I really want to finish this properly but i just came home after being in the hospital for 36 hours—a day and a half of brain workout. Couldn’t concentrate fully the second day so I made this, based on that new PCap photo taken at DWE. I added Clara because there was still a lot of space on the paper. I noticed it’s Valentine’s Day when I finished doing the lineart lol. XD
yes i drew it on a notebook papee kindly provided by a friend.
Quick fact. Ready?
Why bend your knees before jumping? This simple concentric contraction allows for storage of mechanical energy, and thus improves the force production for the following eccentric jump.
Prompt: Jason and Batsis! Reader who is also an antihero, and they have that type of relationship that is only really seen in movies/fiction (like they never fight and always have the same ideas 😂) and they’re in a sticky situation and one yells “what the hell, this crap never happens to Cass!” And the other day “that’s because Cass is a good person with good karma”
AN: This is one of my all time favorite Jason stories. Just so you know.
You do your best to ignore the glare Jason is shooting you. You finally give in and look at him. He has a black eye, and his lip is bleeding but other than that he seems to be okay. “This is your fault.”
You wince, “I know.”
“You just had to have a go at Riddler.”
You shrug, “He’s fun to go up against. He gives my brain a workout.”
Jason’s eyes narrow, “That is so not the point of what we’re doing.”
“I thought the point was to take down the bad guys.”
“And I can’t have fun while I do it?”
“Not if it nearly gets us killed, and I have to call Bruce in.”
You shrug, “We’ve already died once, how bad could a second time be?”
When the vein in his forehead becomes prominent you can’t help but think you’ve hit a nerve. “We only get one redo, there is no third chance!”
“What about third time’s the charm?”
“THAT DOES NOT APPLY TO LIFE!!!!” Pinching the bridge of his nose Jason groans, “This never happens when I team up with Cass.”
You scowl, “That’s because Cass is a good person with good Karma. I kill people, that doesn’t exactly put me in the green with my Karma Credit Score!”
Jason smirks, “Did I hit a nerve?”
You reload your gun, “I don’t like being compared to my sister!”
Jason full out grins, “Ahh, there’s the middle child syndrome.”
You don’t say a word. You just let your fist fly, and grin when Jason’s nose makes a crunching sound.
1. Chrollo Lucilfer (hxh): Oh man, okay this is so difficult for me because I have such mixed feelings about the Phantom Troupe in general haha… I obviously hate what they did to Kurapika’s clan, as well as their attitude towards a lot of other people, but at the same time I can’t help but like them somewhat? They’re like this family of people who all seem to have had hard lives and I was actually quite upset at *KIND OF A SPOILER* the outcome of the Kurapika vs. Uvo match. Chrollo obviously cares deeply about the Troupe members, and I admire that, but at the same time I really can’t condone their actions when it comes to other people… and since he’s the leader, those actions do tend to fall on his shoulders so… I can’t say I like him, but I can’t say I necessarily dislike him either… Kurapika is my 2nd fave character in the series though, so that does kinda sway it more to the dislike side for me. He’s an interesting character for sure though, and I’m looking forward to seeing how he reacts to certain things that have happened in the manga. His power is also pretty neat! (even if I don’t fully understand it lol…)
2. Thoughts on Chinese anime (and will I watch Quan Zhi Gao Shou):I’ve never seen any, but there’s seemed to be an influx of them recently, and I’m definitely open to checking them out! I actually looked up Quan Zhi Gao Shou before because I saw gifs of an action sequence in it and I thought it looked STUNNING tbh! So I think I’ll definitely be checking it out!
3: Thoughts on ‘old school’ vs. ‘new school’ Ghibli:Hmmm… you know I never thought about this! I guess, thinking about it now… my favourite Ghibli movie is probably Howl’s Moving Castle, closely followed by Princess Mononoke… so that’s one that’s kinda in between new and old school, and one that’s ‘old school’… but I also adore The Wind Rises, which is obviously ‘new school’ hmm… I think they’re all great tbh! ^^” I suppose I’ve actually seen more ‘old school’ than ‘new school’ ones so perhaps my preference is for the older ones just because of that!
There were two of them, in case it’s confusing. Two bros, at the gym, at the same time, working back and biceps. One of them was on the machine, the other one stood next to the machine, watching his bro pump the levers and the iron weight. He watched his face contort as the reps went on, counting down silently, 5 … 4… 3 … 2 … 1, CLANG. The bro grinned, wiped the sweat off his face with the hem of his tank, and thumbsed-up his bro, and the other bro would sit down, prepping himself for his turn at the iron. Neither of them noticed the irritated glances of other gym-goers as the iron clanged back down to its resting place.
They had been together for so long now that they’d become inseparable, a unit. When anyone else referenced them, their names were a single unit. Bro & bro. Of course, they had actual names, but it’s hard to remember which bro was which bro. They’d probably forgotten each other’s names anyway. They didn’t need names. It was easier to just
“You got this, bro.”
“Fuck yeah, bro.”
