#Nutcracker fracture

[highflyartist]

ROUND 6: UBISOFT

It's just the two south park games (AKA the only Ubisoft games I've ever played)

Erica (for @kate66s ) & Riddley ( for @anjiedromeda ) are both in the south park style

Originally, I wanted to do Riddley in Rayman but then I realized that Rayman's artstyle looked- weird. So I did the lazy route and uh- yeah!

Okay Plants VS Zombies & Peggle fans, Popcap is next!

[karlachismylife]

Oof I feel that chronically I'll ask, except mine is chronic pain in my hips, I have to take pain meds before work or else I'm dead by the end of the day.

I can never fully get comfortable due to the amount of pressure in my hips and back there is due to it. I feel like 141 would help me actually pop and crack everything I need to though.

I think I would scare them with how loud it is tho, I managed to half crack my back once and my partner thought a bone literally broke with how loud and crunchy it was

Ouchhh, I'm so sorry to hear that, love, that sounds like hell to go through every day, hip pain is a bitch...

They totally would do it for you. I feel like Ghost and Gaz would be best, Gaz is just too fucking smart and knows what to do, plus he's sooo good at distracting you from the momentary discomfort, you know, just sweettalking you and stroking your back to ease the tension, and then CRACK. Boom, you're already better. And Ghost is very methodical, he's done his research, he's got very capable hands, he'll do it quickly and probably be a bastard about the sounds you make. I bet he's used to popping his own fucked up joints and bones into place, with his solo missions and his back story, so he doesn't get spooked by it, he'll just call you Nutcracker or something. Especially because his just don't crack that loud for some reason, okay, Mr Stealth.

I bet Price's back makes same noise. He's not an old man, I know, but I just think his back is messed up (hense that little stretch he does constantly), so the morning in your household starts with a percussion improvisation from your joints ><

Soap's the one who gets freaked out. Probably because he's actually barely had any fractures, especially full ones (i am yet to meet and ADHDer who had broken a single bone, i swear, we're somehow avoiding it at all costs), so he's only used to hearing it from people he does this to in combat, and sounds AWFUL LOT SIMILAR. So he'll be just chewing on his snack and then Ghost comes up to you from behind to give you a quick fix cuz he noticed you get uncomfortable in your posture, and Soap's like ??? YE BROKE OOR BONNIE YE SICK BASTART???

[dragonpyre]

We have Steph and Tim, let’s throw Cass in the ring 👀👀 (sorry I’m kinda spamming with the asks, I just like hearing your DC/batfam opinions bestie 🥺)

Don't be sorry! Let's complete the trifecta

First impression: heard about her through my classmate's tiktok (PandaRedd). Thought she was his OC

Impression now: Best girl ever. Please get her therapy

Favorite moment: That time she gave Steph a hairline fracture in her jaw and denied it

Idea for a story: She and Jason being twins and meeting on the streets. They become feral little codependent nightmares who bite Batman after stealing his tires

Unpopular opinion: She and jason should get along despite that not being the case. purely based on vibes

Favorite relationship: Her and Steph <3 She's a lesbian to her core and I stand by that.

Favorite headcanon: She usually cast as the Sugarplum Princess every year for Gotham City's Ballet performance of the Nutcracker

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

festive prompts

☆ seasonal prompts for creators and roleplay. ☆ contains whump, angst, dark themes. ☆ many of these are open to interpretation, so have fun with it!

Ivy - covered, smothered, engulfed

Star - sharp point(s)

Nice - rewarded

Coal - burns

Toys - unconventional weapons

Card - a threat or a promise

Holly - poison, venom, toxin

Icicle - pierced through

Angel - a sight for sore eyes

Tinsel - adorned

Sleigh - taken away

Cocoa - hot liquid

Wreath - something wrapped around neck

Garland - draped, dangled, hung up

Cookies - bitten, grabbed

Naughty - punished

Caroling - begging for mercy, calling for help

Stocking - bare feet

Egg Nog - drunk or drugged

Chimney - escape attempt

Mistletoe - a kiss, embrace, or kind word

Reindeer - pursued, hunted

Fruitcake - discarded, unwanted

Snowman - chilled to the bone

Ornament - hooked

Evergreen - kept alive

Snowflake - soften or melt

Ice Skates - a sharp edge

North Pole - far from home

Nutcracker - fractures, breaks, sprains

Poinsettias - illness, fever

Candlelight - fading fast

Peppermint - stomach ache or hunger

Jingle Bells - blow to the head, headache

Silent Night - left alone in the dark

Candy Cane - struck, hit, beaten

Gingerbread - dry, dehydrated

String of Lights - bound, tied up

Under the Tree - lost in the woods

Hallmark Movie - happy ending

Wrapping Paper - bandages or blankets

Merry and Bright - rest, relief, reprieve

Ribbons and Bows - unconventional restraints

Baby It’s Cold Outside - bad weather

Visions of Sugarplums - dizzy, dazed, delirious

Roasting on an Open Fire - stifling, sweltering, overheated

[rightwhereyouleftme05]

I partially tore my Achilles and tibialis anterior in ballet and am out for nutcracker. The doctors are concerned I may have micro fractures in my shin from overuse. I’m wondering if my bones have weakened.

[dragon-with-a-ink-quill]

Nutcracker au in progress!

I haven't fully developed the roles yet but so far instead of getting one nutcracker from their mysterious uncle y/n received two very special nutcrackers.

