests, and original work of a new generation of polar enthusiasts.

The New Polar Times will focus on the “Heroic Age” of polar exploration, as well as the transitional periods that bookend it – beginning after the Franklin search expeditions with Charles Francis Hall’s 1871-3 Polaris expedition and ending with the disappearance of Roald Amundsen in 1928.

For our first round of submissions – opening February 28th, 2025 – we will be looking for proposals – no complete works just yet! – for works of the following types:

Historical narrative essays (both written and graphic)

Interdisciplinary research on polar history topics

Experimental/creative works (poems, recipes, infographics, etc.)

Parody works in the style of the original South Polar Times

Standalone artworks & comics

Our second round will open at a later date (to be announced!) and will consist of an application for artists to illustrate some of the written works accepted in round 1 – stay tuned for the announcement if you’re interested!

Further updates and announcements will be posted here as the project progresses, so watch this space!

[multi-fandoms-posts]

His Wife

X Men Masterlist

It is a quiet morning at the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. Charles Xavier is sitting in his study with Erik Lehnsherr. As often, the two are discussing the future of mutants and the best way to maintain peace between humans and mutants. Despite their differing views, their friendship endures.

"You know your way is too idealistic, Charles," says Erik, shaking his head. "Humans will never accept us the way you want them to."

Charles sighs and leans back in his chair. "I believe in the good in people, Erik. Maybe not all of them, but enough to make a difference."

Erik laughs dryly. "Well, keep dreaming."

Before Charles can respond, a loud, determined voice suddenly echoes through the halls of the school.

"Charles Francis Xavier!"

Charles freezes. His face turns pale, and Erik gives him a surprised look. "Francis?"

A wide grin spreads across Erik's face. "Tell me, Charles, how long were you planning on keeping that little, elegant name a secret from me?"

Charles gives him a weary look. "Erik, this is really not the moment."

Erik leans back, his eyes sparkling. "Oh, I think this is exactly the right moment. Charles Francis Xavier... it sounds almost like you stepped straight out of English aristocracy. Why didn’t you tell me? I could have come up with so many... fitting nicknames."

Charles sighs, annoyed. "Erik, I'm waiting for you to finally stop amusing yourself with this."

"Oh no," Erik replies mischievously. "This is too good. Francis. I bet you had a cute nickname in school, right? Francis the Honorable? Sir Francis?"

Before Charles can answer, there’s a soft pop, and Y/N, Charles' wife, teleports directly into the study. She crosses her arms and looks at Charles with a stern expression. Erik looks her over, bewildered.

"Who is that?" he asks, barely able to hide his surprise. "And how on earth did she get in here?"

Charles looks as though he would rather disappear into thin air. "This is… my wife."

Erik blinks and then grins broadly at Charles. "Your what? You’re married?"

Y/N steps forward, speaking in a frustrated tone, "I told you I was tired of being kept in the background, Charles. And yet here I am, having to appear and hear that you haven’t even told your best friend my name."

Charles closes his eyes briefly. "Y/N, this isn’t the right moment for this discussion…"

"It’s never the right moment," Y/N says, giving him a piercing look. "But here we are."

Erik, still overwhelmed by the sudden revelation, looks back and forth between them. "Wait, so you’re the famous Mrs. Xavier no one knows about?"

Y/N nods, arms crossed again. "That’s right. But I never thought Charles wouldn’t even tell his best friend about me."

"Well, I must say, this explains a lot," Erik replies with a mocking grin. "I thought Charles was just a hopeless idealist, but it turns out he’s also a master at keeping secrets. Tell me, how did you manage to marry him? Did you simply persuade him, or was it a long lecture about mutant rights that won you over?"

Y/N chuckles softly while Charles visibly squirms. "A bit of both," she says.

Erik shakes his head in disbelief. "I can’t believe it. The great Charles Xavier, who’s there for everyone, but never mentions he has a wife. You’re full of surprises, Charles. And now I understand why you’ve been so... distracted lately."

Charles lets out a deep sigh. "I was trying to protect her, Erik."

"Protect her?" Erik grins. "I think you were trying to protect yourself from the endless questions I would’ve asked."

"That’s enough, Erik," Charles says.

Y/N grins at Erik. "Don’t worry, Erik. Charles has a habit of overlooking the really important things, especially when it comes to himself."

"Oh, I’ve noticed," Erik says, giving Charles a knowing look. "But now that I know he’s married, it’s only a matter of time before I get all his dirty little secrets out."

Charles groans while Erik continues to enjoy himself. "And Charles... Francis? That’s going to stick with me forever. I won’t be able to help myself from bringing it up... maybe every day? Or on every special occasion?"

