Finn McLellan
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saranadosfiction.com
Finn McLellan
@saranadosfiction.com
3.5K followers 770 following 4.2K 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/

@house_of_five@wandering.shop
(they/he)
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#WIPSnips | zigzag

Again, not a word I have, so we're doing vibes/mood - this time, back in Blood on the Snow and Sabbat musing on the thieves' roads and rat-runs of Old Town

( saranadosfiction.com/2020/06/15/b... )
The night’d started off bitter, even at street level, and by the time Sabbat had made it back to Old Town the temperature on the rooftops had plummeted to the kind of raw, vicious cold that stopped breath, stole feeling from fingers, and made any attempt at full-speed roof-running suicidal at best. Lucky, then, that that wasn’t what he was planning. *There’s a difference between hunting and chasing. No sense wasting time and energy racing over the rooftops when all I need to do is wait for prey to come to me.* It wasn’t going to be that easy, mind. Old Town was big – bigger than most people gave it credit for, given half of them only ever saw it from the bridges in the other Quarters – and the rooftops were a maze of rat-runs and hidden passages, constantly changing as people added storeys or knocked down half-rotten extensions. Add in the summer fires and the deliberate traps and deadfalls the gangs built along the borders of their territories, and you had a labyrinth easily as deadly as anything the old Adakari mage-kings had been able to dream up and a hundred times more vicious for being home-grown (say what you liked about Sacaan, its reputation for bloodthirstiness was sodding well deserved). Course, that all meant a good deal less if you knew it – and, for all he’d spent a fair amount of his life so far at sea, Sabbat was more at home on the rooftops of Old Town than half its residents were on the streets. *Which means this bastard, whoever he is, is in my territory. Which means I get to make the rules.*
November 28, 2025 at 8:47 AM
saranadosfiction.com
#WIPSnips | disorganise

Don't have that, so very much going with mood/vibes here - Viola taking a look around Verist's study

( saranadosfiction.com/2024/01/19/s... )
Viola wasn’t entirely sure what she’d been expecting the inner sanctum of the most important magician in Sacaan to look like, but Mortimer’s father’s study definitely wasn’t it. It wasn’t that the room itself was unimpressive – between the towering bookcases, the grand fireplace, and the heavy-curtained windows, it certainly felt like a magician’s study – but the furniture was mismatched and worn-looking, clearly chosen more for comfort than for show, and among the piles of papers and books scattered around the various flat surfaces in the room she caught sight of more than a few empty plates and discarded tea glasses. It looked like the kind of room that someone spent a lot of time in, and, more, that they didn’t feel the need to tidy up for outsiders, and she couldn’t help feeling as though she was somehow intruding into Mortimer’s family’s secrets just by being there. *I know Cyra said we were to go up and wait, but I can’t think the Archmage is going to be too pleased to find a stranger in his study, even if his son can vouch for her.* It would’ve been easier to deal with the wait in four-legged form, since then at least she could’ve curled up in front of the fire for a brief nap, but Mortimer had been very clear on the fact that, while his father was generally fairly accommodating on most things, coming face to face with either an unexpected wolf or an unexpected naked woman in his study would probably strain that to breaking point – and, as a result, she was to please stay both two-legged and clothed for the duration.
November 27, 2025 at 8:48 AM
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#WIPSnips | impede

That I don't have, but 'block' I do - into Fire in the Sky (so 'ware spoilers at the link) and Sabbat having a run-in with some scavengers

( saranadosfiction.com/2025/08/02/f... )
“Hey!” Sabbat groaned, rolling over and throwing his arm across his eyes in an attempt to block out the sudden and unwelcome shaft of light stabbing across his vision. He’d been *warm*, for fuck’s sake – warm, and comfortable, and more than halfway to complete unconsciousness, and if- “Hey! Over here!” And if whoever was talking didn’t shut the fuck up very soon, they were going to find themselves missing a tongue. Or possibly a throat, if he could just… make his limbs work. Sodding hells, it shouldn’t be this hard to move, even if he did feel half-frozen. So, fine. No need for bloodshed right now – if they weren’t trying to attack him, no point leaving another pile of bodies for the Watch to pick over. Just warn ‘em off. Wasn’t so cold he couldn’t speak, yet. “‘m tryin’ t’sleep. Fuck off.” He’d meant it as a growl. It came out as a whisper. But the light shifted, moving away from his face, and the voice which had woken him spoke again, quieter this time – and sounding a fucktonne more disappointed than it had any fucking right to be, for his money. “Hey. He ain’t dead!”
November 26, 2025 at 8:43 AM
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#WIPSnips | system

