#Henry The Sad Little Starling

[peachy-panic]

BBU: Hollywood

This idea took root and wouldn't let go. Can't say for sure if this will be A Thing, or just a one-off teaser of a thing, but here it is nonetheless.

WARNINGS: BBU, implied noncon, implied noncon drug use, the fucked up film industry

“Cut!”

He doesn’t realize the cameras have stopped rolling until the shrill ring of the bell jolts him back into his body, and out of the one he’s been inhabiting since the last call of action. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink for a few moments, still caught in the blurry line between characters. Sometimes it takes a few seconds to remember which mask he's wearing.

There is a flurry of movement around him; PAs rush past, murmuring into their headsets, toting plush robes and glass bottles of sparkling water. Hair and makeup swoop in to invade everyone’s space, making their minute adjustments before rolling begins anew. 

When he returns to himself, Henry's cheeks are cold with drying tear tracks, and his heartbeat pulses lightly in his lips. 

His scene partner is already turned away, her attention attuned to the phone in her hand while a woman with frizzy hair attends to her smudged lipstick. Distantly, Henry knows if he touches his fingertips to his own mouth, they will come away in the same shade of red. Seconds ago, they were locked in an embrace, their tears mingling in the neckline of her silk gown, whispered words of affection spilling between them, and now Henry doesn’t exist. He won’t again until the cameras are pointed at him. Only then does he become alive.

A cold, acrylic nail hooks his chin and turns his head. His personal makeup artist is a woman named Kat in her late thirties with a sleek, blonde bob and smile lines around her eyes. She’s worked on every one of Henry’s films, and she has never spoken to him directly. On instinct, Henry lets his eyes fall shut, slipping back from the surface as she goes through the familiar routine of touching him up. 

From behind the wall of his own little world, he allows himself the indulgence of tuning into the conversations around him. A couple of new production assistants—not much older than him—talk about the food truck that production ordered as an end-of-week treat. (This doesn’t apply to Henry. He is on a strict diet of kale and boiled chicken while he's filming. He is always filming). The wardrobe team talks about grabbing a drink at Stanley’s after wrap today. (He knows that Stanley’s is everyone’s favorite spot because it’s less than a mile from the studio, but he’s never seen it for himself). The assistant director comments on her third cup of coffee of the day. (Henry wishes he could ask for some).

The voices fade and flutter until one cuts through the rest.

“One last take, and we’re calling it, David.”

Henry opens his eyes, and Paul stands directly in front of him.

His sleek, black suit stands out among the crew's workwear, and probably costs three times as much combined. It’s hard not to notice the ways everyone’s demeanor changes the moment the Executive Producer steps onto set. In a way, it’s almost reassuring to know Henry isn’t the only one who shrinks in this man’s shadow. But that’s where the commonality ends. They may fear him, too, but at the end of a fourteen hour day, they are not the ones who return home to Paul Maxwell’s bed. 

“Our star needs to be red-carpet ready in an hour-thirty.” Though he’s addressing the director, Paul stares directly into Henry’s eyes. “Be sure that he is.”

He doesn’t need to nudge the makeup artist away so much as she instinctively pulls back when Paul lifts a large hand and touches the tips of his fingers to Henry’s jaw. Henry keeps his eyes where they’ve been beckoned and pretends not to notice the assistants in his periphery who duck their faces away from the display of ownership. Paul’s thumb swipes across the corner of Henry’s mouth, taking with it a smear of Eliza Darling’s expensive lipstick. Then, wordlessly, he releases him. 

There’s a renewed sense of urgency as Paul retreats from the chaos, but also one of relief that comes with the last shot of the day—for everyone except Henry. 

He was up before the sun, and he knows he’ll be out long after it has set. The worst part about interior days: he doesn’t get to see daylight once. Normally, even the call of his Keeper’s bedroom feels like a reprieve after this many hours of shooting. But tonight, his previous film is set to premier on the other side of Los Angeles, and there is no premier without Paul Maxwell’s shining star.

More importantly, there is no after party without him.

There is no time for exhaustion, not for him. When the caffeine pills have run their course, he’ll be given something stronger, and he’ll take it. Whatever it takes to get through the night that will inevitably become a very long weekend.

“You heard the boss,” David says, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Let’s make it a good one. Clear frame.”

The makeup brushes make a few last frantic swipes across his skin before they scurry away. Liza Darling tucks a blonde curl behind her ear and presses her phone into a nameless PA’s hand. Henry closes his eyes and slips into another man’s skin.

People tell Henry all the time that he’s lucky to lead the life that he does, in his position. It is only in these fleeting intervals of fiction between reality that he might just agree with them.

For the next three minutes, he does not have to be Henry, nor is he the boy with the name from a life he is not allowed to remember. For the next three minutes, he is Brock Layton: twenty-three, rich, and madly in love. 

For the next three minutes, he is as free as he’ll ever be again. 

“Sound speed,” the mixer calls out, raising the boom pole over his head. 

“Rolling,” camera echoes back. 

“And, action.”

[kp777]

By Henry Porter

The Guardian

May 28, 2023

On 7 May, I tweeted that swifts had appeared in the skies over the shed where I write on the same day in 2022, and predicted, if they kept to their schedule, they would leave overnight on 7 August. My excitement was short-lived. I’ve seen no more than three or four breeding pairs over the village of Blockley, Gloucestershire, whereas last year I estimated 16 to 20 pairs and an end of season exodus of between 50 and 60 birds.

My figures are hardly scientific, but they suggest a decline of between 75% and 85% on last year, an acceleration in an established trend that shows a loss of 60% of swift numbers since 1995.

Last year, I saw something miraculous when returning from a walk at dusk. The village swifts were gathered in a screaming mob. With each pass over the church and the green, they rose higher and higher. At length, I realised they were aiming for a wave of birds flying at great altitude. Binoculars confirmed hundreds of swifts heading south-west.

The disappearance of swifts from our skies is one of the saddest prospects of this epoch of casual extermination. At a minimum, we should recognise what’s happening, and understand that a creature that can fly 1m kilometres in its lifetime and takes our imaginations with its soaring flight is about to join other rare but once common species – the cuckoo, curlew, lapwing, sparrow, numerous migrating warblers, and even the starling.

It’s not as if there aren’t numerous swift groups around the country trying to support the bird with breeding boxes, and inserting swift bricks into walls. Yet these are useless without abundant supplies of insects, and that is where the crisis mostly lies. In the past 20 years, flying insects have declined in Britain by 60%. Worldwide, with current rates of decline, 33% of all insects are at risk of extinction.

I am haunted by a little pink notebook, containing the tiny drawings of my ancestor Anne Porter from 1800 onwards. Between the pages of her view of a watermill, from the 1820s, is a butterfly, perfectly preserved. It is a Scotch argus. This is the only one I have seen, for they are rare and almost gone in England. Between other pages are tiny thunderbugs, or thrips, which hatched in July in their billions but no longer trouble us today.

What haunts me is the unthreatened profusion of bugs in Anne’s lifetime compared with their scarcity today. Go out into the countryside, local park or waste land and you will see far fewer insects than five or 10 years ago. The bugs that smeared your windscreen are almost gone.