After their rambunctious younger brother Gregory stole them to lead his toy army and fractured there arms y/n gently used their hair ribbon to fix them.

It seems the tiny soldiers are smitten ❤️

[that-fema-corps-blog]

Day 350

July 18, 2023

I got up early and took a look around Diamond Lake. There wasn’t much activity, though I did see a female common merganser swimming.

We left around 7:30 and began the drive toward Crater Lake. We stopped at Castle Crest Wildflower Trail along the way for a short hike. It’s not in full bloom yet, but it’s still quite pretty. I was surprised to find that there was still some ice on the ground. I suppose that’s a result of the altitude; we were 7,500 feet up the last I checked. I was surprised I didn’t feel it, considering we were at sea level just a day before.

I promptly fell behind looking for birds and got caught in a conversation with two older women about flowers. They told me that this was the first time they’d been here this year and were coming to see the flowers before the main fire season. They pointed out several flowers including bog orchids, which they said were growing earlier this year.

They also showed me monkeyflowers, which they said would grow to cover much of the hill after a couple months.

I parted ways to try to catch up to my teammates and reached the trail clearing. It strikes me how richly this forest smells of wood. I usually don’t notice the scent of a place, but this was difficult to miss; it quite reminded me of the lumber section of a hardware store or the part of a tractor supply store that sells horse stall bedding.

The team had started splitting up to look for me by the time I found some of them. It probably took 20 or 30 minutes for the rest of us to reunite. Oops. We continued to Crater Lake, pulling over every few minutes to look. It’s hard to explain just how huge this place is. There’s no way to see it all without turning one’s head, and I couldn’t get the whole thing in one photo:

Crater Lake has a unique geological history. It is the deepest lake in the United States:

A massive eruption occurred about 7,700 years ago. It was followed by ejections of volcanic matter through fractures, in an oval shape around the mountain. These events weakened the mountain’s structure, and caused the central portion of Mount Mazama to collapse inward. The result was an 5–6 mi (8–10 km) diameter and 0.7 mi (1.2 km) deep caldera. … Soon after the caldera formed, eruptions from new vents built the base of Wizard Island, and over several hundred years, rain and snow partially filled the caldera. Meanwhile, Wizard Island continued to grow and three other volcanoes formed underwater. The final eruption was on the east flank of Wizard Island about 4,800 years ago. … Evaporation and seepage are equal forces which keep Crater Lake from filling beyond an average depth of 1,943 ft (592 m) or 4.9 trillion gal (18.6 trillion L) of water. About 34 billion gal (128 billion L) are gained and lost each year.

All three vans met at the visitor center so we could swap teammates and look around more. The visitor center itself was closed, but there was quite a bit of activity nonetheless. I ran into a birder I earlier saw on the wildflower trail, and she told me that the Clark’s nutcrackers I was watching had fledged a week ago. Interestingly, these juveniles looked identical to the adult feeding them; I wouldn’t have known they were fledglings if it weren’t for them screaming to be fed. I suppose this isn’t too surprising, considering they’re related to crows and jays, which generally don’t have the most distinct juvenal plumage.

I saw a Townsend’s solitaire flying in the distance. These robin and bluebird relatives are plain grey birds with few markings, minus some light patterning on the wings. The solid buff stripe on the top of its wing was a distinct enough field mark for me to be confident identifying it.

I watched a small flock of red crossbills land in one of the conifers. These goldfinch relatives have unique crossed bills they use to pry seeds out of cones. They are somewhat uncommon among birds for not having a distinct breeding season or location; they’ll breed whenever and wherever the conifer seeds are plentiful.

We drove for several hours and crossed into California. It looks like several acres along the interstate had burned recently:

A few more miles, and we passed Mount Shasta and met for lunch at Weed, CA. Another several hours, and we finally arrived back at campus. We took COVID tests, got our dorm keys, unloaded the vans, and spent the rest of the evening socializing and resting.

[inksandpensblog]

Okay so this may not be the answer you’re looking for because it’s not just The Nutcracker, but if you’re okay with anime then I highly recommend Princess Tutu. It’s a twenty-six episode magical-girl anime from 2001, and it uses elements and themes from multiple ballets, stage plays, and fairytales to tell its own transformative story. The Nutcracker and Swan Lake probably get the most representation, but there’s also Sleeping Beauty, Giselle, Coppelia, La Sylphide, Romeo and Juliet, and many more.

If you like stories about stories, and you like stories that explore themes of fractured identity, the flaws of self-sacrificial love, and what it means to accept or defy fate, then you’ll probably like this show. And if you like stories where Drosselmeyer actually has anything to do with the plot then you’ll definitely like this show.

has anyone made any especially worthwhile versions of nutcracker, besides the original ballet and barbie adaptation or maybe the like one or two scant tv episode versions buried in the recesses of my memory, lately. been thinking about it since i got reminded that four realms and untold story were in fact two different mediocre movies and not the same thing. it feels like it’s halfway cursed, as a lifelong nutcracker enjoyer. even if we’re counting the good ones i know of that’s twenty years or more.

[balanchine-ballet-master]

Dr. William Hamilton, former attending orthopedic surgeon for the New York City Ballet, died on March 29. He was 90 years old.

The following is the obituary published in the New York Times, by Clay Risen:

Dr. William G. Hamilton, who as the attending orthopedic surgeon for New York City Ballet spent more than 40 years fixing bone spurs, tendinitis, bursitis, torn ligaments and what he called “the Nutcracker Fracture,” died on March 29 at his home in Croton-on-Hudson, N.Y. He was 90.

