#and despite the fact that i did suffer real losses i was definitely shielded from what the average sokovian suffered

[doux-amer]

Zemo going from "average Sokovian man who lost his family, home, and everything he possibly had” to “surprise, I’m rich, bitch” is so amusing to me. Now he’s a horrible little rich boy who looks down his nose at the Americans and their poor taste but also will dress them up (and admonish them when they protest by saying Americans aren’t forward-thinking in fashion (he’s right)), drive them in nice cars, and fly them in a private jet while agreeing with his pilot/butler(?) that the Americans should choke on expired food they have on their plane for laughs. 

Zemo goes from a prison uniform to a slutty turtleneck at the first opportunity and then a dramatic full-length coat with a fur-lined collar and limited edition purple sock head and I mean...the range.

Anyway, I fully want to kick him where it hurts, but look at him. 

[loki-hargreeves]

Loki x Reader - Who Hurt You?

Warnings: ANGST, gore, character death (sort of? It’s hard to explain without spoiling it), mentions of blood, psychological torture, self-sabotage Word Count:3,3K Summary: [Prompt given: Who hurt you?] Thanos has come for the vengeance that they promised if Loki failed to deliver the tesseract. Unfortunately, Thanos finds Y/N before he finds Loki and it gives him a sick plan... Author’s Note: I wrote this while listening to ‘Mad World’ on repeat. It really set the mood for this fic. Please enjoy Xx

THIRD POV

“...You will have your war, Asgardian. If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he can't find you. You think you know pain? He will make you long for something as sweet as pain,” The Other threatened Loki’s illusion, the slippery words leaving his mouth and going right to Loki’s vulnerable mind. A moment later, the creature’s hand caressed Loki’s head, throwing him back to his physical form now fresh with the threat of his tormentor on his shoulders as a heavy weight.

Even years later, Loki would be reminded of these words in his frequent and tiring nightmares. Never did he think they would be fulfilled.

         He had been displaying himself as his ‘father’, Odin, for well over a year now. Everyone thought that Loki was dead, everyone but Y/N. He hadn’t had the heart to lie to her. After all, she had lost him once before when he had let himself fall off the bridge, right into the grasp of a monster greater than he could’ve ever imagined. When Loki ‘died’ of Svartalfheim, he went right to his beloved. To his luck, she was more than willing to keep it a secret. Just between the two of them.

For over a year now, it had worked. Their secret was safe, and they were happy. Together, when Asgard wasn’t looking, they could spend their time trying to figure out a plan to keep Asgard safe from the terribly future only they seemed to know of. Often, they would get distracted by each other. Despite it all, they were happy.

It was a day like any other. The sun was beginning to set, Loki had finished his duty as Odin, and he was ready to retreat to his quarters. No guards were allowed inside. He walked past the last guards and finally he could lift his magic, showing his own true grace. It felt much better to be himself. Tiredly, he walked inside his quarters, expecting to find Y/N asleep already.

What he saw was far from that.

He saw her body on the golden floor, in a puddle of crimson red. Loki’s heart jumped to his throat as he ran to her body, fear nearly paralyzing his body. “Y/N!” He called out her name as he threw himself on his knees, not caring about the pain. With his strong arms, he pulled her on his lap as he desperately tried to search for any signs that she was alive.

To his relief, her eyes opened. She looked at him silently and something about her made Loki feel ill. She didn’t look relieved to see him, nor did she look like she was in agonizing pain, despite the fact her gut was torn open and she was bleeding, surely to death unless she would get aid soon.

“W-What happened?” He spat out in shock, trying to figure out how she had ended up like that. Loki blamed her behavior on the blood loss. “Who hurt you?” He ought to know. still inquiring her. Tears were stinging his eyes as he felt her warm blood soak through his clothes. It disgusted him.

“You did,” Y/N replied, which utterly shocked Loki.

“What?” He breathed out in pain and confusion. Did he hear right? He definitely needed to bring her to the healing room. She was saying nonsense!

Before Loki got a chance to pick her up, her body vanished. It disintegrated into nothingness right in his grasp and left him alone. His entire body got tense as he stared at his now empty hands. It didn’t take long until Loki realized something was horribly wrong. Not knowing what was causing this torment on him made him anxious and sick. Was the real Y/N safe? He had to know!

Quickly, Loki got up on his feet and took in his surroundings. Suddenly, his very familiar quarters didn’t feel as safe as they did before. Loki could almost feel someone – or something – lurking in the shadows. “Show yourself!” He yelled. The ripping ache of fearing Y/N was injured made him reckless. It still had his heart racing in his chest. He didn’t understand how someone had managed to lure him. Loki was the Trickster god! No one should be able to pull off such a trick, unless…

Loki nearly felt his soul leave his body as he realized.

 Thanos.

 Only Thanos could trick him, but even that required the damn reality stone. Had that monstrous beast truly gotten his hands on it? Loki didn’t really want to think about it, for if it was true, the threat that had haunted him could come true.

Rage, grief, terror, all the feelings Loki felt when Thanos had tortured him now returned. It was like someone just poured salt into an open wound and smeared it around. Shivers ran down his spine and he had a moment of realization that nothing good would follow. Last time, Loki was vulnerable. Although what he had gone through then was haunting him to this day, it hadn’t been the worst. All the pain had been inflicted on him.

But if Y/N was in danger, Loki could never forgive himself.

His chest rose heavily as he stood there, tense, and ready to attack anyone who moved in his vision field. He didn’t see anyone, but he felt someone nearby. The longer he waited, the more impatient the prince grew. “If you seek revenge, you should at least face me!” Loki tried to make the wait end. He was terrified, but he was no fool. He knew better than most that waiting it out would only make it worse.

“You’ve been hiding long enough, Asgardian,” A familiar voice broke the silence, making Loki’s skin crawl in disgust. It came from behind him, so he turned on his feel to face the very man who had been in his head for so long.

Thanos was there. Somehow, only the gods in Valhalla know why, he had found Loki. And to make matters worse, Thanos was holding Y/N by her hair, keeping her jailed in his grasp. Her eyes were horror-stricken and there were tears rolling down her face. Loki noticed how clearly, she had been injured. Seeing the dark bruises and cuts on her delicate body made him sick to his stomach.

As he stood there, facing the love of his life, Loki suddenly felt his self-hatred return. She was in danger and it was all his fault. God, Loki wanted to rescue her, but he knew it wasn’t that easy.

The smirk on Thanos’ face made it obvious that he knew he had Loki trapped.

“Let her go,” Loki tried his luck, but he sounded utterly hopeless. He, if anyone, knew that Thanos wasn’t simply going to let her go. It would cost him something.

“What if I told you I wasn’t even holding her?” Thanos mocked Loki. A moment later, Thanos pushed Y/N out of his grasp, towards Loki. A scream left her mouth, and, on an instinct, Loki tried to grab her. She went right through him again.

Thanos disappeared too, leaving Loki alone in the turmoil of his shock. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be true that Thanos found him, that he found Y/N! It was a nightmare. It had to be. “No,” Loki breathed out, struggling to grasp the reality of the situation. Deep down, he knew that nothing good could come out of it.

Think! Loki snarled at himself. He was the God of Mischief, a Trickster. If he could just focus, perhaps he could play this game of illusions. After all, he couldn’t let Thanos trick him. It must’ve been the only way to save Y/N, to beat Thanos in this game. Even if it wasn’t true, Loki had to try. If not for himself, for her.

“Is that the best you can do?” Loki smirked, shielding his fear with a layer of cockiness. He couldn’t show Thanos just how upset he was.