So, what do we do? We start by recognising what’s happening on our watch. We put up boxes. We allow our lawns to grow out until July and see wildflowers take hold. We stop using garden pesticides, felling trees and clearing insect habitat. We compel water companies to stop polluting. We form groups and interrogate local farmers about the pesticides they’re using. We show our children, maybe with a cheap magnifying glass, the wonder of a bronze beetle or a red soldier beetle crawling across the lace work of a hemlock flower. Nature is not something separate. It’s not a resource. It is us, our world. Concentrate!

[henryobsessed]

The Borrower and Her Bean - Part 19

Summary: Melina is now a bean

Word Count: 1453

A/N this story is coming to a close, Thank you for those who have take this fun journey with me. One more to follow 

Part 18 - Epilogue 

Melina studied Henry, the stubbled lines of his Jaw, the dimpled chin and the fine smile lines around his eyes. She would never get tired of this face. As much as she liked watching him sleep her excitement had her wriggling. A rough voice broke into the silence "Morning my little sprite" a smile broke on her face as he opened his eyes. He chuckled as she wriggled some more as he pulled her into his embrace. Kissing her forehead he whispered, "so what is causing your bubbly demeanor this morning?" groaning at his question she buried her head into this neck mumbling "you know" his strong arms wrapping around her as he whispered "Happy Christmas"

The two beans and their furry companion carefully made their way downstairs to the living room. It had been 4 weeks since Melina had become a bean, each day both she and Henry had made a conscious effort to step lightly, and move cautiously. It had not been an easy transition, she recalled the first time she had accompanied Henry to a supermarket. She had been in awe of all the different food and products. When walking past the ice cream she had seen her favourite flavour and pulled out a small tub putting it in her pocket. When they got to the check out Henry had to ask her for the ice cream. Wondering why he wanted it she had said "Why don't you get your own?" he had laughed at her and then said quietly "we have to pay for it, Lina, this lady scans the item and then tells me how much money I owe her. Then I pay for it. We don't borrow in Bean's world." She had handed it to him and watched as the lady did exactly as Henry had said. Once she had scanned the lot she gave Henry a figure and he handed her some paper and metal things that looked like buttons.

It had taken her a while to adjust to not being able to just take what she needed. Thankfully Henry had been there to help her not get into trouble. The fun part of being a bean though was having access to so many amazing things. Especially around Christmas! her family celebrated Christmas they would get a small branch off a tree and put tinsel on it. This year she had gone with Henry to pick a tree, it was amazing seeing all the different sizes and colours. Last night the night before Christmas the whole family Mum and Dad, Carson and Greg along with Pam and Elisha and their parents had gathered downstairs and helped to decorate the tree.

Dad had insisted that they climb the branches of the tree so they could thread the lights through to the perfect spots. She had to admit it had looked great once the lights were turned on, it was perfect. She and Henry had hung the ornaments, and the boys with the help of their girlfriends had threaded the tinsel through the boughs of the tree. It had looked magical as the tree was finished. Henry had smiled at Lina as he picked up the last piece, an Angel that was small with a sparkling gold dress and real feathers for wings. He had placed it in her hands, then lifted her by the waist allowing her to place the final piece on the top of the tree. Nothing could replace that feeling of warmth as he had wrapped his arms around her as they both gazed up at the tree.

Standing in the kitchen She and Henry had been cooking most of the morning, well Henry had been cooking she had been fetching mixing and sneaking bites. Right now she was preparing the meals, the little plates were full of pork, apple sauce, mash potato, stuffing, and salad. In little mugs, they had mulled wine. She smiled as she felt a pair of arms wrap around her his hot breath tickling her ear as he said "You ready" together they carried the food out to the coffee table there on top of the table was her family sitting around a small table they had bought that seated 8 borrowers. With delicate fingers, she placed the meals before each one along with their drinks as Henry placed their food at the end of the table. Both beans sat on the floor, Kal laying next to his master hoping for some Christmas treats.

Melina smiles a broad smile at her family, she was still getting used to no longer being able to hug her mum or dad, or having Greg being her protector. The tables were turned now, she along with Henry were their protectors. Henry cleared his throat holding his glass of mulled wine out "A Toast, to Family, and to true friends who become family." the group held out there cups a collective small cheer rising from the middle of the table. Melina's Dad stood up holing his cup out " I would like to Toast to new and old friends, to Love and second chances" this bought another cheer and chuckles from the table. Chatter followed as the friends and family ate, drank and celebrated together the festive season.

Stomachs full and minds fogged by mulled wine, the group made their way to the Christmas tree. Henry put a Santa hat on and went to the bottom of the tree pickup and handing out the gifts. Each borrower received new sets of clothing including a fancy dress for the girls and suits for the men. They also received a new rope and three-pronged fish hook rig each.  Melina received a new journal from her parents who had help from Henry in purchasing it and the young adults had chosen three new dresses for Melina also with his help. There were two boxes left under the tree, one was big and one was small.  Melina went to the big box and laid it before Henry, grinning he removed the paper the non-descript brown box gave nothing away as he began to open it. Inside was a glassless frame bordering a sketch of Kal stretched out sunning himself in the garden.

As Henry studied the intricate scene he looking past the large dog, there he began to see hidden amongst the garden images of the borrowers peeing out at him all in different poses. He smiled up at Lina and spoke in a hushed tone "Lina, this is amazing, you have a real talent." the praise lit a warm spark inside her. She had secretly been working on it and did not know if it was something he would love or not. Henry stood and walked to the tree picking up the small package, he walked back to Lina and knelt before her. Looking up into her eyes, he watched as a softness filled the sweet pools that he wanted to get lost in.

Taking a deep breath and stilling his erratic heartbeat he grabbed her hand as he spoke  "Lina, For a long time I have been searching for something that would bring me a sense of completeness, I thought it would come once I reached a level in my fame and work. There was a sense of satisfaction but it still felt hollow once the high faded. It wasn't till I met you that I began to feel peace, contentment, In your arms I am home. I asked your father for his blessing and now I am asking you in front of your family. Would you have me, whether I am big or small, would you consent to be my wife?"  As he said the last few words he opened the small box to reveal a small ring nestles into a velvet pillow, delicate with three small pink diamonds winking up at her.        

Waiting but a breath Melina's eyes swam with tears and she whispered, Yes, as he placed the ring on her hand. Both lost in each other, they missed the collective gasp from the borrowers as two delicate voices chuckled behind them.  Standing tall and willowy the Star fairies smiled at the Borrower and her Bean as they turned their faces showing fear and curiosity. The Bell-like voice of Nightsong spoke "My little starling do not be afraid, we have been with you your whole life. Your voice has drawn us to you time and time again. We come to celebrate with you, you have both experienced life big and small. We would like to give you a gift, you can choose how you would like to live. Which will it be? A Borrower or a Bean?    

A/N oooooo what would you choose?

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[jacksgreysays]

Could Should Actually + A softer world 31 or Things you Said 22?

A/N: Are you the same anon who mix and matches other ask box events? Because let me just say, I enjoy the puzzle.

Anyway I went with the things you said 22, but I may also do the a softer world 31 later.

