#Oliver Panis

[feraltwinkseb]

March 7, 1996 - Melbourne, Australia Source: Pascal Rondeau/Allsport

[morethansalad]

Pani Walalu / Deep Fried Syrup-Filled Sri Lankan Desserts (Vegan)

[carredeparis]

PANI LA SHAR PAWNEE HERMES SCARF BY KERMIT OLIVER - DOUBLE FACE | NIB

Pani La Shar Pawnee Hermes Scarf – GRAIL – Double FaceDesigned by Kermit Oliver in 1984 – AVAILABLE This highly popular 1984 Kermit Oliver design was recently issued as a Double Face version, which means the same design is featured in both a color version on one side and a bandana version on the other.

[rxqueenotd]

damnatio memoriae: PART IV

In the Roman world, damnatio memoriae was used to describe a range of actions taken against former leaders and their reputations. These actions included: defacing visual depictions, removing heads from public statues, chiseling names off inscriptions, and destroying coins.

summary: reader, who goes by 'Prima', was raised by a powerful Roman consul, under the reign of Imperator Septimius Severus. When it comes time for his eldest son, Caracalla, to marry again, a chain of events is set off, changing the course of Prima's life and the lives around her.

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warnings: arranged marriage, foul language, mentions of blood, bodily fluids, Ancient Rome as a warning in itself, bloodletting, p n v penetration, orgy-ish situation, animal sacrifice.

notes: literally posting this from a McDonalds parking lot on the way to a Christmas party. A quick thanks to my brotha @trashmouth-richie and @londonfog-chan for all the help. I owe you guys what’s left of my soul. Please like and share if you enjoy this series! Over 7000 words in this chapter alone.

IV

The delicate aroma of fresh bread and honey wafted through the air, mingling with the faint scent of blossoming flowers from the courtyard outside. Fine earthenware plates held an assortment of breakfast delicacies scattered across an oval table in the middle of the room: warm, crusty loaves of panis glistened with honey, bowls of ripe figs and olives, and delicate cheeses. A pitcher of cool, refreshing water sat alongside a flask of rich, dark wine—though it was early, you had indulged yourself. The gentle clinking of utensils and the soft rustle of linen filled the dining room as guests served themselves, enjoying the simple pleasures of the morning. A musician played softly in the corner, the gentle strumming of a lyre adding a serene layer to the room. You sighed happily as you sat alone at a table in the corner of the great room with the perfect view of the courtyard. For all the drama of the previous day, you revelled in being alone, relishing the magnificent frescoed walls that depicted scenes of mythological feasts and playful Bacchanalian revelries. The sunlight shone in delicately, warming the marble flooring in which you drug your barefoot across under the table.

“You must have said something to set him off. I could still smell your perfume when I walked into his chambers—he was that quick to summon me,” Caracalla said, plopping down in the chair across from you with an exaggerated huff. You sighed, placing your cutlery down, knowing fair well that any peace you had maintained over the course of the morning was over. His new golden incisor caught the light as he spoke. You had stepped out onto the balcony for just a moment when the physician had come to fix the cracked tooth the night before, a souvenir from Septimius’s fist meeting Caracalla’s lip.

“Just because you think we share a common enemy does not mean we are allies,” you shot back. Making it clear that your act of cleaning him up and reaching an agreement the previous night did not give him the right to intrude on your peaceful breakfast.

“He never even made it to Baiae,” he retorted, glancing at you dismissively. “He only got as far as Ostia. This was just a test to see how well I could manage on my own.”

His face was swollen, bruises bloomed in deep shades of purple and green around his nose and mouth, the latter catching dramatically on the light as he spoke.

“A test you failed spectacularly,” you replied, arching an eyebrow as you bit into a particularly sour grape.

“Did you let him turn you into a quivering mass of need?” he asked, a mocking giggle escaping his lips, “Did he entertain you with tales of his wild sons and his deceased wife?”

“No,” you admitted, shaking your head, “He did not reduce me to anything but confusion.” You let out an exasperated sigh. “I find that I am still confused.”

“If he truly cared for Rome,” he said, his tone dripping with jealousy and hurt as he turned to meet your gaze, “If he truly cared for me as his son, he would step down and stop fostering Geta’s hope that one day this empire may be ours together.”

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, bitterness lacing his voice.

“Surely you see that I am just your wife—no consul, no philosopher, just a woman.” you replied, feigning innocence as you took a sip of your wine, challenging him with your gaze.

“Ah, that’s a rare admission from you, wife.” he said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Do you think it was him?”

You flicked your gaze toward Senator Blandus, a quick movement that Caracalla caught. Senator Blandus stood with a slight stoop, his height diminished, yet his presence was still imposing. His once broad shoulders sagged under the weight of years spent navigating the treacherous waters of Roman politics. The edges of his toga were slightly tattered, its white wool dulled with age, carelessly draped over his shoulder. The deep purple stripe that signified his senatorial rank had faded, hinting at a man who had seen better days. His gaunt face and sunken cheeks accentuated his unkempt style, with thin, wispy hair and a matching gray beard that was scraggly and untrimmed. His murky brown eyes held a suspicious gleam as they scanned the surrounding people, narrowing even more when they landed on you and Caracalla.

He set his wine cup down with a sigh, glancing around the room before looking back at you.

“I have already had him investigated. He spent the night at his mistress’s villa.”

“That leaves us with only a few suspects.” you countered, leaning in closer, rolling a plump grape between your fingers.

“Indeed,” he replied, shifting in his seat, “But my wager is on Macrinus.”

You leaned back, crossing your arms, challenging his assertion. “Do you honestly think he’s that ambitious? Surely it is some sort of breach of conduct to obtain my correspondence and report to your father regarding your every whim.”

“He has been whispering in Geta’s ear since the unfortunate passing of Plautianus.” He snickered, finishing off his wine and fixed his gaze on you, “Ambition spreads like a plague within these walls.”

He set down his wine cup again, looking around as courtiers, senators, and servants bustled about the lavish dining hall surrounding you both.

“Is this what you have been doing all morning?” he asked, a hint of accusation in his voice, “Leading your own investigation?”

“I do not know what you are talking about,” you replied sarcastically, “I am merely enjoying breakfast, unlike some people.”

“Like I said,” he said, standing and looking down at you with a challenging glare, “there is always a motive here.”

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Anxiety snaked tightly around you as you made your way to your quarters in search of solace. The night spent in Caracalla’s chambers had offered no restful sleep; instead, you found yourself waking unceremoniously on the chaise by his balcony, time and again, while he lay sprawled across his bed, a thin sheet barely covering his bare ass, snoring and mumbling like a drunken soldier. It had felt strange to seek refuge in his quarters, united by the turmoil brought about by his father’s hand.

It was easy to crawl in your bed and get lost amongst the silky sheets. Having not slept properly the night before, you allowed yourself to be pulled under, letting sleep claim you without a fight.

You woke suddenly, a weight pressing you down, your breath caught in surprise as your body refused to move. Above you, a pair of pale eyes—hazy and unrelenting, like the sky before a storm—fixed themselves on you. Their intensity felt heavier than the body that held them. It took a moment for your senses to settle, for your vision to clear, and when it did, you realized Caracalla’s body was tangled with yours—his legs draped over your left thigh, his hands planted on either side of your head as though framing you.

There was no telling how long he had been there, silently watching, and it was clear he had no intention of stopping then, even though you had caught him. You let your eyes roam over his face, taking in the rough texture of his pale skin, like polished, blighted marble under the soft glow of a torch. His pupils shifted, dark and wide, as they moved over you, drinking in every detail, the quiet between you charged with something unspoken.

“Will you have me?” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you gazed up at him. You knew all too well how Caracalla’s moods shifted like the tides—unpredictable and dangerous. The effort to stay steady, not to be swept away by his waves, weighed heavily on you.

He nodded, silent but certain, and tugged his tunic over his head, baring his silken chest to the flickering lamplight. You remained still, letting him take the lead, scared that even the slightest misstep might stir his infamous temper or send him retreating into the shadows. His hands moved with surprising care as he slipped your toga down your slender form, letting it fall away to the ground to reveal your body beneath.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You simply stared, locked in a gaze that spoke more than any words could, as the last barrier between your bodies was cast aside. The air between you was heavy, charged, and waiting.

