cookbook of the week

Related to the 150 lbs of potatoes post, I bought this 1972 cookbook a couple weeks ago and I keep opening it up hoping to find something I can make with what I have on hand.

This sounds absolutely incredible but I only have two eggs and no heated rods or whatever.  Then some things fell out of the book that weren’t helpful either.

I thought I’d make Pączki for my boyfriend but that calls for 20 egg yolks and a couple pounds of butter too, so I guess I’m ordering delivery.

grandma

A thing that I like to imagine is Neil and Andrew moving into an apartment on the fifth floor or something (it’s good for cardio, andrew) (shut the fuck up, neil), and they only have one other neighbor on their floor and its a smol 80 year old woman 

- and Andrew and Neil keep to themselves because they’re both anti-human humans (same, bros, so much same)  
- And on their first night there’s a knock on the door, and Andrew and Neil look at each other and are really suspicious because they purposefully didn’t tell any of the foxes that they were moving in together?? because they didn’t want to deal with the looks back and forth and the giggles and the satisfied sighs and the general giddiness of the team
- Andrew doesn’t move so Neil sighs and goes to the door, opens it already braced for confetti to get thrown into his face or for a unified and undoubtedly startling shout of jubilation from the crew
- and he’s v confused when, neck already craned upwards expecting his very tall friends, he has to look down to see his visitor
- It’s a very very old, Andrew-sized woman, with crinkly warm eyes and a face made of 98% wrinkle
- And she’s wearing a yellow cardigan and smiling encouragingly, holding a pan covered in aluminum foil and Neil’s mouth waters immediately because the smell of cheesymeatysaucydelicious lasagna is wafting towards him
- Neil says “hi?” literally as a question because he’s so fucking awkward
- so she introduces herself as Jeong-sook and welcomes them to the apartment. “if you and your cute young man ever need anything don’t be afraid to mosey on over and knock!” and then she leans in conspiratorially and stage whispers with a wink “I take my hearing aids out around 7:30, just so you know” and then thrusts the lasagna into Neil’s hands and cheerily waves goodbye
- Neil stands in the open doorway for a minute, mouth hanging open at the woman’s salacious implication and mentally resigning himself to the fact that now that they’re introduced he won’t be able to slip past her in the hallway without some sort of small talk or genial greeting 
- He’s frozen there, pondering this, for enough time that Andrew comes up behind him and peeks around his shoulder, lifts the corner of the foil to see what it is
- “Grandma seemed nice. What do you think the chances are that she poisoned this?”

- It’s just the two of them so the lasagna lasts for the better part of a week. After its gone, they both open the fridge doors at least once in hopes that a second one will have magically appeared (sorry boys no such luck)
- Eventually, Neil washes the dish and goes to return it. 
- Neil, the babe that he is, doesn’t know that when someone makes you food it’s polite to return their dish filled with food that you’ve made for them
- Andrew raises an eyebrow when Neil comes back from his trip with the red pan still in his hands
- “She told me she wouldn’t take it back unless it had something good in it. She marked pages with her favorites.” He sounds a little dazed as holds up a battered, worn looking dessert cookbook with bright and colorful sticky notes poking out between the pages
- Andrew likes this woman.

- So anyway shortly after moving in Andrew gets a minor injury and has to sit out for six to eight weeks
- Neil is super grateful that this happened after they moved in together because now he can make sure that Andrew is recovering safely and properly
- Andrew spends most of this time at home, reading and playing with the cats and smoking out on the balcony or roof
- Jeong-sook always happens to be out on her own balcony watering her plants or sweeping or some other suspicious activity when he goes out to smoke
- Andrew has an inkling that she’s lonely, and that she sneaks out there when she hears Andrew telling the cats that they have to behave when they go outside
- (does Andrew Minyard talk to his cats? abso-fucking-lutely) 
- Andrew tolerates her chattering and she ignores his silence, continues to ask (unanswered) questions and tell him stories of her kids and grand-kids and late husband 
- This happens almost every single day for the first week and a half
- And then Andrew is just having an all around bad day and he finally snaps.  Neil had left that morning for a week and a half days of flights, press conferences, and friendlies, and Andrew was low-key missing him already. He hadn’t been able to get through the entire hour of physical therapy because the pain had been too excruciating, and then he’d returned home to find that King had thrown up all over the floor. THEN, as he was filling up a bowl with soap and water to CLEAN said throw up, the sink faucet had burst and soaked EVERYTHING.  
- He just wants to sit by himself on his own balcony, at his own house, in his own SILENCE and smoke a fucking cigarette. 
- So he gets out there and the damn thing isn’t even lit yet and Jeong-sook is already going off on one of her variations of how smoking is bad/is going to kill him
- And Andrew is so done. Just so done. He doesn’t care that this woman is in her eighties and could be blown over by a mild wind, he just wants some peace and fucking quiet, so he whips his head over and says something like “grandma if you don’t shut up about it i’m not going to be the only one that this cigarette harms”
- There’s an awful silence and Jeong-sook just stares at him
- and then she’s laughing so hard that she has to grab onto the handrail for support