Into the climax of Silver in the Ashes, and Viola and Mortimer trying their damndest to deal with a ritual-gone-wrong

( saranadosfiction.com/2025/02/15/s... )
If they’d had three conscious magicians, it would’ve been a hell of a lot easier – in that case, they’d have been able to get all three of the secondary circles active at the same moment, which would balance the energy between them enough that none of them would be likely to overload. As it was, however, they’d have to get two circles closed as close together as possible, and then add the third into the system as fast as they could after that. Which was in no way shape or form being made any bloody easier by the fact that, thanks to the broken window, lighting the candles was only half the problem. “I don’t understand,” Mortimer growled, twisting his body awkwardly to try and shield the guttering wick of the one candle he’d managed to light so far. “The ones on the damn working are staying lit, so why not these ones?” “Hell if I know. Probably because candles aren’t *supposed* to stay lit when the wind’s like this.” “I don’t give a good fuck what they’re supposed to do. They need to stay lit, or all of this is for nothing.” His left shoulder twitched, as though he was trying to make some sort of gesture with the missing arm. “If we can’t light the candles, we can’t bleed off the energy. And if we can’t bleed off the energy, we’ll be trying to take this down from a standing start.” *And we both know that doesn’t end anywhere good.*
November 25, 2025 at 8:37 AM
saranadosfiction.com
Also on that, braiding or brushing each others' hair is common among close friends - here, Archer finger-combing Sabbat's hair while they're both in the bathhouse would read culturally as friendship, not necessarily romantic (it is *also* romantic, mind).

( saranadosfiction.com/2022/01/29/s... )
“‘Accidentally’ nothing, if what I know of Avebury is anything to go by. I’m very worried that our young friend is in a good deal more danger than he realises.” “Reckon we need t’get involved?” “I think we might have to. Though, at this moment in time, I think dealing with that box is rather more of a priority.” He paused, his fingers stilling for a moment. “Do you want me to braid this?” “Huh?” “Your hair. If you’re… If things get worse, keeping it out of your face might help when it comes to dealing with the side-effects of whatever that thing is doing to you.” *And mean nobody ends up trying to cut it off*, Sabbat added silently. Archer wasn’t going to say that, of course – he already knew what’d happen to anyone who fucking tried it, on account of Sabbat had told him as much – but like hells he wasn’t thinking it. “Do it,” he said, out loud, and closed his eyes, letting the blissful nothingness which had been lurking at the edges of his vision rise up to claim him. *Ain’t anywhere I need to be right now. Ain’t anything I need to be doing. And if anyone does try anything while we’re in here, Archer’ll take ‘em apart before they manage it. Just need to… stay awake. ‘s all.*
November 24, 2025 at 6:06 PM
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Silver in the Ashes, and dinner at the Hall ( saranadosfiction.com/2022/11/29/s... )
*If the Sinnlenst are training up magicians as anything other than some strange know-your-enemy sideline, this war’s just got a* lot *more complicated.* Avebury seemed to be content with that answer, at least – he turned his attention back to the food on his plate, allowing Mortimer a brief moment of respite and a chance to finally get to grips with his own meal (which, thanks to his missing arm, was taking more concentration than he would otherwise have liked). *I could have asked da if he’d mind getting Cyra to cook something that could be eaten with a spoon, I suppose, but like hells I’m giving Avebury the satisfaction.* And, besides, he’d not had proper home-cooked venison in years – and, even when he’d managed to find it outside of the Hall, it hadn’t tasted the same. This was rich and hot and dripping in heavy seasoned sauce, set off perfectly by the roasted potatoes and steamed greens piled high on the other side of the plate, and every mouthful brought memories flooding back from some dusty disused corner at the back of his mind. *You know what? Making the decision to come down for dinner after all was worth it.* *Even if it does mean sharing a table with Adam bloody Avebury.*
November 24, 2025 at 4:05 PM
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#WIPSnips | debut

