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p1harmonyofficial · 4 years ago

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[📰] P1Harmony May Be New to K-Pop, But They're Beauty Experts

By Devon Abelman

"Pots-and-pans music" is what Keeho, the leader of P1Harmony, lovingly calls the K-pop group's songs. They're loud, explosive, and essentially caffeine mainlined through your eardrums — all in the best way possible, of course.

"Because our music is so strong, we try to portray that in our hair and makeup as well," Keeho continues. "For me, my hair is all slicked back for our new song, 'Scared,' and our makeup is a lot darker than [for our debut single,] 'Siren.'"

In fact, Jongseob, P1Harmony's youngest member, adds their strikingly different hair colors, like Theo's whimsical light pink, Intak's sleek jet black, and Keeho's enigmatic navy blue, balance each other out and express the range of emotions portrayed in their lyrics and melodies.

But this is just a basic overview of P1Harmony and the intense aesthetic they've been building for the past six months since debuting in October 2020. In advance of the release of their new EP, Disharmony: Break Out, today, April 20, I sat down with the rookie K-pop group via Zoom to get a deeper look at each member, their individual relationships to beauty, and how they are choosing to present themselves now that they are on the world's stage.

Keeho

When I ask Keeho which P1Harmony song fits his personality best, he replies, "You can't really fit me in a box like that. There are various characters I can be." The 19-year-old from Canada even wears many hats throughout our interview. Not only is Keeho the group's official leader, but he's also their unofficial translator, color commentator, and storyteller — he truly has an aside or anecdote to share about everything.

The first tale Keeho tells dates back to second grade, when he begged his mom to let him get blonde streaks in his hair. "I was that kid in class," he remarks.

Then, Keeho delves into how his family introduced him to the wonders of beauty growing up. His mom, in particular, made him "do a five-, six-step skin-care routine," he recalls. Every morning before school, he'd splash his face with warm water ("must be warm water, so you open up the pores") and wash up with cleansing foam. Then, he'd rinse it off with cold water ("so you close them"). Although this isn't scientifically true, I'm glad this worked for him.

When layering on his serums and creams, "the first one you need to do is the most liquidy one and the last one you need to do is the one that is not liquidy at all," Keeho recalls his mom instructing him — a fact I confirm for him. Also, she'd tell him to never rub his skin-care products on, only pat.

Last but not least, Keeho would (and still does) reach for sunscreen — "always sunscreen," he emphasizes. "My mom said, 'If you don't put it on, you're going to age like a raisin.'"

Keeho's older sister, on the other hand, brought him into the world of makeup by employing him as her guinea pig for testing out new looks. "I would let my sister put makeup on me all the time," Keeho says, mentioning Halloween as a common occasion for her artistry. They even playfully filmed YouTube beauty tutorials and challenges together.

One aspect of beauty Keeho has yet to try is a manicure, but he's ready to dive into that realm. "I think it would be fun," he says. A$AP Rocky's eye nail art that he showed off front row at Prada back in October 2019 is Keeho's major inspiration.

Intak

Another unofficial title Keeho has taken on within P1Harmony is hairstylist. Intak, the group's 17-year-old charismatic rapper and star dancer, credits him for his hair-care routine. "I learned how to use hair serum to volumize my hair when I go out," Intak says. Keeho goes on to explain that they both have incredibly dry hair, so he recommended his favorite moisturizing products to Intak and told him to rake them through his hair while it's still wet and only slightly towel-dried. Intak was so pleased with the result that he went out and bought the same products that day.

Although he has kept his hair black throughout his career so far, Intak is quick to share he's very experimental with beauty. For performances in the past, he's adorned his eyes with bloody scratch-like liner and ultra-sooty smoky eyes. Plus, you're about to see some cheek art on him and dramatically flushed cheeks.

Unlike Keeho, Intak didn't get into skin care until after debuting. "I've started visiting the dermatologist frequently," he says. "They gave me a set [of products] that includes [everything I need]." His favorite is a mask infused with avocado and peppermint, like the Tonymoly I'm Real Avocado Mask Sheet or Skinfood's Pear Mint Food Mask, which quenches his dehydrated skin.

Jiung

Spoken like a true Libra, Jiung is the first to mention he enjoys expressing himself through beauty and fashion. "[They are] really important things," the 19-year-old explains in English. "I always try to learn how to express myself that way. So the more I know, the more I can do."

However, when I ask Jiung what kinds of looks he feels the most confident in, he laughs before taking time to think about it. (In the meantime, Keeho shares he knows what he, personally, is least confident in: T-shirts, due to his long arms.) "This is hard," Jiung groans. I must say his short honey-blonde hair — a look he's always been curious about trying — is definitely bringing out a particularly magnetic side of him, as seen in the P-side track video for "If You Call Me."

When he was younger, Jiung dabbled in all different kinds of haircuts, colors, and perms, he lists off. The latter of which he looks forward to trying out again now as a K-pop star.

When the members were just trainees, Keeho helps Jiung recount a time when he wanted to fill in his eyebrows. "He did not how to do it at all," Keeho says. "He got a Sharpie and started coloring in his eyebrows. It was devastating, to say the least, for the people who had to see it."

"It was art," Jiung interjects. Now, he proudly declares he has a proper brow powder.

Theo

Theo, P1Harmony's straightforward vocalist, is admittedly a sneakerhead. He strictly wears Jordans, according to Keeho's translation. Air Jordan 1s are Theo's favorite style, but he can't pick a color that he's the biggest fan of. He can tell you what he feels least confident in, though: shorts and short-sleeved shirts. So if you barely see Theo in summery clothes, now you know why. (However, he doesn't offer up an exact explanation.)

Since elementary school, the now-19-year-old has permed and colored his hair every shade of ROYGBIV, including red, gray, and even blue for one summer break — all thanks to his mom, who is a hairstylist. This is a revelation even many of the other members weren't privy to, much to the chagrin of Keeho. "It's annoying me right now because his hair is healthy," he remarks. "My hair looks like a broom."

Knowing his hair is healthy comes as a shock to me, though, as Theo has gone from white-blonde to rosy-pink over the past six months. (Let's be real, that's a transformation few people's hair can handle.) He's also been able to grow out hair; it falls past his eyebrows and is starting to graze his shoulders in the back.

Honestly, Theo is ready for it to be short again, he shares. "I like my long hair, but I don't like it being in my face," he asserts. "I can't really maintain it. I bleached it so much that it flips in all different directions."

Soul

Before our interview officially started, the members and I exchanged weird facts about ourselves to get to know each other better beyond our beauty routines. Keeho revealed his left eyebrow has been twitching lately, and he needs to cuddle a body pillow to fall asleep. Intak has a freckle on his finger that his grandma often mistakes for dirt and tries to wipe off. Jiung had pet geckos, scorpions, and tarantulas growing up. Jongseob loves mint chocolate. Theo can't burp, and Soul enjoys petting insects.

But that's not the weirdest thing about him or any of the members. The strangest thing about the boys is that "Soul doesn't do anything at all [for his skin-care routine], and his skin is actually pretty good," Keeho says. (You can scroll through Soul's selfies on P1Harmony's Twitter to confirm this, but spoiler: His complexion is immaculate.)

Soul, 16, goes on to explain that his skin is incredibly dry and sensitive, so much so that even cleansing makes his face turn red and any bit of friction causes bumps to form. Needless to say, he's scared to put anything on his face. "I just do cleansing foam and leave it at that," Soul admits. Makeup isn't off the table, though. Soul is no stranger to subtle washes of pink shadow on his lids and fake eyebrow piercings made out of silver studs.

Although Soul is seemingly one of the shyest members and keeps to himself for most of the interview, he's an intense rockstar at heart. He favors P1Harmony's more aggressive, hard-hitting songs, like their new title song, "Scared."

Raise your hand if you'd like to see Soul with thick, black kohl or graphic blue liner and long, raven hair, perhaps paired with a studded leather jacket over a ripped-up T-shirt. OK, great; I'm not the only one. For now, we'll have to appreciate his bob-length ashy-blonde hair.

Jongseob

Other than his nuggets of knowledge about the way P1Harmony reflects their music in their hair and makeup, Jongseob mostly listens throughout the interview. Luckily, the 15-year-old rapper/songwriter did pipe up to share his skin-care routine.

First, Jongseob double-cleanses to remove his makeup, starting with cleansing oil and following up with a foam cleanser. Serum is slathered on next, then moisturizer. When his skin is feeling especially dry, Jongseob layers a gel cream on top as a sleeping mask — a tactic I'd never considered before. Typically, I reach for them in reverse order.

Jongseob's hair has also been through the wringer since P1Harmony's debut. Last October, he colored his hair lilac and gradually went darker shades of purple until it was an electric violet hue. Most recently, though, his dye job has been a fiery orange. Next, Jongseob says he wants to try gray with an ash tone.

And this is just the beginning of P1Harmony's journey through the mystical world of K-pop beauty. This time next year, they're sure to have experimented with even bolder, brighter, and more eccentric looks. For now, you can check out a teaser for their brand-new music video for "Scared" of their latest EP, Disharmony: Break Out, below.

#p1harmony #ot6 #t:news #era:disharmony : break out #210421

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whatwashernameagain · 5 years ago

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Keep him safe - Chapter 30

You can read the previous Chapters here: Ch 1, Ch 5, Ch 10, Ch 15, Ch 20, Ch 25, previous chapter, Ao3 Link, Lo’s, Pat’s and Virgil’s aesthetics, Fantasy AU You are Magical, I’m dying to be with you

Pairings: Logan/Patton, Roman/Virgil

Words: 7.264

Warnings: Profanities, anxiety, low self-esteem, dirty jokes, invading privacy, stalking

Summary: Detective Logan Sanders and his best friend and dorky partner Roman Prince have made a dear friend in the lovely pattisier Patton. Logan however feels a lot more than friendship for the sweet man, even though he knows he cannot possibly have him. Their routine is broken abruptly when Logan finds bruises on Patton’s fair skin and slender wrists he could hardly have received from his costumary clumsiness. Meanwhile his partner Roman has his own demon to fight, which comes in the form of a little delinquent who seemed to have been pulled into a street gang quite against his will. Roman is determined to help the strange young man. It would be so much easier though if he just stopped hissing at him!

