Finn McLellan
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saranadosfiction.com
Finn McLellan
@saranadosfiction.com
3.6K followers 850 following 5.3K posts
Disabled transmasc butch fantasy writer in this world, stabby bastards of various stripes in sundry fictional ones.

Writing LGBTQ+ gaslamp fantasy (among other things) over at https://saranadosfiction.com/

@[email protected]
(they/he)
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#Febchantment 14: Actually, hell, have another - this time, a good deal further into the plot and a good deal more overtly bad. Also if you're not good with blood or seizures/convulsions you might want to skip this one.

( saranadosfiction.com/2024/11/23/s... )
[...] changed, *now* the blood had stopped doing whatever it’d been doing… or, worse, whatever was wrong with Sabbat had gone far enough that it wasn’t making a difference any more. He’d bled enough to leave him light-headed, smeared enough gore over Sabbat’s face to more than undo the time he’d spent helping the assassin wash in preparation for the evening, and all that it’d achieved was a mess of red smeared across the sweat-soaked sheets, a heavy slaughterhouse stink rotting in the sickness-sweet air, and the body of the man he loved thrashing and jerking on the bed, eyes rolled back, jaw clenched, breath hissing between his teeth, every muscle as tense and taut as though there was lightning arcing through his veins and sparking across his bloodied skin. “Gods, what the hells am I supposed to *do*?” What he wanted to do was hold him until the convulsions stopped, but gods, he’d enough knowledge to know how that would go with a seizure this bad. So all he could do was watch, and pray, and hate the fact that that was all he could do. *It will stop. Every other time he’s had one of these attacks, it’s stopped within a few minutes. This should be no different.* But none of the other attacks had resisted the blood in this way, and none of them had been this damn violent, so where was the guarantee that anything he’d seen so far was going to hold true for this? “Lady of borders, lady of the crossing places, She who guards the gates of life and death…” The prayer rolled off his tongue with all the ease of a litany familiar since childhood, and he took what small comfort he could from that even as he shifted his body to block one of Sabbat’s flailing arms from smacking against the headboard of the bed. *I can heal a bruise more easily than you can, especially right now. So hit me all you need to, if it saves your hands from breaking.* Eventually, after what seemed an agonising eternity, the tide of convulsions wracking the assassin’s frame slowly receded, leaving him grey-skinned and shivering, his breath coming in gasps between clenched teeth. He didn’t seem to have regained consciousness but, when Archer placed a careful hand on his shoulder, he mumbled something incoherent and shifted to lean into the touch, the motion leaving even more blood smeared across the sheets. *That’s not- I didn’t bleed that much. That’s not all mine.* For a sickening, heartstopping moment, he thought that Sabbat must have vomited up more blood during the seizure – then, as he moved his hand away and felt the tell-tale tightness prickling across his palm, he realised what had happened. *Blood-sweat. Which means whatever that was, it was magically-induced.* And there was only one person who could have been responsible. “I am going to kill him.”
February 14, 2026 at 7:56 PM
saranadosfiction.com
(And for anyone who was wondering what it said: )
“Here. This is going to sting a little.” “I ain’t a fuckin’ child, Archer. Get it over with.” “As you wish.” He swabbed away the worst of the gore, trying to ignore Sabbat’s winces and hisses of discomfort as the alcohol bit at the wounds. The cuts themselves were small and relatively shallow, thank the gods – no arterial bleeding, and no tendon damage – but there were a lot of them and, by the time he’d finished, the assassin had gone more than a little grey around the lips. “Still holding up?” “‘m fuckin’ *fine*, Will.” “Of course you are.” “An’ don’t fuckin’ patronise me.” “I’m not. Do you want a drink after this?” “*Gods* yes,” Sabbat said, with feeling. “Just let me bandage this, then.” And, because at this point he’d run out of excuses not to, he finally allowed himself to read the message spelled out on the assassin’s skin. *‘WHO ARE YOU?’*
February 14, 2026 at 5:02 PM
saranadosfiction.com
#WIPSnips | sweetheart

Honestly, Mortimer might be being a wee bit naive here given how fucked-up Avebury and Lucy's relationship is...

