#her zest for life enraptures him :)

[edorazzi]

Omg I've been headcanon-ing that felix is like that cause he's autistic for years it's great to see The Felix Agreste Enjoyer agreeing

(Mentor AU) Felix is so deep on the spectrum he classifies as shrimp colours!

He masks with minimal social interaction and an intimidating aura. Only Bri knows what a creature he truly is (and that's why she loves him)! 💖

[jboofan]

There's something wrong with Manager Kim part 4

Why do you hate me?

"Just so you know," he pointed his chopsticks at her, "you are disgusting."

"Yoongi, like what the fuck man?" Jin pushed his chair back. Red in the face he pointed at him.

"You apologise!"

YN yanked her brother's arm to make him sit again.

"Well it's a good thing I don't mother fuckin care what you think then isn't it champ?" she gave him a big smile, and blinked at him several times.

"I sincerely hope he will die in his sleep tonight," she shook her head at Jin as she faced him stabbing her stick into a piece of sushi.

Yoongi tried to enjoy his food, ignore the flurry of motion beside him, but his appetite seemed to disappear, empty chopstick in mouth as soon as he saw her hand go across his plate to refill her water.

"You having fun?" he itched his arm hard constantly, causing it to turn red instantly.

"Pretty sure the world was until you were born," she couldn't help the speed of the come back. "And stop scratching like you got rabies."

Yoongi's eyes narrowed sharply.

Her interpersonal skills were outstanding, but the way in which she pulled in each and every one of the members had him scrambling to remember why he was so against having her work so closely with him. The way she unhanded people with a smile was, well, simply unnerving.

"Listen you—"

He paused as Taehyung and YN's hands accidentally touched reaching for the water jug, and the way even his own best friend Hobi was enraptured by her zest for life. He gave him a dirty look. Traitor.

"It's lunch, and I'm hungry. It's really not that deep, so whatever has your knickers in a twist this time, can you untwist it enough to let me finish eating before you start being you again?" YN smiled not bothering to look at him. It had become a talent being about to sense his eyes on the back of her head.

"If you stop wearing clothes that leave barely anything to the imagination, and stop flirting with every thing that moves then yeah, maybe I can."

YN snipped her chopsticks at the pickled radish stopping him from picking it up.

They were fighting at the table, so loudly everyone was finding it difficult to pretend they were ignoring it.

"Don't you think you're going overboard here?"

"Why? Cos I think you're trying to make me jealous. Your tight outfit and that fake smile," he sniped his chopsticks back at her this time, "the fake cute way you eat like you're never gonna eat again."

YN looked at him. Really looked at him.

"What's your deal? Like did we sleep together and I didn't call the next day? Or did you give me your number but I didn't call back? I swear I'd remember."

She looked at Jin.

"Seokjin, did I date a BTSer? Not even a cute one."

"Who is the cute one then?" Jin couldn't resist being a troublemaker, especially when Yoongi deserved it for crashing his bike.

"Jungkook definitely. I saw him bench yesterday," she gave him a wink watching his cheeks turn brought red.

"Or let's be honest, you can't sleep on Namjoon over there. Man looks like he could snap a girl in half and still read poetry to her the next morning over coffee."

Namjoon choked on his water, Hobi having to tap his back hard to help the poor boy.

"Don't worry leadernim, your fandom loves you, I wouldn't do it, one must be professional," she switched her attention back to Yoongi.

"I'm just trying to make the point here that I have never in any shape or form, this universe or any other metaverse fucked you and dashed, so why the fuck are you so horrible to me?"

He scoffed, "I'm not stupid you know," like he knew some big secret no one else knew about.

"Yeah, I believe you," she rolled her eyes, pinching his thigh to get him to wince in pain and drop his chopsticks long enough for her to grab more pickle.

Yoongi pinched her back just as hard, causing her to let out a high pitched shrill much to his amusement, only feeling bad when she bit her tongue and had streaming tears because of it.

She'd done everything for this idiot, and still he looked at her as though she had burned down his home. With him still in it.

"Omo YN," Jin turned to her with concern. "Are you okay?" he searched for a clean napkin.

"Du ah sounth like I um?" she sniffed back the tears, tipping her head back.

Yoongi felt guilt as soon as he saw YN lean back in her chair, hair out of her eyes as he glimpsed a few tears trail their way to her ear.

She deserved it, the little voice in his head justified. She pinched you first.

Refusing to apologise, no longer able to stomach her image in front of him, Yoongi quietly excused himself to go back to the dorm with Hobi and Namjoon who had finished just before him.

"You sure you're okay?" Jin asked again once Yoongi had left the table.

"God, he is such a jerk," she explained as her phone continued to rattle next to her. "What is his problem. I am always so nice, literally trying to help the man, but he is just such a bully!"

"He is, but if there is anyone that can get through to him, it's you."

"I'm not sure anything is worth the fact HE IS SO RUDE!" she grabbed the bottle out of Jin's hand and necked the rest of the soju.

Jin looked at her worried. Maybe Dad shouldn't have had her do this.

YN may have spent the last ten and bit years away from her brother, but some things never changed. Since childhood if he was annoyed, he pursed his lips. If he was loosing his shit, it would be that plus the red face, followed by a long, long list of expletives.

"But I'm YN," she declared to the table as Taehyung, Jimin, Jungkook and a very confused Jin watched her. "I don't mind helping people you know, but what I'd give to help a chair to his face sometimes."

Jin patted her hand, failing to calm her down.

"Look, we start our PTD Seoul dates next week so all you have to worry about is going to the arena on time."

"We'll be performing for four days, you don't need to worry about Hyung being grumpy so much," Jimin smiled, attempting to raise her spirits.

"I guess so," she told herself. "And it's back to back so I don't have to deal with it right," she pushed her plate away, groaning at Yoongi's latest message - a barrage of words about the incompetence of the design team and that his clothes were the size of curtains.

"Aren't you going to have dessert?" Jungkook looked up from the menu, as he realised she was pulling her coat on.

"Mr Min has decided that I won't be having dessert today," she sighed, picking up her things. "See you guys later, at the radio show."

Yoongi heard her first, mostly out of breath as she made it to the lift spouting off her thanks for no one being in it as she got in to meet Jin.

Even with a mask on, he could make out her features. Those large evil almond shaped eyes seemed to want to take over the whole world, her little evil hands touched everything new. Those evil petite feet seemed to never keep still.

She can't have been that exhausted as she managed to find time for a costume change. How did she even manage that with all the stupid errands he had her run?

He waited for her to enter, saw that she got off at the ground level before deciding he would meet her there, mostly to annoy her and try and find some mundane task to irritate her with.

What was she doing walking around here on her own? Usually she was flanked by the maknae bodyguard unit and it's leader Jin but she was solo.

**

YN smiled as she made out the group van and proceeded to walk across the car park. The sound of a car in the distance, the squeak of tyres on tarmac hadn't registered as she felt herself pulled back by her hand bag strap.

Yoongi grabbed hold of the first thing he could and pulled her back, missing the van that was turning a corner.

"You got eyes in that head of yours?" he scolded her as he let go and wiped his hands of her.

"I do thank you very much. God, can't you go fly off? Isn't your broomstick here somewhere?" she tutted at him and stalked off as Jin pulled open the door and waved her over.

Yoongi cleared his throat, agitated and feeling the blood rising in his head again. "Broomstick? Do I look like Harry Potter to you?"

Annoyed he kicked the air in front of her as she stuck her tongue out.

"More like an ugly old witch," she sneered, hiding behind Jin no longer feeling brave when Yoongi didn't seem to stop walking towards them.

"Why haven't you left for the radio interview? You have no schedule with me now," she called out before getting into the van. "Se-Jin Hyung said you were leaving with him."

"I changed my mind and decided to have you accompany me there. You're welcome that you get to spend your time with me."

YN rolled her eyes at him, sure they were going to drop out any moment.

"Dumbass I would have to go anyway, I'm a hostage remember."

"We're just going out for a bit after the interview," Jin told him, not realising that she didn't want him to share their plans with the miserable Min here. "We'll see you later."

Completely missing the point Yoongi shrugged his shoulders.

"Is it now, that sure does sound like fun..maybe I'll join you?"

"What why? Can't you ride with the others? Me and Jin have plans after this," she sulked.

Why has she changed her outfit after their early dinner? And for an work interview.

"Why did you change?" Yoongi asked breaking the silence.

YN gathered her handbag, slipped her heels back on, checked her make up and got out the car.

YN simply shrugged. "I felt like it."

"So where are we going?" he asked pressing for Ground Level, Jin had followed behind them as the maknaes slipped in before the doors closed, having got to the venue just after them.

"We're going to MBC Open Radio, they show you live via webcam and not just on the radio, didn't you read your schedule?" she looked at him.

"Why bother when you're gonna be there sorting it anyways, right?" 

YN scoffed, "See, this is why you are an ass."