You felt the heaviness of his cock against the soft skin of your thigh as he worked himself rhythmically, his closeness stirring a deep ache within you, a tension that spread like fire beneath your skin. The intimacy of the moment caught you unguarded, raw, and unspoken. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently to yours, his breath mingling with your own. Unable to resist, you caught his lower lip between your teeth, biting softly before his mouth overtook yours. He sighed into you, his resolve melting as he met your kiss. Your tongues tangled, slow at first, then urgent, as though the space between you had collapsed entirely.

You opened your legs for him, this time by your own will. Yet, as he moved to settle himself between them, his breath, warm and uneven against your neck, suddenly stilled. His movements ceased, and a heavy sigh escaped him, brushing against your skin.

“It is not—” he began, his voice taut with frustration, “I cannot—”

He propped himself up, looking down at you with a furrowed brow, his expression a storm of shame and anger. Unsure of what to say or do, you felt the heat of embarrassment creep up your cheeks as your gaze drifted downward to his softened cock.

“Is it me?” you asked quietly, half-ashamed.

He let out another sigh, his eyes closing as though in pain. “It is not for lack of desire, I swear it.”

“Is there something I can do?” you asked, sitting up, clutching the sheet to your chest, suddenly feeling the weight of self-consciousness.

“No.” His reply was short, and he rose abruptly, pulling his tunic over his head forcefully. He avoided your gaze as he reached for the wine on the bedside table, pouring himself a cup with trembling hands.

The crash startled you. He had flung the cup against the wall, the red wine streaking down like blood spilled from a gaping wound, pooling darkly on the marble floor.

“Get out,” he growled, his voice low but heavy with restrained fury.

“These are my chambers,” you reminded him, pulling the sheet tighter around you, trying to steady your voice.

“Get out, Prima.” His tone was colder now, his warning unmistakable.

Swallowing your pride, you hurriedly adjusted your toga, your hands fumbling to secure it in place. You retrieved your veil, crumpled between the pillows, and made your exit with hastened steps.

Outside, as you slipped your sandals back on, the crash of objects breaking echoed through the wooden door, followed by a muffled scream that sent a shiver down your spine. You clenched your fists, your breath steadying. Though you had lost this battle, somewhere deep within, hope remained—for the war was not yet over.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

As you stepped inside the temple of Juno, you were immediately enveloped by a sense of tranquility. There had always been something about Juno that stirred you, but now, with your own marriage in turmoil, you felt a deeper connection to her. Her struggles with Jupiter mirrored your own in ways you had not fully grasped before. As the patron goddess of the empire, it felt right to ask for help as Augusta yourself. A child granted by Juno’s favor would surely be blessed, a gift of divine intervention. Marital help could wait, you told yourself. For now, you had one prayer, and it was for a child.

The air was cool and inviting, a welcome contrast to the warm sunlight outside. Delicate frescoes depicted scenes from Juno's mythology—her fierce protectiveness over women, her role in the great tales of heroism, and the beauty of marriage. Each brushstroke told a story, and you would have allowed yourself to be swept up by every tale if you had not been on a mission.

The temple was supported by regal, marble columns, their surfaces gleaming, reflecting the light from the stained glass windows onto their polished surfaces. The soaring ceiling was painted in rich hues of blue and gold, much like the sky at dawn, and you found yourself looking towards the heavens at its beauty.

As you moved deeper into the temple, you came upon the central altar, an imposing structure made of polished stone, carved with symbols of Juno—a peacock, representing beauty and pride, and a scepter, symbolizing power. The altar was adorned with offerings left by devoted worshippers: fresh flowers in vibrant colors, fruits from the harvest, and fragrant incense that filled the air with a sweet, calming aroma.

Juno’s statue stood front and center on the altar, surrounded by statues of different sizes, each capturing her essence in their own way. Some portrayed her as a regal figure in flowing robes, while others depicted her in a more maternal light, holding a child or surrounded by symbols of family.

“Your Excellency,” a priest approached, bowing his head in reverence, “it is an honor to stand in your divine presence.”

Upon his head sat a laurel crown, its fresh green leaves glistened with dew, a symbol of both honor and divine favor of the goddess herself. You remembered him from your wedding day- specifically how the laurel matched his deepset, green eyes.

Cassia presented to you a basket brimming with fragrant lilies, glistening white candles, a flask of the finest vintage wine, and a jar of the sweetest honey ever tasted. With a wave of your hand, you dismissed her to take her place outside the temple, accompanied by your assigned praetorians. You felt assured, having sent word ahead to the temple of your arrival, requesting both discretion and a sacred space in which to invoke the goddess.

“I trust that my offering has been prepared,” you remarked.

He nodded in acknowledgment. “Follow me.”

You trailed behind him to the rear of the temple, descending a flight of marble stairs into an atrium of sorts. The soft glow of white candles illuminated the room, their flickering flames dancing upon the golden statues that adorned the shelves embedded in the walls. At the center of the chamber lay a medium-sized tiled bathing pool, set into the floor.

As you approached, the distant bleating of a lamb reached your ears.

"We shall begin when you are prepared," the priest stated with a respectful nod. With a sense of dignity, you removed your robes, standing tall before the gaze of the goddess.

At that moment, another priest entered the chamber, leading a lamb, adorned in a flowing white robe accented with a rich purple trim at the hem, wearing the same radiant laurel crown you had seen earlier.

Both priests raised the lamb above your head, their voices intertwining as they recited ancient prayers to the goddess, carefully steadying the creature before making the first cut. You closed your eyes, centering your thoughts on the heavens. As the warm blood began to cascade over your face and down your neck and shoulders, you raised your voice proudly to the goddess, proclaiming your devotion and intent:

“We adore thee Goddess, we invoke you, Juno, for it is written that you will bless those who call upon you and sacrifice to you. I pray to you, Goddess Juno, and offer these gifts so that you may favor my house and household.”

As you stood there, your thoughts continued to drift back to Caracalla—the way he had faltered just hours before, leaving you feeling a mix of frustration and concern. It was hard not to dwell on the sacrifices you had made and would continue to make, all in the hopes of giving him an heir.

The weight of your marriage pressed down upon you, and you only felt relief when you stepped into the bathing pool, submerging yourself as the thick blood mingled with the warm water.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

As you knelt before the grand statue in the main hall, redressed and feeling lighter, you pressed a gentle kiss to the goddess’s feet. The lilies were arranged just right, symbols of your devotion, a reflection of what you desired and prayed the goddess could help you with.

You dipped the candle ends into the honey, feeling the sticky sweetness as you prepared to light them. The oil lamp glowed warmly as you ignited the first candle. One by one, the other candles caught fire, illuminating the space around you as you set them in the designated holder.

You poured the wine, its rich color glistening in the candlelight, and set the bottle down with care. As you whispered the prayer again, you felt a sense of calm wash over you. Closing your eyes, you let the words sink deep, hoping that the goddess would hear your heart.

Suddenly, your moment of peace in the temple was broken by another presence. Before you could even open your eyes to see who it was, he spoke, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

“I cannot believe there is still a lamb left to sacrifice after your wedding. They must have sacrificed so many that the whole flock is nearly extinct.” Geta knelt beside you, a smirk on his face.

You quipped with a serious face, “Shall I offer you as the next sacrifice? Surely, one of your esteemed stature would grant me favor with the goddess.”

Geta laughed, the sound sharp and out of place in the quiet of the room. “Ironic, is it not? Not even a full cycle of Luna has passed, and you are already making offerings to save your fragile union.”

He seized your hand, running the edge of his nail beneath your own with deliberate care. A thin line of blood appeared, evidence of the sacrifice, vivid against your skin. He drew it to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours as he tasted it, a sly smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

“Do you think your husband knows how devout his wife truly is? So unwavering in her dedication?” Geta’s tone dripped with mockery, each word drawn out as though savoring the chance to provoke.

“Why are you here, Geta?” you asked, weariness lacing your words. His constant mockery was like salting an open wound, relentless and cruel.

He tilted his head, his eyes sweeping over your face with the precision of a blade. “Tell me,” he said, his voice like silky steel, “do you know what your husband does while you linger here in the temple, like a devout little dove?”

You sighed, your gaze fixed on the statue before you. “What, pray tell, is he doing now?”

