#and mark my words i’m writing the spice i have in my inbox… no more just suggestive WE’RE GOING FOR IT!!

[tvrningout-a]

honestly i just want kojirou to look nothing like a shoujo/josei writer bc the contrast and turning expectations upside down makes me happy :’ ) also i’m thinking about ko becoming so ready to help others that he eventually gets really bad about asking for help himself, gets too independent. and it’s not necessarily that he feels bad burdening others? he does, but it’s just not even an option in his mind anymore. he’s big brother ko!! he takes care of you and not the other way around!!

[ruewrites]

Thrones are Built on Lies Chapter 11: Cracks in the Surface

AO3

Ship: Solomon/Asmo, Diavolo/Lucifer

Word Count: 4075

Warnings: None

A/N: We gettin closer to the coronation babyyyyyyy! As always, comments are appreciated! If you wanna reach out and talk or invade my inbox as well you are more than welcome to!

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Solomon had never cooked by himself before.

Solomon had never been in a kitchen before.

When you were royalty you didn't need to cook for yourself, you had people to do it for you. So here he stood, in the kitchen, when no one else was around, staring down the vastness in front of him. He clapped his hands, illuminating the kitchen and grabbed the first pot he saw.

Cooking couldn't be that hard right? All you had to do was mix some things into a pot and hold them over a fire. Easy.

Rummaging through the cupboards and pantry was an interesting adventure. Solomon was familiar with some of the foods and spices, but others were completely foreign to him. He did manage to find the beef which he grabbed in two handfuls to throw into the pot. Surely that was enough right? Now that his hands were sufficiently covered in residue, he went towards the vegetables and spices.

Honestly, this cooking this was rather fun. Perhaps he could start doing it more often. It might give him more points with his new family. He could be alone with his thoughts and the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board below him.

Which reminded him, he needed to find a blacksmith. Surely there must be one in the main hub.

Solomon only added water when he realized that the food may burn after it sat in the pot for a while. It tasted fine from what he could tell, and he was contemplating eating some of the food when he heard someone come down the steps.

"What are you doing?" Asmodeus asked, gracefully descending the staircase into the kitchen, "It's so late."

"I could be asking you the same question," Solomon smiled, lifting a bit of his creation to his mouth with a ladle.

"I was actually on my way to see you, but I wanted to check to make sure Beel wasn't about to sneak anything from my wedding."

"Our wedding."

"You're acknowledging it's yours now?" Asmo's voice came out a bit shocked, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Of course, it is ours is it not? As for what I'm doing, I figured I'd try my hand at cooking to earn a little more favor with your family," he turned back to the pot, stirring it a little more, and scratching along the bottom to unstick some of the food.

As he did so, Asmo's slender arms snaked around his waist and his head rested gently on his shoulder. It wasn't like his vice grip grasps in the past. Thus one was gentle and, dare Solomon say, fond. His old self would be surprised to see himself relaxing into Asmo. His old self would have never pictured him this comfortable in another's grasp.

"It is ours," Asmo said softly, gently squeezing Solomon's waist. Solomon found his free hand moving downward to squeeze one of Asmo's. Slowly he brought the ladle from his pot up to Asmo's mouth, and his pretty lips opened to accept his offer.

Then he started sputtering. Arms quickly let go of Solomon's waist as Asmo turned away from him.

Solomon turned quickly on his heel to pat Asmo's back, "Did you choke?"

Yes, it was a dumb question. He realized that as soon as the words left his mouth. Of course he was choking. Was he really that poor at social interactions? He was a scholar, a great king, an incredibly intelligent man, and all he could come up with was 'Are you choking?'.

Spoken like a true gentleman. One that fell face first down a mountain only to be attacked by wild beasts that is.

"No," Asmo weezed, "What the hell did you do?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Solomon, darling, are you trying to poison my family?" he gestured towards the pot with disdain and attempted to right himself, "That is nowhere near edible! Did you eat that?"

Solomon blinked a few times, staring at Asmo as he pulled away, glaring up at him. He wasn't really sure how to respond. Surely it wasn't that bad. "I did, are you sure you're not overreacting a little bit?" he asked.

"Over-? No! Are you serious? You ate it?" Asmo gasped, grabbing at his arm, "I'm not even sure the meat is cooked through properly! Well now I'll have to stay with you for the night and take you to one of our healers!"

"But I feel fine," Solomon frowned, as Asmo tugged on him, "Why were you looking for me this late anyways?"

Asmo stopped for a moment before letting go of him in favor of cleaning out his pot instead. "Well, I was hoping I might be able to spend some time with you. I've heard your sleep schedule is terrible and I figured I could visit your chambers."

Solomon moved closer so that their bodies were inches from each other, "That still doesn't explain to me what you want."

"Well I couldn't sleep," his voice came out in a similar fashion as when Azazel spoke to him. It set off small alarms in his mind.

What had he gone through?

"And I figured that perhaps I could-?"

"Something tells me your brother wouldn't be too happy with that," Solomon said, leaning against the counter on the other side of him. Their rooming situation hadn't changed from when Solomon first arrived till now, and he figured with how protective Lucifer was of his brothers that it wouldn't until either after the two of them were joined or until Lucifer trusted him. The latter was a long shot and, at the moment, seemed like it would take more time than what Solomon possessed in a lifetime.

Asmodeus frowned. His eyes darted back and forth, trying to think of an excuse that might work, but the longer he thought about it the more he realized that he was right. "He wouldn't have to know," he tried to reason, "Diavolo might be able to talk him down."

"And if he can't?"

"Don't think about it."

Solomon could have laughed. Stubborn was a good word to describe Asmodeus. He knew what he wanted, and he wasn't going to give up easily. In that way, the two of them were similar. He couldn't even be mad when he felt himself give in.

"Alright then," as he spoke, Asmo perked up, "What is it that you wanted to do?"

"I wanted you to hold me," Asmodeus responded quickly, "I just, want you to touch me, just for a little bit. So perhaps you could come back to my room with me?"

Asmo went to grab his hand once more and gently tugged him towards him. His fingers brushed against the silky, flowy fabric of Asmo's night attire.

Solomon allowed him to tug him towards the staircase and down into the caverns. Asmo's room wasn't what he'd been expecting. Flowers and vines neatly crawled up his bed and to his canopy. Moonlight seeped into the room, illuminating bits of the bed and the floor. He stripped himself of his shirt, realizing that it had gotten a little dirty in the process of his cooking adventures, and slung it over the chair in front of Asmo's bureau.

When he looked up, he saw that Asmo's eyes were on him, tracing every line on his body. "You have a lot of markings," he commented, lounging on his mattress. He shifted a bit as Solomon settled next to him and once more let Asmo pull him closer. "Do they mean anything?"

Solomon waited for Asmo to cling to him first before touching him. He probably wouldn't be heading back to his room tonight, not with the way Asmo was clinging to him. It was almost like he was afraid Solomon would disappear if he let go. So, he slung his arm over the smooth curve of Asmo's hip. "They're runes. Ones that I've found interesting from books I've read."

"There's so many of them."

Solomon shuddered as Asmo slowly traced along one of the inked paths. It reminded Solomon of how he traced the runes back in the cavern. His own hands wandered up and down Asmodeus' back and along his hip, encouraging him to snuggle closer.

Warmth.

It was the only thing he could think of. It spread from his core and along every spot Asmodeus touched him. He swore he was in some sort of trance.

"You're always so cold," Asmodeus murmured, "I don't understand why, you're always wearing long sleeves. I thought you'd be warm."

"You're always warm," Solomon yawned, "And soft. It's very calming." He felt Asmo's hands trail from his chest, over his shoulders, and to his back and his long lashes fluttered against him. He flushed, feeling a bit hotter than normal.

Crickets chirped outside and the occasional hoot of an owl resounded in the distance.

"This is nice," Asmo murmured.

It was nice.

***

"Did he say how long it would take to get done?"

Simeon and Luke had both accompanied him into town. Luke trotted behind, scurridly writing down time stamps and what had been done at those times.

"Hopefully not too long," Solomon twisted a ring on his finger, "I'd really like to get it to him as soon as I can. Before the coronation, preferably."

If the universe would have the smallest bit of pitty on him, he would be able to present Asmo with the gift under the stars a few nights from now. It would be a proper way to give it to him, and an acceptable form of an apology. He just needed things to go smoothly.

Simeon kept his stride, not even daring to fall behind him. He could feel him analyzing him, looking over his motions in order to come to a conclusion. "I think he'll enjoy it."

How did he always know?

"How are you holding up back there Luke?" Simeon turned his head to look at his apprentice.

"I would like to slow down, it's hard to write and walk!"

"And that is why you're practicing now."

Luke huffed under his breath and Simeon craned his neck to look over the notes. He always enjoyed seeing where he could offer praise and note where he could improve. Solomon realized that Simeon had been doing nearly the exact same thing to him here in Arcadia. Had he intended to coach Solomon on how to be a good husband?

Sneaky.

Solomon sat down on the steps of the palace, not quite ready to return inside. It had been a while since he just enjoyed the sunshine, and the weather was perfect. New days, new beginnings. It felt as if he’d had two new beginnings since being here, and he was sure these wouldn’t be his last.

Soft warm hands laid over his eyes, and soft breath caressed his ear, “Guess who.”

Luke made a retching noise as Solomon reached for his hands, “Asmodeus of course. Those hands would be hard to not recognize.”

Laughter surrounded him as Asmodeus moved to sit next to him. He set a few pictures down in his lap. Simeon patted his shoulder as he passed them. He wouldn’t stick around when Asmo came and take time away from the two of them bonding, especially not when they’d been getting along rather well recently.

“Mammon said he saw you heading out to the market this morning, so I waited for you to come back.”

Oh his smile was contagious.

“I wasn’t even aware he saw me,” Solomon said, not minding when Asmo decided to scoot a little closer, “What had you waiting for me to come back?”