Yoongi finally looked at her, "You're gonna go out looking like that? You ain't going clubbing. Don't you guys have like a uniform or something to wear?"

"Oh my God, what are you? My Dad now?" YN looked at her outfit, then back at him.

"Look at what you're wearing!" he pointed at her.

"Don't worry there's no distinct possibility of you being a Dad, from what I've heard, you need to actually get it up for that to happen!" she pointed back.

"Puh lease, I got game. I got lots of game."

"Ha! That's half your problem right there.."

The door pinged open and the two of them looked away and stormed out at the same time. Both knocked their shoulders, and tried to get out at the same time, becoming stuck.

Jin, Jimin and Taehyung stood, coffee cups in their hands, watching the two of them arguing with each other, both stuck and refusing to give in to the other.

"Check these two out," Jungkook pointed with his coffee cup toward the lift.

"Nice one, you idiot, move back," he told her.

"Don't call me an idiot. You move back, stupid idiot!" she said elbowing him back.

Yoongi moved back, hands suddenly in the air surrendering. YN smiled triumphantly as she flicked her hair back.

"Finally."

She stepped out of the lift and took a step forward just as he stuck his foot out and watched her tumble over onto her knees. 

The guys stood open mouthed as Yoongi stepped past her and laughed manically, gummy teeth on show.

Unknown to him, and not one to be kept down, YN sprung up like a daisy and grabbed his ankles as they moved past her, as she lay sprawled out on the floor.

"Oh no you don't."

She muttered pulling on his ankles and watching him fall flat on his face. YN jumped up, tossed her hair and listened to him groan as she stepped on his back to get past him, and headed to the station entrance, like nothing ever happened.

"Come on Meow Meow!" she called, smirking as she put her Ray Bans on and headed outside, "We don't have all day!"

The guys continued to watch as Yoongi, swearing under his breath scrambled to his feet cursing after her.

Jin took a sip of Jimin's coffee.

"I'm not even gonna ask what the hell that was, but I'm sure he deserved it."

*

"Hi guys, welcome to the infamous MBS Garden Radio live, the only show that lets you not just hear but see the best radio show."

A woman holding s clipboard came out smiling at them widely, "I'm the producer Da-Mi, and the host is Park Myung-Soo. Come on through, and we'll get you guys all wired up," smiled the short brunette women politely.

YN did what she usually did when Yoongi had an appointment. She followed him in, and watched as he was seated and an assistant producer got the audio ready for him, whilst she got to sit on the sofa out the way, observing. Normally she didn't bother to listen but today was not a normal day.

"Hi Da-Mi I'm YN. Nice to meet you. I wanted to double check you got the email about the interview?"

Da-Mi smiled, "Yep got that from you guys thanks. Myung-Soo also got a copy and we are all good to go," she said getting the heads up to get seated.

The interview started off good, they asked the usual questions about the band, rehearsals, travelling and about the upcoming concerts. 

Myung-Soo smiled, "Now you guys have a show on the weekend, BTS is going to paint the town purple and all tickets are sold out! That's fantastic for you guys!"

Yoongi looked around the place lazily not hearing his name.

"So, Suga a lot of our listeners are also interested in hearing your take on the rumours flying around from your ex girlfriends, do you care to comment?"

YN's ears shot up and she got up off the sofa and went and sat next to him.

No one had asked him straight out about everything that was happening. And now it was happening, live.

Yoongi looked awkwardly at her for a second, unsure what to say.

"Look Myung-Soo Ssi, er, we're—" stammered Yoongi.

"We're not hear to discuss that," she finished, smiling into the microphone. She shot Da-Mi a look and she motioned for Myung-Soo to stop talking.

Myung-Soo waved her off and continued talking.

The dick.

"I know, I know we shouldn't talk about this, but I know our fans would love to hear your side of the story Suga," he goaded.

YN turned her mike off and pointed to Da-Mi.

"Go to fucking commercial. Right now."

*

YN was fuming, she looked back at Myung-Soo answering before Namjoon managed to find a polite way to word it.

"We specifically outlined what we were here to talk about. Not Min Yoongi's personal life."

"I just think our fans and the listeners would enjoy hearing his side of the story. What's the truth, and what's not."

YN laughed evilly, as she looked around the table Yoongi nervously laughed too.

"I'm sorry we agreed to come on a music talk show, to discuss the latest happenings with BTS and their first concert in person, in two years. Not to anything that deviates from that."

She knew she would be in double trouble if CEO Bang heard about his girlfriends on the radio, instead of bigging up the next concert.

She crossed her arms, "If I knew we were coming on The E network with Slick DICK we wouldn't have agreed to this," she said sarcastically.

Yoongi had that horrible feeling in his stomach. Those damn exes were making his life a misery. He shook his head, how fucked up had his life become, that Crazy YN was standing here defending him.

Se-Jin got off the phone to head office and was telling Da-Mi to cancel the remainder of the interview if Myung-Soo wasn't going to stay on topic.

Myung-Soo had the audacity to laugh, "Listen there's nothing wrong with him having slept with them, and them trying to make some money off it; that's what happens when you're a big name."

"Park Myung-Soo we are not here to discuss any tabloid rumours," Se-Jin repeated again sternly as he motioned for the boys to get up.

Myung-Soo smirked, "Come on, you can't blame me for wanting to ask. You tapping her too right?" he pointed to YN.

Yoongi slammed his hands on the table. "That's taking it too far pal. Too far."

YN didn't even flinch as he slammed his hands loudly. She got up and stared at the DJ.

"You got two options. My way, or my way. Kindly stick to what we agreed or we don't need to be here. There are plenty of radio stations who want to talk to BTS, and if you wanna give your fans something to talk about, how about we touch on the rumours of your infidelity and you fathering not one but two kids with your baby mama. I can play that game too Park Myung-Soo."

He looked at her and swallowed hard, recovering quickly with a smile. YN returned the smile, and waited. 

Myung-Soo spoke first, "YN I gotta give it to you. You got some balls. That's cool, we won't talk about that, but come back again, I'd love to do a feature on you. What do you do at Hybe? You a new female artist? Manager? A genius producer?" 

Yoongi looked confused, "Wait a sec, this interview isn't about YN."

Myung-Soo clapped his hands, "But she's so fierce, strong. Our fans would be intrigued to know more about her."

YN was starting to sweat. No one needed to know about her, then they would know that she was YN Bang not a Kim but a Bang..and then people would find out that she was Jin's sister—

"Earth to YN.."

YN looked peaky. 

Yoongi looked at her, "YN?" he asked a little softer, she looked a bit sick almost.

"I'm gonna just wait outside," she tapped her knuckles on the table, and slipped out as they continued the show. "Fresh air."

*

YN stood in the parking lot, and called for her car to come back and collect them. She closed her eyes breathing slowly. 

"Just take it easy, nothing is going to happen." YN repeated the mantra till she felt less anxious.

"Give me your bag."

YN stopped chanting and turned around to see a skinny guy with a hoodie on. 

"Sorry did you say something?" she asked.

"I said, give me your bag." He reached out and grabbed her bag.

"Piss off, do you know how hard I worked to buy this bag?" she pointed at him, and pulled her bag back from him. "It's not like I have Dad's money. I worked hard on my own!"

"Listen lady, I don't care. Give me the damn bag!" he said impatiently.

"Well I'm going to tell you anyway. It was two years ago and I was.."

Yoongi signed out at reception and saw YN outside tousling with some guy, pulling her handbag back and forth. He dashed outside, and down the stairs.

"Yah!" he shouted. 

YN stopped her explanation as Yoongi grabbed the guy, and forced him to let go of the bag.

"Why couldn't you have just waited inside?" Yoongi hissed at her grabbing hold of her bag.

"I needed some fresh air. What I need your permission to breathe now?"

"Well you came outside and look what happened!"

Yoongi and YN each held a handle and continued to argue. "So what am I supposed to do? Not ever go outside?" she shouted back.

"No. You wait for me or someone else to escort you. And next time don't jump into a conversation, and try to defend me, you made me look like an idiot, who needed a girl to stand up for him."

The guy stood there watching them argue. "Excuse me," he said.

"What?!" they shouted in unison at him.

"I'm sorry, you guys are clearly having a worse day than I am. I'm gonna just go."

"I'd run far far away if I were you pal. She's ruining my life. Save yourself."

"Er, well if you hadn't choked when he mentioned it, I wouldn't have had to interfere and tell him to stop talking about it. And why does he need to run away?" YN turned to face the mugger, "You wait right there. Don't you dare move!" she shouted at him.

YN turned back to Yoongi, "If anyone is stupid here, it's you!"

"Me? How the hell did you come up with that princess!" he shouted back in the parking lot at her.

Conveniently their car finally arrived. YN stormed off, not bothering to check where Jin or any of the others were as she got in.

"How dare you! I'm Min Yoongi. Genius producer. I don't need this!" he called after her.

"Yeah, you're so successful aren't you! That's why you the only one who needs a nanny!" she shouted out the window, laughing at him.

