Key's Fantroll Blog ♥
Just some trolls trying not to die.(●´∀｀●)
You see these fuckers? They’re my pointe shoes. Now, I don’t know how much you guys know about ballet, but pointe is a style of ballet where the dancer dances on their toes. There’s a wooden box like thing on the tips, and is flat on the front, which makes us able to dance on our toes like we do. It’s called the box or platform. These shoes need to be the perfect size, otherwise the dancer can easily seriously hurt themselves. If the shoes are too small, their toes could break, but if they’re too big, they could snap their ankles. No two pairs of shoes are the same, so you can’t borrow anyone else’s. They need to be yours because otherwise the shoes won’t fit with your foot and how you dance.
These shoes range from 50-85 dollars, depending on where you get them and what they’re made out of. They’re stiff as a board when you first get them, so you need to break them in. Breaking them in takes months. You have to dance in stiff, hard boxes until the shank and vamp finally takes to your foot. You will bleed. Some people actually cry because the pain of breaking the shoes in is so bad. Once they’re finally broken in, dancing in them is wonderful, even if it still hurts a little. But when they’re broken in, they only last a few more months until they fall apart completely. Then you need to get a new pair and break those in.
In order to dance on these shoes, you need the proper cushioning for your toes, whether it be cotton, a soft gel slip over your toes, or wool. Your toenails need to be as short as you can make them, so that your nail can’t splinter and dig into your skin as you go up. Sometimes it happens anyway. Before a dancer can even consider dancing on the floor away from the bar, they need to practice for months, perfecting their balance, the set of their core, where their shoulders need to be, and how to go up.
Going up is key to staying safe while dancing pointe. If you go up wrong, theres a 95% chance you will hurt yourself. To go up, you need to roll up from your heels to the tips of your toes, flat, and with precision. If you hop up, you’ll break your ankle. If you roll the wrong way, you’ll break your ankle. It literally needs to be perfect. Before leaving the bar, you need to be able to balance for about sixty seconds, to assure your instructor and yourself that you will be save doing forte turns and pirouettes, as well as gran-jete, glissade, leaps, and even waltzes.
The next step is grace. You can’t blunder across the stage. You need to glide, flowing from each step to the other. The dance needs to look like a single step, moving continuously from each pose to another. Fingers need to be extended, necks elongated, shoulders down, chin up, stomach and butt tense and in, legs and back straight and toes pointed and turned out. The dance must always continue, even if you hurt yourself. If you can still move, you can still dance. If you’re bleeding in your shoe, there is no stopping and fixing it. You finish the dance and when it’s over you patch yourself up in the dressing room and continue on with your next dance if you have one. If you fall, you make it look like it was supposed to be in the dance. Your facial expressions and body need to reflect the music, so if you have a melancholy song, you must look forlorn, and depict it through your body and eyes, as well as the set of your mouth. Same as if your number was happy and upbeat, you need to reflect that.
There are two major styles of ballet: Russian and Italian. An ideal ballerina knows both forms, and can tell the difference between the two. A dancer must follow the song with it’s beat as well, and the tempo can go from counts of four to sixteenth counts.
Pointe dancers sometimes need to put resin on their shoes so that they don’t slip and risk breaking an arm, or even their neck. But if you put too much resin on, your shoes will stick, and you’ll fall while trying to turn.
In conclusion, DANCE IS A FUCKING SPORT, OKAY? ESPECIALLY BALLET. WE RISK OURSELVES EVERY PRACTICE AND SHOW, SO DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING TELL ME THAT WHAT I DO ISN’T A SPORT. I PRACTICE FOR HOURS, JUST AS EVERY OTHER PERSON WHO PLAYS SOCCER OR FOOTBALL OR LACROSSE. I GET HURT AND I FALL AND I GET BRUISED AND I BREAK THINGS, JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE WHO PLAYS ALL THOSE OTHER FUCKING SPORTS.
So kindly fuck off if you think otherwise.
Ballet is the most hardcore thing ever. People are all like “Oh football players are so tough!” Pbbbbt. Ballet dancers can dance through pain that would make a football player cry like a bitch.