“I’d always wait for you to come back,” Asmo leaned in and his soft lips brushed against Solomon’s cheek, “But, I did want to show you my attire for our wedding.” He fingered through the papers on his lap, pulling out one from the center of the pile. It wasn’t quite a suit, but it wasn’t a dress either. It was pretty, and Solomon caught himself slipping into thoughts of how lovely it would look on him.

“I based it off my mother’s dress, I remember that I used to love looking at it.” Solomon had never heard Asmo sound so whimsical. He was somewhere else, and Solomon wasn't entirely sure where he went.

"I've never heard you talk about your mother before."

Asmo's eyes lit up, "Oh she was wonderful. She's the one who taught me how to sing. Don't tell my brothers, but I think she was the best mother."

"You all had different mothers?"

"Well, for the most part. Lucifer and Satan shared one, she was the queen, and then the twins and Lilith shared one," Asmodeus traced his wedding attire as he spoke, carefully and ever so precisely, "I don't think any of them got along well, each of them wanted us to be father's favorite even if Lucifer was the crown prince. But they only stayed in our lives up to a certain point, if they hadn't died in childbirth."

Solomon remembered his mother and his father. They'd both done their jobs and molded him into the ruler he was supposed to be, but he hadn't been ripped from them by another person. "I'm sorry."

It was all he could say, and he hated it.

"It's nothing you had any control over. At least I have memories."

He'd been so excited to show Solomon his plans and to continue their planning, but now the mood was completely changed. With hesitant motions, Solomon reached over to touch his hands, "What do you remember?"

"Her voice," Asmo started, "And the way she held me when she sang me to sleep at night. I remember her taking me to see when the twins and Lilith were born. I remember her explaining that Belphie was sick. I used to always want to help take care of him, and I still do even if doesn't want much to do with me as of late. I also remember how she used to kiss my forehead and tell me how everything would be okay. That I was perfect, no matter what father said"

Asmo sunk into Solomon, looking down at his lap as they sat together. Asmo played with his hand, flipping it around in his own, training along his fingers, and squeezing. "I miss being touched like that, feeling safe in someone else's arms."

Was he meant to hear that? Solomon almost missed his words. Carefully, he slipped the papers out from under Asmo's hand and looked over the designs. "I bet she would have loved to see you in this. I didn't know her, but I think she'd be proud."

Asmodeus squeezed his hand a little tighter and it made Solomon relax. The words had felt awkward tumbling from his lips. But luckily it seemed like he'd said the right thing. "If yours looks this wonderful, I'm excited to see what mine will look like," he continued.

***

They weren't the only two scrambling to get preparations done. Servants were running inside and out decorating the palace for Lucifer's coronation, under Barbatos' watchful eye. He'd been seeing more and more of the crowned prince's stressed expression as he, Diavolo, and Azazel had been spending much of their time in the main hall. Azazel had assured him in passing that they would still have time for their regularly scheduled meetings, but they hadn't been lingering on Solomon's mind as of late.

He had other things to focus on.

He also had some internal things to sort out.

His opinions and feelings surrounding Asmodeus had started to change. That much was evident. Yes, he was still high energy and hard to keep up with at times, but he was also incredibly kind hearted. Solomon had always been physically attracted to him, that hadn’t changed. Something else had started to bubble up inside of him though. It was a feeling that was unfamiliar to him. It started in his core and spread up into his cheeks and made his chest tighten.

He didn’t dislike it, but it was a new feeling, one that reminded him of how Asmodeus felt.

“Mammon, sit still.” Azazel’s voice was harsh, but the sound of the wooden rod swishing at Mammon’s shins was harsher. He yelped and pulled his legs out of the way and straightened his posture. All of them had been lined up in the main hall. Despite having his own seat, Azazel was wandering up and down the row, eyeing up each of them. As soon as Mammon had been reprimanded, he couldn’t help but note how Levi had scrambled to fix his own posture. The room was tense, and Solomon was trying to keep his own composure.

Who would have known that a coronation rehearsal would be so intense. His coronation rehearsals hadn't been this strict. Then again, Solomon was also an only child.

Asmo’s fingers twitched as he stole glances towards him. Touch meant something to Asmo, and Solomon knew he wanted to touch him. If only he could indulge him in this moment.

“This coronation will be a momentous occasion. Not only will the crown be passed on to Lucifer, but it will also be the precursor to a new kingdom joining us. We are putting the end to an era, and entering a new age,” Azazel placed his hands on the back of Solomon’s chair, a wide grin spread across his face, “It’s a time for celebration. I think it’s also fair to say we could allow ourselves to loosen up a little.” His gaze glanced towards Belphegor and then to Asmodeus, his smile faltering, “But I expect you to look like the strong rulers you are, even if adjustments need to be made.”

Asmo flinched, but Azazel moved away from him and towards Belphegor, “This also meant that you shouldn’t wear your mourning attire. It’s a joyous occasion! Act like it.”

“Says you, I say when I’m done mourning.”

All eyes shifted down towards Belphegor, who was refusing to look at Azazel.

“Your father would want you to enjoy the moment.”

“My father is not the one I’m mourning,” he snapped, “Since all of you have forgotten, Lilith is still dead.” He threw a pointed look towards Asmodeus, “But I suppose I’m the only one who cares that our little sister is gone.”

Silence pierced the room. Lilith hadn’t been brought up all that much since Solomon had been there, and he hadn’t really brought it up. It was like glass, and every time her name had been mentioned, a long crack appeared in the smooth surface.

“Just like the youngest of the family to get hostile when he’s told that he can’t do what he wants,” Azazel’s tone was even but filled with venom. Each word had been punctuated.

A little bit of life flared into Belphie’s eyes as he stood up. Honestly it had been the most alive that Solomon had ever seen him. He stood face to face with his uncle for a moment, before turning briskly and leaving towards one of the corridors.

“And just where do you think you’re going?”

“Somewhere where the memory of my sister won’t be insulted.”

The door slamming echoed through the room and ended the conversation. Beel went to follow but Azazel cut him off, “You’re not going anywhere. He can throw his temper tantrum on his own.”

“Actually, I think we should end here today. Productive practice will not come from a situation like this,” Lucifer stood and Diavolo followed, looking a bit more concerned, “We can continue tomorrow.”

Azazel nodded curtly, but Solomon could tell he was struggling to hold his tongue, “As you wish.”

Asmodeus also went to stand quickly, he’d been so focused on Belphie and Azazel’s confrontation, that he hadn’t noticed that Asmodeus had turned away. Solomon felt that he should have followed him, he wanted to follow him, but Azazel caught his shoulder.

“My brother wasn’t happy with them for a reason,” he growled, “Of course, they all have their little flaws, but I have no doubt they would have ruined the crown if they’d been allowed to interact with him too much. It only takes one bad egg to ruin the bunch.” His gaze wandered over towards Diavolo who tried to strike up a conversation with Asmodeus and a few of the remaining brothers to try and lighten the mood. Beel was missing.

“I told him the twins should have been separated as well, he would be so disappointed to see how soft his descendants are becoming. Hard work is going down the drain.” Solomon barely felt Azazel let go of him, and he almost didn’t realize that he left. He was standing alone from the group, he felt like a stranger again.

Until Diavolo looked at him. He offered him a smile and waved him over, and those feelings started to ebb away. He couldn’t help being drawn into the group with Diavolo’s charismatic smile.

“I can’t believe it’s almost time, it’s like the days didn’t even exist,” he said as Solomon took his place near Asmodeus.

Lucifer nodded in agreement, “Life had seemed to go rather quickly lately.”

“And all of your brothers are going to play their own parts,” Diavolo brought their attention towards Asmodeus, who seemed to perk up a bit from earlier, “And Asmo will be singing, just in case he hadn’t told you.”

“I was going to tell him,” Asmo hummed, “I just hadn’t found the right time yet.”

“And he hasn’t heard you sing yet,” Diavolo shot a look to Lucifer who nodded.

“You are correct, he hadn’t heard you sing Asmodeus.”

Solomon had never seen Lucifer look this calm this close up. He was almost afraid to ruin the moment by speaking. Perhaps Diavolo did have some sort of magical abilities, but he did admire their relationship.

Maybe it was possible for good things to happen in arrangements like this.

Maybe he’d been a little too pessimistic in his views.

His eyes shifted back towards Asmodeus, who was already looking to meet his eyes. A soft finger went to interlock with his own. “Look at you two, putting so much pressure on me.”

“Yeah, if ya flub up, you might lose your fiance and embarrass yourself in front of all sorts of people,” Mammon cut in, poking at Asmo’s nose.

“Oh puh-lease, you should be focused on making sure none of your golden decorations are dull. No one likes underwhelming decorations,” Asmo bounced back quickly. He was witty. Perhaps it came with the territory of growing up with so many siblings, but Solomon still liked it nonetheless. It was endearing, and added to the growing list of things that Solomon had started to enjoy about him.

“Oi! I make sure none of my babies are ever dull! You watch your tongue!”

“And my voice hadn’t failed me yet, so maybe you should watch yours.”

His mother had been a singer too.

Had he learned from her?

Or was it something he picked up to carry her with him.

Regardless, music must have been important to Asmo. Solomon was positive that he would sound perfect. If he had learned anything about his fiance in the time he’d spent here, it was that he strived to be perfect. After all, he’d done so much to garner Solomon’s attention, even when he hadn’t been there for him, even when he’d been terrible. He still promised Solomon perfection, promised that Solomon would fall in love with him.

Maybe he was right. Maybe Solomon was falling in love with him. From the way he went to cover his mouth when he laughed to the way his eyes crinkled upwards ever so slightly when he smiled. He had a wonderfully melodic laugh, one that Solomon could listen to for hours. He was witty in his responses and graceful in his motions.

He’d still hold him later when he asked. Solomon had seen how bothered he was during Azazel and Belphegor’s confrontation, and Solomon wouldn’t mind helping him take his mind off of the entire situation.