Charles glares at him. "Erik..."

"Oh, don’t worry," Erik says with a mischievous smile. "I’ll be very discreet. I’ll only mention it at the right moments. You know, when everyone’s listening. Like at the next big X-Men gathering... or when we have guests, like the Avengers."

Charles sighs deeply, while Y/N can’t help but suppress a laugh.

"I think it’s going to be an interesting time, Francis," Erik adds before leaving the room, still laughing, while Charles glares at his retreating figure.

After Erik has left, Charles slowly turns to Y/N, giving her an apologetic look. "I’m sorry, Y/N," he says softly, taking her hands in his. "I never should’ve kept you hidden for so long. You deserve to stand by my side, not in the shadows."

Y/N looks at him silently for a moment, then smiles slightly. "I know you were just trying to protect me. But we do this together, okay? No more secrets."

Charles nods and gently pulls her close. "Promise," he murmurs, before giving her a tender, loving kiss. The kiss is brief but full of warmth and affection.

As they pull away, Y/N rests her forehead against his and says quietly, "I love you, Charles."

Charles smiles. "And I love you."

They remain close for a moment longer before leaving the room together, ready to take the next step in their relationship.

[rockpaperscissuhs]

Band of Brothers Birthdays

January

1 John S. Zielinski Jr. (b. 1925)

21 Richard D. “Dick” Winters (b. 1918)

26 Herbert M. Sobel (b. 1912)

30 Clifford Carwood "Lip" Lipton (b. 1920)

31 Warren H. “Skip” Muck (b. 1922) & Robert B. Brewer (b. 1924)

February

8 Clarence R. Hester (b. 1916)

18 Thomas A. Peacock (b. 1920)

23 Lester A. “Les” Hashey (b. 1925)

March

1 Charles E. “Chuck” Grant (b. 1922)

2 Colonel Robert L. “Bob” Strayer (b. 1910)

4 Wayne “Skinny” Sisk (b. 1922)

10 Frank J. Perconte (b. 1917)

13 Darrell C. “Shifty” Powers (b. 1923)

14 Joseph J. “Joe” Toye (b. 1919)

24 John D. “Cowboy” Halls (b. 1922)

26 George Lavenson (b. 1917) & George H. Smith Jr. (1922)

27 Gerald J. Loraine (b. 1913)

April

3 Colonel Robert F. “Bob” Sink (b. 1905) & Patrick S. “Patty” O’Keefe (b. 1926)

5 John T. “Johnny” Julian (b. 1924)

10 Renée B. E. Lemaire (b. 1914)

11 James W. Miller (b. 1924)

15 Walter S. “Smokey” Gordon Jr. (b. 1920)

20 Ronald C. “Sparky” Speirs (b. 1920)

23 Alton M. More (b. 1920)

27 Earl E. “One Lung” McClung (b. 1923) & Henry S. “Hank” Jones Jr. (b. 1924)

28 William J. “Wild Bill” Guarnere (b. 1923)

May

12 John W. “Johnny” Martin (b. 1922)

16 Edward J. “Babe” Heffron (b. 1923)

17 Joseph D. “Joe” Liebgott (b. 1915)

19 Norman S. Dike Jr. (b. 1918) & Cleveland O. Petty (b. 1924)

25 Albert L. "Al" Mampre (b. 1922)

June

2 David K. "Web" Webster (b. 1922)

6 Augusta M. Chiwy ("Anna") (b. 1921)

13 Edward D. Shames (b. 1922)

17 George Luz (b. 1921)

18 Roy W. Cobb (b. 1914)

23 Frederick T. “Moose” Heyliger (b. 1916)

25 Albert Blithe (b. 1923)

28 Donald B. "Hoob" Hoobler (b. 1922)

July

2 Gen. Anthony C. "Nuts" McAuliffe (b. 1898)

7 Francis J. “Frank” Mellet (b. 1920)

8 Thomas Meehan III (b. 1921)

9 John A. Janovec (b. 1925)

10 Robert E. “Popeye” Wynn (b. 1921)

16 William S. Evans (b. 1910)

20 James H. “Moe” Alley Jr. (b. 1922)

23 Burton P. “Pat” Christenson (b. 1922)

29 Eugene E. Jackson (b. 1922)

31 Donald G. "Don" Malarkey (b. 1921)

August

3 Edward J. “Ed” Tipper (b. 1921)

10 Allen E. Vest (b. 1924)

15 Kenneth J. Webb (b. 1920)

18 Jack E. Foley (b. 1922)

26 Floyd M. “Tab” Talbert (b. 1923) & General Maxwell D. Taylor (b. 1901)

29 Joseph A. Lesniewski (b. 1920)

31 Alex M. Penkala Jr. (b. 1924)

September

3 William H. Dukeman Jr. (b. 1921)

11 Harold D. Webb (b. 1925)

12 Major Oliver M. Horton (b. 1912)

27 Harry F. Welsh (b. 1918)

30 Lewis “Nix” Nixon III (b. 1918)

October

5 Joseph “Joe” Ramirez (b. 1921) & Ralph F. “Doc” Spina (b. 1919) & Terrence C. "Salty" Harris (b. 1920)

6 Leo D. Boyle (b. 1913)

10 William F. “Bill” Kiehn (b. 1921)

15 Antonio C. “Tony” Garcia (b. 1924)

17 Eugene G. "Doc" Roe (b. 1922)

21 Lt. Cl. David T. Dobie (b. 1912)