That I don't have, but 'introduction' I do - Archer trying (and failing) to read a book while the bath's running

( saranadosfiction.com/2023/12/29/s... )
He’d made it most of the way through the introduction – which seemed to primarily consist of the author taking the opportunity to lay out all his grievances with almost every other academic in the field in deep and exhausting detail – when he was startled out of his reverie by a loud thud and a quietly vicious snarl of ‘Fer fuck’s sake!’ that could only have come from one person. “Are you alright?” “‘m fine,” the assassin growled, rubbing at the top of his shoulder and glaring up at the side of the tub as though he could will it into submission through sheer irritation. “Lost my fuckin’ grip, ‘s all.” “I’m not surprised. The steam-“ “Don’t need a fuckin’ natural philosophy lecture, Archer. Need you t’help-” He stopped, blew out a breath, then muttered, after a moment: “Ain’t managin’ that by myself.” *You’re allowed to ask for help, you know.* And if he said as much, there was a very good chance that Sabbat would decide that he didn’t need any help after all and, worse, continue trying to do it by himself until he either wore himself out or managed to injure himself badly enough that he had to stop. *Gods, but I could wish you were less stubborn sometimes. Although, if you weren’t so godsdamn bloody-minded, it’s entirely possible you’d not even be doing as well as you currently are.*
November 24, 2025 at 8:46 AM
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#WIPSnips | global

More the idea than the word itself here - back at the start of the story, and Fest distracting himself by looking around Archer's rooms (also yes, the art-style on the blanket there is formline [or, at least, this world's version of])

( saranadosfiction.com/2020/04/16/b... )
At least, he supposed, there wasn’t any shortage of interesting things within eyesight to distract himself with. The vase on the mantelpiece, for example – small, unassuming, but inlaid with silver and blue lines which glinted in the weak sunlight as though there was starlight trapped within them. Or the blanket draped across the back of the chair Viola was sitting in – heavy white wool, decorated in red and black lines and patches which curved around each other to form a picture of a leaping orca every bit as real as the one painted on the wall behind the statue of the Three Brothers at the High Temple. *I wonder if that’s for prayer – I know some people use blankets in their rituals, and it sounds like the sort of thing yellow-eyes would do.* *Though I don’t think Viola’d be sitting on it if that was the case.* “Do I have something on my face?” “What? No.” “Then why’re you staring at me? I know you’re from up-country, but I’m pretty sure you’ve seen a werewolf before today.” Dammit. He knew she was trying to get under his skin, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t working. “I wasn’t looking at you. I was looking at the blanket.” *And that makes so much more sense. Gods, if she didn’t already think I was an idiot…* “What blank- oh, that.” She reached back, running a careful hand over the orca’s dorsal fin. “I think that’s from across the water, though don’t quote me on that.”
November 23, 2025 at 8:45 AM
saranadosfiction.com
Fire in the Sky (Argentum in Aqua 3): Chapter 17

In which Sabbat and Archer share a moment of quiet
saranadosfiction.com/2025/11/22/f...

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

#ArgentumInAqua
#GaslampFantasy

🌈📚🪐📚😱
♿♾📚
“Calls herself Cass. Brokenhill Runners’ boss.” *That* got a reaction out of him – he blinked, pushed halfway to sitting before he remembered Sabbat was still lying on his chest, and then sank back down against the bed looking as though someone’d fucking concussed him. *So much for ‘anyone you know and I don’t’, then. Though how in the hells did* he *wind up running into her? Ain’t as if he does much in Old Town that ain’t to do with me or the Watch, and she ain’t likely to be palling around with them.* “Guessin’ she ain’t a stranger after all.” “…No, apparently not. Do you remember me telling you about the gang who tried to mug me the morning we had that first war council, back at the start of all this?” Didn’t ring a bell, though that didn’t mean he hadn’t mentioned it. “Plenty of idiots try t’mug you, on account o’th’fact y’keep walkin’ into the fuckin’ River Quarter dressed like a fuckin’ toff. Ain’t t’me t’keep track of every fucker with a soddin’ death wish.”
November 22, 2025 at 10:21 AM
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#WIPSnips | crystal

