rise up! & flashback…

How about a challenge? I couldn’t find any dgm challenges so i made it by myself. I really wanna perform it… But not all positions ^^”

I’ll be happy if you take it to draw something from it)


Flint + hugging ladies  ಥ‿ಥ

Do Not Throw Away Your Shot
  • Laurens:Alexander, You're the closest friend I've got.
  • Hamilton:Laurens, DO NOT throw away your shot.
  • Laurens:Alexander, I love you, you're super hot.
  • Hamitlon:Laurens, DO NOT throw away your shot.
  • Laurens:Alexander, will you marry me? *Goes down on one knee* Here's a ring I boought.
  • Hamilton:Laurens, DO NOT throw away your shot.
  • Laurens:

“The impact of arts education on my career is complete and total, and it saved my life,” Lin-Manuel Miranda confirmed. Recounting his first experiences in musical theater with teachers Barbara Ames and Robert Sherman at Hunter Elementary School in New York City, Miranda recalled the many roles he played in a marathon, student-led sixth-grade production… “I played Conrad Birdie, a cowhand in Oklahoma!, a son in Fiddler, Captain Hook, Bernardo in West Side Story - natch - and an Addaperle backup in the Wizard of Oz-slash-The Wiz,” Miranda explained. “This is a very lethal dose of musical theater at a very young age,” he observed, “and I thought, I am doing this for the rest of my life, if they will let me.”

Miranda’s personal history with and experiences in dance began with “Puerto Rican Dance Training 101,” he explained, “which is my father, Luis Miranda, telling me, ‘You’re gonna learn to salsa, or you’re gonna get out of the house.’” During his years in high school, “While everyone was playing racquetball and football, I was doing the foxtrot and do-si-do. I was one of three boys in the [social dance] class, thinking, Why is anyone doing anything else? This is awesome!” While attending Wesleyan University, where Miranda and Appel first met as undergraduates, “I took Ballet 1 and Ballet 2 with [Patricia L. Beaman]…I was always taking dance classes concurrently with everything else I was doing.” Miranda spoke appreciatively of the “mind-altering experience” working with acclaimed choreographers Andy Blankenbuehler and Luis Salgado on his first Broadway musical, In the Heights, and subsequent projects.

“I don’t know any other way to write except to give every character I’m writing every bit of humanity that I have, and to find my way in. It has to be as honest as possible.”

If resources and time were limitless, what would you be doing right now?

“I need time to be finite,” Miranda responded. “I need finite resources. Restrictions help you be creative, as anyone who’s good at chess will tell you, as anyone who’s written a haiku or a sonnet will tell you. The form unlocks the work.”

Lin-Manuel Miranda Visits Chicago’s Hubbard Street Dance Center

If you’re for voter suppression, if you don’t believe your ideals stand up to the voting booth, then you are for the losing side. My goal is to get everyone voting as much as possible. Because you don’t want 40% of the nation to decide who our president is. You want a majority. You want a mandate. You want to hear the will of the electorate. Whether that breaks with my personal interest or not, it is in the interest of the common good for as many people to show up as possible.
One Cream, Five Sugars, Lin-Manuel Miranda x Reader

Prompt: Lin spills coffee on the reader the first time they meet.

Words: 977

Author’s Note: This was supposed to be a dad!Lin fic but I forgot…I’ll so a sequel or something that has dad!Lin, I promise. Also, I had to put Lac in there…c’mon.

Warnings: One curse word, I think?

He was never the smoothest person in a room. In fact, it was usually a safe bet to say he was the least smooth person in any room ever.

Usually he knows how to control it, he meticulously plans his moves ahead of time, imagining every worst case scenario and then coming up with five different ways to get out of those scenarios.

This was never on his list of scenarios.

His name was called and, like an idiot, he did a quick full body turn, slamming into you as you were trying to serve the next table over.

Coffee and muffins were everywhere, mostly on you. He immediately braced himself for a tongue lashing, a snappy ‘watch where you’re going!’. When he received nothing, he finally mustered up the courage to look you in the eyes.

