#above suspicion 1943

[thymelessink]

Sometimes I think about Conrad Veidt and Basil Rathbone.

[scotianostra]

30th September 1985 saw the death in New York of Helen MacInnes, the Scottish-born author of espionage novels, some of which were made into films.

Helen Clark MacInnes was born on October 7th, 1907 in Glasgow to Donald MacInnes and Jessica McDiarmid, and had a traditional Scots Presbyterian upbringing. MacInnes graduated from the University of Glasgow in 1928 with an MA in French and German.

After a year of library work she entered the School of Librarianship of University College, London, in 1930, graduating the following year. In 1932 she married Gilbert Highet. Over the next several years they collaborated on a number of translations from German. In 1938, after Highet had taught for a year at Columbia University, he accepted a permanent post there, and the family settled in New York City.

A short time after moving to New York, MacInnes began her first book, Above Suspicion, a tale of espionage in Nazi Europe. It was an immediate success, widely praised for its suspense and humour, and it was made into a motion picture in 1943. Assignment in Brittany followed in 1942 and was also made into a movie the following year. While Still We Live and Horizon were both suspenseful tales of World War II. Friends and Lovers, a love story, was followed by a series of thrillers concerning international intrigue and Cold War tension, including Neither Five nor Three, Pray for a Brave Heart, Decision at Delphi , The Venetian Affair, Message from Málaga, and Prelude to Terror. Her final book, Ride a Pale Horse, appeared in 1984.

While MacInnes’ career was not dotted with many awards, although she did win the 1966 Iona University Columbia Prize for Literature. This is most directly related to her influence in the state of New York, seeing as her first sixteen novels (those written up to 1966) each spent time on the international best sellers’ list. Her books were frequently translated and reissued in several languages.

Critics and readers alike noted MacInnes’s skillful and credible portrayal of espionage and the characters involved in it. She credited her success to thorough research and her interest in international politics.

While researching MacInnes’s I noticed that according to IMDb, the Internet Movie Database, a remake of the 1966 film The Venetian Affair is in the offing, I wonder if it will be something like The Bourne movies and start a resurgence in her work?

[cafenostalgique]

My ultimate film watchlist (1930s-1940s)

1950s | 1960s-1970s | 1980s | 1990s | 2000s | 2010s

Welcome to part one of my ultimate film watchlist! This list is a compilation of all of the films, whether short or long, that I hope to watch one day. I add films I have already watched to the list, as well as how I liked them with a very simple code below. As you start to make it to the last 40ish years (as of 2023) you will notice I haven't watched a lot of common films the 90s and 2000s kids watched. That's because I watched the High School Musical and Barbie movies religiously as a child and basically nothing else. Outside of those, I hated movies and rarely wanted to go out to see a movie as a child, or even sit with the family to watch movies. So I am currently going through my list, and I imagine a lot of the PG and PG-13 movies will get hit in a few years when I have my own children.

Anyways, that's enough of that. Enjoy the list, and let me know if I should add anything!

P.S. Some films may be doubled in my holiday list as well! That list will be linked above with every major holiday movie I would like to watch. That does not necessarily include just Christmas/cozy winter movies, but other holidays too.

P.S.S. I struggle to watch films from these decades, and really can’t watch anything from earlier than the 1930 due to a lot of films having limited soundtracks, if any at all. Just personal preferences that I would be shocked to hear are uncommon. I would love recommendations for this post in particular though!

watched | loved| wouldn’t watch again | holiday

1930

All Quiet on the Western Front

The Blue Angel

1931

City Lights

Dracula

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Frankenstein

M

1932

Blonde Venus 

Devil and the Deep

Freaks

Hot Saturday

Madame Butterfly

Merrily We Go to Hell

Scarface

Singapore Sue

Sinners in the Sun

The Mummy

This Is the Night

1933

Alice in Wonderland

Duck Soup

Gambling Ship

I’m No Angel

King Kong

Little Women

She Done Him Wrong

The Eagle and the Hawk

The Invisible Man

The Woman Accused

1934

Born to Be Bad

Cleopatra 

It Happened One Night

Kiss and Make-Up

Ladies Should Listen

Thirty-Day Princess

1935

Bride of Frankenstein

Enter Madame

Sylvia Scarlett

The Last Outpost

Top Hat

Wings in the Dark

1936

Big Brown Eyes

Modern Times

Suzy

The Amazing Quest of Ernest Bliss

Wedding Present

1937

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs

The Awful Truth

The Toast of New York

Topper

When You’re in Love

1938

Bringing Up Baby

Holiday

The Adventures of Robin Hood

You Can’t Take It with You

1939

Gone With The Wind

Gunga Din

In Name Only

Only Angels Have Wings

Stagecoach

The Wizard of Oz

1940

His Girl Friday

My Favorite Wife

Pinocchio

Rebecca

The Grapes of Wrath

The Great Dictator

The Howards of Virginia

The Philadelphia Story

1941

Citizen Kane

Dumbo

Penny Serenade

Suspicion

The Maltese Falcon

1942

Bambi

Casablanca

Once Upon a Honeymoon

The Talk of the Town

To Be or Not To Be

1943

Destination Tokyo

Mr. Lucky

Shadow of a Doubt

1944

Arsenic and Old Lace

Double Indemnity

Laura

None but the Lonely Heart

Once Upon a Time

1945

Scarlet Street

Spellbound

1946

It’s a Wonderful Life

Night and Day

Notorious

The Big Sleeper

The Best Years of Our Lives

1947

Miracle on 34th Street

The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer

The Bishop’s Wife

The Lady from Shanghai

1948

Every Girl Should Be Married

Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream Home

Rope

The Treasure of the Sierra Madre

1949

Kind Hearts and Coronets

I Was a Male War Bride

White Heat

[technicolorfamiliar]

Technicolor Familiar Watches Too Many Conrad Veidt Movies Part 5 of ?