After all, he was trying to be better for Asmodeus, because he deserved better.

For the first time since coming to Arcadia, Solomon genuinely felt like he belonged.

For the first time in his entire life, Solomon thought that he might be falling in love.

[himbo-beel]

>3> I have a request but not the skill to actually write. We all know Mammon has a bad view of witches because he deals with demonic witches quite often. I wonder if he knows there are other kinds of witches and how he would react to learning MC is a different kind (like a green or kitchen witch, which would b harmless to him)

@another-om-mc T^T this has been sitting in my inbox for forever and I’m sorry that I’m finally getting around to it

_____

The smells from the kitchen pulled Mammon from his room and down the hall, hands in his pockets and nose in the air. It was an odd mix of baking bread, tea, and something citrus that left him more confused than hungry but entirely in need to find out what it was. Baked goods weren’t something often made in the House of Lamentation, and when they were it meant one of two things - Solomon had ruined the Purgatory Hall kitchens enough that it forced Luke to do his baking around the demons or you were there. 

There was no underlying scent of angel that he could tell between the waves of sweet and spiced and he picked up the pace. He wanted to be the first one to see what you were making and he paused just outside the door to listen. You were humming as you worked, and the sound was nicer than even your voice when you spoke to him, and Mammon peeked his head around the corner to catch a glimpse of your unguarded form before he broke the silence. 

The sight in the kitchens made him pause. 

If he hadn’t heard you first, he would have expected it was Satan in the kitchens with all the bottles and bowls and books filling up the counters and stacked on the table. 

He may not have known what you were making, but he had a few guesses. 

“Mammon!”

He didn’t flinch at your words - of course he didn’t. You were...you were just making bread. Or something. He pried his hands from the doorway where his nails had sunk into the wall and stuffed them back into their pockets, fingers curling into loose fists. He lifted a shoulder in greeting. 

“What’cha making here?”

“Sweet breads.” He watched you wiper your hands with a towel. His pact mark shone golden across the back of them, and he tried to take some comfort in that. You hadn’t called him to help. “Did you want some?”

“Me? Eat sweetbread? I’m no baby demon!” He laughed, but his eyes went back to the books and bottles. He ducked his head when he glanced back at you and saw your mouth pressed into a thin line. 

“I made tea, too.”

Mammon made a face. He’d had plenty of....teas before.

“It helps with headaches.”

“You could always ask Satan to get you medicine, ya know,” he grumbled, and he didn’t know if the knot in his stomach was from suggesting you get help from one of his brothers or because you’d been...He shook his head. When he looked at you again, you were reaching out to him and he took a step back, pulling his arms close to himself, and his eyes widened. 

“I, uh, didn’t mean - I mean of course I mean -”

You’d been mixing potions with those hands. Kneading magic into dough with those hands. Hands with his pact on them, hands that had held him after another long day with the witches and now they wanted to hold him again? Right now? It felt like he couldn’t catch his breath and it stuck in his throat when a warm mug was pressed into his chest. He grabbed it before you could let go and spill on the floor. 

“I’m not like them, you know.”

He snorted. “They’re all the same.”

“Yeah? Do they bake sweet breads and give you tea to drink?”

“Sometimes.” He lifted his eyes. They were usually brewed with magic he’d rather forget. You sighed. 

“The only thing in there is willow bark and milk.” You tossed a hand to the mess of jars on the table. “It was way in the back so it took a bit to find.”

“Oh.” He stared at the mug in his hands, chewing on his lip, before shrugging and taking a deep drink. He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing quickly, and when he finished, he licked his lips. It tasted....like tea. No extra magic buzzed along his tongue and nothing rolled in his stomach except for a lingering warmth. 

“Well?” you asked, a hand on your hip. 

“I hope your bread tastes better than that.”

[little-chimchim]

I Only Hate You A Little- Part 4 (End)

Rating: R

Word Count: 4836

Genre: Enemies to lovers au! Roommates au! Best friend’s boyfriend au! fluff, smut, angst (Holy trinity of course)

Pairing: Kihyun x Reader

A/N:  Wow, thank you guys so so much for all of the support you have given this story. It means so much to me that you guys enjoyed it. I think this one was one of my favorites to write. Now that this is over I will be working on finishing my requests and I’ll be starting my new SF9 fic! Thank you so much guys, remember my inbox is always open!! <3 -Kay

Part 3

It was the slowest night you had worked in weeks. Your boss had only scheduled you and Kihyun to work, knowing full well that the restaurant would not be busy. The two of you kept to yourselves the whole night, too busy trying to handle the customers you did have. Through the night, he kept passing glances to you when he went past. He seemed angry and maybe even a little bit sad. As the night began to slow, and the last of the customers left the building, your confusion peaked.

He refused to talk to you, and if you tried to start a conversation, he would walk away. You grew annoyed, furious about him ignoring you at any possible chance he got. He walked by you, carrying a few plates to take to the dishwashers. You had waited to stop him until everyone was gone.

He looked down at you, imposing a fake glare when your eyes met. “What are you doing, Y/N?” Kihyun asked, rolling his eyes as he said it. “I want to know why you’re pissed at me.” You cut straight to the point.

He laughed fakely, putting the plates he had been holding on a table behind him. “What makes you say that I’m mad?” He questioned, crossing his arms.

You furrowed your brows and shrugged your shoulders “I don’t know, maybe it’s the glaring and the fact that you’ve been ignoring me all day. Those are two huge giveaways.” You quietly snapped, hoping the kitchen staff wouldn’t hear.

“Maybe you should ask your boy toy why I’m mad, maybe he knows.” Kihyun scoffed. He unfolded his arms and ran a hand through his black hair. You were dumbfounded, he was actually mad at you for sleeping with Minhyuk.

“Are you serious? You’re jealous of Minhyuk?” You paused, overly mad now. You already knew that he was upset at you for having sex with Minhyuk, but he had no right to be this angry.

“The last I checked, you have absolutely no right to be jealous of the fact that I slept with someone.” Kihyun sighed, knowing that you were right. He truly wasn’t allowed to be jealous, not when he was in a relationship.

“Now you’re realizing that you can’t act like my best friend all the time and be mad that I slept with someone.” You said, watching as Kihyun began to laugh.

“You think I’m jealous because you’re my friend?”

On the second thought, the second it left your lips, you knew he was jealous for entirely different reasons.

“Y/N, I’m jealous because while I was with Liza, all I could think about were your screams and how I wished I caused them.” He groaned, regretting saying it.

Your face fell and your cheeks flushed crimson. “I slept with Minhyuk to make you jealous, though I never thought you would ever be…” You trailed off, Kihyun’s demeanor changed. He tensed up and quickly came up to you.

He pulled your head to his, taking a quick pause for a breath before his lips were on yours. He backed you into the nearest table, leaning into you so your thighs were pressed into the empty table. You moaned when he deepened the kiss. This kiss was not like others you had. The others had always been slow, almost lazy. This one was full of drive and passion and there was a burst of energy behind it. You pressed your tongue against his mouth, asking for him to open up.

Once he did, your tongues glided over each other, sending just an extra amount of shock through you. You began leaning back. He held onto you as he pressed you down on the table. You lied on the table as he grinded into you, making it painfully hard not to scream.

He ran his hands up your leg and up your torso until his hand fell on your breast. He squeezed your breast over your clothes, but it still sent pleasure through you.

“You make me crazy, Y/N.” He moaned into your mouth. He moved his lips away from your mouth and sucked under your ear, sending shivers down your spine. He fumbled with the buttons on your uniform and once he got the first three unbuttoned, he moved his mouth to rest above your chest. He moved his mouth over the top of your breast, leaving small marks all up your chest. “Did he make you feel like this?” he kissed you even more aggressively, leaving larger marks than before; ones that would stay for days.  “I hate that I want you so bad.” You whispered, causing him to stop kissing you.

“I hate how I can’t control myself around you.” He straightened his button up work shirt and moved a strand of hair away from your face. “We can’t do this.” You told him. He answered with silence, only nodding his head slowly.

“I can’t just let this go. When I see you, I can see something. Something driven by emotion and love. Though, with Liza, all I can see is sex and fighti-” You held up your finger to his lips, frowning prominently.

“Don’t do this. Not now. Let’s just get done with this shift and get home.” You fixed your shirt, hiding the hickeys, and picked up the trays he had put down a few minutes prior. You looked behind you and gave a sad smile. “We can’t do this to Liza.” You said before going back to the kitchens.

When the two of you arrived home at a quarter to twelve, Liza was on the couch, munching on a bag of popcorn alongside Minhyuk. “Hey babe, how was work?” Liza asked from the other side of the living room. She completely ignoring your entrance into the apartment. You bowed your head and instantly retreated to your room.

Liza looked to Minhyuk, confused. Minhyuk nodded his head once before retreating after you, seeing what your problem was. He entered without knocking. You had expected him to come through, so you sat on your bed, leaving a space open for him. “Okay, Y/N wh-” you cut him off, mid sentence. “Kihyun and I made out.” You watched as Minhyuk’s face fell. He hadn’t been expecting this to come from your mouth.

“What? When? Where?” The questions flooded from Minhyuk as he desperately tried to get the story from you.

“He was acting angry with me so I confronted him. Turns out he was insanely jealous of you and how we slept together. He also confessed his feelings towards me and the next thing I knew, we were making out on top of a table at work.”

Minhyuk’s mouth opened in shock, but a slow smile reached his face. “That’s actually kind of sexy...what’s he going to do about Liza?”

You sighed “We’re not going to talk about what happened tonight. We can’t do that to Liza. Maybe it’ll just pass and we can both get on with our lives, pretend like we didn’t do that.” Minhyuk laughed, patting you on the shoulder “Sweet sweet Y/N, these things don’t pass. The tension will get to be so unbearable that you’ll screw each other in front of everyone, or…” he found your intensive eyes to be amusing. “Or you’ll end up hating each other again.” He ruffled your hair before standing up. “Be careful Y/N.” He smiled at you then left you alone in your room.