Yoongi gasped. "That's low! Even for the likes of you!" he shouted as he got in after her. "Move your fat ass up, you're taking up both seats with it."

This time YN gasped. "Ha! At least I have an ass, your back goes straight to your legs. You don't even have one!"

They carried on arguing through the centre of town all the way to the boutique that Jin wished to visit, as their driver turned up the radio to drown them out.

"What? Why are you staring at me?" Yoongi snapped at her.

"You have spinach in your teeth. This whole time," she smiled as she watched his try and find a surface shiny enough to check his teeth.

@craftymoonchaos @bbl32 @pb-n-juju @ireadthensuetheauthors @audreonne

[oddaodd]

Hi! I have an idea for a fic with Tommy so it’s Reader and his first wedding anniversary but of course he’s always doing business and he doesn’t have time for anything so she decides he deserves a break because he’s been working hard enough. She warns Polly, his brothers and they take care of everything Tommy was supposed to do. His wife prepares their beach house (in the south of England, close to the sea) and a few days before the actual anniversary, she tells him they have to go. He doesn’t have much information, he just have to go to the beach house. He’s a bit reluctant at first because “ I have business for to do blablabla” but she tells him to shut up and trust her. Anyway he hates holidays, he hates not working but his wonderful wife made everything perfect, she baked a cake, they went horse riding on the beach, they had picnics and watched sunsets, it was the best vacation ever and Tommy was so thankful! He was so much more happier and relaxed, far away from all the trouble and it gave them the opportunity to catch up and yeah loads of fluff and affection and love I need it lol thank you 💗

· Mementos Of The Sea ·

Author’s note: Thank you so much for requesting this! it allowed me to indulge in my sea cottagecore dream and I loved writing it! 🥰 I hope you enjoy it and have the loveliest of days. ❤️

Warnings: Mentions of smut. 

· 

“Can you really not tell me where we are going”

“Nope, you’ll find out when we get there” Smiled Y/N as she drove “Or well, maybe when we wet closer”

Tommy shot her a questioning glance.

“Just trust me”

Earlier that morning Y/n had rushed Tommy into the car telling him that she needed him to go with her someplace. At first Tommy had thought she would drive to small heath because something had gone wrong with business, but when the drive took way longer than their usual commute to Birmingham, his suspicions dissipated and his inquiries began.

An hour or so later into the drive and they hadn’t reached their destination yet, which prompted an anxious Tommy to speak again in irritation.

“Y/n, this mystery place you’re taking me is way too far and I have things to do”  

“You don’t have anything to do” countered Y/n “ I asked Polly and your brothers to take care of it all for a day or two… or three”

“Three days?!”

Y/N noddded “You need a break”

“I don’t need a break, love. What I need is to be back in Birmingham taking care of business” said Tommy trying to keep his frustration at bay. He knew Y/n’s actions came from love, but that didn’t change the fact that he didn’t like surprises.

“Your business won’t disappear. Three days won’t kill you Tommy” tried Y/N as they pulled up the old driveway she recognized “And you may have a guess at where I’m taking you now” she continued, trying to ease the tension she felt Tommy putting up.

Tommy took one look at their surroundings and recognized the place immediately  “What are we doing in Camber Sands?”

“I know you’re too busy to remember, but our anniversary is tomorrow, I wanted to do something nice” confessed Y/n as she parked the car in front of the house Tommy had bought her a year before, as a wedding gift.

Guilt immediately invaded Tommy’s senses “love, I…”

“It’s ok” she interrupted with a teasing smile before stepping out of the car. The warm sea breeze immediately engulfing her in a welcoming hug. “You can make it up to me in these next few days”

Tommy too, stepped out of the car and stared at the ocean in front of the property. Maybe three days wouldn’t be too bad.

“I didn’t pack anything” he realized out loud.

“Don’t worry, I did” she said walking over to Tommy and wrapping her arms around him “the suitcases are In the trunk”

“You took care of everything, huh?” He said with a much lighter tone before pecking her lips with a small kiss, giving in to Y/n’s surprise.

After settling into the house Tommy indulged in reverie of the day he bought Y/n the house. It wasn’t the biggest one and he had insisted they could afford something better, but Y/N had been enraptured the moment she saw the state and claimed it was meant for them.

“Lets go take a walk” said Y/N interrupting his reverie.

They walked along the shore and talked for what seemed like hours which had been a while since they last did. Tommy couldn’t help but feel guilty at how many things his wife told him about that he didn’t know. Unimportant things, musings of her day to day life that no one would imagine carried important wheight, no one but him.

The next day Y/N convinced Tommy to bake a cake with her. A lemon cake that just managed to turn out alright despite the playful nature with which it had been baked. When it cooled off Y/N decorated it with frosting and lemon zest as Tommy boiled some pasta.

When they finished prepping dinner, they put it all inside a basket along with a bottle of wine and headed to the beach for a picnic.

They laid a tablecloth on the sand in front of the sea and ate the food they cooked drinking from the bottle of wine and talking.  Everything was perfect.

Soon, the sunset painted the sky a pink hue and Y/n smiled at it. She had always loved the sea. Tommy, however couldn’t tear his eyes from his wife, a loving smile tugging at his own lips.

She felt his eyes on her and turned her attention to him, blushing slightly at the loving intensity of his stare. Even after knowing him for three years and being married to him for one, he could still make her blush, which Tommy found endearing.

Feeling desire burning inside him, he kissed her urgently. She complied immediately, her tongue wandering into his mouth as they both laid down on the tablecloth not caring about the wine bottle they knocked over with lustful movements.

On the last day of their vacation, Tommy pampered Y/N as much as he could. Bringing her breakfast in bed and humoring her by accepting to go into the sea with her.

“Here, have this” she said taking his hand in hers and placing a tiny seashell on his palm.

Tommy inspected the tiny object, a memento of the weekend.

“I chose a small one so you can always have it in your pocket and think of me” she smiled before kissing him softly.

He couldn’t believe how her, with the simple action of prying him away from work made him feel like the luckiest man alive. That weekend had made him feel happy and relaxed, both things which he had thought he would never feel again. And he wanted her to know.

At night they danced together to an old record that had come with the state when they bought it which Y/n loved immensely and Tommy considered weird sounding, but had grown to love because of her.

“Thank you” he whispered as they swayed.

“What for?” She asked

“This weekend, I really needed it”

“I did tell  you to trust me” she teased, looking into his eyes. “Didn’t I?”

“I love you” he professed instead of answering her rhetorical question. Feeling butterflies swarming inside him.

It had been a while since he had last said it. Y/N knew he loved her despite not saying it often which made his declaration significantly heavier in importance.

“I love you even more, Tommy”

·

@captivatedbycillianmurphy

@peakyxtommy

@nyotamalfoy

[possiblypeachy]

tea & schemes. (7)

―; summary: who knew that fight clubs could be so romantic?

―; pairing: jacob frye x ofc

―; word count: 3.3k

―; warnings: light swearing and a wee bit of violence.

―; A/N: good lord this chapter made my heart do the big !!! i just love them and i hope someone else does too :,,)) even as the writer of this i feel like im torturing myself so please take this and like... coo over it with me im begging--

―; part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

― ❊ ―

To say that Florence Abberline had any idea how underground fighting rings operated would be the biggest lie of the century. The only thing she could correctly assume was that there would be blood and lots of noise. On both of these counts, she was right.

The building itself appeared to be some kind of disused warehouse, converted into a space for men (and the occasional woman) to tap into their more primal side and beat the ever-loving God out of another person. Honestly, she wouldn’t have expected anything less and, despite being perhaps the only woman here in a dress such as hers, Florence was simply itching to get in view of the ring. Nothing was more therapeutic than watching round upon round of fighting-- well, she assumed at least.

A shove came to her arm and man, waving a bottle of something in the air, swept across her peripherals. She grimaced, abstaining from passive-aggressively ‘bumping’ back into the man, and leant into Jacob-- a necessary gesture to be able to hear one another. “I feel like I’m going to be mugged.” Her eyes drifted to a woman dressed in red; she had been eyeing up the rings on Florence’s fingers since she’d walked in here. “I’m certainly not getting into the ring to fight for my possessions either.”

She felt a hand just above the hump of her hoop skirt and his body shifted to her side, obscuring Florence from the staring woman’s view. “I reckon you’d have a good chance in there.” When she shot a harsh glance at him, he was grinning back down at her. “You’d floor them with your looks alone.”

“By that you meant that I am dazzlingly beautiful rather than anything nasty, I hope?”

“Of course, dear Flor. I certainly didn’t mean that they’d take one look at the Hell in your eyes and piss their poor britches.” 

Florence’s jaw shifted to one side, faux offended, and a laugh slipped past her lips. “You must have a bladder of steel then, Jacob, because the sheer amount of times I’ve had to look at you like that is astounding.”