28 Herbert J. Suerth Jr. (b. 1924)

31 Robert "Bob" van Klinken (b. 1919)

November

11 Myron N. “Mike” Ranney (b. 1922)

20 Denver “Bull” Randleman (b. 1920)

December

12 John “Jack” McGrath (b. 1919)

31 Lynn D. “Buck” Compton (b. 1921)

Unknown Date

Joseph P. Domingus

Richard J. Hughes (b. 1925)

Maj. Louis Kent

Father John Mahoney

George C. Rice

SOURCES

Military History Fandom Wiki

Band of Brothers Fandom Wiki

Traces of War

Find a Grave

[bazberkker]

Little things in TSH that I had missed or forgotten the first time I read it:

It took Richard a whole year of pestering the college to let him in. It really proves how obsessive he is

Richard bumping into Francis in the hall before he joins the study group and being like: “Wowee I can’t believe that guy touched me. That was so cool; he was SO cool :D”

Francis talking to a cat he found on campus 🥹

CHARLES AND CAMILLA HAVE SLIGHT SOUTHERN ACCENTS

Julian loves flowers and keeps a bunch in his classroom

Richard’s Totally Real Car, Christine

Judy costuming, in her own words, “fucking As You Like It” implying that she also has to study obnoxious literature for her classes

Bunny genuinely believing Francis is as smart as Henry

Bunny is the only person who can make Henry laugh 🥺

Francis had a relative who died on the Titanic

Bunny would hide out at Richard’s whenever he pissed Marion off

Francis used to read Richard’s French homework out loud for him

Bunny’s hero is Caesar

Henry’s middle name is Marchbanks

Francis is a fan of the Boston Red Sox

The twins shrug with one shoulder

Henry finds Gucci “rather grand”

Charles’ wild cat that he forces Francis and Richard to bring to the farmhouse

Richard reads Proust *cough, cough, kinda gay, cough, cough*

When Francis is in the hospital in the epilogue, Richard reads “Our Mutual Friend” to him which, according to Goodreads, is about “the unfailing power of wealth to corrupt all who crave it.”

[futurecorps3]

𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬

A/N: I just needed to get the Henry brainrot out there so this is very, very, very self indulgent and personal. I'll write quality shit for him later. This is just a fic about him and me which is poorly written and has basically no plot.

"Will you stop clicking that god darned pen already, Y/L/N? It's getting on my nerves" Bunny whisper-yelled while you all sat in the library. Henry shooting daggers at him was enough for him to mumble a little "sorry" and to shut up about the pen for good. Y/N giggled a quietly and went on with her translation, squeezing Henry's hand under the table as a 'thank you'.

He knew she sometimes had trouble staying put, unlike all the others, so toying with her pen helped. Francis, Camilla, Charles and her boyfriend thought it was comforting; like the soft click clack click click clack of typewriters. As always, Edmund seemed to be the only one bothered by something they all liked.

"Póte févgoume?" Y/N's boyfriend was asking him when were they leaving for the date they were having that day "Pénte triánta" she answered five thirty. Now, they knew communicating in Greek was risky, but they had no other way of keeping the secret without having to find explanations for their seemingly sudden closeness.

Plus, the only two people who understood spoken Greek were them. Unless their friends were as nosy as to go fetch a Greek dictionary, they were safe. Surprisingly, Henry had insisted on watching a movie called 'Christine'. He overheard some people talking about how good it was the other day in the dining hall and asked you to go watch it with him. ("As a date?" "Yes, as a date, darling"). Now, all they had to do was coordinate their exit from the library and drive to the movies.

She had to admit sneaking around thrilled her to no end, knowing well how Henry was perceived in everyone's eyes; stoic, emotionless, cunning, pretentious and wickedly smart. Y/N knew all those things were true, but after the night he half drunkenly confessed her his love at the lake house, she was acquainted with a tender side of Henry Winter.