Minhyuk hadn’t been wrong. Days went by and you could tell there was an obvious change. His attitude towards you changed. He wasn’t rude, or condescending like you had expected him to be. Instead, he found any possible excuse not to be alone with you, to get away from you completely.

Though, when you were together, accidental brushes of skin lingered longer than they should have and prolonged looks in each other’s direction. You knew he hated this distance just as much as you did. You couldn’t tell how much longer you could take it, but you didn’t want to know what would happened if you tried to reach out to him.

It seemed as if the work schedules were trying to push the two of you together. It was a Thursday night and Minhyuk and Liza were working the night shift, leaving you and Kihyun alone in the apartment. You flipped through the channels on the tv in the living room, bored out of your mind. You munched on a bag of chips in front of you, ignoring the fact that they were beyond stale. You looked up from the tv when Kihyun came out of the room. He looked to your old bag of chips and rolled his eyes. He walked over and grabbed your sleeve, pulling you up from your seat on the couch and bringing you to the kitchen

“You’re not sitting on your ass eating nasty chips all night, we might as well make dinner.” He said, turning his head to give you a soft smile. He let go of your sleeve to rustle around in the fridge, bringing out a few cuts of chicken and freshly made pasta already wrapped in plastic.

“I was saving this for dinner with Liza, put she has no interest in my cooking, just the fancy restaurants I take her to.” He shrugged setting the food on the counter and unwrapping it. “Can you grab a knife and start cutting the vegetables?” He asked, too focused on cutting the chicken to look at you.

You nodded, grabbing the cutlery and beginning to chop the fresh vegetables. You two worked in silence, occasionally speaking to given each other directions, but no other words were spoken.

The silence became too much to handle, so you decided to liven the mood. “How was your day?” You asked casually, placing the cut vegetables into a bowl to wash. “I guess it was fine.” He responded, not saying much else.

You sighed. You ran your hands through the water, mixing the vegetables along with them. Once you brought them back to the counter, you set them on a pan to dry. Kihyun stopped his own cutting and wiped his hands upon a towel next to him.

You felt your body tense when he leaned over you to grab the spices on your left. You looked up to him as he reached over you. His face seemed all too close to his, he noticed your staring and smiled. He grabbed the spices, but he didn’t go back to his station without leaving just a brush of a kiss on your lips.

He moved further away from you, meeting your eyes and shyly smiling. You were shocked. It hadn’t been your first kiss with him, yet it felt just as special. You two stared into each other’s eyes, not knowing what to do next.

The last time you two were in this position, you were in the middle of work, where anyone could have walked in. Now you two were alone in your home and your were going to have all the privacy you could ask for for the next few hours.

You grabbed his shirt and pulled him to you, crashing your lips onto his. He grabbed your hips to pull you closer. You pulled your hands through his soft hair, softly yanking it to gain a reaction from him. He moaned, pulling away from the intense kiss. “Keep doing that Y/N and I won’t hold back.” he whispered in your ear.

Kihyun grabbed a hold of the bottom of your shirt and pulled it over your head. “I was hoping they were still there.” He kissed each hickey he left, lightly. He pressed himself into your heat, hoping to relieve some of the obvious tension in his groin. You sucked in a breath deeply. Kihyun reached behind you to lift you up, making sure he placed his hands firmly on your ass.

“We don’t have to go further if you don’t want to.” He whispered, making sure you were okay with going on. You kissed him “Fuck Kihyun, take me. Take it all.” He groaned.

In an instant he was leading you to your room, throwing you on your bed once you made it there. He pulled off his t shirt and jeans, leaving him in only his now tight underwear. He looked at your body, realizing that you were just in your bra and pants. He shook his head “Now that’s not fair.” he began to slide your pants off, revealing that your lacy green underwear matched your bra. He grinned and ran his hands over your entire body. “Why the hell are you this beautiful, Y/N.?” He groaned, laying kisses everywhere he could. He trailed wet kisses down your stomach, he only stopped when he reached the top of your panties.

His eyes looked up to yours, looking for that signal to continue going. You nodded once and his mouth secured around the tip of the underwear, dragging them down with proficient speed.

He whisked the soaked panties away into some mysterious area in the room. You probably wouldn’t find them again for weeks. Kihyun gently ran a hand up your thighs, spreading them apart even more than they already were. The man repeated the same action with his tongue, gliding it up your thighs and towards your throbbing heat.

He was slow to eat you out. He made sure he tasted every single part of you. Up and down your folds, causing such pleasure that you couldn’t hold it. “Scream for me babe.” he called to you. He went back to eating you out, quickening his pace when he heard your screams get louder. He too moaned, causing much needed vibrations against your clit. You screamed out, knowing that your orgasm was just seconds away.

Once the sense of euphoria washed over you, you screamed his name as loudly as you could, causing him to slap you on the ass. Kihyun chuckled, rubbing the area on your ass soothingly. “I am going to fuck you so much better than Minhyuk ever did.” He latched himself to your neck again. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, that you won’t be able to walk, and everyone would know that it was me”

His words only edged you on further, you gripped the sheets and held on to them as tightly as you possibly could. Kihyun pulled away from your neck and pulled his underwear down his legs, his already firm erection popped out excitedly.

He pumped himself a few times before he slid himself up and down your core, teasing you unlike anyone had done to you before. “Don’t be afraid to scream for me,” Kihyun said before he pushed himself into you without any prior warning.

You were nowhere near afraid to scream out for him. It was painful at first, you weren’t used to someone his size, at least not for a very long time. He gave you a few, long moments to adjust to the feeling of him being inside you. Of course he didn’t do this without some teasing. He waited until you were squirming beneath his hold.

“Kihyun, I swear to god if you don’t start moving…” He groaned, unable to wait much longer. Kihyun chuckled lowly before he started moving in and out of you. He started off slowly, careful not to hurt you in the first few minutes, but as you became more comfortable with the feeling, his pace quickened.

He grunted loudly as he began to pounded into you roughly, not holding back like he was just moments before. You felt yourself unfold in his hold. This was exactly what you imagined it to be but better.

You pulled Kihyun’s face down to kiss him hastily. They were flimsy, uncoordinated kisses that were caused by his thrusts. “Fuck,” you groaned against him. He was pushed you against the headboard, unknowingly going as hard as he could.

His breaths became heavy, he was panting and you couldn’t find it any more attractive. He held on to the top of the headboard with both hands as he grinded against you. Both of your highs were coming and he knew it. He went rougher. His moans and your moans collided, causing you to scream out.

He thrusted into you a few more times before he sucked in a deep breath. “I’m going to cum,” he whined, still going hard. You nodded and held on to his waist. “Me too,” you clamped your eyes just and waited for your high to come.

You screamed his name when it did. Kihyun pulled out of you with a satisfying pop and rolled over onto his back. He moved his hand around on the bed until he found your hand. He clasped it firmly and ran his fingers lightly over the tops of your knuckles.

“Now can we talk about us?” He asked quietly, still recovering from his orgasm.

You shook your head and leaned down to kiss his cheek. “In a bit, I’m going to take a shower.”

He sighed and got off the bed to find his discarded clothing. “I’ll be out here.” He said before you went into the bathroom.

When you got out of the shower, you walked to the living room. Kihyun was sitting on the couch, dressed in a thin t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. You walked to him and he pulled you on the couch next to him, wrapping his arms around you tightly once you fell on him. You tried pulling away from him, but he didn’t budge. “Kihyun, Liza and Minhyuk will be home soon, we can’t do this.” You muttered, though you relaxed in his arms. “Shh let me hold you for a few minutes. Just before we have to go back to acting like nothing is happening between us.” He whispered, playing with the strands of your wet hair that fell on his face.

You rested on top of him, laying your head on his chest to listen to his heart beat. “I’m going to break up with Liza, I can’t keep on going behind her back just so I can touch you.” He took a long breath that you could feel. “She wants me because of my money and sex. She could care less about who I am.” He rubbed your arm, the little acts only brought a small smile to your face. “And you don’t care about the money, you share my passions, and you actually care about me. I can’t go on with the fact that I’ve been falling in love with you and-” You pulled your head up. He stopped talking, turning red and averting his eyes away from yours.

“You love me?” you asked, wondering if you heard him correctly.

He sighed, nodding his head, bringing his eyes back to your own. “Yes, I have since I walked into the studio and heard your voice.”

You laughed, burying your face into his chest and wrapping your arms around him. “I love you too, Kihyun.” You whispered, shutting your eyes to drown yourself in his warmth. “I wish I had met you before I met Liza. Maybe I could have loved you sooner.” He whispered to you. You nuzzled in closer to him. “Without Liza, we would have never been able to hate each other first.” Kihyun laughed and ran his hands through your hair. “Yeah, because hating me set such a good basis for this relationship already.” He said sarcastically.

You smiled and wrapped your arms around him, “You hating me made me realize how afraid I am of that happening again. I can’t wait to be able to freely love you.” He nodded and closed his eyes peacefully, still playing with your hair and leading you into a sweet sleep.

You woke up to a slap on the arm. You rubbed your eyes groggily as another one came, they didn’t hurt, but they were obnoxious enough to wake you. You look up, Liza’s face hovered over yours. She smiled fakely and woke the man next to you the same way.

You realized what position you were in and quickly backed away from Kihyun, he did the same with you. The two of you stared up at Liza, who was now glaring at the two of you.

“Want to explain why the two of you were sleeping like that?” She asked. You turned to Kihyun, who looked to be thinking about what to say. “We were watching a movie waiting for you guys and we kind of fell asleep.” You said on the spot, though you knew she wouldn’t buy it.

“On top of each other?” She grimaced.

The two of you fell silent. Kihyun stood up and took a deep breath. “I’m leaving you.” He said sternly. Liza gasped and peered down to you, hate in her eyes. “You little bi-” She thrashed out towards you but Kihyun grabbed her arms and held her back from hurting you.