His wife, Linda Hamilton, said the cause was congestive heart failure.

Ballet dancers may be the “athletes of God,” as Albert Einstein supposedly said. But until Dr. Hamilton came along, they were treated more like ethereal beings than physical bodies that could crack, tear and otherwise fall apart under the extreme and often unnatural pressures of repeated pliés and grand jetés.

In fact, it was George Balanchine, the choreographer who famously insisted that his dancers stoically work through their stubbed toes and sprained ankles, who asked Dr. Hamilton to become the first in-house doctor for the 80-plus members of New York City Ballet, in 1972.

Dr. Hamilton immediately said yes, though he knew nothing about ballet. He immersed himself in the art, attending weekend classes and becoming close to Balanchine and, later, the dancer and choreographer Mikhail Baryshnikov, who in 1980 hired him to be the attending surgeon for American Ballet Theater as well.

A courtly 6-foot-3 Southerner, Dr. Hamilton became a favorite and even revered figure around Lincoln Center. He had a disarming bedside manner that put young dancers at ease when they came to him worried that a sprained ankle might end their career.

He kept a ballet barre in his examining room, and he was renowned for catching early signs of chronic, potentially debilitating problems just by asking a dancer to go through a few routine motions.

Early on, he realized that while dancers suffered the same kinds of injuries athletes did, they got them in obscure ways and places. He saw, for example, that the rapid movements required by Balanchine’s ballets came with the risk of foot and ankle injury, while the leaps and bounds more common under Mr. Baryshnikov were more threatening to the hips and knees.

“From the very beginning, I learned that although they get the same injuries as athletes, dancers are artists first,” he told Dance Magazine in 2011.

When Dr. Hamilton started out, in the early 1970s, there was no such thing as dance medicine, and indeed foot and ankle injuries were a largely understudied field of orthopedic medicine.

He built up both fields through lectures and journal articles in which he diagnosed previously understudied injuries; he was among the first to describe the Nutcracker Fracture, for example, which involves multiple breaks in the cuboid bone in the foot. He was president of the American Orthopaedic Foot and Ankle Society from 1992 to 1993, and today every sizable dance company in the country has an orthopedic surgeon on call.

“Bill was the king of orthopedic dance medicine,” Glenn Pfeffer, the co-director of the Cedars-Sinai/USC Glorya Kaufman Dance Medicine Center in Los Angeles, said in a phone interview.

Dr. Hamilton continued to perform surgery until he was 81 and consulted until a few years ago, long after most physicians would have hung up their scalpels.

“I would have retired a long time ago if it wasn’t for the dancers,” he said in a 2016 interview with the magazine Princeton Alumni Weekly. “It’s very rewarding because they love what they do. They just want to dance; they wouldn’t want to do anything else.”

William Garnett Hamilton did not set out to be a Manhattan doctor, let alone a balletomane. He was born on Jan. 11, 1932, in Altus, Okla., where his father, Milton Hamilton, was a salesman and his mother, Elizabeth (Garnett) Hamilton, was a homemaker.

The family moved to Shreveport, La., when he was very young. After his parents divorced, his mother remarried and moved to Portage, Wis., where her new husband owned a plastics manufacturing company.

William graduated from Princeton in 1954 with a degree in engineering, and after two years in the Army he joined his stepfather’s business in Wisconsin. He married and had a child; by his mid-20s, he said, he could see his entire life unfolding before him. He didn’t like what he saw.

Against his parents’ wishes that he stay to run the family company, he applied to medical school. He was accepted at Columbia, one of the few schools that took older students (he was 28 when he enrolled). He decided to focus on orthopedics—a field that he said was not unlike engineering, with muscles and joints standing in for ropes and levers. He graduated in 1964 and, after several years of residency, opened a practice in Midtown Manhattan in 1969.

In addition to his work with the two ballet companies, he provided the same services to the companies’ affiliated schools, the School of American Ballet and the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis School, and he consulted for numerous Broadway shows and New York sports teams, including the Knicks and the Yankees.

His first two marriages ended in divorce. He met his future third wife, Linda Homek, when she was a dancer with New York City Ballet. She later received a doctorate in psychology from Adelphi University, on Long Island. In 2000, she and Dr. Hamilton created a multidisciplinary wellness team, including a dietitian and a massage therapist, to care for the company’s dancers, a model that has since been adopted by other ballet companies.

Along with his wife, Dr. Hamilton is survived by his sister, Ann Kirk; his sons, William Jr. and Lewis; and three grandchildren.

Photo: Dr. Hamilton in his office in 2013, by Paul Kolnik via the NY Times

[moonjive-archive]

i’m kinda an adrenaline junkie... yeah, i’ve taken selfies in the school bathroom even though someone could walk in at any time

[theoneandonlyyeti]

yo i also have a metatarsal injury right now! fractured two of em in dance lol. sending you all my strength and pain tolerance, hope you feel better soon!!

oughh i hope yours heals well and fast- mine was only a stress reaction that i caught before it turned into a stress fracture and RIGHT before nutcracker rehearsals start too ;W; hopefully ill be back on pointe by like next week but i dont want to jump the gun and reinjure myself

same with you please take it easy! i myself am wearing a boot so i hope you are fairing well with your injury and healing process too

[valhallanrose]

Matilda Bonetti

Artwork done by @/hirodraga

Bio format by @/arcanecadenza

Meaning of name: 

Matilda, Latin origin, variant of Mathilde. Means “mighty in battle”.

