There was a knock on the door.
"What is it now!?", Aaron slammed his fist on the table, "I'm busy being obtuse about everyone's relationships and building more BLT-BBQ characters!"
The door slowly opened and an unnamed, unimportant underling poked her head inside the writer's office.
"The term is LGBTQ, Mr. Ehasz. Uh, We have a code M."
Aaron shot up, quickly rounding his massive cherry wood table. "A code M! Give it. I've not had a reason to laugh since that Nickelodeon exec slipped on my Maraschino cherry! Those were the days - what? You want a tip? Get out!"
The wage slave left and Aaron sat to read the fiction pulled up on her tablet after pouring himself a beautiful 1952 Jägermeister. First chapter, of course, couldn't go by without a tropey, tepid half-exposure. He scoffed. "One wonders where these tools come up with this stuff. Animoo, probably. `Oh noo why would anyone develop feelings over anything other than sex!` Must be written by a guy, this one."
He kept reading. "Fuck; Every day one of these wannabes messes with my canon! Those elves are just not right at all! Rayla was huggin' the stuffing out of Callum in season one and two, why would Moonshadow elves have qualms with public touch? They're not pointy-eared muslims, you turnip! And what's with these plant names? They sound way too realistic. Salis Anur? Salty Anus, more like it. `Moonberries`, come on, catch my drift! Call it Moongrass or Moonweed, you fancy cunt! We're using Google translate set to english-latin and a reverse filter for our spells! Do I look like I have time for this Tolkien shit?"
He took a massive Havanna cigar from a pile on his desk, bit off the tip and set it alight.
Skipping a large number of pages, his eye caught a sentence. "`Bore down`, eh? Well shit, that's descriptive! Reluctant mature fic is like medium rare chicken. You might think it's fancy but in the end it's just limp cock! What's with these Great Value brand elven SS and barbarian villains anyhow? Shit, you're so original!"
The next sentence that caught his eye read "The taste of alcohol wasn't new to him."
"Fuck!", he yelled, "Really? Rub it in my face! Jesus H. Christ! It's like these people don't get that I need to work with puritan censors all day! This is the US of A where we send teens off to get fucked up in Iraq , not the bar! Oh and nice redemption arc, dickhead. Mr. Obersturmbandführer's racism lasted for a whole of five seconds after meeting them! God, I thought Korra's lossy character development was people prematurely pissing on my grave!"
Justin poked his head in. "Can you keep it down, Ay-ay-ron? I'm trying to get Villads to stop crying about his significant other hating on his `silent D`."
"You seriously need to stop quoting that old-as-fuck Key 'n Peele skit before I lose my shit. I'm busy getting hammered and reading bad fan fiction! Out!"
He threw a maraschino cherry at his colleague, then turned back to his entertainment.
It changed in front of his eyes and he swore.
"GOD! DAMN! IT!"