Henry's gestures of affection were often subtle. A soft smile shared across a crowded room, a gentle touch on her shoulder when he thought no one was watching, or the way he would quietly check in on her during late nights of studying. Sometimes, late into the night, they would take long walks through the silent campus, hand in hand. Henry's normally sharp and analytical mind seemed to take a break, and he would simply listen as Y/N talked about her hopes and dreams.

Y/N cherished these glimpses of tenderness from Henry. They were like rare treasures, hidden beneath the layers of his scholarly exterior. She realized that, beneath the enigmatic facade, there was a person who could be caring, loving, and deeply connected. These moments of vulnerability made their relationship all the more special, and she was grateful to be the only one to witness them.

She was pulled from her thoughts at him letting go of her hand and getting up, causing the loud screeching of his wooden chair against the floor to flood the library. "I'll get going" he said, putting away his books "You're not even halfway done" said Francis without lifting his gaze from whatever Latin he was writing "I need to revise some texts with Julian, I'll finish it later" he finished, leaving in quick but confident steps.

After about five minutes, Y/N asked for the time and pretended to be late for a meeting with her girlfriends, leaving hurriedly as well. She noticed some funny looks but bypassed them and made a beeline towards the bottom of the stairs of the large building; Henry waiting with a cigarette while leaning into the hard stone of the railings. Without looking at her, he offered his hand and put out his smoke after feeling her engulf it.

"Five dollars you won't stand the film and we'll leave halfway through" she smiled, looking at him teasingly. "You're on, Y/N/N".

Y/N was five dollars richer that day as they walked to his house where she's be crashing for the third week now. Her dorm room was pretty much empty now, only her wall decorations, clothes she didn't like much, and some stationary remained inside with a tiny layer of dust covering it.

"It was fun!" "It was totally ridiculous... It's my fault, I shouldn't have listened to those ignorant pieces of-" "Henry?" A strident voice along with a little incredulous snicker came from behind and at that moment they knew their little facade was over.

Edmund Corcoran was not going to blackmail them to keep the secret.

They walked hand in hand to class the next day, not caring to explain anything to their friends. "What is that about?" asked Charles with a smile "Isn't it obvious?" said Henry, and Julian swore he could see the faintest hint of a smile. <3

[urfavoritedcwhore]

Idea for Henry Marchbanks Winter fanfic: He gets extremely jealous. Maybe even a break up? And getting back together … could be wrote in multiple parts!

love this idea

break//henry winter x reader fanfic

a prelude to my “phone sex” fanfic.

warnings: swearing, drinking, slight mention of being sick.

not proof read//reminder that english isn’t my first language, sorry if i mess up<33

lowercase intended

i wrote this at 4am so please bare with me.

henry is almost always jealous. Whether, I am helping Charles cook or helping Bunny with his literature assignments, just little harmless things really. He always has a “stern talk” with me about it afterwards, in which i explain myself and everything goes back to normal. it’s almost comedic how often it happens. let’s talk about what’s happening right now. i’m half drunk, holding henry’s arm as he and bunny bicker drunkenly over….well actually im not sure. all i’ve been doing is giggling and watching henry’s reactions to bunny’s words. we’re all at charles’s and camilla’s apartment as of right now. dinner went well but perusal, everyone has had too much to drink. i think camilla and charles are in the kitchen, i can hear francis and richard behind me on the couch, and of course bunny stands in front of henry and i. i’m watching them and giggling when i feel a hand on my shoulder. i turn around with a chuckle as i half expecting it to be camila coming to watch the quarrel with me. instead i turn to see a drunk richard stumbling on one foot down to the other. he’s smiling boyishly at me, “come dance with me.”, he says nodding to the open space in the living room. faintly from the record player i can hear Valerie Delaney’s, “Six Gnossiennes: Gnossienne No. 1”. i twist my mouth to the side before looking up at henry, who’s still bickering with bunny. i shrug and release my grip on henry’s arm as i turn back to richard, “why not.”, i say before stumbling to the open floor space in the living room. i giggle softly, (something i’m very prone to doing after having a few scotches), and stumble as i look at him. “what kind of dance are you suggesting?”, i ask. he stumbles back a bit and grabs my hands, interlocking his fingers with mine and shrugging as he gives me a drunken smile. he pulls me close as he moves our hands to the sides of us, allowing our bodies to press against eachother. we both stumble for a moment and laugh before we eventually find the rhythm and sway to the music. now listen and understand me, i am in no way attracted to richard papen; hell, i’m pretty sure he’s gay. so in my mind dancing with him, is not different then if i were to dance with francis or even camilla. it’s friendly. when his fingers disconnect from mine and his hands find there way to my hips i simply drape my arms around his neck and continue swaying to the music. not even a full minute later a sharp voice calls out from behind me, “that’s enough y/n. let’s go now.”. i look over my shoulder and see henry standing in the same spot he’s been standing, but now facing richard and me. i’ve always found it a bit eerie how fast he can sober up when it’s time to leave. i chuckle and disconnect my arms from around richard’s shoulders as his hands fall from my hips to his sides. i walk, correction, i stumble towards henry and call over my shoulder back to richard, “that was fun old man, let’s do it again sometime!”. fuck, i need to stop being around bunny so much. i’m beginning to adopt his vocabulary. when i approach henry’s side he drapes his arm around my waist tightly and turns us around. he walks, practically pulling me with him. as we get to the door he calls out his goodbyes and drags me out into the hall before anyone can even reply. i chuckle drunkenly as he walks us down the hall. his grip on my waist doesn’t wavier at all. he keeps his eyes forward as we walk and mutters something to himself. i look up at him, “huh?”, i ask as he continues to pull me along while i stumble. he keeps his eyes forward and his tone steady as he repeats himself, “i said, ‘there are two reasons for evil deeds, one is illness, the other is wickedness.’”. as we get on the elevator my face scrunches slightly as i think. i finally shift my eyes back up to his face as the elevator door closes, “Dante’s inferno. Canto 11, Dante discusses the nature of sin and the motivations behind evil deeds.”, i state realizing what he’s quoting. he keeps his eyes pointed towards the closed elevator doors and nods once.

