I’m not just talking about irl meta. I’m talking about in-universe, in YOI Russia and probably the rest of the world too, Viktor Nikiforov is a meme.
At some point, the Skating World’s Living Legend got a picture of himself cropped at just the right angle to offer no context and excellent memeing potential.
It’s probably a picture of him with the longer hair and it’s flying out behind him as he does an over dramatic lunge. There are probably several different versions of it. Someone put ‘Walk walk fashion baby” over it in red comic sans. Another post is circulating where the picture is posted below an audio clip of “I’M A BIRD MOTHERFUCKER I’M A BIRD.”
Mostly it’s a reaction image. One of the more popular ones is When your friends ask you why you always gotta be so dramatic
The meme is an old picture and many people don’t even associate Viktor with it, given that his hairstyle and bodytype have changed so much since then. Sometimes he will be recognized as over dramatic figure skater, but only because the information is free to anyone who visits Know Your Meme.
Over Dramatic Figure Skater is a 2005 image of Russian figure skater Viktor Nikiforov. The image is taken from a recording of Nikiforov’s Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien program at the 2005-2006 Junior Grand Prix Final.
Sometimes Yuuri will watch Viktor do something completely ridiculous and the thought will strike, apropos of nothing, that he is literally married to a meme.
Could u maybe write something angsty about yn and Peter's high school graduation?xx
“Say “graduation”!“ May encouraged from behind the camera, grinning at you and Peter.
"Graduation!” you and Peter chorused, your arms around each other’s shoulders. Peter gestured for May to take another photo, and he pressed his lips to your temple as the flash went off.
“That’s a keeper,” the older woman declared, coming over to join the two of you. “You both look so grown up,” she added fondly, taking in your matching robes and mortarboards.
“We don’t feel it,” you chuckled, glancing over at the high school you technically no longer attended. “I can still remember our first day.”
“It was raining,” your boyfriend recalled. “You walked me home with your raincoat held over both our heads.”
“Then you noticed when we got to your door that you had an umbrella in your bag,” you giggled. He rolled his eyes, wrapping his arm around your waist and resting his cheek atop your head.
“May, could you give us a minute please?” he asked. May smiled knowingly, before making her way over to speak to MJ’s parents.
“Everything okay?” you asked, confused. He nodded, before breathing out slowly.
“I have something I want to ask you,” Peter began, sounding nervous. “It’s kind of a big deal, but I think we’re ready. It’s cool if you’re not though, because we can wait, or just not-,”
“Peter,” you interrupted, smiling as you cupped his cheek gently. “Tell me.”
He met your eyes again, a look of pure hope on his face.
“Would you like to get a flat with me? I mean, we both got into college in the same place and it would make things less stressful when we leave home, and I…I’d really like to wake up with you every morning,” he ended softly, biting his lip as he waited for your reaction.
You felt your heart breaking in your chest. You couldn’t imagine anything more perfect than living with Peter; he wasn’t just your boyfriend, he was your best friend and your favourite person in the world. And you couldn’t live with him.
“Peter, I….” You trailed off, trying to find the right words. “We didn’t get into college in the same place.”
His brow furrowed in confusion. “But we both got into-,”
“I applied for Oxford,” you blurted out. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think I’d be accepted, but they emailed me last night and they want me, and it’s all crazy and I don’t know what to do because this is everything I’ve ever wanted, but…so are you.”
Peter’s lips parted as he processed what you were saying.
“You’re moving to England,” he said quietly. “When?”
You couldn’t work out his reaction, and you sighed. “Two weeks. I thought I’d have longer…I thought we’d have longer.”
He nodded distractedly, ducking his head to hide his face. You reached for his hand, but he pulled away.
“I should go find May,” he mumbled. “I need to get home.”
“Peter, talk to me,” you begged, beginning to cry and catching his hand as he turned to walk away. “I never thought I’d actually get in, I thought I’d be staying with you.”
