maro in the ⏾

What fandoms do you currently write for? (updated as needed)

Star Trek (ENT)

World of Warcraft

And whatever else I'm in the mood to write at the time. This is not a hard-and-fast list, but if you want to request something, these are the fandoms I will take requests for.

What fandoms do you have works for? (updated as needed)

Stargate Atlantis

Star Trek (ENT)

Do you have a set schedule?

Not really. Here's a brief list of reasons why:

I work full-time

I'm taking three university-level history courses

I have moderate-to-severe ADHD that I can't afford to meaningfully treat

As a result of the clusterfuck that is my brain, there is a non-zero chance of me posting a dozen things over the space of three days and then not posting at all for six months.

If I'm posting consistently, it's probably stuff I've had queued for a while, especially if it's for a writing challenge (e.g., Whumptober).

Do you take requests?

Sometimes.

I'm infuriatingly picky with what requests/prompts I take, so take that as you will. The higher up the fandom is on my "currently writing for" list, the more likely I am to take it.

However, I may just not be in the mood to take requests for a while, at which point I will make a post and put something in the blog description.

Do you accept DMs?

Not unless we're mutuals. I am also not comfortable engaging in DMs with minors, but I'm perfectly okay with interaction on my public posts.

In my daily life, I work with kids, so interacting with kids online doesn't give me the ick that it does most people. I also recognize that I have a responsibility to do my part to keep kids safe. To that end, I will not censor myself, but I will take steps to make myself a safe adult to be around, including keeping my interactions public and open and providing content warnings so that all of my readers—regardless of age—can interact with my posts knowing what they're getting into.

What do you typically like to write?

Often:

Emotional whump (including hurt/comfort)

Found family

Drabbles and other short works (generally 1,000 words or less)

Weird songfic things (think "fic + youtube/spotify link to the song + some analysis maybe)

Headcanons (I will also be taking requests for these!)

Bottom line: If I'm writing it, it's gonna be short, sad, and/or sappy.

Sometimes:

Detailed smut

Works over 1,000 words

Rarely:

Descriptions of torture

AU stuff (nothing wrong with it, I'm just not enthusiastic about it)

Multi-chapter works

Multi-day writing challenges

Never:

Reader insert stuff

Detailed descriptions of gore

Most kink content (exceptions will be tagged "cw ___")

*denoted by a CW in the tags (cw <insert trigger here>)

You might want to have these tags handy:

cw torture

cw drowning

cw smut

Arator sat on a short cliff, staring out into the setting sun. The warm ocean lapped gently at his ankles, the water barely high enough to splash at his knees. If he wanted to, he could slip into it from here: by the time his feet touched the sand below, the water would be up to his stomach—maybe his shoulders, if he knelt on the bottom. The beach was some 20 yards away; even if the rising tide forced him to swim, it really wouldn’t be that far.

It was rather unsettling, really, how easy it was to forget that his parents were dead. They had been within arm’s reach a week ago: his father rallying the Vanguard, his mother rallying her Void elves. And now … gone.

Maybe it made sense. They had always been gone to some degree. For the first quarter-century of his life, his only memories were either deeply vague or revolved around the stories people would tell him about his mother and father. His mother, the brooding ranger who would kill to protect her family; his father, the idealistic paladin who would kill for the Light. They’d been willing to shut themselves on Outland some 30 years ago; why not die to protect what they loved?

But it hadn’t really meant that much, had it? he thought. How much meaning could one really derive from falling from a tower? He sighed, finally relenting to his back and laying on the cool grass. All that work to repair his father’s shield, all that time spent helping his mother, and it had all come to nothing. Silvermoon was safe, so he had to suppose it was worth it, but…

“The view is lovely from here, isn’t it?”

The paladin jolted, sitting up and whipping his head around to identify the source of the voice. His eyes landed on a tall, blond human, whose face had frozen in shock.

“I’m sorry,” Anduin said softly. “I’ve startled you.”

“You’re fine. I—” He scrambled to his feet. “I was just leaving.”

“You don’t have to! I was… actually looking for you.”

“For me? I… I don’t think I’m the best company right now.”

“I’m not asking for your company. I… I wanted to see how you were coping with everything… and if there was anything I could do to help.”

“Help?” Arator was taken aback, being comforted by a stranger. “I—with all due respect, what would you know about this issue?”

Anduin stared at him blankly for a couple of seconds, his brow furrowing when he realized that the paladin wasn’t being sarcastic.

Immediately, he tried to backpedal. “I don’t mean to be rude, I just…”

“Arator, do you know who my father was?” Anduin asked, cutting him off. At most, his voice betrayed only a mild annoyance, as if the answer was obvious.

In the hindsight of several seconds, it absolutely was.

The color drained from Arator’s face. “Oh, Light above…”

Anduin snorted, his smirk fighting to widen.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

That earned a chuckle. “You’re fine.”

“No—I feel like I’ve insulted your bloodline.”

“You haven’t. You’ve been occupied.”

“I…” That wasn’t nearly the whole truth of it, but how to explain? Sure, there was the Legion and the repair of Silvermoon to occupy the last decade, but what excuse was that? “No. I forget myself. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he insisted, finally taking a seat on the grass. “Is—if you don’t mind my asking—is Eversong always like this?”

Arator arched an eyebrow. “Have you never been here?”

“No. I came to help protect the Sunwell, but…” He shook his head. “I haven’t had the pleasure prior to this.”

“Ah. Well, I’m… not sure I would know. It hasn’t looked like this since—well, since I was about twelve years old.” As if responding to an unspoken, “Really?” he elaborated: “Arthas.”

Anduin closed his eyes, hanging his head. He shook it, then looked at the paladin again, his lips pressed together. “I’m sorry.”

He chuckled. “Had you even been born yet?”

“Yes,” he protested. “I was born in 607, so… I would have been… what, five at the time?”

“Hah. Hardly conscious.”

“No, but not unaware of what came after.”

“Fair enough,” Arator conceded, his eyebrows flicking upward.

“Besides… I know what he did to your family. And I know you know, but I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah,” the paladin murmured. His head moved automatically as his peripheral vision caught the movement of Anduin sitting on the grass. He watched the priest sigh as he laid on his back, smiling slightly as the individual blades tickled his neck. “Comfortable?”

He hummed, his eyes struggling to stay open. He looked almost cute like this, as if he were a blond lynx preening on its back, its belly equally exposed.

Despite himself, Arator chuckled, lightly swinging his legs in the water. Light, why did this human make him feel so adolescent? A warm, tingling glow had settled in his diaphragm, teasing its way up through his chest, fizzing like sparkling wine as it went.

“You’re not the only holy man on Azeroth with parental issues,” Anduin said quietly, his tone pointed but not unkind.

Arator snorted. “I figured, given who your father was.”

“Indeed,” he chuckled. “No feelings here.” He paused for a long moment. “This… may be forward of me, but if you want someone to… talk to, I’m here.”

“Thank you.” He tried not to put too much thought into the length of the younger man’s silence. Just how far does that offer go? said a treacherous, lecherous voice in the back of his head. Instinctively, he tried to stamp it out—no untoward touches.

Anduin looked up at the older man, regarding him for several moments. A little pink dusted his cheekbones, not unlike something that might be caused by sunburn. There was deniability there, to be sure, but… He tried not to give the thought too much stock. He knew what it was to be a man, nevermind a man of the Light. He knew these urges.