Liza pushed Kihyun away and stared at the two of you. She turned her back to Kihyun, her arms crossed. “I guess I don’t feel bad for cheating on you with Jungkook now.” She huffed. Kihyun laughed angrily and threw up his arms. “And how long have you been cheating on me with your ex?”

Liza shrugged snobbishly, “I don’t know, maybe five, six...months.” She mumbled the last part.

Kihyun rolled his eyes, “So almost the entirety of our relationship. I wanted to break up with you before I did anything with Y/N, but you would latch on to me like a leech. I wanted so badly to let you go but you were so stubborn!” He yelled, finally reaching his breaking point. Liza’s eyes began tearing up, she wiped away her tears and tried clinging to Kihyun but he nudged her away.

“I was right then, you were using me for the money and the attention I gave you. You’re a good actress, I’ll give you that.” Kihyun scolded Liza as if she were a child. “I might be using Jungkook but I do love you! Babe, I can forgive you for cheating on me and we can go back to the way things were.” Liza pleaded as if she were about to throw a temper tantrum.

You heard a laugh come from the otherside of the living room. Minhyuk leaned against the doorframe, a low scowl on his face. “Liza, we’ve known you for too long. We know when you’re being honestly and we sure as hell know when you’re lying.” He shook his head and walked towards the woman. “Hoseok told me what you were going to do to Y/N at the restaurant. He also told me about the time, last month, that you tried coming onto him. Now with Jungkook.” He grabbed Liza’s arm and pulled her towards the apartment door. “You’re a horrible girlfriend, an even worse friend, and I’m mad at myself for ever having feelings for you.”

Minhyuk brought her outside of the apartment and walked back in. He smiled cheekily at her and waved. “Think of this as your formal eviction.” He said before shutting the door.

You and Kihyun both looked at Minhyuk in awe. He merely shrugged and walked into the kitchen. “She deserved it!” He yelled from the fridge. Kihyun looked to you, a small smile on his face. This hadn’t been how he expected to finally end things with Liza, but he wasn’t entirely complaining. He reached down and grabbed your cold hand, he brought it to his mouth and kissed your knuckles gently.

“Well, Y/N, would you like to go to the studio with me? This time I have my keys.” He grinned. You smiled and nodded, it was the best thing he could have asked at this moment in time.

Epilouge

You and Kihyun stood on a stage, about a year after that, performing your first sold out concert. Soon after Liza had left, you and Kihyun had been signed to Starship Entertainment as a duo act. The hours were long and tiring but you both had each other and your love of music to keep you going. The show was nearly over and the two of you were saying your goodbyes to the fans before you sang your last few songs.

Kihyun palmed something in his jacket pocket. The other hand held his microphone tightly. “I’m stopping the concert for a few minutes to announce something.” He turned to you and smiled. You looked back, confused as to why he stopped the performance. Kihyun took an audibly deep breath. “I’m absolutely in love with the most...amazing woman.” he began.

“I’ve loved her for much over a year now...” He paused “I can’t really tell when I started loving her, it feels like it’s been since I saw her for the first time.” He beamed to himself and took out a little black box from his leather jacket. He tossed the small box up and caught it swiftly, he held it out for the audience to see. “This girl is so awe-inspiring. She’s the basis of most of the songs I write.”

You looked up to him, a multitude of emotions surrounding your mind. Was he about to propose to you in the middle of a concert, with thousands of people watching.

He turned to you, grinning happily. “I have been through so much with this woman. She even hated me at first. We’ve been through so many things in this past year that I can already tell that I can survive every year forward with her.” Kihyun walked closer to you, stretching out his arm to hand you the little velvet compact.

Full of even more shock, you took it. You hastily opened it, revealing a small golden ring, and in the center was your birthstone. “That ring can be anything you would like.” He began, taking the box from you and grabbing the ring. “It can be a signal of my love, a promise ring, an early Christmas gift…” He trailed off before saying the last phrase.

“It can even be an engagement ring, though if you’re not ready to go that far, ple-” You cut him off by pulling his face towards yours, kissing him softly, in front of everyone. Something you have never been able to do.

“Yes yes yes, a million times yes. I will marry you.” Kihyun’s face fell, but he couldn’t control his happiness.

“I didn’t expect you to actually say yes. I’m going to have to get a bigger ri-” You kissed him again, this time with more energy. “No, it’s perfect. God I love you Yoo Kihyun.” You gleaned, allowing him to slide the ring on your finger. He brought his arms around you, hugging you tightly.

The crowd erupted, causing the two of you to snap out of your love driven haven. Kihyun laughed, realizing that you were in the middle of a concert. “Shall we continue, future Mrs. Yoo?” He smirked, bring the microphone to him.

You giggled quietly “Yes we should, shouldn’t keep them waiting.” You smiled, looking back to the instrumentalists and signaling for them to continue. You looked at the ring on your finger one last time before singing again, overjoyed and filled with happiness.

On that same stage, nearly two years later, Minhyuk was an up-and-coming actor. Because of his new burst of popularity, he was asked to announce an award at a very large music award show. Ironically, he was the one announcing the award you and Kihyun were nominated for. On the exact same stage Kihyun proposed to you on, the two of you accepted your first award for the best new album of the year. As you held the award, Kihyun gave the speech.

“My wife and I are so incredibly happy that we are worthy enough to have fans like all of you. You’re the reason we make music. Though, besides our amazing fans, we would like to thank our friends Minhyuk, Hoseok, Hyunwoo, Hyungwon, Changkyun, and Jooheon. Without all of them, we wouldn’t have found each other and we would have never been able to make music. So thank you.” He nearly put the microphone down, put you took it before he could return it.

You held the award securely in your hands and took a deep breath. “We would also like to thank our future child, whom we’ll be meeting soon. You’re our future, and the reason we’ll continue with our music.” You looked up at Kihyun, who only looked back in shock, he hadn’t even known.

He brought you into a tight hug, ignoring the thunderous applause. “I love you so much” he whispered into your ear. You nodded into his shoulder, grinning happily. “I love you more.” You repeated before the two of you were escorted backstage.

[jodiwalker]

A 'Bachelorette' recap: You Crushed the Rose, Bro!

Audiences often prefer The Bachelor franchise over The Bachelorette franchise because large groups of women tend to bring more complex social dynamics to the table; more external displays of emotion; and most importantly — more dramzzz.

Enter Becca's expectation-subverting boyfriends who, at any given time, are one stolen-hoodie away from a full emotional meltdown. And I love them for it. I hope Becca moves to Utah, gets an oil drum full of Klonopin, and marries every single one of them, so that I never have to live in a world where five men are not solemnly nodding their heads along to the sacred proverb: You never touch another man's property.

The 20 remaining men vying for Becca K's affections had no less than three tearful fits of the heart, two Right-Reasons-related conflicts, and one dramatic confession in season 14’s second episode on Monday night. They are — in a phrase — the most extra. Regarding the tears, Alex's were for a typical Bachelorette reason: he was released by Becca into the fresh Calabasas air after spending six days in a cloud of Old Spice deodorant working way beyond its pay grade, subsisting on deli meats and protein-shake-mimosas, and sleeping in a bunk bed as a full-grown 30 year old man. Indeed, the psychological torture that takes place in that mustard-colored stucco mansion will be studied in text books one day…

**Subscribe to the These Are the Best Things newsletter now and never miss a recap!**

But the other first-date breakdowns were a little more unique to the, uh, passion-driven ethos of Becca's season thus far: (a very sleepy-seeming) Wills was overcome with emotion thinking about how much he loves his mom and dad, and Lincoln…well, Lincoln's group-date-party-favor got broken by a meanie, Connor, who seems to have taken all the buttons off his shirt, melted them down into a pomade, and then swiped that button juice through his hair in order to achieve Marge-Simpson-like heights.

Again, I reiterate that there is nothing wrong with these soft, tender-spirited men; their wild internalized mood swings, fits of emotion, flare for the dramatic, and memorabilia-triggered histrionics only serve to attract me to them more. After years of withheld emotions, over-confidence, and worshiping at the altar of Mark Cuban, these tentative, fragile little nuggets are a welcome and unexpected reprieve. Even this season's transcribed villain, Jordan, is perhaps the least threatening male to ever be on this show. You could run him off with a drug-store-brand conditioner, you could tie him up with a four-syllable word, and you could permanently confound him with nothing more than "what's black and white and red all over?" He is — and I do not say this lightly — harmless. (Except, of course, to himself. I suspect the man is at risk of drowning every time he takes a shower.)

Even the most aesthetically macho brotestant among them, Leo — who looks like a combination of Fabio and a Victorian-era Strong Man — is, in fact, cattier than a Real Housewife of Beverly Hills, snootier than a Real Housewife of New York, and possesses a lace-front even more snatched than a Real Housewife of Atlanta. When the fellas disrobed at the first group date, I was shocked to see all the six-packs. Not because sensitive men cannot be smoke shows, but because this particular group of delicate bros seem like they spend so much time using their rhyming dictionaries to write Becca terrible poems, and gluing macaroni to picture frames to replace the ones they broke during temper tantrums, that I don't understand where they find the time to make their obliques look like packs of grass-fed sausage links.

Much more important than the simple thrill of watching these dudes work themselves into a emotional group-think tizzy though, is the fact that their flights of fancy make Becca seem all the more level-headed and self-assured by comparison. The woman is attacking the process of finding a husband on reality television with the focus and efficiency of someone trying to replace a subordinate before their own boss realizes that they don't actually have any responsibilities. Or as Bachelor Nation faves, Trista, Kaitlyn, Desiree, and Ashley I. will tell you: like Debby Ocean putting together a heist team to steal the Heart of the Ocean or whatever from the Met Ball #ad

[Ed. note: Wills is Rihanna and Leo is Helena Bonham Carter! And I'M SANDY BULLOCK!]

