#Udon flat noodles

[nylarac]

local food truck stop changing your menu challenge 😭😭😭

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

two for one soups

tip for the leftover enthusiasts out there - have fensi/cellophane noodles/glass noodles on hand.

whenever you order a noodle soup from somewhere (pho, udon etc) they almost ALWAYS give you way more broth than you can reasonably eat/drink in one go.

fensi, since they're usually made of bean starch or sweet potato starch, will soak up a ton more broth before losing that satisfying chewiness to soup sogginess.

you buy them fully dehydrated and then alls you gotta do is find a flat pan or wok, throw the noodles in there dry and dump the leftover broth on top. let it go for medium heat for 10ish minutes with a lid on it, occasionally stirring and it results in a tasty noodle dish.

optional side ingredients to have on hand (that go with a pretty wide variety of east asian soups) are minced carrot, green onion, boiled egg, and bean sprouts

[rottenpumpkin13]

He must choose, but choose wisely

*Sephiroth stares intensely at the three dishes before him*

Sephiroth: The eternal dilemma presents itself.

Sephiroth, gazing at the pumpkin soup: My poor mother. I've dreamed of this moment. In my visions, she lovingly prepares this very dish. To reject it would be to desecrate her memory. And yet...

Sephiroth, eyeing the udon: The noodles are a reminder that even in the simplest of things, there is joy to be found. I cannot possibly reject happiness when I've sought it in simplicity all my life.

Sephiroth, turning to the pasta: But these creatures of the sea... they gave their lives for this dish. Their sacrifice cannot be in vain. The ocean's children cry out for purpose.

Sephiroth, straightening up: I know what I must do.

*Sephiroth inhales all three dishes in 0.4 seconds flat*

Sephiroth: A worthy tribute to all parties involved.

[apothecaryscript]

“Counter words” in Japanese

According to the information on the Internet, there are about 500 counter words in Japanese, of which only about 100 are actually used. Here are some of them which we frequently use in daily conversation.

*Green-colored words are used especially often.

個（こ/Ko）… Something small for a person to hold with.

一個（いっこ/Ikko）, 二個（にこ/Ni-ko）, 三個（さんこ/San-ko）, 四個（よんこ/Yon-ko）, 五個（ごこ/Go-ko）, 六個（ろっこ/Rokko）, 七個（ななこ/Nana-ko）, 八個（はちこ、はっこ/Hachi-ko, Hakko）, 九個（きゅうこ/Kyu-ko）, 十個（じゅっこ、じっこ/Jukko, Jikko）

玉(たま/Tama) … Spherical foods such as cabbage and onions can be counted with Tama. It’s also used for boiled noodle for one person such as Ramen and Udon.

錠(じょう/Jo) … Tablets or pills of medicine.

粒(つぶ/Tsubu) … Very small things such as grains of rice and beans.

箱（はこ/Hako）… Boxes, such as luggage, boxed items, cigarettes, etc.

本(ほん/Hon)… Long, thin objects such as carrots, umbrellas, pens, spoons, bottles etc. Shots or home runs in sports, movies, and numbers of trains or buses of public transportation are also counted with Hon.

一本（いっぽん/Ippon）, 二本（にほん/Ni-hon）, 三本（さんぼん/San-bon）, 四本（よんほん/Yon-hon）, 五本（ごほん/Go-hon）, 六本（ろっぽん/Roppon）, 七本（しちほん、ななほん/Shichi-hon, Nana-hon）, 八本（はちほん、はっぽん/Hachi-hon, Happon）, 九本（きゅうほん/Kyu-hon）, 十本（じゅっぽん、じっぽん/Juppon, Jippon）

膳（ぜん/Zen)... A pair of chopsticks. 一膳（いちぜん/Ichi-zen) means 二本（にほん/Ni-hon) of chopsticks.

台(だい/Dai)… Vehicles such as cars, bicycles, and electrical appliances such as television and computers.

機(き/Ki)... Airplanes, Helicopters, Rockets, etc.

杯（はい/Hai）… Water, drinks or foods served in cups or bowls, such as coffee, tea, rice, Udon, Ramen etc.

一杯（いっぱい/Ippai）, 二杯（にはい/Ni-hai）, 三杯（さんばい/San-bai）, 四杯（よんはい/Yon-hai）, 五杯（ごはい/Go-hai）, 六杯（ろっぱい、ろくはい/Roppai, Roku-hai）, 七杯（ななはい、しちはい/Nana-hai, Shichi-hai）, 八杯（はっぱい、はちはい/Happai, Hachi-hai）, 九杯（きゅうはい/Kyu-hai）, 十杯（じゅっぱい、じっぱい/Juppai, Jippai）

皿（さら/Sara）… Dishes. Foods served on a flat plate.

枚（まい/Mai）… Thin, flat objects such as papers, leaves, photos, plates, etc.

一枚（いちまい/Ichi-mai）, 二枚（にまい/Ni-mai）, 三枚（さんまい/San-mai）, 四枚（よんまい/Yon-mai）, 五枚（ごまい/Go-mai）, 六枚（ろくまい/Roku-mai）, 七枚（ななまい/Nana-mai）, 八枚（はちまい/Hachi-mai）, 九枚（きゅうまい/Kyu-mai）, 十枚（じゅうまい/Ju-mai）

部（ぶ/Bu）… Publications such as newspapers and leaflets.

冊（さつ/Satsu）… Books, notebooks, albums etc.

通（つう/Tsu）… Letters, postcards, and e-mails.

人（にん/Nin）… People, humans.  Please refer to my past post for further detail.

組(くみ/Kumi)… Couples, groups of people, pairs of items such as gloves

匹（ひき/Hiki）… Small animals such as cats and small dogs, or insects.

一匹（いっぴき/Ippiki）, 二匹（にひき/Ni-hiki）, 三匹（さんびき/San-biki）, 四匹（よんひき/Yon-hiki）, 五匹（ごひき/Go-hiki）, 六匹（ろっぴき/Roppiki）, 七匹（しちひき、ななひき/Shichi-hiki, Nana-hiki）, 八匹（はちひき、はっぴき/Hachi-hiki, Happiki）, 九匹（きゅうひき/Kyu-hiki）, 十匹（じゅっぴき、じっぴき/Juppiki, Jippiki）

頭（とう/To）… Big animals such as cows and horses, or dogs that are too big for a person to hold with.

羽（わ/Wa）… Birds

着（ちゃく/Chaku）… Clothes (But underwear and thin shirts may be counted with 「枚（まい/Mai）」.)

足（そく/Soku）… Shoes, socks, and other items worn on the feet.

件（けん/Ken）… Incidents, accidents, matters, cases, etc.

軒（けん/Ken）… Houses, shops, and small buildings

棟（とう/To）… Large buildings such as apartments and warehouses.

校(こう/Ko)… Schools(It means its’ organizations, not its’ buildings.)

社（しゃ/Sha）… Companies

か所（かしょ/Kasho）… Places. In Kanji 「箇所」, in Hiragana 「か所」, or in Katakana 「カ所」「ヵ所」「ケ所」「ヶ所」. Any of them is okay.

か国（かこく/Kakoku）… Countries. In Kanji 「箇国」, in Hiragana 「か国」, or in Katakana 「カ国」「ヵ国」「ケ国」「ヶ国」. Any of them is okay.

面（めん/Men）… Flat surfaces, grounds, tennis courts, etc.

階(かい/Kai)… Floors.

回（かい/Kai）… Times

曲（きょく/Kyoku）… Songs, music.

話（わ/Wa）… Stories of TV dramas, anime, manga, novels, etc.

作（さく/Saku）… Artworks, cultural works of creators.

We don’t care if foreign people use wrong words as we recognize it’s so difficult. But still, please note that using “個(こ/Ko)” or “匹（ひき/Hiki）” to count people is very rude, and it must be always “人（にん/Nin）” for humans.