when the elevator doors open my drunken mind is still confused, “why are you quoting Dante to me?”, i ask as he drags me out the building’s doors and into by the parking lot. he doesn’t answer. instead he continues to walk to his car, not even bothering to open my door for me when we get to it. i narrow my eyebrows before opening my own door and joining him in the car. as i sit and close the door his head snaps to me, his tone is calm but his eyes suggest he’s upset with me. “so which are you y/n? are you ill or simply wicked.”, he asks like he’s asking me the simplest question in the world. i sober up slightly from his words, my body almost flinching from the harshness of them, “excuse me?”, i ask baffled. he looks forward as he starts the car and backs it out of the parking space. he responds as we pull out of the parking lot, his eyes still on the road and his tone still calm, but his fists are clenching the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles have gone white; “i’m asking did you dance with richard and embarrass me because there’s something mentally wrong with you, or did you do it just to be wicked?”. my eyes widen as i look at him bewildered, “are you joking?”, i ask greatly offended. he only scoffs and continues to drive. i reply back angrily with my head still turned towards him, “he’s homosexual henry, good God.”, i say shaking my head. “so there is something mentally wrong with you then. you don’t see the way he looks at you all the time? y/n he practically salivates over you.”, he says with the slightest bit of either annoyance or anger in his voice. i furrow my eyebrows and shake my head in disbelief. i turn my head and look back out the windshield. we’re driving towards campus? why are we going to henry’s apartment? i turn my head back to look at him, “why are you driving to campus?”, i ask genuinely confused. his eyes stay focused on the road.

“i’m talking you to your dorm.”, he answers as if it’s obvious. my heart sinks, “why, why aren’t we going to your apartment?”, i ask with my anger wavering and a small feeling of dread in my stomach. to my surprise he sighs. he doesn’t answer until we pull into my dormitory buildings parking lot, “i need to not be around you right now y/n”, he says as he finally looks at me. he’s eyes are hard to read, but i see a flicker of something. anger? disgust? resentment? hurt? “i don’t want to go to my dorm…i want to go back to your apartment with you.”, i say in almost a whisper as my eyes meet him. he closes his eyes and rubs his temples, “i think it best if we spend some time apart. i cannot continue to be constantly worried about you going off with another man.”, he says in a sigh. immediately i feel my cheeks burn red and my eyes grow with tears, “what do you mean by ‘time apart’?”, i say back trying to keep my voice steady. “are you breaking up with me?”, i add on but this time not able to conceal the shakiness in my voice. he opens his eye quickly, “if that’s what you need me to call it than i suppose. though i would rather just call it a break for right now.”, he says in a calculated tone. my eyebrows furrow as i try to process his words. i feel a lump forming in my throat. don’t let him see you cry, don’t let him see you cry. i nod once, quickly wiping a small tear off my cheek that escaped my eye. “fine. if that’s what you want.”, i say trying my best to sound indifferent. he looks back to the front, “it is.”, he says matter-of-factly. i allow myself a momentary pained expression while his eyes aren’t on me, but i quickly wipe it away as i unbuckle my seatbelt. “fine then.”, is all i say before opening the car door, getting out, and slamming it shut. i don’t allow myself to look back at the car once im out, i simply walk forward towards my dorm building. i don’t even realize im full on sobbing until i get into my dorm room and look in my mirror. fuck fuck fuck fuck. i pace around for a moment before i feel utterly sick. does he truly think i would betray him? does he truly think i could ever love someone else? i throw myself on my bed, but i know, i wont be sleeping tonight.

