kalicofox

[kalicofox]

Voice actors are SO FUCKING COOL and can completely make or break any animated sequence and I feel that movie and game companies need to remember that

[kalicofox]

“You made me love you,” the hero said. They stared out of the window, quietly, watching the rain spit down across the streets. 

The villain froze in the doorway, studying them, the cup of love-potion spiked tea still cradled in their hand. 

“I’ve known for weeks,” the hero continued, idly almost. They didn’t glance over. “It’s obvious. Too sweet in the tea.” 

“You’re still drinking it.” 

“I wanted to see what you would do. Waited.”

The villain swallowed, at that.  They hadn’t done anything - aside from give the tea. Perhaps that was the most damning thing of all.

[kalicofox]

[kalicofox]

The only way I can rationalise people accepting literal children going out and fighting crime as Robin is if they don't think Robin is a real child.

I think it would be fun to see how Bruce would use that to his advantage in protecting his kids. Like, if people think Robin isn't human, if they instead think he's a spirit or a ghost, they are less likely to shoot at him, less likely to try and physically attack Robin because they think it would be no use.

The fun part would be deciding HOW they would do this. I like to think that Robin's domino mask doesn't have a hole for his eyes but instead is glazed over so that he can see out of it, but you can't see in. Maybe they install small lights in it so it looks like his eyes glow in the dark, because can you image how fucking scary it would be to just see these two sentient light-like eyes and just know the Batman must be lurking somewhere close by?

Maybe Bruce installs super strong magnets in their gloves because on the chance that someone does pull a gun on his kid close range, it would be a lot easier for them to grab the gun away if they had the force of magnetism on their side. Also, grabbing onto poles and other metal materials would make all the scaling on tall buildings a little safer. Obviously, they'd need a way to turn it on and off, but still. Can you imagine, you're in a warehouse and there are steel frames fucking everywhere and you look up and suddenly there's a child gripping onto one effortlessly? Horrifying.

Maybe they have a voice box. Want to scare people? Play this really ominous recording of a child's laughter that echoes just a bit too loud to be normal. Play this ominous screaming that seems too silent to be real. Play this ticking that seems to never end that induces stress and increases the chance of them messing up.

What would be even funnier is keeping this act up with the Justice League and other teams.

Batman doesn't bring Robin to these meetings at the beginning because he sees no need to involve a preteen in such matters, but at some point the subject does come up and it's sort of like; So, Bats, what exactly is the kid? Like...is he yours?

And Bruce (paranoid as fuck) doesn't want to admit to these people that yes, Robin is my son because hello? That's gotta be his biggest weakness, he would do anything to keep that kid safe and fuck them if they ever tried to hurt him to get to Bruce.

So, he tells them that he's a spirit sent to haunt him and remind the city of it'd failures and the Justice League just... believe him?? Because this is Batman, and why would Batman ever lie about something so, frankly, strange? And it's not a huge deal, like they're a team comprised of metas and aliens and literal godesses, so what if the one normal human guy has a weird little ghost child? Who cares if he cares about it like it's a real boy? Maybe the baby spirit has rights, too!! They don't know!

So, when the JLA gets more popular and becomes an actual, legal part of the American government, they're required to list all of their members. And they class Batman as a human, because that's obvious but next to Robin, they don't really know what to say or how to ask Batman about it, ao they just put "Unknown Child Spirit - TBD"

And then just... never change it?

So, they don't question why a few years later Robin seems to look entirely different, or why after that he changes again, or why Robin is suddenly a girl for a while before going back to a little boy. That's obviously just some weird spirit thing they don't understand, and it's not like Batman is going to explain it!

#dc

[kalicofox]

Prompt 200

Danny has found himself reincarnated, for fun! While waiting for Tucker to reincarnate. He’s uh, found himself as a clone now- thankfully stable! But he was apparently also an accident, and overheard some of the people talking about termination, which no thanks?

So apparently he wasn’t exactly an accident per se, they did mean to make a clone, so thank fuck for that! They had apparently grabbed the wrong blood, which he almost snorts at. Kind of hard to do in a tube full of liquid though. 

Oh well, he’ll just be leaving now… after he destroys this lab and steals all these files on himself, thank you~ Now, does he want to go on an adventure or find his unwilling donors first…

#lovely #other people's writing #dpxdc #fuck yes reincarnation

[kalicofox]

Puns and spoilers.

Stephanie Brown aka batgirl aka spoiler, in her civilian guise [currently a now freed hostage from the jokers elaborate scheme to kill the bat]: "is that seat taken?"