“No. Actually,” He shuffled them through a particularly small gap, during which Florence realised Jacob didn’t smell half bad. Then, to herself, she cursed; what kind of observation was that? “my trousers are just very thick. Evie tends to have the same effect so they’re a needed precaution.”

She snorted when she laughed next, bordering on her hysterical pig squeal of a giggle. The curl of Jacob’s lips made him look like the cat that got the cream but, between manoeuvring them through the tight crowd and trying to ensure greedy hands don’t pick at Florence, he didn’t have the chance to glance down at her to see if that dimple was pressing into her cheek again. 

The cheering became rowdier and more… animated the closer they came to the ring and, every couple of steps, either Florence had to duck out of the way out of an arm or Jacob had to move his body to act as a human shield. Despite it all, she didn’t seem dampened by the less-than-gentle hospitality and had taken to looking upon the fighting in wonder. Could Florence throw a punch? Certainly. Could she throw a punch like that? Most certainly not.

Blood splattered across the floor just as the pair reached the side of the ring, blending quite seamlessly into the already stained stone below. Florence flinched slightly, less in fear of the fighting and more in fear of getting anything on her dress and having to explain it to Freddy later. She could already imagine the look on his face if he saw her here, though she suspected that circumstance wouldn’t occur; Freddy didn’t tend to attend underground fight clubs for leisure. 

When Jacob muttered something to a man in green, who had been whooping and hollering at the side of the ring, a small gap was made for himself and Florence. It was a… cosy space; Jacob was at her side now but had to tuck a portion of his body behind her, shoulder against hers and hand still on her back. At least it meant for easier conversation.

“Who’re you rooting for?” He asked, leaning down to her somewhat and pointing toward the ring. 

Her eyes flickered between both fighters; one was a particularly tall bald bloke who seemed to employ brute strength over any other strategy, whereas the other was a smaller brunet-- a nimble man, it seemed. Just as Florence went to speak, the larger of the two landed a bone-breaking hit to the brunet’s nose and, through a sympathetic grimace, she pointed to him. “That one. It doesn’t matter how fast the other guy is; baldie’s tall so he has a long reach.”

Jacob hummed but Florence couldn’t hear it. Hazel eyes continued to watch the fight and, for the brief moment in which she gave a quick glance up to his face, Florence realised that Jacob had a particular passion for this sport. 

“You really love this, don’t you?” She asked but Jacob, too captivated by the deadly dance going on within the ring, didn’t answer her. Two fingers, readied like a little spear, prodded at his ribs to get his attention and he made a rather unlikely yelping noise as a reaction. Holding back the beginnings of laughter, Florence asked again: “You’re quite enraptured, Jacob. Like a good bit of fighting, do we?”

He nodded his head, frowning as though he was weighing up his own opinion. “You could say that, what with me being the champion here and all.”

Although he didn’t yet allow his gaze to dart toward her to gauge her reaction, the squeeze to his bicep and the wide eyes in his peripherals told him all he needed to know. “You’re the champion?”

“Yep!” His eyes finally met hers and he couldn’t even consider keeping up his smug facade any longer, breaking out into a grin. “The majority-appointed king of the ring. See? I told you King Jacob had a lovely ring to it.”

Florence laughed, shaking her head. “Alright, your majesty, calm down with the ego-boosting.”

“You think calling me ‘your majesty’ will do anything to help that--”

“M’lord!” The pair turned to see a top hat swimming through the crowd. Florence gave Jacob a side glance but said nothing until the disembodied voice finally… well, became embodied. “It’s so good to see you here today.” A man appeared; he was a bit taller than Jacob but a lot lankier and seemed to hop towards them like a pleased little rabbit.

He was a performer then, Florence assumed. 

“Hello, Robert. How are things in the ring this afternoon?” A hand came out to shake the man’s shoulder in greeting but his eyes flickered to Florence. At the same time, a wave of recognition crashed across her expression and she looked Robert up and down. As it turns out, Jacob was right; he did have a peculiar sense of fashion.

Robert sighed in perhaps the most dramatic way a man could, throwing his arms up at his side and walking-- no, floating-- around them to be closer to the fighting. “Terribly boring, Mister Frye. There’s no life in the ring-- no zest!” Behind his back, Jacob and Florence gave each other a look before Robert turned around again. “There is one way the afternoon might get more interesting?” He let his sight drag to Jacob, a light in his eye that hinted at his true intentions.

“I wasn’t planning on fighting today, Robert.” Jacob gestured to Florence beside him. “I was just introducing Miss Abberline to the glorious world of underground brawling.”

Robert looked from Jacob to Florence, sizing up how close they were standing with a smile. “There’s no better way to impress a lady than demonstrating your raw masculinity, m’lord! Imagine it:” He pushed between them, an arm slung over Jacob’s shoulder while his other hand swept across Florence’s vision, “he’s in the ring, all scowls and sweat and muscle. He lands another crippling punch and the crowd goes wild! He looks out into the masses and spots her-- his good luck charm. He may already be the champion of this ring but his only true desire is to be the champion…” He leaned closer to Jacob, pressing a hand against his own chest, “of her heart--”

“Woah, Robert, maybe we should slow it down with the whole--” 

“Sounds splendid.” Florence interrupted, shooting Jacob a devious little glance as he removed Topping’s arm from around his shoulder. “I think I’d enjoy seeing you in the ring, Jacob.”

He huffed a small laugh out through his nose but had no time to retort. Robert broke out into a grin, gesturing with great vigour toward the ending match. “Wonderful! See, m’lord? Even the lady encourages it.”

Jacob opened his mouth once, closed it again, then looked between Robert and Florence, defeated. There was a moment in which they were both simply staring at him and he sighed. “Well, I’m not one to deny my adoring followers.”

Florence gave him a half-smile, amusement dancing in the honey of her eyes. “You’ll have to prove to me that you’re worthy of your title, King Jacob. I’ll be here, looking pretty and being a-- what was it?-- good luck charm?”

He laughed, already being ushered away by Robert, and pointed to her. “If I win, you have to call me ‘your majesty’ until I’m satisfied.” 

The dimple in her cheek appeared, grinning at his daring, but he was now too far away for her to offer a definite answer. Florence only held her hands up, shrugging playfully, before Jacob disappeared into the crowd.

Oh, what fun this would be. 

Before Jacob had even emerged again from that shady backroom that he’d been all but dragged into, Robert had begun to energise the crowd with promises of the champion and “life-changing bets”. Florence was glad that a few of the Rooks still surrounded her, keeping her safe from the rowdiness of the masses behind her-- and ensuring no fingers sneak toward her and snatch away her valuables.

There was cheering from one end of the room, presumably the reaction to Jacob finally making his way to the ring. Eyes narrowed and lips pursed slightly, Florence began to scour the crowd in hopes of spotting him. When she noticed a few men slapping someone on the back-- that someone being Jacob, she grinned and waved hoping to gain his--

Wait.

Wait.

Her smile shifted into a rather conflicted expression.

Was his chest bare?

Despite there being plentiful men here wearing nothing besides trousers and the hair on their chest, Florence had a strange feeling that seeing specifically Jacob like that was a level of intimacy that they hadn’t achieved yet.

‘Yet’? Goodness, Florence Abberline-- pull yourself together.

However, before she could pull her eyes to a safer zone, her sight caught onto his-- what were they? Tattoos? She squinted again, subconsciously leaning closer to the ring that he’d just entered to figure out what they were. One was most certainly a bird of some kind but the other one was so small that Florence couldn’t quite--

It was then that she realised that the tattoos were slowly getting closer to her, which meant that Jacob was too. Her gaze snapped upwards to his face and she was met with a self-satisfied grin, one of his brows raised. With wide eyes, Florence shook her head, going to tell him that she wasn’t ogling she was merely studying his tattoos, but a bell began to ring and it drew Jacob’s attention away. 

Damn it all. She wasn’t going to hear the end of it. 

His usually relaxed demeanour hardened into something altogether far more intimidating as soon as the ringing stopped. Robert shouted something but Florence couldn’t hear it over the roar of the crowd, encouraging the other men to “get a good hit on Frye!”. The fight had started, she supposed.

Now, not to say that Florence had ever doubted Jacob’s abilities but… well, that’s exactly what she seemed to have done. She had presumed he had a good knowledge of weapons and how to use them-- not his bare fists. He was a lot faster than she’d anticipated and seemed to have a rather strange sense for when an attack came toward him; Jacob had not yet taken a hit, despite a few men laying, immobilised, on the cold floor below. 

Speaking of which, surely it was unfair to pit one man against so many?

The crunch and crack of someone’s leg gave her the answer to her own question: one man wouldn’t stand a chance in the ring against Jacob and even those who fought in groups were fools. 

Thanks to her wondering, Florence hadn’t realised she’d started to cheer for him, as though it were second nature, at the side of the ring. It had begun as a gentle clapping then evolved into a wide grin spread across her face. At one point, when Jacob had floored two men-- both taller than him-- at once, a loud cheer erupted from her, the root of the noise deep within her chest. The volume startled the rook beside her and Jacob himself, it seemed, since his eyes flickered over to where she stood.