As if on cue, Loki’s mockery made Thanos act. Y/N appeared right in front of Loki, then beside him, behind him…everywhere. Loki counted at least ten illusions of his beloved, surrounding him. They looked so real that he could hardly imagine using his magic on them. But as he closed his eyes and focused, he couldn’t feel any heartbeats. He couldn’t sense the air filling her lungs and then returning to the room. It was all fake. The real Y/N wasn’t there.

Magic began to spiral around his fingertips, covering Loki’s skin in a warm, electric pulse. It grew fast and he aimed it all around him, watching how the powerful energy beams struck the illusions, making them disappear. The magic continued and knocked over the furniture in the room, but truly, Loki couldn’t have cared less. It was just stuff. That was easy, Loki thought.

 It was almost too easy.

Loki knew from experience that this was just the beginning.

 “Stop hiding!’, you coward!” Loki snarled, preparing himself for another attempt of being tricked. He couldn’t possibly allow that to happen. If that did happen, Thanos would surely do something terrible.

“Loki!” Y/N’s distressed voice called out for him. Loki turned around, searching the quarters for her desperately, but with no luck. It sounded so real. Loki gritted his teeth together and took a deep breath, telling himself it wasn’t real. For all that he knew, she could be enjoying the evening in the library or at the marketplace. He couldn’t allow himself to believe she was hurt.

“Loki!” This time she screamed. Hearing her like that was almost unbearable. Loki hated that he couldn’t tell whether it was real or not. If it was real, his tormentor was now making Y/N suffer. For what? It was Loki’s fault. He told himself that if they got out of this safely, he would never let anything hurt her ever again.

The air in the room shifted ever so slightly and a moment later, Thanos appeared before Loki. It had a heartbeat. He breathed. It must’ve been real.

Loki swallowed thickly, trying to put on his tough face but he struggled. It felt like the cracks in the walls he had built around him were getting worse, breaking his cascade. Facing that monster was his second worst nightmare, and he was the one who could make his worst nightmare come true.

“I wonder if she’ll take the pain better than you did,” Thanos practically gleamed. It looked like he enjoyed this. Of course, he enjoyed it! He was a sick bastard.

Years of nightmares, pain, and torment that Thanos had inflicted on Loki had made the god angry. He was angry over what Thanos had done to him. He was angry how he had ruined his life. Loki was angry that Thanos had put Y/N at risk.

As his rage snowballed into something strong and almost overpowering, Loki saw red. He couldn’t just stand there. He had to do something! Loki’s hand was behind his back and he began to form another energy ball. It tickled his skin as it grew, more and more power getting into it. Loki knew he had to make it strong enough to knock Thanos over. Even if it was one or two steps backwards, it had to be enough to give Loki time to attack him again.

“What have you done to her?” Loki asked him with a snarl, buying himself more time to make his magic stronger.

Thanos tilted his head, trying to stand there and seem relaxed. “Maybe she can tell you once you meet again in afterlife,” He suggested coldly. That was it. The words pulled a string in Loki and it made him act.

He revealed his hands from behind his back and Loki focused all of his strength and magic at Thanos. To his surprise, the giant, purple beast didn’t see it coming. He didn’t even try to fight it as Loki’s powerful magic struck him. For a second, his magic illuminated the room green. It was so bright that even Loki had to close his eyes.

Suddenly, it was quiet.

As Loki opened his eyes, he expected to see that Thanos had escaped. Perhaps, he even dared to wish that Thanos had been affected by his magic.

But what he saw made him regret his actions.

Y/N was on the floor, right where Thanos had been. Her emerald green evening gown was torn, it looked burnt. Her skin was covered in bruises and cuts, but it also looked like she had walked through hellfire. A hard shell had formed on her skin and to make it more sickening, Loki could smell it.

For a tiny moment, he told himself it was an illusion. He stood there, tears forming in his eyes as he listened to her whimpers. Then he felt her heartbeat, racing wildly in her chest. He could hear her raspy breath.

It was the real Y/N.

And he had hurt her.

Thanos had made her look like him, gods know how, and Loki had released that fatal magic upon the woman he loved.

“L-Loki…” She repeated his name in a weak sob. That’s when he decided to move. With heavy steps, Loki walked over to his beloved, dropped on his knees once again. The shock and guilt made him feel so heavy. Silent tears rolled down his face as he grabbed her with trembling hands, trying to pull her aching body closer to him.

Without wasting more time, Loki tried to use a healing spell on her. He put his hands above her body and he tried his best to focus. Somehow, it just didn’t work. It only took him a few seconds to grow restless. He let out a painful cry as his magic didn’t work on her. It only made the smallest of injuries disappear, but she was still on the line of life and death.

To his horror, he found out why it wasn’t working. It was too late. She wasn’t even trying to work with his magic. This couldn’t be it, the end of their love. It had barely even begun! They were going to rescue their people, stop living a lie and start their own life. They were going to have a family and grow old and wrinkly together.

Y/N was the only one who truly loved him.

Despite how hurt she was, she could look at him. Blood was gathered in the corners of her mouth, but she smiled. “It’s okay…”

It was not okay, but Loki wasn’t going to argue with her. If she was truly slipping away from him, the least he could do was to hold her through it.

Defeated, Loki leaned against the wall and he wrapped his arms around her. They embraced each other weakly as agony rained upon them. Loki was in absolutely shock. He couldn’t believe that Thanos had tricked him. How had he let it happen? He just did this to her!

“I’m so sorry,” Loki whispered. He struggled to find his words in that heart-aching moment.

Y/N brought her quivering hand up to Loki’s face, wiping his hot tears away which was useless for they got replaced right away. Loki didn’t care that her fingers left a trace of blood on his skin. “It w-wasn’t your fault, my love.”

Of course, it was my fault, Loki replied to her in his mind. He didn’t say it out loud. He could only give her the saddest smile in the universe as more tears oozed down his face like waterfalls.

Y/N blinked her tears away and he watched how they washed away the blood and ash off the trails on her cheeks. Her eyelids were heavy, and it was beyond tempting to just close them. But she didn’t want to go, not yet. She looked at Loki and felt her heart swell with love. She loved him so much and she loved the life they had built together. She loved him, despite this, for she knew it was Thanos who had done this. Not to her, but to both of them. It broke her heart that Loki would blame himself for it for the rest of his life.

With the last ounce of her power, Y/N spoke, “I love you.”

Loki wanted to sob. He was so sick and hearing that made his heart crush into a million little pieces. He loved her too, so much that it hurt. And now he struggled to say it back as his lips trembled. He knew that he would cry if he opened his mouth now.

Her hand on his cheek tried to pull his face closer. Luckily, Loki knew what she wanted. He leaned down so their noses brushed against each other, which had so often made them laugh. Then somehow, miraculously, he found the strength he needed to kiss her.

Their lips molded together like liquid gold. They were made for each other. It tasted like blood and salty tears, which made it quite bittersweet. It was a gentle kiss, but it showed their love. It only lasted for a moment as Y/N’s lips left his and her body grew limp in his arms.

Just like that, she was gone.

Loki pulled his head back and looked at her cold, lifeless expression. Her dull eyes looked right at him, but it felt like she looked right through him.

She was gone.

Gone, forever.

Loki’s world began to run in circles. He couldn’t believe what just happened. It just felt so bizarre, so utterly cruel that no one would genuinely do this. But it was real. He held his lover’s limp and bloodied body in his hands, and it was more than enough evidence of what had happened.

As mad as it felt, Loki pulled her closer to him and he nuzzled his teary face in the crook of her neck, hoping to drown his sorrow. At this point, he wouldn’t have cared if Thanos came to kill him too.

“I’m so sorry…I’m sorry,” Loki mewled painfully, hands tangling into her hair. It was so foreign to hold her when she didn’t hold him back. He didn’t feel her heartbeat against his body anymore, nor her breath on his neck. Her body wasn’t warm. It cooled down in such a frightening and fast pace, or perhaps he lost track of time? He could just sit there, embracing her body as he cried.

