#androsemary

[ddlarmn]

“A friend recommended it, he told me I’m kind of like Mr. Darcy but a little less arrogant.” It was confusing, he would normally retaliate, his reply was more out of nervousness and sheer awkwardness. The sudden movement his friend did made him think of the way he felt a little earlier, the predicament is still unwavering but that’s all that it is, to him anyway – nothing but a predicament. “You’ve been working hard, you should probably rest first. I’ll try and find the book I’m looking for.”

However, by the time he knew what was going on, Yerin was already taking him to the counter - he jolted - the feeling of electricity traveling across his arm from where she tugged on his sleeve was unbearable. Ken stands by the counter, the touch still lingering and present even after how many times he rubs the sleeve of his shirt. 

Ken smiles at her, he wasn’t entirely sure why but the idea of her becoming a little trustful of him made him so. It was as if most of the awkward air was lost between them, and the distraction of her rushing her last customer stopped him from thinking more of what had happened.. What was that about? He asks himself, because he couldn’t imagine Yerin feeling the same way. It felt more one sided, knowing that Yerin couldn’t possibly feel what he felt as she made clear a few nights before – right? 

Being alone for a few minutes made him reminisce, for that brief moment that he was against the counter, waiting for her, he thought of the night when they almost kissed. He brings a hand up to his arm as if to keep the touch intact, it’s still a little tingly – the sensation unwavering. It was all too familiar. Why does he feel a sense of comfort around her, all they do is bicker. 

Ken sees a butterfly enter the opened window beside him, resting against one of the laid books on the table. He was about to touch it but instead, turns to her once she’s done dealing with her last customer, following her pursuit.

“I have a taste for something rich and flavorful, Italian sounds good to you?” He trails behind her, afraid of asking what’s gotten into her. The sunset swallows the bookstore out of sight, as they make their way to his car. He opens the door for her, his hand brushing against her skin again as he stops to bask in the confusing sensation of his unruly senses. 

His vivid imagination strikes again with an image of him kissing her forehead after he takes the seatbelt to wrap around her body and latch it against her side, and her giggle lively ringing in his ears like a routine. “Thank you, my prince.”

“B-buckle up.” He tells her, quickly leaning back to have her tend to herself after getting situated on the seat, closing the door after gathering himself to do so.

@ddlarmn

Friends forgive, those words played on a torturous loop in her mind. Her soul constantly hurt due to the heartless world around her but the remains of love, hiding in the warm walls of her heart, could not completely vanish. Her hands held a book she never heard of. It brings her back to another time, not so far away, where Ken would laugh at her lack of interest in literature. The irony. 

A sudden migraine hit her, could he be responsible for the constant headaches? It did not seem rational to blame him, she reminded herself, human beings did not bring you that kind of pain. Through the glass window, stood the bringer of pain. Her friend. Waves of loyalty washed away their last encounter and she desperately tried to prove it to him. On some days, she confuses it with something different, something more. As if their bond travelled through time and space, in their wild universe. Still, a small hint of annoyance lingered through all that love. 

“Jane Austen? Really?” Although her hobbies did not lie between ink and pages, endless sentences bringing her to fall asleep in the blink of an eye, the book Ken searched for did ring a bell. With a shrug, she saw herself twirling in a dress, telling off an arrogant version of the tall man in front of her. The ache in her mind tickled her once again, as if her imagination felt too strong to bear. Suddenly, her legs felt weak and she had to hold the shelf next to her to keep some balance. Sounds of harps and violins ringing in her ears, she decided to hide it with a smile. 

Why did it feel so real? Did she imagine the same pain emanate from Ken? Probably. “Let’s forget about the book.” The one in her hands now forgotten with another stack, she tugged on his sleeve to bring him to the counter. A noticeable sensation burned the tip of her fingers, bringing her back to that forbidden moment a few nights ago. An “almost” that should be buried deep within the confines of her mind. 

