#Please excuse any mistakes. It’s 23:20 and I’m knackered

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

TH Masterlist

I watched Noah yesterday and all I could think of was this.

ALFIE WOULD ABSOLUTELY LOATHE THAT MOVIE.

But it also sparked another wee modern Papa Solomons headcanon, so let’s crack on with that, eh?

Just Alfie Solomons Things: Movie Night with Your Little Dove

Movie nights are only spent in the living room during summer. The rest of the year, they’re held in bed (and without question when his sciatica plays up).

Although, perhaps it’s better to say your movie nights. Alfie prefers books, even deeming it the ultimate form of entertainment and learning.

You’ll have your laptop open on your lap, tucked in with a cup of tea or coffee on the bedside table and headphones on your head to let him read in peace.

Nevertheless, one night, you catch him watching along. Of course he tries to give off the impression he doesn’t, quickly averting his gaze to the novel in his big wolf paws when you glance at him.

“Want me to rewind and start from the beginning?” you ask after catching him for nth time in ten minutes.

Alfie shakes his head, lips pursed as he feigns interest in his book. “Nah, you go watch that. I’ll read.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.”

“Is the book interesting?”

“Certainly.”

Letting out a sigh bordering on a breathless laugh, you turn off your headphones and rewind to the start of the movie. You hadn’t gotten far anyway, so there’s no harm in rewatching those few minutes. “Please watch the movie with me, Wolfy.”

How can he not humour you when use the nickname he’s secretly incredibly proud of? You gave it to him when you ran your hands through his beard for the first time, accidentally voicing the thought that popped into your head.

Look, in your defense, Alfie has his wolfish ways. He grumbles, grunts, loves beard scratches, is territorial, has a nice furry chest, surprisingly soft body hair in general, and sometimes purrs rather than hums.

Anyway, he humours you.

You scoot closer to him, snuggling up into him with the Peter Rabbit stuffie he bought for you the last time you two visited the V&A. It’s a good thing you two are in bed because the sight of you, curled up in his arms with your favourite stuffed animal, leaves Alfie weak in the knees.

Now, despite not always adhering to it, he loves to teach you about his heritage. Sometimes he can info dump a lot, but sometimes little bits of the flood of information stick.

“Erm, is it me or do they look like golems?” you ask after a few minutes. Concerned, you look up at him, jaw tense with the gnawing sense you might just have been accidentally disrespectful. “Or did I just say something completely ignorant?”

“I can see why you’d say that. ‘Owever, dove, golems are made of mud or clay.” He presses a kiss to your temple and runs his fingers through your hair, his rings smoothing out minor tangles in it. “Although, I suppose they’d qualify, being made of rock. But the Watchers certainly didn’t look like that. They were indeed fallen angels, but nothing like those… whatever they are.”

And that’s only one of the criticisms he has to offer.

Throughout the movie, he occasionally snarls at the deviations from the original story.

“Tubal-Cain? Is that supposed to be some off-handed yet obvious reference to Cain? Might as well hang a sign around ‘is neck with Super Villain Nr. 1.”

“Ham had a wife! Why is ‘e bein’ a horny teenager in this while ‘is brother is the one with kids? That ain’t right.”

“Shhh, Y/N, it’s only CGI. Those animals ain’t real. No need to cry.”

At some point, movie night turns into browsing the Internet and Torah studies with Alfie explaining what actually happened in Genesis.

You are both aware the film is an adaptation and therefore takes creative liberties. Nevertheless, Alfie’s absolutely not having it and you’re more interested in what he has to say than watching the movie. After all, he’s a damn good storyteller and excellent (albeit gruff) teacher.

Regardless, you somehow make it to the end. And it’s only then you finally hear a slightly more positive tone in his voice.

“Well, at least they’ve got the walking backward correct,” he mutters under his breath when Shem and Japheth cover a naked drunk Noah.

“But isn’t this also where Noah is supposed to curse Ham?” you ask, remembering one of the things that stuck from one of the floods of information he drowned you in.

“It is.”

“There’s just one thing, though, I don’t understand. I know there are varying views, but why does Noah curse Ham? And why is it called the Curse of Canaan?”

Alfie opens and closes his mouth, struggling to find the correct words. Eventually, he settles for a groan which gives away the question is rather uncomfortable. “Well, sweetheart, it’s a matter of interpretation. There are those who say Cham castrated Noah, depriving him of the ability to have a fourth son and therefore Noah curses Cham’s fourth son. ‘Owever, ‘seeing one’s nakedness’ is biblical language to indicate sexual acts.”

“So, Ham and Noah…”

Alfie clears his throat. “Yes.”

“Why…”

“It’s Cham who’s at fault, not Noah.”

“Yeah, but still, I mean, why would you f-“

“Right!” He cuts you off by stealing a kiss off of your lips, disarming you in what he knows is the most effective way. “The moral of the story is, right, when it comes to the curse, that Cham should ‘ave shown empathy towards ‘is father. ‘E ‘ad kids ‘imself, in the story, not this awful stuff. So ‘e should ‘ave been able to place ‘imself in ‘is father’s shoes, know ‘ow difficult it is to be a parent. But did ‘e?”

You shake your head. “No, he doesn’t seem to care for his father at all.”

“Exactly! And this is what the story means to teach us. If you act insensitively to a person in need, yeah, if you are unable to control yourself and show compassion, you’re nothin’ but a slave. A slave to your own needs and passions.”

“Did they really have to go the extra mile, though? I mean, zeitgeist and cultural differences are of course to be considered, but really?”

Alfie merely chuckles. “Don’t worry your pretty little ‘ead over such gruesome matters, Y/N. Rather worry about gettin’ enough sleep. Come on, love, time for bed.”

This is his favourite part of the night.

You, sound asleep in his arms and nuzzling your stuffie. Safe and sound.

It’s only then he can allow himself to give into the waves of slumber.

The damned man and the dove.

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