At some point, the cries and distress from the quarters had caught the attention of the castle guards. They marched to the quarters, opening the heavy doors after not hearing a reply, only to see a shocking sight.

The prince who was supposed to be dead was on the floor, cradling the princess of Asgard, Y/N. Loki’s hands were bloody and no one else was in the quarters. Of course, it painted a very suspicious image over him. The guards all seemed to think Loki had done this. In their minds, the god of mischief had faked his death and now returned to Asgard to get revenge, beginning with Y/N.

They pointed their weapons at the weeping man and Loki turned to look at them. His lips were parted, still in shock. His face looked ghostly pale and there was only grief and regret in his eyes. In Loki’s mind, the guards were entitled to blame him.

After all, he had delivered the fatal blow. He had only intended to harm Thanos, but who would ever believe him?

“Step away from her!” A guard commanded him.

Loki didn’t want to lose her, not yet, but he knew that he already had. It was his worst nightmare that their ways would be parted this soon. One last time, he looked at her and wished he could bring her back. “I’m so sorry,” Loki whispered ever so quietly and put his bloody fingers on her eyelids, closing her eyes so she could get peace. “I love you too,” Loki finally returned the words. He hoped that she would know that, that she didn’t die thinking he didn’t love her.

There was no tomorrow with her anymore.

There was no tomorrow in which Loki would ever forgive himself.

Then he faced the guards. Loki was going to play along with them, it didn’t matter anymore, because in his tormented mind, he was guilty.

A/N: I was requested to make it pure angst so I truly tried. Your feedback would mean the world to me! 💚

[bluerighthand]

I’ll set you a little candle

Summary: Alfie’s backstory: from a snowy Hanukkah in 1898, to the loss of his mother, dealing with antisemitism and starting a family of his own. A bit of Alfie/Tommy at the end. Set in the GUAS AU.

Notes: Full notes on AO3, but please keep in mind that this is based off real events. 

Words: 7,186

AO3: Not sure if the link issue has resolved itself so I put a space in it:  

https: //archiveofourown.org/works/16988913

!!!WARNINGS!!!: character death, antisemitism, references to Russian pogroms, self-injury, depression. NO actual violence is described, it’s all from Alfie’s POV.

Hanukkah had always been Alfie’s favourite holiday. Well…it was true as a child his favourite holiday changed frequently; usually to whichever one it was at that moment, but Hanukkah was always special. There was just something about the warm candles, the snow outside, the wafting smell of delicious food, and all the laughter and games that made him feel content. Complete.

He mostly kept these opinions to himself, however. Although everyone enjoyed Hanukkah, and recognised it was an important reminder of past struggles, it was still considered a minor holiday in the grand scheme of things. His father would launch into a lecture about Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, the minute the words ’importance’ or ‘favourite’ came up in relation to holidays, and his mother simply grinned and showed him plans for next year’s sukkah, even more extravagant than the last.

His little brother Harry had always insisted Purim was the greatest holiday, but whether he was six or thirty, it was just because of the dressing up. Always one for theatrics.

Hanukkah also seemed to be the only festival that his non-Jewish school friends knew anything about, and it always made Alfie smile to be wished a happy holiday, or asked questions about the celebrations. In a gesture of holiday goodwill, most years he even made up with Sabini, which was usually a relief for both of them, as well as the entire teaching staff at school.

Winter was definitely his favourite season too. A crisp chill in the air, the chance of a day spent in the snow before curling up near by fire with his brother, as their dad, Isaac, read to them. Their mum, Sarah, was permanently surrounded by wool and knitting needles at this time of year, which made Isaac groan at the thought of which hideous looking jumper she’d force him into this Hanukkah.

“It’s tradition innit!” she claimed, tweaking one of the many brightly coloured pom-poms attached to her husband. Despite pointing out that it was in fact not a tradition, Isaac suffered through a family dinner in the garish yellow thing, with his sons and wife snickering at him at every opportunity. He condemned it to the back of the wardrobe after the meal was over, returning to his usual black garments.

He did think about donating it, but Sarah already gave so many clothes to charity, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t love that she knitted him things. Even if he couldn’t pull off the pom-pom look. Maybe it would fit Alfie one day, he could see him enjoying it. Just like his mum, he was.

Some of the happiest memories of Alfie’s life were from the early Hanukkahs. In particular, one when he was around nine or ten. The snow had been falling thickly, creating the most beautiful scene outside the window, he and Harry spending most of the evening with their noses pressed up against the glass. After they’d lit the candles and sung the blessings, and their father had fallen asleep on the sofa, their mother put her finger to her lips, bundling him and Harry up in their coats and opening the door.

They’d played in the snow in their small yard for hours, the sky pitch black. Snow angels and several attempts at snow people covered the grass, and the boys could only be tempted inside again with extra sufganiyot: jelly doughnut treats traditional at Hanukkah. The next night, the snow had settled, and by the look of the clouds there was more to come. Isaac had kept up a pretence of being irritated about the weather the whole day, but they all knew he was only grumpy as he’d missed out the night before. Hence, all three boys were plastered to the window, and Sarah sighed fondly as she lit the shamash candle.

“Baruch atah adonai” she began to sing, waving her free hand at her family to gain their attention. Isaac shot her an apologetic smile.

“Eloheinu melech ha’olam” he joined, deep voice complimenting that of his wife’s, the tune more upbeat than that which they used for the Sabbath. Alfie joined in on the next line, knowing all the blessings by heart by now, and if Harry got muddled up and finished with “shel Shabbat” rather than “shel Hanukkah” nobody minded.

The second blessing followed, and by the time all the candles were lit, Alfie had found the stick he’d brought in last night, and was swinging it around as he pretended to be Judah Maccabee. The religious significance of Hanukkah had come to him with age, but for now, Alfie was content darting around the kitchen, leading his people to victory against the Seleucid army. Harry already had his coat, scarf and mittens on, (though admittedly all inside out and back to front) and was jumping up and down next to the window.

“Come here chicken” his mother laughed, attempting to loosen the huge knot he’d managed to tie his scarf into.

“When can I blow them out?” asked Alfie eagerly, the urge already unbearable as he plonked his ‘sword’ down on the table. There was just something about a lit candle that children couldn’t deal with.

“You know you’re not supposed to do that” said Isaac, subtly removing the stick from where they ate. “We’re meant to let them burn out. Hanukkah is the festival of lights after all”. Ten minutes later, when Alfie was lying on his back in the snow, staring up at the warm glow from the window, he was glad they’d kept them lit.

By the next year, Basil had joined their family. Sarah had found him in a cardboard box by the road, a small chocolate brown ball of fur. She’d brought him home in her coat, shielding him from the wind. There’d been an argument when Isaac saw the puppy; he’d recognised the breed, and knew that those things grew to be the size of a house, but once Sarah had her heart set on something nothing could dissuade her.

Alfie was ecstatic, he’d always wanted a dog, but he’d spent the first few weeks terrified his father was going to get rid of him, and even took it in turns with Harry to creep downstairs and check Basil was still nestled in his basket. They needn’t have worried however. An ear scratch here, an extra treat there, and soon enough Isaac had fully accepted that his house (and his heart) was now full of dog.

By the time next winter rolled around, Basil was ten times the size, with no sign of slowing down. He still had the hyperactivity of a puppy, and didn’t realise his own strength, often knocking various members of the household over in his enthusiasm to lick them. Harry had managed to ride him once, for a few seconds, before Basil was off, shooting across the park in pursuit of a squirrel. There wasn’t an abundance around to begin with; not many green areas to live in, but Alfie was sure Basil’s eagerness to befriend them was lowering the population further still.