Long story short, it’s the beginning of a beautiful friendship

+ Jeong-sook had realized that she was going to have to break Andrew to get him to open up to her, so the prattling on and prodding him with a million questions had been calculated and purposeful  
+ Andrew is impressed when she tells him this, so when they part ways and he goes back inside he decides to flip through the cookbook she gave Neil a few weeks back 
+ He finds the page with the most stickies, studies it for a minute, then heads out to the farmers market 
+ son of a bitch whips up a Blackberry Cobbler in an hour and a half and presents it to Joeng-sook like he didn’t just consider hauling her over the railing and throwing her five-stories down 
+ from this point on she gets better at knowing when Andrew needs to be left alone and when he wants company
+ And Andrew learns that she isn’t as fragile as she seems
+ (honestly she’s quiet the whippersnapper) 

Andrew still has at least a month left of recovery, and so they spend a lot of time together

• Andrew fixes things around the house for her when they break 
• They watch their soap opera at the same time every day. Neil comes home to surprise Andrew for lunch one day and Andrew is next door, so Neil texts him asking where he is. Andrew says ‘watching soaps with Jeong-sook’ and it’s so outrageous that Neil laughs and thinks its a joke, replies ‘no but rlly?’
Andrew doesn’t respond because he already answered and good things are happening
• She bakes him his favorite desserts and sometimes they’ll even cook together (though they’re both very particular about the kitchen so this occurs only on days when they’re on their best behavior)
• She always asks about that ‘nice young man of yours’ and tries to give Andrew advice on how to woo Neil (honestly, some of it works)
• they gossip about the other tenants together
• Andrew buys her groceries when she’s having particularly painful days, cleans up around her apartment and brings the cats over to keep her company 
• Andrew hounds the landlord almost to the point of stalking until the elevator gets fixed so that she can actually go places now
•He takes her to doctors appointments and she always bribes him into lunch afterwards 
• I’m JUST going to throw it out there that they’re the same height and both have short blonde hair 
• She tells him about her childhood in South Korea, teaches him Korean words and phrases.  She knows he would be too uncomfortable to outright ask (as Andrew refuses to acknowledge any connection to his birth parents and so doesn’t like to show interest in the related culture/heritage), so she never pushes but plays it off like its all for her
• She was a boxer for most of her life, and so they compare fight stories and watch matches together (she yells at the TV a lot)
• There’s some sort of red-carpet team event and Neil is busy, so Andrew takes Jeong-sook instead. She’s so excited that she makes Andrew take her to the mall so that she can buy a new yellow dress-set. Reporters ask Andrew if this is his grandmother, and Andrew, instead of explaining, just says yes. Andrew has an arm looped around her for support and she’s fucking glowing and the photographer snaps a picture of it and it gets posted online and sports reporters and fans alike are amazed that Andrew Minyard Has a Soft Side. Neil prints out two copies and frames them, puts one in the apartment over the fireplace (figHT ME THEY HAVE A FIREPLACE) and gives one to Jeong-sook, who puts it proudly on the table next to her bed
• Her shitty ass children and grand-children never come around, but when they do Andrew makes a point of going over and glaring at them, making sure that they see how well she’s doing without them 
• When he’s finally allowed to play again she goes to all of his home games and watches the rest on TV. He calls her almost everyday while he’s away to make sure she’s not lonely and that she’s doing okay
• Andrew gives her a Minyard jersey that she wears whenever they go out together, because she thinks its funny when people do a double-take or whisper “that’s andrew and aaron” before they actually get a look at her face
• Neil is still a little unsure around her a lot because he doesn’t have that much experience with older ladies and she’s unpredictable, but she becomes a really important part of Andrew’s life and he - in that andrew way of his - tells Neil that moving into this apartment was one of the best decisions they’ve ever made

Saturdays with Harry: Part I

A/N: I’m not a fic writer by any means. I have like virtually no writing on here lol. I’m also not the best at prose, but sometimes a girl gets inspired. Mainly posting this for @harryspeakingfrench because even though I “don’t write” she still reads all my blurbs and concepts bc she’s actually the true best. Also this is PURE FLUFF. Also I’ve been having husband!Harry feels and this is the result.

