A lonely, isolated ice prince and a lonely, stubborn Japanese man fall in love and round out the best in each other. They will end up marrying and the ice prince will live in Japan with his spouse for good.
…Basically I am laughing how Viktuuri beats my darling otp KuroFai to being canon* in just three months of airing, versus more than 10 years of trc/twc publication.
*granted KuroFai is NOT canon and probably will never be…
I bent backwards, checking the clock behind me as I stretched. Only a few more minutes before class was over. I leaned forward, my arms stretching to my toes effortlessly without my knees bending, and I can see Alya in front of me, on the ground with her legs in front of her, reaching for her right toes, and then her left.
“Okay, okay!” our teacher clapped her hands, addressing the class. “Let’s run through the dance once more, and then you’ll be excused. Now, everyone—to you spots!” she shooed us with her hands, and I quickly skipped to my assigned spot.
Alya, who’s right next to me, leans in to whisper. “Did you hear?” she asks, and I shake my head, turning to her. “Apparently, in the next dance, we’ll all be assigned partners!”
I raise my eyebrows, and my heart begins to pump faster at the thought of what I knew she was about to say.
“I bet you can get Adrien as your partner!” she squeals, but quiet enough so that it doesn’t bring any attention.
“Alya,” I complain, and I’m sure my face was beat red, “I can’t dance with Adrien— I’ll be a complete mess dancing with him!” I say, looking at said dancer.
He was a prodigy. Not only was he extremely attractive, he was the best of the best in this school! He wasn’t arrogant about it, but he knew his own skills and, because of that, constantly challenged himself to become better and better. As if he needed it! When he came to ballet, he definitely knew what he was doing.
Now, I’ve been a dancer all my life, and I know I’m good at it, but I couldn’t dare dance with Adrien. I’m a clumsy dancer when I’m distracted, and around him, I’m distracted.
“Oh come on, girl!” Alya says, pulling me from my thoughts, “You’re so talented! You could totally dance with him, in fact, you’re probably the only one in class who could even keep up!”
“That’s not true, besides…” I mumble, realizing the practice was just about to start, “I… I just can’t, okay?”
I could see Alya roll her eyes before she shoved me forward into the center of the group. Oh yeah, that’s right, I was soloing the beginning of this song…
As class finished, I hurriedly grabbed my things, making my way to the door.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” I hear a voice ask from behind.
“Uh..” I turn around to see Alya giving me a questioning stare. “Just home,” I lie, “I’m not feeling too well.”
She continued to stare, as if she didn’t believe me, but seemed to let it go and give a half-smile. “Well then, I’ll see you tomorrow morning! Don’t forget about practicing together after class tomorrow, too!”
I nod, giving her a wave, “Yeah, see you tomorrow!”
I go to a very prestigious school, one where anyone who who takes ballet seriously dreams about going to. That being said, they have a lot of rules, one that I thought would be very easy to follow. But one night, I showed up there and it completely changed me. I appreciate dancing of all kind, hip-hop, jazz, modern, and of course ballet, but recently, I’ve been going to these… meet-ups. Meet-ups where it’s loud, crazy, energetic, hot, and passionate. Everything that dancing should be. Too bad breakdancing’s got a bad rap in the professional world.
But I go to a very prestigious school, and they take ballet very seriously. If I were ever caught in a place like that, then I’d probably get kicked out of school. It’s “unprofessional,” and “childish” as my instructor once said.
Yet I can’t help it, I just… it’s so much fun! It’s as if nothing else in the world matters, and all I have to do is listen…
I can hear the garage before I see it, and I can feel the cement below my feet shake ever so slightly. The suns already setting, so the lights from inside dance just outside it’s entrance.
I sneak into a near-by alleyway before I get inside, setting my bag down and taking off my shirt. Quickly changing, I cover my sports bra with a thin, red tank top with black dots, only covering my upper chest. Then, only having leggings on, I slip on a pair of baggy sweats. I look myself up and down, knowing there was only one last thing to add… I grab the chalk-like paint from my pocket, opening it up and rubbing my three fingers in it, then sliding it across my face and over my eyes. Wearing face-paint wasn’t very uncommon in these meet-ups, it was actually almost a style, so I wouldn’t stand out.
I’m recognizable, but I look different enough. Besides, I don’t know anyone in there. I can’t get caught.
As I sling my bag over my shoulder, I start to exit the ally way, but not before I see a familiar looking figure slip through the entrance. He was blond, and his hair was messy, with a black hood and black cat-ears. I could’ve sword I’ve seen him before.
Ignoring that nagging thought, I go inside. Immediately I’m greeted with loud cheers, not for me, but for whoever was dancing in the middle of the circle. I shove my way through the crowd, leaving my bag on a table near the back, and try and see who was dancing.
There were two of them. One watching, while the other was spinning on his back, then jumped onto his hands, swiftly flipping back onto his feat just as the song ended. I could see the sweat on the other’s brow as he shook his head and backed off in defeat.