[asiancatboy]

work has been stressing me tf out. but i've been thinking about the chili oil udon i want to make later..

prep

garlic, grated

ginger, grated

small shallot, finely chopped

mushrooms, thinly sliced

carrot, julienned

spring onion, finely chopped

noodles (i think we went through all the flat noodles n i'm really craving udon)

egg :)

the seasoning will be

1 part light soy sauce

1 part dark soy sauce

1 part black vinegar

3 tbsp sesame oil

small amount of oyster sauce

chili flakes, toasted sesame seeds, sugar & chicken bullion (in place of salt) to taste

to cook

prep veg

boil noodles, rinse in cold water, leave to drain

same pan, cook mushrooms, soften shallot & carrot

add noodles & veg in bowl. top with the seasoning

heat up sesame oil in pan

pour over bowl

cry because it smells & sounds wonderful

add noodles + veg

mix well

top with fried egg

garnish with spring onion & toasted sesame seeds

yummy

[najia-cooks]

うどん / Udon (thick Japanese noodles)

Udon are thick, chewy Japanese noodles. They have a place in 和食 (washoku; "Japanese food" or "harmonious food")—'traditional' Japanese cuisine that predates the increased opening of Japan to foreign trade and influence in the Meiji period. Conventionally, udon are eaten hot or cold in soups and with dipping sauces. Yaki udon and curry udon are udon dishes more associated with 洋食 (yoshoku: "Western food").

In some places, udon may be purchased dried, fresh, or frozen, but in others they may be unavailable. This recipe lets you make delicious fresh udon—with much better, chewier texture than dried or frozen—no matter where you are, with just flour, salt, and water.

Recipe under the cut!

Patreon | Tip jar

Makes 2 servings.

Ingredients:

1 2/3 cup (200g) all-purpose four

1/3 cup + 1 Tbsp (90g) lukewarm water

10g kosher or flake salt (about 2 tsp David’s kosher salt—volume may vary by brand—or 1 tsp table salt)

Potato starch or cornstarch (for dusting)

Instructions:

To make:

1. Add flour to a large mixing bowl. If measuring by volume, measure flour by spooning it gently into a dry cup measure and levelling off the excess.

2. Dissolve salt into water to create a brine.

3. Slowly add brine to flour while mixing to distribute evenly. Mix and press dough until it just comes together into a ball with no dry flour remaining; it’s okay if the ball has cracks in it or seems “shaggy.”

If dry flour remains, wet your fingers and continue pressing. Be careful not to add too much water; the dough should feel too tough to knead by hand. Cover and allow to rest for 30 minutes.

4. Knead the dough by hand for about 200 turns, until smooth and pliable ("as soft as an earlobe").

Another common Japanese method which will spare your hands is to place the dough in a large resealable plastic bag, leaving a little bit of air. Step on the dough with your heels (starting from the center and working your way out) until it is flat. You can also place it between two pieces of parchment paper and place kitchen towels below and on top of it before stepping on it, if you don’t have a large enough bag.

Remove the dough from the bag and fold the edges in towards the center, like an envelope; then fold the corners into the center to form a ball, and place it seam-side-down back inside the bag. Repeat this (stepping on the dough, folding it and gathering it into a ball, and placing it back in the bag) four more times, or until the dough is smooth and pliable.

5. Allow the dough to rest, covered (or sealed in the bag), for 1 1/2 to 3 hours (closer to 1 1/2 hours if your kitchen is warm; closer to 3 hours if it is cold).

6. On a working surface lightly dusted with starch, flatten the dough into a disc with your hand, then roll it out with a rolling pin into a rectangle about 1/8" (3mm) thick and 12" (32cm) long. You can do this by rolling it out in one direction, then flipping the dough 90 degrees and rolling again. Then, wrap the dough around the rolling pin as you roll diagonally from corner to corner, first in one direction and then the other, to even out the thickness of the dough and shape the corners of the rectangle.

7. Dust the surface of the dough with more starch and fold it in thirds lengthwise (so that the folds are parallel to the 12" long edge).

8. Using a sharp knife, cut the dough widthwise (perpendicular to the fold lines) to create noodles about 1/8" (3mm) in width. Cut straight down, rather than moving the knife back and forth in a sawing motion, which would tear the edges of the noodles.

9. Pick up and "plop" the cut noodles down using your fingers while adding a bit more starch to ensure that the noodles don't stick to each other.

To cook:

1. Bring a large pot of unsalted water to a rolling boil. Shake excess starch off of the noodles and add them to the pot.

2. Cook, stirring occasionally with chopsticks or a pasta spoon, until the noodles no longer taste raw, 10-13 minutes.

3. Drain and rinse with cold water to halt cooking and rinse off excess starch.

To use the noodles in hot soup, dip the noodles into a pot of hot water to bring up their temperature; portion them into individual serving bowls and pour your broth over them.

To store unused noodles, place individual portions into ziplock bags or tupperware containers lined with parchment paper; freeze for up to a month. Boil noodles directly from frozen for 12-15 minutes.

[udonangya]

仙台市青葉区一番町４丁目の、二階堂製麺所BUNZAで、麦つるり（温）海老天と本日の魚���と野菜天、1,980円也。

Soup flat udon noodles and Assorted seafood and vegetables tempura at Bunza, Ichibancho Yonchome, Aoba ward, Sendai city.

[otakusparkle]

Identity V x The Chara Cafe Collaboration

Menu

Food menu

- Flavorful and Aromatic Dimsum set

- Exciting experiment inspiration!? Spicy Mapo Tofu

- The search of perfect red color in Mala Hotpot

- Chinese soup made to pray for the peace of the family

- Secret Kishimen (flat udon noodles) that was created after years of research

Desserts menu

- Famous! Hawthorn candy cake platter

- Peach jelly parfait woven by layers of memories

- The Creator's Beautiful Work of White Peach Mousse Cake that Shines Like Pottery

- Gathered in magnetic field of Matcha anmitsu parfait

- A "red" crepe spreads sweetly in a cold snowstorm

Drink menu

- Perfumer's Consomme soup

- Prisoner's Shark fin soup

- Painter's Chai latte

- Weeping Clown's Sangria cider

- Antiquarian's Amaretto and Wolfberry

- Journalist's Honey Lemon

- Photographer's Muscat Blue Curacao

- Sculptor's White peach milktea

- Hermit's Matcha latte with chocolate chips

- Night Watch's Strawberry and Mango

- For every beverage that you bought, you will receive 1 random coaster

- For every food/dessert that you bought, you will receive 1 random money envelope

For more information :

[weepingfromacedartree]

Ten Milestones: Grief

Hi friends! Chapter 4 is now live.

This chapter gets pretty dark, so here are a few TWs if needed: 1) loss of a parent 2) toxic family dynamics 3) brief mention of illicit drug use

Ok if I didn't scare you off... enjoy!

“Oh.” 

When Colin’s eyebrows shoot downwards, Penelope feels a familiar pang of disappointment start to well inside her. Once again, she fears their game has already reached its conclusion. But before her disappointment can even settle…

“This article is making it glaringly apparent that we have been ready for marriage for a very long time.”

Nerves settling back down…

“What does it say?”

“Number Three: Handling Grief Together. In cultures all around the world, the first step of marriage is making a vow to support one another through all things, including (and up until) death. While it may not be a joyful time in your lives, undergoing the grieving process alongside your partner will be an illuminating experience. After all, nothing can test (or perhaps even strengthen) a bond quite like the unforeseeable, unavoidable onslaught of grief.

Penelope sits with her jaw hanging open. 

The two of them are no strangers to grief in its most unforeseeable nature. There is no denying that they can cross this milestone off their list. But god… 

Does that even matter, if the game is bollocks to begin with?

“There is no way ‘death’ is on that list of yours.”

“See for yourself.” 

Colin throws her his phone from where he sits on the other end of the rug. Penelope just barely manages to save it from flying directly into a container of udon noodles. She scans the text and…

There it is. Word for bloody word.

“And it’s not my list,” Colin gently reminds her, now reaching for those noodles. 

“There is no way grief can possibly be considered a prerequisite for marriage.” 

“Again, I didn’t write this article, Penelope. But as somewhat of an expert on grief myself, I’m inclined to agree with the marriage expert on—”

“I’m not saying grief isn’t a valuable test of a relationship,” she clarifies. “Obviously, it is. I just — I don’t understand how this can be the third milestone. It seems like a rather spontaneous life event.” 