Danny Nightingale aka phantom, ex hero, exhausted mechanical engineer [who just embarrassed the hell out of the joker by ruining his plot, disabling his traps, freeing hostages and mocking him as the joker failed to land a single hit on danny]: "uh, that's my lap?"

#dcxdp #other people's writing #*cackling* #yup #that's some good shit #stephanie brown/danny fenton

[kalicofox]

You guys really liked my last poll so

[kalicofox]

There is a shop in a city called Tokyo you cannot find unless you have a wish.

Luo Bingge arrives there with the help of Xin Mo. He comes in through the back verandah, walks past the giggling girls playing clapping games as they sit in a magic circle, and talks briefly to the small black beast with a jewel embedded in its forehead as to the owner's whereabouts.

The shop owner is a beautiful woman.

This does not surprise him; he has often needed many things that are held by beautiful women, and never do they fail to give it up to him. The fact that she is trapped between life and death is new, but not surprising. He has bedded mortals, cultivators, demons, angels, fairies, dragons and shapechangers of all kinds - that he would meet an almost-ghost one day is not something that surprises him.

(He does not plan to bed her. That is perhaps surprising, but only to someone who does not know him. Bingge rarely plans to bed women, but they have a way of finding themselves in his bed regardless.)

The folds of her robes are spread like the petals of a flower in bloom, rich silk embroidered with spider lillies and cobwebs with dazzling skill. There is no guan to crown her, her hair unbound and unpinned, a river of ink that drips to the floorboards of the verandah. She is smoking a pipe. The smoke smells dizzyingly sweet, and when she looks at him and smiles, it curls from her lips like vapour.

"You have come a long way to Tokyo, your majesty."

Luo Bingge does not flinch. His hand does not tighten on the hilt of Xin Mo. His nails do not bite into the palm of his free hand so that blood may well around the piercing sting of each puncture.

"I have a wish."

She is unmoved. "Most people do."

"I understand that if payment is offered, it will be granted."

She draws on her pipe again, black lacquer between red lips. Her skin is corpse-pale, and her eyes are very, very dark. "Paying for what you want does not mean you may keep it."

She breathes out, and now the smoke does not smell sweet at all: it smells like burning, like the summer sky after a lightning strike, like blood on hot metal. It wraps around Luo Bingge like a noose, like a lover's fingers curling close around his throat.

"I will pay," he grinds out, words choked through the grit of his teeth. "I will pay-"

"Anything?" she asks. Offers. It is not a question.

For a long moment Bingge is silent. He cannot speak for the hopeless longing that weighs down his chest like a boulder, his ribs cracking beneath its crushing weight. If it were merely broken bones that plagued him, it would be one thing, but this awful yearning is something that cannot be forgotten, only carried like a wound that will not heal.

(Luo Bingge has never had a wound that would not heal, but for this one.)

"Tell me, then," says the Witch of Dimensions, "what is it that you wish for, Lord Luo, Demonic Emperor of the Merged Realms, Master of Huan Hua Palace, last scion of the Heavenly Demons - what is it that you want but cannot simply take?"

"There is a man," begins Luo Bingge, and then stops. Because it is not merely the man that he wants, but his regard, his care - his love. Without that, the man might be as useless as a corpse and twice as haunting. He has had enough of corpses.

Bingge begins again. "In another world, I met myself." He looks at the Witch, but she shows no confusion, no disbelief; the concept of one self meeting its double must not be new to her - such things are surely commonplace for one who has such knowledge of all the worlds there are - and so he continues. "He was younger. Weaker. Had not a fraction of my wealth or power. But he had. He had."

He takes a breath. "He had someone who loved him."

"Yes," says the Witch. "His husband."

"Yes," agrees Luo Bingge, though the word is like a nail driven through his tongue. "His husband."

The Witch looks at him. "You have more wives than you can count. What makes a husband different?"

"It isn't the marriage - it's the man," says Luo Bingge. Each word cuts, bleeds. "I want the man. His man. The one that looked at me like I was..."

Worthy is not a word he has ever believed in. Neither is destiny or hope or free. All of those words sit in his mouth now, like pearls to be swallowed, and he cannot speak a single one.

"I do not trade in souls, or flesh, or life," says the Witch. "Nor will I help you break another man's marriage vows. I cannot give you that particular man, not for any price."

"He should have been mine!" snarls Luo Bingge. Xin Mo jumps in its sheath, burns in the back of his mind, aches to leap to his hand: a roar between his ears like fire leaping from the match and catching alight the forest, consuming in its fury.