Bonetti, Italian origin, surname. Means “hatmaker”. 

Family: Marcello Bonetti (father), Delmore Bonetti (father), Adrasteia Bonetti (sister), Salvatore Bonetti (brother), Clemente Bonetti (sibling)

Matilda, like the rest of the four Bonetti children, was adopted as an infant into the family and raised at the family home in Mavarra, the capital of the Venterran region of Lulia. Marcello had been raised there, as had his father, and his father before him, and every Bonetti beforehand until they had settled in Mavarra - so it had been a no-brainer, once he and Delmore had wed, that they would raise their own family there. 

However, though Marcello had been born into wealth and luxury, Delmore had not. The pair came to an agreement early on that while their children would want for nothing, they would not be allowed to become spoiled in the sense of being unappreciative and greedy based on their privileged position. Each received a full education and were allowed to pursue their interests, with Marcello maintaining the family business - the Bonettis had built their fortune as shipbuilders - and Delmore, who had just finished a law degree when they had married, continued to practice in Venterre. 

Each of the children will tell you first of their upbringing and how well they were loved, and none are oblivious to the wealth that will be their inheritance, but their parents had laid down conditions before they would be allowed to receive that inheritance. The Bonetti children had to find their own way, to make something of themselves, rather than sit back and wait for a free ride through life. 

They did get their wish - Adrasteia followed in Delmore’s footsteps, studying and eventually settling into a family law practice not too far from home in Venterre. Salvatore became an architect, working primarily on the quickly growing neighborhoods of Mavarra and coastal Lulia, while Clemente went to Prakra after completing an education program to teach science in some of their public schools and institutions. 

Matilda found her way, eventually, but it took some trial and error. 

One of many hobbies she pursued as a child was dance, beginning with ballet at the age of eight after the family had attended several holiday performances together. Ballet turned into a variety of styles and complexities that made her an accomplished dancer by the time she would turn eighteen and finish her schooling. She’d tell you it was one of her first loves, but when figuring out her next steps, she chose to set it aside. 

Her other first love had been the stars. 

She remembered being six years old standing on a stepstool to peer into Clemente’s telescope, marveling at the constellations as her ten year old sibling dragged out the star maps and told her where every one sat in the sky. 

Star maps had been her favorite thing to draw, copying them out of Clemente’s books until she understood exactly what she was seeing and was able to draw them on her own. Any book she laid hands on related back to them - the mythology tied to the constellations, the science of how they came into being, so on and so forth - if it wasn’t dance, it was the heavens. 

When she turned eighteen, she enrolled for a year to work towards an education in astronomy, but found herself...bored. She still loved the stars, but the way it was taught felt like they were trying to drain the passion out of it. She didn’t want to keep falling out of love, so she dropped it after her first year - much to the bewilderment of her family - and returned full force into dance, joining a troupe at nineteen and taking up a role in a performance of the Nutcracker as one of the sugar plum fairies. Soon after, she officially landed the role of Odette in Swan Lake, landing her full prima ballerina status and launching her career as a full-time dancer, and she loved every second of it.

While surprised, her fathers still supported her, teasing her about those early days where she’d stuff herself in tutus and spin so fast she’d make herself sick trying to figure out how a pirouette worked. 

She continued with the company for a good five years before she found herself forced to take a break - worsening stress fractures in her feet would have ended her career completely had she not done so. But, still so in love with dance and the beauty of it, she decided to stay with the troupe and lend a hand mending and creating costumes, finding a sort of meditative calm in piecing them all together even if she couldn’t wear them herself. 

She chose to partially retire from dancing two years later when she settled in Vesuvia, opening a clothing shop - the Silk and Scissors - with all the knowledge she’d gained from her time helping the seamstresses in her troupe. She focused primarily on costumes, but she quickly learned that the Masquerade in particular had a special market to be considered. She had plenty of time to experiment, and about a year ago, she perfected her animated fabric technique that catapulted her business into the eye of Vesuvia’s eccentric. 

While she still dances on occasion with the Vesuvian Community Theater, you’re more likely to find her hidden away in her shop nowadays - just be careful if you go in, she will stuff you into one of her creations if she needs a model with your body type. 

Favorite meal: Tiramisu

Favorite drink: Apple cider

Favorite flower: Pansies

Birthday: July 19th

Age: 27

Zodiac: Cancer Sun, Leo Moon, Pisces Rising

MBTI type: ESTP

Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all. - Helen Keller

Patron Arcana: 

Major - The Chariot

Upright: The Chariot is in complete control of its own destiny. It hurtles towards victory, unhindered by adversity. Work hard and stay focused. Your drive will be rewarded; the road will lead you right.

Reverse: The Chariot careens out of control, losing its way as it becomes stranded on the road. Sometimes you must learn to release the reins in order to move forward.

Minor - Queen of Wands

Upright: The Queen of Wands is confident in social and professional settings, drawing others into her orbit. Trust in your own vision and drive. You have all the skills to make your dreams reality.

Reversed: The Queen of Wands is stubborn and quick-tempered, easily losing her temper when things don't go her way. Do not let your fire burn those around you with its intensity. Try to take other people's perspectives into account.