Colin leans forward to extricate his phone from Penelope’s gesticulating hands (most likely fearing that it will go flying across the room at any moment).  

“I don’t believe these are meant to be chronological, love.” 

It’s starting to feel that way, she realises, but does not deem pressing enough to voice aloud. 

“I know,” she mumbles, placing both hands flat against her knees. “What I’m trying to say is that there is no way to plan for this supposed milestone. You can buy a goldfish or meet up with friends any day of the week. What if you’re engaged and neither of you have lost a loved one during the course of your relationship?” 

They just stare at each other for a moment. Then, at once… 

“Wait it out?” “Murder someone?”

Colin nearly howls with laughter. “Penelope!” 

Penelope, in turn, removes her hands from her knees just so she can bury her head in them. 

(Murder jokes always sound funnier in one’s own head.)

“Well…” she mumbles into her palms. “It’s a good thing we’re both members of the Dead Dads Club.” 

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Ten Years Earlier: December 1st, 2013

Relationship Status: Old Friends

꙳

15 Grosvenor Street has never been a place that Penelope has associated with particular joy. Perhaps it’s the size of it — the vast, utterly unnecessary size of it. There are rooms here that have remained vacant since the day her family moved in, if not longer. There are some shadows that never lift from their corners, no matter what time of day it is. The entire estate is structured with long, arching hallways that carry noise loudly and silence even louder. All her life, it has always felt so…

Empty.

15 Grosvenor Street has never been a place that Penelope has associated with particular joy. Perhaps that makes it the perfect venue for her father’s wake.

Today is actually the most full she’s ever seen the place. There are at least a hundred neighbours, old business associates, and red-headed cousins mingling in the halls. They’re walking slowly, talking softly, chewing on the catered finger food. Most of them pass by Penelope with some combination of compassion and pity painted on their faces. She keeps her own head down, preemptively barring herself from whatever kind words of condolence they think they should be giving her today; she doesn’t want them. 

There’s really only one person Penelope can bear speaking to right now. Thankfully, she was the first one to arrive this morning.

“I’m here, Pen. For whatever you need.” 

In a shadowed corner, out of view of any nosy guests, Penelope feels a tear roll down her cheek and drop onto her best friend’s shoulder. 

“Thank you, El. I —” She sniffs. “Thanks for — for just being here.” 

Eloise tightens her hold, pressing her arms even more firmly into Penelope’s back. The wool fabric of her sweater tickles Penelope’s nose, causing her to sniff a few times more. 

“Oh god, Pen. Please, you — don’t thank me for that. Today is…” 

When Eloise’s voice trails off, she squeezes Penelope a bit closer. She lets out a sigh that Penelope can feel in her own chest. 

“Today is going to be the fucking worst. Which sounds awful, but it’s just the bloody truth of it. I wish I could shield you from the heartache and the misery and all the people here encroaching on your grief, but…”

But I can’t. No one could. Eloise doesn’t say that part out loud, but Penelope hears it, nonetheless. 

“I’d do anything, just to help you through it.” 

More tears well up and fall down as Eloise whispers these last few words. Internally, Penelope thanks god that she had ignored her mother’s suggestions and forewent applying any makeup this morning. Once her eyes dry and her cheeks return to their usual shade of pink, there will be no evidence of her messy grief.  

Ignoring her best friend’s orders, Penelope whispers another quiet, teary “Thank you” into Eloise’s shoulder.

“Of course. And I don’t just mean today. If you need anything in the next two weeks, just call and I’ll be out of Cambridge before you can even hang up.” 

“No, no,” Penelope mutters as sternly as she can manage, finally pulling herself out of the embrace to look Eloise in the eye. “But you have to stay at uni this week. You already came home too often last week.”

“That’s not —”

“Plus, I have to go back to class tomorrow anyway.” 

“Wait, really?” Eloise’s lips twist into an expression caught somewhere between disbelief and disgust. “Your father just died, surely they can afford you more than a single week of bereavement.” 

In truth, she probably could get more time off if she wanted it. The problem is that she just doesn’t want it. 

School has always been a welcome distraction from the painful things in Penelope’s life. Grief is no different.

“Yeah, you know… timing and all.” She squeezes Eloise’s shoulder one last time before letting go of it completely. “But I’ll be fine. The term will be over in two weeks and I can go back to grieving then.” 

Something akin to pity flashes on Eloise’s face; Penelope has the sudden urge to avert her eyes. 

“I suppose I could be persuaded to stay away for a few days, but Colin might be harder to convince.” 

At the sound of his name, Penelope’s heart skips a beat. 

It shouldn’t. Really, it shouldn't. Even if she and him aren’t as close as they used to be — they’re still in each other’s lives. She’s seen him nearly every day this week. He’s still her best friend’s brother, so his name is hardly an infrequent presence in conversations like this. And yet…

And yet, just the mention of his name is enough to get her. 

“What do you mean?” Penelope finally manages to ask. 

Eloise shrugs. 

“He was so insistent about coming home this week. You know, not as much as me, but…” 

She shrugs again. 

“I wanted to take the train back and forth between home and uni — probably would have been faster, given how Grandpa Bridgerton drives. But no. All week, he just kept insisting on driving me himself.”

“Oh.” 

Penelope turns away from Eloise and peers into the next room over, where a small group of mourners are mingling. And as if she summoned him from thin air…

“Pen.” 

He looks nice. He looks sad, but still nice. He’s wearing a suit with an actual tie. His jacket is a little big on him, making him appear a bit smaller and a bit younger than he really is. He also happens to be wearing a smile on his lips, although it’s barely a shadow of the one he usually dons. 

He looks nice. 

“Colin.” 

She accompanies his name with a little nod of her head. She nearly thanks him for coming, but realises at the last second that such formalities are unnecessary. Even if they aren’t as close as they used to be. 

“I’m so sorry.” His voice is lower now that he’s right beside her. “I was standing over there eating a miniature quiche and I — I just realised that I forgot to tell you something earlier in the week.” 

Penelope waits with bated breath. Colin pauses for dramatic effect. Eloise rolls her eyes.

“And that is?” she butts in from beside them, a petulant sting to her voice. Colin does not even bother to look at his sister. Instead, he holds his right hand out towards Penelope.

“Welcome to the Dead Dads Club. It sucks.” 

Eloise smacks him in the gut. “You fucking imb—” she starts, but is interrupted by the quiet, deafening sound of Penelope’s laughter. 

“Thank you, Colin,” she says in earnest. She shakes his outstretched hand, but tentatively so; her fingers just barely linger on his. 

He opens his mouth to say something else, but is interrupted by someone new walking into their already cramped corner. 

“Mum’s looking for you.” 

Not for the first time today, Penelope’s stomach drops. 

“Thanks Pru. I’ll be right there.” 

Penelope spares one last glance towards Eloise and Colin before turning to leave. Her face is marked by compassion. His, concern. 

“I, um — I’ll be right back.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Portia is mad, which is neither unexpected nor surprising on a morning like this. Penelope did expect it, long before she was called into this room to bear witness. But now that she’s here… she’s not quite sure why.

Portia is standing behind her late husband’s desk, shoulders hunched and hands planted firmly on its cluttered surface. She’s talking quickly — loudly, voicing aloud every little grievance that is plaguing her. The caterer was late. The flowers are too white. The house is a mess. Prudence’s hair is too festive. Documents are missing. Archie is — was an idiot. The funeral arrangements weren’t arranged properly. The neighbours are —

Suffice to say, there is a lot for Portia to grieve over this morning. But very few of those grievances have anything to do with her youngest daughter. 

(Occasionally, Portia will throw out a “Penelope, stop fiddling with your skirt,” or a “Penelope, sit up straight,” or a “Penelope, stop scowling — do you want to look like a pug?” But she hardly thinks any of those fleeting observations justify her presence here.) 

It takes several minutes for Penelope to understand the why. The reason she was called into this room in the first place. It has nothing to do with any particular grievance her mother has with her or anyone else. No, it’s all of it. 

Penelope was called in here because Portia had a million things to say and needed someone to listen. To sit and nod and absorb just a little bit of that grief from her. (Someone with a less festive hairdo than Prudence, by the sound of it.)

