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#anastasia musical
trashpidgeon48 · 4 months
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Leitmotifs drive me insane, like I hear *repeated melody that has an association with a person, idea, or situation* and I go *tears up the fucking rug like a dog*
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itsgrapes-exe · 1 month
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musicals as vines
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izloveshorses · 2 months
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ANYA/DMITRY + tv tropes™ ~Anastasia the Musical~
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its-to-the-death · 4 months
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Villain Song Showdown Preliminary Round #21
Top two will make it into the bracket
Songs below the cut
Great at Crime - Villain: DC Bell and The Banzai Blasters
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Davy Jones' theme - Villain: Davy Jones
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I Hate Santa Claus - Villain: Stormella
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In a Moment's Time - Villain: The Skull Heart
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Drift - Villain: Happy Chaos
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PRAYER - Villain: Pray Mayer
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The Neva Flows - Villain: Gleb Vanagov
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Still - Villain: Gleb Vaganov
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Still/The Neva Flows Reprise - Villain: Gleb Vaganov
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#30
specific history knowledge because of musicals
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bestmusicalworldcup · 13 days
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scarletcomet · 1 year
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One step at a time One hope, then another Who knows where this road may go?
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altarwaiting · 1 year
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musical theatre challenge: 2/3 costumes | anya’s red gown (anastasia) [insp] 
I want the clothes to support the story. I don’t want them to be what they take from the production when they leave. It should be a seamless apart of the world and the story. I want them to take my work as part of the whole and that you almost don’t notice it, because it is the perfect thing for that world and you can’t imagine it any other way. - Linda Cho, costume designer 
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thephantomofanastasia · 4 months
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This is so cool. A regional production of Anastasia at the White Plains Performing Arts Center, NY. It looks like they're using the same costumes, but a different set and projections.
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glossytreasures · 9 months
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anastasia [1997]
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hawklightt · 3 months
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pealeii · 4 months
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“are you paying attention?” nah i’m living in the land of yesterday
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izloveshorses · 1 month
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who knows? is this the start of something wonderful and new, or one more dream that i cannot make true?
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dustoftheancients · 5 months
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daisymintt · 8 months
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Still the River Flows
Inspired by the song Still/Neva Flows Reprise from Anastasia the Broadway play.
Emrys was barely eight years old when Uther and his men had found them hiding in a cellar near the outskirts of Camelot with the few other remaining Druids. When his mother had heard the sound of horses nearing she had shoved him into an empty grain barrel in the corner and told him to be quiet no matter what he heard.
Through a small split in the wood Emrys watched as the cellar doors were smashed open, knights poured in and roughly grabbed his parents. They pulled them out of the cellar into the chilly night air kicking and screaming, herding the rest of the Druids that he had grown to consider family with them.
“Where is the boy? Where is Emrys?” The tyrant king thundered. His mother begged the tyrant king to spare him.
“He’s just a child!” She had pleaded, her cries falling on deaf ears. His father had raged against Uther but with all the dragons dead his rage had little effect on the tyrant king. The cries of the fearful children and the pleading of the parents was cut short leaving only a horrible silence. Emrys knew in his heart that his parents were dead. He felt tears threatening to overwhelm him and a sob clawing its way up his throat.
He bit into his neckerchief to try and muffle any sound he made as the tears flowed down his face. “Search the cellar, he can’t be far.” The tyrant king commanded.
Emrys stiffened and tried to shrink down farther into the barrel as once again the knights stormed the cellar upending baskets and knocking over anything person sized, searching for any sign of him. Emrys whimpered quietly to himself, terrified of being found. After what felt like an eternity the knights gave up and started heading back out, all but one.
A boy who couldn’t be more than a couple years his elder stayed behind. The boy had flaxen hair that gleamed silver in the moonlight and his sword seemed too big for him, he kept having to adjust the belt and the tip of the sword dragged on the ground.
Emrys shifted in the barrel and the wood creaked, the boys head whipped in his direction. Emrys held his breath and prayed to the Triple Goddess that he would walk the other way. The boy gripped the hilt of his sword and neared the barrel. Emrys feared for his life as the boy looked down into the barrel. Their eyes met and for a brief moment Emrys thought, This is it. I’m dead.