Context: the physical gender transition enchantment doesn't persist beyond death (a problem that the priests of Ashkenta are actively working to solve), so Archer's the only one who'd know that a dead 'woman's' corpse might be Sabbat's

( saranadosfiction.com/2018/09/09/a... )
It took him ten steps to reach the body. It felt like an eternity. The sound of the crowd faded, slowly, as he walked. Then the sound of his footsteps, ice crystals crunching under the hobnails of his boots, followed it into the silence, until all he could hear was his breathing and the slow, dull thudding of his own heartbeat in his ears. The edge of the sheet was frost-rimed, halfway rigid under his fingers, and it didn’t so much fold back as simply slide away, catching a little on the edge of the corpse’s brown, gold-pierced ear as it did so, and dislodging the swathe of long, thick black hair which had been lying across its grey-tinged face. He felt the bile rise in his throat but choked it down, forcing himself to look closer. He needed to be sure, after all. Nobody else could be. *The hair’s right. And the nose. And he does wear an earring, on occasion, though I’ve never seen him wearing one of that design. But… the skin’s wrong. Not the right shade at all, even accounting for exsanguination. There’re no scars, and I know those persist through magic. And enchantments can’t change the face* that *much. Not enough that there’d be no chance of my recognising him.* He sighed, slowly letting the tension drain from his jaw and shoulders as he finally, in the face of incontrovertible evidence, allowed himself to come to the obvious conclusion. *…It’s not him. Thank all the gods in the heavens, it’s not him.*
November 22, 2025 at 8:45 AM
saranadosfiction.com
(Actually, hell, have a snippet: saranadosfiction.com/2020/09/02/b... )
The fact that he was suddenly in possession of one which, if Archer was any judge, was doing at least some actual measurable good suddenly raised a number of fairly significant questions. Not least of which: “Where did you get it from?” The assassin looked, if possible, even less impressed than he had been by Archer’s previous enquiries. “Stole it,” he growled. Then he closed his eyes, tipped his head back against the pillow, and made a vague, half-hearted shrugging gesture which Archer had, over the years they’d known each other, learned to interpret as ‘do whatever first-aid you want, I’m going to sleep.’ *I should be grateful you trust me that much, I suppose. I doubt there’s anyone else in the city you’d extend the same courtesy to.* *I just wish you’d not decide to disappear inside your own head right when I could do with being able to talk to you.* He took a breath, the cold breeze from the open window cutting sharply through the lingering mess of tangled emotions and anxieties, and stood up. “I’m going to get the medicine box. I assume it’s still where it was the last time I had to patch you up here?” Surprisingly, that actually got a response. Unsurprisingly, it came in the form of another raised middle finger. *At least I know he’s not broken his hand again.* “Very helpful. I’m going to take that as a yes.”
November 21, 2025 at 7:50 PM
saranadosfiction.com
#WIPSnips | direction