He was a lovely dog, though. His fluffy brown fur was thick, and stuck out in all directions, and his tongue was always lolling out happily as he was petted. The best friend he could have had growing up, really.

A couple of years later, they went to Russia for Hanukkah. Alfie loved the bustle, the noise, the excitement of his Russian family, especially when they went for a holiday. He already had five cousins to play with, with more likely on the way according to his mum. They also had chickens, a cow, and an old donkey, who Alfie decided he could tolerate. He definitely preferred dogs though, and dreaded each time they had to leave Basil in the care of a neighbour.

As fun as it was when they got there, the journey to Russia was always pretty terrible. Train delays, seasickness, no fires, no proper bed; being bundled up in a train carriage with his irritable younger brother and his sleep-deprived parents wasn’t exactly fun. They made the most of it though, Isaac attempting to teach them card games, and Sarah knitting woollen socks for the little ones, to get them through the harsh winters. They sang songs, whispering the lyrics though muffled laughter after someone had complained, and Alfie wrote stories in his head.

Maybe he could do that one day, write books.

They were always exhausted when they arrived at the little station in rural Russia, though thankfully this time they were able to call for a horse and cart to save them dragging their vastly over packed trunks along the bumpy, frost covered roads. The driver didn’t look very happy about it, carelessly shoving their cases up into the cart and setting off, barely giving them all enough time to get seated.

They shuffled closer together against the cold, Sarah tucked under Isaac’s arm and Alfie rubbing at his brother’s freezing fingers. Despite being late morning, and there was nobody else about, the only sounds the trundle of the cart as it bumped over rocks and uneven dirt. Arriving at the house, Alfie was struck by how quiet and still it all was. Usually their cousins all rushed out to greet them - and with at least half the family inheriting the fondness for long rambling speeches, it was a good while before they actually got through the door.

But something was different this time. The cart pulled to a stop, and the driver snatched the coins from Isaac quickly, not bothering to help as they attempted to drag their cases down from the cart. He cracked the whip, Alfie starting at the noise, and headed off without a word.

“He was mean” said Harry, shivering as another strong gust of wind whipped around them. There was a twitch from an upstairs curtain across the road, and Alfie’s unease increased. Was it just because of the awful weather? Or was it something else?

There was a tap on a window, and Alfie turned to see his auntie waving at them. She vanished, the door scraping against the floor as it was opened. They hurried towards the warmth, but Rebecca had other ideas, stepping out into the cold and wrapping her arms around her sister. They hugged for a moment, before she pulled back shivering, grabbing a case and heaving it inside. They all started to speak at once as they crossed the entrance, but Alfie was confused.

“Where’s the mezuzah?” he asked, staring at the gap in the doorframe. The familiar box containing the small scroll was missing, the wood slightly discoloured. It was custom to touch the box containing the Shema prayer, and then kiss your hand, as a show of faith. Auntie Rebecca usually had one here, and on every other doorway inside the house.

“Oh” his auntie floundered for a second. “It got sort a’…damaged, yeah, a bit dirty. Cause of the weather. Your uncle’s gonna bring a nice new one alright? Come inside now”.

Alfie frowned, but shrugged his shoulders, placing his hand over the empty gap anyway before entering the house. Harry had to jump up to reach, and was on his third attempt before Rebecca pulled him inside, shutting the door quickly.

Their cousins ran towards them, and soon they were engaged in several games at once. There were stick swordfights, a Derby and a grocery shop all going on in one room. Harry was way too excited to stop running about when they were called for lunch, but Alfie sunk gratefully into a chair, eyeing the table laden with hot food. Another drawback of the long journey was the repetitive bland array of sandwiches, but eating a large cooked meal with his family made it all worth it, especially when his oldest cousin Hana was such talented cook.

Alfie was pretty sure they all fell asleep at some point that afternoon, but after a much appreciated nap, they were ready to enjoy the evening. It was rather crowded in the house, what with the four Solomons’ adding to a household of seven, but that was part of the fun, and the first night of Hanukkah was spent playing dreidel to the sound of the crackling hearth. It was more fun with lots of people, and though Alfie wasn’t having much luck at winning he was enjoying spending time with his family.

With the distance, and the expense of getting to Russia, they didn’t see each other enough.

When it was time to light the hanukkiah, Alfie and Harry looked at each other in confusion. Rather than gathering at the window, as was custom, their uncle called them all to the table, the hanukkiah and heap of unused candles in the centre.

“Why ain’t we putting it in the window, mum?” Harry asked. Sarah gave some offhand reply about how they thought it would look nicer on the table this year, but Alfie didn’t miss the way Hana’s eyes widened and flicked to the window, relaxing when she saw the curtains were drawn. He grew curious, wandering over just before the blessings and pulling up a corner, peeking out into the black beyond.

“Come away from the window, sweetpea” said his mother. Her voice was slightly strained, and his auntie wore a matching expression of unease, so he let the curtain drop, re-joining his family in the centre of the room. Why was it such a big deal?

After the blessings were sung, the candles lit, and general excited confusion settled once again over the household, children running this way and that and the adults all talking over each other, Alfie crept back to the window. He slid beneath the curtain, and onto the windowsill. It was wide, wide enough for him to balance on, and he was just small enough to stretch out his legs in front of him, so he wouldn’t be seen.

The thick layer of frost had hardened to ice, and the only light was from a lone lamppost down the street, which guttered and flickered out for several minutes at a time. There were a few slithers of light, from the edge of the neighbour’s windows, but all the houses had their curtains drawn, closing them off to the world around them. It was a strange sight to Alfie, so used to seeing the glass lit up with menorahs, with laughter and the wafting smell of good food tricking outside.

He was old enough now to understand the stares, the muttered comments, the names the kids hurled at him at school. But…everyone here was Jewish. What were they all so afraid of?

He pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them and hugging his legs as he watched the festival of lights pass by in near total darkness.

Two and a half years had passed when Sarah had told them the news. Alfie was fifteen, and due to start working full time in his father’s bakery. Old scars now wound their way up his arms, and his hands were growing rougher from working and fighting. He towered above his little brother now, having grown almost as tall as his dad in the past year, and perfected that slightly manic glint in his eyes that made other kids back away.

Despite his permanently bruised knuckles, and the painfully fresh tattoo of a crown on his wrist (that had almost made his father faint when he saw it), Alfie still loved to spend time with his family. The last person to joke about him ‘going soft’ had ended up in the river after all, so he was content to squish onto Harry’s bed in the evenings with him and their mum. On this occasion, it was getting late, and Harry was angling for another story, but Sarah shook her head, saying she had something important to talk to them about.

“I’m goin’ away for a bit boys. To Russia, stayin’ with your auntie and uncle”.

“Are we not coming?” asked Harry, confused.

“Not this time chicken”.

“How are you long for?”.

“I’m not sure” she said sadly. “Prob’ly at least a few months”. Harry’s jaw dropped.

“A few months?” echoed Alfie.

“That’s too long!”.

“I need t’ be with your auntie right now sweetie” said Sarah. “She’s sick”.

“What’s wrong with her?” Harry asked. Alfie’s thoughts jumped to Tommy’s mother. Hadn’t he said that she was sick?

“It’s the baby. Pregnancy ain’t easy on a woman”.

“Was it ‘ard for you mum?”.

“Nah, I was alright. Went as well as they could’ve. But your auntie’s strugglin’. Your uncle’s trying to look after yer cousins, and keep his job, but there ain’t no one to look after Becca in the day”.

“Is Uncle Yakov gonna lose his job? Why? He’s the best tailor in Russia!” piped in Harry, before frowning, and falling silent. Alfie watched him, bitter thoughts crawling to the forefront of his mind. He couldn’t stand that his brother had to learn these things. That some people would always stare at him with hate, deny him jobs, housing, basic fucking human respect.