At some point, it had just become natural. At first, it was sort of a joke, a little ironic. You know, a private joke. Neither of them, if pressed, could even tell you when it started. Maybe there was a text message between them where one of them said “bro” and maybe sent one of those flex emojis, and from then on, the gates could not swing shut again. It escalated from “bro” this and “bro” that to elaborate high-fives in the middle of the gym, walking down the sidewalk. Methods of greeting evolved - or devolved, from “hey” to “sup” to
“What’s up, bro!” The hand, descending swiftly, with purpose and vigor, slapping the other bro right on the ass. “Whoa, check out your fuckin glutes, bro! Fuckin tiiiiiiight!” It didn’t matter where they were, who they were with. They were seen all around town, in the grocery store, at the beach, everywhere. Of course, at the beach, they were seen shirtless, in matching swimming trunks, though they hadn’t known
“Bro! Yo, you got the same trunks as me!”
“Dude, bro, haha, that’s fuckin hilarious!”
High-five, in which one bro grabbed the other bro’s hand and grappled him down. They fell in the sand, wrestling, grabbing at each other’s throat, biceps, thighs. They were completely unaware of when their hands fumbled at the waistband of the American-flag spangled trunks, almost unconsciously yanking it downwards to trip up their bro. Nothing is off-limits, not even grabbing at his bro’s cock or his balls. Anything to win. Eventually, one bro pins the other bro, and through spitting grains of sand and wriggling half-heartedly one last time, the cries of “UNCLE! FUCKIN UNCLE, BRO!”
They didn’t live together, not yet, but they had plans. A total bro-pad. Big-screen fuckin TV on ESPN fuckin 24/7. Big fuckin fridge, to hold all the food prep they gotta do each week. Tons of fuckin chicken. Red meat. A big cabinet to hold all their supps, especially the bulk-sized vat of protein powder. Big-ass mirror in the bathroom. In the hallway. In each of their bedrooms. In the living room. There was just one problem. One bro had a roommate, and it was the roommate’s apartment - the bro had moved in with the guy, and let’s just say the guy wasn’t exactly a bro.
“Bro,” one bro said to the other. They sat out on a patio, tank tops & gym shorts showing their browned skin, their tribal tattoos, nearly squirming on them under the sun & the summer heat. “We should totally make our own bro-pad. I’d fuckin love to live with you, bro.”
“Bro,” the other bro scowled. “What about Franklin? Fuckin buzzkill.”
“Franklin,” he scowled too. “Fuckin buzzkill.”
They slurped at their protein shakes, maybe a little too fast, still pumped from the morning’s workout. Brain freeze set in and one bro shook his head, pressing a meaty palm to his eye-socket. “Fuck, bro. I dunno. We could get him to move out, but I don’t think he would. Fuuuuck, this brain freeze, bro!”
The other bro laughed, well, guffawed, really, a deep, hearty chuckle, and leaned forward to slap his bro on the shoulder. “Hahaha, fuckin slow it down bro. I got an idea what we can do about Franklin. See, I know this guy…”
This guy happened to be a guy that the bro knew from a long time ago, back when he thought he should be going to college. That shit didn’t take. He didn’t know how he could have expected to know what he wanted to do for the rest of his life when he didn’t even know who he was at that time. In his opinion, people waste their time going to college because you don’t know who you are yet. If he had known he was gonna be a bodybuilder, he wouldn’t have wasted all that time on fuckin college. But he did meet some people there, and one of them was this guy, and this guy was one of the smarter bros he’d met in college, he was all into organic chemistry and neuroplasticity, and how shit works in the brain. It was pretty cool, he had to admit, or at least it was back then. The guy was always reading, head in a book, frowning, or sitting up late at night, face and glasses limned with the blue light from the computer screen. He had been all into the idea that a personality was mutable, fluid, that it was as chemically-based as anything else in the body, or electric, or some shit. With the right reagents, the personality could be altered as easily with only a suggestion from another. He hadn’t told many people about it, the bro knew, because there was one night where he got the guy drunk on cheap beers and shots of shitty vodka and the guy had confessed that he knew how to do it, that he was a genius, but he could never use what he’d discovered, it was too dangerous, etc, etc. He’d dropped out of college later that year, preferring to work in the service industry, focusing on the gym, focusing on gains, but he’d kept in touch with the guy, his roommate, you know - an email here and there, a message on Facebook, somethin like that. It was kinda cool to show progress pics to a guy who doesn’t see you all that often, and it’s fuckin cool as shit to see him say things like “WHOA! HOLY SHIT, man, you got ripped!” Just made him wanna flex and take more pics for his Insta, really. He knew that the guy was gay, but that never bothered him, and the guy never bothered him for nothin anyway.
“… so, if Franklin isn’t cool, this is gonna make him cool?” The other bro was lookin at his bro with a blank look of confusion. He actually lifted the brim of his baseball hat to scratch at his forehead.
“Yeah,” the bro said, confidently. “Just put this in his, whatever he drinks. Coffee, or water, or whatever. Once he drinks it, it’ll help.”
