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guide to singing along to musicals alone

Be More Chill: sing along to ALL the instrumentals.

The Book of Mormon: passionately yell the lines. Then glance out the window awkwardly to make sure no one’s listening. Then resume passionately yelling. Awkwardly go quiet when you hear people passing your door. Repeat.

Dear Evan Hansen: two modes: either humming the songs peacefully to yourself or jumping to your feet, perfectly executing the “Sincerely, Me” dance and also doing all of Ben Platt’s physical tics and waiting for your Tony.

Falsettos: *singing along happily for hundredth time* *abruptly stops* What does that line even mean

Hamilton: there is literally only one way to do it: singing along to all the parts at once and incorporating all the furniture in the room for maximum effect.

The Last Five Years: have a hundred tabs open with the lyrics. It would be one of the easiest musicals to sing along to alone if there weren’t so many goddamn words.

Les Misérables: reconcile yourself to the fact that it’s physically impossible to sing along to all the parts. You gotta just pick a character to sing with. Which is actually fine, because most Les Mis fans have this one character that’s “their” character. And there’s probably only one character who’s in your range, anyway. I mean, you can try to sing along to all the parts, but prepare to get absolutely slaughtered in “One Day More.”

Newsies: whatever you do, just don’t try to dance along. Please.

Next to Normal: *singing along happily for hundredth time* *abruptly stops* Whoa. That line is really clever/weird/sad/beautiful.

The Phantom of the Opera: AHHHHH aaahhhh ahhhh ahhhHHHH SING MY ANGEL OF MUSIC AHHHH ahhhh ahhh hahhhHHHHH sing mY ANGEL ahhh hahhhhhhh ahhhhHHHHH SING FOR MEEEE AHHHHH HHHHHHHH HAHHHHH HHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHH SING MY ANGEL HHHHHHHH Ś̹̗̝̠̫I͓̻̰̲N̢̠͕G̦̬͟ ̲F̳̫̦̜̭̰O͙̹̪͕̞͉͟R̩̭̦ ̛̠͚̰M̫͍̬͇͈̖EE̖̙̬̳̞̞̹È̖E͈EE͏E̗̞̲͍̰̕E̗̙̬̻̭Ḛ̫͉̗̜ aaʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰʰ

Rent: ALL the air guitar.

Spring Awakening: *forgets lyric* 🎶 lonely grass purple horses hay bale 🎶

Waitress: wait until “I Didn’t Plan It” and “She Used to Be Mine,” and then let out YEARS of pain and sadness

Wicked: *searches on YouTube* how to belt

This made me sad, and made me happy, and has my entire heart.

What if Kel was executed for treason in Lady Knight? What if it caused a rebellion? Because you can't tell me that what the world will hear in canon isn't that Wyldon ordered her to follow the refugees. Anything else would create resentment. For all Wyldon's pretty talk, surely he noticed that. And if they tried to hush it up? I don't see Raoul and Alanna letting that happen. And if you knew your king executed nobles for rescuing commoners from a fate worse than death, wouldn't you rebel?

No, no, no, no I can’t do it. Kel is my lady, my light, my love–and I can’t imagine a world where the people on that war front would ever have allowed her death. So let’s tell this story–she was found guilty of treason. She was sentenced to death, kneeling on that Tortallan river mud, enemy territory a stone’s throw behind her, hundreds of abandoned souls saved by her stubborn hands. 

Dutiful misery was stark in the grip Wyldon used to pull her to her feet and tie her hands behind her. (He would not leave that job to a lesser man.) Rage poured off Raoul, simmering, trapped. The King’s Own protested–when they shut themselves up it was not at their commander’s order but at Kel’s quelling shake of her head.

Wyldon could protect Owen, who was his squire and his responsibility. The King’s Own had technically, roughly, been following orders. The rescued civilians were ushered toward safety with faintly awed hands. Kel, Merric, and Neal were ushered forward, too, by awed hands, but it was with their own hands bound behind them and it was not toward safety.

But the awe was there– these knights had done the impossible. They had gone into enemy territory, after monsters made of death and metal, and saved their people. They had done the impossible– they had put protecting homeless peasants above obeying their lord. Wyldon tied each of their hands behind their backs and they did not apologize. Neal raised his chin like he was challenging Wyldon to demand it of him.

But the Giantkiller fortress was flooded with children and civilians who had been written off as collateral damage. After days of hard travel, the children were no longer unnaturally clean and coiffed; they would always be scared. They would always be brave. They would not allow Kel to be the price paid for their lives.