This is true guys I attended a professional russian ballet school for 10 years of my life it’s so fucking true
Someone said it
my conversation with Key? well absorb the love! FEEL THE LOVE. LOVE FOR ALLLLLLLLL
LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOE LOVE LOVE L̹͙O̻͕̰̬̼̳V̰͓̻͕͡E L͐̍͌͊ͪ̆͏̵̡͉̞̠͚͇͈̬̞̱͍͖̳̺̟̥̀͝O̧̔̀̏ͩ̆͑ͤ̈̎͊̿̀ͬ̄͌ͪ́̉̚͟͏̶͍̟̼͎̮̩̦̺̖̕V̸̨̫͈̥͖͚͎͓̈́̎̑̋ͫ̇ͦ̄̈̕͠E͖̳͙̠̙̒̐̎̒͊͑̀͘
ACCEPT MY LOVE AND ADORATION
one thing i love about trolls is that the
the concept of gender??? the concept of sexuality??? dOESN’T REALLY EVEN MATTER??? wow just take a moment to realize this, everyone is all equal on terms of bodily functions and origin
but when it comes to blood, it’s a mad slaughtering time
»You’re startled when someone addresses you, instinctively knowing it’s you the troll is barking at because who else has white hair and pale horns. You almost drop a cup, thankful you don’t as you set it down and turn, swallowing quietly.
»It’s quite obvious in your eyes, despite the ring of bright aqua around your pupil. You keep your distance still and simply wait, hoping your answer was all they needed.
» You don’t believe him. And you tell him as such.
"Azure isn’t even in your range of hue, you belligerent imbecile. Not that I believe anyone of the hoofbeast shit coming out of your mouth to begin with. I know a pale blood when I see one.”
» You are pressing him, you know this—however, the vendor in front of you takes this as a sign to remind you not so kindly to ‘take this shit somewhere else’. You tsked under your breath, glaring at the mysterious troll in front of you before deciding that you weren’t coming back to this damn stall again. But you’re not done with this one and you don’t hesitate to grab them by their coated arm and pull them to towards the nearest alleyway. Damp, bloodcoated and trash aligned the walls, you heed not their protest as you release them with a harsh glare.
"I’m not in any position to be called ‘sir' either. I am your peer, currently and formally. I am an Azure blood and I know you are not. Personally, I baffled by the fact you are not being threaten with culling just by how flamboyantly you flaunt your condition.”
» You sneer at him, crossing your arm in a haughty fashion—ignoring how uncomfortable he is becoming or how he might be inching away from you. He’s probably wondering what did you want with him… and personally, you’re wondering the same thing. Deflating a bit, you try to hide the conflicting confusion that crosses your expression, trying to maintain your ‘mission’.
"I… am not harassing you for any matter except for my own personal agenda. The condition of pale bloods are uncommon. Rare. I find them curious.”
You are a terrible liar.
i think this was like 2007?
everyone suffer with me
did someone say suffering
because I can suffer with the best of them
btw the kid on the far left is the character I based Dabbur off of
the longest fucking torsos in the land
2007 was a hard time for us all
forgive me i have sinneneddeded ‘XXXXDDDDD’
»You’re braving the market’s cause you’re out of food. You really hope no one stops you or touches you. Curse your laziness for not having gone out earlier when there’s less people. Sigh.
» Amongst the city that is all too organized and deliberately divided makes you ultimately satisfied and also very—ah, what was the word?—routine. Disgustingly and sickeningly routine. You grit your teeth as you don’t ignore a midblood making eyes at you and focused on your stride towards the familiar desolated market place where you see an auctioneer a few meters away, shouting in an obnoxious fashion as most trolls jeer around him.
»However, those with a sense of dignity keep to themselves as to avoid the displays of obvious dominant. You don’t need to reminded of your status, you have the enough pride as it was. Instead, you focus your bone-weary body towards one of your preferred—not favorite, you don’t have favorites—food stall where the troll glares at you carefully as you look over their wares. It isn’t your fault they have the best grown harvest around. You glare back only the sense someone come beside you, far from you, but also looking down and quickly grabbing their items to pay.
» You almost wouldn’t care if you didn’t see their horns.
» Pale horns.
» What the hell were you doing?
"You there, what… your hue, what’s the hue of your blood?"
» One day you’re going to control your indignant impulses. One day.
he asked for a blowjob and i blew him away with the word of the lord
I like to think a lot of highbloods die young because of their arrogance. Like in respect to their lifespans its super early whereas midbloods and lowerbloods actually have a better chance to live their lives out because they’re far more modest and cautious than highbloods who are reckless.
Its probably an issue of overestimating themselves and throwing them into a fatal situation.
So when a highblood actually lives a long time they’re probably considered really smart and powerful and that’s why there’s so few of them.