Notes: A LOT of thanks to @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 and @hanramz-the-fander for working hard and helping me so much and generally being just amazing! This chapter was HUGE and they were amazingly helpful. Both of them are simply the best people! About the chapter… Uhhh I’ll let it be a surprise. (Also I used to have a list of people who don’t like any sexual content and I lost it! Please let me know if you want to be on that list or if you need more things put into the warnings!)

Chapter 30

Roman closed his eyes with a sigh as Patton’s soft, band-aid covered hands gently twisted his curls and pinned them away from his face while humming a dreamy tune that soothed the nervous energy making the young detective’s heart still beat hummingbird-quick in his chest. He couldn’t seem to really calm down since the break with Virgil. Even his intention of not pursuing him anymore hadn’t eased his pain. The passionate creature had grown truly upset with his heroics. Now, there seemed to be a bitter weight constantly pulling him down painfully. Yet, as Patton scooted closer on the couch, almost settling in his lap in his concentration, and started to spread the cool lotion on his slightly reddened nose, his lungs seemed to be able to expand properly again.

The smaller man had been baking again and had filled the flat with an amplified version of the sweetness that always clung to his clothes. It seemed to fill the space with warmth and distracted a little from the tired, broken heart. Under the blanket settled around his waist, a tiny body stretched contently and dug sharp little claws into his thigh, before settling down with a rumbling purr. Logan was bustling about the flat, collecting laundry in a large basket as he wandered from room to room, growling whenever he found a wayward shirt or embroidered vest or earring Roman had flung off his body like colorful, shimmering scales, the crutch Patton was supposed to use still or a soft cardigan he had thrown over the back of a chair as he’d grown hot from playing with his pets or baking.

The smaller man had been very anxious, at first, about Logan’s annoyed huff as he’d had made his daily round cleaning up art supplies, odd books and notes, chew toys and now a soft little sweater. Despite his lively, sometimes scatterbrained nature, Patton had been painfully careful not to leave his stuff lying around and to anticipate what might anger Logan. Every day, Roman’s and his sheets and blankets were put away in the compartment under the couch before the young detective was done in the bathroom and the shower and sink were wiped down pristinely after he’d used them. It didn't take much to make him feel guilty and frightened. Someone being angry in his vicinity was enough to make him fear he'd done something wing. Lately, he seemed calmer about Logan’s grumbling, though. Virgil had pulled him aside and told him about his own attempts at being both useful and invisible. No one but him could quite understand the fear of being a burden and being cast out (or hurt, in Patton’s case) as a consequence. Their shared, whispered conversations in Virgil’s room appeared to soothe both of them.

It was obvious the youngest member of their household was still taking care of Patton’s fears and spotting them before any of the others had the chance. Otherwise, he was quite absent, though. Since Roman had come home, he was locked away in his room, as silent as if he weren’t there at all.

Despite Logan’s protectiveness and Patton’s loving touch, the hurt detective couldn’t escape the abyss Virgil’s reaction had pushed him into.

Feeling his chest ache with sorrow, Roman took another, suddenly constricted breath, trying to focus on Patton’s fingers on his cheeks, spreading the lotion against his burns, Logan’s deep voice talking to his pest-rat and the scents around him. Patton’s familiar, comforting scent of sugar, citrus and vanilla still clung to his clothes from the cookies he’d made for him. Still, infuriatingly, his heart hurt with loneliness. Bitterly, he wondered why he was made this way. He had all the affection he could ever ask for, and still something was missing painfully inside him. A space cold with the absence of someone he wanted so desperately. Or perhaps just cold with the absence of love. He’d forced Virgil into this tight vacuum that needed to be filled, but a free, brave thing like him couldn’t be captured to fill a void in some man yearning for him. He just didn’t want to be the one to love him as Roman needed.

He wasn’t the only one Roman could hope for, though. Someone - a dramatic, flamboyant, brilliant thief, had risked their freedom and health to make him remember this.

After a restless night in the hospital, Roman had awoken miserable and in pain. His eyes were burning and crusted with tears trying to clean out the soot, his lungs hurt from coughing and his throat burned so fiercely, he felt like he’d gargled acid. He was alone, ugly and disgusting.

Ugh, Roman had hated his own skin. He’d yearned to be in Logan’s arms. He’d wanted to go home. He’d wanted to cry.

Rubbing his sore cheeks and eyes, he’d tried to summon the strength to fix his sorry appearance. He’d need to get to the bathroom and salvage what he could so as not to frighten the poor nurses. They deserved a princely smile.

Trying to swallow down the sooty mucus his lungs kept forcing on him, he’d noticed a constricting fabric around his throat. Pulling on it with clumsy fingers, he’d gotten up to stumble into the bathroom. Blinking against the blinding hospital lights of the windowless, tiny room, he’d been astonished at what he’d found.

Yes, his hair had still been covered in a layer of ash and his cheeks and nose were reddened, and he was still wearing the white hospital gown, but something transformed the image and made him look almost elegant.

A clearly expensive, embroidered silk cravat was expertly tied around his neck. The scarf was died a light burgundy with darker shades around a swirling pattern highlighted with golden thread. It shone so smoothly and brightly it was almost blinding in the sterile light. The classical style of the fabric tied broadly and tucked under the collar of his shirt caressed his chest and transformed the sad, beaten picture he’d presented yesterday to make him look bright and lovely, like a pretty plaything on a wealthy man’s arm.

Or perhaps it was the awed look that came over his features.

Logan had thrown a fit, of course. Roman, a well-trained and alert fighter in his own right, had woken up with the silken fabric artfully wrapped around his vulnerable throat, tied by fingers too nimble to wake him up with their touch. A thief’s touch.

The experienced detective had seen the worst in the situation and claimed they could have strangled him in his sleep. His partner could have been killed! The thought of them watching Roman sleep was enough to set his blood on fire but the fact that they had touched him- it did not bear thinking about.

Roman understood his terror. He’d been helpless and recovering as they had been standing over him as he’d been totally unaware of someone being close to him. And still, as he’d curled up in the unyielding cotton sheets, dressed in scratchy, bleached fabric, the cravat had felt like a lover’s touch. Even the danger of having been at their mercy felt, to his fanciful mind, romantic. Maybe even a little bit erotic. As if he were a prize to be stolen away. Something pretty to be adorned however they wanted. The center of their attention. He couldn’t help picturing the scene, over and over. The thief, masked by shadows, leaning over his helpless form, their fingertips so light on his skin, adorning him with their gift, their claim on him.

Someone was thinking of him, wanting him, even as he felt undesirable and uncomfortable in his own skin. The thief had cared enough about him to come see him and, despite probably feeling less than glamorous themselves, leave him something to give him pleasure and remind him of their admiration, their affection. Just like his statement of the crown and cape, it showed what they thought about the young detective. Whenever he received another gift from them, he could see himself through their eyes. For them, he was precious, bright and desirable. Something rare, worth courting and owning.

He knew he wasn’t supposed to like the way they overstepped his boundaries and ignored his right not to be touched without his consent. Intellectually, he knew he was supposed to be better than this. Stronger and more independent. He wasn’t supposed to be so desperate for someone to fix him, to make him whole. It wasn’t the way the modern prince he wanted to be was supposed to feel. And still he liked the thought of someone being possessive over him. Someone wanting him so much they wanted to capture and own him and never let him leave. It meant stability. Safety. It meant he wouldn’t have to be afraid of being abandoned and alone.

He’d always felt this way, if he was honest with himself. It was why he liked it when Logan publicly introduced him as his partner, or when he defended him, or even when he called him ‘his idiot’.

Despite his best intentions not to fall into a foolish, clearly unhealthy romance again, Roman felt so appreciated. He’d spent so many nights dreaming of having someone to love that he’d tried to make his wish come true by flirting and charming everyone till it became second nature to him. He wasn’t looking for casual affairs or to be with many different conquests. He just wanted to be noticed by someone who’d make him feel worth being loved.

Especially now that he’d abandoned his hopes for a relationship with Virgil, he yearned to belong to somebody. Clinging to Logan, who was quite willing to keep him close at the moment, helped make him feel less alone, but it didn’t really help against the fear of ending up alone. Unloved. Logan had Patton now and eventually, they’d end up together, he was sure of it. He wanted them to. And if Virgil, who was brave, fierce and beautiful, would find somebody as well, where would Roman fit in the world? No, he couldn’t part with the gift. Despite the helpless anger Logan had reacted with, he’d kept the cravat.

Now, battling the loneliness, the young detective focused all of his senses on the cool silk on his skin, the contrasting heat at the back of his neck where the fabric trapped the warmth of his body, the expensive quality of the stitching he could feel by touch alone, remembered the feeling of worthiness it gave him, while he repeated his mantra like he had every night at the academy.

‘Nobody hates you. People care about you. You are not unlovable.’

Still, his throat closed up as he remembered the cold, lonely nights. The feeling of being alone and unworthy still reared its head sometimes, no matter how much he was given. Not even Logan’s care had been able to banish his episodes entirely, but he’d made them more bearable.