On the other side of the room, receding into the corner of her father’s dusty leather couch, Penelope does as she’s expected. Mostly. 

She listens. She sits. She nods. She absorbs. She tries her absolute hardest to remain in this room and hanging on to her mother’s every word… but that’s not an easy task on a morning like this.  

There’s a game that Penelope plays when things get especially bad between her and her mother — when she finds herself on the receiving end of her mother’s harsh words and feels herself beginning to come undone. She goes back in time. She reminds herself of all of the good her mother has done for her over the years.

When Portia was engaged to Archie (and approximately 6 weeks pregnant with Prudence), she made sure that their prenuptial agreement contained a special trust for their children. One established specifically to fund their future tuitions to the best schools in the country. One that would be impossible for Archie (or even herself) to touch.

When Penelope was nine, Portia signed her up for her own library card (after realising how miserable her youngest daughter was, spending her summer holidays without purpose). For the majority of that summer, Penelope was able to visit the Mayfair Library unaccompanied as often as it pleased her. 

When Penelope was thirteen, Portia temporarily lifted the “rodent ban” from the Featherington household. For two whole months, they fostered a little white dog; Penelope took care of it like the responsible adult she promised her mother she could be. 

When Penelope was sixteen, Portia allowed her to go to Cheltenham for Sixth Form with Eloise, rather than going to a less expensive, less complicated school in London. 

When Penelope turned eighteen, Portia bought her a dress that was decidedly not yellow. 

This game — this retrospective on her mother’s goodness — has become increasingly ineffective over the years. This morning, it fails Penelope. It had been intended to counteract the sting of Portia’s acidic words, but none of these memories are sweet enough to do the trick. 

She can’t think of Portia’s good deeds without also thinking of the other side of the coin. She can’t help it. Every light has a shadow, and Penelope’s mind has always had a proclivity towards darkness.

How Penelope was only able to go to Cheltenham because there was more money than expected left in the educational trust. Because her sisters’ did not take full advantage of the funds. How Portia appears unable to acknowledge Penelope’s academic success without disparaging her sisters’ beneath the same breath. 

How Penelope’s library card was revoked before the end of that summer due to a water-logged copy of Peter and Wendy. How Portia insisted that the incident was Penelope’s fault, even after Philipa confessed to putting it in the wash. That Penelope should have protected the borrowed book better. That Penelope needed to learn her lesson by staying put at home for the rest of the summer. 

How Portia gave the little white dog to his forever home while Penelope was across the street at Eloise’s house. How it never once occurred to her mother that Penelope would have wanted to say goodbye to the “rodent.” 

How — two days before she left for Cheltenham — Portia casually commented that things would be easier for everyone once Penelope was away at school. 

How Portia handed her that black dress and told her it would be more “slimming” than the clothes she usually wears. 

The good and the bad and the indifference of Penelope’s mother are all twisted together and rooted deep inside her. This game has lost all its meaning; she can’t divorce the darkness from the light any longer. 

Back in her father’s study — back in the corner of this smelly old couch, Penelope feels tears start well in her eyes yet again. By some grace of god, they stay put there. For now, at least. 

“Penelope! My god — are you even listening to me?!” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

I, um — I’ll be right back.

Colin wanted to follow Penelope from the instant those words tumbled off her lips. He would have, if not for Eloise, who had kept him rooted in his place. (Literally. She used her freakishly strong hands to prevent him from following after Penelope.)

“Would it be possible for you to get your foot out of your mouth and back into your funeral loafers?” Her words had been punctuated by a swift kick to the ankle. “I can assist, if necessary.”  

He had brushed his sister off. Unsuccessfully so, but he eventually lost her by the refreshment table when Danbury cornered them. 

Now Colin walks alone, footsteps treading lightly across the Featherington’s creaky floorboards. He’s listening, but there isn’t much to hear. 

The unusual thing about wakes is that they can be empty or crowded, but they can never be loud. People talk — they murmur, they cry — but never at a volume that exceeds a solemn hush. There are outliers (typically small children, the occasional drunk, and the impolitely anguished), but they are easy to spot and quick to stifle back into silence. Colin first noted this phenomenon at his own father’s wake; the theory holds true to this day.

Colin hates this type of quiet. He’s hated it since that morning in August eleven years ago. Today, though, he should be grateful for it. Without it, he wouldn’t be able to spot the outlier so easily. 

“god — are you even listening to me?!” are the last words he hears before swinging the study doors open. 

Portia and Penelope are on the other side. Needless to say, neither woman looks as though they were expecting his entrance. Aside from the obvious shock, Portia’s face is tinged by anger. Penelope’s just looks broken, like she’s cracking at the edges, by her eyes and her mouth. 

“Shite! Sorry. I thought this was the door for the loo.” 

As the bullshit falls off his tongue, Colin turns his entire body towards Penelope, who’s currently wedged into the corner of the couch. Getting a better look at her now, he can tell that she’s trying quite hard not to cry.

The realisation kills him. Nevertheless, he does his best to maintain the smile on his face.

“Oh, Pen! I was looking for you. Could I steal you away for a—”

“You were looking for my daughter in the loo, Mr. Bridgerton?”

Good god. I’m really off my game today.

“Uh —”

“Yes. You two go,” Portia cuts in again. She runs a hand across her creased brow. “I have… matters to attend to.” 

Penelope stands from her spot and, without a second thought, Colin’s hand goes to the small of her back. He leads her into the hall, away from her mother. 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

It isn’t until Penelope steps one foot onto the balcony that she realises she hasn’t left her house at all today. She hadn’t even looked out a window long enough to take in the state of the weather. 

It’s one of those mornings that makes it seem as though London has been engulfed in a cloud. Everywhere you look, it’s grey. You can feel the air on your skin. You can extend your arm out in front of you and barely be able to make out your fingers. With this view…

They could be in Mayfair. They could be on a different planet. It wouldn’t make a difference. 

Looking down, Penelope retrieves the lighter and little white box stashed in the pocket of her skirt. She takes out one cigarette — because the air isn’t grey enough as it is.

“Since when do you smoke?” Colin asks, looking down at her hands with a confused crease to his brow. 

With a shrug, she answers, “Cheltenham.” She crosses what little threshold exists between them to offer him one of the few remaining sticks in the pack. 

“No. Thanks, but… I’m trying to cut back, myself.” Then, after Penelope sets it alight and takes one singular draw, he plucks the cigarette from her hands and raises it to his lips. 

“Better for us both, if we share.” 

Penelope scoffs. It’s almost like a laugh, but not quite. 

“I — I don’t smoke that often. I just…”

“Yeah, I know. Dead dads and all.” 

After a stilted breath of smoke, Colin hands her the cigarette back. She can’t bring herself to raise it to her lips — not yet, at least. She keeps it situated between her index and middle fingers. 

For longer than what either of them deems comfortable, silence and smoke hang in the air between them. 

This is the first time they’ve been alone together all week. They saw each other almost every day, but always with others around. Eloise was almost always between them, hanging onto her best friend like a literal life preserver. 

Colin had wanted a moment alone with her all week. To talk. To comfort. To just be. But the more he thinks of it, the more apparent (and alarming) it is, that they have not been alone together in a very long time.

He clears his throat. 

“How are you?” 

His words are purposeful. He says it in a way that makes it clear to Penelope that he actually wants to know the answer. That he expects a real response.

“Good,” she says automatically. Then, she runs a hand over her brow. “I mean — not good, obviously. That was a stupid thing to say.”

“In fairness, it was a bloody stupid question to ask at your father’s wake.” 

“It was not a stupid question,” she insists. 

“Perhaps. But it was a question I already knew the answer to.” 

It felt nice to be asked, she almost says. When she doesn’t say anything, Colin begins to ramble. 

“I mean, it’s a rather shitty time for your father to die. With term ending and all. Then the holidays —”

“Is there a good time for one’s father to die?” 

Penelope’s question was asked in earnest. With another person, it would have probably made the rest of this conversation immensely awkward for both parties. But not here. Not with them. 

“No,” Colin answers, shrugging lightly. “But there are certainly worse times than others.” 

Penelope nods, then takes another drag. 

He’s right, she immediately realises. There are times when it’s easier for a parent to pass, and there are times when it is harder. Eighteen is a hard time to lose your father, but nine is harder. 