Gender: Trans Female 

Orientation: Bisexual

Languages spoken: Venterrean and Vesuvian fluently, casual conversational in Hjallen, Prakran, Firentian, and Nopali

Magical specialties: Illusions, primarily, with some skill in alchemy. Her claim to fame in fashion has been the creation of fabrics imbued with her illusionary magic, allowing for a unique style that she knows few have come close to replicating. A lot of it relies on the weaver’s loom she has in the back room of her shop, since the creation of her animated fabric relies on the magic being woven in during the creation process. 

Familiar: Ciro, a partial leucistic peacock. He mostly keeps an eye on things around the shop, but he’s a drama queen, and behaves as if it’s the end of the world if he’s not given attention. It’s customary in Matilda’s shop that you give him a little affection before you go, or he’ll pout and avoid you the next time you come for a fitting. 

[swanlake1998]

Pointe Magazine Article: Chloé Lopes Gomes Speaks Out About Racial Harassment at Staatsballett Berlin

By: Chloé Lopes Gomes As Told To Laura Cappelle

Date: December 1, 2020

(tw: racism, anti black racism, abuse)

In November, the French dancer Chloé Lopes Gomes went public with accusations of institutional racism against Staatsballett Berlin, first reported by the German magazine Der Spiegel. In the article, several anonymous dancers confirm her account. Lopes Gomes, 29, who trained in Marseille and at the Bolshoi Ballet Academy, danced for the Ballet de l'Opéra de Nice and Béjart Ballet Lausanne before joining Staatsballett Berlin as a corps de ballet member in 2018, under then co-directors Johannes Öhman and Sasha Waltz. After the company told her in October that her contract, which ends in July, would not be renewed, she shared her story with Pointe.

I didn't know I was the first Black female dancer at Staatsballett Berlin when I joined the company in 2018. I learned that from German journalists who came to interview me almost immediately. I grew up in a mixed-race family—my mother was French, my father from Cape Verde—and I was educated to believe that we all have the same opportunities.

My brother and my sister also went to prestigious dance schools [her brother, Isaac Lopes Gomes, is now a dancer with the Paris Opéra Ballet], and I didn't really think about my skin color while I was training. I spent four years at the Bolshoi Ballet Academy. I didn't necessarily feel safe in the streets in Russia because people stared at me, but I was still awarded scholarships and my teacher loved me.

I quickly realized that auditions and company life were a different story. The day after my audition in Berlin, in early 2018, one particular ballet mistress told a colleague of mine in the company that she didn't think the Staatsballett should hire me because a Black woman in a corps de ballet isn't aesthetically pleasing. This ballet mistress was in charge of the corps, and for over two years, she discriminated against me because of my skin color.

That colleague warned me before I started, but I was hopeful I would also work with other ballet masters. No such luck: I was under her supervision 90 percent of the time, and we started with Swan Lake. I was one of six new women, and the ballet mistress immediately took a dislike to me. She bombarded me with corrections, and when the premiere arrived, she told me that all the women needed to color their skin with white powder. I told her that I would never look white, and she replied: "You'll just put on more powder than the others."

I spoke to Johannes [Öhman, co-artistic director at the time], who decided I should stay as I was. The ballet mistress took the fact that I went to him as an affront, as if I'd undermined her authority, and she started saying overtly racist things.

Since I didn't speak German and she didn't speak English, we communicated in Russian initially, so my colleagues didn't understand when she would say casually: "You're not in line and that's all we see because you're Black." And then, when she was handing out the Shades' veils for La Bayadère, she got to me and laughed, in front of other dancers: "I can't give you one: The veil is white and you're Black."

I again told Johannes, who said it was unacceptable but explained to me that she had a lifetime contract, which means you're untouchable in Germany. Johannes asked if I wanted him to talk to her, and I said no, because I was worried it would get even worse.

I was so anxious and unwell that I ended up with a metatarsal fracture. I should have been back after two months, but six months later, I was still in pain, and the doctors didn't know why—until a neurologist told me it was linked to stress and prescribed antidepressants. Suddenly, the pain went away completely.

Johannes left Staatsballett Berlin abruptly last January. On the day he announced it, the ballet mistress told me that now I was going to have to use white powder. I ran into the current interim director, Christiane Theobald, in a hallway while in makeup for Swan Lake. She asked why I had whitened my skin and said that I wasn't supposed to do it, but the ballet mistress was in charge of rehearsals and didn't leave me much choice. I felt like the company's ugly little duckling.

This ballet mistress also had me and a few colleagues re-create a painting of a Black dancer surrounded by white dancers. When I asked what the photo was for, she said she wanted to show her friends that they had "one of those" too in the company, as if I were a zoo animal.

My colleagues didn't want to take the picture, but there is an atmosphere of fear in the dance world. The ballet masters are the ones who are in the studio with us all the time, who hold the keys to our evolution. If you're on a one-year or two-year contract, it's very easy for the company not to renew it, whereas some ballet masters are employed for life. They're more privileged than even some directors, and that creates a power imbalance: We should be on an equal footing contract-wise.

The Staatsballett doesn't have a safe way to report discrimination or harassment, and there was still blackface in the repertoire when I joined. In Nutcracker, some children were required to paint their faces black, while I stood in the corps behind them.

I was called to a pre-dismissal meeting with Christiane Theobald in October. She did not dance professionally, so she said she relied on the ballet masters' advice. I was told that they needed to let some dancers go due to COVID, and that I would be happier in a smaller company, because I hadn't been onstage much. I explained why that was, and what had happened to me. She admitted it was terrible but said my race wasn't the reason they were firing me.