A/N: thank you for the request! if you all want i can write a fic about how the week during the break<33

[polarexplorerspoll]

POLAR EXPLORERS SHOWDOWN: BONUS ROUND

[melancholyfool]

End in Ruin

Pairing: Henry Winter x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Henry have an unhealthy obsession with each other

a/n: i got feedback on my writing style (or lack thereof?) and I think my academic writing is influencing my creative work... i will definitely try and improve my writing in future posts! :')

Henry sits beside you on the worn-out sofa, close enough that your thigh is pinned beneath his, the heavy weight of him comforting you, in a strange way. He hasn't let go of your hand since you sat down hours ago. His fingers rest against your palm, absentmindedly stroking the lines there, tracing the curve of your knuckles. It's not even conscious anymore—just something he does, just to make sure you're still there.

You shift slightly and his grip tightens.

You don’t pull away. You never want to anyway.

Instead, you murmur, soft enough that it barely disturbs the air between you, "I need to go to the bathroom."

There is no question in your voice, no hesitation.

Henry responds immediately. “I’ll come with you.”

No one reacts.

Richard takes a slow sip of wine, looking vaguely toward the window. Francis exhales smoke and flicks the ash off the end of his cigarette. Charles doesn’t even glance up from the book in his lap, while Camilla hums absently, stretching out her legs.

It’s expected now. The way the two of you move as one.

You nod, as if it was always the plan and take Henry’s hand, standing, his fingers lacing through yours effortlessly. He trails behind you as you make your way down the dimly lit hall, the sounds of conversation dulling as you turn the corner.

The bathroom is small and the old tile is cool beneath your feet as you step inside, Henry following without question and shuts the door behind him.

You don’t say anything as you move toward the sink, but he watches you, leaning against the door.

He always does.

You reach for the faucet, twisting the knob, the water rushes out, and you press your fingers beneath the stream, watching as droplets gather on your skin. Henry folds his arms across his chest, his gaze never leaving you. There is nothing intrusive in it, nothing awkward or expectant. Just watchful. Steady.

You press your hands to your face, the coolness soothing against your flushed skin. You don’t acknowledge him, but not because you’re ignoring him—because this is normal. Because he belongs here, in this space, in every space you occupy.

He shifts slightly and you catch the movement in the mirror, the way his head tilts, waiting for you. The weight of his gaze is tangible, thick as the summer air pressing in through the little open window in the bathroom.

You reach for the towel, and Henry moves—just the smallest adjustment, the faintest lean forward as if on instinct, reaching to help you.

You glance at him, meeting his eyes in the reflection.

Neither of you speak.

The silence isn’t empty. It’s brimming. It’s all there, unspoken.

When you dry your hands you step past him, opening the door, making your way out of the bathroom. You don't need to look back to know that he's following you.

When you get back to the others you don’t sit back down right away. Instead, you linger, standing between Henry’s legs as he adjusts himself on the sofa. His hand finds yours immediately, gripping tight. You grip back just as hard.

The others are watching, though only mildly. Not surprised. Not unsettled. Just watching.

You lower yourself, finally, onto the sofa beside Henry, and he shifts to make room, except there’s no real space between you. He turns slightly, enough that his knee presses against yours, and his fingers, still tangled with yours.

Camilla tilts her head, watching. “Do you ever let go of each other?”

Henry doesn’t answer, but you do. “No.”

Francis chuckles, the sound lazy, amused. “What, not even to sleep?”

You press your fingers into Henry’s palm, dragging slow, absentminded touches, just as he did to you before. “Not even then.”

Henry exhales slowly, a near-silent thing, and his free hand—his other one, the one not trapped in yours—settles warm and heavy against your thigh. He does it without thinking... without hesitation.

“Isn’t it exhausting?” Richard hesitantly asks, as if he doesn’t want to know the answer. Or maybe he's just worried you'll get upset.

“No,” you murmur. “It’s worse when we’re apart.”

Henry hums in agreement.

Francis rolls his eyes, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “Christ, you two.”

Camilla’s lips curve faintly, but she doesn’t say anything. Charles mutters something about unhealthy attachment, but it’s quiet and dismissive.

Richard, ever hesitant, asks, “What happens if one of you leaves?”

You feel it like a strike to the ribs and your breath catches. Henry’s fingers twitch against your skin.