That’s not what Colin had meant. Penelope knows it’s not what he meant. And yet… she can’t help but compare their circumstances. It’s a game she’s played all her life. 

The Bridgertons adored their father. They still do. They’re the type of family to say things like, “He’s been gone over a decade, and yet I can still feel his presence in this room with us tonight.” The Featheringtons aren’t that type of family. There were times when Penelope’s father sat two feet away from her, and it felt as though he wasn’t present in the home at all. 

Penelope loved her father. She still does. But the loss she feels today is inherently different than that Colin felt — feels for his own father. She lost a person that she never really knew. That she’ll never get to know. 

“Speaking of term…” Colin says softly, pulling her out of her mental fog just as quickly as he pulls the cigarette from its precarious position between her fingers. “Is UCL still treating you well?”

“Oh. Uh — yes.”

“Meaning… El hasn’t convinced you to transfer to Cambridge yet?”

Penelope’s face changes — the faintest hint of a smile hidden away on an otherwise somber face. 

“Not yet. But certainly not due to lack of trying.”

“Damn.” 

The corner of Penelope’s lips ticks upward again, which Colin takes as a sign. 

“I’m going to say something mad and — the more I think about it — terribly narcissistic. But only because it’s so insane that it may force you to focus on how idiotic I am and thus, distract you from everything else for a moment.”

Intrigued, Penelope steals the stick back and says, “I believe explaining your motivation will undermine the intended outcome. But go on.”

“You know how you’ve been long-considered a part of the Bridgerton family?”

Her face flushes. Not embarrassingly red — she doesn’t have enough life left in her today for that to be possible. But it’s just enough for her to instinctually turn her head to the side, farther out of his view. 

“Sure.”

“I feel like this is my fault. Actually — Eloise’s fault, since she was the one to initially bring you into this family.” 

“What are —”

“That the universe agreed with us and decided that the only way to officially make you a Bridgerton is by giving you a tragic ‘dead father’ backstory. To join the Dead Dad Club, if you will.”

Penelope laughs, if for nothing else but the sheer irony of his statement. 

“My father was pushing 60 and had a diet consisting of meat, beer, and sweets. I don’t believe his heart attack qualifies as a ‘tragic backstory.’” 

(She also learned from eavesdropping on her mum and Mrs. Varley that there was a considerable amount of cocaine on the desk where he had keeled over and died. Penelope does not feel it necessary to voice this part aloud, though.)

“Don’t blame yourself,” she tells him, quieter now. Unprompted, she passes him the cigarette again. She can see out of the corner of her eye that he looks guilty. 

“Sorry. For, uh — for joking around so much today.” 

“Don’t apologise,” she responds quickly. “Everyone else has been so… serious. I think my head will explode if another person pats me on the back and insists that ‘everything happens for a reason.’” 

She steals the cigarette back before he has the chance to take a draw. She doesn’t raise it to her lips, either. 

She turns her head so she can fully look him in the eyes when she says, “I appreciate your attempts to distract me. From everything.” 

She waits for his gaze to drop from hers, but it doesn’t. 

“You know, I felt the same way when my dad died. I heard a thousand ‘everything happens for a reason’s and each one tasted like dogshit. In hindsight, I suppose I should have had a bit more compassion for all the adults trying to console me during that time; no one knows what to say to a child when their father drops dead. But god… I didn’t want their consolation. I didn’t want any of it.” 

When Colin’s voice trails off, Penelope nearly offers him the cigarette once more. If nothing else, just to feel the warmth of his skin for that split second before she passes the stick onto him. But she doesn’t. She keeps her hands rested on the railing in front of them. 

“But… none of us kids knew how to act when our father dropped dead either. I was nine, and I could still tell that everyone was acting weird. I could tell that my mom was a mess. That Anthony felt like he had to step into the father-shaped shadow our dad left behind. That Benedict — arguably the weirdest motherfucker of us all — was just trying to be normal. To act like he always did, Joking around and keeping us younger kids entertained and distracted while our lives were falling apart. It…”

Colin sighs, a shuddering breath lost in the smoke and the fog all around them. 

“It took me a long time to realise that, actually. That Ben did all of that for us. That no one can just be themselves when their father unexpectedly dies. Your sense of self is just — it’s torn away from you when something like that happens.” 

Finally, his eyes flicker away from Penelope’s. Just for a moment. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean —” 

“No. I — I get that,” Penelope insists, desperate to interrupt any further apologies from someone so unqualified for the task. “I haven’t felt like myself since I got that call from my mum. Ironically, I’ve sort of felt like a ghost this whole week. Just drifting around from room to room. Like I’m looking for something I lost but — for the life of me — can’t remember what.” 

It doesn’t hit her until this very moment — in the middle of the least normal conversation she’s ever entertained — that this is the most normal things have felt between her and Colin in years. 

“Eventually, you’ll find it.” 

“What?” she asks, her mind seemingly operating on a delay after that realisation.

“That thing. Whatever it is that allows you to stop drifting around and actually move forward in life. You’ll find it again.”

That seems impossible to her now, but she doesn’t dare debate him on the subject. Instead, she simply nods. 

Still quite lightheaded, Penelope turns away from Colin and back to the grey fog in front of them. She places both hands against the railing again and watches her cigarette continue to dwindle away from her. 

After what feels like a lifetime of silently standing beside each other, Penelope turns her head again. 

“We —” should go back inside, she means to say. But Colin cuts her off. 

“I miss you, Pen. I miss how close we used to be. I feel like… Like we’ve grown apart since we were kids.” 

This is true, and they both know it. 

At some point over the last two years and three months, Colin and Penelope had transitioned from “friends” to “old friends.” During this time, they rarely spoke when away from one another (which just so happened to be the majority of the year). When together… 

Things were different. Their time together was limited and often interrupted by others. Their schedules went out of sync. Their conversations did not pick up in that natural way they always used to do. The two of them had, in fact, grown apart.

To Colin, this had seemed like a natural shift in their friendship. He had gone away to Cambridge, she to Cheltenham. He never blamed the physical distance itself, but the paths each of them had taken — they were simply at different stages in their lives. He had school and new friends and a future to focus on. And even if she kept most of the details to herself, he knew that Penelope had her own life to focus on at Cheltenham. On the nights he felt loneliest — when he really, really wanted to pick up the phone and call her — it was a comfort to Colin. To know that she did not have time for him, either. 

But to Penelope, this change was not a shift as much as it was a decision. After what he said on that night in August… 

She had never intended to hurt him. Or to exile him from her life forever. She just couldn’t continue on as she was — being his favourite person and that not being enough for him to see her as anything more than a friend. She had to put up a wall between them. To draw a line and to never to cross it. Even if it meant losing the company of her favourite person. 

The distance had helped. It really did. It allowed her to move on. To stop dreaming of a perfect person — one who never existed. But as he stands inches away from her now… that distance doesn’t help one bit. 

His sincerity stings. 

“That’s not true.” She drops her gaze from his. It’s an obvious tell that she’s deluding the actual truth, but she doesn’t have the willpower to try and hide it. “We were close during secondary.”

“Secondary school?” he echoes back, questioningly. 

Panic instantly fills Penelope’s chest. She knows that her eternal crush on him made her perspective on things less than an objective reality, but surely —

“We were friends then, weren’t we?”

“Of course,” Colin says, a reassuring quickness to his words. “We’re still friends now. I just meant…” He chuckles to himself. “We were still kids back in secondary.” 

The panic starts to drift out of Penelope’s chest. Slowly, but she can feel it go.

“Oh.” She looks away again. Her eyes gaze forlornly at the blank grey space ahead of them. “I still feel like a kid now.” 

Colin lets out one last chuckle. 

“I know what you mean.”

Her eyes are fixed on the cigarette between her fingers. It’s holding on for dear life, whittled down to almost nothing. 

Two years and three months ago, on the heels of her worst nightmare, Penelope made a decision. She put up a wall between Colin and herself, believing it was harder having him as a friend than nothing at all. 

For two years and three months, she did everything in her power to avoid being alone with him. She ignored every urge to call him, just to hear his voice. She kissed boys who were not Colin Bridgerton. She found ways to distract her wandering mind. She moved on.