In which Sabbat wakes up in the dark

( saranadosfiction.com/2024/10/02/s... )
He opened his eyes – or, at least, he thought he did, but either wherever they were didn’t have anything as fucking useful as a light source or he *couldn’t* open his eyes here – and glared in the vague direction of the voice. “-th’fuck did you do, Archer?” Silence, and then a muddle of words that he couldn’t make head nor tail of. “Speak a fuckin’ sensible language, not whatever that was. An’ that ain’t an answer, anyhow. You ain’t s’posed t’*be* here.” More muddled noise, though it sounded like a question. “You ain’t s’posed t’be here, because you ain’t s’posed t’be *dead*.” And if he kept hold of how fucking irritated he was about that, he didn’t have to think about what it meant that Archer was here, if here was where he thought it was, because if he had to think about that, he was fair fucking certain *something* inside him was going to break past all repairing. A pause. A hiss of indrawn breath. And then, suddenly, Archer’s hand was on his cheek, fingers warm and reassuringly *real*, and the muddle of sound resolved itself into something he could actually make out into individual words. “Gods, no. *No.* I’m not dead, and neither are you, and, by all the gods, I mean to keep it that way as long as I bloody can.”
November 21, 2025 at 8:50 AM
saranadosfiction.com
Thank you! This was very much one of those stories that was built around an image, which was that line (and then @illustratedjai.bsky.social was wonderful and made that image come to life pretty much exactly as it was in my head)
A digital painting of the rooftops of a Victorian-ish fantasy city at night, smoke rising from chimneys and lamplight glowing gold through windows. A barefoot figure in a shirt and breeches is caught mid-leap in the centre of the picture, silhouetted against the full moon, his hair flying out behind him and his whole pose radiating movement and adventure.
November 20, 2025 at 4:08 PM
saranadosfiction.com
Thank you for doing this!

My queer Gothic gaslamp fantasy serial ARGENTUM IN AQUA is free to read over on my site ( saranadosfiction.com ), but you can also pick up the current drafts of the first two books for free/pay-what-you-will over at finn-mclellan.itch.io
Argentum in Aqua (Finn McLellan) Blood on the Snow, Silver in the Ashes, Fire in the Sky • Queer Gothic gaslamp fantasy • Werewolves, vampires, magicians, and a whole lot of blood, swearing, and tea • Bisexual vampire gentleman scholar • Disabled transmasc assassin/thief • Lesbian werewolf bodyguard/lady’s maid • Deeply out-of-his-depth anxiety-ridden autistic vampire student (who’s ace, he just doesn’t know it yet) • Culturally (and personally) Significant Knives • Fog-shrouded streets, rooftop chases, fights in alleyways, mysterious boxes… Ongoing web serial: read online at https://saranadosfiction.com/ or in ebook form at https://finn-mclellan.itch.io/
November 20, 2025 at 12:51 PM
saranadosfiction.com
#SFFChat Q4: Sabbat choosing his name, from Chasing Moonlight, Catching the Tide (the short story where he runs away from 'home')

( saranadosfiction.com/2021/02/13/c... )
Sabrian grinned, watching the unfrozen corner of his reflection’s mouth twist upward in fierce triumph. *Hey, what d’you fucking know? I’m still me.* Question was, was he still *Sabrian?* It’d been a perfectly serviceable name for most of his life so far, and he didn’t have too many problems with it in and of itself, but something about it didn’t quite fit right any more – that, and he’d heard it too many times in his uncle’s mouth for it not to come with an added ‘girl’ and ‘daughter’ that made his lip curl. *Sa- Best be something close, else I’ll not know myself any more. Sabr… Sab… Saba…* *Sabbat. I’ll be Sabbat.* He wasn’t quite sure why he’d landed on that name, but the moment he tried it on he knew that it fit – curt, sharp, and stabbing-sounding in a way that ‘Sabrian’ just wasn’t. Perfect for the kind of person he was planning on becoming, in other words. “Sabbat,” he said, and the boy in the mirror grinned lopsidedly back at him. “Sabbat. Aye, that’ll fuckin’ do.” Ten minutes later, one of the second floor windows swung silently open. A shadow slid out of the darkness of the house, swarmed up the wall, and, moving with all the speed and agility of a born roof-runner, launched itself out into the empty space between the rooftops, hanging for a second in weightless flight before landing in a diving roll on the flat roof of the shop across the way. The moon shone down. The fog rolled in. And the boy called Sabbat raced onward, chasing a brighter future.
November 20, 2025 at 12:12 PM
saranadosfiction.com
#SFFChat Q1: For folks who don't know him, meet Sabbat - assassin, thief, ex-pirate, practical magician, trans guy, and powered almost entirely by the kind of stubbornness that picks itself up off the cobbles, spits out a tooth and a mouthful of blood, and says 'right, what else've you fuckin' got?'
A digital portrait in flat colours of a brown-skinned man with long black hair, grey eyes, and a scar down his left cheek, leaning on the back of an armchair and holding a glass of tea. He's wearing black Victorian-style trousers and waistcoat, long boots, a white shirt, and black neckscarf, and his sleeves are rolled up, revealing a fair number of scars on his arms.
November 20, 2025 at 11:32 AM
saranadosfiction.com
In terms of visible non-human traits, you can see Archer's eye in his portrait (as well as the black colouration on his fingernails, just).