Camilla answers for you, "They don’t."

It’s true.

It’s unthinkable, the idea of leaving, of being left, the thought alone makes your throat close, makes something deep inside you twist up into a terrible, aching knot. You grip Henry tighter.

"That’s not sustainable," Richard says after a moment.

“That’s irrelevant,” Henry says bluntly.

Charles exhales, flicking his cigarette ash into the tray, shaking his head like he's already seen the ending of this particular tragedy, and he knows Henry has read enough tragedies to spot them a mile away. “It’ll end in ruin.”

But despite being well-versed in greek tragedies, something in you twists, sharp and immediate. You turn instantly, pressing yourself closer to Henry, your hands gripping his arm, the lapel of his jacket, anything you can grab. “Henry,” you whisper, the sound just shy of a whine. You’re not sure what you want him to do—deny it, fix it, make the words untrue.

Henry doesn’t even look at Charles, doesn’t spare him the briefest glance. Instead, his focus stays on you, his thumb brushing over your knuckles where he still holds your hand.

"Charles talks too much," he says simply, dismissively, as if the conversation itself is beneath him, beneath you.

You exhale shakily, nodding, pressing your forehead to the place where his jaw meets his throat. Yes. Yes, he does.

Charles scoffs, but it’s only half-hearted, and he doesn’t argue.

Henry tips his head slightly, his lips just brushing your hair. “Don’t listen to him.”

"I won’t."

[fromthedust]

Natural History Museum - London 

The Museum first opened its doors on 18 April 1881, but its origins stretch back to 1753 and the career of Sir Hans Sloane, a doctor and collector. Sloane travelled the world as a high society physician. He collected natural history specimens and cultural artefacts along the way. After his death in 1753, Parliament  bought his extensive collection of more than 71,000  items, and then built the British Museum so these items could be displayed to the public. In 1856 Sir Richard Owen - the natural scientist who came up with the name for dinosaurs - left his role as curator of the Hunterian Museum and took charge of the British Museum’s natural history collection. Unhappy with the lack of space for its ever-growing collection of natural history specimens, Owen convinced the British Museum's board of trustees that a separate building was needed to house these national treasures. He drew-up a rough architectural plan in 1859 entitled 'Idea of a Museum of Natural History'. The plan was later referred to by architect Alfred Waterhouse in the design of the Natural History Museum. In 1864 Francis Fowke, the architect who designed the Royal Albert Hall and parts of the Victoria and Albert Museum, won a competition to design the Natural History Museum. However, when he unexpectedly died a year later, the relatively unknown Alfred Waterhouse - a Quaker architect from the north of England - took over and came up with a new plan for the Museum. Waterhouse used terracotta for the entire building as this material was more resistant to Victorian London's harsh climate. Construction began in 1873, and the result is one of Britain’s most striking examples of Romanesque architecture — considered a work of art in its own right and has become one of London's most iconic landmarks. Owen's foresight has allowed the Museum to display very large creatures such as whales, elephants and dinosaurs, including the beloved Diplodocus cast that was on display at the Museum for 100 years. He also demanded that the Museum be decorated with ornaments inspired by natural history. And he insisted that the specimens of extinct and living species kept apart at a time when Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution was revealing the links between them. Along with incorporating Owen’s ideas into his plans, Waterhouse also designed an incredible series of animal and plant ornaments, statues and relief carvings throughout the entire building – with extinct species in the east wing and living species in the west. Waterhouse sketched every one of these sculptures in great detail, even asking Museum professors to check the scientific accuracy of his drawings, before creating the fantastic decorations that complement the Museum’s exhibitions.  While the building reflects Waterhouse’s characteristic architectural style, it is also a monument to Owen’s vision of what a museum should be. In the mid-nineteenth century, museums were expensive places visited only by the wealthy few, but Owen insisted the Natural History Museum should be free and be accessible to all. The Museum took nearly eight years to build, and moving the collections from the British Museum in Bloomsbury was a huge job. Relocating the zoological specimens, which included huge whale bones and taxidermy mammals, took 394 trips by horse and cart spread over 97 days. The Natural History Museum finally opened in 1881. The building’s decorative and Romanesque style by Waterhouse is reminiscent of medieval European abbeys, but it is also a monument to Owen’s vision of what a museum should be: the world’s largest and finest institution dedicated to natural history.

https://www.nhm.ac.uk/about-us/history-and-architecture.html

https://www.nhm.ac.uk/visit/virtual-museum.html

[marleneoftheopera]

Holiday Audio/Video Gifts!

For the holiday season, here are some audio gifts from various shows and one Phantom video! The link to them is here and the info is below the cut:

Happy holidays and I hope you are all having time for some rest!

