So, uhm, look, I'm not really sure how this is done, uh, I don't wanna be too formal, although it is the winter formal, I don't know if people actually ask people this, like, in the world, but, uhm, I was just saying... I wonder if you wanna dance?
*decodes Clays babbling after ages* I would love to dance.
Rose Tico is a mechanic and spends her time on a mission behind enemy lines with Finn
Leia slaps Poe
Finn starts in a bacta suit
Rey trains with Luke
training element but not exactly what you expect?
Benicio Del Toro is a shady character whose name is DJ (for a clear reason later on)
He is DJ at the ball??????
Laura Dern plays Admiral Holdo of the resistance (and appears to be in Gala attire but I could be wrong)
Rose has a sister (possibly) named Paige who spends time with Poe
She’s a gunner and an xwing pilot
Kylo flies an X-Wing
Kylo has a scar and so does Finn
All the characters story arcs are more devastating
Rian Johnson literally made a list of what would fuck up the characters
Luke was at the top of the list?
Luke is the front of this movie like Han was Ep 7
Luke lives on Ach-To, the island with the jedi temple with a caretaker race
Listen, im not saying space puffins but space puffins
THE MOVIE SHIFTS IN THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE OF WHAT YOU EXPECT FROM EPISODE SEVEN
Rian Johnson has a way with symbolism and foreshadowing so definitely pay attention to that because I bet a lot of money on something briefly mentioned in passing at the beginning of the movie to take names at the end.
[…] Watching the mostly black and brown cast perform in the wake of the racially motivated violence in Charlottesville, Va., you couldn’t help but marvel at the grim prescience of Miranda’s thoughts on the precarious but necessary nature of American unity.
Then again, as a musical largely told through hip-hop, “Hamilton” has persistence and adaptability in its bones. So of course it still resonates; the thing was modeled on a form literally born from using old sounds to create new music.
Indeed, one way to think about the show’s tour, booked at the Pantages through the end of December, is as a remix of the Broadway production — an update that extends the life of the original, even as the original remains available to experience.
A decade younger than Miranda, Luwoye gives the character a more brooding quality (perhaps because he’s also played Hamilton’s foe, Aaron Burr), while the Pantages band puts a deeper swing into the groove that underpins the so-called “Cabinet battles” in which Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson try to one-up each other with rhymes.
To some extent, these kinds of tweaks are simply what happens in a medium, like musical theater, rooted in performance rather than recording.
But because “Hamilton” is so closely identified with Miranda — he wrote the book, music and lyrics in addition to originating the title role — the leap seems more significant here, as though the members of the touring company weren’t just adjusting aspects of the musical but claiming it outright for themselves.
And that feels about as hip-hop as can be.
As even outsiders likely know, the genre largely began in New York in the 1970s when DJs started making songs by sampling instrumental parts from other records. Not just obscure records, either — ones a DJ might reasonably expect his or her audience not to know — but huge hits, such as Chic’s “Good Times,” whose indelible bass line was borrowed by the Sugarhill Gang for the seminal “Rapper’s Delight.”
Decades later, that custom runs so deep that it’s folded in on itself, with rappers putting out gray-market mixtapes featuring fresh verses atop beats that likely felt familiar the first time they appeared.
This was part of “Hamilton” long before the show spawned an on-the-road remix.
Miranda has said frequently that in Hamilton’s story — that is, in the tale of a prodigious writer who uses words to raise himself from his humble origins — he recognized the narrative arc of an MC such as Jay-Z or the Notorious B.I.G. (In 1998, the former may have predicted “Hamilton’s” blend of hip-hop and Broadway with “Hard Knock Life (Ghetto Anthem),” which repurposed the original cast recording of “Annie.”)
And his songs are full of sonic and lyrical references to earlier tracks by the likes of Mobb Deep and Busta Rhymes.
Those knowing callbacks help “Hamilton” get the texture of hip-hop right; they contribute to a musical depiction far more convincing than, say, “La La Land,” which has such naive ideas about the spirit of jazz — about how that genre thinks about tradition and innovation — that you wondered if the filmmakers had ever spoken to a jazz musician.