Now, as Roman felt himself slipping despite the gift, he grabbed hold of one of the most substantial things in his life – Patton – and pulled him into his arms. The smaller man huffed a surprised laugh as he dropped the lotion. Pliant and willing, he adjusted to being squished against a hard chest and fumbled to wrap his arms around the broad shoulders. Digging his fingers into the lush hair and running over the soft fuzz of the undercut, he resumed his humming as he offered all of the support his warm body could give. His lashes brushed Roman’s cheek in the softest of touches as he rubbed his face against the smooth, heated skin. With a little maneuvering, he managed to straddle the taller man’s lap (without squishing Nugget purring under the blanket) and wrapped himself around him in a way that allowed him to tuck his sweet prince’s head against his chest. Roman’s entire body seemed to deflate with his sigh. He buried his face in the fluffy fabric and lost himself in the lavender tinted darkness of the embrace. The urge to cry and hide was hard to hold back, but Patton gave him just what he needed. He smelled only him and felt nothing but his warmth, his softness, the vibration of his humming.

The rhythmic caresses over his back helped calm the detective. Patton was so patient and kind, shielding him despite his small size. No matter how much he’d been through, the baker made him feel like all was right in the world. Like neither of them had suffered and like he was utterly content just to be allowed to hold Roman. And he felt like he was made for it, too.

Being ever observant, Roman had noticed easily that he’d chosen to order the largest and softest sweaters and cardigans the fashionable man would let him get away with as they’d online-shopped together. Weary of letting him return to the flat, he’d pleaded until Patton allowed him to choose a small array of clothes with him and buy them for him. Now, he was wrapped in soothing pastel colors and fluffy, downy softness that invited cuddles and tender hands on him. He’d lured Virgil into his arms repeatedly and even managed to tempt Logan to run his palm over his back as he’d dared to lean close to the taller man, and now he was inviting Roman to sink into his embrace. He was like a ray of sunshine, warming the whole flat with his bright presence. There were no words to express the young detective’s gratefulness to him. Leaning up, he brushed a soft kiss to his cheek, making Patton laugh. Returning the gesture, the baker kissed his friend’s cheek, his nose, his forehead and the side of his mouth until his beloved prince smiled for him.

“There you go, RoRo. That’s the handsome prince I’m crazy about.” He crooned at him. Though he was getting antsy with his wish to return to the café that required him to pay bills, pay salaries, bake and try to salvage his reputation with his customers he’d abandoned, being there for Roman gave him everything he needed to ignore the anxious fluttering behind his ribcage.

“C’mere, let good old Pat cuddle you. I’ve got you and I’m not letting you go, my most cared for kiddo. It’ll be alright.”

They sunk against the cushions, curling up in each other’s arms with Roman’s head on the smaller shoulder and his arms wrapped around the slender figure. Despite the size difference, he felt protected.

“You think so?” He asked hopefully, feeling foolish even as he asked. He should be able to handle the consequences of his actions instead of begging for reassurance like a child.

Patton knew immediately what bothered him. Despite his own fear, he’d seen that Roman had gotten scolded more than enough and had offered forgiveness and support.

“But of course! Virgil just got scared! He cares about you very much and we are all proud of how brave you were! I am for sure! It’s just that we hadn’t heard from you two and got worried, and then we called the precinct and asked about you and heard about the fire, and you in the hospital, he got really anxious, poor kiddo! But it was just because he cares so much! He sometimes doesn’t know how to show it, is all!” Patton promised earnestly, brushing his dear friend’s hair back and holding him tightly.

If that was true, Virgil had a truly bad way of showing that he cared, Roman thought.

After being scanned and poked and attached to machines and comforting Logan he’d been utterly drained. Breathing hurt. Thinking hurt. But at least his partner had finally calmed down and climbed out of the bed with a blush before settling in a hard chair next to the bed. The screeching sound of sneakers skidding around a corner promised more company, though. He remembered hoping it wasn't Patton running around without his crutch he hadn't liked in the first place. He'd preferred walking carefully or hopping around (and stumbling into people's arms due to his poor coordination) to using the crutch with his still injured hands.

Unfortunately, upon reaching Jake at the precinct and learning that Roman had been in an actual fire, no reassurances could keep them at the flat. Patton was beyond himself with fear. Overhearing Jake frantically trying to calm them down, Captain Holt snatched the phone and gave them a quick rundown of the situation before sending Rosa and Amy to pick them up. The baker had hardly been able to wait for their ride while Virgil had started nervously pacing and biting his nails.

Upon arriving at the entrance of the hospital, Patton hadn't even taken his crutches. He'd stormed in so quickly, he’d crashed into the front desk with an oof.

“Roman Prince!” He’d gasped. “Where’s my RoRo? Please, lady, I have to see him, he was in a fire and is dreadfully hurt! He needs us!”

Despite cutting the line and causing a ruckus, the receptionist melted under the large, hazel eyes.

Upon receiving directions, Patton dashed forward with enough momentum to cause a ruckus in the hallways as he dragged Virgil around corners with him. His face was ashen with worry.

“Hey, you can’t run in here!” An angry nurse called to him. The slight man nimbly ducked under her arm, for the first time uncaring about being nice.

“Sorry, my son’s in here!” He’d chirped, before changing directions so abruptly, he almost yanked Virgil off his feet. Missed the door!

As Amy profusely apologized to the nurse (and Roza flashed her badge with a glare), Patton burst into the room and crashed into Roman with a cry.

The detective gasped as he was suddenly assaulted with a fluffy hug. Patton was like a whirlwind, taking his face in his hands to check him over and examining him for burns and bruises with gently insistent touches.

“Oh gosh, RoRo, sweetie, are you hurt? Can I help?” He’d rambled, his large, pretty eyes damp with tears.

Baffled, Roman tried to make sense of the anxious, caring creature almost crawling onto the bed with him. His head felt like it was splitting open and his throat was burning with acidic pain. Finding words to soothe the pâtissier felt harder than ever. Even Logan could not overlook the tiredness of his partner and stepped in.

“He will be alright, Patton. Roman suffered some minor lung damage from smoke inhalation, but he will make a full recovery.” He’d explained gently while carefully placing steadying hands on his shoulder and waist and steering his friend from the bed into the much needed chair on the other side. Standing behind him, he grasped the fidgeting hands in his own and cradled them safely, bending over him to do so and enveloping him in his protective warmth. The baker’s next breath came more easily as he was able to lean against the solid body behind him.

Hoping to put his dear friend at ease despite hurting all over, Roman wrestled the mask off his face and gave them a sweet smile.

“It’s all good, fair Patton. A small inconvenience like a fire will not hinder my quest.” He’d promised reassuringly despite his aching throat and ruined voice.

“A small- how can you say that?!”

Virgil’s shrill screech startled the young detective all over again. He was too tired for this. Even smiling at Patton felt like it drained him to the point of making tears fall. He wasn’t even sad, it was just all too much.

The barista had things to say, though. His hair was messy and tangled and his nails were bitten bloody again from the way here. The wild, dark eyes were wide in his pasty face. Though pretty as always, his elegant paleness had been replaced by an unhealthy hue.

Nothing could have prepared Roman for the way the lovely young man’s words turned sharp and cutting suddenly.

"You suicidal maniac, do you have any idea what you almost did? Don’t you care?! Do you ever think that people worry about you when you go charging into a- a fucking fire? Patton was beyond scared because you had to play hero and for what? Attention? For him?! Are you that ignorant? You have a family here and you just throw it away for a quest – are you serious?"

Roman shrank into himself on the bed as he was suddenly yelled at. His heart was racing immediately.

“No- Virgil, I didn’t mean to-”

“I don’t give a fuck about your excuses you bloody, selfish idiot!” The younger man screeched. Patton gasped, shooting up from his place shielded by Logan’s solid body.

“Virgil, stop it!” He cried.

Shooting Patton a glare, the barista turned on his heels.

“Whatever, I’m done here anyway.”

The door had slammed behind him so loudly the small baker had flinched. Concerned and not knowing whether to follow his little delinquent, comfort Roman or take care of Patton, Logan placed hesitant hands on the young man’s back and arm. Breathing hard, Patton had ducked into the detective’s embrace. He’d been shaking. So was Roman.

Though the distance between him and Virgil made a coldness seep into Roman he was too familiar with, the obvious pampering he received from both Logan and Patton helped the young detective recover. The baker stayed close to him (resting his foot on Logan's order) and tried to crochet friendship bracelets for them. Knowing Roman couldn’t deal with silence right now, he kept up a stream of chatter and constantly curled close so he got hugged and cuddled.

Logan was using the time to clean up the flat and wipe down the surfaces. Whenever the kitten escaped their cuddle pile he’d bring it back from whatever spot he’d discovered it in – hiding in his laundry basket, sneaking into the sink to curl up, tucking itself onto his books in his room or settling its little butt into Roman’s leather shoes. It liked to hide, which made Logan live in constant terror of locking it in the dishwasher or sticking it into the washing machine with his gray fabrics. Thus it was returned to Roman and Patton whenever he found it, like a piece of decoration that just would not stay put. It had its place, like Nicodemus on his shoulder or Cat in Virgil’s hoodie, Logan failed to see why it would not just remain where he placed it!

His recurring trips to the sofa brought him close to his partner, though. Using those opportunities, he’d check on his mood, bring him tea or water to ensure an optimal intake of fluids or simply run a comforting hand over his head or back. Monitoring his condition was the sensible thing to do, after all. And it afforded him the opportunity to glare at the cravat Roman had insisted to bring home.

All of their colleagues had called or texted as well. Roman received a selfie of Boyle, Amy and Rosa where she almost barely smiled. It went into his favorites folder. During midday he even got a present. Jake has sent a large extra cheese pizza from their favorite place with a scrawled letter drowned in glitter and stickers (stolen from Terry and his daughters). Grumpily, Logan had pinned it to the fridge and allowed the breach of the dietary plan he’d drawn up for Roman’s recovery.

The love and attention helped him despite the guilty, hurtful coldness caused by Virgil’s stubbornly closed door.