A few people clapped, others cheering the winner on. This guy was good, I’ve seen him dance before, he very rarely ever looses a breakdancing battle, and I’ve only had the pleasure to watch him— I wouldn’t compare.
Just as the next song started, a figure pushed through the crowd, catching the winner’s attention.
“Nice moves,” the figure said. The same figure that I saw enter just before me. He seemed, oddly postured. Not in a snooty way, but he didn’t loom over the floor like most of these guys, he stood up strait with his hands comfortably in his pockets. “Care for a duel?”
That’s when I realized. He had paint on his face too, and his hood covered most of his face. Whoever this guy was, he didn’t want to be recognized like me.
There was a challenging look in his eyes, one that couldn’t be hidden by his hood, and I suddenly became extremely curious about this next battle. The prior winner stepped towards him, giving a large nod and raising his hands, making the crowd go crazy. “Okay,” he said, “Let’s see what you got, kitty-cat.”
The music changed to a loud and low bursting song. The beats were obvious, the drops perfect, and here was this mystery cat smirking at one of the best dancers in this club.
He skipped into the center, his shoes squeaking with every slide, and just as the music rose to a point of suspension, he dropped to the floor and propped into a hand-stand, keeping himself perfectly still as the room grew incredibly quiet. There was something different about this mystery cat. His posture before was smooth, and the way he dropped to the floor was graceful, as if he was classically trained.
I saw his foot flinch, the slightest of movements, and just as quick as the moment the room was quiet came, the music dropped like a rollercoaster, like a heart racing back to life, and he twisted himself, spinning in the air and landing on both his elbows, his back bent backwards, and his feet twisted for balance. Using his upper body strength, he jumped up, flipping backwards onto his feet, and then sliding across the floor to the prior winner, the legend, his prey.
I couldn’t hear them, but I could’ve sworn the hooded cat said, “Your move,” cockily.
But just from his first move, it seemed he earned his right to be cocky. Just as I noticed before, he was graceful, careful with each step, but also spontaneous, erratic, like the sparks from a flame dancing to the ground.
The other guy skipped forward, swinging his hands in front of him in preparation. Bending forward on his knees, with his feet crossed in front of him, he hopped forward, tumbling to the ground and twisting back up with his legs spread apart and his hands rotating him. sliding onto not hand, he continued the motion, his legs and body rotating, but only his one hand kept balance. Finished, he jumped up, bouncing backwards with energy, and his hand motioning for said “kitty-cat” to try again.
This time, he rounded him, making sure his challenger couldn’t leave the middle, and the hooded cat slid around him thrillingly. He dove to the ground, his hands stoping him just as his nose was about to his the floor, and he jumped up, summersaulting forward with a twist, landing backwards, and then backflipping with a twist and ending forwards. He repeated this motion all around this poor guy, ending right in front of him with a head-spin and kicking up gracefully.
I could understand why he dressed as a cat. He always landed on his feet.
By now the crowd was wild, and I could tell this other guy was getting quiet nervous from the cat. He nodded slowly, lifting his hands in defeat, and backing away into the circle.
I heard the voice over the speakers, “And we have a winner!” it called, and everyone cheered even louder. “So who wants to challenge the new guy!?” it called, and I felt the room laugh. There was no chance anyone could win against this guy, he was fantastic! Suddenly, I became very aware that the circle I was in had gotten larger, and farther away from me. Without warning, I was our of my safety net and in the middle of the battle field with the cat.
“Looks like we have a challenger!” the voice roared, and the music once again changed.
The hooded cat walked up to me, a devilish smirk played on it’s lips. “Have I seen you before?” he asked.
I shook my head, swallowing my nerves. If I backed away from this, I’d never be able to come back and show my face. “No, but you won’t forget me once I’ve won,” I say confidently, hoping he couldn’t see my hands shake unsteadily.
“Heh,” he laughs, skipping backwards as the duel started, “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got, Ladybug.”
All credit goes to @starrycove for this awesome breakdancing AU!
Luz rose from the table and, snapping his fingers as he went, jitterbugged to him and asked him to dance. “Hotcha man, doing the Lambeth Walk.” He yipped and yahooed. A former exchange student with the 6th Airborne Division, Luz, who was a great mimic and consistently entertaining in both garrison and combat, turned on his English accent. “Blimey, I’m a Limey, Covent Garden, ‘ere we come.” Marsh blushed and wrenched free. Luz trucked and pranced, while the rest of us laughed and clapped our hands. Everybody liked Luz.
I had a dream of the time that we were born... we lived so beautifully in that city of wombs, clapping our hands and laughing out loud.
We drank down the paints...
and the colours of the rainbow changed.We began to wish the be held...
and stopped being able to walk on our own.
We laughed scornfully together, devoting love to our toys,
and wishing we could destory the untouchable children with simple words.
A witch started a fire,
and someone in a far off city died.