He finally looked at you, his eyes full of tears. “I’m so proud of you, (Nickname), truly. I just don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t,” you promised, tears streaming down your cheeks. “We can email, and Skype, and I’ll come home for holidays, and you can come visit me. We can make this work, Pete.”
Peter nodded slightly, squeezing your hand almost unnoticeably. “I need to go home. I just…I need some time to process all this.”
You bit your lip, squeezing his hand back. “Call me later?” you asked, your voice shaking.
He nodded again, his fingers slowly slipping out of the grasp of your own as he turned and walked away.
Basically, artists and songs that I enjoy listening to in my French-learning endeavor. As any playlist, it’s completely subjective, as well as a tad bit messy (since I’m not very systematic when music is concerned so expect time eras to overlap freely), but I hope you will like it anyway!
Édith Piaf –no surprises here, she really is a classic (and understandably so). I also love older music, so it wasn’t long before I was obsessed with a couple of songs. Personal favorites are Les Mômes de la clôche [x] (this one is reeeally old, it dates back to 1936!), L’Accordéoniste [x], Sous le Ciel de Paris [x] and the universally known Non, je ne regrette rien [x].
Zaz – definitely a more recent one, even though she has covered many classic pieces; I’m mostly in love with her jazzy voice and vocalizing. The first song I listened to was Je Veux [x], but I would also recommend On Ira [x], Gamine [x] and her wonderful cover of Dans Ma Rue [x] (be ready to bawl your eyes out).
Michel Sardou – whatever your opinion on the movie La Famille Bélier, it’s difficult to deny that its musical side was pretty cool. Listen to Je Vole [x] (here goes also Louane’s version [x]), En Chantant [x], and, if you are a les Mis fan, enjoy him Enjolras-ing in the Original French Concept album [x]!
Stromae – I’m well aware he’s actually Belgian, but I shall use the term French to designate the language here. There’s probably no further need to recommend him as I’m sure he’s pretty well known, but I like him so much that I’ll do it anyway, haha. Personally, I enjoy his original take on Bizet’s Carmen [x], Tous Les Mêmes [x], and of course Papaoutai [x].
Georges Brassens – a singer-songwriter that inspired many (and among those Fabrizio De André), his witty lyrics and rich voice are timeless. Listen to La Mauvaise Réputation [x], Mourir Pour Des Idées [x], and Les Passantes [x].
Joe Dassin – I’ll be honest and admit that I don’t have extensive knowledge of his discography, but I do know Les Champs Élysées [x] and truthfully it such a fun song to sing along to that I just had to include it in this list.
Les Choristes – actually a movie and not an artist; I first saw it in my last year of primary school and had its soundtrack stuck in my head for weeks. If you like choirs, these songs should be a good fit: Vois Sur Ton Chemin [x], La Nuit [x] and Caresse Sur L’Océan [x].
MIKA – kinda sure you’ve heard of this guy ;) There’s not much more to say other than his songs are extremely catchy in any language. The only ones I know well are Boum Boum Boum [x] and Elle Me Dit [x], but I’ll gladly listen to more if I find them!
Dalida – the Egyptian-born Italian-French singer (!), who tragically committed suicide in 1987, sang both in French and Italian. Personally, and for obvious reasons, I am more versed in her Italian production, but I can say that T’Aimer Follement [x] is a huuuge earworm for me, just like the French version of Ciao,Amore, Ciao [x] (I’ve got to warn you, though, if you aim for a native-like pronunciation don’t imitate her, for as far as I can tell she has a discernible Italian accent).
There’s a hand on Nursey’s forehead, and he knows
immediately that it’s Will. Can tell by the warmth, the weight, the calluses
pressing against his skin. The back of Will’s hand runs down his stubbly cheek,
knuckles brushing softly, his thumb pressing in warm circles.
“You know how ironic it is for the kid called Nurse to get
so sick he can’t ask for help?” Will says, his voice pitched low and tense. If
Nursey felt any less terrible he might laugh, but instead he pushes up into
Will’s touch, and hears him sigh.