But now…

Now her father’s dead and she’s not getting him back. Colin’s standing right beside her, and — for the life of her — she can’t delude herself into believing this is better than what they once shared. 

Today, drifting in a cloud in the middle of Mayfair, Penelope makes a new decision. 

“I miss you too. I thi—” 

She pauses. She takes a breath. She summons all the strength her tired heart can muster up. 

“I want us to be in each other’s lives again. Like we used to be.”

But it won’t be like it used to be. Penelope knows this for a fact, even as Colin smiles and says something sweet and wraps his arm around her shoulder. Just like he used to. 

She used to repeat ten words back to herself when living in such close proximity to Colin Bridgerton became too much to bear. But those silly little words have since been replaced by ten new ones.

He’ll never love you the way you want him to. 

An assumption. 

I would never date Penelope. Not in a million years.

A fact. One she will never forget. One she needed to hear. One that could save their friendship — for real, this time.

“We should go back inside,” she eventually says, but makes no attempt at slipping out of his hold. “My mum will be…” 

Looking for me. 

Fuming. 

Off her fucking head. 

Seconds after her voice trails off, she feels a gentle, familiar squeeze on her shoulder. 

“How are things between you two? I know things can just get… awful when this sort of thing happens. ”

“Bad,” Penelope answers truthfully. It would feel wrong to blatantly lie seconds into their re-established friendship. “But it’s not just her. Ever since Cheltenham… I just don’t like sleeping here anymore.” She could explain why, but she doesn’t feel the need to. Not with Colin.  

“You want to stay over tonight? El and I aren’t going to drive back until the morning, anyway. So —”

“No. Thank you, but no. I’m going to stay in my d0rm tonight. I have to get back to class in the morning, anyway.”

“You sure?” Colin asks, concern blatant in his voice. 

“I am,” Penelope promises. 

“Okay.” He gives her shoulder another squeeze. “But just so you know, if you ever want a break and need somewhere to stay, the door is always —”

“I know, Colin.” 

She stubs out the rest of her cigarette, marking the white finish of the railing with soot. She crosses her right arm over her chest and places her hand over his. She gives it a little squeeze. 

“I know.” 

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Penelope can’t recall exactly how it happened, but at some point over the last few minutes, she and Colin had both migrated to the middle of the rug. She lets her head fall onto his shoulder. 

“I suppose I can agree with that point,” she finally admits. In response, Colin lets out an annoyingly triumphant laugh against the side of her head. 

“At least one good thing came out of our fathers dying.” 

“Oh god,” she grumbles, promptly extracting her head from Colin’s embrace. “What’s next?”

[lingy910y]

Hi Ling! I have a few questions that need answering, if you would be so kind:

Tell me about the best public bathroom you've ever visited.

Of the four major starches (bread, rice, pasta, potatoes) which two could you not live without?

Do you believe in any conspiracy theories?

<3 🙊

hii! thank you for this opportunity 🙉

I think it has to be this buffet that I ate at. Honestly any public bathroom that is clean is already S-tier to me, but this one was the cleanest that I've seen. There's also fancy paper that covers the toilet seat and renews when you press a button + music playing

I don't like pasta 😬 (but I love many other noodles like udon and ramen) and there's only certain dishes I like that use potatoes so I have to go with bread and rice because I eat them everyday

I watched a podcast episode where the hosts jokingly tried to justify conspiracy theories in a serious tone and they literally had to twist through hoops to justify their evidence. So I don't believe in them except for the existence of aliens because the lack of any living creature outside Earth is scarier! But that's not a controversial one 💀 When I was a kid I did consider the flat Earth theory because I couldn't fathom how we're standing and why we can see the horizon

[cooking256]

きしめん 中部地方の郷土料理

きしめんは、岐阜県を中心に食べられている郷土料理の一つです。太くて丈夫な中華麺を使ったうどんに似た料理ですが、その特徴は細くて平打ちの麺にあります。 一般的なきしめんは、小麦粉を水で練り、生地を伸ばしてから幅広く平らに伸ばし、それを細く切って作られます。そのため、うどんよりも細く、伸ばされた麺が特徴です。 岐阜県内では、きしめんを冷たくして供するスタイルが一般的です。冷たいきしめんは、熱い日や夏季に人気があります。冷水で茹でた後、水で洗い冷やし、氷水に浸けて冷やします。その後、水気を切って器に盛り付け、冷たいつゆや鰹節、ネギなどの薬味を添えて供されます。 他にも、温かいきしめんや、きしめんを使った汁なしの焼きそばのようなスタイルも存在しますが、岐阜県の一部地域によって異なる場合があります。 きしめんは、岐阜県で親しまれる地元の郷土料理であり、細く平打ちの麺の食感が特徴的です。涼しい日や暑い季節に特に好まれ、地域の文化として親しまれています。

✄🔪🥄🍽✄🔪🥄🍽✄🔪🥄🍽✄🔪🥄🍽

Kishimen Local cuisine of the Chubu region

Kishimen is one of the local dishes eaten mainly in Gifu Prefecture. It is a dish similar to udon, made with thick and durable Chinese noodles, but its distinctive feature lies in the thin, flat noodles. Typical kishimen is made by kneading flour with water, stretching the dough, rolling it out wide and flat, and then cutting it into thin pieces. Therefore, it is characterized by thinner and more stretched noodles than udon. In Gifu Prefecture, it is common to serve kishimen cold. Cold kishimen is popular on hot days and in the summer. After boiling in cold water, rinse with cold water and cool, then soak in ice water to cool. Afterwards, it is drained, placed in a bowl, and served with cold soup, bonito flakes, green onions, and other condiments. There are other styles such as warm kishimen and yakisoba made with kishimen without soup, but these may differ depending on some regions of Gifu Prefecture. Kishimen is a local dish that is popular in Gifu Prefecture, and is characterized by the texture of thin, flat noodles. It is especially popular on cool days and hot seasons, and is a part of local culture.

[nylarac]

there's a food truck near me that had The best noodles i only had them once before they stopped making then in favor of what they called "wavy udon" which sucks it's not even thick like udon it's just a flat wavy noodle every time i see them advertising it i am always like 😒😒

[travel-journal-from-shirokane]

Kishimen Yoshida Esca store, Restaurant(Aichi, Japan) きしめん よしだ エスカ店★★

I ate Ebi-Oroshi Kishimen（flat shaped udon with shrimp tempura）at Kishimen Yoshida Esca store (^o^)

The noodles were chewy and delicious (^o^)v

Also, the shrimps were large！！

きしめんよしだエスカ店でエビおろしきしめんを食べて来ました(^o^)

麺がもちもちで美味しかったです(^o^)v

海老も大ぶり！！

[dxncingwithastrxnger]

i knew from the first time, i'd stay for a long time (Inotan)

A/N: Tada!!! Day 3!!! Super late and since it's past midnight for me, technically not posted in time, but oh well!! I actually really love this one more than I thought I would, tbh, and I actually finished up the majority of this just in the last few hours cause I was determined to get it finished and posted tonight so that I'll have all day to focus on tomorrow's story!! This one is just filled with fluff all the way through, so enjoy!!!

Pairing(s): Inosuke x Tanjiro, Zenitsu x Nezuko (Implied, kinda?)

Prompt: Day 3: Meet-cutes

Summary: Tanjiro's day is full of disasters that leaves his head reeling, but just when he thinks he's officially experienced the worst day of his adult life, something very special happens.

Tag(s): Fluff, like honestly that's the only tag I can think of to add, besides Tanjiro being an absolute disaster himself 💀

Word Count: 2,731

Song Inspiration: I Like Me Better By Lauv

Not beta'd, all mistakes are my own.

~*~

[Author Masterlist]

[Read on AO3]

~*~

At first, everything was going fine. It was great, even. Tanjiro was going about his day just as he usually does. He wakes up at six, starts a pot of coffee, jumps into the shower, gets dressed, makes breakfast, feeds his new dog, Axel, lets Axel into the backyard for awhile, checks his email, and calls Nezuko. All perfectly normal things for a Wednesday during summer break.