For Viola, her ears and her toenails (which're pretty much claws) are probably the most obvious ones in her portrait.

(Art by @illustratedjai.bsky.social )
A digital portrait in flat colours of a man sitting in a green winged armchair holding a glass of tea. He has long black hair, tied back in a low ponytail, very pale skin and one yellow slit-pupiled eye - his other eye is covered by a black scarf-style eyepatch. He's wearing soft black indoor boots, black trousers, a white shirt, a red cravat, and a black waistcoat - there's silver embroidery on the edge of his waistcoat and the front of his boots. A digital portrait in flat colours of a character (Viola) sitting sideways across a green armchair (it's the same chair from the previous image). She has long blonde hair, which is tied back into a braid, pale skin, pointed ears, and bright blue eyes. She's wearing a white shirt and a black waistcoat with red embroidery on it, as well as red trousers with black embroidery along the seams. Her trousers are rolled up to just below the knee and she's not wearing any shoes or socks - her toenails are long and look more like claws. She's holding a glass of tea in a silver holder, and smiling at the viewer.
November 20, 2025 at 10:53 AM
saranadosfiction.com
#WIPSnips | special

Back at the start of Silver in the Ashes, and Sabbat managing to give Archer some very surprising news in the most bloody casual way possible

( saranadosfiction.com/2021/03/06/s... )
“Like y’thought y’weren’t goin’ t’see me again. I’m *fine*. Cervanso’s fine. Your fuckin’ toff friend’s bastard kid’s fine. Your red-eye brat-” “-is drinking tea in the other room,” Archer said, and was almost gratified to see the fleeting look of relief on the assassin’s face. *You, my friend, care a lot more than you pretend you do. Or, at least, you care that I care, which is almost the same thing.* “And what do you mean, ‘your toff friend’s kid’?” “*Bastard* kid,” Sabbat clarified. “An’ that ain’t fuckin’ swearin’ – not about that, at least. His folks weren’t married.” Given the conversation they’d had before Sabbat had left, and given that there were relatively few of Archer’s friends who had children who’d been born out of wedlock and acknowledged, that could only be one person. Though how in the world Sabbat had wound up talking to *him* Archer had no idea. “What on earth does Harry Mortimer have to do with this? I didn’t think he was even back in the city.” “He was infiltratin’ the Sinnlenst,” Sabbat said, as casually as he might’ve said ‘I met him in the tavern’ or ‘we passed on the street’. “Reckoned he’d try an’ prove himself t’the Order, on account of not wantin’ special treatment just ‘cause of his da.” And, before Archer could even begin to work out what to do with that information, he added, “Also he’s down an arm since y’last saw him.” *“What?”* “I’m assumin’ as much, anyhow. He have two last time y’spoke?”
November 20, 2025 at 8:49 AM
saranadosfiction.com
#WIPSnips | third

Fest continues to be having a very bad day (week? month?)

( saranadosfiction.com/2023/10/07/s... )
*They’re both equally as plausible. Why do I always end up assuming the worse version?* Because assuming the better one was a very good way to wind up miles away from home alone in a cellar with someone who’d just tried very hard to kill you and then lied to your face about it. Or maybe that was just a side effect of being Jonathan Fest. *This kind of thing sounded a lot more exciting and a lot less terrifying when I was just* reading *about it. They never seem to put in the part where you spend half the time thinking you’re going to faint, throw up, or both.* “I said, I’m going upstairs,” Avebury said, with an inflection that implied that this was at least the third time he’d repeated himself. “You’re welcome to tag along, if you feel the need – if not, I’m sure our master will praise you for your obedience.” *He touched a nerve, didn’t he? That’s the most irritated with him you’ve sounded since we got here.* “The Archmage explicitly said that we were to stay down here.” “I know that, *Jonathan*. I’m not an idiot. I’m also not a child. If there’s fighting happening up there, I should be a part of it. And so should you, unless that sword you’re wearing is just for show.” “I-” *Damn you!* The Archmage had forbidden them from calling each other out, but that was as near an accusation of cowardice as made no difference. *But if we start brawling down here and get caught, we’ll both be sent home in disgrace, and my parents will kill me. Or, at least, be Disappointed in me, and that’s almost as bad.* “It’s not, and you know as much. Lead on, then.”
November 19, 2025 at 8:37 AM
saranadosfiction.com
#WIPSnips | retrograde