“Let’s jus’ pray he doesn’t” said Sarah, avoiding the question.

“Are you gonna be back for the High Holidays?” asked Harry, voice small.

“I dun’t think so, darling. Baby’s due in the winter”. His bottom lip wobbled. “Hey now” she said. “None of that. Your dad’s gonna need you to be big n’ strong to help him with the sukkah okay?”.

“But…you always make the sukkah” protested Alfie. “Dad won’t do it the same”. Their sukkah, a temporary tent-like creation made for the harvest festival of Sukkot, put the whole street to shame every year. Isaac’s job was to stay as far away as possible until it was finished, as he was usually more of a hinder than a help; concerned with things like straight walls and measurements (and many other things Sarah didn’t have time for).

“I’ll leave ‘im a plan” she grinned, but her face fell at the disappointment in her sons’ eyes. Basil padded in, flopping down on the rug and resting his head on Alfie’s foot, which hung off the edge of the bed.

“Do you really have to go?” said Alfie, bending down to scratch behind Basil’s ears in an effort to cover the slight desperation in his voice.

“I gotta be there for your auntie, I’m so sorry Alf”. Harry leant against her, and she wrapped an arm around shoulder, pressing a kiss into his hair.

“Will you ring us, every day?” said Alfie.

“Not every day, sweetpea. It’s real expensive over there innit. But as often as I can. Can’t go a week without hearing from my best boys”.

“I can write letters” said Harry proudly, perking up a little. “We learnt how in school”. Sarah grinned.

“You send me them letters then chicken, and Auntie Becca and your cousins can write back to yer too”.

“Are we goin’ to Russia for Hanukkah then?” Alfie asked. Sarah patted the empty space beside her, and Alfie shuffled over, freeing his foot. Basil had taken the pat to be aimed at him, so launched himself onto the bed, the wood creaking under their combined weight as he settled himself across their legs.

“I’ll be back by then. You think I’m gonna let your dad make the latkes again?”. The boys laughed, remembering the strange burnt objects their father had sheepishly presented them with a few years before. It was even funnier as he could bake the best bread in London, but add some oil or frying into the mix and he was hopeless. He just burnt everything.

“It’s just too quick!” he defended. “With bread you’ve got time to sort yourself out, this - one second you look away and then it’s gone and burnt itself!”. Alfie was the proud owner of both gifts, and was often the designated chef at meal times.

“And no, you ain’t going to Russia this year”.

“Why not? We could meet ya out there n’ all come back together”. Sarah gave him a sad smile.

“You’ll ‘ave a much better time here sweetie, trust me”. Alfie frowned, remembering the strange atmosphere last time they went. Had it got worse? What was going on in Russia?

“Promise? Promise you’ll be back by then?” said Harry.

“I promise”.

Alfie was dreading the day she’d leave. They all were, really, even in Russia. Their dad had told them Becca felt awful, needing help, even trying to persuade Sarah to stay in England. But their mother could see through the forced energy on the phone, the over-cheerfulness of the letters. Nothing happened until it happened, their father said. But the day came, and Alfie dragged his feet along with his mother’s case all the way to the station. Just to delay it that little bit more. Maybe she’d even miss the train if he walked slowly enough. They’d left early deliberately though, with plenty of time for goodbyes, and Alfie’s dawdling.

To be honest, Sarah was no better, spotting a tiny dog on the way, and starting a long distracted ramble about how Basil was the perfect size. He bounded along ahead of them, tail wagging excitedly as he barrelled towards his new friend. The other dog wasn’t so keen, and Sarah had to kneel down in the street to console Basil, Isaac giving passers by an awkward nod as they stared at his cooing wife on the ground.

They reached the station…eventually, Sarah and Alfie taking a seat whilst the others went to check on the train time. Alfie had a feeling she wanted to talk to him, when she’d convinced Harry to go off with their dad, and he was right.

“Be good” she warned, turning and tapping him on the nose. He waved her off, but laughed. “I’m serious Alf. Dun’t give ya dad a hard time while I’m gone, mm? If I ‘ear about a single fight, I’m gonna be very disappointed”.

“Okay mum” he said after a moment, staring at his knees. This wasn’t how he wanted their goodbye to go. He knew how much it hurt both of his parents when he came home with cuts and bruises, with someone else’s blood all over his knuckles. They thought it was their fault, that they’d raised him wrong, but it was all him.

His temper was like a matchstick, sometimes. All it took was one little spark, and the whole fucking world could go up in flames.

Sarah bopped him again, making the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Cheer up you” she said. “Didn’t mean t’ upset you. Jus’ think of ya dad’s poor old heart. It can’t take the strain”.

“I heard that” called Isaac, as he strode across the platform with Harry. “I’m as fit as a fiddle”. The next twenty minutes or so were spent in a family huddle, as they waited for the train to pull into the station. Basil was happy to sprawl at their feet, playing with Harry’s shoelaces as they all wrapped their arms around each other. Alfie squeezed his eyes shut.

The train chugged to a stop on the platform, and the tinny shriek of the guard’s whistle and the bustle of disembarking passengers surrounded them. Sarah gave them all one last hug, and Alfie dug his fingers into the wool of her coat instinctively as she tried to pull away.

“I love you Alf” she said, ruffling through his hair. “I’m gonna be back soon alright, I’ll ring as soon as I get there, sweetie”.

“I love you too mum”. And then she was gone.

“What’re ya gonna do on the train without us?” asked Harry, as a guard waved them back from the platform edge, shutting the carriage door firmly. Sarah rolled down the window.

“Oh” she said, grinning. “I’m sure I’ll find somethin’ to get up to”.

“I know that face” said Isaac, “what trouble is your mother going to get into, ey?”. Harry smiled sadly. Sarah blew Isaac a kiss in reply, and he caught it, pressing his palm against his cheek. Alfie and Harry didn’t even make sick noises. There was a hiss of steam, and the train started to move, slowly inching across the tracks until it gathered speed. “L’hitraot” Isaac called. See you again.

People didn’t like to say goodbye in Hebrew, because it sounded so final. But as Sarah waved at them from the window, hair flying around her face as she grew smaller and smaller, Alfie couldn’t help but feel a sense of finality.

The months passed slowly. It was strange at home, without her. Sarah called every week, like she’d promised, but it wasn’t the same. Their dad was quieter, spending more and more nights working late in the bakery, or squinting over the Torah scroll for hours on end. Harry had started skipping school more often than not, and if he did go, well, Alfie was glad their mother couldn’t see the purple stripes lashed across his fingers.

Alfie had tried not to fight. Honour his promise to his mum, keep himself to himself. It hadn’t lasted long. Sabini had pushed him too far: leaving two of his friends in hospital and snatching a crate full of weapons. He had to fight back. If Sabini saw him as weak now, he’d lose all his territory. Afterwards, when his dad wiped the blood out of his eye and stitched up the jagged gash to his stomach, the guilt set in.

“Please don’t tell mum” he begged, grabbing at his dad’s shirt. “Please don’t tell her”. Isaac regarded him for a moment, bloody cloth hanging limply in his hand, before he left without a word. Alfie cried that night. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done it, but once he started, he couldn’t stop. By the time Isaac had returned, whispering apologies into his son’s hair, Alfie’s cheeks were raw where he’d scraped at them, nails leaving a bloody trail down his skin. Half-moon imprints cut deep into his palms, but Isaac unclenched Alfie’s fists and soothed the stinging with a cool flannel.

The looks he got in shul were enough to make him tug on his sleeves, until his shirt covered the ruined skin of his hands. He didn’t care what people thought of him, that much was clear from school, but it was different with G-d. He started going more often, at quieter times where the world around him could fall away, and it was just him and HaShem.