( saranadosfiction.com/2024/07/06/s... )
“Can you think of a better explanation?” “Foreval?” He shook his head. “Avebury’s her sweetheart. The Sinnlenst might be factional, but the two of them are thick as thieves in that regard – she’s hardly likely to try and *murder* him.” “I would, if I was unlucky enough to be tangled up with him,” Viola muttered, but she left her commentary at that – she’d have happily spent the next five minutes enumerating Avebury’s flaws if the situation had been different, but she wasn’t about to waste time on that when the others were in trouble. “How bad is it?” “I don’t know. Da seemed to think Fest was stable, and he reckons the best thing to do is to let them sweat it out, but-” He stopped, blinking suddenly, and then smacked his palm hard against his forehead. “Gods damnit, *that* was why I was looking for you. Took me long enough to bloody remember, apparently.” “Going to need more than that if you want me to actually be able to help.” *Like what use you think I’m going to be in this situation besides moral support, for a start.* “I’m not a doctor.” “No, but you’re the strongest person we’ve got in the house who’s got two functioning arms and isn’t currently…” He trailed off, made a gesture that somehow encompassed everything about what was currently going on with Archer and Sabbat, and finished, weakly, “…otherwise engaged.”
February 14, 2026 at 8:44 AM
saranadosfiction.com
Fire in the Sky (Argentum in Aqua 3): Chapter 20

In which Fest learns more than he expected, and Mortimer agrees to something he may come to regret
saranadosfiction.com/2026/02/14/f...

New to the serial? Start here: saranadosfiction.com/2018/05/19/a...

#ArgentumInAqua
#GaslampFantasy

🌈📚🪐📚😱
♿♾📚
“I didn’t ask you here to to mock me.” “No, you tried to lure me into helping you without giving me a damn choice in the matter, and also I’m the one who asked *you* here because I was still willing to hear you out after that. So deal plainly, or don’t deal at all. Your choice.” “Alright.” She leant forward, resting her chin on her folded hands. “But not here.” “What?” “You were right to suggest we meet here, but it’s still not private enough for what I want to talk to you about. So… when you duel Adam-“ “You know about that?” “We do still *talk* to each other, you know. I know he plans to send the formal challenge today, for the end of the week. I also know the location, and the fact it’s to first blood. So when you fight, I want you to lose.” “Fuck off,” Mortimer spat, before he could stop himself. “If you think for one damn moment I’m going to-” *And that’s Lucy Foreval you’re mouthing off to and you need to shut up. Now.*
February 14, 2026 at 8:37 AM
saranadosfiction.com
#Febchantment 14: Possibly not the scariest, but definitely one of the most unsettling bits of magic that's happened in the story so far

( saranadosfiction.com/2021/04/03/s... )
“The fuck’re you lookin’ at me for?” Sabbat growled. “I ain’t gettin’ involved in whatever’s goin’ on wi’ you an’ the priest.” “I- You-” Fest began, trying to find a way to phrase what he wanted to say that wasn’t ‘you smell like blood’. “You smell like blood,” said Archer. “More than you normally do.” He stood up, eyeing the other man. “If you’re hiding another damn stab wound from me-” “Fuck off, Archer. I ain’t-” Sabbat started. Then he scowled, muttered something under his breath, and put a hand to his left forearm. It came away red. “The *fuck*?” “Sit down,” Archer said. It wasn’t a request. Sabbat ignored him, staring down at his arm in what looked almost like shock. “That ain’t- What the fuck?” “Sabbat. Sit down.” In lieu of an answer, the assassin held his arm out, twisting it so Fest and Archer could both see the inside of his forearm. There were a series of small cuts marking his skin – and, as they watched, another set opened up, lines and curves that almost looked like… “They’re letters,” Fest breathed. “Oh holy gods. They’re letters.”
February 14, 2026 at 7:11 AM
saranadosfiction.com
#WIPSnips | serious

Back into Fire in the Sky for this one, so 'ware spoilers both in the snip and at the link, and Archer is fully in problem-solving mode when it comes to this new issue. Not that Sabbat's entirely upset by that, mind.

