the WIPs of your that most intrigue me at present are:
blood of the ash-tree (georgian vampire time!)
hornblower? animorphs?? crossover??? (eeeelaborate pls)
FotH Green Knight (let's Pearl-Poet this canon up)
and EotN fire-breather of hispania (i love all your temeraire AUs and universe expansions)
strong opening with the eternal Request for the Vampiremen. I have not written on them much of late but here is an old snippet...
Rowlandson stumbled on the stairs, his left foot catching against the carpet and tugging it askew. He winced as his leg twisted under him, aching as it often had since he had first broken it falling from a horse, some seven years before. The scar of the bullet-blow that had felled him in the first place still showed upon the opposite shoulder, but it was in his shin and his ankle that the lasting pain had made its nest.
Now, in his state of half-exsanguinated exhaustion, the effort required to keep his stride was nearly too great. Rowlandson caught himself against the nearer wall of the stairwell, cursing viciously when the lightheadedness didn’t fade.
the hornblower animorphs crossover is based on the fact that it is canon in animorphs that the animorphs kids were at the battle of trafalgar (as well as agincourt, which is a whole other worm can yet to be investigated). you know who else was at trafalgar? william bush.
<This Hornblower — he is your war-prince, then?>
It was an odd way of putting it, but Bush found that it could not be termed entirely incorrect.
“Captain is the more commonly used word, Mr. Isthill.” The long eyestalks flicked first to him, and then to Hornblower, who was conferring with the other members of that strange party. Isthill cocked his head to one side, birdlike in his curiosity, but appeared to determine assent.
foth green knight — how could I resist merging two lovely instances of 'happily married estate-owning couple and their impulsive steadfastly honorable third from a distant court?'
It was less a chapel than a tiny shrine cut into the rock, a little alcove carved into the cliff face just far enough that a man might stand within and not feel the wind upon his face. The toppled stones around it seemed to imply it was once greater, that that sacred stillness it held had extended for paces beyond its current bounds.
A man in green sat slumped at the chapel’s entrance, his head bowed over his folded hands. One waterfall of liquid birdsong, and then, with a fluttering of wings, the notes trickled away.
“…Ardroy?” The man raised his head, his long hair shimmering back and forth from red-gold to green-gold in the frost-thin light. He nodded, unspeaking, sorrow written plainly across his face.
'a fire-breather of hispania' is best summarized as 'what if esca brought home a dragon egg instead of a wolf cub,' and has expanded itself delightfully into... mostly just me gently adjusting the plot to fit a dragon inside it, which is very fun.
The dragonet was a tease and a trouble from the very beginning — he hid among the ceiling beams and descended suddenly on Sasticca when she was cooking, he snuck up on Uncle Aquila’s tired old wolfhound and nipped at his tail while he slept, he made a mess of every room and sent Esca chasing after him, the atrium all a flutter of lost papers where he had been. But Marcus laughed, laughed as he had not since Isca Dumnoniorum.
“You have a gladiator for a body-slave, and a dragon for a pet — there was peace and quiet in my house, once,” said Uncle Aquila ruefully, turning a draught-piece over and over in his hand. The remains of his game lay scattered across the floor, the folding table knocked down by an errant tail, and Aquilillus, his head in Esca’s lap, was presently nibbling a corner of the board. But there was merriment in his eyes — merriment that, had Marcus seen both his uncle and himself, was written in the same hand on both their faces.