You rose to your feet, giving him a silent nod to lead the way. The journey back to Palatine Hill drew curious glances as Geta’s guards merged with your own, their strides echoing in the narrow streets. You walked side by side, close enough to appear united yet distant enough that the silence between the two of you felt natural, you would offer him no word or glance to break the tension.

Rome pulsed with life around you. The aroma of fresh-baked bread mingled with the earthy scent of clay and smoke, a reminder of the city's crowded living spaces, where families lived stacked upon one another. Cassia, ever dutiful at your side, stole glances when she thought you would not notice. Her unease was palpable, and you made a mental note to instruct her in masking her emotions—though you could hardly claim to be a master yourself. Your jaw clenched tighter with every step, the pressure so fierce your teeth threatened to shatter.

As you approached the grand imperial palace, the atmosphere remained unchanged. You waved dismissively to Cassia while Geta signaled his soldiers to depart. Your own guard bowed in respect, and you returned the gesture with a simple wave of your hand.

Leaving the atrium, you trailed a few steps behind Geta as he strode down a lengthy corridor, ascending a flight of gilded steps that led to the private chambers of the palace. Upon reaching the threshold of his quarters, he paused and beckoned you inside with a wave from the doorway.

“This is a bad idea, and you are well aware of it,” you replied, shaking your head in disapproval, “You know Caracalla has requested that I do not converse with you under any circumstances.”

“You can either come with me or stand there like a fool,” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Your choice.”

With a reluctant sigh, you stepped into his quarters, moving just enough for him to close the door behind you.

“What happens next?” you asked, trying to mask the unease in your voice.

He led you across the room to another door, swinging it open to reveal his impressive study—similar in grandeur to Caracalla’s. Just as you suspected, he slid aside a panel next to a bookcase, revealing a hidden passageway, the same one he had guided you through on your wedding night when Caracalla had been passed out. You navigated the narrow corridor, following Geta, a knot of anxiety tightening in your throat.

“I have had enough of these secret passages, of hidden motives and lies,” you admitted with a heavy sigh. “And I am emotionally drained from dealing with the fragile egos of you and your brother. I am sick from whiplash due to both of your ever changing moods. Have we not moved on from those childish days in Sicilia?”

Geta paused for a moment, the flickering torch light illuminating his features. “You speak as though we have tormented you day in and day out for years. I assure you, it was and will never be personal.”

“What is life if it is not personal, Geta?” you inquired sincerely.

“It is merely a game, Prima. We play the cards we are dealt.” He turned, his gaze thoughtfully assessing your expression. “Do not feign ignorance. You are indeed playing your hand, I have observed it myself.”

“Make sure you cover yourself up properly,” he said, glancing at the veil you wore, adjusting it to better hide your profile. “And take off that necklace.”

Feeling confused, you did as he asked, surprised when he took the necklace from you and placed it gently over the bridge of your nose, fastening it at the back of your head.

“To hide your face,” he explained.

“Hide my face from what?” you asked, but before he could reply, he slid the door open.

He stepped into the chamber, his silhouette suddenly illuminated by the flickering candlelight, a hazy cloud of incense swirling around him like a mist. With a graceful gesture, he extended his hand toward you, and before you could second-guess your instincts, you accepted it, allowing him to guide you from the dim corridor.

Before you, a scene of unabashed hedonism played out, where pleasure took precedence. Bodies entwined on every available surface; no lectus was spared from the terror of lovers lost in ecstasy. The air was thick with a chorus of moans and sighs, punctuated by the occasional sharp sound of flesh meeting flesh.

The chamber itself seemed to have once served as a sleeping quarters, now transformed into a sanctuary of indulgence. An elevated bed rested against the wall, draped in sheer curtains that obscured its occupants, their movements a hazy blur. In the area where you and Geta had entered, a grand table stood opposite, filled with exotic fruits and succulent roasted meats, inviting guests to partake in the feast while they watched the show. They swayed gently to the sultry melodies played by skilled musicians on lyres and flutes, the atmosphere alive and electric.

Geta guided you further into the chamber, his presence momentarily undetected as he settled into a high-backed chair that afforded him a prime view of the bed’s occupants. You lingered before him, your senses overwhelmed by the sights and sounds, when he suddenly drew you down to sit on his lap.

“Geta—” you protested, a hint of disapproval in your voice, “this is highly inappropriate.”

“Amidst all around us, you single this out as inappropriate?” he quipped, a playful smirk on his lips. “Sit still and enjoy the moment.”

His words hung in the air, a blend of mischief and allure, as the curtains on the bed began to sway, promising a view of its occupants lost in their own worlds.

There, amidst a tangle of hands and mouths, Caracalla lay sprawled in the center of the bed. His eyes were tightly shut, back arched away from the mattress as a woman stroked his cock with a dizzying rhythm—first lazily from root to tip, then with a fervor that blurred her hand around his delicate member. His toes curled, and his eyes rolled back as his seed spilled onto the woman’s fist, lost in the throes of ecstasy.

You tensed in Geta’s lap, torn between horror and fascination as the scene unfolded before you. Caracalla’s cock, spent yet firm against his thigh, filled you with a wave of shame as you recalled how flaccid he had been hovering over your own bare form earlier in the day.

Surrounded by three women, you watched as they descended upon him like vultures. The petite one mounted him, her cunt swallowing his spent cock in a single fluid motion. She rode him without pause, her gaze fixed on the other two girls who writhed at the head of the bed, their moans rising and falling in a symphony of pleasure as Caracalla’s fingers danced in and around their cunts, his ministrations causing them to lose all sense of reason as evident by their sounds.

You squeezed your thighs together, trying to block out the pulsing sensation. Sensing your turmoil, Geta placed his hands on your hips, guiding you to press down and grind your damp cunt into the firm flesh of his thigh.

“No,” you breathed, inhaling shakily as you pushed his hands away.

A stunning woman approached the two of you, and you stood, excusing yourself from the scene. You watched as she led Geta away, his head turning back towards you, a fleeting look of longing crossing his features as you slipped away toward the panel, revealing the hidden corridor. It was only once you reached the solitude of your quarters that you finally allowed your mask to fall, the weight of the day finally sinking in.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

It took exactly a week to ready Cassia, building her confidence for the task ahead. Though you had been anxious at first, desperation had a way of gnawing straight to the bone. Once you accepted the reality of your situation, you knew it was time to act—to wound Caracalla as deeply as he had wounded you.

It was common knowledge that Septimius had generously gifted you part of his late wife’s collection: a set of ruby rings, the golden diadem he had placed upon your head on your wedding day, and a striking emerald necklace. Of all these treasures, the rubies had become your favorite, their deep crimson a perfect match for your heirloom wrist cuffs, which you chose for your daily attire.

Cassia took pride in her role, carefully preparing each piece as you dressed daily, her timing impeccable as she laid them out. She beamed whenever she knew she had chosen well, her satisfaction a quiet victory. Though she was still reserved, Cassia had begun to open up, sharing bits of her life before becoming a servant of the palace. She spoke of her family, her village, and, to your surprise, revealed that the two of you shared a name day.

“Perhaps this is the gods’ way of blessing our budding friendship,” you said with a smile, resting your hand gently on her forearm.

“Perhaps, your excellency,” she replied, her cheeks flushing with color.

“I must admit, I detest such formality,” you said, tilting your head with a playful grin. “You may call me Prima.”

“I could never,” she murmured, her gaze dropping to the floor. “It would be dishonorable.”

“I believe it falls to me to decide what is and is not a dishonor,” you reassured her, your tone soft but firm.

Over the next few days, you spoke candidly with Cassia, sharing glimpses of your life before becoming Augusta. You told stories of fleeting childhood encounters with the Imperator and his sons with personal anecdotes, revealing just enough to make her feel at ease.

As the seeds of friendship began to take root, you started to stitch together the threads of your larger scheme.

“Cassia,” you asked one morning as she fastened the clasps on your tunic, “have you ever been to the villa that houses the concubines?”

“I… have not,” she admitted, her hands pausing briefly before returning to their task. “Though I am close with one of the regular servants stationed there.”

You nodded, your expression neutral as you combed your hair before the looking glass, watching her reflection as she carefully selected a veil to complement your attire.