Vibes this time, and 'retrograde' perfectly describes a lot of Avebury's views on society

( saranadosfiction.com/2020/12/02/b... )
It wasn’t the only thing she hated. True to his word, the Sinnlenst had provided a bath – a hot one, even, which had felt a whole lot better than she was ever going to admit to him – and a change of clothes. But, because he clearly felt he hadn’t been enough of a bastard already, the change of clothes in question was a dress. It was, all things considered, a fairly reasonable dress – he’d not gone out of his way to get something utterly hideous or horrifically badly made, and the colour wasn’t far from what she normally wore. It was even approximately her size, which was worryingly thoughtful of him. But it was still a damn dress. *‘More becoming to your sex’ indeed. Bastard.* It wasn’t that she objected to dresses on principle – hells, they looked damn good on some people (and off them, she amended, as the memory of a particular ex-girlfriend sprang to mind). But they weren’t for her, and, more to the point, she’d be damned if some arrogant speciesist sexist bastard of a blackmailer was going to get her into one just to make himself feel better about the fact he’d originally mistaken her for a boy. “I’m not sodding wearing that,” she said, out loud. No response. “Either you give me my clothes back-” *fat chance of that. Bet they’re going through them for anything I might be smuggling in.* “-or I’ll walk out of here naked. Your choice.”
November 18, 2025 at 8:45 AM
saranadosfiction.com
#WIPSnips | spend

In which Viola chews on a mystery and finds the taste isn't entirely to her liking

( saranadosfiction.com/2024/02/16/s... )

(Can you tell I've been away at a larp set in alt-history 1819? xD)
*Which means we’re looking at some kind of poison which blocks werewolf healing entirely, and that’s nothing I want the fucking Sinnlenst to have access to.* The shot had been meant for Avebury, though. And Avebury, as far as she was aware, was a human. *Did the bastards who jumped us know something that we don’t? Or were they just overprepared?* If they were back in the city, she’d have been able to have half a dozen avenues of investigation open within a day if she wanted them – or, more likely, she’d have turned the whole thing over to one of the more politics-and-skulduggery-minded members of the shadow arm (Jacoby Caine would’ve been her first choice, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d likely be more preoccupied with his dead brother running around as a Turned) and gone to go find a problem she could actually hit. *As it is, though, all of that’s going to have to wait until the storm dies down and I can get a message back. And in the meantime, who knows what the hells they’re getting up to while we’re not able to share what we’ve learned with the rest of the Order?* Spirits, but she missed the city so badly it hurt right now. *When I’m inside the walls, I spend half my time dreaming of the forests and, now I’m out here, I can’t wait to get back. No wonder most of the clan don’t know what to make of me. Fuck, I barely know what to make of myself.*
November 17, 2025 at 8:45 AM
saranadosfiction.com
#WIPSnips | run

Again, away for the weekend so posting this in advance - into Fire in the Sky, so 'ware spoilers, and Sabbat's proving that he's more than willing to fight dirty