( saranadosfiction.com/2025/10/11/f... )
“If your condition progresses as it did back at the Hall, we should be able to get you enough blood to stop and reverse it well before you’re in serious trouble. And if you somehow – though, gods, it’s you, so this is more likely than I’d prefer – if you somehow end up starved or badly wounded enough that you’d need more time to recuperate, there’s more than enough space for you to stay in my rooms. They’re all on one floor, and I can easily beg a recommendation from Ira for the crafter who made her wheelchair.” He paused, took a breath. “*This* is a solvable problem, a good deal more so than the previous one, and I fully intend to solve it.” *You do, do you?* Part of him wanted to fight back, point out that he’d not given Archer permission to try and fucking fix this for him, or to assume that he’d need a damn chair even if the fucking box still had its claws in him. Another part, the part that was bone-weary of doing everything by himself even when it’d be easier to let someone else shoulder half the weight, wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and just… give in. *Let* Archer take charge because fuck, he couldn’t make more of a mess of this than Sabbat’d already managed by himself. And a third significantly smaller part, the part that still couldn’t quite stop grinning right now no matter how bloody serious the conversation was getting, pointed out that there might be a fair amount of space in Archer’s rooms, but there was still only one bed.
February 13, 2026 at 8:45 AM
saranadosfiction.com
And let's try that again now my images seem to be working:
“But it’s not a patch on what we might be able to put together with the whole Order working on it, I know. If I’d realised we’d be snowed in up here – gods, if I’d realised we’d be on a damn time limit – then I’d never have dragged us up here in the first place.” Sabbat gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Little late t’be second-guessin’ y’self, ain’t it? An’ besides, you know as well as I do y’wouldn’t get the whole fuckin’ Order pullin’ in the same direction on anythin’, least of all this. How many of ’em actually give a shit whether one whoreson gutter-rat contract killer lives or dies, huh? Plenty more blades t’be had on every street corner if y’know where t’look.” *Is that honestly what you think of us?* But, at the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but remember some of the comments he’d heard from other upper-class members of the Order, when they thought none of their lower-class comrades were listening. *Add that to the list of conversations I need to have when we get back to the city. If we can’t find a way to treat our people equally no matter where they’re from or who their parents are, we’re no better than the damn Sinnlenst.* “Y’can quit pullin’ faces about it,” the assassin growled, after a moment. “Was makin’ an observation, ‘s all.” He shifted in his seat, reaching up to rub the back of his neck in a gesture that was almost certainly unconscious. “Ain’t about t’go startin’ a fuckin’ revolution over a few toffs who don’t remember where half the fuckin’ muscle in the Order comes from.” “Half the muscle and a good deal of the brains, and they’d do well to remember both. When we get back to the city, I’ll have words with the rest of the Council, see if we can’t put a stop to that particular prejudice.”
February 12, 2026 at 3:02 PM
saranadosfiction.com
Not the best adaptive snowboard/sit-snowboard there's ever been, but you try making one out of disparate bits of Sims4 furniture (no, seriously, please do, I'd love one that's better than what I've managed to cludge together)
Archer helping Sabbat to get his balance as he tries out a snowboard that's been adapted for sit-snowboarding - both of them are dressed in snow gear, and Sabbat's wheelchair is parked just off to one side. Following on from the previous picture, the two of them share a quick kiss before they start practice (and for the safety-conscious folks, yes, they'll put their helmets on before they actually go anywhere)
February 12, 2026 at 2:48 PM
saranadosfiction.com
Okay, testing:
“Does that water go all the way around the estate?” “Of course it-” Mortimer began, before Cyra cut him off with a shake of her head. “Hate to contradict you, young master, but she has the right of it. There’s streams on both sides running down to the river, but they neither of them meet up at the back of the Hall. Your grandmother always said she’d take a party out and cut a moat to complete the circle, but she never managed to do it before she went to her pyre, and your father’s had more to focus on these past few years than getting that sorted.” *Not to mention the fact that three people wouldn’t be able to make that much of a dent in the rocks out there, and Da hasn’t liked hiring in outsiders to do work since the Revolution, and…* *Gods, I need to talk to him about this. I need to talk to him about a lot of things, if the Sinnlenst are deciding they want to start playing games with my family.* Viola nodded. “Which means if Foreval knew about the hole in your defences, all she’d need to do would be to get herself somewhere close enough on the unguarded side in time for Caine to make his side of the gateway-“ “-and then she’d be inside without any of us suspecting a thing,” Mortimer finished. “Gods *damn* it!” *First Avebury, then Caine, now this – are we going to end up under siege by the whole bloody faction?*
February 12, 2026 at 2:43 PM
saranadosfiction.com
(See also this, r.e. class prejudice within the Order: )
“But it’s not a patch on what we might be able to put together with the whole Order working on it, I know. If I’d realised we’d be snowed in up here – gods, if I’d realised we’d be on a damn time limit – then I’d never have dragged us up here in the first place.” Sabbat gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Little late t’be second-guessin’ y’self, ain’t it? An’ besides, you know as well as I do y’wouldn’t get the whole fuckin’ Order pullin’ in the same direction on anythin’, least of all this. How many of ’em actually give a shit whether one whoreson gutter-rat contract killer lives or dies, huh? Plenty more blades t’be had on every street corner if y’know where t’look.” *Is that honestly what you think of us?* But, at the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but remember some of the comments he’d heard from other upper-class members of the Order, when they thought none of their lower-class comrades were listening. *Add that to the list of conversations I need to have when we get back to the city. If we can’t find a way to treat our people equally no matter where they’re from or who their parents are, we’re no better than the damn Sinnlenst.* “Y’can quit pullin’ faces about it,” the assassin growled, after a moment. “Was makin’ an observation, ‘s all.” He shifted in his seat, reaching up to rub the back of his neck in a gesture that was almost certainly unconscious. “Ain’t about t’go startin’ a fuckin’ revolution over a few toffs who don’t remember where half the fuckin’ muscle in the Order comes from.” “Half the muscle and a good deal of the brains, and they’d do well to remember both. When we get back to the city, I’ll have words with the rest of the Council, see if we can’t put a stop to that particular prejudice.”
February 12, 2026 at 9:24 AM
saranadosfiction.com
#WIPSnips | defence