When Lincoln tells Becca that she brings out the best in him, she asks him to elaborate on what he means by that — the woman is not interested in your platitudes. Lincoln helpfully explains: "I can be myself, and I think when I'm myself, which most people are, they are their best, and I genuinely believe that as long as you are who you are, which you always are, you would always get nothing but from the best from me." Oh, well then! Rest assured Becca, this man is definitely invested in you as a person, and not at all tied up in the fact that you're the Bachelorette and a human woman.

Funnily enough, despite Becca being surprisingly adept at navigating this minefield of dumb-dumbs, she cannot stop unnecessarily reiterating to us that we can trust her; that she would never mislead us; that she's not going to lie to us. She's! Not! Gonna! Lie! She's not gonna lie about these guys having good style. She's not gonna lie about being frustrated that there's so much drama. She's not gonna lie about being upset that Colton dated one of her former sister-girlfriends…

BECCA! It's okay! We trust you!

And listen, I’ve obviously said “I’m not gonna lie” a time or two in my life — am I not human? Do I not bleed? Do I not occasionally preface a statement with a gratuitous "honestly, or "literally," or "at the end of the day"? (Just kidding, I don’t say the last one, I'm not a Kardashian eating a $13 salad out of plastic bowl — I'm just me eating a $13 salad out of a plastic bowl!) But I fear that this newly found catchphrase of Becca’s represents something deeper than a mere filler phrase. I'm worried for our dear Becca, and not just because her underarms must be sequin-chafed to ribbons. But also because her constant vigilance for sniffing out dishonesty and insincerity in her potential husbands seems indicative of an internalized pressure to do this job so well, to not make any mistakes, to not completely biff this whole thing at someone else’s emotional expense, like Arie did to her…

Okay, that's enough armchair psychology for one dating game show — let's talk about trampoline dodgeball and what that mouf do!

**Read the rest of the Episode 2 recap at These Are the Best Things, and subscribe to the TATBT newsletter to get all of The Best Things straight to your inbox weekly!**

[pravasiga]

January 2, 2019

   Lěng de bù hào chī (冷的不好吃): (Chinese): Cold (food) isn’t good for you.  

   This was the first year I did not count down to the start of a new year, huddled around the family TV as my brother and I (the only two who had not already gone to bed) watched Ryan Seacrest and a slate of celebrities dance around in clothes unbefitting of the New York’s bitter winter. The ball drop is not widely celebrated at my house – it’s just another passing mark of time. Traditionally, it means that it’s time to throw out the old calendar and scrounge around for the new one we somehow always manage to get for free from some Flushing marketplace or maybe somehow in the mail, advertising some random product. I am twenty-one years old and I’m still not sure where on earth my mother finds a new calendar each year. On another note, I am twenty-one years old and this is the first New Year’s Day that I did not count down – mostly because when hurtling through the air across time zones, you’re really not sure where to begin counting. I probably slept through it. The San Francisco-based crew wished us a Happy New Year as we exited the plane. My phone exploded with well-wishes when I finally connected with the airport’s (excellent) Wi-Fi.  It was January 1st, 7:40pm in Taipei, Taiwan when I left the aircraft. It was about 6:40AM in New York. Most of my family and loved ones were just beginning to wake up into the New Year. I had just about lost the first whole day of the new year stuck in a strange man-made time limbo of time zones and travel – neither here nor there.  I entered the New Year soaring through the sky, and my first steps on solid ground and into the new year were in a country that I had never been to.

    For a trip that I had such a strong cultural connection to, it is honestly surprising how little I had planned ahead for it. I had reviewed itineraries, I had checked visa requirements, and kept up with what was required of me, and yet I did not spend nearly as much time thinking hard about what I was getting myself into. Frankly, I am challenging myself to write again during this trip because now that I am here, I am stunned by how much I know and don’t know. How else do you describe a strange sense of coming home to a place where you have never been to?

   I have been lucky to have gone abroad two times during my time at Cornell – first to Lima, Peru and then to Mysore, India. For this trip, I am enormously grateful to Dustin Liu for organizing it, and I’ll go more into detail as the trip unfolds. I know how much travel inspires me not only in my academic pursuits, but truly as a strangely calming and yet disruptive force in my life. Clichés and all, I am a different person every time I disappear for a while across the borders. I shed some of the daily troubles for some new ones. Lack of consistent Wi-Fi and a new time-zone tends to silence the day-to-day influence of social life back home and the troubles waiting for me on campus (or in the inbox, it is hiring season after all). It is a luxurious silence to be deliberately untethered and I bask in it.

   So, I am writing because I am 1) all at once excited to share my thoughts and adventures with my loved ones, but more importantly 2) I have a feeling that I will be desperate to not lose these thoughts. In the same style of my previous travel posts, I will be reflecting and writing on whatever I want, whenever I want. If I could write an entire post a year and half ago about getting acclimated to walking barefoot everywhere, I still reserve the right to go off on any tangent I want. I am challenging myself to reconnect with culture and language. I am currently sitting in a Starbucks a few blocks from home, meticulously and frantically searching the internet and conjuring every little bit of my knowledge of Mandarin to pepper my writing with the language of my ancestors and the ancestors before that. (I’m getting some curious looks from people, but that might be because I literally ran into the sliding glass door…twice). Every post will begin with a Chinese phrase or word that jogs my imagination just a little bit. I thank you for your time in reading along and exploring with me, and I hope that it jogs your imagination just a little bit too.

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  Smell is the sense most directly linked to memory in the brain. Bypassing the hypothalamus unlike the other senses, the signal buries straight in the hippocampus, creating a powerful connection between scent and history. You can walk down the street and be hit with the faintest hint of house cleaner and remember a childhood home, or maybe just a recent hotel room stay. As I waited next to a tiny little street-side food cart late at night, watching them take orders of several other customers, I let the deep aromas of fried meat, fish, starch, and sweet spice take me far and deep back to a childhood that was ruled by incredible food. It is a smell of crisp, bubbling oil and juicy chicken. There is something comforting and familiar about the pungent smell and I can’t stop taking deep breaths of it. In that moment, I was standing in Taiwan, but my mind was wandering through the old food courts of Flushing Mall (RIP), my twelve-year-old self waiting anxiously in line for her salt and pepper chicken meal. It was my favorite order at the time, after all. I was a little too young at the time to feel quite comfortable standing in a thick crowd of other Flushing families and visitors, and just like now, my Mandarin Chinese just polished enough to order exactly what I wanted through rehearsing the phrases I heard my father say. I said hello, salt and pepper chicken please, thank you, goodbye. I hadn’t smelled a scent this strong in what felt like absolute years. On an empty stomach, it was impossible to resist leaning closer. 

  Dustin asked had asked me multiple times what I was craving and I truthfully answered that I was craving well, everything. A hungry stomach doesn’t discriminate much, but it was also the complete truth. Every other time I had travelled abroad, I had played it safe. No ceviche in Peru for fear of incompatibility with my stomach and a strong command to avoid the street food in India, a warning seconded by seasoned friends back home. Not here though. How could you say no to food that smelled and tasted just like home? 

  I clutched my oily paper bag of fish cakes, chicken, and corn cobs, all flash fried and coated liberally (but not too liberally because yours truly can’t handle spicy things), with a sweet, spicy red powder mixture, like it was the last thing I’d ever eat. And later that night, politeness and custom aside, that’s exactly how I ate. The first bite was irresistible. And the next one, and the one after that. Strips of fried chicken I tore off the bone, each coated with a pale golden yellow coat, fried to a soft crisp. It was salty and peppery, with just the right amount of greasy oil. In the creases near the bone were pieces of the fried dough mixture that felt like pure and wonderful gluttony just to eat. I don’t think I’ve ever picked a piece of chicken cleaner in my entire life. The fried fish cakes were light, airy, and chewy – covered in the same spice mixture as the chicken. It felt like a tougher French fry, but I’d choose it over French fry any day. The chopped corn cob pieces disappeared one by one – lightly fried sweet, fresh corn that was burned just the right amount at its edges. Buttery, satisfying, and with a slight hint of caramel. It was by all accounts a sloppy meal and it was glorious.

  Like most fried food, you need to eat quickly. After all, lěng de bù hào chī. I’ve always found that heat in Chinese food comes straight from the fire more than anything else. It’s also a phrase that I have not yet quite found the equivalent for in English. There is a literal translation – when the food is cold, it won’t be good to eat. It has been uttered at so many of my family meals and gatherings. Maybe it’s just a my family thing, or a universal thing – I’m not sure. But in my home, it is the in thick of the frenzy that opens the meal and the reminder that my mother, my father, my grandparents, and uncles and aunts all will tell the younger ones repeatedly. Chopsticks and serving utensils battle in the airspace over the table as bowls and plates piled high with food are moved around the table in haphazard manner. As I sat down to write this, I toiled over what to title my piece – after all, all my old blog pieces all started with an uncommon word, usually of English origin, to you know, set the mood. (I also really, really like words). This was the first phrase that came to mind – lěng de bù hào chī. It felt almost a little silly, so I ignored it at first, but I kept coming back to it. It took me a little time to realize why – because it’s more than just some good advice when it comes to eating. 

  When my family intercepts me as I reach across the dinner table for something and tell me, xiān chī zhè ge (先吃这个) “eat this first”), they push another plate of food closer to me and say, lěng de bù hào chī. The tone is always a cross between nurturing and an urgent statement. There is usually no relenting of this phrase until the food in question is indeed eaten. I tossed the ubiquitous phrase around in my head for a little bit and finally, I realized that it was an act of love. They say it without thinking and yet the meaning and intent is always, always clear. Because we care, we want you to eat well. 