Two days later, as you strolled through the rose garden, Cassia presented a petite blonde girl to you.

“Your excellency, may I introduce Metella,” she said, her tone light yet tinged with nerves.

The girl, no older than Cassia, bowed low. You tilted your head, studying her with quiet curiosity.

“She works at the villa, your excellency,” Cassia added, offering context, doing your bidding without you having to ask her to.

“Yes, of course,” you replied with a measured nod. “A pleasure to meet you, Metella.”

“The pleasure is mine, your excellency,” Metella said softly, her faint smile barely reaching her eyes.

You spent a good portion of the afternoon in their company, walking the garden paths. Cassia and Metella trailed close behind, pausing whenever you stopped to smell a set of roses. At your direction, they clipped the blossoms you favored. As they worked, Metella spoke in hushed tones about the villa.

“Behind the palace,” she began, her voice just above a whisper as she clipped another rose, “up the gravel road that leads away from the stables, there is a villa. Three ladies live there now.”

You nodded, already certain of whom she spoke, but said nothing as the pieces of your plan continued to fall into place.

You stopped abruptly, spinning on your heel to face them. The speed of your movement caught Cassia and Metella off guard, and they nearly stumbled into you.

“If I asked a favor of you both, would you consider it?” you asked, your tone calm but carrying a weight that left no room for dismissal.

The girls exchanged a glance, an unspoken conversation passing between them. Cassia was the first to respond, her face lighting up with a genuine smile.

“Anything for you, your excellency,” she said, bowing low. You couldn’t help but smile softly at her devotion. Metella quickly followed suit, her bow a little less confident. It was in that moment you knew—the plan would succeed.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

It took two days to carefully craft every detail. You scrutinized the scheme in your mind, playing out every scenario until you felt confident enough for the plan to officially be carried out.

Late one night, under the cover of darkness, you met Cassia and Metella in the stables. The air was thick with tension as the girls paced nervously, their movements quick and uncertain. You had already arranged for the stable hands to be elsewhere, ensuring complete privacy.

“There will be panic,” you began, your voice low and deliberate, “and the servants’ quarters will be turned upside down in the search for these jewels. But if you listen carefully and follow my instructions exactly, no blame will fall on either of you.”

Both girls nodded, their wide eyes fixed on you as you reached beneath your cloak and produced a small satin bag.

“In the morning, Metella, place a piece of jewelry into each of their jewelry boxes after you have dressed them and they have left the villa,” you instructed. “Metella, once it is done, come straight to my quarters.”

Metella nodded, her trembling hands reaching for the bag. She tucked it into her satchel, her knuckles pale from holding the satchel so tightly.

“If, at any point, you feel frightened or unable to carry out the task, return the jewels to me immediately,” you said, your tone softening slightly. But then your expression hardened, and the faint moonlight caught the sharp edge of your gaze.

“And know this—if either of you breathes a word of this plan to another soul, I will see you crucified. Your entrails will hang from the city walls, and your families will be exiled to the furthest, most desolate rock beneath the sun.”

The chilling threat lingered in the air. Cassia and Metella glanced at each other nervously.

They turned back to you and nodded, their expressions solemn.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

The morning of, you could not stop pacing your chambers, every detail of the plan playing on a loop in your mind. You woke early, bathing slowly, letting the warm water and scented oils calm your nerves. By the time you dressed and added the finishing touches, you felt more prepared—or at least looked the part.

Cassia appeared in your doorway, her hair slightly out of place and worry etched on her face.

“Your excellency, am I late?” she asked, her voice small.

“I am merely early,” you said, smoothing the folds of your tunic as you checked yourself in the looking glass. You barely had a moment to exhale before the door slammed open, and Metella rushed in.

“It is done,” she said, breathless and quiet.

You nodded, keeping your expression neutral even as your pulse quickened. “Good. Now, listen carefully. I need both of you to prepare an offering to Juno in my name. Once you have gathered what is needed, go to her temple and spend the day praying—ask her to grant me an heir. Do not return to the palace until dusk.”

They exchanged a glance but nodded quickly, bowing their heads.

“I will give you enough time to get ready before I speak with the Imperator,” you said firmly. “You are dismissed.”

The door shut behind them, and the silence that followed was deafening. You leaned against your dressing table, gripping its edge to steady yourself. For a moment, you let the mask drop, your fear bubbling to the surface. Taking a shaky breath, you whispered a prayer—not just to Juno, but for the strength to face what was coming. You could only hope the Imperator would not see right through you.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Prima, what a delightful surprise,” Septimius exclaimed as you approached the table on his sunlit terrace. He nodded, dismissing the praetorian who had guided you inside, returning him to his post.

“I hope I am not intruding,” you said, glancing down at the imperator’s feet, which rested in a basin filled with amber liquid.

“Ah, the trials of age, nothing more,” he reassured you, gesturing for you to take a seat across from him. He poured a cup of rich wine and offered it to you. You nodded in gratitude as his gaze searched your face.

“What troubles you?” he inquired, tilting his head slightly.

“What do you mean?” you replied, taking a sip from your cup, feigning innocence.

“There is a shadow of worry behind those lovely eyes,” he noted, crossing his hands on the table.

You sighed and set your cup down. “I am embarrassed, Imperator,” you began, watching as his brows knitted together, “something has occurred.”

“What has happened, Prima?” he asked, leaning in closer, his concern evident.

“The rubies you gifted me, the ones that belonged to your late wife—I fear they have gone missing.” You covered your face in shame as he reached out to grasp your wrist gently.

“When did this happen?” he pressed, his delicate grip urging you to speak.

“I noticed this morning,” you murmured, “I sent my two servants to the temple of Juno at dawn, instructing them to make offerings in my honor and not to return until dusk.” You paused, gathering your thoughts. “I dressed myself to meet with my father, to catch up on family matters, but when I went to retrieve the rubies from their resting place, they were gone.”

Septimius sighed, leaning back in his chair, stroking the gray stubble on his chin. “Have you confided in Caracalla?” he asked, and you shook your head.

“He is not pleased that I wear his mother’s jewelry,” you admitted. “He has threatened to take them from me and give them to his courtesans if I continue to wear them. He thinks me unworthy.”

Septimius’s eyes narrowed. “He still indulges with his courtesans?”

“Please, your excellency, do not say it was I who revealed this,” you implored, reaching for his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, asking for his discretion.

“I have heard whispers that the three he favors have taken residence in the villa behind the stables.” You spoke softly, shame flooding your cheeks.

Septimius straightened, his jaw tightening as he regarded you. “Spend the day with your father, and allow me to address this matter,” he instructed, and you nodded solemnly. “Exercise the utmost discretion and speak of this to no one else.”

“Of course.” You rose, but he caught your hand before you could express your gratitude and leave his quarters.

“Everything shall be well in due time,” he promised, kissing your knuckles as he met your gaze.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Word spread like wildfire through the bustling halls of the palace, as the praetorians stormed the servants’ quarters, tearing through each room, leaving a trail of chaos in their wake. It wasn’t long before you learned the news: the jewelry had been found in the possession of Antonia, Tullia, and Marcella, the ladies residing in the villa behind the stables.

As soon as the jewelry was found tucked away in each lady’s respective jewelry box, the villa was locked down tight, with guards stationed to ensure no one could slip in or out, all by the direct order of the Imperator. The three women were swiftly banished from the palace and exiled to the farthest reaches of the empire, their families shamed by their actions, forced to join them in their sentencing. It was truly a stroke of luck that they still had their heads on their shoulders, for the Imperator could have dealt them a harsher fate.

Your plan had worked like a charm, unfolding just as you had hoped. The pieces fell into place perfectly, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at how it all turned out.

As night descended and you faced the weight of your choices, you let your emotions wrap around you like a heavy blanket—neither ashamed nor particularly proud, but feeling as though you had sunk lower than expected. Shaking off such thoughts, you turned to the polished bronze mirror on your dressing table, brushing aside the strands of hair that clung to your neck and wiping away the remnants of kohl from your eyes.

It was then that the echoes of an angry voice grew louder, approaching your quarters. You sprang to your feet, frozen in place, the sheer fabric of your gown pooling around your feet as your gaze fixed on the door.

When Caracalla burst in, you remained still.