I know I was fired because I'm Black. From the beginning, I didn't stand a chance. Christiane Theobald is part of an old-fashioned system: She has worked for the company's administration since 2004, and she let me go even after I told her about the racism I encountered. My contract runs through July 31: I've been cast in reduced, COVID-friendly versions of Giselle and Swan Lake and I still want to work.

There is still this idea in the ballet world that you have to suffer to make it. We—the younger generation—can't accept that anymore. Ballet must reflect society. I don't want to be abused just to be able to dance. I want to be happy in my life, not just when I step onstage.

Editor's note: In a statement to Pointe, Theobald, who cannot comment on personnel matters, says that an internal investigation into Lopes Gomes' allegations is underway, and that the company plans to conduct antiracism training and workshops for all employees. "I am sorry to see that there is an employee at the Staatsballett Berlin who had to endure a very stressful situation for a long time and that the situation could not be resolved beforehand. Discrimination and racism is a highly sensitive issue that is of importance to society as a whole, including the Staatsballett Berlin. It is very important to me to live a discrimination-free corporate culture and to implement it where it does not yet exist 100 percent."

[fadingvitality]

The Fourth Christmas

*The lights were a colorful blur through the rain rolling down the windows. Somehow the image was reflective of me. I hated crying. Passionately, emphatically, more-than-anything hated it. I wiped forcefully at my cheeks, aggravated with myself for letting it happen. This year it was hitting harder than others. Damn holiday cheer and all the radio stations with the carols on constant rotation.  

My parents had LOVED the holidays with a fierce commitment. Hosting Christmas open houses, annual Nutcracker attendance, gingerbread house making, decorating to the nines, and spoiling me rotten were all part of their fa-la-la traditions. The time of year triggered so much - too much.

My dad would make me peppermint hot chocolate on Christmas Eve while we watched The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, and later National Lampoon’s. Momma would be making an overnight, French toast strata, and stuffing the stockings while I couldn’t see. I never wanted for anything, and by some miracle, their indulging me never led to being materialistic. 

And then it happened, my dad had died after a freak accident that had ultimately led to sepsis. There were ups and downs during the course of his illness that we weathered with hope, but ultimately...he didn’t make it. My heart broke in two, though his peaceful last breath had a beauty about it that I would never forget.  

Christmas was still months away when he passed, but I dreaded its arrival as the days came and went, spring turning to summer then autumn and finally winter.  My mom fought through tears she didn’t think I saw, baking cookies, buying the tree - the sparse kind he preferred over her preference for something fluffy and full.

But there was no more Grinch. No more National Lampoon’s. After he was gone, I couldn’t stomach even the ads for them, it always left me bursting into the hated tears. At that particular juncture in my life, tears were a total disaster, considering how heavy handed with the eyeliner and mascara I had been. 

Those traditions had been ours, his and mine. That first Christmas I was only just seventeen, and she had spoiled me with the most perfect and heart wrenching gift. Wrapped in a way that wouldn’t give me a clue, I had a momentary swell of pure joy on sight of his bass. 

What had once been his...an extension of his very soul, had been entrusted to me. A shiver shot up my spine, and I could swear he was right there with us. I would cherish it and care for it more than any other Christmas gift I’d ever received. 

As the years droned on, I did my best to support my mom, especially as she tended to get down herself. There were no more open houses, so we started going to the movies on Christmas Eve. We would still make the gingerbread houses and over-decorate. When she started crying in the eggs for the French toast strata, I drew a line.  I urged her to switch to an eggs bene with home fried potatoes, justifying the switch by saying we needed to balance out the sugar in the cookies with some salty and savory. In many ways our roles had shifted. I always found myself guiding her, and then she learned to rely on me. I tried to comfort her with so much love, she would forget the loss of hers...but I knew, deep down, those were Vans I could’ never fill. My parents would gross people out with how much they loved each other. I had the front row seat to their ups and downs, but they always worked their shit out. 

It made sense she carried the loss so heavily, and there was another thing I hated, that I couldn’t fix it for her. I would always wonder if maybe that was what really took her… her fractured heart, her half life without him, the lingering grief that trained behind her. It happened a meager four and a half years later. Four Christmases more, but not nearly enough.  

The doctors said it over and over and over but my mind was in deny and reject mode: brain aneurysm. There was a bunch of medical mumbo jumbo and explanations that translated as clearly as Charlie Brown’s teacher handing down an assignment. 

Ultimately, she was brain dead, kept alive by machines because she had been an organ donor. That choice had relieved me from everything but the formalities of signing paperwork. I’d not left her side for three days as the arrangements were made. 

Her hand was so confusingly warm in mine, and there was no strain in her expression, but peace. I had briefly considered taking her picture because she looked so beautiful, like Snow White in wait...only her true love’s kiss would have her waking on the other side. 

A chaplain had come to check on me. While I’d really, really wanted to be left alone, he’d made a suggestion that I would always be grateful for. In asking if there was anything special I wanted to do to say goodbye, I was suddenly stricken with inspiration. It was as if my dad had whispered in my ear. After assurances the chaplain would stay until I could get back, I took off. I made the trip as quickly as possible, returning with my dad’s bass. 

At first my fingers were shaky, and I wasn’t sure I could actually make it through. With a deep breath my voice cracked when I started to sing “Across the Universe,” one of my momma’s favorite songs.