Here’s some Counterclockwise!

~

22) things you said after it was over

it could have gone like this:

"Imagine the glory," Joy exclaims in a breathy sort of voice as if in awe of the very idea. She slings an arm around Leanne's shoulders, drawing her close, comfortable and warm. The couch they're on could easily fit four, but the two of them are squished up against one arm so that the boys and even Alvin in his massive wolf form could fit, too.

"We wouldn't be able to tell anyone," Leanne argues even as she leans in, matching Joy's volume.

"The riches?" Joy tries again, grinning, more playful than earnest.

"Exactly how would we profit off this plan?" Leanne asks in return.

Thwarted, Joy goes for a different tactic. "Imagine... the drama," she says, leaning even closer, conspiratorially.

Leanne hums, considering. When the lack of disagreement becomes more and more apparent, time stretching wider, Joy's grin does the same. She swings her other arm around Leanne, squeezing, jostling, trying to bodily contain the happiness of the moment before nuzzling their faces together. Not quite a kiss, Joy's bared teeth pressed to the skin of Leanne's cheek, but not so far off.

Shrieking with laughter, Leanne doesn't push her away. "That's not fair! You know my weakness!"

"Of course," Joy says, words trapped between them, "I don't need to be fair, I just need you to say yes."

And Leanne, settling into her hold, can do nothing but nod and say yes.

...

Over two decades later, a fifteen year old Leanne follows the rest of her classmates through the art gallery, tired eyes glancing over the displays but not really taking them in. Yesterday was rough--school, training, a newly hatched cluster of giant sea serpents by the docks while trying not to lose too much face in front of her teammates--and she had been grateful for upcoming the field trip though now she regrets not being able to appreciate the art.

She finds a seat and takes it, her legs almost buckling in relief, and stares blindly forward.

"Do you like it?" someone asks next to her. Leanne, surprised but too exhausted to startle, turns to the voice. An older woman, maybe in her forties, brown hair tied back into a bun, sharp clothes. Maybe a staff member of the art gallery? They didn't have a tour guide, did they?

"I'm sorry," Leanne says, reflexively.

A sad sort of smile graces the woman's face, she shakes her head slightly. "Do you like it?" she repeats, gesturing to the painting on the wall in front of them. The one that Leanne had stared at but hadn't really seen. A little ashamed, she focuses.

It's a closeup of two hands, different skin tones and shapes, their fingers intertwined. There are matching rings, softly glinting in the light. Everything about the painting is soft, dreamy, more memory and imagination than photorealism.

Not the most amazing picture, Leanne thinks, but she can certainly see why it would be compelling. "Yes," she answers, finally, simply, though she doesn't know why it matters.

The woman's small smile twitches into something bigger, but no less sad.

Not that it was up for argument, but it's obvious that Leanne's not a very good hero: she doesn't know how to make things better. So she fidgets awkwardly instead.

Now the woman's smile turns into something amused. "I'm glad you like it. It's my favorite," she says before getting to her feet. She reaches a hand toward Leanne, as if to pat her on the shoulder, but pulls back.

"Take care of yourself, Leanne," she says, before walking away, disappearing into the labyrinth of the art gallery.

And because Leanne is not a very good hero, it takes her a few hours to realize that they never exchanged introductions. How did she know her name?

---

it should have gone like this:

"She's a liability," Tetsuki says, scowling at the doctor.

They are in the observation room of the testing chambers, a wide near-indestructible room where Doctor Kaiza's clients can use their meta-human abilities without fear of collateral damage.

Or where would-be vigilantes can train without the public catching on. Not that Henry particularly needs it. He is, despite all the media speculation, entirely baseline human. Most of Starling's tricks are gadgets and whatever he learned from his mentor Firefly.

But it's good to see what his potential teammates are capable of, and so here he is:

Caleb he knows the best, as much raised in the lifestyle as Henry had been. More so, maybe, practically born into it. Zenith, son of Apex.

Tetsuki he's met before, Doctor Kaiza's... niece? Maybe? The actual connection is vague. But he's seen some of the reports of her prior activities and her abilities. Electric manipulation, martial arts training, and a fierce protectiveness for all that she isn't the nicest of people.

Hari he only knows by word of mouth, the lone lion shapeshifter amongst a pack of wolves. Goldenheart, recommended by former hero Silverfang.

Right now, Hari is in lion form, a huge shape easily loping around in the testing chambers, big playful circles around the other figure below. At least, Henry is pretty sure it's playful. Although, considering the nervous posture of Goldenheart's chosen playmate, perhaps she doesn't understand the same.

Leanne Peridot. A civilian as of two weeks ago. Where and how Doctor Kaiza found her is a mystery. Why the doctor thought she'd make a good addition to the team is an even bigger mystery.

No martial arts training, no particular talent with any weapons, practically baseline human. The only thing that makes her stand out is that strange pocket watch and the one minute of time stopping it gives her, but if she can't do anything with that one minute then it's all just a waste. She's back to being a normal civilian out on the field.

"Tetsuki's right," Henry says, watching as Goldenheart bats a huge paw gently at Leanne, watches the green-haired girl fall to the ground, unable to brace herself against even an expected, friendly push. "She's a liability."

He doesn't say it to be mean, he says it to save lives. If she's just another civilian they have to keep an eye out for on the field, then they may as well tie a weight to themselves. They need teammates who can keep up, who can be trusted to handle themselves and more. 

"Then help her," Doctor Kaiza says, "Train her. Give her the tools she needs to survive. The tools all of you had since you were children." Her voice is dispassionate, but her words give her away. "She is behind, yes, but the rest of you have a head start. She has the potential, help her access it."

"Why?" Caleb asks and while Tetsuki lights up in triumph, the doctor turns to him with a look of disappointment on her face. Henry also turns to look at him, confused. For all that Caleb is practically a living tank, he's usually the more diplomatic of them.

"I mean," he continues, "Why her? Why do you care? We're a functional enough team wth just the four of us. We don't need a fifth."

"Certainly not a fifth we need to bring up to our level," Tetsuki adds snidely.

The doctor turns back to the observation window, where Leanne has gotten back to her feet and begun to hesitantly run her hands through Hari's fur. The sound doesn't exactly travel, but from the satisfied closed eyes, Henry thinks perhaps there might be purring.

"Heroism," Doctor Kaiza says, followed by a silence long and drawn out. "It's not about being good at fighting," she says, "it's about saving people.

"And sometimes even the best need help."

...

When Leanne disappears, Henry investigates. Of course he does. That's his teammate. For all that she had a rocky beginning, Leanne proved herself as a hero and Henry isn't disloyal.

Tetsuki, ever the pessimist, thinks she ran. Finally giving in to Bastian, the absolute bastard, and his constant attempts to sway her to his cause. Whatever that cause may be. He's pretty sure Tetsuki only thinks that because two of Bastian's lieutenants are former classmates of hers, supervillains brewing right under her nose.

Caleb, more emotionally in tune, has been the contact for the Peridot family. Collaborating with them on their search, if she may have said anythign to them, left any hints or clues behind.

Unsurprisingly, Doctor Kaiza is calm.