He knew his mum would be doing the same, thousands of miles away. Maybe like this, they could get through it.

Alfie started to suspect something was wrong about two weeks before Hanukkah. Sarah was supposed to be back by now: Alfie had been planning her ‘welcome home’ meal for weeks, but Isaac had told them that her train across Europe was cancelled, and she was waiting for another ticket. It wasn’t unusual, it had happened to them as a family before, so the boys didn’t think much of it, distracted by the newly fallen snow and the happy news of a new baby cousin.

The suspicion started when the phone stopped ringing. They both badgered their father with questions on why their mother hadn’t called, but he’d answered them all in vague terms, not really listening. Alfie and Harry concluded that it meant she was on the train right now, and could hardly sleep that night with their excitement. But Sarah didn’t arrive home the next day. Or the one after that.

Their dad had also been acting strangely lately, scanning every inch of their Jewish newspaper twice over before throwing it down in frustration. They heard him pacing around at night, and he didn’t seem to be sleeping at all if the dark circles under his eyes were anything to go by. One night, the slight creaking of the floorboards stopped, and Harry crept into Alfie’s room, desperate to know what was going on.

They tiptoed across the hall, peeking through gaps in their father’s panelled door, hopeful that he had finally gone to sleep. Isaac’s shoulder shook as he cried, and Alfie pulled his brother away quickly, stomach sinking.

What the fuck was going on? Harry tightened his grip on Alfie’s hand.

The next night, Isaac read Harry a story, Alfie sat listening in a chair across the room. There was something strange about the way his father seemed to savour each word, almost stalling and turning the pages reluctantly until he reached the end. He put the book down with a sigh.

“Alfie, come downstairs a minute”.

“What about me?” Harry asked, frustrated to be left out as Alfie rose.

“I’ll come and say goodnight in just a minute” he promised, and Harry lay down apprehensively, wrapping an arm around his teddy bear as Isaac pulled the door shut. Alfie followed him downstairs, stomach flipping. He’d had enough of all this secrecy.

“Dad, what’s happened?” he said, once they were out of Harry’s earshot. “Something’s happened to mum, ain’t it? Will she not be back in time for Hanukkah? It’s okay, we can still ‘ave a good time-”. He was cut off as Isaac drew him into a hug. Taken aback slightly, he returned the gesture. “Dad?” he asked, voice small. “Tell me what’s wrong”. Isaac pulled back, gripping his arms tightly.

“I’m going away for a few days” he said. “Could be a week, could be longer”.

“What?” Alfie cried. “You’re gonna leave too? Why would you-”. Isaac shushed him quickly, glancing up the stairs before pulling him into the kitchen and shutting the door.

“Why are you going too?” Alfie asked anxiously.

“I’m going to find your mum”.

“Find her?” he repeated, confused. “Isn’t she at Auntie Becca’s house?”. Isaac scrubbed a hand over his beard, pulling out two chairs for them. He drummed his fingers on the table, trying to find the words. Alfie stared at him impatiently.

“There’s things happening, in Russia” said Isaac, “to people. Jewish people”. His tone was low, serious, and Alfie swallowed.

“What things?”.

“You remember what I told you, about some people not liking us?”

“I’m not fuckin’ six years old” said Alfie, rising from his chair, resisting the sudden urge to kick something. “I know people hate-”

“Sit down” said Isaac firmly. Alfie sat reluctantly, leg jumping.

“In Russia, there’s a lot of folk like that at the moment”. Alfie considered this. This information wasn’t exactly new. Alfie couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t known he was different. But the tension in his father’s face made him think things were worse over there than in Camden.

“Is that why Uncle Yakov lost his job?”. Isaac nodded. “But what do you mean, find mum? What happened?”.

“Those people…some of them are soldiers. They’ve been going to a lot of villages, Jewish villages, and a week ago they went to ours”. Alfie felt a renewed wave of nausea pass over him. He gripped the table, knuckles turning white. “Everyone had to split up, and your mum hasn’t made it back yet. I’m going to go and find her”.

“But…what if you can’t?” managed Alfie, thoughts spiralling. “Why wouldn’t she have jus’ gone back to the house?”.

“Because it’s not safe there anymore” Isaac blurted, loud and unrehearsed. “Not for us”. Alfie fell silent, a deep crease in his forehead. It wasn’t safe at all? He’d grown up with warnings like that all his life: don’t go down this street, or to this shop, or that market. But…they’d spent so many winters in that little Russian village, made so many happy memories there. They hadn’t changed, but it seemed the world had.

“I’m so sorry, Alf. I don’t want to involve you in any of this, but I’ve got to go away. You’ve got to be brave for me, okay?”. Alfie nodded, eyes stinging as he inferred what Isaac was leaving out. What the soldiers had done to their village. What they could have done to his mum.

“When are you coming back?” Alfie sniffed, rubbing at his eyes furiously. “For Hanukkah?”.

“I’m going to do everything I can to make that happen, okay?”. What if they never came back?

“I can help” Alfie cried, chest heaving, “let me come with you”.

“You can help me by staying here” said Isaac, cupping his son’s cheek. “I need you to look after Harry for me”. Alfie groaned, twisting away. Isaac grabbed his shoulder. “Alfie, look at me. I need you to take care of your brother, do you understand?”.

Looking into his father’s eyes, Alfie could see the raw grief there. He was noticeably thinner, and the bags under his eyes were darker than ever. Alfie had never seen him like this before. “Your granddad’s coming tomorrow, but until he gets here, it’s just you and Harry”.

As stupid as it sounded for a gang member, who’d had more fights than he could count and also sliced up a fair few people with knives by now, Alfie was scared. There’s a lot of folk like that at the moment. What if they were coming here too? What if he couldn’t protect Harry?

Isaac disappeared upstairs, turning off Harry’s light and returning with a small bag slung across his shoulders. He kissed Alfie’s forehead, pressing a key into his hand to lock the front door with.

“Keep it bolted” he whispered. “Don’t let anyone in but your granddad, okay?”. Alfie only stared up at him, stomach churning.

“What if they come-”

“They’re not going to come here” said Isaac. “I promise, Alfie”. Another hug, the last one this time. Alfie clung to his father’s coat. “Brave boy” he said, before opening the door.

“Find her” Alfie whispered.

“L’hitraot”.

“L’hitraot”.

See you again.

Alfie bolted the door quickly, running up the stairs and resting his elbows on the windowsill as he watched his father cross the street. He didn’t sleep that night, whispering the Tafilat HaDerech, the traveller’s prayer, over and over, long after his father had passed out of sight.

The rough wood of the coffin scraped into Alfie’s palms as he lifted it. He was numb to the sting and walked blindly, guided by the dead weight on his shoulder and the rhythmic thud of the damp ground beneath his feet. He vaguely sensed his brother beside him, felt his small hand slip into his own once they’d lowered the casket. Someone was speaking to him, but he didn’t react, eyes locked on the blurring grass.

He was jostled slightly, as a rip was torn into his jacket. Keriah. He’d look at the loose threads later, run his fingers over the tear that symbolised a loss, but now he couldn’t move.

He didn’t recite the blessings. He didn’t say anything at all.

Alfie had attended a shiva house once before, when his neighbour’s wife had passed away. Shiva was the period of mourning. The whole community came together, cooking meals, cleaning, and praying for the mourners. Alfie hated the pitying glances, the sympathy. He wanted to be left alone, to fight and hurt and bleed until everything just stopped.

Someone had gone into his room once, tried to sweep the floor, change his bedsheets. They hadn’t stayed long. The look of disappointment on his dad’s face was punishment enough for the abuse he’d yelled at them.