My hands eventually trembled too much to continue, tears rolled down my cheeks, but I finished acapella, minus all the accessory "Jai Guru Deva, Om." It was only hours later I said my real goodbye, more than deeply saddened I wouldn’t be holding her hand at last breath. 

I was just twenty-two and both my parents were gone. I didn’t have extended family, both my parents were only children, like me. There were many friends, theirs and mine, that supported me but eventually even that waned. I poured myself into songwriting and singing, exorcising my feelings through the medium of music. My refuge. My confidante. I had makeshift, misfit families, composed of bandmates and their different circles of family and friends. I got by. I did my best. I extinguished the darkest thoughts and even darker tendencies. Christmas was my kryptonite, though. The outward bitchiness and bah humbug really came down to a defense mechanism. I couldn’t let anyone see the pain that pooled on my insides. 

This year, though, was going to be my fourth without both of them and that struck me. Four without him, then four without both of them. Sitting in my apartment, alone, it felt bigger and more empty than ever. I finally pulled my eyes away from the window, turning my head towards the small tree I had picked up just a little while ago. It was full and fluffy, like my mom had liked. 

I’d managed to set aside enough of my tips to swing it, even though every dollar should have been saved and it seemed extravagant. I had also splurged on a few groceries to treat myself to something other than ramen. My eyes then drifted down to the cup in my hands. The shock had worn off to a degree, but still, I was stunned.

The tree lot around the corner was run by volunteer firefighters with all proceeds going to charity. I didn’t want anything big, so my donation was completely meager, but at least I was supporting something meaningful. The guy handling the transactions had been pretty damn jolly, I was convinced he had put in some years as Santa, maybe still was. 

He was as gracious with me as he had been to the person that had dropped a mint on the eight footer just before me.

“Your cheeks are rosy, sweetheart, and I’m guessing that’s because of the cold. Give me a minute.” 

He turned away from me, doing something I couldn’t see because he was pleasantly portly. When he turned back around, he had a cup in hand, which he gave to me. 

"Peppermint hot chocolate, on me. Happy Holidays.” 

A familiar shiver wrapped around my spine. I blinked at the man, looking over his shoulder to see he had hot cider, coffee and peppermint hot chocolate in crock pots. It took me a few seconds to find the ability to speak.*

Happy Holidays to you. *I had lifted the cup in a gesture.* Thank you…

*Cup in one hand, full and fluffy yet petite tree in the other, I had walked home in a complete daze. I was in a state of abject disbelief. How had he known? What had him deciding on the peppermint hot chocolate? What if I wanted coffee, or cider? I didn’t know, and I really didn’t care. I’d propped the tree in a stand before I’d kicked off my shoes and dropped onto the couch. 

Sitting with the cup in my hands, I clutched it like a lifeline. The physical loneliness was stifling, and heavy. I lifted the cup, the scent of peppermint hitting my nose first, followed quickly by the rich, chocolate steam.  Memories swarmed at first sip, and I didn’t swallow them along with the hot chocolate. I closed my eyes as the flavor lingered, an inkling of the Christmas spirit I inherited returning. There was a third, winding chill up my spine. Somehow, some way, I just knew, no matter the depths of loneliness I felt, my parents were right there, with me. Always.*

[thelreads]

And now it’s time to start another chapter boyos! After spending part of the night playing Portal 2 on co-op with someone whose name shall not be mentioned, that was apparently incapable of walking in a straight line, let alone shoot a portal in the right spot, I am 120% sure that I’m in the right mind-set to get going with the story. In other words, nothing more can surprise me. So, let’s jump right back into it, this is Chapter 78: Whirling Chaos.

And we open with Aizawa taking his little kid back to safety, while realizing that he completely screwed up by not telling his other kid to go back to safety once the message was delivered. A terrible mistake that will result in dozen of new fractures. Good job Aizawa.

Also, bold of you to assume that Midoriya will stop fighting after completing his mission. There’s no stopping the Green bunny. He could be decapitated and he still would be kicking villain asses.

Take my word for it and please do not attempt to test it out.

Don’t you worry kota, He is in relatively good terms with the guy that spent his whole childhood bullying him and tried to drive him to suicide, believe me, that nutcracker you tried to apply on him is nothing.

But in a side note, oh god, he’s crying because of how worried he is, oh god, he’s caring about someone, and he’s afraid to lose them like he lost his parents, oh god I just realized that.

Basically, if Midoriya survives the night against the villains, Aizawa will personally murder him for what he did to his body. But for now, the only thing Kota can focus on doing after the madness ends is to thank him for what he did. Midoriya’s not after praise, but it certainly wont hurt to hear it every now and again, specially from someone that admires him.

[parachutingkitten]

The Process of Shattering - A Next Gen Fic

Chapter 1 - The Waltz of the Snowflakes

~1000 words

The story centers around Cicuit, Zane and Pixal's daughter at age 17 and Daniel, Kai and Skylor's Son at age 18 trying to work out their place in life and get through Senior year. One thing: Daniel doesn't know about the whole "ninja" thing.

Ice doesn't break. It shatters. Bursts as tiny fractures break out in all directions. I worry about that sometimes. About shattering one day and letting everything loose. That day feels so close sometimes. So… very close.

“You're makeup looks really nice tonight, Sierra!”

I looked up from my phone and smiled at Jane. No duh, it's programmed. It's literally the exact same as every other night. “Thanks! Yours too! You ready for tonight?”

She shook out her arms nervously. “Opening night is always a little nerve racking!”