A pretty young woman who had once stabbed a Scanran slaver to death found out where they were keeping Kel and her knights. Children threw tantrums to distract while the ex-convicts picked the locks on their doors. Tobe got the horses and kept them quiet. When they got to the main gates again, Neal ready to put them all to sleep, the guards turned around the same way they had days before and let them through.

Up in the commander’s quarters, Wyldon slept restlessly. He had told Keladry of Mindelan once that he believed the best thing that could be said of his tenure as training master was that she had been in his care. He still believed that to be true, but he had his orders. When they woke him, he would be stranded somewhere between rage and relief.

Only a handful of Haven civilians came out into the woods with Kel that night. Neal tsked about Giantkiller’s healers and worked on them all while Merric went though their stolen saddlepacks and took inventory. Fanche pulled bread, cheese, and knives out of her bulging skirts and passed them around.

Kel sat, staring at the space they would have put a fire if they had thought it was safe to light one. Neal bullied some bread into her and Merric asked, “What do we do now, Kel?”

She considered saying, “Why are you asking me?” but Kel had always been very bad at lying to herself. She looked up at the trees. Fir. Spruce. “There’s a war on,” Kel said. “No matter what they say back there, we still have a sworn duty. Or at least I do.” Her school friends were looking up at her like she held their allegiances in her callused palm. The Haven people were careful shadows, tired, certain. Tobe looked at her like he was never letting her out of his sight again. “I’m going to keep fighting.”

They took down their first Scanran raiding party the next day, finding them almost on accident. The first Haven dogs and cats skipped and sauntered into their makeshift camp the next night, curling up by the fire and dropping rabbits for the humans to clean for them.

Haven civilians and convicts began wandering in, grinning tightly, bringing stories of Giantkiller all up in arms. After the first week, once she’d figured out they might be there for good, Kel had started looking for clerks.

When Dom and most of his squad of the King’s Own walked into their camp without a single piece of official Crown livery on, Kel seized Dom by one rough, plain sleeve and dragged him to the side.

“You can’t be here,” she hissed. “Neal and Merric are as damned as I am. The refugees have nowhere safer to go, and I’m not going to keep them from a fight if they want it. But you– Raoul needs you, Dom.”

“Raoul needs us to win this war,” said Dom. “And neither of us could think of any better hands for my squad to be in than yours. If we’re going to win this, we can’t keep our best commanders in the dark.” He grinned. “Even if they’re grumpy giantesses of fugitives.”

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the hatred for ron weasley and the perception of him as “useless” tends to be at least partially rooted in this idea that you have to be talented at everything you do and never put a foot wrong in order to be accepted as someone’s friend—like, because hermione’s a genius and harry is prodigiously skilled at defense against the dark arts and quidditch, ron, who doesn’t have any particular unique skill apart from chess, is somehow lesser in value to them and “unworthy” of their company.

it really speaks to this ridiculous idea that people are commodities, that they’re only good for what they can do for you. hermione’s only valuable to the trio because she’s smart, harry’s only valuable to the trio because he’s famous and good at combat magic. fans of ron weasley have to fight tooth and nail to get people to remember that ron contributes emotionally to the trio, that he helps keep harry and hermione grounded and in perspective, and that’s just as important as practical skills (of which he actually does have a great deal, or are we forgetting that he has the exact same grades as harry minus the top d.a.d.a grade?)

but ultimately, what it comes down to is this—the trio aren’t friends because they fight death eaters. they aren’t friends because they battle voldemort or hunt for and destroy his horcruxes together. they aren’t friends because they have to be. they are friends because they love each other, because they fundamentally care about each other and value each other as individuals quite apart from their special skills. they see in each other people who are there for them and support them and help them when no one else will, who will bring them up short when they need it, and they admire and care about each other and their relationships.

if you’re the kind of person who expects people to look for friends solely based on what skills those people contribute to the group, maybe the people in your life need to watch their backs so they know not to invest too much in a relationship with you. because why bother if all that matters is their skill set, which can change or be upstaged by someone else’s at any time?

ron is important and valuable to the trio because he is ron. they are friends with him and care about him because he is ron. people matter because they’re people, and this absurd and damaging philosophy that people’s value and worth should be inherently tied to their abilities really needs to stop.

so the next time someone asks you “what unique things has ron done? what are his special skills?”, as if that is the litmus test for someone to be accepted and loved, they may be the kind of person that you need to look at and just ask why ron needs them in the first place.

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I wonder if the cast won’t name themselves like Bertrand’s Bells, but will name themselves something with Bell in it as a homage to him. I’m sure someone else will come up with something more clever, but The Bell Tolls, Bell Ringers, Hells Bells, something like that