At that exact moment, a skinny little man punched Jacob in the side, hoping that it would distract him enough to land a hit on his stubbled jaw. Unfortunately for him, Jacob caught the man’s wrist before it could connect with his face and slammed his own fist into the bloke’s gut, winding him. Florence didn’t even have time to feel a sting of guilt for pulling Jacob’s attention away from the fight. Hell, he didn’t even seem all too fazed by the hit he got before.

She continued to cheer, though perhaps more quietly this time, and she could feel her heartbeat through her veins. He was doing so well and the only way she could describe the bursting in her chest was pride. In a way, perhaps she’d become a bit star-struck; Jacob Frye, a renowned and celebrated fighter, was her friend, had decided to bring her here, went out of his way to speak to her-- it made her feel so very special. God, how stupid.

The next few rounds came and went in the blink of an eye. Florence wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline that was making the world go by so fast or if it was the fact that she was simply enraptured with the whole ordeal. By the time she got home, she’d likely still be shaking with excitement; she’d just have to tell Freddy that she read a particularly interesting book in the library-- one about fighting, as to drip a small portion of her actual day into the story.

Three rings of the bell marked the end of the fight and, as suspected, Jacob stood victorious with little more than a reddened cheek, a bruise forming below his collarbone, and bloodied knuckles. Robert hopped-- as is his way-- into the ring to declare that Jacob had defended his rightful title; Jacob seemed very pleased with himself, for want of a better word. 

Moments later, he clambered over the barrier between the crowd and the ring, sweaty and breathing heavily, patting his forehead with a little rag to remove, at the very least, the sheen on his face. Despite all this, he broke out into a grin as he made his way to her. “How’s my good luck charm, then? Did you enjoy--”

In an act that surprised the both of them, Florence, without much thought, pulled him into a tight hug, balancing on her tiptoes slightly so she could comfortably bury her face into his neck. It was a gesture borne of gratitude or congratulations or… something like that. One half of her regretted making such an idiotic, rash decision but the other half felt Jacob’s hands on her back, a thumb rubbing gently across the fabric of her dress, and she smiled. 

As she pulled back, hands gliding from the nape of his neck to his shoulders, Florence was grinning and Jacob seemed to mirror it. “That was glorious, Jacob! I mean, the precision of your hits was--”

God, the light in her eyes was beautiful.

“-- astounding and when you countered that blond bloke? Amazing! How did you know to--”

Would it be too forward to kiss her?

“-- dodge at that moment? It’s like you have some… superhuman ability. I’m still--”

Oh, he wanted to kiss her.

“-- shaking from it all and I--” She paused, sighing through a small smile and averting her gaze for a moment to think. Florence didn’t notice this but, at the same time, Jacob seemed to lean towards her, following the movement of her head. When she looked back to him, she became acutely aware of how close they were, how one of her thumbs absently traced the curve of his neck, how she could feel his breath on her skin.

Jacob’s gaze flickered down to her lips.

Florence felt her heart skip.

Did she want to kiss him?

Her lips parted and honey eyes searched hazel ones for any signs of dishonesty-- something that she should’ve looked for with Thomas-- but she found nothing besides warmth and a sense of... adoration? 

Fuck.

Her hands moved from his shoulder back to their previous position on his neck. Using this as leverage, she pulled herself back into the hug and quietly hoped that he wouldn’t be able to feel the stammering beat in her chest. 

Oh, God preserve her; she did want to kiss him. She wanted to take Jacob’s stupid face in her hands and kiss him. 

What a predicament.

Florence Abberline was falling in love again.

“Thank you.” She whispered to him but she wasn’t sure why. For bringing her here? Perhaps. For making her feel special? Maybe. For prying her heart open again with little jokes and smiles? Just as likely. 

A few moments passed in which they both felt like they had missed an opportunity but they found comfort in one another regardless. Then, Florence finally pulled away fully a soft smile forming on her lips. “Well, I do believe that I should be on my way home, lest Freddy start thinking Willard’s stolen me away.” 

“Give me a moment to… well, dress--” She huffed out a laugh, dimple making its mark in her cheek, which encouraged Jacob to grin too, “-- and I’ll walk with you.”

“Oh, Jacob, you don’t have to. You’ve already done plenty--”

“I insist.” There was a certain genuineness to his smile that made her cave.

“Well, who am I to turn down a king, hm?” That devious little light reignited in her eyes again.

He breathed out a laugh and mirrored her impish smile. “Remember our bet? You have to call me ‘your majesty’ until I--”

“Hold on. I never agreed to this bet--”

Jacob had begun to back into the crowd and, thanks to this, he cupped a hand to his ear, “Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t seem to hear you, my loyal subject.” Florence’s jaw protruded in annoyance, crossing her arms beneath her chest, but a begrudging smile played at her lips. “I suppose you’ll have to wait until I return, eh?” Then, he turned and was swallowed by all the tightly-knit people. 

She shook her head, watching after him with a certain look of disbelief in her gaze.

She liked Jacob fucking Frye.

God, how her brother would hate that.

[mapwrites]

night of passion

A sharp-dressed man wanders into a local tavern. This was not one of his usual haunts for he was only in town for a night, this was merely one stop on his journey home. As he enters, he is drawn instantly to the woman in red, with her tight dress, delicate visage, and aura of sensuality. She sits by herself, a vacant bar stool on either side.

Inside the man a fire begins to rage, a deep longing. His inner hunter aches, loins ready for his next conquest, the lady his prey. She's all mine, the man thought. He could already see himself caressing her hands, devouring her lips, gripping her thighs. His nostrils flare imagining her smell, his tongue tingles with her taste. His prize is in sight, ready for the taking. All he has to do is turn his charm on and cast her under his spell.

He approaches her slowly, filled with both confidence and greed, ready to make his move. He nears her, clears his throat to gain her attention. She spins, her silky black hair sways back and she greets him with the most invigorating green eyes, filled with zest and a thirst for adventure. He makes his introduction with his bleached white smile. He could conquer her without saying a word, though he enjoys the playful formality of verbal exchange, foreplay for the mind.

He speaks kindly, she speaks softly. They put each other both in a daze. Names are said, words are whispered. Neither she mentions her husband, nor he his wife. His ring is buried in his pocket, linked on his key-chain. She did not have the foresight to remove hers but she contorts her hand at awkward angles to avoid showing it off, she spins the diamond to the bottom side of her hand. He notices every move but says nothing. If they are both in the wrong, neither can judge.

She focuses her gaze on his sweet-talking lips. Surely he is skilled in the gift of gab, he is not new to this game. She does not mind though. Her friends abandoned her, she has the evening free, she enjoys the attention. His strong jaw and five o'clock shadow please her emerald eyes. She remembers her vows but cannot for the life of her care. She is weak, her suitor is strong. Besides, she feels justified - her husband has already created a scandal of their lives, he should not be the only one to have fun. This is her night, this is her opportunity. Carpe diem.

Drinks were on the counter but neither bothered to touch them. They were both enchanted, enraptured, lost to each other. Neither soul could tell you where they were, what day it was, or what drink was in front of them. Alcohol did not need to play cupid tonight, they were already victims to each other, drunk only to the sinful ardor in their hearts.

Two seats over sat an old man, his hair long, straight, and silver. He also came to this bar alone and has witnessed the entire scene. He too wears a wedding band but he is not married - he was. For he had once played this game, he too had his share of affairs. His ex-wife knew nothing about most of his mistresses but she did find out about one of them. She tried to forgive him but the betrayal sat deep in her embittered heart, her trust was poisoned. It became too heavy a burden to carry, she could not even look at him. They eventually divorced, though against the man's will. With this memory lurking behind his eyes, he looks at the couples with disgust.

Contempt for this act, he wants to condemn the pair, though he sits to himself and judges them silently instead, making only hushed comments to the bartender. If only they knew, he thought, that the heat of this moment will not last. What will is the shame and regret that comes with it, thousands of moments more. If only he could warn them, but he supposes it is none of his business. Let them learn their own lessons, they can find out the hard way.

The three all sat at the bar, each with their own thoughts. The man with lust, the woman with revenge, the old man with pity and melancholy. Each of their hearts was heavy, they each carried their own sin. The older man knew their future, but they were too blind to see. What seemed like a fun night would soon haunt their souls. They will go on with their lives, though their secrets will not leave them. The one night of recklessness will never be forgotten.

[bisexualrogers]

Hello! I was reading the part of War and Peace that Great Comet was based on and decided to make a list of all the phrases/sentences in the novel that I found while listening along to the cast recording while reading that are either directly put into the lyrics of the musical, or are heavily referenced with a few changes. I have separated these findings by song, not in the order of which they appear in the novel. For some of the lines that are less directly from the novel I have put the lyrics that are connected to them in parentheses and italics next to the book quotes. It’s really really really fun to see which lyrics have a match so I hope you enjoy!

