#not sicily coming in with the steel chair

[spilledmilkfkdies]

Nobody has proposed yet that Duman is Sicilian...

[lionofchaeronea]

A Hymn to Hephaestus

I sing of the seething chasms under Etna In Sicily, called Trinacria of old, Where he toils – mighty-armed Hephaestus – Attended by the Cyclopean trio, Brontes, Arges, and shaggy Steropes. Clang! Their hammers strike against the anvil. Clang! The red-hot iron bends and folds. The watching Muses’ eyes are stung with sweat; The rising clamor overwhelms their song. Out of the smoke and steam a gleam appears: The thunderbolt that lordly Zeus will hurl From Olympus’ seat to ruin Typhaon And cast his ashes deep beneath the earth. This is the work of Hephaestus: fire and steel, Gold and silver, tin and gleaming bronze. Such things belong to him ever since the day He returned in glory from the ocean deeps Where Hera cast him – goddess cruel in heart! – Enraged to see his withered, twisted shanks. He did not perish, though he fell for days. Thetis and her sisters, shining daughters of Nereus, Found him lying prostrate on the sea-bed And took him in, fed him nectar and ambrosia; His arms waxed great, his biceps and his sinews Were filled with strength. His mind knew dreadful cunning, And so he devised a trap for white-armed Hera, A chair that bound her fast in slender chains That no one, god or goddess, could undo Until the lord of Nysa who loves the vine Led Hephaestus back to Mount Olympus. Mother and son were reconciled; Zeus Nodded his head (and all Olympus thundered) To signal his assent to great Hephaestus Joining the ranks of gods. Now he works wonders: Tripods and cauldrons that roll of their own accord To the sacrificial altar; men and women Of silver and gold who wait at Zeus’s table; And Talos, giant warrior of bronze, Who threatened to submerge the black ship Argo Until crafty Medea removed the nail That fixed his heel – his ichor all ran out. Hail, Hephaestus! Hail, spirit of fire, You who give men the gift of metal-working So that they need not cower in their caves And live in fear, like thoughtless wild beasts. Come with gracious spirit every time A fire is lit, to cook or to work iron; And in return I shall bestow upon you This song of mine, and other songs as well.

Hephaestus and the Cyclopes forging the Shield of Achilles. Roman marble relief, maker and date unknown. Now in the Capitoline Museums, Rome.

[thehollowsoldat]

More WW2 US Military Jewish Things

Formatting is shot to hell because mobile. >_>

"I remember Yom Kippur in Catania, Sicily, and we took over the movie theater, and we filled it up with soldiers, wall-to-wall soldiers, and instead of yarmulkes, they had steel helmets, and I'd never had a service like that, such an intense, beautiful service.

That's really praying.

It was wonderful, and they were praying with my tallit, my prayer shawl on, and so I said, 'Jack, what are you doing? You're supposed to be flying.'

So I put the tallit on the chair.

I rushed out, and my crew is going to the plane on this mission, and it was a rough mission.

I remember weeping coming back, and twice in my life I cried, that time and when my mother died.

It was a terrible thing to be flying on Yom Kippur and bombing.

Can you imagine?"

https://www.pbs.org/wnet/gi-jews/video/gi-jews-jewish-americans-world-war-ii/

http://www.americainwwii.com/articles/christmas-under-the-gun/

"In 1943, Chaplain Edward Sandrow, a young man then and later the president of the Synagogue Council of America, was stationed in Alaska. The first night of Hanukkah was to be observed in an arctic night. Arriving well-clothed for the service were “men in parkas, mukluks, fur hats – manborne fortresses against snow and sleet. They crowded the warm, lighted mess hall whose windows were blacked out by the heat from within and the frost from without.”

Sandrow described that evening in his chaplain’s report to the Jewish Welfare Board coordinator in New York, Chaplain Aryeh Lev.