“You!” he spat through clenched teeth, flinging a handful of precious ruby rings in your direction. “You deceitful, rancid wench!” He advanced, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

“You have made a fool of me!” He seized your shoulders, shaking you with fury.

“You’ve done that to yourself!” You pulled away, but he was quick to grasp you again, forcing you backward until your back hit the wall beside the door.

“I was merely reclaiming what is rightfully mine,” you declared, holding your head high, “what was taken from me.”

“What was taken from you,” he sneered, his arms pinning you in place as his hands braced against the wall on either side of your head. “Nothing here belongs to you.”

You struggled against his grip, but he pressed you closer to the wall with his own body.

“If we are to claim our rights, then I shall take what is mine.”

With a sudden motion, he hoisted you by the back of your thighs, slamming your back against the wall once more. You protested, pushing against his shoulders and striking at his solid flesh, but he merely laughed, relishing the moment as he held you against the wall, lifting your gown to expose your bare form.

“Deceitful wench,” he hissed through gritted teeth, yanking down the collar of your gown to reveal your neck and collarbones. You cried out as a sharp sting pierced the skin between your neck and shoulder, his incisors biting into your flesh. He pressed harder, a trickle of blood staining the sheer fabric of your gown.

You felt paralyzed, your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth as he pulled back, wrestling with his toga, his hands trembling with rage.

He held you so tightly that it started to hurt, burying himself deep inside you, lifting you off the wall with every thrust. He devoured the tender flesh of your neck and chest, biting, kissing, and sucking, his teeth grazing your soft skin.

All you could do was hang on to him, clinging to him so fiercely that it was hard to tell where he ended and you began.

With a loud grunt, he spilled himself within you, letting his head drop between your shoulder and neck as he gasped for breath. When he pulled back to look at you, he searched your face just as you searched his. Both of you were left wondering what had just happened and why it stirred feelings in you that you had never felt before.

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

Tag list:

@alwaysahiccupandastrid

@justnobodynothingmore

@miamariposita

@niungguang

dividers: @ghoulbloggerrr

[lovestruckpdf]

no no i do bc who else has to wait DAYS for the childe & kaeya x reader tag to refresh, whilst also being as teeny as a fresh outta the womb baby 😒

I thought kazu was like 2'4" like the rest of you guys

[virromanus]

Let's Talk About Food: 20 Latin Words and Their Italian Equivalents For Food

The influence of language on Italian gastronomy is profound and multifaceted, reflecting Italy's rich culinary history and its linguistic roots in Latin. The evolution of food-related language in Italy can be traced back to its Latin origins, showcasing how language and cuisine are deeply intertwined.

Latin Influence on Italian Culinary Terms:

Many Italian culinary terms derive directly from Latin, reflecting the historical and cultural continuity from the Roman era to modern Italy. These terms often carry more than just a linguistic legacy; they embody the culinary traditions and practices that have been passed down through generations.

Evolution of Food-Related Language:

The evolution of food-related language in Italy also mirrors the country's historical interactions, including trade and conquests, which introduced new ingredients and cooking techniques. These interactions often led to the adoption and adaptation of new words into the Italian culinary lexicon.

Let's explore some notable Latin words and their Italian equivalents related to food:

Latin: "Panis" (bread) Italian: "Pane"

Latin: "Vīnum" (wine) Italian: "Vino"

Latin: "Olea" (olive) Italian: "Oliva"

Latin: "Caseus" (cheese) Italian: "Formaggio"

Latin: "Caro, Carnis" (meat) Italian: "Carne"

Latin: "Piscis" (fish) Italian: "Pesce"

Latin: "Frūctus" (fruit) Italian: "Frutto"

Latin: "Lactuca" (lettuce) Italian: "Lattuga"

Latin: "Mēl" (honey) Italian: "Miele"

Latin: "Ovum" (egg) Italian: "Uovo"

Latin: "Piper" (pepper) Italian: "Pepe"

Latin: "Sāl" (salt) Italian: "Sale"

Latin: "Allium" (garlic) Italian: "Aglio"

Latin: "Pīra" (pear) Italian: "Pera"

Latin: "Māla" (apple) Italian: "Mela"

Latin: "Cucumis" (cucumber) Italian: "Cetriolo"

Latin: "Pulmentum" (porridge, food) Italian: "Polenta"

Latin: "Acetum" (vinegar) Italian: "Aceto"

Latin: "Fābā" (bean) Italian: "Fava"

Latin: "Hordeum" (barley) Italian: "Orzo"

These examples illustrate the direct lineage of Italian culinary terminology from Latin, showcasing how the language has not only influenced but also preserved historical eating habits and food traditions. This linguistic heritage is a testament to the enduring impact of Roman culture on Italian cuisine and reflects the broader cultural and historical narratives of Italy.

[spottys-rathole]

Jour 9 (A) - Dévorer

C'est pour mieux te manger, mon enfant

---------- N'aie pas le seum, fais-moi la bise Il s’appelle par Panis pour rien Ah les gens qui portent un manteau vert olive par dessus un t-shirt blanc et pantalon noir avec occasionnellement un béret, j'vous jure 🙄

[luisamiller]

Miacetto

Christmas cake from the city of Cattolica made with wholegrain flour, almonds, walnuts, pine nuts, raisins, honey, orange zest, lemon zest, extra-virgin olive oil and sugar.

Torta cybea di Massa

Cake from the city of Massa made with chestnuts, chestnut flour, honey, raisins, orange zest and sugar.

Torta di fregoloti

Cake from the Trentino region made with toasted almonds, grappa (Italian pomace brandy), lemon zest, eggs, butter and sugar.

Antico dolce della cattedrale

Novarese cake made with apricots, plums, Nebbiolo grappa, lemon zest, milk, butter and sugar.

Cariton

Piedmontese cake made with fox grapes, milk, eggs, butter and sugar.

Anello di Monaco

Mantuan ring-shaped cake made with almonds, hazelnuts, Maraschino (Italian sour cherry liqueur), vanilla, eggs, milk, butter and sugar.

Brustengolo

Umbrian cake made with apples, pine nuts, walnuts, Mistrà (Italian anise-flavoured liqueur), lemon zest, raisins, aniseed, extra-virgin olive oil, breadcrumbs, yellow flour and sugar.

Focaccia di Susa

Sweet focaccia from the city of Susa made with eggs, butter and sugar.

Torta di marroni di Marradi

Cake from the city of Marradi made with chestnuts, Alchermes (Italian liqueur made with rose water, vanilla, cinnamon, cloves and coriander), rhum, vanilla, milk, eggs and sugar.

Pani ‘e saba

Sardinian cake made with Sapa (Italian most-based syrup), almonds, pine nuts, walnuts, raisins, cinnamon, orange blossom water, star anise, vanilla, orange zest, milk, eggs and sugar.

[fact-nova]

Exploring Street Food from Around the World

Street food is a vibrant showcase of a culture's history, flavor, and creativity, offering an authentic taste of local life. Each region serves up unique culinary treasures that reflect its traditions and spirit. Let's take a journey across continents to savor the world's best street food, with rich descriptions and tips on where to try them. Asia: A Symphony of Flavors Asia is often considered the heart of street food, with bustling markets and aromatic dishes that excite the senses.

- Thailand: Pad Thai & Mango Sticky Rice Pad Thai is a harmony of sweet tamarind, tangy lime, and crunchy peanuts stir-fried with rice noodles, shrimp, or tofu. For dessert, indulge in mango sticky rice, where juicy mango meets creamy coconut-infused sticky rice. - Where to Try: Bangkok’s Chatuchak Market and Yaowarat (Chinatown). - India: Pani Puri & Chaat Pani Puri consists of crispy shells filled with spicy tamarind water and mashed potatoes, exploding with flavor in every bite. Chaat, a medley of chutneys, spices, and crunchy savories, is street food at its finest. - Where to Try: Mumbai’s Juhu Beach or Delhi’s Chandni Chowk. - Japan: Takoyaki & Okonomiyaki Takoyaki, crispy octopus-filled balls, are topped with bonito flakes and a drizzle of sweet-savory sauce. Okonomiyaki, a savory pancake made with cabbage and seafood, is cooked fresh and personalized to your taste. - Where to Try: Osaka’s Dotonbori district. Europe: Old-World Charm Meets Modern Delight

European street food blends centuries-old recipes with contemporary twists. - Germany: Currywurst Juicy sausage slices slathered with tangy curry-spiced ketchup and served with crispy fries—a comforting delight for all seasons. - Where to Try: Berlin’s Curry 36 or Konnopke’s Imbiss. - Italy: Arancini & Gelato Arancini are golden-fried rice balls stuffed with cheese or ragu. Follow this savory treat with gelato, a creamy Italian ice cream available in countless flavors. - Where to Try: Sicily for authentic arancini; Florence or Rome for artisanal gelato. - Turkey: Simit & Kumpir Simit, a sesame-coated bread ring, pairs beautifully with tea. Kumpir, a loaded baked potato, is filled with cheese, corn, olives, and more. - Where to Try: Istanbul’s Bosphorus ferries or Ortaköy Square. The Americas: Bold and Diverse Flavors The Americas serve up bold, diverse, and indulgent street food options.