“I’m hungry.” She added, ignoring the shock running through her veins where her skin had the unfortunate chance to brush against his. Keys shoved in her pocket, her rush distracted the last customer. The stranger couldn’t translate the lines between her brows, however, he felt the need to live as the pleasant atmosphere vanished when the lights disappeared in a swift movement. “We’re closed. Let’s leave, now.” Yerin wondered if her need to eat was an attempt to erase the odd feeling within her soul or if she truly wanted to spend time with her friend she could barely look at. 

The walk to the car answered her question quite clearly; it physically pained her to be around him. 

[crossfires]

❛  Repost & BOLD which lines of famous poetry apply to your muse.

i saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked. // tyger tyger, burning bright // i have done it again. // do not go gentle into that good night. // the sea is calm to-night. // let us go then, you and i, // april is the cruelest month. // pretty women wonder where my secret lies. // there is a place where the sidewalk ends. // i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) // two roads diverged in a yellow wood. // whose woods these are i think i know, // let us twain walk aside from the rest. // once upon a midnight dreary, while i pondered, weak and weary, // i taught myself to live simply and wisely. // it so happens i am sick of being a man // i wandered lonely as a cloud // does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? // o my love is like a red, red rose. // o captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done; // out of the night that covers me // it was many and many a year ago // you may write me down in history // do not stand at my grave and weep // some say the world will end in fire // some say in ice. // hope is the thing with feathers // the wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, // no man is an island, // remember me when i am gone away, // i met a traveler from an antique land // ‘twas brillig, and the slithy toves // this is thy hour o soul, // when we wear the mask that grins and lies, // death be not proud, // and death shall have no dominion. // laugh, and the world laughs with you; // the art of losing isn’t hard to master; // to see a world in a grain of sand // is there anybody there? said the traveller // nobody heard him, the dead man, // that crazed girl improving her music. // come to me in the silence of the night; // where the mind is without fear and the head is held high // when you are old and grey and full of sleep, // in flanders’ fields the poppies blow // i thought of you and how you love this beauty // life, believe, is not a dream // it may be misery not to sing at all, // if tarry space no limit knows // come live with me and be my love, // had we but world enough and time, // my heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense // bright star, would i were stedfast as thou art- // thou still unravish’d bride of quietness // how do i love thee? let me count the ways. // heaven is what i cannot reach! // my dear, my dear, i know // in visions of the dark night // shall i compare thee to a summers day? // break, break, break // she walks in beauty, // i had a dream, which was not at all a dream. // he clasps the ring with crooked hands.

tagged by: @androsemary

[dianakwon-blog1]

Olive and Rosemary Bread

The Magic Combination: Rosemary and Olives. The charming dutch oven bread. I’m quite sure that you don't want to miss it.

 Olive andRosemary Bread

The flavors in this Olive Rosemary Bread made for an out of the ordinary, nobody can resist it! And the aroma from the dutch oven was incredibly enticing.

Although this bread takes a bit of effort to make, it is definitely worth it. You really can’t beat the taste of freshly baked bread, and the smell is divine. Stuffed with olives and rosemary, it is perfect eaten on its own, or with just a little butter. The preparation time may seem lengthy, but this is deceptive as it takes just 15 mins to prepare, and the rest of the time you can leave it along, and just go to have a rest. There is something very satisfying about making your own bread, and this loaf is packed with flavour.  I have to tell you that my mum love it. Maybe you'll think it's normal, but if you know how picky he is, you won't say that. Ah anyway that was my mum give me my first dutch oven. I love her very much. You see that, mum? I love you!

   INGREDIENTS:  

14g dry yeast

1tsp honey

250ml warm water

825g sifted plain flour

1 cup whole wheat flour

1/2 cup kalamata olives, chopped coarsely

80ml olive oil

1 tablespoon chopped fresh rosemary

2½ teaspoons salt

INSTRUCTIONS:

 1.       Sift the flour in a large bowl (glass or metal, as long as the one that can sit in a warmish oven). Add the salt and yeast and mix well.  

2.       Slowly add the warm water, mixing with a spoon.  

3.       When the dough is sticky but well mixed you might now need all the water), cover with plastic wrap and place in a warmed oven for 3 hours. You can leave for up to 6 hours or overnight

4.       When the dough have risen to double the size, remove from the oven.

5.       Turn the on the oven to 230°C and place the Dutch oven with lid on in the oven. ( If you have a pizza stone, place it in first then the Dutch oven on top - this will avoid the base from getting too hot.)