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Contraband (Blackout), 1940 Dir. Michael Powell ⭐4/5 Watched Dec 18, Archive.org Uncle Erik: Your Captain, he is a beautiful man! From the first moment, I loved him! Me: Hard same. So much fun. By far my favorite of the Connie Spy Thrillers I've seen so far. Valerie Hobson is so slick, and the rest of the ensemble is pretty good for a change, especially the guys at the Danish restaurant. The bondage scene (not really, but... yeah, it is) lives up to the hype. The screenwriters really went off on this one, didn't they? I mean, this movie gave us Conrad Very-Serious-Actor Veidt whispering lovely things in the dark like "good girl" and "do you trust me?" The scene with the music box in the pocket watch? Too much, can't handle it. Connie's dry humor is a delight and all the sexy, flirtatious fun he's having in this role is like a precious balm for my tortured soul.

Above Suspicion, 1943 Dir. Richard Thorpe ⭐3/5 Watched Jan 3, Vudu Oh, filmmakers. Bless you for having Fred MacMurray get strangled in greeting by Conrad Veidt. A great film it is not, but it's definitely cute. And while it's a semi-tough watch as Connie's last film, I'm so glad it was this one where he's clearly having a ball -- whether on the dance floor (does Hassert always go out in the middle of the day to tango with mature, voluptuous women?), getting stepped on by Joan Crawford, sticking his fingers in bowls of cake batter, or climbing down trellises with his knees all out in the wind. He's very obviously living his best life and I love that for him. The movie is riddled with very silly, eyeroll-worthy one-liners, but the plot is enjoyable. Joan Crawford looks like she's having a good time too, and Fred MacMurray is pretty tolerable. I haven't seen Basil Rathbone in a lot of other movies, but I wish he got to be nastier and that he and Connie got to have some scenes together. Connie's physicality is so subtly funny, I really wish he had gotten to do more intentionally comedic films/roles.

Lucrezia Borgia, 1922 Dir. Richard Oswald ⭐3/5 Watched Jan 10, Archive.org I've been trying to watch at least one silent every once in a while. And while I have to lodge my typical complaint of these older films being a bit too long, this film is clearly a feat of production for the year it was made. The huge, open sets and beautiful costume details were incredible. As always, Connie 100% steals the show. He's delightfully wicked and nasty, slimy and pathetic. I wish he had better scene partners to receive and react to his intense performance as Cesare Borgia. But it's ok, it's like a Game of Thrones episode without the dragons or misogynist nudity.

Nazi Agent, 1942 Dir. Jules Dassin ⭐4/5 Watched Jan 14, Youtube I admit I chose to watch this one because I was charmed by the idea of Double Connies. But not even five minutes in and Otto had won my heart. I didn’t know anything about the movie itself going in, but was completely prepared for it to be cringey and mediocre. So I was pleasantly surprised that it was actually decent. Maybe I'm rating this one higher than it really deserves, but really those four stars all belong to Connie's performance/s. Daggers in my heart. So many moments in this little movie affected me more than I expected: Otto's line to Richten about being only one of however many million citizens willing to rise up against fascism; his look toward the Statue of Liberty at the end; the little glittering tears in his eyes when Fritz says, "We do what we're told because we must…"; his gentleness and deeply tragic sense of loss that permeates the film. And, perhaps most of all, how cute he was with his pet canary. Cue the waterworks. I have so many more thoughts about this and about his time in Hollywood in the 40s in general, but I'll save that for another time.

Kreuzzug des Weibes, 1926 Dir. Martin Berger ⭐3.5/5 Watched Jan 20, Snowgrouse's masterpost This movie was made nearly 100 years ago and we're still having the same conversations about reproductive rights today, especially now in the US after Roe v Wade was overturned in 2022. It's pretty disturbing how much of the script could be lifted from a dozen different arguments between contemporary conservative lawmakers and the people trying to better advocate for and provide safe reproductive healthcare. It's a pretty bare bones film, the story and performances clearly more important, appropriately so, than cinematic bells and whistles. Thought it was an interesting choice to have the lawyer's office so stately and huge, like the patriarchal systems he's operating in -- overbearing, empty and impersonal. The movie does feel like a public service announcement (which I guess it was), but that didn't really bother me. What bothered me was the ending, because OF COURSE the woman has to comfort the man even though she's the one who went through a major trauma. But the way Connie's character broke after the doctor told him what happened to his fiancée? I've never seen anything like that. He went fully offline. His whole nervous system got unplugged and rewired. P.S.: The extra half star in my rating is for all the monocle twirling.

[papapiusxiii]

Sign in Above Suspicion (1943) dir. Richard Thorpe.

Text reads: Grüß Gott tritt ein bring Glück herein (Greetings, come in, and bring good luck with you)

[70s80sandbeyond]

Phillip Terry visits his wife Joan Crawford and director Richard Thorpe on the set of Above Suspicion in 1943

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Two Accusd of Murdering Joseph Borg Given Remand," Windsor Star. February 24, 1943. Page 3. --- Preliminary Hearing Set For March 3 --- Kisielewski, Ogrodowski Hear Charge Read in Brief Court Appearance ---- Bruno (Barney) Kisielewski, 21, and Stephan (Steve) Alexander Ogrodowski, 25, both of Detroit, were formally charged in city police court this morning with the murder last October 2 of Joseph (Guiseppe) Borg, proprietor of the Windsor White Spot Lunch, 714 Wyandotte street east.

As soon as the murder charge had been read against each man, Crown Attorney James S. Allan, K.C., informed Magistrate J. A. Hanrahan that he was asking for one week's remand.