- Mexico: Tacos al Pastor Spit-roasted pork marinated with spices, topped with pineapple, onion, and cilantro, served in warm corn tortillas—pure magic. - Where to Try: Mexico City’s El Huequito or Tacos Los Güeros. - USA: Hot Dogs & Food Trucks New York hot dogs come with endless toppings, while food trucks offer global flavors like Korean BBQ and gourmet tacos. - Where to Try: New York’s Central Park or Los Angeles' Abbot Kinney Food Trucks. - Peru: Anticuchos Marinated meat skewers grilled to perfection, often accompanied by potatoes, are a flavorful staple of Peruvian street food. - Where to Try: Lima’s Mercado Central or Cusco’s street stalls. Africa: Spice and Soul African street food tells the story of its rich culinary heritage with bold, earthy flavors. - South Africa: Bunny Chow This dish features hollowed-out bread filled with spicy curry, a Durban specialty combining Indian and African influences. - Where to Try: Durban’s Victoria Street Market. - Nigeria: Suya Smoky, spicy skewers of grilled meat seasoned with a peanut-spice rub, served with onions and tomatoes, are an irresistible delight. - Where to Try: Abuja’s Garki Night Market or Lagos’s Lekki Market. - Morocco: Sfenj & Harira Sfenj, fluffy Moroccan donuts, pair perfectly with mint tea. Harira, a hearty lentil and tomato soup, is a staple during Ramadan. - Where to Try: Marrakech’s Jemaa el-Fnaa Square.

Oceania: Fresh and Inventive Oceania's street food reflects its multicultural influences and emphasis on fresh, quality ingredients. - Australia: Meat Pies & Food Trucks Australian meat pies with flaky crusts and savory fillings are a street food icon. Urban food trucks also serve gourmet burgers and bao buns. - Where to Try: Sydney’s Harry’s Café de Wheels or Melbourne’s food truck parks. - New Zealand: Hangi A traditional Maori dish cooked underground with hot stones, Hangi offers tender meats and smoky root vegetables. - Where to Try: Rotorua’s Te Puia or Maori cultural villages.

Street Food Etiquette and Tips - Follow the Crowd: Busy stalls often mean fresh, safe food. - Ask Locals: Locals know the best-hidden gems. - Go Early: Beat the rush to enjoy freshly prepared dishes. - Stay Hydrated: Especially in hot markets, keep water handy. Why Street Food Matters Street food connects travelers with the culture, history, and spirit of a destination. It fosters a sense of community and helps preserve traditional recipes while supporting local economies. Conclusion: Savor the World One Bite at a Time From the spicy skewers of Nigeria to the creamy gelatos of Italy, street food offers a culinary passport to the world. So, the next time you travel, skip the fancy restaurants and head straight to the streets—it’s where the real magic happens. Bon appétit and happy exploring! 🌍🍢🌮 Read the full article

[telomeke]

Image description of first post–

A photograph of a round loaf of Pompeiian bread, surrounded by various food items. The top of the bread is marked with eight radially-depressed lines that divide the loaf into eight wedges. The text accompanying the image reads:

Based on carbonized food remains at Pompeii and our knowledge of the Roman diet, we came up with a last meal in Pompeii just before the catastrophic eruption of Mt. Vesuvius in 79 AD. Clockwise, from top: cheese, figs, apples, olive oil, honey, hard-boiled eggs, olives. Typical Pompeii bread in center. (We are Old World archaeologists…)

The first hyperlink to the website Breadtopia has the headline "Panis Quadratus: Ancient Bread of Pompeii".

The second hyperlink to the website Popular Science has the headline "Eat like an ancient Roman by recreating bread from Pompeii".

The third hyperlink to the website The Food Dictator has the headline "2,000 Year Old Bread Recipe From Pompeii".

this slaps honestly

[ishika206]

A Culinary Adventure: Discovering the Best Restaurants in Delhi

Delhi, the vibrant capital of India, is not only known for its rich history and diverse culture but also for its bustling culinary scene. From street food stalls offering mouth-watering chaats to upscale dining experiences in luxury hotels, Delhi’s restaurants cater to every palate and preference. Whether you are a local or a traveler exploring the city, the myriad of dining options can be both exciting and overwhelming. For a comprehensive guide to dining in this dynamic city, you can start by exploring these fantastic restaurants in Delhi and if you are also interested in other cities, check out restaurants in Mumbai for more culinary adventures.

The Charm of Delhi’s Street Food

Delhi’s street food is legendary and serves as an introduction to the city’s culinary diversity. The bustling streets of Chandni Chowk, for instance, offer a tantalizing array of flavors. Here, you can savor iconic dishes like pani puri, chole bhature, and paranthas. Places like Karim's and Haldiram’s are stalwarts in this genre, providing authentic tastes that have been cherished for generations.

Karim’s in Old Delhi is particularly famous for its Mughlai cuisine, which includes dishes like mutton korma and biryani that have been perfected over decades. On the other hand, Haldiram’s offers a more contemporary take with its range of vegetarian options and sweets that have a widespread appeal.

Upscale Dining: Experience Luxury and Innovation

For those seeking a more refined dining experience, Delhi boasts a range of upscale restaurants that offer both luxury and innovative cuisine. One such place is Indian Accent, located in the heart of the city. Known for its creative Indian dishes, the restaurant has gained international acclaim for its ability to blend traditional flavors with modern techniques. Signature dishes like meetha achaar pork and soy keema are a testament to the restaurant’s unique approach.

Another notable mention is Bukhara at the ITC Maurya. This restaurant is renowned for its rustic ambiance and legendary dal Bukhara, a dish that is slow-cooked for over 24 hours to achieve its rich flavor. The restaurant’s tandoori offerings are also exceptional, making it a favorite for those who appreciate a good grilled feast.

Exploring Global Flavors: International Cuisine in Delhi

Delhi’s culinary landscape is not just confined to Indian food. The city is home to numerous restaurants that offer a taste of global cuisines. Olive Bar & Kitchen is a prime example, providing a Mediterranean dining experience with dishes such as wood-fired pizzas and grilled seafood. The ambiance here is elegant, making it a perfect spot for a sophisticated night out.

For those with a taste for Japanese cuisine, Sakura at the Metropolitan Hotel is an excellent choice. The restaurant offers a range of sushi, sashimi, and tempura, prepared with authentic ingredients and techniques. The serene environment enhances the dining experience, making it a go-to destination for Japanese food enthusiasts.

Vegetarian and Vegan Delights

Delhi’s vegetarian and vegan dining options are both abundant and varied. Sattvik in the heart of the city is a prominent vegetarian restaurant known for its elaborate thali and buffet spreads that highlight the diversity of Indian vegetarian cuisine. The dishes here are prepared with a focus on health and taste, using fresh ingredients and traditional cooking methods.

For a vegan-friendly menu, Veg Gulati offers an array of plant-based dishes that cater to different dietary preferences. The restaurant’s innovative menu includes options like vegan butter chicken and tofu tikka, making it a popular choice among those seeking delicious vegan alternatives.

Hidden Gems: Lesser-Known Restaurants with Great Food

While well-known restaurants provide exceptional dining experiences, Delhi also has numerous hidden gems worth discovering. The Big Chill Café, for example, is a favorite among locals for its retro ambiance and comfort food. The menu features a delightful range of dishes, including pastas, burgers, and decadent cheesecakes.