A giver as well as a taker, Miranda clearly wants to build this type of replicability into his music — to encourage artists to do with his songs what he’s done with others’. Last year he put together “The Hamilton Mixtape,” an impressive collection of interpretations, some pretty liberal, of “Hamilton’s” key numbers by acts including Nas, Usher, Kelly Clarkson, Ashanti and Chance the Rapper.
That mixtape, by the way, debuted on Billboard’s album chart at No. 1, which highlights something else “Hamilton” shares with hip-hop: the ambition to be part of the cultural conversation (or to be in the room where it happens, as one song from the musical memorably puts it).
It will be curious to see what happens in a few years, after the tour has ended and the musical has perhaps become a treasured centerpiece of high-school theater programs.
Will some 10th-grade rapper crib a lyric of Miranda’s as Miranda did a line from Biggie’s “Juicy”? Or will he or she sample “The Room Where It Happens” as Jay-Z did “Annie”?
For Miranda the hip-hop head, it’s hard to imagine a more gratifying success.
That boy—young man—was his soulmate? He still had his spots! How could someone that young be his soulmate of all people? Akande had to be twice his age, or close to it. To add to that, he knew that DJ. He’d met with clients whose kids listened to him, knew that they were on opposing teams and that their ideals were the polar opposite.
Adrienette, post-reveal (preferably?), #1 (things you said when you were drunk prompts)
(So fun fact: I wrote an answer to this two days ago and as I was writing the tags my google chrome spazzed and exited out and when I opened it back up everything I’d written was gone HAHA KILL ME here’s take two)
Adrien had never thought the smell of Dupain-Cheng croissants would make him feel nauseous, but that was before he woke up on the morning after his eighteenth birthday.
He felt a bit like he had swallowed a handful of salty, live frogs, if the dryness in his mouth and churning in his stomach were any indication. A warm pressure against his back made squirm and him blink his eyes open—only to slam them shut against an unholy brightness that made his head pound.
His whimpered response to the pain made the warm pressure against his back shift and let out a yawn. Adrien wrinkled his nose as the question arose: where was he? Although his father had become more lenient, and especially in the light of his eighteenth birthday, he truly doubted that he would have allowed Adrien to sleep with a girl in his room. And that yawn was decidedly feminine. Nathalie would no doubt have had words to say. And Ladybug–
Ladybug. At the thought of his girlfriend, Adrien jolted into a sitting position, nausea and headache forgotten. What was Ladybug going to say if she found out he was…His eyes adjusted. He was…
In Ladybug’s room. In her bed. Which was Marinette’s bed. With Marinette, who was blinking blearily at him in confusion from her spot beside him. Because Marinette was Ladybug, and his girlfriend. And she had been for a while. Right.
“Adrien?” Marinette said in her cracked, sleepy voice. Adrien wanted to stay in his spot above her, admiring her flushed cheeks and bed hair, but now that his panic was out of the way, his headache had come back with a vengeance and instead he found himself lowering back down with a whimper of pain. He closed his eyes again as Marinette stroked the hair behind his ear.
“Poor minou. How are you feeling?” She was whispering, which he was grateful for. He let out a small, almost inaudible squeak. Before she could answer, another voice interrupted.
“Sucks to suck, dude.” Adrien frowned, peeking one eye open to see Nino walking into the room, carrying a plate of freshly baked croissants. “Shut up,” Adrien grumbled.
“Yeah, you’re one to talk, babe,” said another voice, and Adrien didn’t have to open his eyes to know it came from Alya, probably on Marinette’s chaise.
Nino disappeared from sight and Adrien heard him say, “What do you mean?” He could practically hear the smirk in Alya’s voice as she drawled, “I remember someone couldn’t hold his liquor on his birthday either.”
Marinette snorted. Adrien smiled at the sound despite himself. He ignored the bickering of the other couple as he looked up at Marinette, who was leaning over him and rubbing her thumb soothingly over his cheek. “So what happened?”