 Also sorry for any formatting issues: in some songs there are huge chunks that are almost directly lifted from the book so some placement of bullet points might be wonky. And if you know of any that I missed, please reblog and add! 

Pierre:

·           “Zest of such a life vanished”

·           “Only the skeleton of life remained”

·           “His purse was always empty because it was open to everyone.”

·           “He is charming; he has no sex.”

·           “Hundreds good-humoredly ending their days in Moscow” (“Just one of a hundred sad old men living out their final days in Moscow”)

·           “They were empty, stupid, contented fellows, satisfied with their position”

·           “Pity his comrades in destiny, as he pitied himself” (I pity you, I pity me, I pity you)

·           “Believing in the possibility of goodness and truth”

 Moscow:

·           “Faded and fading princesses still lived”

·           “She played a game of boston”

·           “A new book read to her while she knitted.”

·           “Get the samovar ready!”

·           “Whose cheeks were glowing from the cold”

·           “Touching her goddaughter and favorite, Natásha, on the cheek”

·           “I would simply embrace him, cling to him”

·           “She loved and knew Prince Andrey, he loved her only, and was to come one of these days and take her. She wanted nothing more.”

·           “You know that old Prince Nicholas much dislikes his son’s marrying. The old fellow’s crotchety! Of course Prince Andrey is not a child and can shift without him, but it’s not nice to enter a family against a father’s will. One wants to do it peacefully and lovingly. You’re a clever girl and you’ll know how to manage. Be kind, and use your wits. Then all will be well.”

 Private and Intimate Life of the House:

·           “Old-fashioned coat and powdered wig”

·           “Letting his napkin drop”

·           “Besides the couple of hours during which they saw their host, there were also twenty-two hours in the day during which the private and intimate life of the house continued.”

·           “Everybody always has liked me”

·           “He is old and feeble, and I dare to condemn him.”

 Natasha and Bolkonskys:

·           “From the first glance Princess Mary did not like Natásha. She thought her too fashionably dressed, frivolously gay and vain.”

·           “She was prejudiced against her by involuntary envy of her beauty, youth, and happiness,”

·           “She did not like Princess Mary, whom she thought very plain, affected, and dry”

·           “Dear Natalie,” said Princess Mary, “I want you to know that I am glad my brother has found happiness.”

·           “I think, Princess, it is not convenient to speak of that now”

 No One Else:

·           I love him alone, him, him, with that face and those eyes, with his smile, manly and yet childlike....” (“And your childlike eyes and your distant smile.”)

·           “But perhaps he’ll come today, will come immediately. Perhaps he has come and is sitting in the drawing room. Perhaps he came yesterday and I have forgotten it.” She rose, put down the guitar, and went to the drawing room.”

The Opera:

·                “Ladies sat with bare arms and shoulders, and noisy stalls brilliant with uniforms, glittered before their eyes” (“Bare arms and shoulders, brilliant uniforms, pearls and silk glittering before our eyes”)

·           “Feminine envy”

·           “Hundreds of eyes looking at her bare arms and neck”

·           “A whole crowd of memories, desires and emotions”

·           “The two remarkably pretty girls, Natásha and Sónya, with Count Rostóv who had not been seen in Moscow for a long time” (“Two remarkably pretty girls have not been seen in Moscow for many years”)

·           “Everybody knew vaguely of Natásha’s engagement”

·           “One of the best matches in Russia.”

·           “Dear me, Michael Kirílovich has grown still stouter!” remarked the count.

·           “Look at our Anna Mikháylovna—what a headdress she has on!”

·           “He stood in full view of the audience, well aware that he was attracting everyone’s attention, yet as much at ease as though he were in his own room. Around him thronged Moscow’s most brilliant young men, whom he evidently dominated”

·           “Now all the Moscow ladies are mad about him!”

·           “Much exposed plump white shoulders and neck, round which she wore a double string of large pearls, entered” (“The queen of society, beautiful, barely clothed, plump bare shoulders, and much exposed neck round which she wears a double string of pearls”)

·           “As soon as it rose everyone in the boxes and stalls became silent, and all the men, old and young, in uniform and evening dress, and all the women with gems on their bare flesh, turned their whole attention with eager curiosity to the stage”

·           “Grotesque and amazing”

·           “She could not follow the opera nor even listen to the music; she saw only the painted cardboard and the queerly dressed men and women who moved, spoke, and sang so strangely in that brilliant light.”

·           “False and unnatural that she first felt ashamed for the actors and then amused at them”

·           “And feeling the bright light that flooded the whole place and the warm air heated by the crowd, Natásha little by little began to pass into a state of intoxication”

·           “Exceptionally handsome”

·           “He moved with a restrained swagger which would have been ridiculous had he not been so good-looking”

·           “His sword and spurs slightly jingling and his handsome perfumed head held high”

·           “Second act there was scenery representing tombstones”

·           “Shades were raised over the footlights, and from horns and contrabass came deep notes while many people appeared from right and left wearing black cloaks and holding things like daggers in their hands”

 Natasha and Anatole:

·  “Anatole, who was as handsome at close quarters as at a distance, sat down beside her and told her he had long wished to have this happiness���ever since the Narýshkins’ ball in fact, at which he had had the well-remembered pleasure of seeing her”

·  “Semënova had fallen down on the stage”

·  “Sensible and simple”

·  “Boldly and naturally”

·  “Strangely and Agreeably”

·  “Nothing Formidable”

·  “His smile was most naïve, cheerful, and good-natured.”

·  “He never removed his smiling eyes from her face, her neck, and her bare arms. Natásha knew for certain that he was enraptured by her. ”

·  “Looking into his eyes she was frightened”

·  “There was not that barrier of modesty she had always felt between herself and other men”

·  “She feared he might seize her from behind by her bare arm and kiss her on the neck.”

·  “They spoke of most ordinary things, yet she felt that they were closer to one another than she had ever been to any man”

·  “At first I did not like it much, because what makes a town pleasant, ce sont les jolies femmes, isn’t that so? But now I like it very much indeed,”

·  “You’ll come to the costume tournament, Countess? Do come”

·  “You will be the prettiest there. Do come, dear countess, and give me this flower as a pledge!”

  The Duel (Note: The actual duel happened earlier in the novel before Natasha was introduced but the other lines happened within the story that we know from the musical):

·  “Though the doctors warned that with his corpulence wine was dangerous for him, he drank a great deal. He was only quite at ease when having poured several glasses of wine mechanically into his large mouth

·  “He felt a pleasant warmth in his body”

·  “He had got married two years before—a fact known only to his most intimate friends. A Polish landowner of small means had forced him to marry his daughter.”

·  “As a duck is so made that it must live in water, so God had made him such that he must spend thirty thousand rubles a year and always occupy a prominent position in society” (“As a duck is made to swim in water, god has made me as I am”)

·  “All he cared about was gaiety and women”

·  “The attractions of her arms, shoulders, feet, and hair and expressed his intention of making love to her.”

·  “She’s first-rate, my dear fellow, but not for us” (“She’s first rate, but nothing but trouble.”)

·  “You’d better wait till she’s married....”

·  “Here’s to the health of lovely women, Peterkin—and their lovers” (Here’s to the health of married woman and their lovers)

·  “Oh yes, it is horribly stupid”

·  “Only tell me where to go and where to shoot”

·  “As the adversaries have refused a reconciliation, please proceed. Take your pistols, and at the word three begin to advance”

·  “Missed!” shouted Dólokhov, and he lay helplessly, face downwards on the snow.”

·  “My mother! My mother, my angel, my adored angel mother.”

 Charming:

·  “She heard in the drawing room the animated sounds of her father’s voice and another’s—a woman’s—that made her flush. It was Hélène.”

·  “How is it you’re not ashamed to bury such pearls in the country?” (It’s such a shame to bury pearls in the country.”)

·  “Oh, my enchantress��

·  “This is really beyond anything”

·  “How can you live in Moscow and go nowhere”

·  “Metallic gauze”

·  “Anything suits you, my charmer”

·  “Natásha brightened up and felt almost in love with this woman, who was so beautiful and so kind.”

·  “The idea of throwing her brother and Natásha together amused her.”

·  “My brother dined with me yesterday”

·  “He is madly, quite madly, in love with you, my dear”

·  “How she blushes, how she blushes, my pretty!”

·  “You love somebody, my charmer, that is not a reason to shut yourself up. Even if you are engaged.”

·  What had seemed terrible now seemed simple and natural.”

·  “So she knows I am engaged, and she and her husband Pierre—that good Pierre—have talked and laughed about this. So it’s all right”

 The Ball:

·  “You know, I adore little girls, they lose their heads at once.”

·  “Vanity at his admiration of her and fear at the absence of a moral barrier between them.” (I am seized by feelings of vanity and fear, there is no barrier between us.)

·  “Divine! Delicious!”