Then, on a call with Nezuko, he calls Axel back inside, puts on his shoes, grabs his wallet and keys, and leaves the house to run some errands. He listens to Nezuko catch him up on everything she’s been up to for the past week, Zenitsu occasionally making comments in the background, and Tanjiro enjoys his day so far.

But it all starts turning to shit when he steps into the grocery store and…immediately trips and falls flat on his face. Groaning in pain and face red from embarrassment, he pushes himself up and grabs his phone, which had slid about a foot away from him, grateful the screen isn’t cracked.

“-jiro? Everything alright?” Nezuko’s asking when he puts the phone back to his ear, brushing dirt off of his knees.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Nez, just tripped and fell. Dropped my phone, too.” He explains with a pout as he walks over to the cart and tugs one out.

Nezuko giggles, the sounds of dishes being washed as she cleans up from the breakfast that Zenitsu had made earlier. “You and your two left feet, brother.”

“Hey, it’s not that bad anymore, okay? I’ve been doing really well at not falling over this week.” He points out stubbornly, forcing himself not to whine like a child.

“Yes, because it’s perfectly normal for someone to keep track of how many times they fall in a day.” Nezuko quips teasingly.

“Tanjiro, don’t make me get out our old fall counter board, we haven’t had to use that since middle school.” He hears Zenitsu call from somewhere nearby Nezuko.

Tanjiro groans again, throwing his head back in exasperation as he pushes the cart towards the back of the store. “Guuuyyysssss!” He whines, unable to help himself. Both of them laugh, finding amusement in his misery. Reaching for a few bags of soba noodles and udon noodles and placing them into his cart, quickly stopping a bowl of pre-made ramen from falling off of the shelf before continuing down the aisle.

“Oh, hey, Tanjiro.” Zenitsu suddenly says in his ear, as if he’s taken the phone from Nezuko. “Have they sent you the email about the new P.E. teacher yet?” He asks.

“Huh?” He raises an eyebrow at the question as he reads the label on a box of crackers. “No, I don’t think so, though it may have just been delayed. I’ll check my email for it again later today, though. Why?”

Zenitsu scoffs. “Apparently the guy’s been in America for the past decade, just moved back to Japan recently. He needs a reminder on how things work in our schools, I guess, and Himejima wants us to be his, like, “buddies”, help him out a bit.”

“Wait, really?” He questions, surprised. “That’s new. Not everyday we get someone who’s been away from Japan that long. Was he born here, do you know?”

“Yeah, he was born here. Don’t know much else though, not like he’s gonna give us the guy’s whole life story or anything.” He hears something on the other end that sounds a lot like sweeping.

“Yeah, I know, I was just curious. Seems like a nice way to make a new friend, though.” Tanjiro hums, adding soy sauce into his cart alongside rice, chocolate mochi, beef, and eggs.

“Yeah, says the guy who’s managed to befriend literally all of our coworkers since we’ve started working there.” His best friend snorts.

“Not all of them.” Tanjiro frowns. “Still haven’t been able to win over Shinizugawa. Either one of them.” He sighs.

“Screw the Shinizugawa brothers, they’re both assholes.” The blonde mutters and Tanjiro can hear the pout in his voice.

“You’re just upset because Sanemi won best teacher over you.” Tanjiro rolled his eyes with a smile.

“He’s the rudest person I’ve ever met, Tanjiro! There’s no way that his students like him that much! Those results were rigged and I’ll accept nothing less!” Zenitsu exclaims indignantly.

He laughs at his friend’s argument, but it quickly dies down when a container of panko slips out of his hand and to the floor, bursting open and spilling all over the place. “Ah, shit!” He curses.

“Tanjiro Kamado, what a dirty word that’s come out of you.” He hears on the other end of the phone, a voice that he vaguely registers as Nezuko again, but he’s only halfway paying attention as an employee comes over, bringing a sign to place over the mess until a broom can be brought over to clean it up.

“I’ll pay for it.” He promises, placing a hand over his phone mic. The employee shakes his head, reassuring him that it’s not necessary no matter how much he insists. He internally sighs. The second disaster in the past hour, not exactly a great start to what he knows is already gonna be a long day.

He takes a moment to speak on the phone again. “Listen, guys, I got some more errands to run and I don’t wanna run out of phone battery, so I’m gonna go. I’ll call again later or tomorrow?” He asks.

“Yeah, of course, Tanji, do what you need to do.” Nezuko reassures him.

“Okay, great. I love you guys.” He says warmly.

“Love you, too!”

“Love you. Give Axel lots of treats for me, okay?”

Tanjiro rolls his eyes. “You’re not supposed to spoil my dog more than me, Zenny.” He points out. All he gets in reply is a laugh and he shakes his head at the man as he hangs up the phone and puts it in his pocket.

The rest of his errand run consists of many more incidents, each one worse than the other. Knocking over a display of boxed snacks, almost accidentally running a red light when it changed too quickly, dropping a few books and grabbing the attention of everyone inside the small bookstore he was browsing, tripping and falling again, this time gaining a few new cracks on his phone. Then, it starts raining in the middle of him walking through a parking lot towards his car, the clouds pouring down on him, a bag of dog food splits open at the pet store and that time, he did pay for it, then his usual lunch place closed early and once he finally made it home, his car decides to inform him that one of his tires has started to lose some of its air.

Pulling into the driveway of his house, he parks and turns it off before throwing his head back and running his hands down his face, moaning out his misery. The universe is truly testing him today. Hopefully, he can still turn it around. He gets out of his car and starts the long process of getting all of his bags of food and other items into his house, thinking the whole time about how much easier the whole thing would be with two people rather than just one.

An hour later, everything now inside and completely put away finally, he stands in the kitchen and looks out the window, enjoying the view. Despite the earlier downpour, it’s still very nice out and the sun has made its way out of the clouds once more. He looks down at Axel, his two year old mixed breed laying on the floor and staring up at him.

He smiles at him fondly. “C’mon, Axel, how does a walk sound?” Tanjiro asks him, patting his thigh and walking towards the front door. Axel immediately perks up and follows him, nails clicking against the floor as he trots out of the kitchen and across the living room. Tanjiro grabs his leash from the hook beside the door and bends down to hook it to his collar, making sure he still has his phone, keys, and wallet on him before stepping out the door and closing and locking it behind him.

Tanjiro hums softly to himself as they walk through his neighborhood and a few blocks farther, going at a steady, easy pace as he makes his way to one of his favorite parks. Axel thoroughly enjoys the walk, panting and trotting along, occasionally barking or yipping as he watches everything around them.

Once reaching the park, they wander around for awhile, Tanjiro smiling softly at all the families and kids running around, watching the animals skitter about, stopping and admiring a few plants and flowers that have started to bloom since he was last there.

He’s been out for about an hour and a half now when, suddenly, Axel starts barking and pulling at his leash roughly, causing Tanjiro to stumble forward as he holds tight to his dog’s leash and tries to keep him in place. “Hey! Axel! Calm!” He orders, though it seems as if Axel didn’t even hear him. He looks around to look for anything that could’ve made him act this way, but he sees nothing out of place from just a few minutes ago. Thankfully, Axel’s reaction doesn’t seem violent, exactly, just excited, but he still needs him to calm down.

Axel tries even harder to get away now, twisting and jumping, gaining the attention of people nearby and Tanjiro starts to panic slightly. “Axel, baby, please, calm down.” He says gently, hoping for a different reaction than before but there isn’t a single change in Axel. And then, right as he reaches out to touch the reddish-brown canine, Axel twists, faces his head downwards, rears back, and suddenly his neck is bare, having managed to slip out of his collar, and Tanjiro is now gasping as his dog starts running full speed across the park.

“No! Axel!!” He shouts, keeping hold of the leash and collar as he sprints after Axel, that small panic he felt before increasing tenfold. He runs as fast as he can after him, praying that there aren't any other dogs around right now. Other people? Axel gets along great with. Other dogs? Not so much. Tanjiro’s learned that the hard way. It’s why they don’t go to dog parks anymore.

Damn this day, damn it all. He curses mentally, completely hating every second that he hasn’t caught up to his dog yet. Every single bad scenario ran through his head, all of them leading to him losing his dog and the pain that rocks through his chest at such a thought makes him grit his teeth.