He wanted to write to Tommy about it, maybe even call him if his father was away, but thought better of it. His mother was sick, he shouldn’t bother him with thoughts of death. So, he was alone. He’d pushed Harry far enough away that he’d stopped coming to Alfie at night, when the dreams got too bad. Stopped throwing his arms around him, or gripping onto his fingers in shul. Alfie’s own nightmares had him waking up screaming, what could he do for his brother. Basil whined and pawed at his closed door.

Alfie was usually loud, wanting to talk to anyone and everyone, but this lump in his throat and the weight on his shoulders had made him mute. A closed book. He hardly left his room anymore, despite his dad’s attempts to get him outside. Not even when he’d smashed his mirror, blood running in rivulets down his forearm. He let it bleed, cursing himself for forgetting.

He’d not seen his mother for so many months that the details were escaping him. What had he already lost? Had he imagined the little wisps of her hair, that curled in the rain? The tunes she used to hum when she knitted?

Her rings lay in a small jewellery box on his dresser. Harry had slid it into his room, hoping to get some sort of reaction from him, but Alfie had nothing to give. He took them out sometimes, like he’d done as a kid. They could only fit on his little finger now. Alfie’s favourite was a thick gold one with a square face. Which hand had she worn it on?

Weeks had passed now, since the funeral. Harry had started going to school again. Just seeing those bruises, from a teacher or other kids Alfie couldn’t tell, stirred up that crippling guilt. He should be there for him, but he wasn’t. Their dad had also re-joined the community, as far as Alfie could tell. He couldn’t bring himself to ask. He was so fucking selfish.

Was this it for him? Saying the mourner’s kaddish for the rest of his days?

It was late in the evening when his father pushed open his door. Alfie was lying on top of the covers, eyes glazed over as he stared blankly at a loose thread. Isaac patted his leg, and he shifted over an inch, just enough for his father to sit down.

“She was born blind, you know” said Isaac. The statement caught him off guard, and Alfie replied without thinking, before realising he hadn’t spoken properly in weeks. Only shouted, or spoken with his fists.

“What?”

“Your cousin. According to the doctor, she can’t see a thing” he said, rubbing his eyes. Alfie closed his own, imagining what it would be like to live this way. He didn’t like it, the light got lost in all the darkness. He supposed he’d been living like that too.

“Can’t they do anything?” he asked quietly, rolling the thread between his fingers.

“No” said Isaac, but softened at Alfie’s expression. “It’s not for lack of trying, son. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do”. They were silent for a while, and Alfie just lay there, too exhausted to put up a fight, to push him away.

“Why do people hate us, dad?”.

“Oh Alfie”.

“Mum didn’t do anything wrong” he managed, before the first tear dripped onto his pillow, and everything came crashing down.

“I know” his father soothed, pulling him up and into his arms.  

“It’s not fair” sobbed Alfie, hands fisting in his father’s shirt. The thought of letting go was impossible.

“I know”.

“Why didn’t G-d do something? Does he even fuckin’ care?”.

“He always cares. He’s suffering with us”.

“Why didn’t he stop them?”. Isaac squeezed his shoulder.

“You can choose what to do with yourself in this world. Some people spread love, while others get caught up in hatred. It’s awfully hard to stop an idea, but with good people – like you, and your brother, we’ll get there”.

“I ain’t a good person” Alfie cried. The words hitched in his throat, but he forced them out anyway. It was true. “I fight”.

“You are kind, and strong, and brave” Isaac countered. “I know you fight to protect your friends, and to stand up for yourself, and what you believe in. I know that, Alf. I just don’t want you to get hurt”.

“So G-d can’t stop people from gettin’ hurt?”. Isaac considered this.

“Can you think of a time where he did?”. Alfie thought for a moment.

“Hanukkah?”

“Mhmm”

“Pesach?”

“Yes”

“Purim?”

“That’s right. Do you see?”. Alfie nodded, shoulders drooping.

“But ain’t there still bloody…thousands of people in pain?”

“Don’t be daunted by how vast it all is. Some people can’t be reasoned with, as there’s no reason to their thoughts, but if you can help one person, you’ve helped us all. A little bit of light dispels a lot of darkness”.

“But I couldn’t help her” he whispered. Not his mother. Isaac rubbed a hand over his back

“You know your grandmother died when I was a boy” he started. Alfie squeezed his eyes shut, but nodded. His father’s voice was soothing. “I thought that was it. I loved her so dearly that her loss-” he swallowed, “made me certain I would never experience happiness again”. Alfie sniffed. “Then your mother came along. With that smile, and her ridiculous way of speaking”. They both chucked a little, Isaac squeezing Alfie’s shoulder. It was the first time he’d smiled in weeks. “Didn’t know what to make of her at first. But the matchmaker seemed to think we were perfect for each other, so I took a leap, went for it; and it turned out we were. Now, you’re the eldest, so it’s tradition” he said, reaching into his shirt pocket, and pulling out a familiar gold band. His mother’s wedding ring. “One day, you’re going to meet someone who will make your world light up again”. Alfie’s eyes stung with tears again, and he took the ring shakily. Isaac closed his fist around it. “And you give them this ring”.

— Fifteen years later —

Alfie carefully placed the shamash candle back into its holder, in the centre of the hanukkiah, and stepped back; the warm glow of all nine candles reflected in the glass of the window. He sang the two blessings, eyes roaming up the wall to the framed picture of his mother. Sarah was laughing, hair blowing out behind her from a country breeze. His brother had the same one, in his own home. So did their father.

There was movement at his side, and Alfie turned to look down at Tommy, their sleeping new born son cradled in his arms. Charlie looked so cosy, in the warm blanket Alfie had knitted him, and he stroked a hand over his son’s head. The candlelight flickered in Tommy’s blue eyes, making the gold ring on the chain around his neck glow even brighter. Alfie stared down at his family, and felt as if his heart would overflow with love for them both. Cyril had padded in behind Tommy, and sprawled at their feet, covering their bare toes with his warm tummy.

“Chag sameach” said Tommy softly, leaning up to press a kiss to Alfie’s mouth. Alfie smiled into the kiss, wrapping an arm around Tommy’s waist and holding him close.

Yeah, he thought. He may not have defeated armies, nor could he make everything right in the world, but he had his own little miracle right here.

Chag sameach = happy holidays.

So this holiday fic definitely turned into something more serious, and I'm so nervous to post this because I'm not sure what the reaction will be. Many, many, parts of this are based on me & my family. These experiences won't be the same for everybody, and while I am Jewish, I'm young and I definitely don't know everything, so if there's a better way I could have handled this topic please let me know. I’m also not Orthodox, so there may be some mistakes on that front too.

With that said - thank you for reading! <3 I hope everyone had the best Hanukkah/is enjoying the run-up to Christmas! 

Also...you know where GUAS is heading now! Though I'm sure it's not much of a surprise that it will eventually be Alfie/Tommy.

[anghraine]

Would you mind elaborating on your thoughts re: parallels between han/leia and jyn/cassian? I was reading your tags on it and they are glorious (and so is your fic :DDD) Thank you!

Heeeh, sure!

(The tags in question are here.)

The Jyn-Han parallels are definitely the most overt and widely acknowledged, so I’m going to start with Cassian-Leia.

One of Cassian’s most piercing lines is “Suddenly the Rebellion is real for you? Some of us live it.” And it’s difficult to think of anything that could better describe Leia Organa. It’s the essential tragedy of Leia’s character. She doesn’t die. She just lives and lives and lives it, and when danger signs crop up again as a fifty-something general, she doesn’t palm the fight off on someone else but consumes herself in the cause all over again—if she ever stopped, which, not really.