·      “She only felt herself again completely borne away into this strange senseless world—so remote from her old world—a world in which it was impossible to know what was good or bad, reasonable or senseless.” (I’m borne away to a senseless world, so strange so remote. I don’t know good from bad.”)

·  “You are enchanting.”

·      “As they danced he pressed her waist and hand and told her she was bewitching and that he loved her. During the écossaise, which she also danced with him, Anatole said nothing when they happened to be by themselves, but merely gazed at her. Natásha lifted her frightened eyes to him, but there was such confident tenderness in his affectionate look and smile that she could not, whilst looking at him, say what she had to say.” (“And during the ecossaise he gazed in my eyes, my frightened eyes. Such confident tenderness I could not say what I had to say.”)

·  “Don’t say such things to me. I am betrothed and love another.”

·  “’Don’t speak to me of that! What can I do?” said he. “I tell you I am madly, madly, in love with you! Is it my fault that you are enchanting?”

·  “She understood hardly anything that went on that evening.” (“I don’t understand anything tonight.”)

·  “Is it possible that I shall never see you? I love you madly. Can I never…”

·  “I don’t understand. I have nothing to say.”

·  “Burning lips were pressed to hers.”

·  “But she also loved Anatole, of that there was no doubt. How else how could all this have happened.”

·  “It means that I loved him from the first. It means that he is kind, noble, and splendid, and I could not help loving him.”

 Letters:

·  “Only not to see it, that dreadful it!”

·  “’What am I to do if I love him and the other one too?’ She asked herself, unable to find an answer to these terrible questions.”

·  “He is an invalid and an old man who must be forgiven.” (He’s a tired old man and must be forgiven.”)

·  “Princess Mary went on to ask Natásha to fix a time when she could see her again.” (“Please come see us again.”)

·  “A letter from him—from the man she loved”

·  “But that if she loved him she need only say the word yes” (“If you love me say yes.”)

·  “He would steal her away and carry her off to the ends of the earth.” (“I will come and steal you away, steal you out of the dark.”)

·  “Yes, she loved him, or else how could that have happened which had happened? And how could she have a love letter from him in her hand?”

  Natasha and Sonya:

·  “How was it I noticed nothing? How could it go so far?”

·  “But it can’t be that she loves him!”

·  “And with the decision and tenderness that often come at the moment of awakening, she embraced her friend, but noticing Sónya’s look of embarrassment, her own face expressed confusion and suspicion.”

·  “Sonya, you’ve read that letter.”

·  “I can’t hide it from you any longer. You know, we love one another! Sónya, darling, he writes...”

·  “And Bolkónski?” she asked. “Ah, Sónya, if you only knew how happy I am!” cried Natásha. “You don’t know what love is....”

·  “But, Natásha, can that be all over.”

·  “Well, then, are you refusing Prince Andrey?” said Sónya.”

·  “Oh, you don’t understand anything! Don’t talk nonsense, just listen!” said Natásha, with momentary vexation.”

·  “But I can’t believe it,” insisted Sónya. “I don’t understand. How is it you have loved a man for a whole year and suddenly... Why, you have only seen him three times! Natásha, I don’t believe you, you’re joking.”

·  “Three days?” said Natásha. “It seems to me I’ve loved him a hundred years. It seems to me that I have never loved anyone before.”

·  “What can I do? What can I do, Sónya?” cried Natásha with a happy yet frightened expression.”

·  “Why can’t you understand? I love him!”

·  “Then I won’t let it come to that... I shall tell!” cried Sónya, bursting into tears.”

·  “What do you mean? For God’s sake... If you tell, you are my enemy!” declared Natásha. “You want me to be miserable, you want us to be separated....”

·  “But what has happened between you?” she asked. “What has he said to you? Why doesn’t he come to the house?”

·  “But why this secrecy?”

·  “I don’t know what the reasons are. But there must be reasons.”

·  “Sónya, one can’t doubt him! One can’t, one can’t! Don’t you understand?” she cried.”

·  “Does he love you?”

·  “Does he love me?” Natásha repeated with a smile of pity at her friend’s lack of comprehension. “Why, you have read his letter and you have seen him.”

·  “But you haven’t refused Bolkónski?” said she.

·  “Perhaps I have. Perhaps all is over between me and Bolkónski. Why do you think so badly of me.”

·  “Natásha, I am afraid for you!”

·  “I am afraid you’re going to your ruin,” said Sónya resolutely, and was herself horrified at what she had said.”

·  “And I’ll go to my ruin, I will, as soon as possible! It’s not your business! It won’t be you, but I, who’ll suffer. Leave me alone, leave me alone! I hate you! I hate you, I hate you! You’re my enemy forever!”

·  “Natásha went to the table and without a moment’s reflection wrote that answer to Princess Mary which she had been unable to write all the morning”

·  “All their misunderstandings were at an end”

·  “Forget everything and forgive her if she had been to blame toward her, but that she could not be his wife”

 Preparations:

·  “Yes, indeed, that’s a true sage,” thought Pierre. “He sees nothing beyond the pleasure of the moment, nothing troubles him and so he is always cheerful, satisfied, and serene. What wouldn’t I give to be like him!” he thought enviously.”

·  “The plan for Natalie Rostóva’s abduction had been arranged and the preparations made by Dólokhov a few days before, and on the day that Sónya, after listening at Natásha’s door, resolved to safeguard her, it was to have been put into execution”

·  “Natásha had promised to come out to Kurágin at the back porch at ten that evening”

·  “Kurágin was to put her into a troyka he would have ready and to drive her forty miles to the village of Kámenka, where an unfrocked priest was in readiness to perform a marriage ceremony over them. ”

·  “Anatole had a passport, an order for post horses, ten thousand rubles he had taken from his sister and another ten thousand borrowed with Dólokhov’s help.”

·  “Anatole, with uniform unbuttoned, walked to and fro”

·  “Do you know? You’d really better drop it all. There’s still time!”

·  “Fool,” retorted Anatole. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

·  “Go to the devil! Eh?” said Anatole, making a grimace. “Really it’s no time for your stupid jokes.”

·  “Why should I joke about it? Did I hinder you? Who arranged everything for you? Who found the priest and got the passport? Who raised the money? I did it all.”

·  “Well, thank you for it. Do you think I am not grateful?”

·  “Oh, nonsense, nonsense!” Anatole ejaculated and again made a grimace. “Didn’t I explain to you? What?” And Anatole, with the partiality dull-witted people have for any conclusion they have reached by their own reasoning, repeated the argument he had already put to Dólokhov a hundred times.”

·  “Abroad no one will know anything about it.”

·  “It’s the very devil! What? Feel how it beats!”

·  “Now then! Nearly ready? You’re dawdling!”

·  “Handsome lips muttered tenderly to himself.”

·  “Balagá is here.”

 Balaga:

·  “Drunk on champagne and Madeira, which he loved”

 The Abduction:

·  “Well, comrades and friends of my youth, we’ve had our fling and lived and reveled. Eh? And now, when shall we meet again? I am going abroad”

·  “My revels here are over. Remember me to Stëshka.”

·  “Shut the door; we have first to sit down. That’s the way.”

·  “Where’s the fur cloak?”

·  “I have heard what elopements are like,” continued Dólokhov with a wink. “Why, she’ll rush out more dead than alive just in the things she is wearing; if you delay at all there’ll be tears and ‘Papa’ and ‘Mamma,’ and she’s frozen in a minute and must go back—but you wrap the fur cloak round her first thing and carry her to the sleigh.”

·  “When they reached the gate Dólokhov whistled. The whistle was answered, and a maidservant ran out.”

·  “Come into the courtyard or you’ll be seen; she’ll come out directly,” said she.”

·  “Dólokhov stayed by the gate. Anatole followed the maid into the courtyard, turned the corner, and ran up into the porch.”

·  “Kurágin! Come back!” shouted Dólokhov. “Betrayed! Back!”

 In My House:

·  “You shameless good-for-nothing!”

·  “In my house... horrid girl, hussy!”

·  “A nice girl! Very nice.”

·  “You listen when I speak to you!”

·  “Natásha did not change her position, but her whole body heaved with noiseless, convulsive sobs.”

·  “It’s lucky for him that he escaped me; but I’ll find him!” she said in her rough voice. “Do you hear what I am saying or not?” she added.”

·  “Let me be!... What is it to me?... I shall die!”

·  “I have no betrothed: I have refused him!”

·  “Your father, I know him... if he challenges him to a duel will that be all right? Eh?”

·  “Were you kept under lock and key?”

·  “Why carry you off as if you were some gypsy singing girl?... Well, if he had carried you off... do you think they wouldn’t have found him? Your father, or brother, or your betrothed? And he’s a scoundrel, a wretch—that’s a fact!”

·  “He is better than any of you!” exclaimed Natásha getting up. “If you hadn’t interfered... Oh, my God! What is it all? What is it? Sónya, why?... Go away!”

