Flufftober 2025 - 21 Alfie Solomons
It wasn't uncommon for Alfie and Y/N to find themselves by the fire during the fall and winter.
Those were the worst seasons for his sciatica, his back aching terribly as soon as the cold set in. But stubborn as a mule, his wife had to drag him to his chair, cover him with a blanket, and order Cyril to lie on his feet to keep him from moving.
“Traitors. You're conspiring against me. A poor, injured man.”
“I thought you weren't in pain and everything was perfectly fine.”
“… Don't use my words against me, woman. I'm fine. I'm just saying, if I weren't, you'd be horrible to take advantage of me like this.”
“So you can get up without your cane and without wincing ?”
“Terrible witch, I can't do anything against you. You promised me tea, where is it ?”
All this theatrics in an attempt to maintain his long-lost honor, reverently laid before Y/N, who gently mocked her ridiculous husband, always ended up doing what she asked anyway.
So they found themselves sitting together, Alfie half asleep, staring into the fire, lulled by the snoring of the dog guarding him, and Y/N quietly reading a book until it was time to put her two large babies to bed.
Recently, she had begun reading aloud. Sometimes without even realizing it, sometimes because Alfie asked her to. He was constantly asking questions and making comments, which somewhat disrupted the reading.
Tonight, it was Mary Shelley's turn to receive advice from Mr. Solomons, grumbling under his blanket.
"You can't bring someone back to life with electricity. Especially not after taking several pieces that don't fit together."
"Alfie, that's fiction."
"That's stupid. Why didn't he just take a whole corpse ?"
"For the monstrous aspect, I guess." Y/N replied, keeping her eyes on her book. "No one would know he was a living dead person if he didn't have all these scars."
"Hmm. I have a lot of scars, love, and no one tries to burn me. At least, not because of my face. Only my charming personality."
His wife didn't say anything about the comparison, not wanting to get into any sort of argument, and just reading the story, ignoring Alfie's absurdities as best she could, as he continued to see many similarities between him and the monster.
It became a little more difficult after the arrival of Lavenza, the professor's adopted sister and wife.
Wordlessly, Y/N stared at Alfie, challenging him to make a joke that had anything to do with Thomas or Arthur, but he remained silent, admiring the flames in the fireplace and patting Cyril's head.
Later, forgetting the marital status that existed between Victor and Elizabeth, he recalled how the Shelby siblings had tried to oppose their union, believing he wasn't good enough for their little sister.
He understood. He had already understood then, and he still understood just as much today. What he didn't understand was how he found himself married, in this armchair, pampered like a being worthy of love.
"Alfie…"
"What ? You fell for the monster, treacle, I have the right to be surprised. Like Hades, I took you to the Underworld, and you're a prisoner there with the dangerous Cerberus, always ready to attack."
"I see Cerberus drooling on the carpet. You're going from creature to God of the Dead, that's progress."
“Kidnapper God, love ! Don't forget that detail. Having to share you with your family half the time, and looking like a corpse.”
“You don't look like a corpse.”
“Not yet. Soon. Especially if I stay in this chair rotting away instead of running around town minding my business.”
“You said you wanted to rest a bit, leaving Ollie to fend for himself for the day you retire.”
“Once again, woman, stop using my words against me.”
She continued reading, until the death of the creator, then of creation, a moment that seemed to upset Alfie, even though he started grumbling again, saying that the whole thing was absurd and pointless.
No, he wasn't crying, he must have caught a cold. And no, that didn't mean his wife had to take even more care of him.
It was just strange to think that someone innocent, who hadn't asked for anything, created by a madman, was rejected by everyone, while he, one of London's worst criminals, had found peace with a wonderful woman.
"Big softie."
"Watch out, Treacle. Keep going and I'll run away to the North Pole. You'll have to chase me, with poor Cyril pulling your sledge."
"Well, it's late, time for bed."
"When old Alfie says stupid things, he's tired, right ? You wouldn't even come looking for me in the snow."
"I'd follow you to the ends of the earth, idiot."
"Oh, don't bother, Treacle. I've got you, I'll never let you go."
Sighing in amusement, Y/N helped her husband up and up the stairs to their bedroom, where he continued to talk about the book until he finally fell asleep.
He would talk about it again the next morning, as always, until the next book, which he would once again use as a comparison to express how he still didn't understand why she was with him.
