  Food is critically and vitally important to my family and my culture. As an American-Chinese growing up in a neighborhood where I am never quite the majority and the local scene is dotted with more fast-food take-out than authentic cuisine, food is the most solid and important link back to my ancestors. There is something indisputable about this connection and it isn’t something that was easily stolen from my family as we crossed oceans and borders. We joke that Asian cultures sometimes make it difficult to outwardly show affection – we don’t say I love you like I’ve seen in TV shows and movies about other American families. We do not kiss and hug when we leave for school in the morning. Our ways of showing affection are sometimes manifested in ways that are awkward and distant to Western gaze. And as weird as this reference sounds, in the wildly popular Subtle Asian Traits meme group, my favorite post is this – the re-post where the prompt is to say and convey “I love you” in three words, without using I, love, or you. The original poster simply wrote: “come and eat”. I believe truly that the post is wildly popular because it strikes at something many of us in the Asian diaspora understand – we are a people who show love through our food and through feeding our loved ones well. 

  When my parents tell me to eat my fish first instead of going straight for the vegetables, it’s not just a gastronomical piece of advice, it’s a statement I’ve learned is seeped in centuries of love – to enjoy this meal best, please eat this first. We want you to eat well. It runs deeper than the common courtesy of letting other people start eating before you do. It is a distant linguistic cousin to the act of leaving the last piece of dim sum for someone else even though you really, really, really want it too. I figure that it’s because lěng de bù hào chī is not a polite custom like the others – it’s truly in a league of its own. The purpose of the former two customs are more about appearing less like the rude one at the table. Lěng de bù hào chī is selfless. Lěng de bù hào chī is uttered all the time in my household. It is so common that it surprised me when the phrase came up as the one I knew I wanted to write about. I find myself repeating it to my little brother and my younger cousins all the time too now as I become older and the head of the kids’ table at holiday dinners. This is how we show care in the ways that matter. 

  With this phrase, we yield to our loved ones to go ahead first. We usually follow this up by heaping helpings of aforementioned food onto their plates despite protests. Predominantly from the elderly to the youngest at the table, but also just as frequent from child to parent. Do take that first piece of fish, or steak, or slice of the bā bǎo fàn (八寶飯) cake, straight from the steamer. Here, the tāng yuán (汤圆) won’t be fresh if you wait too long. Here, you can have the first piece of pork belly straight from the huǒ guō (火锅), it’s still hot. It won’t taste good anymore if you don’t eat it now. Sometimes its lěng de bù hào chī because they know you’ll get a stomach ache trying to eat sticky rice when it’s not hot enough Other times it’s because it literally will not be chewable when it’s not hot and no way on my dime are you wasting this piece of good steak. But absolutely all of the time, in setting the meal in front of me, my parents are giving me the chance to enjoy the experience first at its freshest and warmest. I have never seen my parents or grandparents go straight for the best food on the table without telling my brother, cousins, and I to eat it first. My parents have spent years cooking us dishes that had more expensive ingredients or were things that they loved too, but gave to us children first. I use fish as a prime example because my dad, as long as I remember, has always carved out the two smooth pieces of cheek meat in the fish (yes, we steam the entire fish, head to tail!) and put them on his children’s plates. It is a diplomatic process each time, routine like clockwork. My parents never ask for it, even though they know it’s a particularly good piece of the fish. It is a tiny piece, dipped in some of the soy and scallion sauce, but it is a wonderful bite of the fish – smooth, strong, and apparently like all Chinese lore, good for you. 

  Lěng de bù hào chī is also a pretty good way of describing how to approach my time here in Taiwan, the first Chinese-speaking country that I have been to in over a decade. Quite literally speaking, I would be a fool to wait on the good things here, lest I let them pass me by. I do a bit of a hard 180 here to address one of my biggest goals in Taiwan (and no, it is not just to inhale all the food in sight, though I am very willing to attempt this) – to re-establish my connection to my language and culture. My mandarin is like a strange fifth limb of my mine that is sometimes functional, often times awkward, and yet utterly impossible to detach. My first words were all in Mandarin. I was raised through a strong and consolidated effort of my parents and my grandparents. When I was younger, there was a time of genuine concern that I might not actually learn English since I babbled constantly and consistently in Mandarin. It seems like a strange past, because Mandarin now is both instinctual and foreign to me. My command of the language is through an ingrained mimicry as opposed to genuine understanding. My Chinglish at home is on point – we call out in a rapid mix of Chinese and English and depending on how mad my parents are, we also get disciplined in a mix of Chinese and English (though the angrier they get, the more Chinese gets thrown in until we reach a point where I am no longer able to comprehend what they’re telling me. I nod out of fear of asking for a translation). 

  I still stumble over my own tongue when I need to speak in Chinese to a non-relative or to a native speaker. When asked to speak, I often bravely attempt to mumble something and wait to feel an embarrassment that seems to be deeper than just social.  I am immensely aware of my American-ness, the unshakeable accent that gives me away when my words fail to have the same smooth lilt, and a vocabulary that struggles beyond basic topics of school, home, and family. I stop mid-sentence only to realize I am translating English to Mandarin instead of truly speaking in my mother tongue. I spent a comparable number of years in Chinese school to French classes (about 7 years, each) and even though I was writing complicated arguments in French by the end of high school (thanks to incredible teachers!), I still consider myself more fluent in spoken Chinese. French is a mechanical skill I know in my brain; Chinese is child-like reflex I know in my heart. As broken as my Chinese is, it still rises unbidden through me, a call into a world that has still not quite decided on my American-ness or Asian-ness. I know the only way to get better is to push through and to grab every moment I can to practice, before they fade away. I chat as often as I can – and luckily most locals give me that chance and are patient when I lose my words and need to linguistically flail about. I am, after all, not the only wài guó rén (外国人) they will deal with today. For now, I am incredibly lucky to be in a country that is so English friendly. It affords me a little luxury to navigate a little bit, amongst the few blocks around our apartment. I remarked to Dustin today that it almost seemed to be the ultimate pass – to be in a country so obviously different than my own, and yet given more than enough hints along the way. I have stared at each block of Chinese text that I’ve passed intensely (mostly subway signs), willing myself to remember characters, even if I have to cheat and use the English translation or pīnyīn for context. I truly think that my greatest mistake during this trip was leaving my trusted Chinese-to-English dictionary at home – I really should have thought ahead and remembered it. (Fun fact, I was quite the speed demon during my Chinese school competitions amongst students who could utilize the dictionary the fastest. I absolutely assure my non-Chinese speaking friends that a Chinese dictionary is nowhere near the same as a phonetic one and this is my weird flex but okay, but your girl is good at this shit). When we left the food stall where I got my late night snack, I took a copy of the order sheet – it is all in Chinese except for the row at top that states the stall’s phone number and Line handle (I still have no idea what Line is). I am hunting down a Chinese-to-English dictionary as we speak and though it is rudimentary and slightly amusing to think about, I am looking forward to carefully eking out each pictogram and piecing together a translation of this food menu.   

  Food will be a pretty constant topic for me through this trip, because it is without a doubt the firmest link I have to the country I am in now. Where my tongue fails to speak, it’s pretty great at recognizing taste. I have made it through the entire first post without even telling you all about the rest of Taiwan or why this food to language connection truly matters to me – and don’t worry, I will (or if you are already sick of these long personal essays, I don’t blame you). But I also am grateful for a space to stay true to my train of thought and to allow for you all the experience what I’m experiencing, as I experience it. As I’m settling here, I can’t pretend that food is the first thing on my mind right now – because it truly is the most familiar things that hook you first. I know that I am here because I am on a service trip (and don’t get me started, I am so excited), but I recognize that this is in many ways, also an important trip in processing my own identity and experiences. I am navigating a complicated and new awareness of my Asian-American self. I don’t think I truly had that time to think about it, and I am looking forward to exploring. Taiwan and China are not equivalent, and yet there are deep roots across both that speak to me in a way that I have not felt in a very, very long time. Trips to the home nests of Chinatown and Flushing have given me distant echoes – but in many ways, I know I am starting to look for the source. I truthfully am absolutely lost in the hyphen of my own existence, but I am looking forward to sharing this journey with you. In the meantime, when you sit down to eat today with people you love, don’t be afraid to share a little with those around you. As I navigate a new country and new experiences, I hope that you also take some time to grab life by the horns and to go out on a limb. Life is a strange feast, and because I am sharing this meal and table with you all, it’s my joy to remind you to eat while it’s still hot, because lěng de bù hào chī.

Be well and take care.

Nǐ de péng yǒu (你的朋友) -  Your Friend, He Yun Qi (何蕴琪)

PS: While we out here, might as well go the full hog and sign off with my full Chinese name (or as we move along, probably just my Chinese nickname). Also, I know social media is skeptical about oversharing and whatnot, but I truly find a lot of power and self-assurance in sharing openly about my experiences. I promise the next post will be more than just food (though I will also keep a running log, as per tradition, in my post-scripts).

PPS: (Soup)er honorable mention – I ate Michelin star Xiao Long Bao soup dumplings today at Din Tai Fung! I am still absolutely in love. XLB is also something that my father regularly scoops into our soup spoons before he takes his own because, as you guessed it, lěng de bù hào chī. Especially if they’re the ones with crab meat in it – you really don’t want that cold! Also, my dad always chides us if we eat ours without vinegar – because it really makes a huge difference.

PPPS: I literally also considered writing an entire post about Xiao Long Bao because that alone is a story of multitudes. It starts with Rachel Ray, includes a meme post that makes me boil in anger, and ends with hipsters in New York. I might go for it at some point if y’all really vibe with these hellishly long personal essays about my obsession with food.

PPPPS: My jet lag is doing alright, thanks for asking! I’m only about 4 hours off. The time zone difference between Taiwan and New York is 13 hours! Which also means that between lack of Wi-Fi at the house and the nearest Wi-fi being the aforementioned local Starbucks I will be slow to respond to everything. However, Taipei has free Wi-fi everywhere and I'm still really, really, REALLY jealous. 

PPPPPS: I am genuinely happier here than I could ever truly articulate. Also, there’s a cat that’s always yowling outside my window at night. Please send name recommendations.