Despite the thick tension still filling the air, the next day dawned with a more hopeful tune. The sun was shining, soft and warm, and Roman woke up to Patton wrapped in a blanket like a Jedi master braiding his hair. Returning his smile and tackling him in a hug felt natural. Even Virgil emerged towards lunch and silently started chopping carrots with a vicious expression. It was progress.

While Logan got to work on his monthly analysis of their finances and Patton dove into the pantry to find the sprinkles in order to make cocoa in the hopes of tempting them all to the couch after lunch, the doorbell rang.

Roman had been cocooned in a blanket nest by both Patton wanting to cuddle and Logan not knowing how to show his love and other way, so Virgil dried his hands on a dish towel and went to check the door. He tried to avoid looking at Roman’s pitiful form as much as possible.

Standing on his tiptoes, Virgil wearily peered through the door-spy to find out who was bothering them. He hated unannounced visitors. Who just showed up ringing people’s doorbells? Texts had been invented, right?

“Logan, there’s a homeless guy at the door!” He hissed to the approaching man. How did this guy even get into the building?

On the other side of the steel reinforced door, there was a lone man bouncing on his heels in the corridor. Honestly, he gave him the creeps with his slightly manic smile and wide eyes. Yet he still felt sorry for this mess of a man immediately, having been on the verge on homelessness himself. That was no reason to give a stranger an opening to get into the apartment though.

The man had the look of a runaway from a hospital and hiding in the gutter. Though tall and under the dirt probably remarkably handsome, his wide grin and dancing green eyes made him look slightly unhinged. His naturally brown skin was accentuated by a streak of premature gray in his unwashed hair. The loose white blouse he wore had tanned with orange-tinted earth and was lined with green at the sleeves and torn at the shoulder. A thread had come loose at the bottom which was being pulled at almost compulsively and wrapped around fidgeting fingers.

Instead of the disgruntled look he had expected, Logan’s shoulders fell in relief as he checked out the newcomer. Virgil's hackles rose immediately as he pulled the door open. What the fuck was he doing? The look Logan gave the other was one of a man pulling his drunk friend from a ditch with reluctant affection, reassured at having found them. The detective placed a calming hand on his little charges’ elbow before greeting his acquaintance.

“Professor Duke, I was not aware you had returned from Europe already. Allow me to introduce you.” He paused briefly, catching the fern in mid-air the man’s sticky fingers had grabbed curiously and pulled from the cupboard next to the coat rack. The detective looked resigned to the attempt of the ‘Professor’ at breaking his things and replaced it calmly. Roman made a despairing sound behind them upon spotting the visitor, dramatically throwing his hands in the air.

“This is-” Heaving a sigh at once again being interrupted by the slightly older man, Logan grabbed his unwashed, wandering hands attempting to touch his face with a distasteful expression and held them in lieu of a handshake.

“This is Remus Duke. He is a Professor of Practical Philosophy specializing in his opposition to Conventionalism. He believes the unspoken rules of society are inherently dishonest and hinder the pursuit of knowledge and therefore should be rebelled against whenever possible in order to gain true insight into a person’s character. Additionally, akin to Diogenes of Sinope, he believes in rejecting worldly riches and criticizing society through unorthodox and disruptive action. Did I summarize your thesis correctly, Professor?”

“Yes, that was just right, Pupsekins! After all, how do you get to know your upstairs neighbor properly by adhering to the shackles of politeness that binds us like twinks in a bondage dungeon? ‘How are you’, ‘I’m fine’, ‘good morning’, ‘don’t touch that’. HOW CAN YOU LIVE LIKE THIS?!” He howled, his voice becoming shrill immediately.

“You never know a person until you break the equation of phrases and expected answers and introduce yourself by breaking in at 3am playing the accordion with a pot-bellied pig! It’s just more honest.” He exclaimed, all the while trying to flail grandly while his hands were still grasped, looking pleased with himself.

“I almost shot you.” Roman growled, after freeing himself from his nest, his attractive face unusually dark. He looked like he wanted to evacuate his family and leave the country. He’d even dragged the little pâtissier coming to look half behind himself. Patton’s small hands insecurely holding onto his back gave him the much needed patience as his blood started to rush loudly in his ears.

“Yes, that would have caused quite a mess, wouldn’t it? Imagine all those brains splattered over the couch!” Remus answered cheerfully while making the explosion gesture for good measure, speaking with a slight, Greek accent.

Logan had used the brief exchange to examine the other man critically.

“Did some unforeseen event occur, Professor? I was under the impression you were teaching a course on uninhibited moral questioning at the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki in Greece. Did the food not agree with you?” Logan inquired, looking distressed. The wrists still gesticulating and fidgeting in his loose grip were disconcertingly thin. The cheeks stretched in a wide grin were sunken. The man now bobbing up and down had an ill, underfed look about himself. Even before Remus had the chance to start talking, he found Logan’s hands tilting his chin up, probably examining him for signs of scurvy. The detective had told him the fact that chips were made from potatoes didn’t make them count as vegetables! His guest obediently spread his arms wide, bouncing on his toes and enjoying the attention as his hair was pulled gently and his skin was inspected.

“Oh, I was! I also went to Turkey to organize a little protest against President Erdoğan’s repression of minorities and wrote a mature little song for him. It’s about his evident fear of the vagina and depicted a nice scene about stringing him up by a revengeful uterus cut from the politically castrated female as well as suggesting he shove his politics up his butt along with a goat’s d-” Roman made a high pitched noise of agony, covering his ears. Behind him, Patton’s eyes grew big.

Waving his hands in a flippant gesture, Remus added, unconcerned “Anyway, my whole class learned it and I got to conduct, it was delightful. Then I got arrested and imprisoned for about three months before the American ambassador got me out and sent me home.”

“How did I not hear about this?” Logan cried, pale with horror.

“Weeeell, looks like I’m not a poster boy for a political prisoner. Prooobably not white enough.” The scraggy intellectual replied, waving a hand at himself.

“You are an esteemed professor of modern Philosophy and a bestselling author in a groundbreaking ethical school of thinking!” Logan exclaimed, clearly flabbergasted.

“I’m also a pansexual, middle eastern refugee poet, sweetcheeks.” He tried to grope Logan’s ‘cheeks’ before barreling on. “OH! Or perhaps the government is afraid to hear my poem about their kink for putting children into bondage cages or their sadistic pleasure for watching women slave away a day after having their vajaja torn up by shoving something through that’s the size of a watermelon?” He grinned at them brightly, looking perfectly innocent and yet alight with malicious glee.

Virgil appeared torn between horror and fascination. Yes, this dude really was fucking disgusting – but also kind of amazing. How ballsy did you have to be to pull off something like this? After all these years, he found himself yearning to grab his jacket and organize a protest or a sit-in. Why had he even stopped?! This smelly man suddenly looked a lot less of-putting and a lot more inspiring. No wonder his students were following him to listen to his dirty-worded ideas.

He wasn’t getting anywhere close to Patton, though. He didn’t trust this man as far as he could throw him. Logan seemed to like him, but the man had an unfortunate tendency to adopt people he better not trust, Virgil being the best example. He could have murdered them all in their sleep after all.

Remus started picking his nose, having apparently zoned out despite all of the attention focused on him. Yeah, he’d keep an eye on that.

With a growl that sounded close to a nervous breakdown, Logan pulled his dirty finger free and grabbed the man by the back of his shirt like a kitten.

“You are never leaving my supervision again.” He hissed, sounding half wild and wholly determined, before dragging him onto the corridor and allowing the front-door to fall shut behind them. Confused (and despairing, in Roman’s case) the others were left behind to listen to the muffled conversation. Their curiosity made them grow quiet in hopes of catching parts of the surely interesting exchange.

“THIS IS CENSURE OF THE CRUELEST KIND YOU CAN’T MAKE ME! I’LL STRIKE, I WILL STARVE MYSELF TO DEATH IF I HAVE TO!”

The sudden shrill wail made them all startle. Patton grabbed his friend’s hands instinctively. Their detective’s calm voice rumbled an answer too quiet to hear.

“THE OUTRAGE – I AM A PHILOSOPHER – A POET SUFFERING FOR TRUTH AND LIBERATION FROM INHIBITION! YOU CAN TAKE YOUR PROHIBITIONS AND LUBE THEM UP AND-”

The firm answer was spoken quietly, yet it seemed to have the power to cut through the outraged wailing and shut the other up. By now, the little group had shuffled to the door to listen.

“The aforementioned topics are not forbidden with the wish to cause you discomfort or censure you. Their discussion could cause serious emotional pain or may possibly – what is the correct expression?” Logan asked, fumbling for the unfamiliar word in frustration.

“Trigger?” Remus suggested, clearly sulking.

“Yes, thank you, Professor. The aforementioned topics might ‘trigger’ an unfortunate emotional response in some of my friends that I wish to avoid, so I am requesting you to avoid mentioning them in order to prevent unnecessary suffering.”

A long silence followed.

“BUUUUUUUUUUUT-”

They could all imagine The Look Logan was giving the other man over severely crossed arms. A sigh that implied unimaginable suffering followed.

“Fiiiine! But I am not happy about it! This is the ONE THING I’m all about, you KNOW that! You are shACKLing ME! I’m feeling like a dead baby seal, dried like a worm on the sidewalk!” The sound of petulantly stomping feet sounded.

Though he was clearly feeling repressed and grumbled about white bears and impossible expectations, in their future interactions he never actively mentioned certain topics like Patton’s relationship or prostitution and once miserably turned his sentence into sad blubbering as he started going on about a tangent about addiction. Logan looked proud of him.

This wasn’t good. All the signs were there - the parenting, the physical contact, the possessiveness. Horror spread in the fair, young detective’s heart.

Roman didn’t want Logan to adopt such a vile creature! It was bad enough that he had to put up with a feral raccoon and a manipulative pest, but this went a step too far! This distasteful individual would infect them all with rabies! The few months he’d spent in this building before moving back to Greece had been bad enough.