Another lesser-known but highly recommended spot is Moolchand Paratha, a modest eatery renowned for its delectable parathas stuffed with various fillings. Despite its unassuming exterior, the food here is beloved by many and offers a true taste of Delhi’s street food culture.

[morethansalad]

Pani Pol / Sri Lankan Coconut Pancakes (Vegan, Gluten-Free, and Refined Sugar-Free)

[kingjamesroystonpub]

Best Indian Food in Royston - King James Pub

One of Spain's most famous dishes, tapas, has gained popularity all around the globe. Guests are treated to a delectable array of bite-sized morsels, each one packing a punch and providing a memorable dining experience. These foods are more than just a way to eat; they're also a way to show off your culture. They encourage people to talk to each other and create a casual, group dining experience. Let’s explore the history of tapas, how it was incorporated into Indian cuisine, and why King James Royston Pub is the Best Indian Food in Royston to eat tapas.

The Origin of Tapas Food -

The Origins:

What we now call "tapas" has its roots in the Spanish word "tapar," meaning "to cover." The practice of covering one's drink with a slice of bread or cured gammon to keep flies at bay has its roots in a culinary custom that goes back several centuries in Spain. From its humble beginnings, the art of tapas has grown into a complex repertory of appetisers and snacks, with each region of Spain contributing its own special flavour. 

Importance in Culture:

In Spain, tapas is more than simply a meal; it's a way of life. As part of the "ir de tapas" (going out for tapas) tradition, people would visit different bars and have a drink and a small dish at each stop. This transforms tapas from a mere meal into a way of life that promotes social contact, conversation, and companionship.

Diversity and New Ideas:

Tapas are little appetisers served with cheese and olives in Spain. More complex tapas include dishes like 'patatas bravas' (hot potatoes) and 'gambas al ajillo' (garlic shrimp). Tapas are delicious because they are versatile; they can satisfy any taste. As a result of chefs' openness to trying new things, the tapas tradition is always developing.

Fusion of Flavours in Indian Tapas —

Transforming Tapas into Indian Food

Indian food has mastered the art of tapas with its myriad ingredients and robust flavours. The intriguing marriage of Indian cooking techniques and spices with the small-plate style of Spanish tapas is known as Indian tapas. King James Pub is coming up with some if the best Indian Tapas Food in Royston soon. It’s time that you get to taste some of the best Traditional Tapas food in Royston along with Happy Hour.

Famous Indian Tapas:

Mini Samosas: Ideal for a tapas-style meal, these little pastries include spicy potatoes or meat.

Paneer Tikka: Paneer cheese bits grilled and seasoned with yoghurt and spices make for a tasty vegetarian alternative.

Chicken Tikka: Tangy and flavorful tandoori-cooked chicken breasts marinated in spices.

Chaat: Pani Puri and Bhel Puri are just two examples of the many street snacks that provide a riot of taste and texture.

Fish Amritsari: Flavorful fish fried in a batter with a variety of Indian spices; perfect for sharing as tapas.

Indian Tapas Food in Royston: A Delicious Delight —

The lively flavours and concept of communal dining that Indian Tapas Food in Royston offers have contributed to its meteoric rise in popularity. Just like the classic Spanish tapas, this dish is best enjoyed by sharing a number of smaller plates so that each guest can savour a different combination of flavours and textures.

Best Tapas Food in Royston - King James Pub

Nachos Bhale:

Indulge in a medley of flavours with this hybrid of classic nachos and Indian-style chaat.

Masala Fries:

Fries are made with a blend of Indian spices, giving a spicy spin to a traditional dish.

Prawns Koliwada:

Garnished with a spicy dipping sauce, these batter-fried prawns are seasoned in Indian spices.

Dahi Puri:

A tangy-sweet combination of yoghurt, tamarind chutney, and spices encases crisp puris.

Onion Pakodi:

Onion fritters that are deep-fried and have a crunchy outside and a spicy, delicious within.

Hot and Spicy Chicken Wings:

For the spicy food lovers among us, here are some juicy wings tossed in a fiery marinade.

Lamb Sheek Kebab:

Juicy lamb kebabs cooked to a golden brown and seasoned with fragrant spices.

Crispy Kale Chat:

Snack on some crunchy, spiced kale leaves for a nutritious and tasty treat.

Haryali Chicken Tikka:

Glazed with a blend of green herbs and yoghurt, the chicken is grilled till juicy.

An Unforgettable Meal -

Having dinner at King James Royston Pub  is an occasion in and of itself. Ideal for get-togethers with loved ones, tapas dining promotes conversation and sharing because of its communal character. Your experience at the pub will be one to remember because of their dedication to excellence and patron happiness.

Events and Specials-

In order to elevate the dining experience, King James Royston Pub frequently organises events and offers. Every night of the week, the pub hosts a different interesting event, whether it's a Karaoke night and Quiz Night, live music, Open Mic Night, or a themed evening for a special occasion.

Conclusion-

The adaptable and entertaining tapas style of dining has won over palates all around the globe. Tapas, which has its roots in Spain but has also included elements of Indian food, provides a lively and participatory feast. At Royston's King James Royston Pub, you'll find the best tapas around. The menu features creative takes on classic dishes like Nachos Bhale and Masala Fries as well as more modern favourites like Onion Pakodi, Hot and Spicy Chicken Wings, Lamb Sheel Kebab, Crispy Kale Chat, and Haryali Chicken Tikka. An unforgettable meal that honours the finest of both cuisines is served at King James Royston Pub. Which is dedicated to quality, authenticity, and patron happiness. Traditional Indian Food in Royston at King James Royston Pub is an excellent spot to try tapas with best cocktails and drink. Whether you're a seasoned pro or just getting your feet wet in the world of tapas.

[queenofcandynsoda]

Festival of Midsummer/Mars Sol Day/Day of Red Peonies

The Festival of Midsummer, also known as Mars Sol Day or Day of Red Peonies, is the celebration of the Summer Solstice in Sol Fertilis. It is celebrated with a variety of outdoor activities and festivities. Citizens flock to parks and amusement parks, enjoying picnics, games, and parties throughout the day. The night sky is illuminated with vibrant fireworks displays. 

Neo-Pagan families would start their day with a small breakfast and prayer in their home shrines. In Catholic counties, the day begins with a special Midsummer Mass held at churches, which includes readings and hymns that emphasize themes of light, growth, and renewal, celebrating both the natural world and spiritual blessings. In the evening, a special prayer service is held at the church, where families light candles to symbolize the light of Christ and the spiritual illumination of their lives. This service includes singing hymns, reciting prayers, and offering thanks for the season's blessings.

There would be a festival in the counties’ parks from late morning to early evening. There would be many games, food stands, and concerts with songs that either consist of pro-Sol Fertilian messages or about Mars Sol’s life, battles, fertility, and legends. Some people would attend amusement parks, often those outside major counties such as Olympia, Arcadia, Murata, etc. 

As the sun begins to set, both Catholic and Neo-Pagan counties in Sol Fertilis transition into festive evening gatherings with special meals and community activities. 

In the Neo-Roman Pagan counties, a special ceremony occurs in the local temple. The event begins with a Gamma Plus Lar performing a traditional dance on the ground, symbolizing fertility and abundance. Following this, an Alpha priest invites their Omega spouse to join them in a dance, embodying the powerful and passionate relationship between Mars Sol and his wife, Venus Bellona. This ritual emphasizes the themes of love, energy, and vitality that characterize the summer season.

In some counties, the holiday continues further into the night. Lower-rank citizens and some tourists gather in communal spaces, such as Noctiscaenas, Cervobarnums, and Viriditabernas, to socialize, play games, and enjoy each other's company. Live bands or DJs play music, and impromptu dance parties often break out.

Games

Chariot Races: Alpha children race small, wheeled chariots or carts, often pulled by other children, usually Deltas, mimicking the famous races of ancient Rome.

Javelin Throw: Using safe, lightweight spears, children compete to see who can throw their javelin the farthest.

Foot Races: Inspired by the ancient Olympic games, children run in sprint and long-distance races.

Discus Throw: Children throw discs, resembling the ancient discus, aiming for distance and accuracy.

Hoop Rolling (Trochus): Children roll large hoops with sticks, a popular ancient Greek game.