Surprisingly, so is Hari.

"Why aren't you worried? What do you know?" Henry asks, finally, after all avenues of tracking have been exhausted. It would be more intimidating if he didn't have dark bags under his eyes, if Hari weren't capable of turning into a massive lion in the blink of an eye.

"I am worried," Hari says, "but it won't help her." Then the shapeshifter shrugs, "And I know the same as you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hm," Hari eyes drift away from his, "You remember the codename she came up with last year? Before you, Caleb, and Tetsuki shot it down."

Henry frowns. "What about it?" He remembers, of course. Leanne had wanted to be called Anachron. Thematically, it made sense, and it was witty enough. But it was a name that had already been used. 

"Leanne isn't like us. She didn't grow up hearing stories about heroes, from heroes. The only context she had for names was us."

"So?"

Hari sighs, meets Henry's eyes, and says, "She was, is, Anachron. You shouldn't be looking for where she is. You should be looking for when."

---

but it actually went like this:

"They sent me through time and cursed me with immortality on top of that, so I'd appreciate it if you would bring me home, time witch." Bastian, the absolute bastard, says across the table from Leanne. A beautiful tea service is set up, delicate finger foods and porcelain, shining silverware gleaming against a rich tablecloth. It is a mockery; as Bastian sips from his teacup, Leanne struggles against the ties keeping her bound to the chair.

"I'm not a time witch," Leanne says, exasperated. At him and herself. Him because this is not the first, or second, or even third time this has happened. Herself because... well... this is not the first, second, or event third time this has happened. A part of her is glad her team is on the way to get her out of this. A far larger, more frustrated part of her hates that she needs her team to get her out of this yet again.

"Sorcerer, warlock, wizard, I don't care what terms you people use nowadays. Time magic, you use it, therefore you are a time witch." Bastian waves away her words, equally dismissive in his tone. He, it seems, is as bored of this conversation as she is.

"I don't use time magic," Leanne protests, because even if just sends them down the same patterns, she doesn't know what else to do but be honest.

"Not well, certainly," Bastian agrees, sort of, "but time witches were rare even in my kingdom. Here, you're apparently the only one, so you'll have to do."

Leanne, insulted and irritated, sighs.

"Is this a problem of payment? Because if its a reward you need, I can cover that. What do you want, money? Fame? Power?" Bastian lists out, resting his chin on one hand, a king in repose.

Leanne shakes her head.

"Something more than that, hm? Or a combination of the three?" Bastian meets her eyes and smirks, a sharp and hungry thing. "I'll make you my queen, time witch. Bring me home and the world could be yours."

Leanne just shakes her head again.

Annoyed, Bastian's face turns into a thunderous scowl. He stands, slamming his hand on the table, the tea set rattling with the force of it.

"You will not refuse me again, time witch," he says, low with rage and barely contained violence.

Having witnessed the scope of his abilities, it is a miracle Leanne's voice doesn't shake when she responds, "Then stop asking."

A reverberating boom sounds, the tea set once more rattling, and Leanne resist the urge to close her eyes in relief. Her team is here to rescue her, but she refuses to take her eyes off Bastian.

He bares his teeth, displeased at her, the situation, but quickly composes himself. "Until next time," he says, and almost laughs at his own play on words.

...

The restraints they've put on her are tight, though thankfully not painful, the chair is far from comfortable, she has a bit of a headache, and the interrogation room is a little cold: it's not the best set of circumstances she's ever found herself in, but they're certainly not the worst.

When the grumpy officer who brought her here returns, he finds her lightly dozing, trying to catch up on the years and years of sleep debt she's accrued. It's not likely to succeed but, again, she's been in worse places.

"Leanne Peridot?" the officer says. It's not really a question, they took her a picture, her fingerprints, and DNA. They should know who she is.

"Yep."

"Also known as Anachron?"

"Sure."

"Also known as the Time Witch?"

"Ye--no, actually," Leanne says, catching herself, "I do not claim that one."

Officer Grumpyface looks up at her, "You don't?"

"No," she says, "Nobody calls me that." Or, at least, not in a way that would make it into her official file.

Grumpyface shrugs, uncaring. "You've done quite a bit of unauthorized time traveling, haven't you?"

Leanne can feel her brow furrow, "Who has authority over time travel?"

Grumpyface looks behind him at the observation window before turning back to her. He doesn't say anything.

Instead, the door to the interrogation room opens, a man in a similar, if far fancier and impressive, uniform to Officer Grumpyface enters the room. Grumpyface stands up at attention, saluting the newcomer.

It's an older face than the one she remembers. No more false boyish sweetness, but a chiseled sort of handsomeness instead. There are a few age lines, some grey in his hair. But considering it's several centuries since they last spoke, Bastian, the absolute bastard, has barely changed.

She sighs, resigned. "Bastian."

"Hello, Time Witch."

~

A/N: Making Leanne miserable since... uh... I don’t know, it’s time travel. :D

For the Could/Should/Actually Fic Ask Box Event!

[mautadite]

june book round up

18 books this month! this is late because i just couldn’t find the time to sit down and write it but it’s finally here! and i completed my reading challenge! whoo! mostly e-books and audiobooks once again, and also a good few arcs. (i’m still so proud to be able to say that lol.)

the 7 1/2 deaths of evelyn hardcastle - stuart turton ⭐️⭐️⭐️ a murder mystery/thriller that takes place in the midst of a house party. kind of a groundhog day thing; the same day repeats over and over, and one of the guests wakes up in the body of a different guest EVERY day, and will do so until he solves the mystery. this was one of the cleverest books i’ve ever read, seeing everything come together was so good. but the last reveal left me kinda like... was THAT the point of all of this?? also one part of this book is grossly fatphobic.

breeze of a spring evening and other stories - yu dafu ⭐️⭐️⭐️ collection of short stories written and set in 1920s china/japan. there was a lot of examination of men’s desire towards younger women which bored me. but the writing was good, and i really enjoyed when the writer talked about being chinese and living in japan; that feeling of isolation of loss of self and country,

her lady’s honor - renee dahlia ⭐️⭐️ first arc of the month! historical f/f romance set after wwi. one character is a vet (in both senses of the word, she served as an animal doctor during the war) and the other is the daughter of the first character’s old captain. i wanted to like this a lot more than i did but the writing was dull, needed a better edit, and the structure/plot was just all over the place. the characters were fine, but not hugely compelling, and i didn’t fall in love with their romance.

his cocky cellist - cole mccade ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ really good m/m romance about a cellist/masseur and a young billionaire who end up becoming entangled. fictional billionaires are the only good ones. this had really pretty prose (sometimes a liiiiiiiiiiiittle bit purple), great characters, great chemistry, and just a lovely romance overall.

his cocky valet: after story - cole mmcade ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ cute coda to the first book in the series. a HEA in a way that works for these specific characters.

night owls and summer skies - rebecca sullivan ⭐️⭐️ another arc, another book i sadly didn’t enjoy much. this is ya f/f, about a girl who is sent unwillingly to the camp that she attended in childhood. the bare bones of the writing was fine, but it tried to be a romantic comedy in ways that just didn’t work. a lot of the humour was a total miss. and the book dealt a lot with bullying, while also letting the love interest get away with some truly shitty stuff. 