Also, he didn’t want to share Logan.

His older partner appeared too distracted to notice his worry though, and steered the warbling not-homeless man into the bathroom where he firmly closed the door behind them. It stayed that way for more than an hour. Steam started billowing from the crack beneath the door. Sounds of a struggle reached their ears.

“In Mary Curry’s name, I will bathe you in bleach if you do not cooperate!”

Meanwhile mumbling with worry for the poor, hungry little thing - that was also more than a little frightening, to be honest, Patton rushed to the kitchen to feed their guest. He was so starved – how terrible! He needed to get some weight on him as soon as possible. There would be a meal waiting for him once Logan brought him out. Despite his discomfort, the pâtissier was ready to take care of this helpless disaster.

Devastated, Roman slumped on the couch. He’d been so glad to be rid of this crass menace.

The sound of running water and loud, crude complains sounded from the bathroom. After checking on Patton, Virgil had grabbed his gym bag and vanished towards his vegan, environmentalist friend Talyn, probably planning to rope them into causing trouble for some unsuspecting company or politician.

Patton was banging about in the kitchen, sweetly offering him tea and cookies before returning to his cooking. Though Roman knew he could join him and be hugged and listened to, he didn’t feel like seeing his worry and affection for a man that irritated him to the bone. He literally made his skin crawl with disgust and horror.

Roman pulled his legs up and hugged them. He felt very alone. Despite Logan’s best attempt at keeping and loving him, he was no stranger to this feeling. It surfaced with depressing regularity and drove him away with the feeling of being isolated and ugly and a failure. It was easy to place the blame on his own shoulders. It wasn’t the Professor’s fault that Logan was focusing on him now. The man’s family had fled from the middle east during his childhood. On the way, he’d lost almost all of them to one war or the other until he’d finally arrived all alone in Greece where he’d been raised in the system. Despite the obvious damage his experiences had caused him, he'd turned his problems into something that defined him in a way that he could be proud of himself for. He was a successful academic and someone Logan could respect and talk to while still giving him something to fuss over. He needed that. Roman on the other hand kept getting himself into trouble and wouldn’t be content, despite his partner’s best attempts. Here he was, loved and cared for with Patton just a room away, wanting nothing more than to hide. The urge to cover himself, to be invisible and just disappear was almost impossible to resist.

He had a place where he went whenever this feeling overwhelmed him this way.

Next to him, the tablet pinged to life, showing him a notification on the lock-screen.

Looks_can_be_Deceiving_. sent you a message.

Breathing a shaky sigh, Roman cradled the tablet in his hands, surrounded by people, yet isolated from them. At least one person was still thinking only of him. He didn’t know how to proceed with them, but he knew he couldn’t stay here where Logan was taking care of him and Virgil had left without even looking at him.

“Hey Pat, I’m hopping over to my place for my nice velvet sweater. Be back soon!” He called with forced cheer as he slipped on his shoes. The door had closed behind him as Patton worriedly dashed out of the kitchen.

***

Virgil felt like smashing something, preferably something that would shatter with a satisfying crash. Instead he settled on aggressively folding the blankets Roman had left scattered on the couch. He’d returned from a brief workout with Talyn after making enthusiastic plans with them to attend the Fridays For Future demonstrations together, finally feeling like a human person again, only to find Patton in a right state. Roman had left to his mystery place and now Patton was anxious about him on top of having to deal with the filth this fucking weirdo was sprouting. Dressed in more borrowed clothing and scrubbed quite clean, he looked a lot less frightening at least. It angered Virgil that he used every opportunity to upset the gentle baker, but after Patton had firmly told him to control his tongue and glared so fiercely that the weirdo had actually sunk down in his seat he’d dared to leave them alone in the kitchen. Logan was there to fret over them after all. He deserved the discomfort of having to deal with both of them after continuously adopting fucking people. He refused to acknowledge his hypocrisy, fuck you very much.

As he violently shook out another blanket, what the fuck who needed that many blankets, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground and was immediately pounced on by Nugget. Great. More stuff.

Bending down to place the paper with the hairclips and the magazines he’d found and deposit the kitten with Cat curled up in the ruined-clothes basket, he found smudged handwriting on it. Reading being second nature to him, he scanned the words with half a mind while untangling his fingers from slobbering kitten bites.

He froze.

What the…

Feeling weak and unsteady suddenly, he sunk onto the couch.

What the fuck was this? Cold dread drove its way into Virgil as he read the words again, trying to understand the sheer depth of emotion they displayed.

It was him - them. He’d been right, Roman had gone into the fire for them, they’d turned his head around so much he’d run into a burning building for them. This wasn’t an investigation anymore. Not with the scarf this stalker had put on him like a fucking collar he wasn’t even taking off, not with this! He’d brought this thing home with him despite having been stalked and probably even watched and – and touched by this manipulative bastard and now he’d left. He could be with them right now. They could be doing fuck knows what with him.

They could be seducing him away from him right now.

Despite his terror for Roman’s safety, Virgil knew he was strong and could take care of himself if threatened. This was different, though. He couldn’t protect his stupid, dumb heart from being stolen! Despite trying to ignore it, he knew Roman had fallen for Virgil, for fucks sake, and he was the last person who’d encouraged or deserved him. He’d even committed a crime for Virgil, it could have cost him his job and all he’d done was play the victim! But this person – they were actively pursuing him. They were twisting him around their finger with their artful words and gifts and gestures and- and their fearlessness Virgil couldn’t even hope to match. Roman was there for the taking, he suddenly understood. He was vulnerable to being offered love, just waiting for someone to want him and now that they were here, he’d fall.

And it was Virgil who’d driven him from home.

“Logan!” He called, frantic with fear. His friend was there immediately, knowing what was going on the moment he saw the note.

"Verdammter Mist." He muttered, glancing towards Patton looking anxious from his spot on the other side of the counter he’d been sure to keep between him and their guest. He appeared torn on what to do. Taking a deep breath, he turned to Virgil and took a steadying hold of his shoulders.

“It will be alright, Virgil. I need you to help me with this.” He explained gently. “I believe it’s time you got to see Roman’s apartment.”

***********

My whining: Hey guys! I would really appreciate some feedback or reblogs. I don’t know if a lot of people are just lurking on the fic or if it’s not as interesting anymore, but I feel like I may not be doing such a good job if I don’t get any reactions on Tumblr. Feeling a little down with this fic right now.

I really hope you enjoyed that little chapter! I know you are all probably annoyed at me for making you wait, especially since the next part is already completely done and beta read, but it was so loooooong. I will post chapter 31 in about a week, though. So you have something VERY emotional to look forward to. A lot of people helped me with it and it has to do with Roman and Virigl.

Next Chapter

#Detective AU #Sanders Sides #Deceit #Roman Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Prinxiety #Logicality #keep him safe

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grandhotelabyss · 4 years ago

Photo

So fascist. I’m joking, sort of. When I was trying to make the ‘gram work, I hashtagged a picture of a bookcase I’d fished out of the trash with #cottagecore—and then actual #cottagecore people liked the post. This proves that a hashtag cannot be used ironically. As for #darkacademia, I gave my thoughts a few months ago in my essay on Donna Tartt’s The Secret History:

I am too old, and I have seen too much, to fall in love with the novel that helped to inspire the #darkacademia trend. Granted, as a student who spent four years reading Shakespeare, Dickens, and Joyce under the high, dim vault of the Cathedral of Learning’s commons room, I had the most #darkacademic experience possible at an urban public research university. But then I spent seven years in graduate school, and seven years after that as an adjunct professor; I have seen the true darkness of academia, and it has very little to do with the Gothic trappings of Donna Tartt’s classic 1992 thriller.

What is #darkacademia, really, but a response to this genuine darkness? Such Poe-like airs as Tartt and her contemporary devotees put on are an attempt to reenchant the life of the mind after its exsanguination and despiritualization by the increasingly rationalized bureaucracies of the contemporary university. Despite attempts to bring the trend in line with social justice, #darkacademia represents a conservative backlash against both academic leftism and corporatist neoliberalism in our time, with these two tendencies’ routinized subversions and mandatory inculcations and profit-seeking administrations. In reaching back a generation to canonize The Secret History as the inspiration of their aesthetic, today’s gloomy ephebes chose wisely, since Tartt’s novel belongs to the last backlash, coming as it did between The Closing of the American Mind (1987) and The Western Canon (1994)—a black blossom between the Blooms—and deriving some of its emotional impetus, however disavowed, from the same sources as those jeremiads against the leveling of humanities education.

I enjoy issuing such vast historico-aesthetic declarations—it comes from the Marxist side of my education, and anyway, what else can you do with popular fiction?—but I take them very lightly.

What is the Cathedral of Learning? It would be a place of pilgrimage for the darkly academic, the academic darklings, if only they knew about it. You could always look up pictures online, but I’ve always thought “a picture is worth a thousand words” counted as dispraise of images: pictures don’t tell you anything at all—you literally need one thousand words to understand even one! So I give you a couple hundred words from my unpublished manuscript The Class of 2000, both the great Pittsburgh novel and the great turn-of-the-millennium novel, as the world will someday learn. I include, for the #darkacademic fans, the description of the Cathedral of Learning (sorry for the repetition between the Tartt review and the novel of “high, dim vault”—in my defense, it’s a high, dim vault) and a subsequent short dialogue on architecture that reflects a trending controversy of today. All you need to know is that this section is about my narrator and his religious friend, both high-school students, on a field trip. Please enjoy!

from The Class of 2000

Lauren and I were on a lunch break from an art-class field trip to the Carnegie Museum of Art. In a rain-presaging fall wind, we wandered around Oakland.