Audios

POTO

Jon Robyns, Paige Blankson, Joe Griffiths-Brown, Kelly Glyptis, Matt Harrop, Adam Linstead, Francesca Ellis, David Kristopher Brown, Maiya Hikasa August 22, 2023; London

Tim Howar, Harriet Jones, Nadim Naaman, Lara Martins, Nicholas Garrett, Arvid Larsen, John Ellis, Valerie Cutko, Kelsi Boyden March 19, 2023; Greece

Josh Piterman, Corinne Cowling (u/s), Danny Whitehead, Katy Hanna (u/s), Ross Dawes, Kris Manuel (u/s), Sophie Caton (u/s), Paul Ettore Tabone, Georgia Ware October 17, 2019; London ​Matinee.

Jeremy Stolle (u/s), Samantha Hill, Greg Mills (u/s), Michele McConnell, Richard Poole (u/s), Tim Jerome, Ellen Harvey, Christian Sebek, Kara Klein, Scott Mikita (u/s) March 9, 2013; Broadway Matinee performance.

John Owen-Jones, Deborah Dutcher, Matthew Cammelle, Bruce Montague, Charles Shirvell, Margaret Mary Kane (u/s), Janet Murphy, Jeremy Secomb, Lucy Middleton January 5, 2002; London

Love Never Dies

Tam Mutu, Celia Graham, David Thaxton, Daniel Dowling August 25, 2011; London Tam Mutu's last performance.

Les Miserables

Christopher Jacobsen (u/s Jean Valjean), Stewart Clarke (Javert), Katie Hall (Fantine), Will Callan (Marius), Lulu-Mae Pears (Cosette), Amena El-Kindy (Eponine), Luke Kempner (Thenardier), Claire Machin (Madame Thenardier), Dejan Van der Flyert (Enjolras), Alex Shaw (Gavroche), Clohe Sullivan (Little Cosette), Tom Hext (Grantaire/Majordomo), Adam Pearce (Bishop/Claquesous), Ellie Ann Lowe (Factory Girl), Jordan Simon Pollard (u/s Foreman/Bujon), Matt Dempsey (Bamatabopis/Lesgles), Annabelle Aquino, Hazel Baldwin, Emily Olive Boyd, Ben Culleton, Matt Hayden, Sam Kipling, Anouk Van Lake, Harry Lake, Ben Oatley, Jonathan Stevens, Phoebe Williams, Ollie Wray September 28, 2023; London 15,000th show in London and the 5th show for the new company.

Sunset Boulevard

Nicole Scherzinger (Norma), Tom Francis (Joe Gillis), David Thaxton (Max von Mayerling), Grace Hodgett Young (Betty Shaefer), Ahmed Hamaad (Artie), Tyler Davis (Sheldrake), Charlotte Jaconelli (Johanna), Jon Tsouras (Cecil B. de Mille) September 28, 2023; London

Rebecca

Laureen Jones (I), Richard Carson (Maxim de Winter), Kara Lane (Mrs Danvers), Sara Harlington (Beatrice), Neil Moor (Giles), Piers Bate (Frank Crewley), David Breeds (Ben), Alex James Ward (Jack Favell), Shrley Jameson (Mrs Van Hopper), Nicholas Lumley (Colonel Julian) September 27, 2023; Off-West End

POTO Video

Ian Jon Bourg, Olivia Safe (u/s), Kyle Gonyea 2001; Hamburg, Germany VOB files. One of the most legendary Phantom's opposite one of the youngest Christine's!

[portrait-paintings]

The Hon. Beatrice Mary Petre, Mrs Henry Ferrers Ferrers (1858-1930), Standing in a Rural Landscape

Artist: Rebecca Dulcibella Orpen (Irish, 1829/30 - 1923)

Date: c. 1850-1923

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: National Trust Collections, United Kingdom

Description

Oil painting on canvas, The Hon. Beatrice Mary Petre, Mrs Henry Ferrers Ferrers (1858-1930), standing in a rural landscape, by Rebecca Dulcibella Ferrers Orpen, later Mrs Edward Dering (1830 – 1923), signed R. Dering. A full length portrait of the wife of Henry Ferrers Ferrers against landscape and pool background.

The Hon. Beatrice Mary Petre was the daughter of Hon. Arthur Charles Augustus Petre (1827-1882) of Coptfold Hall, Essex (the son of William Henry Francis Petre, 11th Baron Petre) and Lady Katherine Howard (d.1882). She married Henry Ferrers Ferrers (1848-1923), son of Captain Boydell Croxton, on 11 February 1879. She died on 20 June 1930.