Mari quirked her mouth and raised an eyebrow. “What do you remember, exactly?”
Adrien frowned as he tried to remember. “We went to a club. And we danced a lot? Nino and Alya kept buying me drinks. I drank them. And there was more dancing?”
Mari tinkled a laugh and lay back down, folding her hands on Adrien’s chest and resting her chin on them while she looked up at him. Adrien had to duck his chin and peer down his nose to look at her. “You’ve got that right so far.”
“Was I…” He hesitated, nervous. Marinette seemed to get what he meant though.
“Aw, no, chaton. “ Adrien tried not to let all his relief show, but Marinette probably picked up on it more than she showed, because she smiled soothingly and continued, “You just got competitive. And very excitable. You challenged Kim to a shot contest.”
Well that explained a lot. Adrien wrinkled his nose. Kim had only gotten taller since lycée ended, and though Adrien, being a model, was not short himself, he didn’t have the muscle and pure body mass Kim had developed over the years. Not to mention, of course, it had been Adrien’s first time drinking alcohol. “I should’ve known better than that.”
“Yeah, you should have,” Nino called from the chaise. A smacking sound and a subsequent “Ow!” let Adrien know that Alya had shushed him. Adrien smirked a little and turned back to Marinette. She shrugged.
“Max, Alix and I stopped you guys before Kim started singing “We Are the Champions” onstage, so it’s okay. I personally didn’t even notice you’d had too much to drink until… well…”
A wave of anxiety hit Adrien like a blast from Guitar Villain’s akumatised guitar. Sure Marinette said he hadn’t been… too much, but what if he had been ungentlemanly or something and upset her, or—“Until what?” Adrien cut himself off before he could become more anxious. Marinette got a mischievous look on her face.
“You dared me to arm wrestle you.”
Adrien had not been expecting that. He hummed thoughtfully as he looked away. “Did I win?” He pretty much already knew the answer.
Sure enough, Marinette rolled her eyes and sat up, placing a hand on either side of Adrien’s torso and leaning over him. Her hair, falling out from yesterday’s hairstyle, tickled his nose. “No. And needless to say, you’re five hundred euros poorer now.”
Adrien pretended to be disheartened but in reality he didn’t mind—he probably would have spent the money buying Mari new fabrics anyway, so really this was just cutting out the middle-man. Besides, the sun was shining through the skylight and hitting Mari from behind, making her look like she was surrounded by a pale golden halo. Even with last night’s eyeliner a smudgy mess underneath her eyes, Adrien was still finding it difficult to breathe. He made a noise that might have been a hum of disappointment, eyes locked on Marinette’s impossibly blue ones.
She was saying something, but as his hand slid up her back to rest behind her head and pull her down gently, he found he wasn’t quite interested in hearing more about his night. As long as he didn’t do anything too crazy he was fine.
Just before their lips met, Marinette pushed herself off of his chest quickly. “Oh no you don’t. Teeth brushed first, and then you need to get some kind of carb in you.”
Adrien whined. “But, Princess,—“
“No but’s,” She tapped him on his nose lightly and pulled back, shuffling until she was making her way down the bunk stairs. “It’ll help your headache and your stomach. “
Adrien sighed, resting his head back on the pillow. He rubbed his eyes wearily, before a thought struck him. “Hey, Mari?”
She paused, the top of her just visible above the steps. “Hm?”
“How did me challenging you to an arm wrestling contest show you I was drunk?”
She hoisted herself back up until her face was visible, sending him a wink and a saucy grin that had him wondering for the thousandth time how he had not realized she was Ladybug so many years ago. “Because, chaton, if you were sober you would have known I would beat you.”
i've just found your blog and seen your post about being protective of pettigrew. can you explain/direct me to some posts where you explain?
the reason I protect Peter is not because I think his betrayal was alright, the reason I protect him is because people forget he was their friend, he was a Marauder and I get extremely angry when I see fan art and fanfic completely obliterating Peter.