HEARING MARCH 3 The accused men will be brought back to city police court March 3 he for a preliminary hearing to decide whether a prima facie case has been established against them. If the evidence given at this hearing shows, in the opinion of the court, that a prima facie case has been established, the men will be committed for trial at the high court assizes in county court next May.

No plea will be asked for or accepted at the preliminary hearing.

Kisielewski and Ogrodowski were arrested by Detroit detectives over last week-end. Details of the arrest have not been revealed by the police, but it is known that circulars have been out for Ogrodowski since shortly after the murder was committed.

FIRST SUSPECTED Inspector E. C. Gurnet, one of the senior officers of the Criminal investigation Branch of the Ontario n Provincial Police, working with Detective Sergeant James Yokom, of the Windsor police force, threw the first gleam of suspicion on Ogrodowski within a few days after the murder was committed.

The day after Bork was killed a gun was found under a Pitt street east front porch. Within 24 hours after that Sergeant Yokom had the gun identified by the ballistics department of the Detroit police as the one which killed Borg.

The gun was further identified that same day as having been stolen from a barroom of West Jefferson avenue, Detroit, about three weeks prior to the murder.

Inspector Gurnet then discovered, police say, that the same day the gun was missing. Ogrodowski, who had been employed at the barroom, quit working there. A search for him at his home or in his haunts proved fruitless. After some debate, Inspector Gurnet succeeded in having a police circular for Ogrodowski sent out to police departments both in the United States and Canada.

CONFESSION REPORTED Last Friday Detroit detectives picked up Ogrodowski. He is said byDetroit police to have confessed being implicated in the holdup-murder and to have named Kisielewski as the slayer.

Both men waived extradition before a Detroit judge yesterday afternoon and were brought to the Windsor police station. They will be kept in Essex County Jail until their preliminary hearing.

The murder charge was laid against each man by Chief Claude Renaud.

Crown Attorney James S. Allan, K.C., pointed out today that in spite of anything said by Detroit newspapers concerning alleged confessions from either man, Canadian law requires that the men be questioned again.

"If Detroit police have obtained confessions," said Mr. Allan, "they may be of no use to us unless the procedure in obtaining them agrees with that laid out by Canadian law. Murder is such a serious charge that we cannot take anything for granted. These men are suspects, and suspects only, as far as we are concerned."

/// Image caption:

Pair Charged in Killing Go to Court TWO men charged in city police court this morning with the murder last October 2 of Joseph Borg, Windsor restaurant proprietor, are shown above with one of the police officers who brought them back to Windsor from Detroit yesterday afternoon when they waived extradition. They were arrested last week-end by Detroit detectives. Inspector W. J. Franks, of the Criminal Investigation Branch of the Ontario Provincial Police, is shown on the left. Next to him is 21-year- old Bruno "Barney" Kisielewski. On the right is Stephan "Steve" Alexander Ogrodowski, 25. (By Staff Photographer.)

[letterboxd-loggd]

Above Suspicion (1943) Richard Thorpe

November 11th 2020

[writingbyricochet]

AUTHOR (RE)INTRODUCTION: @WRITINGBYRICOCHET

Having been on Writeblr for ten months and with a recent uptick of followers, I thought it was due for a refresh of my intro! Fingers crossed this one will be a bit more informative about what kind of a writer I am than my first one!

— THE AUTHOR; ♡ —

Megan, Meg, or Lucky (she/her)

20s, Taiwanese American, Eastern Time Zone

Interacts from @luckyricochet

Ask/tag game friendly

In love with history, art, and romance itself

— WRITING; ♡ —

Primarily romance, historical fiction (or historically-inspired), fantasy, fanfiction

Aspirational: Dark academia, gothic

Favorite tropes: friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, sunshine/grump pairings, mutual pining

I love prose that is moody, atmospheric, and deeply emotive in its examination of the human condition almost to the point of romanticism. Besides the universal aims of a solid plot and characters, these are the qualities I want my own work to reflect the most.

— WORKS IN PROGRESS; ♡ —

Between Heaven and Earth

low fantasy/adventure; intro post, tag, wip page

Raised as a princess and heir apparent to the Velitovan throne, Laeisa Durecane's world is suddenly turned upside down when a diplomatic mission turns deadly and her father the King and his entire delegation are killed, leaving Laesia the sole survivor. Having to now abandon peace talks that would have formalized independence for her country, Laesia is forced into exile and takes refuge in the home of a young farmer. The distant rural district she now finds herself in is a far cry from the life of privilege she once enjoyed, but she at least has plenty of time to plot exactly how she will reclaim her throne and finally liberate Velitova.

Tomorrow is a Place

low fantasy/romance; intro post, tag

Do you believe in love at first sight? It’s fine if you don’t—that’s not how it happens in this story, at least not entirely. Even though Merity first takes a shine to the boy next door in childhood, it might have stayed an unspoken crush forever if not for a fateful decision that leaves Fendley wracked by his conscious and Merity his sole confidant. 𝔄𝔪𝔬𝔯 𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔦𝔱 𝔬𝔪𝔫𝔦𝔞. (Companion work to Between Heaven and Earth)

Poco a Poco

contemporary romance; intro post, tag

Welcome to Fujiwara Academy of Music, the most prestigious music conservatory in Japan. Balancing academics, work, and an attempt to win a lucrative scholarship is hard enough, but when Rika and Masahiro end up as duet partners, Rika has one more challenge to deal with: Breaking through to the academy’s best musician. It’s just as well that she keep trying, though. After all, chamber music is considered intimate for a reason.