arms wide open - donna jay ⭐️⭐️⭐️ contemporary f/f romance about a married couple going through some rough patches, who decide to try to spice things up by inviting a third person into their bed. it was cute, not spectacular. while i liked the characters a lot, because the book opened with them already in love (having problems, but never OUT of love) this book was missing what i love about most romances: the falling in love bit!

my heart’s in the highlands - amy hoff ⭐️⭐️⭐️ another arc and oh man this is an extremely generous rating for a book that really wasn’t that good, but hit the spot for me in specific ways. it’s historical f/f time travel romance about a woman from the 19th century who travels back to the 13th century and falls in love with a gruff highlander warrior woman. this is not very well written, has so many unexplained plot points, (how did a woman from the 19th century build a time machine? none of our damned business) didn’t seem too concerned with historical fidelity, and had some dubcon, which, bleh. but i still REALLY liked parts of this. i’m just so weak for historical f/f romance.

when all the world sleeps - j.a. rock and lisa henry ⭐️⭐️⭐️ contemporary m/m romance between a chronic sleepwalker who lives in fear of the things he does when he’s sleeping, and a cop. this was fine. sometimes sad and sweet, sometimes weird and overdone. the police character was fine most of the time, but he also reminded me of why i don’t like reading romances with cops. especially In These Times. every tiny abuse of power made me want to snap. the actually romance was good, but i’ve read better.

yellow jessamine - caitlin starling ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ another arc! fantasy sort of horror with some f/f leanings. really wonderful prose, AMAZING characters, and really lush, unsettling horror. i don’t read/enjoy a lot of horror but this was great. i adore complicated women so much

where the forest meets the stars - glendy vanderah ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ on a genre scale i guess this is contemporary/mystery? a moving novel about a biologist (who’s a breast cancer survivor) who meets a little girl claiming to be an alien who comes from the stars. it didn’t go the way i was kind of expecting it to, and i enjoyed it. it had an m/f romance that i liked... mostly? there were some tropes i coulda done without, and it was really lazy in the way it addressed trauma.

silver ravens - jane fletcher ⭐️⭐️⭐️ yet another arc! i really enjoyed fletcher’s celaeno series so i was excited to be approved for this f/f fantasy/adventure novel. an out-of-work IT professional is swept into fairy world with fae and mystery and intrigues aplenty, and a mercenary captain she falls for. the writing was fine, but some of the world building really bugged me, and there wasn’t enough romance imo.

second nature - jae ⭐️⭐️⭐️ f/f paranormal romance about a writer who’s begun to have strange dreams about a society of animal shifters, and the liger shifter who’s been tasked with finding her, and if need be, killing her. this could have been a great book (i especially really liked the characters and how they were described, and the plot) but the writer did one of the things i really hate: giving us the pov of the villain from the very beginning, letting us know his plans, motivations, EVERYTHING. it felt like we spent the entire book waiting for the protags to catch up, and it just wasn’t entertaining.

dragonoak books 2-3 - sam farren ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the last two books in the dragonoak series, an f/f high fantasy series. they were too long, the plot was shaky, and there were some irksome bits but holy crap, i loved these books so much. SO MUCH. they have some of my very favourite characters and tropes EVER. lots of queer ladies, lots of trans characters, necromancy, batles, found families, friendships, damaged characters, REALLY EXCELLENT ROMANCE.. the book had flaws aplenty but i’m ready to forgive them all. (

when i was you - minka kent ⭐️⭐️⭐️ i don’t usually read thrillers, but i decided to try this out on a whim after seeing the cover and it was... fine. it helped that i didn’t read the blurb, bc that meant i had no idea where it was going. after the first huge twist it did become kinda meh tho.

the hole -  hye-young pyun ⭐️⭐️⭐️ psychological horror about a man who survives the car cash that killed his wife. he ends up paralysed, and is living with his mother in law, and one day he looks out the window and sees her digging holes in the garden. this was an EXTREMELY slow book. it took ages for anything to really happen. there were a lot of flashbacks and internal monologuing. the absolute best part of this book came at almost the end, where there was a big sorta revelation and the writing became really crisp and cutting and just really good. it had a really fitting end.

the silvers - j.a. rock ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ m/m sci-fi romance. humans are in search of water for earth, which is running out. they come across intelligent life on a new planet: a race of people called silvers. the captain of the mission and one of the silvers develop a close relationship... this was really good; i loved what it had to say about humanity and nature and the ways we can and do hurt each other. very interesting, i don’t think i’ve ever read anything like it.

and that’s it for june! i ended up reading a fair few things out of my usual comfort zone. for july, i think i’m going back to a majority romance; i’ve missed that. currently reading to have loved and lost.

[aliypop]

A New Perspective

Word Count: 2,285

Character Count: 12,389

A/N: This is an au that I worked on with @totally-completely-obsessed​ With Barry and my Oc Yonah so I hope you guys enjoy it too!

Summary: When Barry Allen senior and new kid of Gotham Academy comes to flaunt his parent's riches he meets someone who reminds him her bite is better than his bark.

Warning: Hinted smut 

"Did you hear about the new kid?" a group of girls were chattering down the hall of the academy as if they had nothing better to do with their time, "I heard he's like super hot," Yonah Ezra and Dick walked down the halls as they usually did every day, but something about today was different everyone had been talking about some new kid who graced Gotham with his presence so to speak, and Yonah already wasn't having it,  Gotham academy was her kingdom and if anyone was going to steal her shine it would have been Oliver himself,

"I heard he's hotter than Oliver Queen.," Dick whispered already feeding into the gossip of the school,

"Shut up Richard,"

"Sorry, Ezra.." he glared at her. 

Coming down the hall was a young man who had the darkest of hair and the greenest of eyes with the brightest smile the world had ever seen, and it made Yonah sick to her stomach, he looked like solid Teflon in person, and for that she hated him. From what was conjured up about him, his father was a very well known doctor in Central City who had received a job offer to move his practice to Gotham city to then be funded by Gothams very own elite man of the hour Bruce Wayne or more so known to Yonah a big mistake, 

"So, you're the talk of the town?" Yonah said walking towards him, She could smell the cockiness radiating off him and she liked it, she knew that she would become a challenge for him and soon he'd be begging on his knees for her as most did. 

"Names Barry Allen, and you are-"

"Too expensive for you," Yonah laughed as she then whispered, "You try taking my spotlight, and my father will send you right back to that little town of yours.." 

"Excuse my sister.. my twin sister!" Ezra said taking Yonah by the arm as she stuck her hand out for him to shake it, 

"She's.. charming," he said with a laugh afterward, one so fake that not even a game show host could copy it, " like my maid.." he mumbled, "Barry Allen by the way, "He winked kissing her hand, "Ezra Shanel Wayne.. and that's my sister Yonah-"

"Princess! Yonah that is," she pushed through, "And the guy over there is our brother Richard," Ezra rolled her eyes at her sister, the bell had then rung as millions of students gathered together to head to their respective classes. Yonah and Ezra who always were the first ones in the class sat in their usual seats row 1 the first front 2, 

"What was that back there?" Ezra asked looking at her sister in disgust, 

"What was what? oh, you mean with that Allen guy.." Ezra shook her head as Yonah laughed, "He had to know his place... " she trailed off hearing a group of girls walking into the room,

"So, do you have a girlfriend?"