Actually relevant to yesterday's Febchantment answers, since we're talking about the running-water-linked limitation on gateway spells here

( saranadosfiction.com/2024/01/11/s... )
“Does that water go all the way around the estate?” “Of course it-” Mortimer began, before Cyra cut him off with a shake of her head. “Hate to contradict you, young master, but she has the right of it. There’s streams on both sides running down to the river, but they neither of them meet up at the back of the Hall. Your grandmother always said she’d take a party out and cut a moat to complete the circle, but she never managed to do it before she went to her pyre, and your father’s had more to focus on these past few years than getting that sorted.” *Not to mention the fact that three people wouldn’t be able to make that much of a dent in the rocks out there, and Da hasn’t liked hiring in outsiders to do work since the Revolution, and…* *Gods, I need to talk to him about this. I need to talk to him about a lot of things, if the Sinnlenst are deciding they want to start playing games with my family.* Viola nodded. “Which means if Foreval knew about the hole in your defences, all she’d need to do would be to get herself somewhere close enough on the unguarded side in time for Caine to make his side of the gateway-“ “-and then she’d be inside without any of us suspecting a thing,” Mortimer finished. “Gods *damn* it!” *First Avebury, then Caine, now this – are we going to end up under siege by the whole bloody faction?*
February 12, 2026 at 8:47 AM
saranadosfiction.com
#WIPSnips | vibe

Unsurprisingly don't have that, so have something along the same theme - Sabbat realising that the room he's just broken into because he thought it was Avebury's doesn't quite match up to Avebury's general vibe

( saranadosfiction.com/2023/04/08/s... )
The first thing Sabbat noticed about Avebury’s room was that it was a fucking mess. Not as bad as some he’d seen – hells, not as bad as his own, half the time – but, given everything else he knew about the Sinnlenst brat, the fact that he apparently used his floor and most of the flat surfaces in the room for clothes storage and kept half his books in an untidy pile next to the head of his bed was a stark reminder that judging by appearances was a good way to wind up making the kind of assumptions about your enemy that you didn’t survive to learn from. And, on the topic of the books, that was something else he’d not expected. He’d been assuming there’d be academic texts and journals – maybe even a diary, if he was bloody lucky – but instead, fully two thirds of the books he could see from where he was standing were thin, soft-covered pamphlets with illustrated covers which, unless the university’s teaching had got a fuck of a lot more interesting since he’d last been lurking at the back of a lecture hall, had entirely fuck-all to do with magical theory. *Wouldn’t have figured him for a penny-dreadful reader. Suppose he has to get ideas for those sixdamn gloating monologues from somewhere, though.* Admittedly, he’d had to deal with less of that than Cervanso had – mostly on account of being barely conscious when the bastard’d shown up back in that alleyway – but what he’d overheard both then and at the meeting hadn’t made him like Avebury any more than he did already (and, given he was fairly fucking certain the Sinnlenst was at least partially responsible for the fucking box and everything that’d come from that, ‘like’ was a fucking strong word for how he felt about his continued existence).
February 11, 2026 at 9:05 AM
saranadosfiction.com
#WIPSnips | liquid

Archer's very aware that Sabbat uses disguises when he's infiltrating places, but there's a hell of a difference between knowing that in theory and seeing it in practice, especially when he's managed to do *that* to himself