Where Paradise Died and Lived

historical romance/the pacific au fanfic, intro post, tag

The attack on Pearl Harbor takes place far from most Americans’ homes, but for Sophie Holland, it’s right in her backyard. The idyllic tropical isle she knows is now a war zone, where death, suspicion, and martial law are a fact of daily life. With all of America mobilized for the war effort, Sophie joins the Women’s Air Raid Defense to do her part. The job is a welcome diversion that mostly keeps her from her own self-destructive habits, but it’s 1943 now, and her demons only become harder to ignore when the heroes of Guadalcanal—including one new 1st Lieutenant—arrive in Honolulu for rest and recovery.

Other WIPs that I have not formally introduced but am working on in some capacity are here and here. Please send me an ask if you would like to be added to any tag lists!

— CODA; ♡ —

If you've made it this far, thank you for reading! I would love to make new friends and connect with writers who have similar interests, so if any of the above is your cup of tea, please interact and I'll check out your blog! Farewell for now~

[citizenscreen]

Conrad Veidt, Joan Crawford, and Fred MacMurray on set of Richard Thorpe’s ABOVE SUSPICION (1943).

[justforbooks]

Over the moonlit Sorpe dam in Germany the Lancaster bomber known as T-Tommy made nine aborted runs. Three dams, the Möhne and Sorpe in North Rhine-Westphalia, and the Eder in Hesse, were under attack from allied planes on the night of 16-17 May 1943.

Nine Royal Air Force Lancaster bombers were detailed to attack the Möhne and the Eder, five were held in reserve. Five of the nine were targeted on the Sorpe, but just one got through. T-Tommy was piloted by the sole American of 617 Squadron, Flt Lt Joe McCarthy. His bomb-aimer, Sgt George “Johnny” Johnson, who has died aged 101, was the last survivor of the raid. McCarthy was the only officer among the seven-strong crew.

“On the tenth run in,” wrote Johnson “both Joe and I were satisfied we were right on track. I pushed the button and called ‘bomb gone’. And from the rear turret was heard, ‘thank Christ for that’.”

The Dambusters’ bouncing bomb technique, invented by the engineer Barnes Wallis, could not be used on the Sorpe. It had to be dropped by T-Tommy halfway along the length of the dam. In The Last British Dambuster (2014), Johnson wrote that he was convinced he heard Wallis say: “It would take six bombs to crack the Sorpe.”

The dam was hit above the waterline, but not seriously so. However, flying back, at near-ground altitude, Johnson could see that the Möhne, like the Eder, had been severely breached. Just before 3.30am T-Tommy’s crew were back on the ground at RAF Scampton, Lincolnshire.

Some 133 fliers took part in the raid; 53 of them never returned, and three became prisoners of war. Around 1,300 people died in the resulting floods, the majority of them slave labourers from the Soviet Union. The Nazi minister of armaments, Albert Speer, observed later that to make the Möhne-Katastrophe truly successful the RAF should have conducted further raids.

Born in the Lincolnshire village of Hameringham, George was the fifth son and last child of Charles Johnson, a farm worker, and Mary Ellen (nee Henfrey), who died just before George’s third birthday.

He remembered a brutal early childhood, thanks to his father. He was raised by his sister, Lena – his salvation, he wrote later. By 1926 all his brothers had left home and, soon after a move to Langford in Nottinghamshire, Lena went into service, and Johnson Sr married a “vicious and hellish woman”, as Johnson Jr recalled her, who left in summer 1928. George was initially educated at a primary school in nearby Winthorpe, and with the full-time return of his sister, life began to improve.

At the age of 11 he won a boarding place to Lord Wandsworth college in Long Sutton, Hampshire. In December 1939 he left it with his school certificate. Having volunteered for the RAF in 1940, by early 1941 he was in Torquay, Devon, and met his wife-to-be, Gwyneth Morgan. She and her family were to be a great influence on his life.

The RAF supplied his “Johnny” nickname. Having failed a pilot’s course in Florida, once back in Britain Johnson moved to air gunnery, and in July 1942 was posted to 97 Squadron in Woodhall Spa, Lincolnshire. There he stayed until spring 1943, initially as a “spare gunner”. During those months, raids took him across Germany and down into Italy.

It was in 1942 that planners separated the roles of navigator and bomb-aimer, for the RAF’s three new four-engined bombers, the Stirling, the Halifax and the Lancaster. The normal crew of a Lancaster was seven: pilot, flight engineer, navigator, wireless operator, mid-upper gunner (missing on 617’s Lancasters), “tail-end charlie” gunner, and, from that year, bomb aimer-cum-front turret gunner. “The difference in pay was from 7 shillings and 6 pence to 12 shillings and 6 pence,” Johnson wrote. “I thought I would have a go.” He took the bomb–aimer’s course. Then he was back on 97 Squadron, “this time as a spare bomb-aimer”.

Soon after, McCarthy, then a pilot officer, was looking for a new bomb-aimer. An initial suspicion from Johnson, wary of his experiences with Americans, gave way to respect. He would come to believe that the Long Islander was the best pilot in 617 Squadron.

Meanwhile he joined his 97 Squadron crew, and on the night of 22-23 December 1942 flew on his first sortie, to Nuremberg. Nineteen raids followed, mostly to Germany, but also taking in Turin, Italy, and the Nazi U-boat pens of Saint-Nazaire, western France.

Then, in mid-March 1943, Wg Cmdr Guy Gibson, commander of 106 Squadron, and known to many of his 106 crews as the “Arch Bastard”, was called to the HQ of 5 Group, in Grantham, Lincolnshire.

There Gibson was asked, according to his own account in Enemy Coast Ahead (1946), by the 5 Group commander, Ralph Cochrane, how he would “like the idea of doing one more trip”? Gibson got the job of heading “Squadron X”, based at Scampton, just north of Lincoln. The squadron would spend two months practising flying Lancasters at very low levels, down to 100ft, and then 60ft.