“Arthur! Hurry up!” The tyrant king called. The boy gave him a pitying look and stepped away. “Coming, father!” He yelled before quickly departing from the cellar, careful not to look back at the boy hidden in the barrel.
~*~
Ten years later Emrys, who now goes by Merlin, finds himself once again in Camelot and as the prince’s manservant no less! Over the years Merlin and the Prince grew close, closer than any Prince and his servant ever should. Merlin would die for Arthur and Arthur would die for him. Despite their close bond Merlin still kept his magic a secret from him for fear of what would happen if he found out.
Despite his best attempts to undue all that Uther had taught Arthur about magic the damage was already done. Arthur could be so kind but at the smallest hint of magic he turned into father, untrusting and even cruel. One day this all came to a head when Merlin went with Arthur on a quest near the border town Ealdor that had reached out begging for protection from a warlord.
Merlin had found himself cornered and was left with no choice but to use his magic. The look of absolute betrayal on Arthur’s face broke his heart. Once the warlord was dealt with Merlin remained in Ealdor while Arthur returned to Camelot. Little more than a month later Arthur returned to check in on the people of Ealdor, avoiding Merlin to the best of his abilities as he did until on the final day before Arthur was to depart Merlin finally got him alone.
“Arthur…” Merlin reached out for Arthur but Arthur shrugged him off as all the missing pieces started fitting into place. Merlin was that Druid boy he had spared all those years ago in that cellar in Camelot.
“An underhanded boy, an act of desperation, and to my consternation I let you go. Not this time. Ealdor is no place for a good and loyal Camelonian.”
“We are both good and loyal Camelonians.” Merlin insisted.
“I’ve come to take you home.”
“My home is here now.”
“Stop playing this game, Merlin! I beg you.” Arthur’s voice grew desperate as he tried to convey the seriousness of the situation.
Merlin’s voice quieted, “We both know it’s not a game, Arthur.”
“If you really are Emrys do you think history wants you to have lived?”
“Yes! Why don’t you?” Merlin’s voice cracked at the last bit, his hurt breaking through.
“The Druids were given everything and gave back nothing until my father rose up and destroyed them.”
Merlin straightened his back, all traces of subservients gone replaced with cool confidence, and with a steely voice he stepped closer to Arthur and challenged, “All but one. Finish it. I am my fathers progeny.”
“AND I AM MY FATHERS SON!” Arthur roared as he unsheathed his sword with the hiss of metal against leather and pressed the tip against Merlin’s throat, “Finish it I must. My father shook his head and told me not to ask, Gaius said he died of shame.”
“In me you see them, look at their faces in mine, hear their scream, imagine their terror, see their blood!” Merlin cried, his eyes flaring gold and a wind started circulating around them kicking up dust.
“But I believed he did a proud and vital task and in my fathers name!” Arthur pressed the tip of the sword harder against Merlin’s throat, blood beading around the cut and trailing down the pale skin of his throat.
“Do it! And I will be with my parents and my brothers and sisters in that cellar in Camelot all over again!” Merlin’s voice raised, recalling the fateful night they had first met all those years ago.
Arthur shivered at the memory of the Druid children crying out as they where cut down at his fathers word, begging for their mothers. The sword dropped to Merlin’s chest. Arthur pressed on, “The children… their voices… a man makes painful choices. He does what’s necessary, Merlin! For Camelot, my beauty. What choice but simple duty. We have a past to bury, Merlin!”
Arthur tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and pressed the tip against Merlin’s chest where his heart would be, “And soon it will be spring. The leaves unfold, the king lies cold. Be careful what a dream may bring, a revolution is a simple thing!”
Merlin inhaled sharply as Arthur pulled back his sword and swung it down towards his neck. At the last moment Arthur plunged the sword into the earth, collapsing against it as sobs wracked his body. “I can’t do it… I… I can’t…”
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bestmusicalworldcup · 2 months
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