The Second Flautist remains the stupidest but also funniest adaptation choice. Su Minshan, heretofore portrayed as a cringefail loser who needed Wangxian and Wen Ning to save his ass from the Waterborne Abyss, overrides Wei Wuxian’s demonic cultivation abilities TWICE. Not only does he seize control of Wen Ning, but he manipulates the resentment summoned by Wei Wuxian to attack people and turn them into puppets at Nightless City SO EFFECTIVELY that Wei Wuxian cannot regain control of them even on an individual basis with the Yin Tiger Tally helping him.
Su Minshan, true Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, is the most overpowered character in the entire series, and we must therefore conclude that he chooses to be Jin Guangyao’s devoted henchman rather than seizing any power for himself because he finds it personally fulfilling.
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Dc x dp prompt
Dead serious 4/4
Damian did not plan to participate in the idiotic ‘school musical’. The only reason he was participating was because Jon and Colin were both preforming in it, and the two numb skulls had dragged him into it.
Danny had only transferred to Gotham Academy that year. After his parents found out he was a halfa, they accepted him, but needed time. So Jazz took him with her to Gotham, while she went to college. Participating in the school musical would get him some extra credit, some that he could desperately use.
Okay I have two ideas first the musical for this one.
1) Shrek the musical! Danny as Shrek and Damian as Fiona! That would work so well, and I feel like they would kill ‘I think I got you beat’. Also, both of them feel like monsters at times, and Fiona adds an extra layer of reality, being sometimes human and sometimes not. Jon would probably be Donkey, with Colin as Pinocchio. He would kill ‘Freak Flag’.
2) The lightning Theif Musical! Damian as Annabeth and Danny as Percy! You can’t tell me Damian wouldn’t relate to ‘My grand plan’ on a spiritual level. Danny would kill it as Percy, especially in ‘Good Kid’. I think Jon would be Grover and Colin would be either Luke or The Oracle. From what I know about them, they would kill it!
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cw: you two have a son together, mention of being married, old man Bakugou
older retired pro hero Bakugou, who you find hunched over his desk one night. it’s late and the day was long and your son was whinier than he usually is. you’d think the old man would be in bed right now, but alas—he’s not beside you.
instead, as you round the corner to get a full look at him, he’s wearing his reading glasses, adorning an old ratty tank, his arms still big but softer than the years from before. he has a book open in front of him, desk scattered with pictures you can’t see from your angle, scissors, stickers, glue sticks.
“What are you getting up to at this hour, old man?” You ask softly, smiling when Bakugou doesn’t even look up from what he’s doing. his tongue is sticking out in the corner as he cuts a squiggly line on a picture, posing it beside another on a blank piece of paper.
“Therapist said I should get into crafting,” he grunts, finally looking over at you from over his glasses. “Do things with my hands, feel busy, get my mind off’a shit.”
you pad over to where he sits, the overhead lamp on his desk focused on the big baby blue book with white pages. peeking over his shoulder, you rest your head on top of his, chin nestled in the still unruly blond and silver locks, overseeing his work.
and honestly? it almost makes you wanna cry. it’s a scrapbook, the page open to pictures of your wedding day, how pretty you looked, how big he smiled at you. you can see other scattered pictures on his desk—when you got a promotion at work, when he was number one for seven months in a row, a positive pregnancy test, the cutest baby you’ve ever seen, two little teeth coming in, baby being held in dads big ole arms that will always protect him.
“After this page, I gotta do the honeymoon.” Bakugou speaks gruffly, setting down a picture to wipe a hand down his face. “And then life accomplishment shit, the baby, his first steps.” He sounds so tired, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around his shoulders, sliding down to smush your face against his own.
“You always have tomorrow. Come to bed.” You say against his cheek, squeezing him when you feel the rejection start up in his belly. But he deflates, pulling his glasses off, reaching around to pull you in his lap. He looks so grumpy, with his frown lines and crows feet, and yet so handsome with his small smile and soft eyes.
“I’ll print more pictures tomorrow. And maybe go by the store to get some more stickers, too.” He tells you in between kisses, his words soft, his hands rough through your pajamas. You hum against his mouth, holding his nape, afraid to ever let him go.
“You do that. Now let’s go to bed.” You whisper, standing up and pulling him with you. He closes the scrapbook for now, and you glimpse at the cover, heart melting at the picture of you two holding up your son, both kissing his cheeks. The picture is captioned with “Our Life” and you don’t think you’ve ever been more grateful to have met him.
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