"I did.. her name was Iris.. but things just didn't work out.." he shrugged,

"Well, I heard there's a Gala at Wayne Manor, and everyone who's anyone is going.."  Barry looked over at Yonah as he sat down next to her, Yonah looked as though she was gonna be sick while Ezra snickered,

"You again?" he laughed, Yonah continued to look straight ahead while he kept talking, "So, you're hosting a gala. " 

"Yes, and what about it Mr. Allen," her eyebrow raised up as she turned towards him, "You want an invite, "

"It's only polite or do they not teach you that at princess school," 

"If I wanted to listen to an asshole I'd listen to my own farts.." she glared at him,

A few hours later and Yonah was now in her fencing 101 class in which she was known as unbeatable even by her own coach, though she was captain of it, putting on her gear, Rosa who was her sister's girlfriend handed her a foil before sending her on her way.

" By the way, you know you're fencing that new kid right," Rosa asked as Yonah held her helmet, "Then I have no mercy to show him.."  she shrugged walking out to the arena, Barry, on the other hand, was nervously standing there as the crowd of students gathered around, he had heard a lot about who his opponent could be, and he hoped that it wasn't Yonah, with the curly hair and eyes that sparkled- and what was he thinking,

"I won't go easy on you Allen, " Yonah said stepping onto the mat, 

"Hit me with your best shot!" he cheered.

"I've been wanting to hit you all day.." she snickered getting into position,

"En Garde!  Pret, Allez!" 

Yonah gave him the first hit and barely enough time to fight back, she quite liked the way he looked sitting on the ground looking up at her, it made her feel powerful, "You're pissing me off.." Barry mumbled, watching the way she walked back to her spot on the mat if he didn't have his helmet on you'd be able to tell he had hearts in his eyes, Yonah turned to look back at him "If your mad use your anger to destroy me.." she laughed, "If you can .."

"Oh I wanna destroy you alright.," he mumbled,

"En Garde!  Pret, Allez!" 

"I thought you and Oliver were finished, after the whole homecoming situation where he got juice on your dress?" Ezra said a few weeks had passed by it was now the night of the big Wayne gala hosted by their parents, Yonah groaned as Ezra sat there placing her tiara on her eldest sisters head, "I only got back with Oliver in case he shows up.." she said insisting on Barry, 

"Will you stop acting as if you don't like him!" Ezra grumbled, "And don't say you don't I heard you last night," she glared at her,

"I have no idea what you're talking abou-" 

"Oh, Barry~ please you moaned his name in your sleep!"  she laughed, "Something you didn't even do with Oliver, your own boyfriend,"

"That's cuz I was busy moaning it at him, but you wouldn't know that cause you do the same with Rosa!" She growled back at her, "Rosa is my girlfriend first off!" she whispered, "Oh don't get quiet now, Ms. moans in Spanish," Yonah stuck her tongue out, 

"At least she doesn't go for 15 minutes!" Ms, unsatisfied!" Ezra shouted back.

"Barf breath!"

"Idiot sandwich!'

"Nerfherder!" Yonah shouted at her.

"Oh, it's on!"

"Girls!" Alfred cleared his throat stopping them just in time, "Please compose yourselves, it's time for you both to arrive, and as for you Ms. Yonah," he glared at her then moved away to reveal Oliver behind him "No wild stunts you two," he mumbled watching Oliver run over to kiss Yonah.

"Introducing Master Dick Grayson," Alfred said "Alongside him  Master Jason Todd, Master Tim Drake, and Master Damian Wayne, with Master Duke Thomas," he said proudly watching them walk down from the staircase and inside of the monstrosity that was the gala, Barry waited to get the first glance of Yonah, the woman who had been on his mind for weeks in an annoyingly lovesick way,

"And Now announcing the entrance of Princess Ezra Shanel  Wayne accompanied by Rosa Santiago. " Ezra shook her head as she walked down the steps almost tripping down them, "And Now announcing  Princess Yonah Shathinia Shanel Wayne the 1st accompanied by Oliver Queen of Starling City," 

Barry felt his heart fall to his stomach which was odd because he didn't care that much about Yonah, or so he thought, but she looked happy up there in her black ball gown encrusted with crystal,  as she walked down the steps Oliver who had forgotten to hold her hand walked down without her. Yonah placed her hand on the railing as it brushed into another hand that helped her down.

"Oh Thank y-"  dark brown eyes meeting, green ones and the smell of the latest musk lingered around her making her drunk in the aroma, "You clean up nicely, you almost look like royalty.." she joked,

"You weren't kidding when you said you were expensive, you almost look like a princess.. " he remarked back,

"And now for our lovely host and hostess, Master Bruce Thomas Wayne and Her majesty  Queen Yazela Shathinia Wayne.." the room was filled with cheers and bows except for the small area in which Barry and Yonah we're talking.

"Who's this.."  

"Oh, Oliver meet Barry he and I are in the same classes together.. " she smiled taking him by the hand as he then let go of it, Yonah looked away for a bit from the action, 

"I see you have a thing for bad guys.." Barry mumbled remembering everything he heard from the papers about him, 

"Pleasure to meet you.." Oliver rolled his eyes, 

"Don't be so modest .." Barry laughed before watching Oliver's gaze follow towards someone else, 

"Yonah baby excuse me,"  Oliver kissed her hand as he walked off  towards the drinks, Yonah wouldn't say that she was used to him doing that, but she was, and she already knew what he was doing, he was going to set his sights on another girl leave her in the dust say he didn't mean it send her flowers and she'd end up beside him as his arm candy, 

"Wanna dance?"

"With you?" Yonah laughed 

"No, with my father.." 

"Cultured man.. you like musicals.." she smirked, taking him to the middle of the dance floor her sister cheering her on, "Don't step on my toe's, " she glared at him, "Wasn't planning to,"  

Yazela and Bruce we're standing next to Nora and Henry the four watching their children waltzing in the middle of the ballroom, "We're very honored to be here, " Nora said as Yazela giggled, "We're more honored you're both here, we haven't seen our daughter smile that bright since she made it head of the track team,"  Bruce only nodded along as he kept watching, 

"You're good at this, it's surprising... "  she said as he dipped her, her eyes wide at him in surprise of just how graceful he could be, "My mom taught me .." he shrugged it off, " Nothing special.." he sighed, "So you and that Oliver guy?" he asked watching how sad she had gotten just by her body language.

"What about him.." she asked 

"Why do you let him treat you like that, " Barry replied twirling her around, "He's rich, it's how life goes, everyone likes him and-" the sensation of lips on her own threw her off, Barry pulled her closer the feel of the satin fabric in his hands, as she kissed him back melting into it she couldn't believe what was happening right now, suddenly a sensation of something wet splashed over them, 

"OLIVER HOW DARE YOU," 

"Great I ruined the evening," Yonah said sitting on her bed soaking wet from what happened, "Mind helping me unzip," she asked as Barry was sitting there daydreaming, he didn't think that Yonah would let him in her room this quickly, but here he was "Earth to Barry!" she sighed already out of the dress, 

"We could get caught.," Barry mumbled to himself watching every shape of her

"Or we could get naked.." 