Among the pilots selected by Gibson was McCarthy. The American asked his crew whether they wished to join X. And that is how Johnson, the Lincolnshire lad, joined what became the most famous squadron in the RAF. For Johnson the next problem was his wedding, scheduled for 3 May 1943, but all leave had been cancelled. McCarthy appealed to Gibson, and Johnson got his wedding.

After the dams raid he was commissioned as an officer and awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross. With McCarthy he took part in a further 19 raids, before becoming an instructor. After the war, as a navigator, he remained in the RAF, flying Lincoln bombers and Shackleton naval patrol planes.

Sqn Ldr Johnson quit the RAF in 1962. He then became a teacher, first of primary children, then in adult education, working with people with mental health problems.

In retirement he lived in Torquay, and then Bristol. He was active in local Conservative politics, and in 2017 was appointed MBE. That year too he received an honorary doctorate from the University of Lincoln, and the following year had a train named after him.

Gwyneth died in 2005. Johnson is survived by three children, eight grandchildren and 18 great-grandchildren.

🔔 George Leonard “Johnny” Johnson, airman, born 25 November 1921; died 7 December 2022

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[sunder-soul]

𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖛𝖊

❶·❷·❸·❹·❺·❻

Chapter One: There's just something about those Riddle murders that doesn't quite make sense... Wordcount: 2.3k Content warning: language, allusions to bigotry.

Permanent Taglist: @jujugentle @weirdowithnobeardo @pearlstiare @fromthehellmouth @whoevenfrickenknows @moatsnow @voidmalfoy @lucys-brain @sunles @arana-alpha @tallyovie @expectoscamander @nothinghcppens @itsjustfics @mikariell95 @suicide-sweetheart636 @toasterking

Name: MORFIN GORMLAITH GAUNT

Age: 46

Wand: fir, 10 ¾ inches, dragon heartstring

Residence: Gaunt Estate, Little Hangleton, Yorkshire

Marital status: -

Offense charge: three counts of murder in the primary degree

Date of charged offense: 1st July, 1943

Offense Detail: prisoner entered the residence of the Riddle family (Muggle, IM-00) and inflicting the Killing Curse (UC-001-1717) upon the three members of the Riddle family present; Thomas Riddle (63), Mary Riddle (60), and their son Tom Riddle (37). Use of the Killing Curse has been confirmed by Prior Incantato (see report DMLE-619-1951-BLE, SA: Robert Odgen).

Date of Testimony: 3rd July, 1943

Prisoner plea: guilty

Sentence: Azkaban, 360 years

Date of Sentence: 3rd July, 1943

You frown.

It’s very late, the candle your desk is barely a stub, the little flame hovering nervously on the surface of a broad pool of wax, and you’ve been copying over these stupid reports to the new, tamper-proof parchment forms for seven hours now – but something is extremely odd about these dates.

“McCollin,” you say slowly. “Did you work this case?”

“Hmm?” McCollin doesn’t look up at the desk beside you, head resting heavily on one hand and his spine curled into a perfect and truly concerning C-shape over his own stack of files. He looks close to passing out right there and then, salt-and-pepper hair a little greasy, scruffy five o’clock shadow, eyes bleary and shadowed.

“Gaunt,” you read, “1943. You were working with Odgen then, right?”

He snorts. “Yeah, I remember that nutter.”

“What happened?”

“Guy was from one of those ancient pure-blooded clans, you know, one of the real fanatical ones, inbreeding and liquidated assets and all,” McCollin yawns, dragging his hand down his face and smearing ink across his whiskered cheek. “Hated Muggles like nobody’s business."

“Yeah he killed three Muggles, right?” you peer at the report.

McCollin nods at the form he's copying. “Went off the deep end one day. Walked right up to their house and murdered ‘em. When they brought him in he was ranting and raving about how they’d had it coming for years.”

“He was arrested, charged, and sentenced within three days,” you say slowly.

He finally looks up at you. “So?”

“That’s the fasted processing I’ve ever seen.”

“The guy admitted to it, kiddo,” McCollin says in deadpan, “he had snakes nailed to his door and his family tree was basically a Christmas wreath.”

“Yeah, but… what made he snap?”

He laughs again, shaking his head despondently as he returns to his form. “You got a lot to learn.”

His tone wants to be fond but it just strikes you as patronising, especially considering the amount of times people have said that exact same stupid line to you. It’s like half the bloody department think being Muggle-born makes you incapable of understanding the subtle and unique intricacies of wizarding culture – as if bigotry and supremacists and assholes are exclusive to the magical world. “What?” you say a little too defensively.

“Families like that… guys like that… they’re not right in the head. Hate Muggles just to hate ‘em, reckon they’re all that’s wrong with the world. Honestly it’s a miracle he didn’t do it sooner.”

You look back down at the report, suspicions anything but assuaged. “Yeah,” you say quietly, “it is.”

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“Did you ever watch Gaunt’s testimony?”

“You’re still going on about that?” McCollin drawls, heaving the towering box of finished files up a bit as he heads for the lifts.

“I looked him up in Records and the memory’s only available with supervisor permission,” you push, following him quickly. “If you signed me off then I could get Owler to –”

He slams the button and stares at the little golden arrow above the elevator grate slowly sliding towards the basement floor. “And why in Merlin’s name do you want to watch the Gaunt trial?”

You slip your hands into the pockets of your purple Ministry robes. “I’m interested.”

“Interested,” he echoes, shooting you a look. “Is that so?”

“He was processed in three days, McCollin. If it was that obvious he was guilty, it must have been one hell of a trial.”

“It was,” he scoffs as the lift dings and the grate grinds to a noisy open. “Fine, but only if you finish Johan’s quota by five.”