“Every activity is halted as the Hanukkah lights are lit. A mood of seriousness, of historical reflection pervades the atmosphere,” Sandrow emphasized. “For a moment we forgot our war. We are transplanted in time and space to Judea. We praise God for a military and spiritual victory that in its time brought surcease to Jewish pain.”

Together they sang “Maoz Tzur.” Hope was felt in the air, but it was almost two more years before victory over the Nazis and Japanese would end the terrible conflagration and the murder of six million innocent Jews would be known.

“Then a babel of sounds bursts forth, shrieks, laughter,” the chaplain focuses on the flavor of the latkes fried by a Jewish mess sergeant and the gefilte fish dropped by air for an additional Hanukkah treat. “The Hanukkah lights danced; dreidels made from carefully carved wood surplus were spun; music provided by a captain and a corporal inspired more singing.”

[yikeswtfmate]

Eat, Pray, Kill

Summary: Y/N has been missing, but when she comes back, Bucky might be the one to kill her. 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: swearing; references of violence; references of murder

A/N: uhhhhhh listen..........i was working on those wips i told you about but this just happened in half an hour, ok? no responsibility should be my motto

Prompts: No. 5 from here! and this one from here!

masterlist

Y/N can’t breathe. Her body is currently trapped in what feels like a steel capsule, seemingly intent on crushing every single bone in her torso. There’s a small cough that escapes her lips, although she can’t be sure anyone can hear her considering her face is completely distorted, nose smashed into an unnatural angle, and what the fuck is that smell? Is that cologne?

“Listen, I enjoy this hug and all, but can you stop?” Her voice comes out more than muffled, but suddenly she’s free from Bucky’s arms, her vision full of his chest, which is still too close to trust he’d not trap her again.

“Fuck, I forgot how strong you actually are.” Which is stupid, because he’s literally pumped with super soldier serum, but she sometimes chooses to forget that tiny detail whenever she feels like fighting him.

“Where have you been?” Bucky demands, and there it is. That flash of hurt in his eyes, that made her stay away for so long. If it weren’t for the fact that she had to literally crawl into the Avengers Tower, bleeding to death all over Stark’s precious lobby, she wouldn’t have had to face that disappointment just yet.

“Yeah, I just thought I’d take the day off. You know, that whole mental health thing or whatever.” The IV tube nearly slips out when she slams back into the pillows, but she ignores it, together with Bucky’s pointed look of warning.

“You’ve been missing for two months.”

“Yeah, well, Buck, sometimes a lady goes through that special week of the month and then it just spirals into a whole thing where there are a shit ton of knives and guns involved, you know? I just needed to recharge and reconnect with my own soul.”

“By going on a killing spree around the globe?” Bucky crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow, and Y/N has to admit that he’d actually look intimidating if it weren’t for the fact that that chair is so small, he looks like fucking Gulliver in it. “I’ve seen the news.”

“I’ve been detoxing?” She tries again, with a shrug of her shoulder.

“Y/N, I’m serious. What the fuck got into you? They’re calling you a vigilante now.”

“Fine, look, Bucky. I’ll tell you the truth, ok?” Bucky sighs, but eventually leans forward in his seat, a fucking bear in a hamster’s chair. “I was watching Eat, Pray, Love one night and I wanted to see what that shit’s all about.”

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N!” He stands up, toppling the chair upside down which now look like a doll’s throne? Why the fuck do I care about that chair so much, she wonders. Bucky paces in front of the bed, strands falling out of his stupid bun, and Y/N wants to comment he should dye it white and become a Witcher, but then she remembers the fossil still thinks Netflix is a brand of chips.

