sjm-please-no-more-hot-fae

[sjm-please-no-more-hot-fae]

In Which Aelin Gets Her Ass Kicked by a Lesbian POC (part 1)

For reference

tagging @cozisaidso and @youngamaroo because they asked

Under the cut

Sunrise.

Another day dawns in Terrasen.

We—you, the anti-SJM readers (or so I presume), and I, the omniscient narrator that comes with the territory of writing a meta fic— pan over the great Plain of Theralis, coated in a sweeping wave of red-gold flowers of dubious existence, before closing in on the enormous, crumbling castle that is currently occupied by a number of supposedly extraordinarily attractive fae. 

Closer, closer we go, until we are practically pressed up against a window. This somewhat stalker-ish intrusion is rewarded with the sight of two figures thrashing in bed, snarling and biting. We immediately reel backwards in disgust because bloody hell this is YA we don't want to see explicit descriptions of them banging and demand for eye bleach.

Suddenly—there is a loud thunk! as a pebble flies over the balcony, matching Aelin's crossover-y flight through the sky in both speed and majesty. It soars, strikes the floor, and the figures go still.

A ridiculously attractive—or so we are repeatedly told—fae male pokes his head out, yanking on trousers to cover the velvet-wrapped steel between his legs. The intricate black tattoos down his face crinkle as he scowls at the interruption, looking as though he would like to pillage the pebble's village and flay its family alive for good measure.

His queen—his wife—his Fireheart—his mate shows up next, golden hair rumpled and neck riddled with more holes than a slab of Swiss cheese from whatever the hell they were doing. Her turquoise gold-ringed eyes narrow in a feline gaze as she bends her shapely figure to pick the pebble up.

Poof! It disintegrates into ash, and a piece of paper, neatly folded, sits in its place. Unfolded, it reads:

3 o'clock today, outside [insert name of some random pub because I can't think of one right now]. We will see who is the better assassin then, yOuR hIgHnEsS.

Also, no magic.

Even though this is a fantasy world where internet memes do not exist, the sarcasm is blatant.

Rowan bares his canines in a purely male snarl, his masculinity radiating from every golden but actually white pore on his muscular, maler-than-male body. "How dare they." he growls.

Aelin sucks on a tooth. "I don't know," she croons. "They seem to be severely overestimating their talents."

They were not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I've got to stop here, but I'm hoping you're enjoying so far! More to come soon!

#anti tog #anti aelin #anti rowan #parody? kind of? #my writing

[sjm-please-no-more-hot-fae]

oh for goodness’ sake how did this even get past her editor

Tonight also served another purpose: to tell the world of Feyre’s pregnancy.

She wore a dress of sparkling black panels, much like the one she’d first worn here—and it did nothing to hide her swelling belly.

No, it showed off her pregnant womb, gleaming in the candlelight.

sj///m really needs to think about what she’s writing bc it literally sounds like everyone is seeing faerug’s actual womb and not her bump

#anti sjm #anti acosf

[sjm-please-no-more-hot-fae]

I’m writing a throne of glass fic where post-KoA “I am a god” Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, Queen of Terrasen, the Queen who was Promised, the Heir of Mala Fire-Bringer, the Faerie Queen of the West, Holder of 19 Titles and 5 Aliases (I counted), gets her special-snowflake colonialist ass kicked by a POC explicitly-stated-to-be-lesbian assassin. Without powers.

tell me/reblog/whatever if you want to be on the tag list.

#anti sjm #anti aelin #anti tog