"No man is anyone's but his own," says the Witch, unimpressed and entirely uncowed. As well she might be - the wards of the shop pulse and flex around him with enough force to squeeze the breath from his chest, and Luo Bingge staggers beneath their crushing weight, sinking to one knee atop the floorboards. The voice of Xin Mo is snuffed out just as easily, and in its sudden absence his ears ring.

"Do you wish for my help, or not?" Her voice is crisp, scolding in a way no one dares to scold the Emperor, almost scalding in the shock of it.

"You," says Luo Bingge, and drags a breath through aching teeth: it fights him, comes only reluctantly, a bare sip of air. "You said I cannot have him."

"That man, no," says the Witch. The pressure eases, enough that he may sit and not sprawl, catching the breath that comes gasping at last. "But there are many worlds, Lord Luo. You may find one whose heart is free to love you yet."

Luo Bingge does not speak for another long moment, sitting besides her on the verandah, and this one is not silent: he listens his own heart as it thuds in his chest, each pounding beat an echo, an ache, a wound. After a while the Witch lays down her pipe, and breathes out the last of her smoke. It does not smell like anything at all this time, and wisps to nothing as it curls into the evening air.

"What will you pay?" she asks. "How much is he worth, to you? And do not say anything," she says sternly, "for a man that has everything, anything means nothing at all."

He should think it over. Passion is cheap and anger worthless; whatever toll he can pay must be something truly priceless, for such a wish - a dream beyond any he has ever built.

"My crown," says Luo Bingge.

"Not enough," she says flatly.

"My wives," says Luo Bingge.

She laughs and it is not kind. "You will need to dissolve your marriages, all of them, that is true - but not to pay me. If you want him to be the one, he must be your only or never yours at all." She smiles, and it is a sly thing, as sly as any huli jing. "You cannot offer gold or jade or jewellery, because you will be paying alimony for centuries yet, and I assure you every tael will be well accounted for."

The word alimony is entirely unfamiliar but he can guess its meaning well enough. "I am to be a pauper, then, and I cannot pay at all," says Bingge bitterly.

"If money were enough, you would not be here," says the Witch. "And surely you can think of a better price than merely money."

Money, in Bingge's experience, is rarely merely anything - at least when one has very little of it.

"How do I even know you will deliver what you promise?" he mutters.

"I have promised nothing so far," says the Witch blithely. "And it is you who sought my help, my Lord. I have need of nothing you may offer, and would just as easily see you leave as see you stay."

If not money or land or the political connections his marriages have given him, then what?

"My blood," says Luo Bingge. "A panacea. Heavenly Demon blood can cure all ills-"

"-at the small price of controlling the one who ingests it. Try again."

Bingge sighs. "A limb? I could cut off an arm." It would grow back soon enough.

The Witch looks at him for a long moment. "...I've seen it done before. For your wish it would not be enough."

What more can he offer? Both arms? An eye? His heart, torn from his chest? There is very little that is unsurviveable for a demon of his stature... and perhaps that is the point. It must be something irreplaceable then, and nothing Bingge gives of himself would ever meet that demand.

"Is that all you have to offer?" says the Witch coolly. "A half-hearted plea, without any true intent to meet its cost? You said anything, and yet here you stumble at the first test. What worth is your heart if you cannot pay for even this?"

"I cannot pay you if I don't know what you want," he growls, and again Xin Mo rattles its cage - and is just as quickly silenced, leaving behind only the odd hollow absence of anger, scooped out clean as though it never were. Whatever wards this Witch has built, they are far too strong for Xin Mo.

... Xin Mo.

Luo Bingge reaches for the sheath, unbuckles it from his belt. As soon as his hands wrap around its hilt, pain shrieks behinds his eyes; blood drips from his nose, salty where it crests his lip, but he lays the sword aside atop the boards of the verandah. As soon as his touch leaves Xin Mo, the pain intensifies tenfold - but pain is only pain, and this is only the thrashing defiance of a creature intent to wound even as it lays dying.

"A heart demon," says Luo Bingge, and licks the blood from his teeth, "for a demon's heart."

"Much better," says the Witch. She is almost smiling, dark eyes sparkling. "A sword is a traditional price for many wishes, and this sword is something rather special." As soon as her hand touches Xin Mo the screaming stops - not merely quiet, weighed down beneath the protective magic that wreathes the shop, but gone entirely.

It is a little like breathing again after so long underwater, and a lot like relief.

"This will do," says the Witch of Dimensions, and waves her hand over the black sheath of the sword Xin Mo. It wavers once like smoke, and disappears cleanly, with an anti-climactic little pop!: not unlike the sound a cork might make, tugged free of a liquor bottle.