( saranadosfiction.com/2021/03/06/s... )
*What the-?* “Sabbat?” The halfway-stranger on his doorstep rolled his eyes. “Aye, ‘s me. Fucksake, Archer, y’forget I was goin’ disguised or somethin’?” “No, I-” It *was* Sabbat, no doubt about it – nobody else had quite that accent and cadence, for a start – but… “Gods, what did you do to your face?” “Bleachin’ liquid,” the assassin said. “Stung like a bastard, but it’s workin’.” He reached into his mouth, yanked out something which for a horrible moment Archer thought was an actual tooth, and dropped it into the pocket of his bloodstained waistcoat. “‘s supposed t’come off with soap an’ water-” “Good!” He hadn’t meant for it to come out as vehemently as it did, but there was something deeply disconcerting about Sabbat looking as pale as he did. He looked… *Like a corpse. He looks like a corpse. Like Rose.* “Hells’ gates, Archer. It look that fuckin’ bad?” “No, you- Alright, yes. It does. You look dead.” “Fairly bloody sure I ain’t.” He pinched the back of his hand between the bitten-short nails of his thumb and forefinger, hard. “Ah, fuck. There. I ain’t dead.”
February 10, 2026 at 8:43 AM
saranadosfiction.com
#WIPSnips | select

In which Anneke continues to have Opinions about the University

( saranadosfiction.com/2021/05/01/s... )
“It’s not *that* bad,” Fest shot back. “And didn’t you say you actually liked the library?” “I’m pretty sure I said it was too good for them and they didn’t deserve it,” Anneke retorted. “Though I will admit they’ve got a good selection of texts.” They pushed aside one of the stacks of paper on their workbench, very almost knocking over a candle in the process, and pulled out a slim, battered-looking volume. “See this? This is one of the only copies of Ettin’s treatise on metallic resonances I could get my hands on, and it’s missing two of the appendices! Your library has the full copy, *and* the notes, *and* the second edition that was never actually published beyond a few test runs because Van Vorin’s text came out the same year and pretty much revolutionised the field and nobody wanted to reference Ettin on the topic any more.” “I see,” said Fest, who didn’t. “And as for the bloody apprenticeships,” Anneke went on, warming to their theme. “I don’t see why the University has the right to try and codify a pre-existing arrangement entirely for their own convenience. If a master magician wants to take an apprentice, that should be between them and the apprentice in question, not the University arranging things for their own bloody purposes! Not to mention the fact that an actual apprenticeship is a good deal longer than three months, if you go by the traditional definition. The University only wants it shorter so they can impose their own damn readings rather than letting students understand how to do research on their own.”
February 9, 2026 at 8:50 AM
saranadosfiction.com
#WIPSnips | airport

Unsurprisingly, that I don't have, so have 'docks' instead, in the general spirit of 'place where you get on/off a mode of transport'

( saranadosfiction.com/2021/05/01/s... )
“That need sewing up?” Jenny asked, frowning. “Won’t take a moment to get one of mine to run for the medicine kit.” He shook his head. “Archer fixed it up already. ‘s just a cut.” *And nobody else is getting sight of it until it’s healed enough that it doesn’t look like a sixdamn message.* He’d promised Archer he’d not cut on himself but, if it looked like it was going to scar, he’d take a knife to it just to stop it scarring in as words. *No one gets to mark me but me.* “He’s a good boy,” she said, approvingly. “You keep hold of him.” And, before he could ask what the hells she meant by that, she added “And you send word from wherever it is you’re going, if you can. Least that way I know those bastards didn’t ambush the two of you on the way out.” “Ain’t promisin’ anythin’.” But, because it was Jenny, and because he owed her, “I’ll try.” “Good. You get yourself sorted and back here quick as you can, and I’ll tell anyone comes looking for you you’re down the docks for the day and they can leave contracts with me.” He didn’t get many contracts outside the Order these days, but Jenny’d always done right by him when it came to acting as a go-between for the ones which did show up. “Thanks.” She shrugged a shoulder. “No need to thank me. Hurts me none if everyone knows I’ve one of the best hired killers in the city under my roof.”
February 8, 2026 at 8:48 AM
saranadosfiction.com
#SundaySnips | yearn

That I don't have words-wise, but the feeling's definitely there - in this specific snippet, Archer's just carried Sabbat through into the bathroom so he can have a bath while his legs're still not working.