Kottabos: A tossing game where children try to throw small discs or stones into a target container, reminiscent of an ancient Greek drinking game adapted for kids.

Tug of War: Known as "Helkystinda" in ancient Greece, teams of children pull on opposite ends of a rope in a test of strength.

Capture the Flag: Teams try to capture each other’s flags while defending their own, echoing ancient strategies and teamwork.

Roman Ball Games (Harpastum): A team game where children try to keep a small ball away from the opposing team, similar to rugby or soccer.

Greek and Roman Mythology Role Play: Children dress up as mythological figures and act out famous myths, encouraging creativity and historical learning.

Foods

Breakfast:

Panis Quadratus: A type of Roman bread often served with honey, cheese, or olives.

Porridge/Puls: A hearty, grain-based porridge with dried fruits and nuts. This is primarily eaten by the lower ranks.

Fresh Fruits: Seasonal fruits like figs, grapes, and berries.

Yogurt with Honey: Greek-style yogurt drizzled with honey and topped with nuts.

Lunch:

Lentil Soup/Pottage: A thick, nutritious soup made with lentils, vegetables, and herbs.

Cold Cuts: Slices of roasted meats like chicken, lamb, or pork, served cold.

Salad/Moretum: A mix of greens, herbs, cheese, and garlic, dressed with olive oil and vinegar. 

Flatbreads: Served with a variety of dips like hummus, tzatziki, and olive tapenade.

Festival Snacks:

Roasted Chickpeas: Lightly spiced and roasted for a crunchy snack.

Stuffed Dates: Dates filled with nuts, cheese, or honey.

Cheese and Olive Platters: Assorted cheeses and olives served with bread.

Baklava Bites: Small pieces of baklava, a sweet pastry made with layers of filo dough, honey, and nuts.

Spiced Nuts: A mix of almonds, walnuts, and pistachios, seasoned with cinnamon and cloves.

Fruit Skewers: Fresh fruit pieces like melon, grapes, and berries on skewers.

Dinner:

Roast Lamb: Lamb seasoned with garlic, rosemary, and lemon, slow-roasted until tender.

Grilled Fish: Whole fish seasoned with herbs and lemon, grilled to perfection.

Vegetable Stew: A hearty mix of vegetables like eggplant, zucchini, tomatoes, and peppers, cooked in a savory broth.

Orzo Salad: Orzo pasta with fresh vegetables, feta cheese, olives, and a light vinaigrette.

Garlic Bread: Freshly baked bread brushed with garlic and olive oil.

Dessert:

Honey Cakes/Melopita: A Greek honey cake made with ricotta or myzithra cheese.

Pistachio Pastries: Pastries filled with pistachio paste and drizzled with honey.

Fruit Tarts: Small tarts filled with custard and topped with fresh berries and figs.

Almond Cookies/Amigthalota: Soft almond cookies flavored with honey and orange blossom water.

[dato-georgia-caucasus]

In French cuisine, fougasse (Occitan: fogaça) is a type of bread typically associated with Provence but found (with variations) in other regions. Some versions are sculpted or slashed into a pattern resembling a head of wheat.

In ancient Rome, panis focacius was a flatbread baked in the ashes of the hearth (focus in Latin). This eventually became a diverse variety of breads that include focaccia in Italian cuisine, hogaza in Spain, fogassa in Catalonia, fugàssa in Ligurian, pogača in the Balkans, pogácsa in Hungary, fougasse in Provence (originally spelled fogatza), and fouace or fouée in other regions of France and on the Channel Islands. The Provence version is more likely to have additions like olives, cheese, garlic or anchovies.

Fougasse may be used to make the French version of a calzone, commonly filled with cheese and small strips of bacon inside the pocket made by folding the bread over. Other variations include dried fruit, Roquefort and nuts, or olives and goat cheese.

[adrianomaini]

Raccontava di qualche sosta lungo il tragitto da Varapodio a Ventimiglia

Raccontava di qualche sosta lungo il tragitto da Varapodio a Ventimiglia https://ift.tt/GWpxzsl Ventimiglia (IM): il tratto iniziale di strada delle Ville Ho rivisto Rocco da lontano dopo cinquant’anni passando davanti alla casa di sua figlia, affacciato al poggiolo del secondo piano, sopra alle Calandre. Mi sono chiesto cosa ci facesse lì, lui che abitava solitario sulla collina di Peidaigo, nascosto tra qualche pinastro ma con davanti il disegno mobile del mare. Ho sospettato avesse problemi di salute. Non mi ha riconosciuto credo e mi ha salutato come fa con tutti quelli che passando a piedi per la strada delle Ville e alzano gli occhi, augurandomi buona passeggiata con la stessa gentilezza con cui quando ero piccolo mi offriva le sue olive cunzate* alla calabrese che stava mangiando con una pagnotta: “volete favorire?”. Ho capito che era lui per deduzione. Quando lo conoscevo ero un bambino sui dieci anni, ma ero il figlio del padrone o almeno del datore temporaneo di lavoro quando c’era da cavare le patate e Rocco dava del voi per rispetto quasi a tutti. Nell’ora meridiana del pasto e del riposo si sedeva sotto al grande albero di pissalùte* nella fascia in fondo alla campagna che raccoglievamo per fare seccare sul terrazzo e confezionare a pani avvolti nelle foglie di alloro. Oltre alle olive schiacciate alla calabrese mangiava qualche fetta di mortadella impacchettata in un foglio di carta oleata e in un altro foglio di carta grezza bianca per alimenti come facevano i salumieri. Quel foglio bianco lo utilizzava nel frattempo per scrivere la brutta copia della lettera per la sua donna che abitava e lavorava a Romano Lombardo dove erano note fabbriche di caramelle, tra cui l’azienda dolciaria Enrico Pagliarini. Le caramelle erano vendute in una scatola di lamiera che veniva spesso utilizzata come portagioie o portadocumenti da nascondere nell’armadio. A casa nostra era la cassaforte tenuta sul comò, c’erano dentro un po’ di soldi di scorta per un paio di mesi, in attesa di andare a vendere al mercato e c’erano anche dei buoni postali nominativi da diecimila lire che mia nonna ogni tanto mi regalava. Ma questa è la storia di casa mia. Rocco era arrivato col padre e la famiglia da un paese calabrese da cui era derivato il loro cognome. Raccontava di qualche sosta lungo il tragitto da Varapodio a Ventimiglia e il periodo vissuto a Genova in via Borgo Incrociati, vicino alla stazione di Brignole. Poi a Ventimiglia Vecchia li avevano accolti molto meglio e nelle campagne faceva anche delle giornate dal Lillo per insertare*. C’è chi se ne ricorda ancora. Rocco aveva messo su anche un piccolo banco di calze sul mercato del venerdì, e un giorno alla settimana non poteva assolutamente venire in campagna. La filanca, finita la guerra, attirava i clienti francesi che approfittavano del cambio favorevole del franco. Ogni tanto tirava un urlo e i clienti accorrevano al suo banco. Il fratello Salvatore lo incontro più spesso e mi parla nel nostro dialetto con un accento di un paese che non esiste nella realtà. Oggi dopo più di sei mesi sono salito a Ventimiglia Vecchia e c’era il manifesto di una settimana fa che annunciava che Rocco è mancato all’età di 91 anni e che a causa del virus non hanno fatto la funzione religiosa. Avrei voluto parlargli, ricordare qualcosa insieme. Ho perso un’altra occasione. * Cunzate: olive schiacciate e condite, insaporite alla calabrese - Pissalùte: pissalutti, varietà di fichi con picciuolo allungato - Insertare: innestare. Arturo Viale, Punti Cardinali. Da capo Mortola a capo Sant'Ampelio, Edizioni Zem, 2022 Altre pubblicazioni di Arturo Viale: La Merica...non c'era ancora, Edizioni Zem, 2020; Oltrepassare. Storie di passaggi tra Ponente Ligure e Provenza, Edizioni Zem, 2019; L'ombra di mio padre, 2017; ViteParallele, 2009; Quaranta e mezzo; Viaggi; Storie&fandonie; Ho radici e ali; Mezz'agosto, 1994. Adriano Maini via Aspetti rivieraschi https://ift.tt/dX1PGTH January 18, 2024 at 03:55PM