Bingge wipes the blood from his nose on his sleeve. Inelegant, but effective enough; black has always been the most practical choice for this reason alone.

"Now what?"

"Now," says the Witch, and stands rather quickly, gathering the folds of her robes as she does, "we break for dinner."

Luo Bingge stares. "I paid you," he says.

"A man of your stature can stand to learn patience, my Lord," huffs the Witch. Her eyes are still sparkling, and it rather feels like she is laughing at him. "Certainly Xin Mo was enough to earn you a name, and a location of the man you seek, but you'll need more than that to travel to Shanghai."

"Shanghai," says Bingge, and stands in turn. The word sounds strange but not unpleasant: the first taste of hope in so very long. "Without Xin Mo, I cannot travel between worlds so easily," he adds, following after the Witch as she walks into the shop proper.

"True," she says. "How fortunate for you then that this is the world you need."

The black creature from before joins them as they turn down the hallway, bouncing along with alarming speed for something that resembles nothing so much as black-sesame mantou. "Is it dinner time, Yuuko? I'm hungry!"

"You're always hungry," says the woman named Yuuko, laughing.

"Shanghai is in this world?" says Bingge, not entirely pleased to be so easily disregarded. "How do I get there? To find... Shen Qingqiu?"

The Witch of Dimensions looks over her shoulder at him. "Not Shen Qingqiu - that name was given to him when he came to that world, and in this world he is known as Shen Yuan."

A shock hits Luo Bingge then, sharp and sweet and stunning - Shen Yuan. Not Shen Qingqiu, but another soul entirely. Then it was not his flaw that made his shizun a monster; rather, that Shen Qingqiu was never the right one in the first place!

"Shanghai is where you will find him," continues the Witch. "But Shanghai is several hours away by flight, and you don't have a passport. Or appropriate currency. Or appropriate clothes."

"You look like a cosplayer!" crows the black thing, which is pure nonsense.

"All of which can be bartered for," continues Yuuko. "If only one has the wit and skill to do so."

Clothes and currency should be far cheaper than that most desired name, and Bingge's robes themselves are made from materials most princes would kill for; in exchanging them for more appropriate wear by the standards of this place, they may be payment enough and then some besides. It does not matter; he would wear rags once more if he had to.

(Though if something better than merely rags is on offer, then he will not say no. It would not be terrible to meet the one his heart yearns for well-dressed and looking lovely, besides.)

"What price then for a... a passport?" Travel papers, perhaps, by another name if he needs it for the journey. "And currency enough to pay my way by carriage?"

"Dinner would be a good start," says Yuuko. "My normal chef is away for the night - a school excursion, wouldn't you know - and I have heard the Luo Binghe is a man of no small talent." She pauses. "In the kitchen, that is. I have no interest in your other talents."

Bingge can work with that. "Show me your cupboards, then. Let me see what I can do."

"Watanuki only went shopping last night!" says the black thing, bouncing up and off the walls, coming for Bingge's face at such speed he must raise a hand to catch it. In his palm, the creature is warm and soft, alive with excitement as it grins up at him. "There's plenty of ingredients - enough for duck and pancakes, soup with tofu, and eight-treasure rice too!"

"Have you any wine for cooking?" says Bingge, and follows his host through to her kitchen at last. It is admittedly quite strange to look at, with many gleaming fixtures of purpose he cannot determine, but Bingge has always been a quick study in the culinary arts. Many a woman could be wooed through a well-prepared meal, and he has no reason to suppose his talents are any less here.

"Wine," says the Witch of Dimensions, "is something I have plenty of." She takes a seat at the benchtop, perched on a high stool with the voluminous folds of her robes spilling around her. "A meal cooked by the Demon Emperor himself would certainly be a price enough for a plane ticket to Shanghai... and dessert perhaps even more so. Impress me, Lord Luo - show me what your skills are worth."

For the first time in a very, very long time, Luo Bingge smiles. "Lady Witch, I can promise you this - for the chance to meet Shen Yuan, I would cook you a feast."

#xxxholic #svsss #!!!!!!!!!!! #The crossover I didn't know I wanted #but holy shit it's lovely! #<3 <3 <3

[kalicofox]

i don't know what autistic person needs to hear this but they are not watching you. the entire world is not constantly waiting for you to do something weird and laugh at you behind your back. you do not need to constantly self-police whenever there's the slightest chance another person might see you. you have a right to be your autistic self in public spaces. stop fighting yourself for their sake.

[kalicofox]

This is the public statement from @alepresser and myself which went up at Webtoons tonight.