( saranadosfiction.com/2023/12/29/s... )
“Here.” The tile floor was cold even through the rug, especially after the warmth of the other man’s body heat, and for a brief flicker of a moment he felt something twist at the base of his gut – an odd, lurching feeling, as though he’d lost something that he’d not even realised he needed until it was gone. *Ain’t as though he’s going anywhere. So why do I feel like… this?* Fuck, he didn’t know what he felt like, and that was half the fucking problem right there. He wanted Archer’s skin against his own, and the reassuring thud of the vampire’s heartbeat against his ear, and the knowledge that if anything happened, he didn’t have to face it alone, but how much of that was the stupid fucking childish wanting of being sick and wanting someone else to take care of you for once, and how much of it was the thing that, even in the privacy of his own skull, he couldn’t bring himself to put into words? Somewhere behind his head, he heard the hiss of taps opening and the sound of running water – he looked up in time to see Archer step back into his field of vision, wiping his hands on his waistcoat. “There. It’ll take a little while for that to fill, but it should be significantly faster than heating kettles over the fire at the very least.” “Ain’t goin’ t’be able t’reach that t’turn it off.” *Not easily, anyhow.* “I know. And, if I’m entirely honest, I don’t particularly want to leave you in here on your own. Not right now.” He winced as he said it, as though he was expecting Sabbat to argue the point with him.
February 8, 2026 at 7:57 AM
saranadosfiction.com
Me, mid-writing, very much in the 'let the words happen and see what we get' space: Oh that is objectively a terrible idea, but also I *really* want to see how it plays out if this character goes through with it.

The character in question:
But how bloody well had 'sensible' been working out for him so far, anyhow? "Fine." "You'll do it?" "I'll do it." 
February 7, 2026 at 6:30 PM
saranadosfiction.com
#Febchantment 7: Towards the climax of Silver in the Ashes, and the start of the deeply experimental and deeply dangerous ritual the crew's been working on for most of the book - which, so far, is going far better than they'd been worried it would.

( saranadosfiction.com/2025/01/03/s... )
The ritual seemed – so far, at least – to be actually working. Which, in Viola’s opinion, was nothing short of a full-on gift from the spirits and ancestors both, though she wasn’t about to tell any of the others that. So many bloody things that could have gone wrong, so many pieces that could have shattered when the magic caught, and yet, somehow, everything was still holding in place, even with enough raw power crackling through the geometries that she could already feel the blood-sweat prickling at her hairline and the back of her neck. *Suspect I won’t be the only one needing a change of shirt after this. If some University researcher ever manages to find a way to fix that particular side-effect of ritual magic, they’ll be the most popular magician in the city.* Not what she should be focusing on right now, of course, but she’d long ago learned the trick of splitting her mind in two when it came to the practical side of this kind of working. *One part of you focuses on the chanting while the other part’s looking at the circle and keeping an eye out for anything that seems like it might be about to explode. Bit like being part of a capital-R Ritual back with the clan, only the explosions’re more likely to be literal rather than metaphorical on this side of things, and none of this lot are likely to force me to go make nice with whichever cousin I managed to piss off by existing this time.* *Speaking of family…* She risked a quick glance over at Mortimer, wincing as she saw the blood already trickling down the side of his face. *Stay safe, you. The last thing I need right now is to have to explain to my baby sister why I’m bringing her betrothed back to her in pieces, whether that’s physically or because something broke in your head.* *And besides*, her mind added, before she could stop it, *we’re already short-handed enough without something happening to you as well. Unless you think those two are going to walk out of that circle happy and healthy and ready to get back into the fight as soon as this is over.* Inside the ring of candles, in the middle of a mess of geometries and sigils that took up more half the ballroom, the two magicians in question seemed so far removed from the world outside the working that she almost felt as though she was watching a pair of ghosts (and that was another thought to be kicked as far back into the depths of her mind as possible, especially with the possible link between magic and intention that half the research magicians were convinced was the missing piece that’d fix most of modern magical theory). Sabbat hadn’t had another seizure yet (and she’d thank the spirits and ancestors both for that if it held true for the rest of the ritual, because him going into convulsions in the midst of that many candles would be a fair fucking recipe for disaster) but he didn’t look particularly comfortable either – he’d rolled over onto his side, curling up around his belly as though he was suffering through a bout of bleeding cramps, and, at some point in the last minute or so, he’d managed to either cough or vomit up enough blood and foam that there was a noticeable puddle of it pooling under his cheek. *And no-one to clean that up for you, because you’re in no state to, none of us can cross the circle while it’s active, and Archer doesn’t have the time. Which has to be eating him up inside, but you’d not know it to look at him.*
February 7, 2026 at 9:14 AM
saranadosfiction.com
#WIPSnips | redeem

