Lin-Manuel Miranda and J.J. Abrams have worked together before: While promoting Star Wars: The Force Awakens last December, Abrams revealed that he and Miranda wrote new cantina music for the movie. Outside of the Richard Rodgers Theatre in Manhattan, Miranda and Abrams came together to perform “Jabba Flow,” which is a song entirely in Huttese, for Wednesday’s #Ham4Ham.
deaf feuilly meeting enjolras for the first time and enjolras isn’t familiar with his name so he asks how to pronounce it, and feuilly just shrugs because he sure as fuck doesn’t know
I was trying to think of the c work in Les mis. It’s confrontation. All I was getting was convection oven
…Somebody please write the dramatic bake-off filk that clearly needs to be now.
Valjean, at last We’ll see who makes great cake “M’sieur le Maire” I doubt that you can bake! …?
…I couldn’t stop until I mangled the whole thing.
Before you say another word, Javert Before we argue about cake again Listen to me. There is something I must do I’ve almost run out of baking supplies I’ll run to the store at my highest speed In mercy’s name, three eggs are all I need Then I’ll bake cake, I pledge my word Then I’ll bake cake…
You must think me mad! You’ve not made decent cake in years Men like you can never bake A man such as you
Believe of me what you will I’m going to make an awesome cake You know nothing of my life All I did was burn some bread You know nothing of good cake You would rather see me dead But not before I see this bake-off done I am warning you, Javert I’m the better cook by far There is power in me yet My race is not yet run I am warning you, Javert There is nothing I won’t dare If I have to ruin your cake I’ll do what must be done!
Men like me make awesome cake Men like you can never bake No, 24601 I make much better cake You have no eggs Just give up, 24601 Now your supplies have run out Jean Valjean has nothing now Dare you talk to me of cake And the icing you will try Kitchen snacking is a sin Keep your unwashed hands away You know nothing of Javert My dream job was baking cake I dreamed of it ‘til high school I wanna be a baker too
You have blond hair, he has brown hair. You always have blond hair, he always has brown hair. You dye your hair brown, but suddenly his hair is blond, and you feel as though maybe you are him, and he is you, and you have blond hair again, and he has brown hair.
His gaze is impossibly fond, his eyes are impossibly blue, he pulls you impossibly closer, your heart beats impossibly fast, the bulge in his pants is impossibly hard, he should maybe get that checked out.
You don’t remember ever working out and yet you look down and see you have a six pack. When you next see yourself in the mirror you have an eight pack. When he takes of your shirt you have ten, twelve abs. You’re scared to look again in case there are more.
His eyes change colour depending on his moods. At first you thought it was a trick of the light, but now you’re not so sure. They switch between blue, green and grey. Once you thought you saw a flicker of red. You make sure to kiss with your eyes closed now.
You’re white, and so is he. Sometimes he’s your enemy, but you still love him, don’t you? Of course, it makes sense. You’re not sure what you like about him, exactly, but there must be something, right? There’s this intangible thing between you, isn’t there? You feel like you may have more chemistry with your non-white friend, but that can’t be right.
You don’t remember taking your clothes off but you’re naked now. Well, all you remember is toeing out of your shoes. You always toe out of them, although you don’t quite know what that means.
Your pronouns mix into a blur and you no longer know where you end and he begins… You reach out your hand to his hand on his arm… your arm… his… You are sitting and he straddles you but is facing away… There are hands everywhere…
eirenical17 