She had brought a pack of strawberry-flavored clove cigarettes—I don’t know where she got them—and we smoked to try to blend in with the students from Pitt and Carnegie Mellon. Despite the massing clouds, some of them still lounged on the lawn of the Cathedral of Learning, asleep with Plato or Marx propped open on their faces. We circled the Cathedral and stared up at its sooty limestone mass rearing into the clouds—the tallest building for miles.

We put out our cigarettes and walked through the high, dim vault of its first floor. Students at weighty wooden study tables, strangely unaffected by the anachronistic grandeur that rose around them, sighed in frustration over chemistry or French textbooks; their sweatshirts and jeans affronted the solemn Gothic atmosphere.

Between classes, we ducked in and out of the nationality rooms. To promote cultural understanding and civic investment in the university while this vast structure was under construction in the 1920s—I quote from memory the brochure we read that day—the Chancellor had invited the participation of the many immigrant communities who’d raised this city, and the University continued its outreach since then, from the 18th-century English who’d fought off their brethren at Fort Pitt to those who came from Eastern and Southern Europe at the turn of the century seeking work in the factories that made the world’s steel to the recent arrivals from Africa and Asia who wished to compete in the global economy. Representatives of said communities were tasked with proposing, planning, and funding the construction of classrooms to commemorate the nations they’d left and the cultures they carried. We saw samovars, stained glass, calligraphic screens, menorahs, nationalist liberators, bodhisattvas, and Yoruba gods. We discussed the glory of studying human achievement in vast tower consecrated to the genius of all the world’s cultures.

We left the Cathedral and its grounds, lit two more cloves, and walked deeper into the neighborhood, where campus buildings mingled with banks and bookstores and restaurants.

On Fifth Avenue, we found ourselves in front of an odd sight: the bell tower of an old church, a sepia stone spire, stood alone, though the rest of the church had long been demolished. In its place gloated a modern university building, all glass and steel, curved at the edge where it would have abutted the bell tower, as if to avoid a contaminating touch.

“I like the church tower better,” Lauren mused.

We regarded our reflections in the glass of the new building.

“So do I.”

“You know, since you don’t believe in God, you really aren’t entitled to like the tower better. Its purpose is to lift your vision, to point the way to heaven. The modern, godless building just shows you”—she pointed forward, in the flesh and in the glass—“your own small self.”

I pointed to the space over my shoulder in the glass where the Cathedral of Learning hovered behind us in the distance.

“That’s a secular structure,” I said.

“Please,” she said as she turned away in dismissal. “If what I said wasn’t true, would they have to call it a cathedral?”

#darkacademia #donna tartt #literature #cathedral of learning #fiction #creative writing #literary criticism #original writing #architecture

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feathers-scales-and-tails · 5 years ago

Note

Hello! I know nothing about chickens, but am curious about naked necks. Are they able to communicate effectively? I would think that neck feathers might be important to show defensiveness or aggression.

You’re absolutely right, Naked Necks can struggle to communicate. They’re actually one of my favourite breeds aesthetic wise, but I’ve never owned one to see how bad this communication affects their social abilities.

Chickens use their hackle (neck) feathers to communicate a range of things with their flock. Slightly raising hackles can signal fear, fully raising can be used to challenge other birds to fight or for intimidation, flattening feathers can show submission when challenged to fight, and raising the feathers on the scalp can be an invitation for communal preening. It’s obvious that a bird missing such important feathers might struggle to communicate all these things with their flock!

That doesn’t mean Naked Necks are an unethical breed. I believe naked necks can do excellently in a flock so long as they have some friends who will understand their unique way of communication, other naked necks are the best chance at this. Other breeds can adjust to their ‘weird’ friend though, my Langshans have all accepted Sooty who is a frizzle (curly feathers). Initially they thought her frizzled hackle feathers meant she wanted to fight them all the time, now they’ve learnt she just looks weird.

Thank you for the ask. Hopefully one day I can have some awful turkey necked fiends! I think they’re very cool birds and I’m really keen to observe how they interact with a flock. I Just have to find a breeder first...

#ask #myposts #my posts #feathers

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dailyexo · 6 years ago

Text

[NEWS] Baekhyun - 190310 Allure: “How EXO's Baekhyun Put His Identity into Privé Alliance”

"Allure's Devon Abelman sat down with the K-pop star during his first-ever solo appearance in the U.S to discuss how he defines beauty and style on his own terms.

BY DEVON ABELMAN

If I didn't know who Baekhyun was before meeting him in February, I would have thought he was just a random handsome dude I met at a nightclub while on vacation in Los Angeles.

As he politely tells a roving cater waiter offering us mini cannolis, "No thank you," I find myself believing that Baekhyun truly is that guy. I'm fully aware of his claim to fame, but he doesn't look or act the part. For starters, Baekhyun's lids aren't defined with expertly blended smoky eyes, and his lips aren't stained with a raspberry lip tint. Those tell-tale signs of a man with his job description are noticeably missing. Not a single stroke of eyeliner or fleck of glitter is in sight, either (honestly, to my dismay). A part of me hoped we'd bond over our eye makeup.

Makeup aside, Baekhyun carries himself with a quiet confidence that is so unassuming that he seems weirdly familiar and incredibly normal compared to the influencers, actors, and singers milling around us in the private VIP area. He never acts like he's better or more important than any other person there. Instead, he has the affability of the construction worker who waves to me every morning on my way to work rather than the larger-than-life bearing of a superstar from Seoul who effortlessly hits high notes while simultaneously performing powerful choreography. During our interview, I felt like I should ask him about his dog instead of his skin-care routine. If I didn't know who Baekhyun was, I would have wondered why I was interviewing him for Allure at all.

Baekhyun's wavy hair reminds me why this article exists on the Internet and not solely as a story I recount to my friends over text messages. Parted in the middle and styled to have a wet look, his auburn ends are relics of internationally beloved K-pop group EXO's most recent concept. His hair, for all intents and purposes, is the reason why we ended up sitting together in a cushy booth in the back corner of the dimly lit VIP section of a club on a Tuesday night. Trust me, neither of us frequent this fine L.A. establishment, located next to the Museum of Death. You won't even catch me in a club when I'm at home in Brooklyn. To put it bluntly, I'm only in this club talking to a nice guy because he's a member of EXO.

The EXO Connection

If this is your introduction to Baekhyun, please know that EXO is a Big Deal. Among their long list of awards and chart-topping accomplishments, the nine-member group performed at the 2018 Pyeongchang Olympics and has racked up more than 100 million views on each of their music videos on YouTube.

By extension, Baekhyun — full name Byun Baekhyun, age 26 — is a Big Deal, too. In addition to being a talented performer with 14.5 million Instagram followers, his bright dye jobs, innovative hairstyles, and experimental eye makeup have sparked beauty trends in K-pop since EXO debuted in 2012. You can, more or less, blame him for the influx of mullets and red-streaked black hair among other idols and thank him for the proliferation of red eye shadow. No matter how controversial or dramatic the looks Baekhyun tries are, he always pulls them off with ease and joviality.

Back to Baekhyun's auburn hair, though. Like most K-pop stars, he constantly undergoes vibrant dye jobs in hues, like pink, silver, and platinum, to fit the group's concepts. For "Love Shot," EXO's latest music video, he paired his newly burgundy hair with a glimmering eye shadow of the same shade and sooty black liner. Now his look is an extremely streamlined version of this.

His current lack of makeup may be a stark contrast from the bold eye looks he typically wears onstage and in music videos, but his skin is just as dewy as ever with the help of a nearly undetectable layer of foundation. His brows are probably lightly filled in, too, but I could be reaching. If anything, Baekhyun's wearing the standard amount of makeup for celebrity men. Just enough to amplify his glow, not enough to make a statement.

Baekhyun's glow is due in part to a consistent regimen; he lists toner, lotion, and moisturizer as the official order. But how many times do you wash your face, I ask, causing a couple of people in the human bubble of managers, publicists, and security guards surrounding us to laugh. Baekhyun ignores their snickers and answers, "Two," in English. (That's right, double cleansing is no laughing matter.) "If I wash my face too many times, I get skin troubles," he adds.

Baekhyun says he hasn't changed up the steps of his skin-care routine in L.A., or ramped up the number of sheet masks he uses. With EXO constantly traveling for concerts and events, "My skin gets used to the environment," he says. "So wherever I am, I use the same skin-care routine."

The Privé Connection

In hindsight, I should have anticipated Baekhyun would present himself in this low-key manner for his first-ever solo appearance in the U.S. In Privé campaigns, he's usually seen as he is now: natural, casual, effortlessly cool. His makeup is minimal; his natural-colored hair looks like all he did was run his hand through it; his outfits are sleek. With all this in mind, I ask him if he could dye his hair any color for the next campaign, what would it be.

How did I end up interviewing Baekhyun in a club, you ask? Let's go back to May 2018. Baekhyun made it onto Vogue's home page when he was named the co-creative director of streetwear brand Privé Alliance. Alongside Danyl Geneciran, the brand's CEO, Baekhyun helps create pieces that "put highlights on the basics," Baekhyun explains to me. He later reveals that he's surprised that almost all of his ideas have been executed.

My favorite part of Privé is how its offerings have a certain fluidity to them, much like Baekhyun's onstage persona. None of Privé's shirts, jackets, and bags are confined to overtly masculine or feminine silhouettes, and the same designs are available for men and women. "It's very important to have everyone be able to wear the clothes comfortably," Baekhyun explains. "Without any official communication, we agreed that [Privé Alliance] is going to be unisex."

With the newest Privé Alliance collection launching in April, the brand invited the public to join Baekhyun for a fashion presentation. The location: the very club we are sitting in. Although he doesn't act like he is (he kept to himself for most of the event), Baekhyun is undoubtedly the center of attention. He is the reason the floor below us is with filled with people from all over the world. Everyone's here to see Baekhyun, not the latest Privé pieces.