-

There are busy Saturdays, when you spend all day cleaning and doing laundry and grocery shopping for the week.

Then there are lazy Saturdays when you just say ‘screw it’ and watch netflix all day.

And there are the ‘let’s go on an adventure’ Saturdays. Those magical ones when you jump in the car, pick a place, and let time tell where you’ll end up.

All Saturdays with Harry are the best.

Keep reading

Some of the process for creating the jacket illustration for Kaukasis, the new cookbook by Olia Hercules out this week!

I’m so pleased to have worked on this and thought it might be interesting to show how many versions and rounds of feedback it took to get the cover looking it’s best. Big thank yous to Juliette Norsworthy at Octopus :)

I’m not sure about this gift. This tangle
of dried roots curled into a fist. This gnarl

I’ve let sit for weeks beside the toaster
and cookbooks on a bed of speckled granite.

What am I waiting for? Online I find
Rose of Jericho prayers and rituals for safe birth,

well-being, warding off the evil eye.
At first I thought I’d buy some white stones,

a porcelain bowl. But I didn’t and I didn’t.
I don’t believe in omens. This still fist

of possibility all wrapped up in itself.
There it sat through the holidays, into the New Year.

Through all the days I’ve been gone. Dormant.
But today, in an inch of water,

out of curiosity, I awakened
the soul of Jericho. Limb by limb it unfolded

and turned moss green. It reminded me
of the northwest, its lush undergrowth,

how twice despite the leaden clouds,
the rain, I found happiness there.

From tumbleweed to lush fern flower,
reversible, repeatable. And what am I

to make of this? Me, this woman who doesn’t
believe. Doesn’t take anything on faith. I won’t

let it rot. I’ll monitor the water level. Keep the mold
at bay. I tend things, but I do not pray.
—  Cindy Veach, “Rose of Jericho”

September is PCOS awareness month. 

Two weeks ago this would mean “ Oh cool, this little cafe in my town will have those nifty blue cups again!” 

Now, it means something different. One little doctors appointment can change a lot in your point of view. 


So for me, September marks the start of a new chapter. I’m grateful to have my mom here to help me through a lot of these changes and challenges I’ll be facing the first few weeks. I bought new cookbooks (PCOS Diet for the newly diagnosed, and the Keto Diet for beginners) and will start meal prepping tomorrow. 

I have a doctor’s appointment in 10 weeks to check labs, and see how things are progressing. I plan on making the best out of these 10 weeks. I still feel lost, and could use any and all support I can get, it’s still new to me and I”m learning where and when I can. 

anonymous asked:

keep us updated on what you make from your new japanese cookbook!! and on your super scrumptious-sounding week's mealplan ^^

aaAH thank u for ur interest!! i’ve already bookmarked like 10+ pages from the cookbook (i’m particularly excited to make my own mitarashi dango and ramen!!!!). i’ve also made a couple of meals from the meal plan and it was sO good - the thai peanut chicken + pomegranate rice was amazing and i’m v v excited to make the lamb orzo~

Last Sentence

I was tagged by my friend @bintasultan for this

Rules: post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic/original/anything!) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence.

Mine was for a writing group I’m in where I was promoting for the week, my final prompt was about palestinian cookbooks

“Without them being in the pot while you’re cooking it’s just white rice with chicken, how boring”

I tag: @aishawarma @yariima @shakarlicious @olasdemiel-deactivated20171013 @officialfifthcolumn @redmensch @untilstarsfall @drunkgaymuslim @diloolie @ghassankanafanis @hijabby @kuklarusskaya @knafet-baba @choice-booty @ba7lem @notclickbait @natalyarar @madreesh

2 Week Warning for Cookbook Submissions!

Don’t let the deadline sneak up on you! We have about 2 weeks left (due date is November 5th) before I need to close submissions so I can format the cookbook and get it printed. If you want to contribute, don’t miss your chance! :)

Steps: To contribute to the cookbook for Stephen and Emily, please -

  1. Choose a recipe you would like to share
  2. Follow the link below to choose a template and type the recipe in
  3. Send the recipe back to me (share it as a Google Doc or email it as an attachment) at charmingwords23@gmail.com.