The triumph is impossible to keep off your face and McCollin rolls his eyes at your immediate glee. “I’m on it,” you grin, spinning around and racing back to your desk to get started.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“Merlin’s beard,” McCollin mutters, shaking his head at the stack of completed transcripts. “I gotta hold stuff over your head more often.”

“Just sign the slip, McCollin,” you smirk.

He sighs and grabs the quill from your hand, and you hold your breath as he scribbles his initials on the slip. “You’re obsessed,” he drawls.

You seize the slip and round on the lift, heart racing with excitement. “I’m interested.”

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

The trial is absolutely insane.

Morfin Gaunt looks like a Witch Weekly cartoon caricature of a fanatical blood-purist and he rambles in a manic-edged, ceaseless torrent about how much he enjoyed murdering the Riddles as the Wizengamot mutters and blithers disapprovingly for about three hours – but something catches your attention right near the end. Something you can’t help but ask Owler about the second the memory ends and you’re thrown back into the Records Room.

“Who’s Merope?”

Owler’s sallow face looks about as thrilled at your question as he was at your request for the memory in the first place. “Merope Gaunt,” he says in a flat, nasally voice, waving his wand at the Pensieve and sending the memory swirling back into its phial.

“Merope Gaunt?”

Owler’s thin, anaemic lips downturn even more. “His sister.”

You stare at him. It is not at all what you’d expected. “And why did he call his sister a mud-soused, scumsucking slut?”

“Ask your supervisor.”

“He seemed to be saying he killed those people because of Merope, why on earth would his sister be why he –”

“I keep the records, I don’t conduct the investigations,” Owler interrupts with not inconsiderable disdain. “Now if you could please –”

“Did they bring Merope in for testimony?”

Owler gives your continuing presence a very dirty look. “No.”

“Why not?”

He pushes the door to the Records room open and stares at you.

You try to hold your ground but Owler is unrelenting, and you're forced to step past him with a curt sigh. “Right, well, good afternoon, Owler, thanks for –”

The door slams shut behind you.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“Get what you wanted?” McCollin smirks as you collapse stony-faced into your chair.

“I forgot how impressively unpleasant it is to talk to Owler,” you mutter, resting your head in your hands. “Did you know about Merope?”

“Merope?”

“Yeah, Morfin’s sister.”

“Didn’t know he had one,” McCollin says disinterestedly.

“He was saying some stuff that made it sound like she’s why he killed those Muggles.”

“Uh huh.”

You lift your head, giving him an incredulous look. “He said she’s why he murdered three people, McCollin. How does that not interest you?”

McCollin throws down his quill and sighs sharply. “Look kiddo, the guy’s rotting in Azkaban, he admitted to the murders, they found the curses in his wand, and he had a memory of the whole thing. What exactly are you hoping to achieve here?”

You can barely believe it. “Why isn’t Merope Gaunt mentioned in any of his trial documents?” you say sharply.

“Either she wasn't relevant to the proceedings, or she's dead, or he made her up,” McCollin shrugs, “like I said, the guy went off the deep end.”

“But why doesn’t it say –”

“Just drop it,” he sighs impatiently, “you have work to do, and I won’t have you wasting clocked time on some case from nearly a decade ago.”

“Come on, McCollin, can’t you admit that it’s weird that –”

“I said drop it,” he says sharply, “don’t make me be the big mean supervisor here, you know I hate it.”

You glare at him. “Fine,” you say through gritted teeth.

It’s almost too easy to pull Morfin’s old file from where it’s still sitting in the refuse pile and subtly charm a copy of it that evening.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

Merope Gaunt, as far as you can tell, fucking vanished off the face of the earth in 1925.

There’s nothing, no addresses, no marriage or death notice, no registered Floo connections, no DRC calls for gnomes or doxies or even the odd kappa, not a single trace of her after Morfin and their father Marvolo had a stint in Azkaban for assaulting Bob Odgen back in the 20s.

It seems like the second they were locked up, she scarpered.

You sit back in the Archives Hall and let out a long breath, flipping the folder shut dejectedly. Morfin’s file is a thick wad of anti-Muggle hate crimes rivalled only by his father’s, and closer inspection had revealed that the Gaunt family estate sat a cool twenty minutes' walk from Riddle House where the murders had occurred. If Morfin had lived so close to some of the Muggles he hated so much, he’d been sitting on a clear motive for murder for years.

So why suddenly snap?

What had pushed him over the edge?

Why did he cite Merope in his deranged testimony?

Why talk about her in that way?

Where the hell did she go?

There are endless questions and zero answers. Plus, you kind of get the feeling that if McCollin saw you hunched in the Archives after-hours trying to find those answers, you’d get your pay docked.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

That night, you sit bolt upright in bed with a surge of electric realisation.

Mud-soused… scumsucker…

You’ve heard that language before. You’ve processed about four hundred case files of harassment with that language.

“Idiot,” you breathe, smacking your forehead and falling back onto your pillows with a thump. “Idiot, of course…”

Because that’s the way Pure-blood extremists talk about witches and wizards who've fallen in love with Muggles.

Suddenly, you have a pretty good idea where Merope might have disappeared to the moment her blood-obsessed brother and father were out of the picture, and a pretty good idea of where you might be able to look to find her. Because you’ve been looking in the wrong place.

You’ve been looking for her in the wizarding world.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“I have the craziest news for you,” you grin, slamming a silver Sickle on the counter and taking your seat at the bar.

“You say that twice a month,” Mori grumbles, setting your drink down and sliding the coin into his huge, calloused hand.

“It’s true twice a month.”

“It’s true half as much as you think.”

“I found her.”

Mori’s dark brows raise. It makes his gruff face look slightly less intimidating. “The lady from that old case you're into?”