“Do you know how worried I was?” Here we go, she thinks, letting her head fall back with a roll of her eyes. “I’ve been going sick wondering what happened to you. I thought you were kidnapped when I got to your apartment the first night, until I noticed you actually packed a bag and then hey, look, Buck, your girlfriend just abandoned you without a word because she’s so sick of you already! Had the luck of realising you’re a fucking idiot and were up to some shit, before beating myself up, wondering if it’s my fault and let you come to your senses by yourself. But then guess what! Oh shit, man, look, she’s on the news killing some Mafia guy in fucking Sicily. Then a week later Steve comes up to me and tells me you’ve killed a whole entire village in China and then Sam says ‘wasn’t she in Brazil yesterday up in those gangsters’ business?’ So imagine my shock when Nat lets me know you’re up in Med Bay being stitched up because you almost had your right side obliterated!”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, together we would’ve made an entire functional person if it were obliterated.”

Bucky just looks at her incredulously. He sometimes wants to drill some sense into her, but for all the years he’s known her, he’s aware that there’s nothing he could do to change her. It’s like being in a relationship with Steve, if Steve were even more obnoxious and stubborn. Like a mule…or a drunk monkey. Or a baby that refuses to go to sleep.

With a sigh, he lays down on the bed next to her, after she reluctantly scoots over. His head on her arm, she kisses his forehead, but he doesn’t miss the middle finger raised in defiance, just for good measure, as she’d probably claim.

“Thanks for letting me deal with my shit on my own.” She whispers a few moments later.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t easy to keep my distance, especially when you’re that bad at covering your tracks.”

“You’re just good at tracking me, babe.”

“No, Y/N.” Bucky raises his head, a concerned look on his face. “Seriously, you’re shit at it. I knew what you were doing at every single moment in time.”

“Oh yeah, pick on the sick person now. Low move, considering you put a tracking device in my necklace that morning, you fuck.”

“You knew about that?” Bucky nearly stammers, but the yawn she lets out should be indication enough that she doesn’t really care.

“Buck, babe, do you seriously believe I would’ve left you without a word if I didn’t know you could find me at any moment?” She pokes his cheek with her finger, but Bucky grabs her hand and kisses her palm, closing his eyes at the feeling of having her next to him again.

“In my defence, you were going on a mission with Clint and you’re both idiots. I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t get lost in the Alps.”

“Sure, babe. You better take it out before I get out of here or I’ll cut your good arm.” He nods in assent and cuddles back into her side. Her fingers brush through his now loose hair, and he swears that nothing ever felt as good as that does now.

“I’m glad you’re back. I missed you.” He murmurs.

“Missed you too. Now let me sleep.”

***

Taglist:

@miss-nerd95​ | @myboyfriendgiriboy  | @littleblackdressxx | @minbeatriz16 | @lunarmalfoy 

[silvertonguedslavicwitch]

Πειρασμός | Peirasmós

Chapter 4 : Series of Betrayal

After so many months of residing in Kattegat, serving as nothing more than a thrall to the princes of the household, this was finally the first time she had the treatment she once received before. The other thralls were careful not to braid her hair too tight as she wasn't a viking like them. She was a foreigner, a princess who just so happened to hold a high price and value to some. They had a mild practice of braids back in her homeland, but none like them. However, she grew to be enthralled by their braids, seeing the numerous variety they were able to weave through.

After washing herself up, she leaned against the chair that was placed before a mirror that she found sorted somewhere in between the chest that she received earlier. She noticed, the people of Kattegat did not possess such trinket. They used the water for reflection purposes instead. Which was quite dangerous, if she had a say in it. Throughout her time there, she was always surrounded by dirt and had to clean herself twice more than she was used to. Now, she was returning to her former flair. She decided to wear the proud green coloured dress that symbolizes her defiance, somewhat. It wasn't that bright of a colour but nonetheless, brighter than anything she's seen they wore. The jewelries and crowns that laid before her was arranged neatly. Her hazel hues never left its gaze, as she watched the emerald stone gleam in the late evening. As soon as the crown rested comfortably on her head, was when she blinked after a while of being in a daze.