(You know that if Cassian had lived, he’d be right there the moment that Leia came calling. RED, Star Wars edition.)

And, like Cassian, the cause has been the cornerstone not just of her adult life but her entire life. Leia is the natural daughter of one of the founders of the Rebellion and Darth Vader. She is adopted by one of the other founders. She’s brought up in the heart of the Rebellion. She’s an Imperial senator at around sixteen, not because she has any flair or liking for legislative politics, but as a shield for her activities as a covert agent of the Rebellion—again, shades of Cassian. We don’t know when, exactly, Leia got involved with the Rebellion, but she’s a hardened Rebel agent by her teens, refusing to reveal her secrets under torture or even genocide.

Speaking of genocide, it’s hard to think of a character who more profoundly “lost everything” than Leia in ANH. We don’t get as close an examination of its effects with her, despite her prominence over three movies (*hiss*), but we certainly get enough to see its effects. Leia’s horrific loss only intensifies her dedication to the Rebellion, to the point that she’s completely consuming herself in it come ESB. Her conviction, her sense of duty, her relentless determination—that’s where her grief goes. Just like Cassian.

Leia is also the hardest of the main three, I’d say, despite Han’s pretenses to it. She’s not the most brash; that’s clearly Han. She’s not the angriest; it’s Luke who loses his mind in rage, never Leia (fandom reductionism aside). But Leia is tough, and abrasive, and doesn’t stop at much in pursuit of her ends. She’s judgmental of the less committed and the less capable; she can be intensely self-righteous, without feeling the high of righteousness that many other characters do, the sense of glory. She just believes so, so much, and she’s willing to throw everything she has into the service of that sharp-edged idealism.

On top of that, Leia is tightly linked with hope. There’s the famous That boy was our last hope -> There is another—Leia as the true last hope. There’s the bittersweet hopeful ending of ROTS, with baby Leia on doomed Alderaan. There’s Leia’s single-minded dedication to the plans and explicit description of them as the last hope. And of course, there’s Leia in RO and her one word—hope. Yet it’s not that Leia is at all positive by temperament. We don’t see much in the way of silver linings from her; if anything, she tends to the doubtful and fatalistic (as does Luke btw). For Leia, hope is an ethical approach to the world, a conscious moral choice. 

For me, it’s best understood through another fandom—JRR Tolkien. Tolkien distinguishes between forms of hope in his various works. Probably the most prominent exploration is Frodo vs Sam. Sam has “hope unquenchable,” an innate optimism that is never quenched by his suffering and loss. It’s a matter of staying true to the integrity of his character. But Frodo loses all sense of optimism, and yet trudges on through sheer belief and endurance, even though it ultimately breaks him. Leia and Cassian are much more the Frodos of the equation.

Meanwhile, it’s clear (and has been repeatedly admitted) that Jyn’s character is essentially based on Luke and Han rolled into one. She definitely has Han’s devil-may-care, I-take-orders-from-me attitude. She never exactly says “I’m not in this for your revolution,” but the sentiment underlies plenty of what she does say. And that attitude is at least as fundamental to the clash with Cassian as Han’s is with Leia (and Luke).

There’s some fandom bullshit about Jyn “stealing” Cassian’s line that rebellions are built on hope. That’s stupid. But I do believe it matters that Cassian is the source. 

There’s a criticism (I think a fair one) that we don’t really see how Jyn and Cassian get from their ideological showdown to his intense faith in her and her swerve to hopeful idealism. But it’s evident that Cassian, without relinquishing a sliver of his ideals or commitment, pulled his eyes from the skies enough to really consider the living people around him and work towards balancing the two (a struggle that dominates Leia’s life). 

And I think that’s the significance of the fact that her big speech on hope, on hope as action, includes a word-for-word repetition of what Cassian told her. Jyn’s hope is born from his. And this happens pretty directly after Cassian lashed back at her over her self-interest and apathy. I don’t think she’s just parroting him; her feelings about him are in general much too complex at this point for that, even if it were at all characteristic. And it’s—

Well, let’s go to Han for a moment. His actions are overwhelmingly driven by the self: self-preservation, self-interest, and the people who matter to him personally. While he more or less supports the Rebellion in theory, he’s propelled into action not because he believes, but because he loves people who do. (As a sidenote, he seems to be drawn to those sorts of people; Chewie, Luke, and Leia are all hardline idealists, and in a twisted way, so is Kylo Ren.) 

We see some of this with Jyn. She is there for personal gain (her freedom) and over her personal relationships to Saw and especially Galen. It’s hard not to feel that her father’s work and sacrifice is a significant motivation for her swerve (as she is a significant part of Galen’s motivation!). But even after the message, she remains very much in ME AND MINE mode until the fight with Cassian. While he isn’t the source of her newfound belief, IMO he is the clear inspiration for it.

I don’t think Jyn is someone who bothers much with abstractions on her own (again, like Han). But she has a sort of subterranean idealism that leads her to impulsive acts of principle like trying to protect the little girl at Jedha. Her instinct isn’t going to be “save the galaxy,” it’s going to be save this person right in front of me. Unlike Han. 

People, actual living individuals in front of her, matter more than abstract conglomerates. But when someone bothers to make her understand—even as furiously as Cassian did—she can translate personal benevolence onto a broader scale. At heart, she wants to believe in something, and the conscious, disciplined ethic of hope in those around her can kickstart her own good will into good will for the galaxy. And it becomes not just borrowed vision, but a heartfelt one of her own. 

That’s actually most like Luke. He’s an idealist at his core, but also often descends into fatalism or apathy. Early on, his Call to Adventure is framed specifically in terms of the fight against the Empire. Far more than Han, he supports it—he’s eager to hear about the Rebellion and freely admits to hating the Empire—but nevertheless, he rejects it in favour of personal concerns. His own family needs him, and it’s so far away from here. That is very, very close to Jyn. 

Also like Jyn, he has an innately kind, generous personality. But it’s very much in the personal, immediate sense. His own commitment to the Rebellion is propelled by the Empire’s destruction of his life, his intense preoccupation with his father’s legacy as filtered through Obi-Wan, but most of all, Leia’s example. From the first he’s both deeply concerned by her and inspired by her. But again, it’s not that he simply adopts her ideals. He develops ideals through, among other things, her influence. I think what goes on with Jyn and Cassian is fundamentally the same thing.

(It’s worth mentioning that Luke ultimately wanders out of the Rebellion to follow his own spiritual path and connect with his father. Both of these are in line with Rebellion goals, but that is a happy coincidence. This isn’t to say that his belief in the Rebellion is shallow, because I don’t remotely think it is, but Jyn is ultimately more dedicated to the cause as far as we see. Now, Jyn also dies early in her potential character arc, and I think it is very, very probable that she would have the same struggle and, where urgent, choose the people she loves over serving the cause. Nevertheless.)

The end result, I think, is that Cassian as a clear variation of “the Leia,” with Jyn functioning as the Han and the Luke, creates a similar but very distinct relationship from Han/Leia. Like that one, there’s a mix of raw attraction and quickly developing respect vs radically different priorities and ideologies. But Jyn/Cassian is at all points milder than Han/Leia and much more, hm, symbiotic. Certainly so after their conciliation—from that point, there’s this bedrock of mutual faith, a deep affinity and tenderness that’s more like Luke and Leia’s relationship. 

Jyn and Cassian don’t just accept each other’s differences. They actively close the gap between their personalities, that mutual influence bringing out the latent similarity beneath Jyn’s self-absorption and Cassian’s ruthlessness. It allows them to recognize themselves in each other and easily sync up, even after knowing each other such a short time. Han and Leia, a married couple of thirty years, can never cross that gap. They love each other, they try to be gentle and tolerant with each other, but as we see in TFA, it’s not something they can seriously maintain.