Now for some ranting. Just from me, not from Ale—she's innocent of the art crimes I've committed in the past, and boy howdy have I committed art crimes.

This is the first page of my first webcomic, A Girl and Her Fed. I started this thing back in 2006. (I don't actually need a head count of those reading this who weren't yet born in 2006. I'm sure you're delightful and I wish you well in college.)

And this is the last page I drew in early 2020 before I turned art duties over to Dr. Beer. It's better, right?

Well, these days, A Girl and Her Fed has pages like this:

I drew this comic for fourteen fucking years because it's a story I wanted to tell, and I thought webcomics were the perfect format for it. I didn't know how to draw. I got better through sheer obstinate perseverance and sticking to deadlines as best I could for, again, fourteen fucking years. I sought out a replacement artist when I ran into time constraints and couldn't do art plus writing anymore; I'm a much better writer than an artist, so I had no problems whatsoever kicking art to the curb.

The first time Ale sent me art that would go up on the website—art I hadn't needed to draw myself—I literally cried in relief because I had been grinding myself down for, yet again, fourteen fucking years.

So when I read comments from people who say they want to make a webcomic but can't draw themselves and therefore need to resort to AI, that little line between my eyes gets dangerously deep.

This isn't like I'm some old dude who's bitching over student loans getting cancelled after making regular payments. This is me, someone who threw raw art onto the internet like a monkey hurling fresh poo, because I wanted to make a webcomic and the art is part of the process of storytelling via webcomics! I could've (arguably should've) hired an artist right out of the gate, and that would've been part of the process of making comics, too: a partnership between an artist and a writer is also something which grows and develops over time.

For example, after Dr. Beer and I spent two years working on AGAHF, we decided we enjoyed our partnership so much that we set out to make another webcomic! It's great! It's got wonderful art and consistent storytelling! You should read it!

But turning art duties over to unaltered images generated by AI because you want to make a webcomic but "just can't draw" is, frankly, a bullshit excuse. I'm not talking about persons who are physically unable to draw due to disability—I'm talking about people who say they want to make webcomics but simply don't wanna do the art part.

Friends, if you don't want to show your entire ass in front of God and country, you don't actually want to make a webcomic.

Do the thing yourself.

If you're scared, don't be. Take the plunge. Set a goal of twenty strips and do the thing yourself. If you can already draw but can't write? Great! Write twenty strips, write forty panels, etc. You might surprise yourself. If you can write but can't draw? Great! Draw twenty panels and see what happens.

Whatever comes out of it, it's a thing you've done yourself. It's something new you've given to the world, no matter how big or small. Be proud of that. And if you need to partner with someone else to make your comic dreams work? You can do that, too! It's still a thing you've done yourself, and many projects are stronger when done together.

...but maaaaaaaaaybe hire that partner before you've busted your own ass for fourteen fucking years. That one's on me.

[kalicofox]

Math is really tiring, im so glad i finally get to relax and do some knitting and crochet and i oh god oh my what the fuck

[kalicofox]

its rude to reblog things from people you arent mutuals with fyi. :/

💀 my brother in christopher

[kalicofox]

So last night, a friend of mine said something, and my knee-jerk response was not exactly great. What WAS great, was that my brain immediately rejected that response, and reframed it in the way I've been trying to learn how to think!!!!!

It was awesome, and when I realized what happened, I was really happy!

So I thought, hey! I should get a gold star for that! I did really good! I should get a sticker! And then I remembered that I don't have any stickers. And THEN I remembered that I'm a grown ass adult! I can just *buy* stickers!

So now I have a day planner coming, and a bunch of stickers, and I have a couple of stamps that Yays got for me, so I can put stickers and stamps in the day planner whenever I do good at something! If it's a good brain thing, or a good writing day, or even just a good interaction, I can have a sticker! I'm so excited!!!

#positive reinforcement #stickers #my life be like #<3 #I'm happy

[kalicofox]

You know what? Fuck it.

The amount of notes that this post gets by the end of April is the amount of words I'll write for one of my books.

[kalicofox]

kill the shift manager in your brain

[kalicofox]

This is part of my ongoing Discworld jacket embroidery project. Of course Great A'Tuin has to be on there. And of course it has to be the biggest one of them all.

I'm going to put the finished product in my masterpost, but I'm so proud of the thing that I have to put it in an extra post beforehand. Enjoy!

#gorgeous art #holy shit #discworld #hot damn that's so amazing! #OP you're amazing!

[kalicofox]

@thebibliosphere I had to repost this for both of us because OOF