Donning herself decently with the previous preparation, she glanced at her reflection one last time before walking out. Erika looked like herself again. But she didn't feel it. Which came to her as an entirely vague feeling, because she saw the small void left behind. She felt empty. Walking out from her room, she almost bumped into Margrethe, who just came out of Hvitserk's room. She paid her no attention as she ignored her presence before gliding towards the main hall. The affairs between the two brothers and the blonde thrall wasn't unknown to anyone in Kattegat. They weren't exactly masters at being discreet. By the time she arrived, everyone was already there, with the exception of Hvitserk, who no doubt came sauntering a few minutes later with his disheveled state.

“You cleaned up well.” Sigurd noted, a genuine smile playing by his lips. Sigurd was sometimes rude to Ivar but it wasn't without a reason. He was neglected as a child whereas Ivar was dotted upon. It wasn't as if Ivar was the golden child there, so the raven haired princess understood his clear distaste towards his youngest brother. He was, perhaps, the only brother who bothered to learn more about the art and culture of the world. He played music and was highly fascinated by her stories that she told regarding her homeland, and even Wessex.

As a child, she didn't stay in one place for long due to the frights of being assassinated by those who wished to overthrow their family's dynasty. Her parents left the world early, both killed by their trusted advisor, leaving a 6 year old Erika caring for her younger brother, Alek. They probably would have not survived the day if it wasn't due to a loyal minister who sneaked them out and reached out to their contacts. She was given to King Ecbert, the current King of Wessex and Mercia, who raised her up well with no expense spared. Her younger brother, who is now the current King, was given to their mother's sister in Sicily. However, he returned with large forces as a child, led by their minister to retook their home and has been ruling it ever since. Erika never had a desire to rule over their kingdom, not once. She doesn't see herself as a leader, nor a follower. She was a warrior, a fighter. Who will live her life accordingly to what she believes.

While waiting for her brother's arrival, she was pushed into her own memory lane. She remembered being spared by Ragnar when she was 10, because King Ecbert sent her to King Aelle in Northumbria to preside her growth while he was away. He had covered her with a blanket and came back as soon as the other vikings emptied the house. She asked for a name and he gave it to her. Ever since then, she saw herself as an individual who was given a second chance at life. Which was why she intends to make the most and best of it. It was until then, that her brother had graced the room with his presence. A smile adorning his handsome features as he embraced his sister. “Brother.” It has only been months but she has missed him dearly.

Before her departure to Algeciras from Wessex, when he visited her in England, was the first time she saw him in person after being separated for 20 years. They had to grow far from each other, for reasons she now understood. After their brief reunion, both Russians took their respective seats by the table. “I heard you wish for me to spare some of my soldiers at your expense. In return for my sister's safe return.” Despite being younger than her, the 21 year old prince was very mature and wise when needs to be. It was supposedly a given since he has governed over their kingdom since a young age.

The nod he received from Bjorn made him raise his eyebrows. “I have another proposal to adjourn, instead. A better outcome for you Northmen.” She wasn't sure what it was that he was planning but she trusts her brother to do the best possible thing. Which was a huge mistake on her side as what comes out from his mouth was not what she expected. “An alliance.” Bjorn lets out a strangled laugh, but Alek didn't seem to be laughing alongside his brothers. The fact that both siblings had the gift on speaking their language made it easier for both sides. Soon, the eldest Ragnarsson stopped his jest and beckoned for her brother to proceed. “Alliances can break any time. It has been broken even before the dawn of time. Why would this one be any different?” Erika just had to voice her opinion on this matter, because she just had to.

“It depends on both sides of the party, sister. If both could offer the same stance, it should withhold.” While she could not disagree with his words, she disapproved greatly. The difference between the alliance they had with the Saxons and the Northmen would prove to be very distinct. “I will give you aid in going after King Aelle of Northumbria, to avenge your father. However, this alliance should not die as soon as both of us has no need for each other no longer. And so, I will offer you the one I hold dear most, in return for none of you will go raiding our small lands in the East no more, and what comes next of it if you followed your father's dream on conquering other kingdoms.” She didn't know where this direction was going but stood silent despite her inner self threatening to bust itself there. The brothers seemed to be interested in this said proposal, especially Bjorn and Ubbe. “And what is it that you hold dear most, your Highness?” His answer caught her off guard.

