Let me tell you what the most annoying thing in Urban Fantasy is.
It’s patented Strong Female Characters double-subverting their emancipation. They spend all their time kicking ass and taking names, and then along comes a Hunk, or a Dark Broody Type, and suddenly they rediscover their femininity, which inexplicably means going doe-eyed and knock-kneed in the presence of the Guy. It also makes them weaker. The narration has this smug-ass tone that after all this time of fending for themselves they are oh so lucky to now have a Guy do it for them.
But the absolutely worst part? When they fucking LAMPSHADE it, in this tee-hee-hee tone that suggests that ‘feminism is great and all but do we have to do it all the time?’
“I know this is probably a blow to feminism, but I enjoy using my womanly wiles to get men to do what I want”
“Of course it’s not politically correct, but I want to feel protected by his strong shoulders”
GAH. Someone find me some urban fantasy that doesn’t do this, please.
AUGH THIS BULLSHIT REALLY BAKES MY MOTHERFUCKING BISCUITS.
BEING EXPECTED TO SWAP YOUR POWER FOR A RELATIONSHIP IS NOT A FANTASY IT IS A REALITY THAT IS WHY WE HAVE FANTASY GET YOUR POOP OUT OF MY ICE CREAM ASSHOLES AUGH AUGH AUGH
I see I’ve got to get on writing faster, ‘cause the current crop sure ain’t cutting it. >:[
Yes, it’s annoying.
Anonymous asked: rounding out the strilonde quartet: roxy?
roxy’s typing style is really, really difficult to get right. like ofc one thing that people forget is that she only really does the typo thing when she’s drunk, so if you’re writing her with lots of typos, she is drunk. otherwise she sounds a lot more like dave. like dave, she tends to chase down and exhaust every stray thought she has. she’s a little more sexually suggestive than dave. she uses chatspeak but inconsistently? so often i end up going back and adding in chatspeak strategically to make the whole thing sound more roxy-like. i prefer writing sober roxy if only because the typos are actually pretty difficult to figure out. like a lot of the time in canon they’re actually pretty clever so when i do write drunk roxy i have to put a lot of thought into it.
roxy’s complicated because she’s basically ruled by two conflicting desires: to put her friends first, and to get what she wants. roxy would really like to be selfless and accommodating in everything, but she’s very emotional and she can’t really reign it in so she ends up trying to manipulate people to get what she wants. i think of her as dirk lite? except that dirk’s manipulation is very deliberate and i think roxy explains away her manipulation to herself as being in everyone’s best interests. so like the key example is her blowing up jane’s computer to try and get her to not play sburb, and then when she confessed about it, guilt-tripping jane into thinking that she was being a bad friend by not just listening to roxy in the first place. roxy doesn’t want to play sburb so she comes up with a way not to play, and then when she changes her mind, she twists the story so that she’s not at fault. that’s very classic roxy.
she’s in love with dirk and knows he doesn’t feel the same, but she WANTS him to, so she keeps pressing him even though logically she knows it won’t do anything. she likes jake but she wants to be a good friend so she tells herself she’s putting jane first by pressuring jane to confess to jake, when really that’s something jane’s not comfortable with. she wants to be a good friend but she can’t help putting her own desires first. and the alcohol clearly exacerbates that.
that’s why her friendship with calliope is my favorite, because she doesn’t want anything from calliope. so she’s actually an amazing friend to calliope, really validating and supportive and sweet. that’s like the best version of roxy.
Yes, of course I’ve heard what the superstitious locals say: “Stay out of the mountains! There’s no shelter on those harsh peaks, and every last combe and glen is infested with killer spiders!”. They say there’s no way to safely cross that mountain range - anyone trying to rest high up on the peaks will die of exposure, lashed by cruel icy winds. Better that, though, than to risk seeking shelter in the forested vales.
The Crawling Death, they call it. Great glossy black eight-legged fiends, some small enough to creep between the rings of your maille, some large as a splayed hand and quick as a cat, and some - so they say - the size of dogs. Or swine. Or cart-horses. The tales have been exaggerated in the telling, of course, since hardly anyone dares venture far into the gullies and ravines that lace between the majestic peaks (most certainly not at night, when the Crawling Death make their appearance, silent as a shadow).
Even if they’re not quite as large as people say, they’re certainly no less deadly. The king’s physicians, who had the unenviable task of tending to the survivors of the last failed expedition, wrote down in stomach-turning detail the precise symptoms of that merciless venom. Erupting blisters the size of a hen’s egg. Flesh blackening, rotting, and sloughing away from the bone. Sweating, drooling, trembling, nausea, vomiting, ranting and raving and spasming like a creature possessed until death seems like a mercy. Others were gripped with a pain unmatched by any wound of war, paired (curiously) with an erection hard as any standing stone.
And yet, in spite of all this, I’m planning an expedition into the mountains. It’s true, I haven’t the equipment with me to safely shelter from the bitter cold above the tree-line, out of the reach of skittering legs and poison-slick fangs. I have no blessing from the gods, and no miracle of alchemy intended to keep the Crawling Death at bay. What I do have, though, is a map. A map from a past age, a more enlightened age, where the cartographers had a decent understanding of the sciences, rather than the encyclopaedic knowledge of rumour and superstition that seems to be the requirement for a mapmaker these days. And from this map - and the journals that I found with it - I have deduced one particularly salient fact, that I am convinced will allow me to make the journey through the supposedly arachnid-infested ravines in perfect safety.
The superstitious peasants might say every last one of those valleys is crawling with deadly poisonous creatures, but in fact, most of them are utterly empty and safe! However, my map has revealed the source of this rumour: Spiders Gorge, which contains over ten thousand spiders, is an outlier adn should not have been counted.
i feel you deserve some sort of prize for this