There wasn’t anger, and he immediately softened. He didn’t know what to say, what do people say in these situations? ‘Hey, sorry I ruined your day, gotta go!’?

“Hi.” Was all he could get out.

“Hi.” You returned, gathering your wits enough to pick up a muffin that had fallen at your feet, “Muffin?” You asked, offering him the destroyed pastry as he looked on at you, dumbfounded. He took in your soggy barista apron and bright smile. Not knowing what else to do or say, he took the muffin.


He went back nearly everyday for a month, typing furiously at his computer while stealing glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking. You pretended you didn’t know who he was while stealing glances at his computer screen, getting the faintest of clues as to what he was working on.

You did a dance around each other that everyone but the two of you could see. Sometimes he would invite people to the cafe with him, so he looked sociable and likable in your eyes.

You knew he was a hermit crab, but let him continue to parade his friends around without comment. He began to frequent the cafe with a man named Alex, who had insanely curly hair - hair you recognized from the pit of the Richard Rodgers Theatre.

“Okay.” You finally said on a particularly slow morning. He hastily closed his laptop when you took the seat across from them, pushing forward two cups, “Cafe con leche for Mr. Lacamoire,” You nod to Alex, “And Usnavi.”

His jaw clenches at the name. Alex quickly takes that as his queue to take his coffee and move to another table.

“How long have you known who I am?”

“Since I saw you as Usnavi a few years ago.” You answer, untying your apron, “You were good.”


“No problem. What are you working on?” You nodded to his closed laptop.

“It’s dumb.”

“Impossible.” You smirk, leaning back in your chair. He shrugged, “Fine. You won’t answer that one. How about this one: Why do you keep coming in here?”

“I like the coffee.” He murmured, crossing his arms.

“You can get authentic, delicious coffee for a dollar on any corner store in your neighborhood. Instead you get a three dollar scone and a four dollar black coffee you drown in sugar. Why do you keep coming in here?” You insisted.

“Your coffee costs $3.75, thank you very much.” His eyes shot to Alex, who was very unconvincingly pretending to not pay close attention to this encounter.

Your eyebrows shot up, urging him to go on. He leaned forward, as if he was entrusting you with a dark secret. You leaned forward to.

“There’s this girl-” You scoffed, leaning back, “Hear me out!” You sighed after a moment, gesturing for him to continue, “There’s this girl who makes kind of okay coffee.”

“My coffee is pretty okay, alright?”

“There’s this girl who makes pretty okay coffee. She is a complete klutz and offered me a soggy, crushed muffin the first time I met her.”

“You ran into me!” You screeched, making Alex laugh from the other table, “You stay out of this!”

“I keep coming back because I think she is the most beautiful person I have ever seen in my entire life and maybe if I come in enough, she’ll get how much I like her and make the first move because I’m too much of an idiot to do it myself.”

You were speechless, but that was fine with him because there was no stopping him now that he had started.

“I overthink everything. A million different things could go wrong and only one outcome is a good one. I think about all the stupid jokes I’ve told her. I think about everytime I’ve come in when it was too busy, how I inconvenienced her with my stupid black coffee with one cream and five sugars. I think about how upset she could have been when I dumped hot coffee all over her. Then I think about how she smiled and offered me a muffin instead.” He ducked his head, finally done letting everything he had kept inside off his chest.

You chanced a glance back at Alex, who looked smugly proud of his friend, who had always been great with words whenever his mind slowed down enough for his mouth to catch up.

He sent a look to you, something along the lines of, ‘Well, fuck.’

Wordlessly, you reached across the table to turn his untouched cup. Now facing him was your number scrawled on the white paper coffee cup.

He memorized the number five seconds after he read it.

“What are you working on?” You asked again.

“A rap musical about Alexander Hamilton.” He answered immediately.

“Okay. Tell me more.”

Alex got up from his seat, walking past Lin with a single pat on the shoulder and a, “You found her.” before taking his leave, the bell of the cafe door ringing behind him.