The Identity Connection

This is the only question Baekhyun doesn't answer concisely and without hesitation. "I don't know," he says in English. After taking a couple of seconds to think about it, he adds in Korean, "I love the black," adding "simple" in English.

This single word — simple — perfectly mirrors Baekhyun's personal aesthetic. "Basics, but with many little details," he explains. "It’s like you just came out of your house, but it’s still cool." In other words, he's the epitome of "Oh, this old thing? I just threw it on." I ask if he prefers to keep his hair and makeup natural and low-key, too, and he quickly replies, "yes, yes," in Korean.

The fact that Prive's aesthetic is similar to Baekhyun's is intentional. "I put my identity and myself into this collection," he tells me, echoing a line he shared when he made a brief appearance onstage before the fashion presentation commenced. The theme of the collection was his birth year, 1992, with zip-up corduroy jackets and hoodies adorned with '92 in big text.

Another adage he repeats throughout the night is, "Be brave. Be humble." The same words are printed all over the collared white satin shirt he's wearing, layered under a similar navy blue one. After the event, I saw people saying the look recalled EXO's "Lotto" era, back in 2016 when his hair was styled in a similar way and he wore collared shirts with several of the top buttons undone and silver necklaces. Onyx shadow was blended all over his lids back then, though. Fans likened Baekhyun's look that night to a mafia boss. (Seeing those tweets made me laugh, because his charm is far from disarming.) But for Baekhyun, his outfit is more a matter of comfort. "I like how silky it feels," he says. I go on to compare it to pajamas, which makes him chuckle.

Baekhyun doesn't ignore the fact that he typically presents himself with intricate details. Performing, he points out, is his go-to form of self-expression, outside of working with Privé. And let's be real, Baekhyun's performances, which ooze confidence and allure, wouldn't be the same without his stunning hair and makeup.

To borrow a word from Baekhyun, identity — and the way we present ourselves — isn't fixed. For example, the way my best friend describes my identity could be strikingly different from the way my sisters would. The way I dress when I'm going to get a bagel on a Saturday morning (track pants and a T-shirt) is different from how I dress for work (vintage floral dresses) or an event like this (a blue-and-white plaid suit). The way I do my colorful makeup is also evolving, too.

We often see K-pop stars in narrow, controlled situations, though, so we know and define them according to what we're able to see. I'm as guilty of this as the next person, i.e., assuming Baekeyun would show up with eyeliner as bold as my own. When you take a K-pop star out of a K-pop setting, a different side of them is revealed. They no longer have to adhere to a group aesthetic, just their own. We get a glimpse of Baekhyun's at the airport and in the selfies he posts on Instagram, but Privé Alliance has given him a platform to truly show his identity on his own terms.

At that club, I felt like I was being introduced to Baekhyun all over again. Back when I watched EXO's music video for "Monster" the first time, I saw him as part of a carefully crafted package; the second time, I saw him the way he sees himself."

Photo links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Credit: Allure.

#EXO #EXO K #Baekhyun #190310 #190226 #exo im #exo k im #baekhyun im #190226 prive #p:news #t:news #fs:allure #comeback:Tempo #followup:Shot

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sarasfm · 5 years ago

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Sarauniya “ Sara ” Davies, 24, pansexual, cisfemale, ISFP Enneagram 9w1; Pisces sun, Sagittarius moon, Pisces rising 1st year Advanced Encryption Major; did not go to a spy prep hs

Imma keep it real with you, chief, I have absolutely no idea what’s going on. I mean, obviously, I know what espionage is ; I’ve read books and articles, and I’ve seen Spy Kids and all the Charlies Angels and James Bond movies, but I genuinely think I need a minute to wrap my head around everything. Make that two weeks, because what’s this I hear about two murders ? I literally just got sent here to be safe, I — I’m sorry, I’m freaking out. Give me five seconds, and we can start again, because I promise I can totally pretend this is all normal. @gallagherintro

full name: sarauniya “ sara ” davies

dormitory room: 105

birthday: 20 march 1995

soundtrack: “ go gina ” by sza

favorite dish: efo riro

aesthetic: when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of light reflecting from her earrings, eyeglasses perched on top of her head, and a caviar iphone always in her hands

Bio Points

her mom’s a nigerian baddie billionaire & her dad’s a soft academic brit

she grew up between london and abuja where their family’s business is based. it’s a trading enterprise, the largest industrial conglomerate in sub-saharan africa

she’s the eldest of three siblings, was raised to be prim & proper and groomed to run their family’s business. her family’s not pushy though and they’re really cool. very healthy dynamic so she doesn’t mind ; she loves her fam and would do it w a smile !

Coding is her Passion though. total dork. stayed up all the time just sleuthing and being an internet geek since she was a youngin’

loves education and is the type who would willingly stay in school to learn. has a degree in economics from harvard and was almost done with her mba when her littlest sister got abducted ! was it about business ? money ? who knows ! the sister’s fine now but her family sure is Scared especially since sara’s alone in the big bad united states

her mom made some calls and went “ gimbiya, look, u aint safe n we sorry. we’ll work something out to make sure u get ur mba degree somehow but shit is wild so we gotta get u somewhere near that’s safe asap. u like studying & ur a geek with computers right ? cool beans, go back to school & welcome to gallagher, babe ”

she enters gallagher in the middle of the spring semester very overwhelmed & inwardly ignoring how unhappy she is about having to be here bc she is not & does not want to be a spy. she just tryna distract herself by looking at this entire thing as a weird vacation where she can do stuff she wasn’t able to before because it’s literally detached from the world. she is mostly probably in way over her head, but let’s see !

Other Information

Nicknames: Sara (to everyone), gimbiya (to family, means princess in Hausa)

Languages: English (native), Hausa (native), Arabic (C1), French (B2)

Strengths: is money a strength ? also coding. and being the sweetest. and a general smartypants but that’s in a university setting & gallagher probably doesnt give a fuck

Relationship History: only has one (1) experience. ( well,,, 2 if a three-second drunken kiss w kass counts ) his name’s royce and they’ve known each other since their bougie secondary school back in britain. started dating at sixteen and went to harvard together. they’re long term as fuck. he’s like her best friend and their families adore the couple & each other. got engaged last september and sara broke it off before leaving for gallagher, oof. she deadass milked the opportunity but lbr she wasnt rlly Feeling It so she’s kinda glad for the ‘valid reason’ to appear bc it rlly wasn’t Love for sara so boy bye

Physical appearance: 1.76m, 55kg, long black hair, slim and toned build

Classes: GEN 105, GEN 206, AE 101, AT 101, PE 101

Personality

the sweetest. v charming & sensitive to others & curious about things. enthusiastic too ! loves adventures & is very passionate. queen of empathy.

she’s not stuck up even tho she loaded. she doesnt rlly talk abt her family having 12B or the fact that she’s an ivy league girl, bc she’s just generally very uwu

easily stressed and flustered and overwhelmed ! man, gallagher’s gonna shook this goddamn academic dork to her core for the love of god someone pls get the aed ready

rlly fun !!! can be a lil unpredictable bc it b lyk dat for rich girls. loves her independence which she hasn’t maximized bc of her ex fiancé & responsibilities but it’s chill so chill totally chill, no ounce of further longing exists in the crevices of this girl’s heart

she is so not good with confrontation and is so allergic to conflict ok. she will sweep discomfort under a rug and lie on it ‘til it’s flat which makes her a queen of repression & conforming

is she easily overwhelmed & stressed ? yes, but she’ll try not to show it so much. it’s all mostly an internal monologue so don’t underestimate her pls. she’s v smart and competent. can be so competitive ( albeit mostly inwardly ) and a boss ass business bitch like her business momma bc that’s what she’s been training for altho she is still generally a soft bab so ... yeah, if u would be so kind as to Estimate her, that’d be grand

she needs to always be on top of her game. maybe not the best in the class, but definitely pushes herself to be her best, so a lot of late nights studying & won’t settle for bad grades ever. gonna be rough in gallagher bc she is not spy material ok, she’s just a pretty rich geek behind a computer

just imagine her as the nice girl in ur ap classes who’s a lil awkward & just so happens to be super hot & stinking rich

Fun Facts

has a six-month old rescue pup named sooty ! who kinda looks like a sheparnese

has a tendency to ramble if she’s comfy w u enough or mayhaps if it’s too much man

is v diligent w keeping a journal & does it everyday

likes to dance ! not super good but she likes it. hits da clubs for dat shit

is a lil instagram famous bc she’s a gorgeous rich harvard girl & all that jazz. queen of selfies & of looking hot but doesn’t actually get to play around rip ffff

doesn’t drink much bc she is an extreme lightweight and 2 is her tap out limit

if she’s had more than 2 drinks, she is Very Honest but still very ramble-y

she is physically active but mostly just runs and does yoga. knows very basic self-defense. is not sporty, definitely not a fighter, may god have mercy on her soul

isnt a virgin but is not sexually experienced lmao lbr she kinda Itching to get out there

don’t ask me what her accent is because i have no clue it’s all over the place

Established Connections — just bc i think y’all would like to know

kassandra sutton — internet friends ! loves kass to bits. have known each other since sara was 14. when kass was 18, sara took her on a grad trip to montreal and became a lil lowkey into her. doesn’t help that kass drunk kissed her & doesn’t remember lmfao. poor sara told her then-bf & they had a lil fight but they made up bc sara didn’t talk to kass for months. eventually they became friends again & now sara’s in gallagher w no idea that kass is a mf sutton & honestly, my girl is just very shook w everything

Possible Connections

crushes — she does not know how to flirt. she is ,,,, p pathetic tbh but a real heckin cutie. will be super nice to ur bab ok

flirtationships — sara and i r gonna continue to keep it real w u chieves, her ex fiancé royce was vanilla and bland as fuck. can u believe she has not been single in a decade ? ? someone give her love & attention & fluster this soft innocent child. get her Experienced but also dont hurt her

enemies/angst !!! — or maybe do ! maybe hurt her. maybe obliterate her. maybe smash her poor heart to pieces, because tbh i would love that. so someone pls for the love all things holy and divine, someone hurt her !!!!