“My sister.”

What?

“Before you ask why I would give her away so easily, I will tell you my reasons. My sister is the eldest child, despite being a daughter and not a son to both our parents, inherited the privileges given to first borns, in our custom and tradition. She relinquished her claim to the throne, in favor of me. As of now, she is only the Princess of Novgorod and Sicily, befitting her current status. She also holds command over our Rurik army as their commander. But, I do not wish to marry, thus making my sister my successor to the throne, after my departure. She will then hold control over everything that governs our rights. Her children will be the future successors after her. If you were to marry her, one of you would be prince to both kingdoms we have now. That is more than you could find yourself wanting. Even greater, when one of you will end up becoming King after my death when Erika becomes Queen. And your children will be heirs to more than what you could imagine having now. Isn't that much more valuable than one or two army?” She cannot believe what was coming out from her own beloved brother's mouth. Was he selling her out just like that with no regard of asking?

“Am I allowed a say in this?” It comes back to a conversation- or argument, where none but the two of them were able to understand. They were conversing in their native tongue. “Yes.” The fuming royal gripped the steel knife on her right hand, which would have been dangerous to anyone who walks over her temperament, at the moment. “You said you would never force me to do something I don’t wish to do. You said you would never force anything upon me.” Through her gritted teeth, her jaws clenched itself tightly as the scowl masked over her delicate features. “I did. But did you not swear to do anything in your power for our kingdom? Did you not swear you would lay your life for Novgorod?” Erika hated that her own flesh and blood brother was using her words against her. “I did. I would gladly die for Novgorod.”

“Then it should not bother you to marry.” Sighing in aggravation and frustration, she loosens her grip onto the knife. “But this is another thing, Alek.. Marriage is a sacred duty. A duty I would not mind taking up upon if needed, but to a Varangian? Is that even possible? Would our Lord not be angry with me? To spite such hatred for me?” She knew she could not fight her brother, if not as a sister, she would never be able to pull a weight down on his words as King. A King she swore her fealty to in all perpetuity. “Their uncle, Rollo, the Duke of Normandy married Princess Gisla of Frankia. They also had 3 children together.. Is that not a sign for their prosperous life?” The Russian had heard of them but it was different. She could not accept this will. “He renounced his Gods and became a Christian. That alone is different.” With no more argument to throw, she found herself slumped against her seat, a sour look present across her face.

“It is settled. Now which one of your brothers will marry my sister?” She could already calculate the chances. Bjorn was already married. Ubbe was going to marry Margrethe, if she heard correctly. And Ivar was not an option, not that she thought so, because her brother wanted confirmation on heir, or heirs, soon. Their viking tradition might be different from their own, but a married man can never marry a second legally, before an annulment. Which can only be reached by the spouse's death or unconsummated marriage. Both which she was sure not abided by the likes of them. “Why not her favourite person.” Ubbe suggested and she stopped herself playing with the knife in her hand. She knew exactly where this is going. Her most ‘favourite' person would have to be a war in between two people but one of them were already out of the equation, in impotency issues, so there could only be one left. “You can't be serious..”

The third prince did not look so thrilled on being tied down so early in his life, but knowing well what he'd get in return, he wasn't really complaining. “Your wedding will take place after your quest to Northumbria. Under one condition, my sister will lead the Rurik army.” Though they find it hard to believe that, especially Ivar, who was not liking the fact that his brother is marrying a Christian, and that a woman like her will lead a large army, Bjorn made sure they were voted on and it was settled.. Unanimously. It has only been a few hours since she thought she got a grasp of her freedom and now it was taken away. Not only is she forced to wage a possible war with her ward, King Ecbert who is King Aelle's ally; who no doubt will come to his aid. But she is also forced into a marriage she did not wish for, with an individual she was sure she scorned over. Who said being a princess is easy.

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