[jeremystrele]

A Day In The Life Of Benjamin Law, Writer

A Day In The Life Of Benjamin Law, Writer

A Day In The Life

by Sally Tabart

One of the first thing’s Benjamin Law does every day is clear out his inbox before 9am. Photo – Alisha Gore for The Design Files.

Bits and bobs from Ben’s house. Photo – Alisha Gore for The Design Files.

‘You’re allowed to say “no” and you don’t have to give a reason. Simply say you’re unavailable and unable. This is a much better alternative to saying “yes” just to get someone off your back, and making your future self furious at you,’ says Ben. Photo – Alisha Gore for The Design Files.

Spending a lot of writing time alone, Ben tries to leave the house at lunchtime. Here he is at Boon Cafe in Haymarket. Photo – Alisha Gore for The Design Files.

Usually Ben eats his breakfast with green tea, or sometimes a Virgin Mary – hot and spicy V8 juice with squeezed lemon. Photo – Alisha Gore for The Design Files.

Photo – Alisha Gore for The Design Files.

Ben exercises after 5pm most days, either swimming or yoga. He loves swimming at The Prince Alfred Pool in Surry Hills. Ben at Photo – Alisha Gore for The Design Files.

The first person in Speedos on TDF! Photo – Alisha Gore for The Design Files.

Writing about a writer is one of the most daunting tasks for… a writer. I’m always worried about doing something sloppy, like repeating the same word three times in one sentence (see: previous sentence). It’s especially nerve-wracking when the subject is as prolific as Benjamin Law, one of the defining voices in Australian culture over the past 10 years.

Ben grew up on the Sunshine Coast, to Cantonese parents who migrated to Australia via Southern China (Ben’s Dad) and Malaysia (Ben’s Mum), via Hong Kong. Based in Sydney, Ben describes himself now as pretty much the same as when he was a kid: ‘obsessed with sex, annoyingly attention-hogging, insatiably curious but could be immediately reduced to silence if you put a good book, movie, TV show or magazine in front of me.’ Only these days, he’s the one writing the material.

In 2010 Ben published the hilarious, poignant memoir, The Family Law, and then in 2012 a travel book exploring the queer experience in Asia, Gaysia: Adventures in the Queer East. Both were nominated for Australian Book Industry Awards, and the former was later adapted into a groundbreaking TV series on SBS. He’s written more books, countless features and worked on film and television projects. He’s also working on a play – because clearly, he doesn’t have enough going on right now!

Next week, Ben’s latest endeavor – a documentary called Waltzing the Dragon – will premiere on ABC, where Ben travels with his parents from remote Northern Australia to Chinese megacities to explore the overlap in cultures. ‘On one level, it’s a history of the Chinese in Australia – a history that pre-dates the First Fleet and white arrival on this continent by centuries – but it’s also a massive road-trip with my um and Dad to find our own roots,’ Ben explains. ‘Some of the stuff we unearth will completely up-end your understanding not just of Chinese-Australian history, but Australian history in general.’

No two days are ever the same for Ben. ‘I don’t really have anything resembling structure nowadays’, he admits. In lieu of regular programming, he has a ‘some habits and ground rules’ to keep it all together – showering first thing, clearing out his inbox before 9am (‘it’s like a healthy little mind audit before the workday starts’), exercising and at the end of the day, truly switching off and decompressing with his boyfriend.

Ben is a wealth of wisdom when it comes to carving out space for himself in the midst of a sometimes chaotic, always random routine. From scheduling his iCal ‘down to the minute’ to stopping all things digital by 10pm, Ben shares how he gets it all done.

FIRST THING

I like the idea of getting up by 6.30am because I enjoy the feeling of having a headstart on everyone else, but it’s usually 7.30am. I like reading before bed and I usually do that until midnight, and I need exactly 7.5 hours sleep. It’s like my body’s finally said, ‘It’s non-negotiable.’ I’m also a super-deep sleeper. Waking up is like trying to exhume something dead from an oceanic trench. But for the last few years, I’ve used an amazing app called Sleep Cycle, which both monitors your sleep and ensures you wake up at a point in your sleep where it’s not jarring and horrible. I love it so much.

My boyfriend is usually up before me and he’s usually watching ABC News Breakfast while reading the news; I tend to prefer having ABC RN Breakfast on the radio with Fran Kelly or Hamish MacDonald.

I do a poo, have a shower then clear my inbox. Sorry: is that too graphic? Basically, it’s a lot of purging and cleansing from when I wake up until 9am.

MORNING

Breakfast often makes me gag, so it’s usually something light, like miso soup and fruit, or toast with butter and vegemite, and crunchy peanut butter with honey. And it’s usually with green tea, or sometimes a Virgin Mary – hot and spicy V8 juice with squeezed lemon.

Then I work: whether that’s doing interviews for Good Weekend, prepping Stop Everything – the ABC RN pop culture show I co-host with Beverley Wang– or just writing for a deadline or project.

If I’m about to launch into writing that requires proper focus, I forcibly disable the internet by activating Freedom on my laptop and Forest on my phone.

LUNCHTIME

On writing days, it’s common that I won’t even leave the house or have any human contact until 5pm – and perhaps a bit disgustingly, I don’t actually mind that at all. But sometimes I’ll pop down to Spice Alley – which is super close to where we live – for a cheap and cheery lunch.

AFTERNOON

It’s usually just writing, meetings and admin all arvo – a big happy horrible mess. My iCal is colour-coded within an inch of its life for this reason. Basically, my work is kind of like triage all day, and then I try to ensure the bleeding stops by 5pm.

EVENING

I try to finish by 5pm. It’s tempting for freelancers to keep working, but unless I’ve got a deadline in the next hour, I tell myself to stop. Because there’s always more work that could be done. It’s really important to me to sound boundaries nowadays.

After 5pm, I try to take a break – check the mail, do some housework, laundry, clean the kitchen, meal prep for dinner – then either swim laps, go to the gym or do some yoga with this great app called Pocket Yoga, which I prefer to classes.

I then make dinner, catch up with my boyfriend Scott, decompress, watch the news and Leigh Sales on 7.30, then it’s whatever we’re watching. Some of the stuff we’ve loved this year have included Pose, Stranger Things, Fleabag, Catastrophe and Game of Thrones. And RuPaul’s Drag Race, obviously.

LAST THING

Work-wise, I always give my inbox a little late-night purge again, if possible. Then I go into iCal and I plan the next day right down to the last minute, including breaks, exercise and social stuff with mates. If I have to be my own boss, I figure I can ride my own arse. And there’s no white space in the iCal, because if there is, I know my instinct is to fill it with work. So I trick myself by scheduling my breaks.

Over the last year or so, I’ve kept to a new habit: around 10pm, I set my phone’s alarm clock (via Sleep Cycle), switch on the Do Not Disturb mode and have it lying face down. Then I have a shower – as if to wash off the day and my digital reliance – and come into bed to read a book. Sometimes it’ll be The New Yorker, but it has to be on paper. I’ve gotten my boyfriend into the habit too, and I think it’s actually my favourite part of the day: feet tangled under the doona, each of us immersed in something.

Ben working from his standup desk at home. Photo – Alisha Gore for The Design Files.

Right now I’m listening to/watching/reading…

Music: Mark Ronson’s Late Night Feelings; Gabriel Kahane’s Book of Travelers; and new tracks Washington (Megan Washinton, who’s a mate of mine) has been working on.

Podcasts: Internationally: Fresh Air, Still Processing, Nancy, Touré Show, New Yorker Radio Hour. Australian: The Signal, Background Briefing, Conversations, Ladies, We Need to Talk.

Reading: A combo of Vicki Laveau-Harvie’s The Erratics, Deray McKesson’s On the Other Side of Freedom and Ocean Vuong’s On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous. The last few books I’ve really devoured have been Rebecca Makkai’s The Great Believers and Max Porter’s Lanny.

One important thing I do every day is… Move my body.  And decompress with my boyfriend.

I get my best work done when… I’m able to give it the time it warrants. It’s better to allocate the right amount of time something needs – and breathing room in case it goes wrong – rather than constantly being a deluded time-optimist.

A philosophy I live and work by is… When deciding on projects, Laurie Anderson says it needs to fulfill two of the following three criteria: it has to be fun, it has to be interesting and it has to make money. It can’t just tick one box: only two or more. Similarly, I need projects to be fun, challenging, make money and I need to have the time.

My productivity tip/tool is…

If you need time away from the internet, install Freedom onto your computer and Forest on your phone. Forest is an app that’s like a Tamagotchi: you plant a virtual cartoon seed for a set time. If you check another app in that time, your plant dies and you have a dead forest. It’s a surprisingly emotional experience!

Another big breakthrough I had is with transcribing interviews. Traditionally it took me about 120 minutes to transcribe a 30-minute conversation. It’s so painful. And all the voice transcription software I’d ever tried over the past decade has been shit. But my boyfriend and some mates put me onto Otter recently and it’s been life-changing. I almost get emotional about it.

Finally: all huge tasks are like bricklaying. You’ve got to break down big goals. Don’t just have ‘write book’ or ‘write play’ as your daily task, otherwise, you’ll intimidate and scare the shit out of yourself. Break it into monthly goals (eg. finish chapter), and break those into weekly goals (eg. complete key interviews) and break those into daily (eg. 750-1000 words) then hourly goals (125 words per hour doesn’t seem that intimidating, suddenly). It also means you have closure on the day and feel like you can reward yourself.

Something I learned the hard way is… You’re allowed to say ‘no’ and you don’t have to give a reason. Simply say you’re unavailable and unable. This is a much better alternative to saying ‘yes’ just to get someone off your back, and making your future self furious at you.

Tune into the first episode of  Waltzing The Dragon With Benjamin Law this Tuesday, July 30th at 8.30pm on ABC, or catch it later on ABC iView!