**If you are having trouble with the template, you can email me the recipe/link to the recipe or send it in a DM on Twitter and I will make sure it’s included.

I will compile the recipes into a book to give to Stephen and Emily at HVFF Atlanta. It will be a fun way to show them all the lives they’ve touched! After it’s finished, I’ll try to combine them all into a large PDF and share it on this blog for the fandom to download for ourselves! :)

Goals for fall/winter 2017-2018
  • Try a new recipe from my stack of cookbooks at least once a week
  • Learn to knit from Courtney
  • Pay off 2 student loans
  • Continue running
  • Bake several loaves of bread from Tartine cookbook
  • Have $6,000 in savings account
  • Get certified in level 1 Reiki
  • Get a lesson or two on how to better use my cool old camera

1 WEEK LEFT TO SUBMIT A RECIPE.

Our list is coming along nicely! We have authentic Italian, Portuguese, Spanish, Brazilian, Egyptian, and Syrian recipes, among others!


If you want your favorite recipe included in our cookbook, please visit the “directions” page on this blog (OR dm the message to me here ornon twitter - @charmingwords23 - and I’ll make sure it’s included).


3

New Zealander Unna Burch, who blogs at The Forest Cantina, taught herself everything she knows about good home cooking — and now, with her second Forest Cantina cookbook, she’s ready to teach you. 

“During the week I want fuss-free meals. Tasty food that isn’t too complicated to put together,” she says. “Weekends or during the holidays I like to make dishes that require a little more time and attention. My food philosophy is fresh, free range, and fair trade.”

The book also provides a guide to suburban self-sufficiency, including how-tos on keeping gardens, chickens, and bees — yes, bees! Dig in to the project here.

Fireworks - Vegas AU flash-forward sneak peek

Author’s Note: It’s the 4th of July, and I’m feeling writey. So we’re going to do a few Independence Day themed sneak peeks today. First up, a little flash-forward from a few weeks down the line in What Happens In Vegas.


They’re eating dinner when it happens. Someone down the block is a bit overeager to get the festivities started, and just as Regina is lifting an ear of sweet corn to her mouth, there’s a cluster of popping bangs. The corn falls to the plate with a clatter, landing half in pasta salad and sending a few noodles rolling off the plate.

Regina startles with a sharp, shuddering inhale, and Robin catches the tremble in her fingers before she presses them to the table’s edge to still them, her eyes wide and fearful and yet somehow oddly blank. Like she’s here, but not here, and she sucks in a few deep breaths with slow exhales to calm herself.

Panic, he knows. She doesn’t like loud noises; they’re a trigger, and a harsh one. Two weeks ago, Roland had dropped a thick cookbook on the kitchen floor and she’d dropped a spatula onto the eggs she’d been making, rupturing it and leaving Robin with no runny yolk for sopping up with toast. And just last night when Roland had been rambling eagerly about the weekend’s festivities – the cookout at John’s and the picnic dinner in the park where they set off the fireworks once the sky goes dark – Regina had smiled politely and said she wasn’t sure if she could make it on Saturday, but she’d try.

And now here they are, the fireworks a day earlier than they’re supposed to be, and she’s wrestled her breathing under control in short order, but Roland is giggling at her.

“Regina!” he scolds in his little boy voice, “It’s just the fireworks!”

She smiles at him, kind but tight, the sort that doesn’t reach her eyes but Roland will be none the wiser. “I know, sweetheart. They just startled me, that’s all.”

She swallows hard; her fingertips are still pressed to the table, turning white with the pressure. Her corn is still in her pasta salad.

“Cuz it’s not their night?” Roland asks, and she nods.

“Exactly,” she says, her smile a little more genuine now, but only for a moment. It strains again when she admits, “I don’t much like fireworks, to be honest.”

It’s as though she’s said she doesn’t like Santa Claus. Roland’s mouth drops open wide, his face indignant. “Who doesn’t like fireworks?”

Robin saves her from answering, his voice gentle but firm when he tells his son, “Now, Roland, we don’t all like the same things. Regina likes brussels sprouts, and you don’t like those, do you?”

Roland wrinkles his nose and shakes his head.