“Yeah,” I sighed, glancing back down at my phone, my fingers nervously tapping the side. “Break a leg tonight!”

“You too!” Jane waved, and walked over to the others as my phone buzzed. I quickly answered after seeing my Dad's caller ID.

“Hey guys! Where are you? You forgot to text me! But that's okay. Are you here? It's about to start-”

“Circuit, something came up. We're not going to make it tonight. You know how these things are.” My mom's voice was very tense on the other end of the line.

“Oh… yeah, okay,” I sighed.

“We’ll make it tomorrow night though.” My dad chimed in.

“Yeah, that's fine,” I waved him off. “Do you need me? Is it serious? Is… is everything going to be okay?”

“Everyone should be fine,” He reassured me.

“Okay, just… be careful.”

“Promise. We'll be back before midnight.”

“Break a leg honey!” My Mom's voice was now noticeably rushed.

“Dance your heart out!”

“Will do,” I tried to smile.

“See you tonight.”

“Bye.”

I hung up, and placed the phone down, content with my answer. It wasn't the first opening night they had missed. It wasn't really that big a deal, but it still hurt, in that strange painful way that only meaningless nothings can hurt you and slowly sink your soul.

But, you know how it is. The show must go on and all that. My ballet studio was putting on The Nutcracker, because it was Christmas, so of course they were. I had been given the role of a snowflake. It was fun and graceful and everything else you'd expect the Waltz of the Snowflakes to be. The costumes we had been given that year were a little a-typical. They were more flowing and loose to depict more the wind and flurys than any individual flakes. Which seems counterintuitive to me, but who am I to judge?

The performance went as smoothly as it realistically could have. Once again the group performed their pique turns one 16th count off beat, so I adjusted to match them, but it still frustrated me. Aside from that, our unity aspect seemed higher than average.

Dance is so strange. Everything about it is so human in nature and yet so much of it is broken down in mechanical terms. It's magical. When my processors can work with my body to add precision, and my heart is allowed to add passion into it, everything comes together to make me feel… real. If only for a moment. Like who I am and what I do isn't so strange. That there's a place for me.

But of course, Circuit really isn't the one on stage. Sierra is. Sierra is the straight A dancer with the graceful movements, toned skin, and parents that have a very secretive and time intensive government job. Sierra is my visual cloak’s name because Circuit is a bit strange for everyday use. It doesn't bother me too much. I don't make a real distinction between the two. Circuit is just a little more word specific, and Sierra has to play dumb a little more often.

But Sierra has fun on the stage. Especially tonight. The best part of any show is the end bows. The applause, the lights, the noise, the music. It all comes together to fill you with energy. Although this time I couldn’t help but look out into the darkness of the crowd and think that none of the applause was specifically for me. Not this time anyway.

After the show, everyone goes out into the audience to greet their families. Today I just went out to congratulate my friends on a good show. I tapped Jane on the shoulder. As she turned around, her face lit up and she wrapped an arm around me, her other holding her bouquet of flowers now squished between us.

“Great show tonight!” She squealed.

“You did amazing!” I told her, letting go. “Your arabesque in the center gave me chills tonight!”

“I know! With all the lights and music! And It all came together! Everyone did so well!”

“Hey Sierra!” I heard a familiar voice from behind as a smile spread across my face.

“Daniel!” I turned around to see him making his way across the crowded aisles. Daniel always made me smile. I'd known him for practically my whole life. He had deep red hair the sat in long bangs cutting in between his dark brown eyes and sticking up a bit in the back. He was one of my only normal friends in a life filled with powers, responsibility, and the ever present threat of danger. And sure, maybe those followed him too but… he didn't know that. Not yet anyway. I moved towards him, briefly embracing him. “What are you doing here?! I thought you were coming tomorrow night!”

“I am,” I shrugged. “But your dad called and asked if I could pick you up after the show. I figured I'd just come and watch it tonight too. Here,” He handed a single pink rose, a little browned at the edges. “I didn't have time to pick up flowers, but I found this on the floor, and I figured I'd treat you to some all you can eat leftovers at my place?”

“Why thank you!” I curtsied and chuckled, accepting the flower.

“Also… maybe you could help me with the calculus review?”

“You haven't finished the review? The test's tomorrow!” I playfully hit him in the shoulder.

“That's why I need your help!” he laughed.

“it's senior year. You really need to get your act together.”

“I know, aren't I such a lovable scamp who totally deserves your help?” he looked at me with cartoonishly pleading eyes.

“Of course,” I smiled. “Leftover Mr. Chen's is always worth it.”

“You did really good by the way! I'm not going to pretend I could always tell which blonde snowflake was you from way back here, but I think I had the right one most of the time!” We both laughed, looking out at the stage.

“Thanks. I'm glad you had a good time.”

“Well, I can pull my car around front while you get your stuff, and then we can get out of here. It's pretty packed.”

“Sounds good!” He started to move as an impulse in me stopped him. “Hey, thanks again for coming. It really means a lot.”

He turned back, a concerned smile on his face. “Well, I felt bad about you not having anyone to watch. Your parents are always having to work late and everything, I can't even imagine. It must suck.”

“Yeah…” I sighed.

“Plus, I wasn't even doing anything anyway,” he shrugged. “It's really not that big a deal,” he smiled nervously, shoving his hands into his pockets as we both glanced around the room for an awkward moment. “So, I'll get the car-”

“Yeah.”