The idea rather than the word here - we're back in Blood on the Snow, and our first mention of the Turned

( saranadosfiction.com/2020/06/02/b... )
“Turned,” the captain said again, not looking up from her paperwork. She sighed, the exhalation accompanied by a cloud of blueish smoke, and tapped her pen against the first line of the report. “Says here they’re-” “I know what they are,” Archer said, coldly. He swallowed hard, fighting the sudden twist of panic in his guts. “What I don’t know is why you want to know about them. If you know enough to know they exist, you know they’re not something we’re overly keen on discussing. Especially with non-vampires.” That was an understatement. The existence of the Turned was almost a taboo subject in vampire society – while there wasn’t a prohibition as such against mentioning the name, anyone who brought them up more than once, or, worse, engaged in lengthy discussion on the subject was likely to find themselves ostracised from their community until they’d at the very least undergone some sort of ritual cleansing. And as for those who actually created Turned… *I was young – gods, we both were – and she was dying, and I’d have moved the stars for her if it meant we had one more moment together… and that still doesn’t excuse the fact I asked.* She’d said no, of course. She’d always been the sensible one in that relationship. But he’d still asked. *Almost half a century ago, now, and fifteen years at sea should have been enough to wash away even the worst of what asking did to my soul.* *And yet. I still asked.*
February 7, 2026 at 9:02 AM
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Somewhat inexplicably, the 1988 Burbank films animated version of Hiawatha (which I spent an age trying to find any more information about on the internet a while back and was half convinced I'd made up until I finally hit the right set of keywords)
The VHS cover for the 1988 Hiawatha animation
February 6, 2026 at 4:49 PM
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#SFFChat 4: Archer, Sabbat, and a night ride up the mountain to the house of one of Archer's oldest friends, who might - if they're lucky - know how to free Sabbat from the artefact he's accidentally gone and got himself blood-bonded to.

( saranadosfiction.com/2021/08/07/s... )
If there were any more Sinnlenst out on the mountain that night, they were lying low. Archer bent forward over his mare’s neck, peering into the gloom. Ahead of them, the path wound up between the trees, pale moonlight lying in pools and puddles between the shadows of the overhanging branches. It’d started to snow again – common enough in this season – and the white flakes blew across the road in flurries, scattering and dancing in the freezing air. The horses’ breath came in plumes of steam, rising up in front of them like volcanic clouds, and, just for a moment, the whole world seemed balanced on a silvered knife-edge of perfect stillness. “Fuck!” The reality of the situation, of course, was a good deal less poetic. He sat up in his saddle, turning to look towards the source of the expletive. “Are you alright?” *Bloody stupid question. Of course he’s not alright.* The assassin shook his head, face grey. “No.” “What’s wrong?” “-th’fuck d’you-” Sabbat began, and then groaned and doubled over, one gloved hand pressed to his mouth. “Ngh.”
February 6, 2026 at 2:00 PM
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#WIPSnips | sixth

A longer one today - sorry! - and accidentally fairly apposite given the Febchantment prompt game, since we're in the midst of some deeply complex experimental ritual-crafting

