aaa !! the darling i can’t kill somehow, no matter how much it refuses to work with me. there’s not much to say, it’s another thematic experiment and there’s more religion in it than is healthy. one day i will finish it or just straight up write it into another fic.
(cw for local idiot only visited king solomon’s wikipedia page to write this lmao)
“your name, sergeant.” they come to a stop and solomon shivers at a gust of wind. “it means peace.”
the ice drifts past them. john looks at it and solomon looks at him, hair carefully hidden under the welsh wig. brown, he remembers and he wonders how soft it’d be.
“it’s hebrew.”
like he’s giving a sermon to the ice floes, solomon muses. he knows, of course, about king solomon and his wisdom, his idolatry and his fall, but he lets john talk; watches as john’s tongue catches on his bottom lip as he looks for the words he needs.
This was a first attempt at what eventually turned into Dear heart, it’s me. They have basically nothing in common besides both being Rossanne and set at Anne’s uncle’s house--this was set in the late 1830s, and was inspired by something @the-cross-the-albatross said about JCR jumping over a hedge to hide from Anne’s father, and Anne and JCR then having to hide in a shed to take magnetic readings.
James squares his shoulders; his face, still pale, assumes an unfortunately familiar expression. He’s preparing for some useless noble gesture. “Well,” he says, “perhaps if I spoke to him...”
Anne can’t help it: she stamps her foot in irritation. Truly, the man is impossible.