“Okay, bro.” He was ready to trust his bro, even if he wasn’t exactly sure what he was doin - he knew what he had to do, but he wasn’t sure what was gonna happen once he did. And it was easy enough. The bro just waited til Franklin got up in the morning, put the coffee on drip, and wandered off into the bathroom. The bro could hear some kinda classical music drifting out of the hallway where Franklin’s room was, something with strings. He scoffed, chuckling at the uncoolness of it all, and uncorked the small ampoule of liquid into the coffee-pot. It was colorless and odorless. For a minute, the bro wondered if he had even done anything, if anything had even come out of the container, but he shrugged and scratched his balls and wandered off. It was leg day.
After leg day, the bro came back to his apartment and collapsed on the couch, flat on his stomach, staring sideways at the TV. There was a football game on, though he was so zoned from his workout that he didn’t even know which teams were playing. His phone was going off wildly - it was his bro. He scanned the messages blurrily.
“sup bro nethin happenin over there yet??”
There was a crash in the kitchen, and the bro lifted his head to glance. “You all right?” He muzzed in the direction of the kitchen.
“Uhh, sorta.” Franklin’s voice drifted out. It sounded muddy, as if he were congested. “Dropped some plates. Uhhh … yeah.”
“You all right bro? Sick, or something?”
“Naw, uh, I feel, uh … fine. Bro.” Franklin came out of the kitchen, and Franklin looked … different, to the bro. He sat up, instantly alert.
“You been workin out bro?” He criticized his roommate’s normally slim build. “Looks like you got some mass.”
“Uh, naw, bro, but I … kinda been thinkin about joining a gym lately. Sound mind, sound body, right?”
“Like, y’know, gotta have … uhh …” He glazed over for a second, eyes drifting to the TV. “Who’s, uh … who’s playin?”
“Dunno, bro.” The bro squinted at the TV. “Fuckin Packers.”
“Cool.” Franklin slowly sat down in a chair and looked at the game. For a moment, he appeared unfocused, brow furrowed, but as the bro watched him, his face softened, and his eyes became sharper, more alert, as if they had somehow tunnelled into the television, and as if he were intently focused on the task.
Hours later, Franklin and the bro were yelling, pointing, accusing, even jumping to the edge of their seats. It was a great game -
“Well, it woulda been a great game if the refs hadn’t been so fuckin shit, fuck, bro.”
“Fuck yeah. I, uhh … I could see that. Yeah. Fuck the refs.”
The game was over, and the bro felt the familiar wave of completion turning to idleness washing over him. He got up from the couch and headed toward the kitchen for a beer. “Hey, you want a beer, bro?” He knew Franklin didn’t drink, and especially not a Bud Light, but fuck it.
“Uhh … yeah. Sure. A beer.”
“You got it, bro!”
They sat, blue cans cracked, in a meditative silence. The crisp, refreshing liquid washed down their mouths, their throats, into their stomachs. “So, what gym you gonna join, bro?”
“Uhhh … honestly, I dunno, uh, bro. What gym do you go to?”
The bro grinned, and shuffled over on the couch to Franklin’s side, where he wrapped the kid in a headlock and lightly noogied his head. “Bro … you’re gonna love it.”
There were three of them, in case it gets confusing. Three bros, at the gym,
at the same time, working back and biceps. One of them was on the
machine, the other two stood in a semi-circle, watching their bro pump
the levers and the iron weight. They watched his face contort as the reps
went on, counting down silently, mouths moving together in tandem, 5 … 4… 3 … 2 … 1, CLANG. The
bro grinned, wiped the sweat off his face with the hem of his tank, and
thumbsed-up his bros, and one of the other bros would sit down, prepping himself
for his turn at the iron. None of them noticed the irritated glances
of other gym-goers as the iron clanged back down to its resting place.
They had been together for so long now that they’d become
inseparable, a unit, even all of them lived together in a sort of frat-house situation. When anyone else referenced them, their names were
a single unit. Bro, bro & bro. Of course, they had actual names, but
it’s hard to remember which bro was which bro. They’d probably
forgotten each other’s names anyway. They didn’t need names. It was
easier to just
And the clang of the iron, resounding through the gym, as muscles grew and brains diminished, as the sun swiftly darkened their skins from brown to browner, as muscles grew and brains diminished.
One thing was for sure, to the one guy who was watching the progress anyway, the bros were multiplying. And was that really such a bad thing? What better laboratory than the world outside of the laboratory for this particular study? Fuck dangerous, he thought to himself, watching the triad of bros in their gym shorts and tanktops and backwards hats lounging around on their porch, I can make the world hotter. He already had, with the first bro, his roommate. And now that bro was making more bros. He could only imagine what would happen next. One thing was for sure: he would have to make more of the personality reagent. Maybe he could … accidentally drop some in the water supply of a small town.
This thought, cradled in his brain, nursed idly at his other thoughts as he listened to the dumbass banter from the bros across the street, listened to the echoing guffaws paired with the crack-hiss of Bud Light cans being opened, and to the inevitable tussle or wrestling match that would ensue.