6.       Turn the dough out on to a floured surface and knead in the black olives and chopped rosemary. Form the dough into an oval shape and put on a greased baking tray.

7.       Cover and leave to rise again for 30 mins.

8.       After 30 minutes, carefully remove the pot from the oven, remove the lid, and place the dough in the centre.   Sprinkle over the remaining rosemary and a good pinch or two of the sea salt flakes.  

9.       Place the lid back on and return the pot to the oven.  Bake for 30 minutes, then carefully remove the lid away and continue cooking for a further 15 minutes.  This will brown the top of the loaf.

10.   Use a thermometer to check –if the bread at around 85/90°C, which means it's cooked.

 What do you think of this Dutch oven recipe? 

Please keep an eye on my blog, I will post more dutch oven recipes.

Next time: Meyerlemon rosemary bread – baked in a dutch oven!

[crossfires]

@androsemary

taesun keeps his prayers for a god he does not believe in on edge of his canines. there are smiles reserved for the dying and the dead, especially when crimson splays across their pretty, crying faces. forgive my sins, o lord. a drawl, sarcastic even in his own head. if he hasn’t already been struck dead for taking the lives of all these people, a god (our great protector, they cry) seems useless in the grand scheme of things. 

the weather looms�� ominous, like it’s foreshadowing what is to come. the afternoon had begun like any other. taesun paying yerin a visit at the quaint bookstore that she now works at. seeing her working at all is a foreign concept. the last time he’d seen her, they’d still been teenagers convinced that it was them against the world. he’s older now, less idealistic. he’s seen what these emotions can do to a man and he is better without them. so when he catches her gaze between the crevices in the bookshelves that line the store, he quietens his heart, pockets the optimism he once held and crushes it between his fists. there is a gentleness in her that he can’t look away from, petaled lips forming words in soft undertones that go over his head. he has to ask her to repeat herself a couple of times because of the sheer distraction. it was naive of him to think that a few years away from her could change anything. he’s still as infatuated as before, even more pathetically now. 

it should come to no surprise that he follows through with this unwavering obsession against his better judgement. the rain is a perfect disguise, washes away his transgression, makes him new again. taesun takes unhurried steps behind the intended victim. the first mistake. he’s never been attached to any of his victims, picking at random— men, women, long haired, short haired, tall, short. they could never find a pattern because there never was one. they only had one thing in common: the fulfilment of a primal need within him; spilling red messily and adorning the streets with their last act of penance. this is wholly different. he’d noticed the man step through the doors of the bookstore promptly at 2pm everyday. yerin would smile, as she did to most patrons, but there would be a tightness in her shoulders despite the familiarity that encircled them. taesun observed this, considered it, rolled it around in his mind until he decide to act on it. she wouldn’t miss him, that he’s sure of; he’s known her for long enough for this to be evident. 

what he doesn’t manage to anticipate comes from himself. the rain pelts down on them mercilessly, shrouding the back alley of the bookstore in darkness. he operates best in these environments, hiding in the shadows and waiting. the love of the chase seems to overtake him in just seconds, as he sinks his blade into his unsuspecting, all-deserving victim. there is passion in this— a useless passion, that would be his demise— and unlike his usually methodical way of first severing the man’s trachea to stop the screams, he starts with the gut. it’s a slow, painful way to death, as taesun carves him open prettily, letting him gurgle and cry and beg for his life. he should be begging yerin for forgiveness, and taesun lets him know as much, leather gloves soaked with blood. 

it’s the human in him that loses all track of time. the man is long dead by now— he hardly resembles a person with the way taesun has butchered him. there is nothing left of him, much like the monster that sits behind the mask taesun adorns. he takes it all in, breathing in the rain and the blood and the death. and then, he hears something drop— glass bottles plinking against each other in a large trash bag. his head snaps up from where he is, crouched over the dead man, gaze finding hers in the dark.