( saranadosfiction.com/2025/06/21/f... )
*This* was more like it – no more running, no more hiding, just a straight up winner-takes-all no-holds-barred scrapping streetfighting *brawl*. *And brawls, I can fucking win.* “Gettin’ slow, Caine! Can’t-“ And then Caine’s hand shot out and grabbed the front of his shirt. *Fuck!* Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other Turned’s free hand move, faster than it should’ve done, too fast to dodge back, but he’d been grabbed like this before, more than once, and there was more than one way to get out of it, and when dodging away was out of the question, nothing said you couldn’t dodge in. *And you ain’t made of iron, for all you hit like it. Which means there’s a couple of places I* know *you’re fucking vulnerable.* He threw his weight forward, head down and brought his right knee up *hard* between Caine’s legs with all the power he could put into the blow. *There!* Something crunched against his skull, hot and wet, and something a good deal softer smashed against his kneecap, and Caine let go of him and staggered back and away, blood pouring from his ruined nose, hands instinctively down to protect his groin from another attack.
November 14, 2025 at 9:48 AM
saranadosfiction.com
#WIPSnips | progress

Away for the weekend, so doing this one in advance - here, Archer's very relieved that Viola's more than bright enough to understand what's going on without him having to say it.

(saranadosfiction.com/2023/12/02/s...)
“Might need y’t’have my back more’n usual if things start kickin’ off.” She nodded. “I can do that. Though, given how well you handled yourself back in Steepside, I doubt you’ll need the help.” *Well played*, Archer cheered, silently. The request hadn’t been a trap – Sabbat was a damn sight too straightforward for that when it came to emotions – but the way she’d responded had, he suspected, gone a long way towards soothing the assassin’s wounded pride. *And I trust you to back those words up if it comes to it. Which, given who we’re up against, it’s entirely likely to.* “Speakin’ of…” Sabbat muttered. He trailed off, glaring down at his boots as though they’d personally offended him. *You want a hand up, but you’d rather die than ask for that with someone else in the room.* He might not have been able to do anything to heal Sabbat’s legs, or slow the progression of what the box was doing to him, but there was something he could do. “Viola?” “Yes?” “There’s a dressing gown hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Since you seem to have lost the blanket, please feel free to borrow it for as long as you need.” *And please understand what I’m actually asking you to do here, because I don’t want to have to say it out loud.*
November 14, 2025 at 9:45 AM
saranadosfiction.com
#WIPSnips | week

Near the start of Silver in the Ashes, and Archer confronting Verist over the fact that Verist knows more about Sabbat's condition than he's telling.

( saranadosfiction.com/2023/02/11/s... )
“I want you to tell me how certain you are. I want you to tell me how long we have. I want you to tell me that there is a *godsdamn* plan.” “Sit d-“ “I don’t *need* to sit down, Philip! I need *answers*.” “Well enough, then. I’m hesitant to quantify, but I think it significantly more likely than not that the artefact is killing him, and that it’s doing so fast – a week, perhaps, without intervention. I have several possible plans which may at the very least slow the deterioration, but I need time to go over the practicalities.” *A week.* The floor seemed to shift under his feet – he stumbled, catching himself with a hand on the back of one of the armchairs near the door. His breathing and heartbeat seemed suddenly very loud in his ears, as though he were underwater, and he realised with a detached sort of interest that he couldn’t entirely feel the tips of his fingers any more. *A week.* *Lady of borders, lady of the crossing places, She who guards the gates of life and death – could you not give him more than a godsdamn week?* “Sit down,” Verist said, again, his voice muffled. “Please, Will. You look as though you’re going to faint, and my leg won’t take your weight if I have to pick you up off the damn hearthrug.”
November 14, 2025 at 8:47 AM
saranadosfiction.com
I mean...

(This is Viola Cervanso: bodyguard, lady's maid, secret society enforcer, and magician. Also very much a werewolf [and very proud of that fact, unlike her twin brother Sebastian] and very much a lesbian.

The art is, as always, by the wonderful @illustratedjai.bsky.social )
A digital portrait in flat colours of a character (Viola) sitting sideways across a green armchair. She has long blonde hair, which is tied back into a braid, pale skin, pointed ears, and bright blue eyes. She's wearing a white shirt and a black waistcoat with red embroidery on it, as well as red trousers with black embroidery along the seams. Her trousers are rolled up to just below the knee and she's not wearing any shoes or socks - her toenails are long and look more like claws. She's holding a glass of tea in a silver holder, and smiling at the viewer.
November 13, 2025 at 3:10 PM