"What?" he turned red 

"Checking if you were listening.." she giggled " helping him up, her curls were curlier than ever, and Barry was in love his heart skipped 5 beats at the sight of her, he couldn't lose her besides he didn't know what to do in this type of moment, he felt his feet move  then his legs move, and his arms were holding Yonah by the waist, she purred feeling him behind her the fabric of his shirt wet against her low rise corset,

"Barry, what are you doing." laughing at their reflection in her vanity mirror, though she wouldn't lie and say she didn't dream about this ever happening, "I see you like bad boys.. from the look of Oliver Queen - " 

"If you're trying to turn me on, it's working..." She smirked turning towards him to kiss him, " You wan to do it here, right now, what about the guest," Yonah laughed untangling herself from his hold, "We don't have to if you don't want to, we can just get changed hate each oth-"

"No. "

"No?" 

"Look Yonah, I've liked you since the day we met, you're always in my mind and my dreams and at first I thought I was being cursed by you." he sat down on her bed "But I was falling for you and -"

"Stop talking." 

"What.." 

"Strip... "

"Okay.."

" You have no idea how much I dreamt about this!" Yonah squeaked, clothes were thrown in every direction of the room as there was nothing bur giddiness giggling heard from the two, "Neither do you..." 

"Did you hear about the new leader of the track team?" a few girls said running down the halls of the campus, "did you hear about his girlfriend," another asked, "Here they come," Yonah and Barry were hand in hand walking down the halls of the academy as she looked up at him squeezing his hand tight, 

" Do good at your meet!" she said as he let go of her hand to catch up with his team," she kissed him on the cheek while watching him walk away.

"I will!" he waved back.

"And bring the Knights to victory! crush them!!" she shouted,

"I'm gonna! " he laughed 

"I love you!" 

"I know!!" 

[valerie]

TWITL - week eight - I know when you look

New Post has been published on https://kiari.com/2021/02/twitl-week-eight-i-know-when-you-look/

TWITL - week eight - I know when you look

Remember when I used to use a line to whatever poem I wrote as the title to the blog post? Maybe I should write a poem and go from there.

I know you know I know when you look it shouldn’t matter to me it doesn’t matter to me except for that little thrill I can never subdue knowing that you know knowing when you look I’ll say I don’t feel a thing because I don’t feel a thing except for that little spark making me smile you must know I know whenever you look it shouldn’t matter to you it doesn’t matter to you I’ll keep telling myself even if it’s a lie because I know when you look

Sometimes I have no idea what my poetry means and sometimes I do. I should write more of it, especially when my fiction writing is stalled, like right now. I feel like I need to start my story over (I do like the characters) but I keep grinding away because I do like some of what I’ve written so far.

TV

WandaVision – (Disney+) – “Previously On” – Is there really only one more episode left? It’s been such a good show. Elizabeth Olsen is really rather magnificent in the role and I love this devling into her story. And really, she’s becoming something new too, isn’t she? I’m going to be sad when the show ends but I’m glad that I stuck with it because it’s been very rewarding.

Clarice – (CBS) – So, in a move I thought we’d never take, we signed up for CBS All Access which is going to be Paramount+ come Wednesday. They’re having a good deal right now so why not? And the first show we watched was Clarice. It’s a really good show! We’re caught up now and I’m very much enjoying it so far. Rebecca Breeds is rather exceptional in the role of Clarice Starling.

Fremont Fry’s 2007

Fry’s Electronics is no more. The stores are now closed and the website is just a statement of their closure. I’m so sad! We last went into Fry’s in Concord in December 2019 and it was a mere shell of itself. It seriously makes me sad. The first Fry’s I ever visited was the little one in Fremont/Milpitas (which was it?). When the Fremont one opened, it was so wonderful because it was so big. It wasn’t like the ones in other places, which apparently had different facades, but I still loved it nonetheless. The Concord store was even less brash and actually not as fun as the Fremont one. I did check out the one in Roseville once. Is that the one that had the train bursting out of the front? Oh, and then there was the one in Phoenix, which I think I still dream about sometimes.

I will miss wandering the aisles at Fry’s. I still have my one iPod dock at work that I bought at Fry’s. (I will continue to use it as long as I have an iPod!) We have DVDs and blu-rays that we bought at Fry’s. I might have bought a phone there once and I know we’ve bought games and CDs there too. I suppose it was inevitable that Fry’s would go away, given the likes of Amazon and other online stores. But still, it’s just SAD. ALAS!

MOVIES

Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015) – I re-watched this movie yesterday and lo, it hits so differently after watching WandaVision. I think I appreciate the movie much more after knowing more about Wanda. Of course, there’s a little continuity thing that made me snicker a little but other than that, Age of Ultron definitely deserves another look after watching WandaVision. Also, Chris Evans is extra easy on the eyes in the movie. (I’m a Hemsworth girl but Evans has always been there for me too.)

What if I had purple hair?

The hair color changing filter on Instagram is really cool. I love doing the purple hair. So pretty!

We keep watching videos about Thailand. Maybe we’ll take a vacation there because wow, our money would go further out there!

I keep checking out the recap videos for WandaVision and there’s so much to take in! I love all the theories and comic tie-ins but I do stop myself with possible leaks. Just one more episode and then what will I do?

I was reading an old convention entry (WonderCon) and why didn’t I remember that I’d seen Neil Gaiman during a panel?! I’m so glad I write down all this stuff because what the heck!

I hope Henry Cavill gets to play Superman one more time in a movie. There’s talk about a reboot but please, let him play the Man of Steel one more time. He’s just so perfect in the role.

[justforbooks]

The Loss of Jonathan Demme

By Anthony Lane

A fellow named Melvin Dummar comes across this guy—“a strange ol’ weirdo wino, layin’ out in the middle of the desert,” with a busted shoulder and a bloody ear. Melvin hauls him into his pickup and drives him to Las Vegas, where the old man asks to go. Along the way, they talk and sing; after some coaxing, the passenger even croons “Bye Bye Blackbird.” Then, after thunder and rain, he rolls down his window and sniffs the air. “Greasewood and sage,” he says. Before they part, he asks for money, and Melvin hands over the contents of his pockets—a palmful of loose change. “That’s it,” he adds. “That’s all I got.”

Such is the prelude, both easygoing and far-reaching, to “Melvin and Howard” (1980). Melvin is played by Paul Le Mat, and Howard, if you trust the movie, is Howard Hughes, played by Jason Robards. The director is Jonathan Demme, who died on Wednesday, at the age of seventy-three. Everything that there was to like about Demme is present in the scene: the contagious warmth that he feels toward his characters; the appeal to all the senses, not excluding smell; the consoling thought that, wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, music should not be far away; and the life-giving mix of movement and stasis—two people just sitting there, revealing something of themselves, while the truck chews up the miles and the day breaks free of the night.