“Yeah,” you beam, seizing your drink and leaning forward. “Started going through marriage certificates, and –”

“You’re telling me that your big-shot Ministry intern arse has been working this thing for a month and you didn’t even check marriage certificates?”

“Not Muggle ones,” you smirk.

Mori takes a glass off the bar and starts to clean it as he peers at you. “Go on.”

“She married the same guy her brother murdered, Mori,” you breathe, glancing around to make sure none of the shady denizens of Moribund’s are listening – it’s not like the bar's regular patrons are so welcoming to your big-shot Ministry intern arse on the best of days considering you’re half-way down Knockturn Alley in the dead of night. “They fucking ran away together!”

“Well, that explains a lot,” Mori mutters.

“Exactly!”

“What are you going to do about it?”

You shrug, taking a sip of your drink and feeling supremely pleased with yourself.

“What, you spent that much time investigating this thing for no reason?”

“Nah,” you say quietly, lips still in a smile. “I have a feeling there’s more to it than this. I still have to find out what happened to her after they got married and her brother murdered his new in-laws.”

“And what’s this guy’s name again?”

You give him a dry look. “You know I can’t tell you names, Mori, I’m pushing the bounds of my contract telling you this much already.”

He shrugs his massive shoulders, casting a wary look around the dark bar. “If you’re looking for people who might know a thing or two about murderers and Muggle-haters, you’ve come to the right place.”

“I’m here to talk to you, Mori, not the murderers and Muggle-haters.”

“You’re here to drink cheap and rant to someone who won’t rat you out to your boss,” he growls.

You give him another grin. “Cheers to that.”

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

You find Merope’s name in a record tome of an old church parish almost by accident. There’s barely any information there, just one name on a huge list of those buried in the pauper’s graveyard less than ten blocks from where you’re sat amongst the looming shelves of the Muggle public archives at that exact moment.

But there is something.

It says she died in a place called 'Wool’s Orphanage' on New Year’s Eve in 1926. It’s not hard to guess why she might have been there, and how she probably died.

Merope Gaunt had a child.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

❶·❷·❸·❹·❺·❻

Reply/message me to get added to the tag list! 💖

[scotianostra]

30th September 1985 saw the death in New York of Helen MacInnes, the Scottish-born author of espionage novels, some of which were made into films.

Helen Clark MacInnes was born on October 7th, 1907 in Glasgow to Donald MacInnes and Jessica McDiarmid, and had a traditional Scots Presbyterian upbringing. MacInnes graduated from the University of Glasgow in 1928 with an MA in French and German.

After a year of library work she entered the School of Librarianship of University College, London, in 1930, graduating the following year. In 1932 she married Gilbert Highet. Over the next several years they collaborated on a number of translations from German. In 1938, after Highet had taught for a year at Columbia University, he accepted a permanent post there, and the family settled in New York City.

A short time after moving to New York, MacInnes began her first book, Above Suspicion, a tale of espionage in Nazi Europe. It was an immediate success, widely praised for its suspense and humour, and it was made into a motion picture in 1943. Assignment in Brittany followed in 1942 and was also made into a movie the following year. While Still We Live and Horizon were both suspenseful tales of World War II. Friends and Lovers, a love story, was followed by a series of thrillers concerning international intrigue and Cold War tension, including Neither Five nor Three, Pray for a Brave Heart, Decision at Delphi , The Venetian Affair, Message from Málaga, and Prelude to Terror. Her final book, Ride a Pale Horse, appeared in 1984.

While MacInnes’ career was not dotted with many awards, although she did win the 1966 Iona University Columbia Prize for Literature. This is most directly related to her influence in the state of New York, seeing as her first sixteen novels (those written up to 1966) each spent time on the international best sellers’ list. Her books were frequently translated and reissued in several languages.

Critics and readers alike noted MacInnes’s skillful and credible portrayal of espionage and the characters involved in it. She credited her success to thorough research and her interest in international politics.

While researching MacInnes’s I noticed that according to IMDb, the Internet Movie Database, a remake of the 1966 film The Venetian Affair is in the offing, I wonder if it will be something like The Bourne movies and start a resurgence in her work?

[loethlifeyoulivelietelifouloe]

Fred MacMurray and Joan Crawford on the set of Above Suspicion, 1943.

[elcinelateleymickyandonie]

FRED MACMURRAY.

Filmography

• 1929 Why Leave Home?

• 1929 Tiger Rose

• 1935 Grand Old Girl

• 1935 The Gilded Lily

• 1935 Secret Clues (Car 99)

• 1935 Men Without Names

• 1941 Virginia (Virginia)

• 1941 One Night in Lisbon

• 1941 Dive Bomber

• 1941 New York Town

• 1943 Flight for Freedom

• 1943 No Time for Love

• 1943 Above Suspicion

• 1944 Standing Room Only

• 1944 White Weddings (Practically Yours)

• 1945 1945Where Do We Go from Here?

• 1945 Captain Eddie (Captain Eddie)

• 1945 Murder, He Says

• 1945 Pardon My Past

• 1946 Smoky

• 1954 The Caine Mutiny

• 1954 Pushover

• 1954 The world belongs to women (Woman's World)

• 1955 Blue Horizons

• 1955 The Rains of Ranchipur

• 1955 This is how the brave die (At Gunpoint)

• 1958 Day of the Bad Man

Creditos tomados de Wikipedia:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fred_MacMurray

[yelenasdog]

man out of time (winter soldier!bucky x fem time traveler!reader)

genre: idk, kinda angsty tbh but it ends w like a weird kind of funky fluff, if u will.

summary: she’s spent 60 years, hopping from timeline to timeline. but yet, she never managed to find james, find the kind of love they had. but what if she did?

words: 1.1k 

warnings: mentions of hydra’s abuse, that’s literally, it but if i missed anything lmk!

a/n: uhhh idk wtf this is i wrote it when i went to the beach like 3 months ago and i didn’t touch it until today to like fix it?? idk it’s not my fav but i hope you’ll enjoy!! the whole time travel thing i thought was a cool concept so yah.