( saranadosfiction.com/2024/03/05/s... )
“More than something,” Verist said, his tone gently chiding. “This is going to work, Will.” *It’ll bloody well have to, won’t it?* But if the others were more optimistic than he was about their chances, far be it from him to bring down the mood. “You’re certain on the overlap of those sigils, then?” “As certain as I can be.” He pushed the sheet of draft paper across the table and tapped a forefinger on the six-way linkage of sigils at centre of the conjoined circles. “Here. I’ve used an older form of the gateway – van Bahrik, rather than the standard – which shares more of the same lineage with Halsdottir, meaning that we’re able to double-count some of the sigils for both, and they overlap with several of the core protective spells in the same way. The second of the magic-severing curses that Sabbat managed to dig up also has some overlap, which would be a *fascinating* research topic when this is all over-” He broke off, shook his head. “Sorry, that’s from the point. Anyway, the curse in question needed some fairly significant modifications, which Harry and Miss Cervanso have spent the last couple of hours working on – and which, I suspect, is why they’re both currently downstairs fortifying themselves with more tea – but, provided the link between Sabbat and the artefact works as we believe it does, there should be no long-term effects.” “Assuming that the transfusion works.” Because if it didn’t, and if their theory about exactly what the box had done to Sabbat’s *vessel anima* was correct, then all they’d have done for him was trade a slow death for a faster one – humans might not be as intrinsincly tied to the base magic of the world as vampires and werewolves, but a human whose body wasn’t able to store magic any more would still die just the same.
February 6, 2026 at 9:27 AM
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I also very much want to write something about Kavaris, though I think that one has to be a story-story rather than an in-universe travelogue, because... well, look:
“A snowball fight?” Fest echoed, trying not to look at whatever Anneke was doing to his hand. “That doesn’t seem very… priestly.” “Oh, it wasn’t. But the novices wanted to let off steam after being cooped up in the library for most of the week before due to that blizzard that rolled through, and the High Priest wouldn’t allow them to throw snowballs where they might hit worshippers, so that meant the street outside the temple was out.” “And you?” “Oh, I wanted to let off steam too. I’d had my head down in a copy of Kavaris’ treatise on the seven magical properties of common prairie grass – which I’m half convinced she wrote to win some sort of bet, given how much more boring it is than everything else she ever worked on – and I needed to do something to burn off the irritation I’d worked up over her indexing. You’ve seen Kavaris’ indexing, haven’t you? She was one of the foremost minds of her generation – any generation, honestly – but I think she must have been allergic to the concept of organisation. All her notes are completely illogically put together, and the indexes, when they happen, are more than half just annotations and reminders to buy more burn salve or bite ointment or chilblain rub or similar. I once found a knitting pattern for socks in the back of one of her books – socks! – and that wasn’t the most bizarre thing in that book either. In fact-“
February 5, 2026 at 4:15 PM
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#WIPSnips | except

So you remember the snippet with them both having been crying earlier this week? This is a part of the conversation that led to that.

CW for suicidal ideation/intent of the 'taking control of your own ending' variety

( saranadosfiction.com/2023/10/20/s... )
Archer glared at him. “Don’t you bloody dare. I’ll be alright. I just need to catch my breath, that’s all.” “Y’know you’re a fuckin’ bad liar, mate?” Not completely true, that, but Sabbat hadn’t known him for more than a decade without picking up on his tells. “If y’need t’drink, go ahead an’ do it.” *Would make everything a fuck of a lot less complicated. And being unconscious’d hurt less than this.* And *that* was sailing dangerously close to the cold steel of the razor against his throat and fixing the problem by way of making his own fucking choice on when to take the drop, except with the added complication of forcing Archer to be the one holding the blade. From the look on the other man’s face, he’d come to much the same conclusion. “Don’t you fucking *dare*, Sabbat. Do you really think I don’t know how much blood you’ve already lost?” “…Din’t realise y’were keepin’ track.” And, before he could stop himself: “Ain’t goin’ t’matter that much longer, anyhow.” “What do you- I *will not* be the instrument of your godsdamn suicide!” “Then show me a way this fuckin’ ends differently, Will, ’cause right now I ain’t seein’ it!”
February 5, 2026 at 8:39 AM
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Also screw it, have a snippet where Anneke's actually explaining a lot of this in-world:
“That anyone can be a magician. Yes, until recently we had class and gender restrictions on who got taught what, and there’s still the matter of fees and apprenticeships and all of that, but the knowledge itself is free, and anyone can have talent – or, failing that, pick up a book or find someone to teach them. This author argues that that’s wrong: magic should belong to the ruling classes, and, particularly, to those who have the power and ability to back up their possession of it by force. Essentially, it’s might makes right, but with rituals instead of swords.” “I’m not sure I understand,” Fest admitted. “The Sinnlenst want to stop us bringing magic back into the world – that’s why they’re so against the University, and why the Order exists. How could a Sinnlenst argue that they wanted magic and still *be* a Sinnlenst?” “Ah!” Anneke exclaimed. “That’s where this gets interesting. Sorcery’s not specifically a bloodline trait – as far as we know, it just springs up at random – but there’s some evidence to suggest that families who’ve had one sorcerer are likely to have a few more some generations down the line. Nothing solid enough to make a case for it being passed down like hair colour or noses, but the point still stands.” *I don’t entirely see how this follows*, Fest thought. But even on a day’s acquaintance, he’d started to get an idea of how Anneke’s mind worked, and so he stayed silent, waiting to see how the apparent tangent was going to relate back to the large and very pressing problem of the monster that was trying to kill them.
February 5, 2026 at 8:05 AM