Most of the tributes paid to Demme, in the past few days, have marvelled at the range of goods that was stocked, as it were, in the storefront of his films. Try the early exploitation flicks of the nineteen-seventies, like “Caged Heat” and “Crazy Mama,” made under the aegis of Roger Corman. Or the antsy and energetic comedies of the eighties, “Married to the Mob” and “Something Wild,” succeeded, at the start of the following decade, by the solid studio pictures, “The Silence of the Lambs” and “Philadelphia,” that came away with Academy Awards. Dotted through Demme’s career, meanwhile, were the music videos and the music documentaries, which harkened to figures as disparate as Bruce Springsteen, Neil Young (twice), the Pretenders, and, of course, the Talking Heads, in the imperishable hipness of “Stop Making Sense” (1984). Only last year, Demme filmed Justin Timberlake and the Tennessee Kids in concert at the MGM Grand, in Las Vegas—not far from where the hobo billionaire of “Melvin and Howard” asked to be dropped off, at the rear of his own hotel.

This chop and change suggests a reluctance to settle, not merely in a choice of genres but often in the mood space of a single film. Nobody who saw “Something Wild,” in 1986, can ever forget the giddying swerve of the plot. Jeff Daniels, as Charlie, is hardly the first stiff to be loosened up by a dangerous dame (think of Henry Fonda in “The Lady Eve,” being led in a merry dance by Barbara Stanwyck), but in the hands of Demme, with the hard-staring help of Ray Liotta, the danger becomes a blood sport. A pair of Hitchcockian handcuffs serves first as an accessory to sex and then as a shackle to bind the hero while the villain, in the next room, plies his demonic trade. You want to know if screwball can be used as an offensive weapon? Look and learn.

As for “The Silence of the Lambs,” one cause of its endurance, and the reason that, however busy I may be, I am incapable of dragging myself away whenever it plays on TV, is that its contents shift with every viewing. As we follow Clarice Starling on her first visit to Hannibal Lecter, down the long walk past the other cells, we hear the deep churn of the musical theme, and our scalps, as ordained, begin to prickle; and what do we discover, behind the see-through wall? A sprightly figure, standing to greet the lady, as erect as a butler, with the spectre of a smile. The gourmet has found his amuse-gueule. From here on, the horror of the film will be garnished with comedy, while the comedy (and this is the creepiest touch of all) will bear the rich savor of romance. “People will say we’re in love,” Lecter says, when the young F.B.I. trainee returns to him later in the tale—for a tip, for a clinching clue, or because she can’t help herself. Their expressions, viewed head-on, fill the whole landscape of the screen. Each can see nothing but the other.

That stark composition returns, in very different circumstances, at the end of “Philadelphia,” when the dying man (Tom Hanks) bids farewell to his beloved (Antonio Banderas). Hanging over that film—so timely in 1993, and so dated now, for all its tender and well-meaning ambitions—is a sense that it was, in part, an act of atonement for “The Silence of the Lambs.” Charges of homophobia had been levelled at the character of Buffalo Bill, the killer whom Starling hunts, despite the fact that Demme took explicit pains, as Thomas Harris had done in the novel, to disclaim any link between violence and the transgender community. In consequence, there were protests at the time of release. To someone of Demme’s patent decency, those will have struck home.

The profession of movie director is not one that we instantly associate with the modest and the benign, but somehow, like Anthony Minghella, Demme rose through the ranks. What was a nice guy like him doing in a job like that? Well, he was schooled by Corman, a gentleman on the throne of schlock, who oversaw, with approval, the ascent of his many protégés. (The roster is laughably distinguished: Scorsese, Coppola, Nicholson, Stallone, and so forth. James Cameron designed the spaceship for the Corman-produced “Battle Beyond the Stars.”) To listen to Demme and Corman shoot the breeze, in their commentary on “Crazy Mama,” is like hearing a couple of veterans recalling their comrades-in-arms, without rancor or rivalry (“Jim Backus, Mr. Magoo, God bless him; he was a delight,” Demme says, scanning the credit sequence), and an ancient dispute about a montage is fondly laid to rest. What the master made plain, according to Demme, was that, “if you lose the viewer’s eye, you’re going to lose the viewer’s interest. He also stressed the importance of having as many characters as possible that are in every way just as interesting as your main characters, even if they get less screen time.”

That is a crucial creed, because it implies not simply a visual knack but a reserve of moral generosity. Between “The Silence of the Lambs” and “Philadelphia,” Demme made “Cousin Bobby,” about Robert Castle, an Episcopalian minister in Harlem: a firebrand built like a fortress. I still remember Demme standing in the frame, arms folded, putting questions to his cousin and watching him at work, even if the matter in hand was something as prosaic as a pothole. There was a persistent liberal ardor to Demme’s politics (witness his 2007 film about Jimmy Carter), but he was also blessed by a larger liberalism: the imaginative outreach, hard to discern in the rampant studio movies of today, which assumes that everybody is worth stopping for—that there will always be folks who repay the camera’s attention. What he radiated, before or behind the lens, was an unstinting curiosity, and a faith that the most reliable map of character was the human face.

That faith, rather than nepotism, led him to cast the Reverend Castle in five more films—first “Philadelphia,” then “Beloved” (1998), “The Truth About Charlie” (2002), “The Manchurian Candidate” (2004), and “Rachel Getting Married” (2008). The last of these, starring Anne Hathaway, found favor in some quarters, yet its fretfulness seemed a small thing when set beside the shimmying tensions of “Something Wild,” and even Demme loyalists had to admit that the later movies suffered an unaccountable loss of pressure. “The Truth About Charlie,” especially, looked all the more forlorn because it was a remake of “Charade,” and there is no known galaxy in which Mark Wahlberg could be an adequate substitute for Cary Grant. Not too many people saw “Ricki and the Flash” (2015), Demme’s final feature, despite the zest of Meryl Streep as the middle-aged rocker of the title, yet the movie is worth revisiting, in the wake of Demme’s passing, because it proves that his inquisitive eye had lost little of its gleam. He was, among his other talents, a terrific picker of extras, and as Ricki performs in bars, or at family gatherings, he dishes up, in passing glimpses, a fine assortment of his fellow-citizens.

Demme was a man for small towns and back roads. He liked those pockets of America where there was fun to be had, at a bargain price, and weakness to be gently laid bare. Hence his penchant for Melvin, a near-loser with a wish list of hopes, and for the tallness of Melvin’s tale. Whether the Howard he came across, that night in the desert, really was Howard Hughes, as legend insists, was not the sort of conundrum to bother Demme, and I doubt if he gave a damn whether the infamous “Mormon will”—in which, years later, Hughes allegedly left more than a hundred and fifty million dollars to Melvin in gratitude for his Samaritan deed, like a mega-Magwitch rewarding Pip—was the genuine article or a fake. What Demme knew for certain, because his grip on our everyday fears and fancies was so secure, is that we want to believe Melvin, and that Melvin, the poor dope, wants to believe himself. The stories that we tell, in other words, may not always be true, and yet they are true of us, and that will have to do. The loss of Jonathan Demme is a sad surprise, for the films that he bequeaths to us remain, to an uncommon degree, the work of a good man.

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