·。·☆·。·。

All that could be heard was the dripping from the pipes, slowly falling onto the concrete, one after the other into the dirty pool of reflection.

Then, the silence was broken.


“Buck?”

The sob was choked out, was strained and sad. She wasn’t quite sure how she had made it into this position.

James Barnes was dead. He was supposed to be dead.

She had long ago mourned him, cried for him, moved on from him (to the best of her ability). She had spent 60 years doing so, hopping from timeline to timeline, unable to find any love like what they had shared.

There was an Italian fellow in 1743. He could play the cello like no other and had the prettiest eyes she had ever seen, next to James’. There was the French man in 1809 who was the kindest gentleman with the purest heart she ever had the pleasure of breaking, next to James’. Oh, and she could never manage to wipe her memory of the 1970s rockstar who managed to show her the world in a simple 4 months. He had the most beautiful locks she adored running her fingers through, smiling when she heard sighs of satisfaction falling from his lips. Just like James would do, but still. It was never him.


This, whatever it was, wasn’t fair. She had thought it must have been her brain playing a cruel joke on her. But it wasn’t, it wasn’t at all.

Whatever it was, was no longer the youthful boy with the full cheeks and playful grin. This was an abandoned shell of the aforementioned, who had been drained of all his worth, been used and abused more times than he could count. Cheeks sunken, eyes dull.

It, he, was a ghost.

It was merely a shadow, somewhat of a whisper in the cool wind of the dark night.

He was muttering something unfamiliar, the sound of his voice weak, and lacking any emotion. Despite that, the sound of its gravelly tone gave her a sense of comfort, healing the wound of longing that had been open to infection for so long.

He stepped further into the dim light of the warehouse, and she watched as it flickered on the cement floor, unable to meet his eyes. 
They were her favorite thing about him in the 40s, how they held so much feeling and joy, so much love for her.

It wasn’t like that anymore. They were empty, a gaze of loss and confusion filling them up completely.

“Bucky, it’s me, it’s Y/n.”

He turned his head like a hound being told to “roll over”, trying to recollect any memory of who she might be (or had been).

“I don’t know you.”

“Yes, yes you do, James. In fact you didn’t just know me, you loved me as I love you. You spent every Saturday evening at my house, went to church the next morning with my mother and I.” She laughed at the fond memories, another tear escaping. “You really were a gentleman.”

It was quiet. He was supposed to kill her, he knew. She was a witness. He should take out his damn gun, shoot her dead. Or maybe his knife, but that would get too messy. Point was, he needed to kill her. But he couldn’t.

He didn’t know why. His head was screaming at him, the small voice insisting that she was against the rightful mission of Hydra, and therefore needed to be eliminated. But his heart? His seemingly stone cold heart that had no place in his work? It was telling him the opposite, reasoning with him. She loved him? Nobody had loved him before, not that he knew of.

It was all too much, he couldn’t take the flood of emotions that was pounding at his skull, forcing its way through the dam Hydra had worked so hard over the years to build.

“No, stop!”

“Bucky?” She cautiously made her way towards him, watching with tears in her eyes as he cried, tearing off his dark glasses and mask with his metal hand, chest heaving. The faint light in the warehouse shone on his knuckles, almost glimmering.

She knew he was wildly dangerous, she knew that this was out of her league. To rescue him, save him.

But she didn’t seem to care as she approached him, thoughts of the rabid man harming her not even somewhat prevalent in her mind. And even if they were, they were squashed down, far away in a dark corner of her brain with cobwebs and thoughts long forgotten.

“James, you’re okay.”

He met her eyes, an angry expression coming across his features. He was beginning to listen to the voice’s angry shouts, believing that she was indeed the origin of these distraught emotions he felt. The voice became louder, covering up his heart’s feeble cries to try to listen to her, to run to her and be comforted by her loving touch that was now waiting patiently for him, just as it had been the past 60 years. He stood up, walking towards where she had been crouching a fair distance away, his boots dragging. In response, she stood as well, taking a dominant stance.

It confused him. She should be cowering, neck down, arms crossed. Not standing before him like she wasn't afraid. 
Why was she not afraid?

Truthfully, she didn’t have it in her to be scared of him. Saddened for? Definitely. Worried for beyond belief? Of course. But scared? Not a chance.

She raised her voice, taking long strides towards him, her mind racing a million miles a minute while not quite having the time to process if what she was attempting was quite the right way to go about it. For Heaven’s sake, she had 60 years to go over her plan, but I guess she never quite considered every possibility, the specifics, if you will.

“Soldier.”

Gears were turning in his head, recognizing the word, as that’s what his handlers called him. And he always complied when they did. He would listen, doing whatever they said. But she wasn’t a handler, if he had remembered correctly.

“Soldier, drop your weapon.”

It dropped, but nonetheless, his suspicions had gotten the best of him. He continued his walk towards her, head tilted. “Who are you?” He spoke in a foreign tongue, the words ill fitting to fall from his chapped lips.

She grinned, once again thinking of the beautiful past they shared.

“Doesn’t matter.” She said, reaching for his hand and gripping tightly, quickly adjusting her dials on her wrist with the opposite hand. He looked over to the small screen above where she was messing around, squinting at the blinking green numbers that read “1943”.

“James, we’re going home.”

·。·☆·。·。

i hope u liked!! make sure to rb if u did :D mwah love u, take care of urself love bug!!

xx hj