Finally, finally, he sees Axel coming to a stop. But his relief is quickly wiped away when he realizes that Axel is stopping right in front of another dog. “Shit. Axel!!” He shouts once more, stumbling to a stop right behind him, bending down and placing his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath, never taking his eyes off of his dog.

“Uh, hey, dude, you good?” Someone asks, most likely the owner of the other dog.

“N-no, Axel, h-he’s not-” Tanjiro pauses, straightening up as he realizes. A fight hasn’t broken out yet. Axel hasn’t attacked. He looks at his dog and watches as Axel simply sniffs curiously at the other dog in front of him, which appears to be an all white husky. “...not good with other dogs…” He trails off, watching the interaction with disbelief.

“Well, seems like he likes my Senshi just fine.” The other man says.

Tanjiro finally turns to look at him and is immediately stunned. Standing in front of him is a man a few inches shorter than him with long, black to blue ombre hair pulled up into a loose bun and the brightest green eyes he’s ever seen. The man is wearing a gray, sleeveless, hooded sports vest with blue outlining and accents, the zipper only halfway up, and a pair of loose, blue track pants. He’s got one hand in his vest pocket and the other hanging by his side, holding onto a purple leash. Tanjiro gulps as his eyes trace over the man’s muscular arms, quickly looking back to his face.

“S-Senshi?” He speaks up, looking to the man’s dog and back to him again. “That’s the pup’s name?” He asks curiously.

“Yep!” The man confirms, popping the ‘p’ with a grin. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” He turns to his dog, looking at her with pride. “She’s part husky, part wolf.”

Tanjiro raises an eyebrow at him. “Seriously? That’s awesome.” He says. He looks to Senshi and Axel and watches as the two of them circle each other slowly, before sniffing at each other’s faces, getting so close that their noses are nearly pressed together. “Axel doesn’t usually get along with other dogs, no matter the gender. I’ve never seen him be so nice to one before.” He admits.

He turns back to her owner as he shrugs. “That’s just Senshi, she’s good at making friends.” The man informs him.

“Usually I am as well.” Tanjiro sighs, taking a step forward to bend down and stop Axel’s friend making just long enough to put his collar back on, feeling much more relieved once it’s secure. “I’m Tanjiro. Tanjiro Kamado.” He stands back up and holds his hand out to the black-haired man.

“Inosuke Hashibira.” Inosuke grabs his hand in a firm, strong grip, shaking it once and lingering. If Tanjiro didn’t know any better, he’d say that there’s a hint of flirtation in the other man’s eyes as he continues. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Tanjiro feels warmth in his cheeks as he pulls his hand back, smiling warmly. “The same to you, Inosuke.” His eyes flicker to the dogs who have now started yipping and playfully pawing at each other, chewing his lip thoughtfully. “You know…considering Axel doesn’t usually make friends, it’d be kinda nice if we could have some playdates every once in awhile with the two of them.” He suggests shyly, looking away from the other man. “I-If that’s something that you’d be o-okay with, it’s not like you have to say yes o-or anything like that.” He fidgets with his hands, holding them in front of him.

Inosuke lets out a deep chuckle that fills Tanjiro up with a warmth he’s unfamiliar with, but it’s not unwelcome. “That sounds like a lot of fun. Besides, I just moved back here not that long ago, it’d be nice to have someone to help me get used to how things work around here again.”

That time, there’s no mistaking the flirty tone of his voice and Tanjiro knows his cheeks are pink as he looks back at him. “Well, I am a teacher, so I suppose it wouldn’t be too difficult to reintroduce you to the basics.” Tanjiro flirts back, as rusty as he may be with such a thing.

There’s a sparkle in those green eyes that pull him in, the feeling only increased with every word out of the other man’s mouth. “What a coincidence, I’ll be starting out as a P.E. teacher in the fall at the high school a few blocks away from here.” Inosuke informs him.

Tanjiro’s eyes widen at his words. “Wait, no way, you’re the new P.E. teacher my friend, Zenitsu was telling me about?” He questions. “Him and I are supposed to be your learning buddies once the school year starts back up again!” I tell him. “He was just telling me about that earlier today.” The redhead laughs at the coincidence.

Inosuke’s eyes light up with surprise as well. “Well, damn, look at that.” He laughs lightly, Tanjiro joining in his amusement. “I can’t wait to get a head start on that, then.” He says.

“Yeah?” Tanjiro asks.

Inosuke steps forward, closer to him. “Yeah. We get together, let the pups play. And then you and I, we can spend some time together.” He says, his voice quieter than before. “Get to know each other a little better.”

Tanjiro bites his lip as a giddy grin spreads across his face. “Sounds good to me.” Maybe today wasn't so bad after all.

~*~

A/N: What did you think?? Inotan first meeting and getting straight to flirting just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, hehe. But also, since I didn't find a way to mention in the actual story itself, Axel is a mix between a rhodesian ridgeback, an australian cattle dog, and a chow. I used to have a dog with those exact same breeds and he was the sweetest. And to anyone who doesn't know, Senshi is actually "warrior" in Japanese. Seemed like a pretty fitting thing for Inosuke to name his dog, imo. But anyways, I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading!!!

[warningsine]

The best-selling Korean writer Kim Hye-jin’s first novel to be translated into English, “Concerning My Daughter,” begins with an awkward question. Eating udon noodles with her mother, a 30-year-old daughter asks if she and her girlfriend, Lane, can move into the mother’s house. The daughter (who is only ever referred to by Lane’s nickname for her, “Green”) can’t afford a flat of her own because of her unpredictable work as an “itinerant” university lecturer. The mother — our narrator, also unnamed — agrees reluctantly, needing extra income to supplement what she earns caring for dementia patients. She also recognizes that her only daughter needs help, even if that means helping Lane too, whom the mother despises on principle because she is not a man. The mother wrestles with her disapproval of her daughter’s life choices both in private and with her patient Jen, a successful and well-traveled woman who never had children, and now has no family to care for her.

A middle-aged woman with an unglamorous job, the narrator is both scrutinizing (of her daughter) and scrutinized by a society that has not fulfilled its duty to support her. Kim plays close attention to the precariousness — bodily, financial, social — of not only the mother, but also her daughter and Jen. The lesbian daughter has been born into a generation with few job prospects; and Jen’s mind and body have deteriorated too much for her to take care of herself.

This is an admirably nuanced portrait of prejudice. The mother’s greatest anxiety is how other people will perceive her daughter, not only because she is socially conservative, but also because she fears her daughter will not have children, and will end up in old age in the same situation as Jen, with no one to visit or tend to her. Jamie Chang’s precise, pared-back translation conveys the mother’s internal struggle between her biases and her love for her daughter in a careful, balanced way, so that the reader is able to understand her position without being asked to endorse it. The mother understands that her outbursts are unacceptable (“How can you do this unless you’re out to make me suffer,” she asks her daughter, “you don’t care even the tiniest bit what your old mother thinks, now, do you?”), but she cannot prevent them. “My emotions carry me away to a place of no return,” she thinks. Wisely, Kim chooses to report rather than directly quote the mother’s worst homophobic tirade, against Lane. We learn only that the mother “let the words burn in the flames of disgust, resentment and hate.”

As the novel goes on, the daughter is badly injured at a protest against the firing of her university colleagues for their sexuality; and budget constraints at the nursing home lead the mother to bring Jen into her own home to see out the end of her life. The daughter’s vulnerability, combined with Lane’s tender care and the proximity of death, helps the mother start to see the errors in her thinking; but no promises are made. This is not a redemption story, nor does it aspire to be. The mother wants to be able to tell her daughter that she doesn’t care whether she likes men or women, that she believes her daughter and Lane should be treated with equal respect by society — but she doesn’t tell her these things. “Will the time come when I will be able to say these things out loud?” she wonders.

There is the occasional tendency to lay on too thickly the resonances between the mother’s relationships with Jen and with her daughter. “Am I seeing myself in her because I’ve given up hope of depending on my daughter in old age?” she asks herself about Jen. But it’s generally a tightly conceived and executed work, and one that boldly takes on the daunting task of humanizing someone whose prejudice has made her cruel.