He was about to say more, something about how we need to understand when other’s tastes differ from ours and not make fun of it, but there are more firecrackers, and another gasp, and he watches dark eyes flick from Roland to him, and they shine suddenly, rimmed with wet and his heart aches. He hasn’t asked her yet, hasn’t questioned where this particular fear comes from, but he can see that it’s acute, more so than any other reaction he’s seen from her. (Cora’s tight grasp on her arm had had her stiff and pulling backward, intense discomfort and perhaps a bit of embarrassment but it hadn’t been this.)

“It’s okay, Regina,” Roland attempts to soothe, in the way only a four year old can, reaching toward her and patting the tabletop when he finds he can’t reach her hand.

“I’m not very hungry tonight,” she says suddenly, despite the fact she’s only had maybe a third of her dinner and it was a light meal to begin with. But she’s wiping her fingers on her napkin and scraping her chair back, and muttering, “I think I’m just going to go to bed,” as she stands and retreats.

Robin says her name, once, but doesn’t otherwise try and stop her. If she needs some solitude, he’ll not deny her that.

“Did I make Regina mad?”

Roland’s voice, small and sad, comes from the other side of the table and Robin looks over at him, shakes his head. “No, my boy. She’s just not feeling very well tonight, that’s all.”

Dark eyes, big and worried, track in the direction of the guest bedroom, dimples winking out as Roland scowls his lips and twists them side to side. Finally, he turns back to Robin and asks, “Can we go see the fireworks?”

“Right now?” Robin questions, another pop firing outside and making Robin feel suddenly and insanely annoyed. He imagines Regina in her bedroom, imagines her sucking in breath, imagines her shoulders jerking. People ought to be less bloody reckless with their celebrating; it’s not even the fourth yet.

“Yeah,” Roland confirms, around the mouthful of noodles he’s just shoveled in.

“Finish your dinner,” Robin urges, “And then we’ll sit outside a bit and see what we can see.”

Roland eats like a speed demon after that – Robin has to remind him twice that he could choke if he refuses to chew. No more than ten minutes pass before they’re out on the front lawn. They hear a few more clusters, these further away in the neighborhood, but they’re firecrackers, not proper fireworks and so there’s no light show to be seen.

He doesn’t check on Regina until after he’s put Roland down for the night, but when he does he finds her asleep, her body curled around her pillow, hair splayed back behind her, a round of neon pink foam visible in her ear. Her mouth is frowning, even in sleep, and she lets out a whimper, jerks and presses her face into the pillow. Whatever sleep she’s getting is not restful.

Robin aches for her, wishes there was something, anything, he could do. He’s her husband, he should know how to soothe her, but then, it’s not as though he’s had years to learn. There are bare patches in the things he knows of her, holes where the particularly painful parts of her past have nestled down and taken root. Dark places she’s not yet shed light on in the weeks they’ve been together.

So he leaves her be, shuts her bedroom door quietly despite her ear plugs and settles in to read before sleep.

Tonight, though, he doesn’t bring his book to bed as usual. No, he settles instead into the armchair in the living room, keeps to the common space with a view of the kitchen.

Just in case she wakes.

Just in case she wants to talk.

He’s asleep in his chair when she finally emerges around half two, but he wakes to the feel of his book being pulled gently from his fingers, comes to awareness to find she’d draped a blanket over his legs already. She’s thoughtful, Regina. When she wants to be.

When he opens his eyes, she freezes, his book clutched in her fingers, her hair sleep-mussed and pillow tracks on one cheek. He thinks she’s gorgeous. He always does. In his half-woken state he has a bleary thought that he hopes in a year’s time she’ll choose to stay.

But right now, she’s caught. Frozen. Had clearly been trying not to wake him, and failed.

Robin reaches out a hand for hers, for the one that isn’t still holding tight to his novel, and lifts her fingers to his lips.

“Are you alright, darling?” he rasps, and she looks down, looks suddenly very sad, pressing her lips together as she shifts his book to the side table and nods. He keeps her hand, asks, “Will you tell me?”

He doesn’t expect her to say yes, not fully, expects her usual I don’t want to talk about that. But what he gets instead is, “Can we move to the couch?”

She tells him more secrets that night, sheds light on some of her deepest darkness, and Robin sits quietly, and listens, and wipes away the tears that fall when she lets him.