fwb — probably just one (1) bc she’s still a romantic ? and she’s probably gonna want something exclusive even if it’s no strings attached and will surely want to ,.,. get to know them a little bit more first ,,, at least ideally , idk , maybe impulse & thirst gets the better of her one of these days who knows lets find out !

friends !!! — sara will love u ok. she may be a lil easily flustered but she’s doesn’t rlly give up on ppl quickly. as i’ve said, queen of empathy. probs feels v sorry for majority of the gallagher & georgetown kids bc, .,.,., this environment just screams highkey Trauma to her and she’s valid bc she’s right

mentors !!! — she hates feeling dumb ok she Always has to be on top of her game, so u can bet ur ass after her first meetings in her classes she goes to ppl going “ hey could u help me out w working out ? boxing ? firing a gun ? literally everything & anything ? ”

anything & everything — meaning just come @ me & let’s talk about it uwu

( did i just create georgina’s antithesis ? fuck yes, and i am sooo excited to have a child that’s not always plotting & scheming & being mean like y’all have no idea ;_; nywy, that was long bc shutting up and brevity are things i do not possess. whats up it’s ur og flower garden girl rose here aka bugleweed aka fiancée of many and lover of all, and i am open to anything and everything ! just drop an IM or hit dat like & ill slide in ur dmz w love, plots & sanitized hands x )

#gallagher:intro

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all-brown-everything · 6 years ago

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My favourite Indian films of 2018

Sorry for the wait this year. 2018 in the movies mirrored my own life a lot; the films on the list are films to love, make you feel something human, and they force you to take their characters and hold them close to your chest as if they were your own. While the most interesting mainstream movies from South Asia over previous years on this blog have excelled when they chose to experiment with the language of cinema itself, the 10 I’ve written about here have, similar to great literature, embraced pain, longing, love and everything else that comes with being alive.

10. Theevandi

I’ve seen this film being described as an “anti-smoking movie.” I couldn’t disagree more. It’s a story about the nature of habit (rather than the disease of ‘addiction’), of locating the source of your personality, your soul, and trying to change it against the will of nature. During my time in India this year, nothing brought more joy than an ice burst and cutting tea at the side of the road, perching on the side of the pavement and watching life carry on around you. And while this is a film with a main character who wants to quit smoking, it isn’t about cancer. It isn’t about that horrible sooty smell at the end of your fingers, or yellowing teeth or a decreased sperm count. It’s about how something as innocuous as a tube of rolled up tobacco hanging out of your mouth can act as a fragile crutch for the entire weight of the world.

9. Laila Majnu

Like many of my favourites this year (and every year), this re-telling of one of South Asia’s most important romances wants to know what love is. Here, we see love not as a generous, giving emotion, but as pure greed. With one of Bollywood’s most gorgeous soundtracks, that bleeds furiously out of every frame, and a constant sparkling gleam of glamour over these gorgeous young actors and the Kashmiri hills they prance around in, I enjoyed this enough just based on the commercial tropes it toys with for fun. But its real beauty lies in its brave and painful final declaration; that the most divine love may connect you to God and remove your soul from your body, but it will destroy you and your connections to the Earth, as the cruelest form of asceticism.

8. Cake

I’m including a Pakistani movie (again) because our film industries were birthed under one national identity, and I don’t see the studios of Karachi as any more culturally distant from Mumbai’s Film City than Kodambakkam. Moving to Cake, this stunning portrait of a dysfunctional family surprised me against all my instincts that it was a Western-facing production clearly aimed at piercing its way into festivals and a patronising ‘World Cinema’ bracket. It is in fact, a study of shifting societal politics in an increasingly extreme and polarised World, of figuring out where your values stand in the midst of religion, feudalism and globalisation, and accepting that when these heavy, abstract concepts weigh down on your shoulders, it is the human beings around you who will feel the strain first.

7. Golak, Bugni, Bank Te Batua

I really love Punjabi cinema. Seeing it come into its own and reclaim its cultural narratives and aesthetics from bastardizing Bollywood (where now even a film set in rural Gujarat will feature a Punjabi language song) has brought a lot of joy. Now here comes a happy little film not set on preaching the glory of Sikkhi or telling an epic tale of brave warriors or earnest farmers, but on bringing us into the lives of a middle class Hindu Punjabi family in a small mohalla of a tier 2 city. And these aren’t the Hindu “Punjabis” of a Bollywood movie set in Chandni Chowk, who might throw in a “tussi” or “tuadi” here and there at the most. These are real people with a real culture, as intertwined with Punjab and their Sikh neighbours as they are separate. The film doesn’t patronise them by drawing humour from their novel identity; the situational character-based slapstick and witty back-and-forth theatrical dialogues exist in a warm parallel with the “World” of the movie. And then the lives of these people change in one instant as demonetisation hits, and we are hilariously reminded that whether you’re Hindu or Sikh, Northern or Southern, you are (unfortunately) still in India.

6. C/o Kancharapalem

I won't say this film stood out as a "Telugu movie", as such slight, subtle films are an anomaly no matter what language they're made in or how brash those other films produced in the same mother tongue may be. These small and quiet tales, with their shy characters who live at the fringes of society, whether that mean they are Muslim prostitutes or simple middle class teachers carving out a living in a small village, are special because they manage to transmit such humanity without stirring from the dark alleyways or shaded courtyards where they take place. Not every film needs to stand tall like an intimdsting Tolstoy tome; some can be as unassuming as an RK Narayan novella and still make us feel like they're an epic.

5. Pyaar Prema Kaadhal

Let's be honest. Casting two leads from a reality show, putting heart shaped balloons in your posters and deciding on the title "Love, Love, Love" pretty much screams "trash" doesn't it? But here was a humbling reminder that Indian popular culture can surprise you in the most pleasant of ways. These two good-looking young wannabe-stars and their social media followings represent so much about the "new India", a steadfastly singular culture (or cultures) whizzing through the fiery hoops of globalisation at breakneck speed, coming to terms with a mixed up value system, raging sexual frustration and an ever widening class gap, all of which have left a generation feeling more connected yet more alienated than ever before. This is 'Pyaar, Prema, Kaadhal', a flawed and horny love story, sweating with tension and all the repulsive angst of human emotion, yet with the glamorous musical heart of Indian cinema still beating loudly underneath.

4. Manmarziyaan

There was as much to love about 'Manmarziyaan' as there was to hate. The age-old filmi love triangle rears its head again, only this time with characters who are more manipulative and frustrating than any you've seen in a "mainstream" movie before. But while the film never forces you to judge (at times leaving you confused about whether you're actually supposed to like any of these people) it demands that you engage. It's encouraged some of the finest writing on cinema I've seen in recent years, and such an unashamedly "Bollywood" film inspiring this thrilling thought and analysis from our finest critics (whether their judgement is kind or not) warrants its inclusion on this list alone. Then there's the way its incredible soundtrack weaves in and out of scenes like the characters own breaths, the way life changing moments are obscured from the script by deafening silences and acutely observed minutiae, and of course THAT lead performance. I'm not sure if I "liked" it or not, but I sure as hell can't wait to watch it again.

3. Pari

The better the film, the harder it is to write about. 'Pari' is rich with metaphor. While being a ghost story (and a damn good one) merely on the surface, it has plenty to say about the way our society treats women, poses the question of if we can truly be born evil, and even critiques our savage treatment of "the other" in a global society where more of us are on the run than settled in our homes. But I think its biggest strength is that while it challenges you to reach into the very centre of your being and take a look at yourself and the World around you, its craft and screenwriting is so good that not at any moment does it give you a second to realise that's what you're doing.

2. Rangasthalam

'Rangasthalam' is so great. Like really really great. Once an innocuous muscle man, Ram Charan has channelled his inner Dhanush and located his physicality, writhing and slanging his way into the mind and body of the quintessential South Indian rural hero, hoisting his lungi and flicking his beedi into one of the most visceral and truly cinematic masala movies in living memory. The thumping pace and kinetic choreography (both of the rousing song sequences and the busy, lived-in frames of the rest of the movie) evoke a dusty, violent world with the same panache of Ameer in 'Paruthiveeran' or Sasikumar in 'Subramaniyapuram', while the moustache twirling dialogues and meticulous emotional beats offer as much pure fun as a "Dabangg" or a "Khakee" or any classic Hindi masala movie. I've read pieces linking the cinema of 'Rangasthalam' to film noir traditions, but to me it simply proved that the masala genre still has as much excitement to offer as any other.

1. Mukkabaaz

I'll remember 2018 as the year that Anurag Kashyap, previously India's frontrunner in the realm of "interesting" (but more often headscatching) cinema, stopped thinking with his very big brain and instead used his even bigger heart. His most straightforward film is undoubtedly his best, Hollywood-esque in its writing but firmly Indian in its sentiment. The scale is small - empty boxing arenas, bleak winding village paths and a cast plucked from the TV screen - but its emotions are pure opera. This is a timeless film, and though it laughs at the ridiculousness of modern India, poking a nasty smug finger at caste oppression, petty politics and the bureaucratic nightmare of simply trying to stay alive, it defies analysis. Much like the song at the centre of the story, the violently stunning 'Paintra', it only asks that you feel. And what more could we want from cinema?

I've had so much fun at the movies this year. From dancing to Dilbar in the cheap seats of G7 in Bandra to reciting Dhanush's Maari 2 dialogues at the bus stop outside Ilford Cineworld, Indian movies have continued to punctuate my life and bring me more joy than they have any right to. I can't wait to do this all again this year. What were the films that stirred you over the last 12 months? Let me know. Xx

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