She goes home in the morning, back to her place for a night, much to Roland’s disappointment. But Robin makes excuses for her, works doubly hard to make Roland forget she’s even gone, and as fireworks pop and explode in the sky, he thinks of her, and hopes all she’s hearing is her own breath, her own heartbeat.

When he sees her again on Thursday night, she’s right as rain, bitching as usual about the goddamn traffic between Santa Monica and Pasadena.

6

Flickering Tempo: Jack, the newest addition to the crew hiding out in the Danish countryside, teaches Arne how to dice properly. Arne has something else in mind.

Written for the splendid #EatTheRare week created by the lovely folks at @hannibalcreative.

Arne lingers by the open doorway to the kitchen, dark eyes darting around as he observes the latest stray they somehow managed to acquire out in the twisting cow paths of the godforsaken Danish countryside. 

A strange innocence clings to the boy, despite showing up in an incredibly rare and definitely stolen car fitted with a set of poorly made fake plates. They were forced to abandon and torch the lot before the local police came sniffing around—not to mention the two nosy, bumbling old fools Alfred and Carl. After all, no one drives an ancient DeSoto in these parts. No one drives an ancient DeSoto, full stop. But the wide, panicked eyes and babbling English, alongside Torkild’s new found altruism, was enough to convince the men to help the kid out of some convoluted jam with an Albanian banker. 

After a week spent sullenly scrutinizing Jack, Arne figures it must be the high flush on the boy’s cheeks, a rosy stain that never quite seems to fade. A lingering blush of youth above the slightest suggestion of facial hair accenting his fine bone structure. It makes him look sickeningly sweet, beautiful, delicate.  

Ripe.

Arne swallows thickly, the muscles in his jaw jumping. After a couple jittery half starts, he rakes a hand through his greasy fringe, brushing it aside before flexing and balling his fists. With a he stuffs them into his loose pants pockets. The long column of his spine a rigid, tilted line, shoulders rolled back, he takes a small step inside the loathsome room.

“Hey, Arne,” Jack greets him with a casual, friendly smile that curls his pink lips and crinkles the skin at the corners of his eyes. Flat, white, perfect teeth glint at him across the room. His accent is all wrong, the odd shape of his vowels, hitting each syllable of Arne’s name with an unfamiliar flatness.

Americans. 

A sneer, the faintest reflexive twitching of nose and upper lip, flashes across Arne’s face. Preoccupied with his cooking prep, Jack misses the fleeting reaction.

“I thought you guys were going for a walk?” He asks genially, though out of convention rather than genuine curiosity.

Arne stares, resolutely ignoring the vapid question in favor of fishing out a battered package of cigarettes from his pocket as he rounds the island. Blindly switching on a gas burner, Arne ducks down to light the cigarette while still inspecting the oblivious Jack. Sweeping back his hair with one hand, he sucks in a lungful of tobacco. 

An awkward lull follows as he rapidly becomes hypnotized by the way Jack slices through a plump, red apple with a finesse Arne could never possess. The broad knife an extension of himself; seamless, fluid movements despite the dull edge. The quiet, rhythmic thunk of it hitting the cutting board carefully laid out along the counter. It is only when Jack finishes chopping the portion of apple, glancing up to catch Arne staring, that the man snaps back to himself.

“What is this shit?” Arne gestures with his cigarette to the spread. A couple different Danish cookbooks Torkild bought weeks ago sit open around the scattered mess of ingredients.

“It’s my take on an apple pie.” A stray curl falls across his forehead as he resumes cutting the fruit into small cubes to fill some odd pastries he has rolled out on a nearby baking sheet. “Come here,” Jack beckons, that lovely, easy smile lighting up his face.

[continue reading on AO3]

One Day...

TITLE OF STORY: One Day
CHAPTER NUMBER/TITLE/ONE SHOT: One Shot
AUTHOR: freudensteins-monster
WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Loki
GENRE: Fluff, Humour, Angst
FIC SUMMARY: A modern Logyn AU, follow up to “A World of Firsts”. 
RATING: T
WARNINGS/TRIGGERS/AUTHORS NOTES:  Beware the feels. 

A World of Firsts: First Date | First Kiss | First Love

One day, soon after the fateful dinner, Loki finds them an apartment. It’s in a decent building but is even smaller than Sigyn’s old place. There is a tiny second bedroom and Sigyn insists Loki use it for his study as he doesn’t have any alternative. Sigyn moves all her art supplies into a friend’s loft space and goes there after work every other night, and on weekends when Loki’s working, to paint.

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