·  “Márya Dmítrievna was to speak again but Natásha cried out: ‘Go away! Go away! You all hate and despise me!’ and she threw herself back on the sofa.”

·  “Márya Dmítrievna put a pillow under her head, covered her with two quilts, and herself brought her some lime-flower water, but Natásha did not respond to her.”

·  “Well, let her sleep,” said Márya.”

·  “But Natásha was not asleep; with pale face and fixed wide-open eyes.”

·  “All that night she did not sleep or weep.”

·  “She sat at the window.”

 A Call to Pierre:

·  “When he returned to Moscow Pierre was handed a letter from Márya Dmítrievna asking him to come and see her on a matter of great importance relating to Andrey Bolkónski and his betrothed.”

·  “What can they want with me?”

·  “He was not the only man unfortunate enough to be tied to a bad woman.”

·  “She therefore asked Pierre to tell his brother-in-law in her name to leave Moscow and not dare to let her set eyes on him again.”

 Find Anatole:

·  “He drove through the town seeking Anatole Kurágin, at the thought of whom now the blood rushed to his heart and he felt a difficulty in breathing.”

·  “He was not at the ice hills, nor at the gypsies’, nor at Komoneno’s.”

·  “In the Club all was going on as usual.”

·  “Natásha looked from one to the other as a hunted and wounded animal looks at the approaching dogs and sportsmen.”

·  “Ah, Pierre,” said the countess going up to her husband. “You don’t know what a plight our Anatole...”

·  “At that moment she was more repulsive to him than ever.”

·  “Anatole followed him with his usual jaunty step but his face betrayed anxiety.”

·  “Pierre closed the door and addressed Anatole without looking at him.”

 Pierre and Anatole:

·  “You promised Countess Rostóva to marry her and were about to elope with her, is that so?”

·  “Mon cher,” answered Anatole (their whole conversation was in French), “I don’t consider myself bound to answer questions put to me in that tone.”

·  “Pierre’s face, already pale, became distorted by fury. He seized Anatole by the collar of his uniform with his big hand and shook him from side to side till Anatole’s face showed a sufficient degree of terror.”

·  “When I tell you that I must talk to you!...” repeated Pierre.”

·  “Come now, this is stupid.”

·  “You’re a scoundrel and a blackguard, and I don’t know what deprives me from the pleasure of smashing your head with this!” said Pierre, expressing himself so artificially.”

·  “Did you promise to marry her?”

·  “’I... I didn’t think of it. I never promised, because...’ Pierre interrupted him.

·  ‘Have you any letters of hers? Any letters?’ he said, moving toward Anatole.”

·  “I shan’t be violent, don’t be afraid!” said Pierre in answer to a frightened gesture of Anatole’s. “First, the letters,” said he, as if repeating a lesson to himself. “Secondly,” he continued after a short pause, again rising and again pacing the room, “tomorrow you must get out of Moscow.”

·  “But how can I?...”

·  “Thirdly,” Pierre continued without listening to him, “you must never breathe a word of what has passed between you and Countess Rostóva. I know I can’t prevent your doing so, but if you have a spark of conscience...” Pierre paced the room several times in silence. Anatole sat at a table frowning and biting his lips.”

·  “After all, you must understand that besides your pleasure there is such a thing as other people’s happiness and peace, and that you are ruining a whole life for the sake of amusing yourself! Amuse yourself with women like my wife—with them you are within your rights, for they know what you want of them. They are armed against you by the same experience of debauchery; but to promise a maid to marry her... to deceive, to kidnap.... Don’t you understand that it is as mean as beating an old man or a child?...”

·  “I don’t know about that, eh?” said Anatole, growing more confident as Pierre mastered his wrath. “I don’t know that and don’t want to,” he said, not looking at Pierre and with a slight tremor of his lower jaw, “but you have used such words to me—‘mean’ and so on—which as a man of honor I can’t allow anyone to use.”

·  “Is it satisfaction you want?” said Pierre ironically.”

·  “You could at least take back your words. What? If you want me to do as you wish, eh?”

·  “I take them back, I take them back!” said Pierre, “and I ask you to forgive me.” Pierre involuntarily glanced at the loose button. “And if you require money for your journey...”

·  “Anatole smiled. The expression of that base and cringing smile, which Pierre knew so well in his wife, revolted him.”

·  “Oh, vile and heartless brood!” he exclaimed, and left the room.”

·  Next day Anatole left for Petersburg.”

  Natasha Very Ill:

·  “The whole house was in a state of alarm and commotion. Natásha was very ill, having, as Márya Dmítrievna told him in secret, poisoned herself the night after she had been told that Anatole was married, with some arsenic she had stealthily procured”

·  “She woke Sónya and told her what she had done”

·  “She was now out of danger, though still so weak”

·  “He was awaiting Prince Andrey’s return with dread”

   Pierre and Andrey:

·  “Prince Andrey, greatly changed and plainly in better health, but with a fresh horizontal wrinkle between his brows…”

·  “Well, how are you? Still getting stouter?”

·  “Forgive me for troubling you, I have received a refusal from Countess Rostóva and have heard reports of your brother-in-law having sought her hand, or something of that kind. Is that true?”

·  “Here are her letters and her portrait,” said he. He took the packet from the table and handed it to Pierre. “Give this to the countess... if you see her.”

·  “I much regret her illness,” said Prince Andrey; and he smiled like his father, coldly, maliciously, and unpleasantly.”

·  “Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Prince Andrey”

·  “Yes,” returned Prince Andrey hastily. “I said that a fallen woman should be forgiven, but I didn’t say I could forgive her. I can’t. Yes, ask her hand again, be magnanimous, and so on? Yes, that would be very noble, but I am unable to follow in that gentleman’s footsteps. If you wish to be my friend never speak to me of that... of all that! Well, good-by.”

 Pierre and Natasha:

·  “Natásha was standing in the middle of the drawing room, emaciated, with a pale set face, but not at all shamefaced as Pierre expected to find her. When he appeared at the door she grew flurried, evidently undecided whether to go to meet him or to wait till he came up. Pierre hastened to her. He thought she would give him her hand as usual; but she, stepping up to him, stopped, breathing heavily, her arms hanging lifelessly just in the pose she used to stand in when she went to the middle of the ballroom to sing, but with quite a different expression of face.”

·  “Peter Kirílovich,” she began rapidly, “Prince Bolkónski was your friend—is your friend,” she corrected herself. (It seemed to her that everything that had once been must now be different.) “He told me once to apply to you...” Pierre sniffed as he looked at her, but did not speak. Till then he had reproached her in his heart and tried to despise her, but he now felt so sorry for her that there was no room in his soul for reproach”

·  “He is here now: tell him... to for... forgive me!” She stopped and breathed still more quickly, but did not shed tears. “Yes... I will tell him,” answered Pierre; “but...” He did not know what to say.”

·  “No, I know all is over,” she said hurriedly. “No, that can never be. I’m only tormented by the wrong I have done him. Tell him only that I beg him to forgive, forgive, forgive me for everything....”

·  “I will tell him, I will tell him everything once more,” said Pierre. “But... I should like to know one thing....”

·  “Know what?” Natásha’s eyes asked.”

·  “I should like to know, did you love...” Pierre did not know how to refer to Anatole and flushed at the thought of him—“did you love that bad man?”

·  “Don’t call him bad!” said Natásha. “But I don’t know, don’t know at all....” She began to cry and a still greater sense of pity, tenderness, and love welled up in Pierre. He felt the tears trickle under his spectacles and hoped they would not be noticed.

·  “We won’t speak of it any more, my dear,” said Pierre, and his gentle, cordial tone suddenly seemed very strange to Natásha. “We won’t speak of it, my dear—I’ll tell him everything; but one thing I beg of you, consider me your friend and if you want help, advice, or simply to open your heart to someone—not now, but when your mind is clearer think of me!” He took her hand and kissed it. “I shall be happy if it’s in my power...” Pierre grew confused.

·  “Don’t speak to me like that. I am not worth it!” exclaimed Natásha and turned to leave the room, but Pierre held her hand. He knew he had something more to say to her. But when he said it he was amazed at his own words.

·  “Stop, stop! You have your whole life before you,” said he to her.

·  “Before me? No! All is over for me,” she replied with shame and self-abasement.

·  “All over?” he repeated. “If I were not myself, but the handsomest, cleverest, and best man in the world, and were free, I would this moment ask on my knees for your hand and your love!” For the first time for many days Natásha wept tears of gratitude and tenderness, and glancing at Pierre she went out of the room. Pierre too when she had gone almost ran into the anteroom, restraining tears of tenderness and joy that choked him, and without finding the sleeves of his fur cloak threw it on and got into his sleigh.”

   The Great Comet of 1812:

·  “Where to?” Pierre asked himself. “Where can I go now? Surely not to the Club or to pay calls?” All men seemed so pitiful, so poor, in comparison with this feeling of tenderness and love he experienced: in comparison with that softened, grateful, last look she had given him through her tears.”

·  “Home!” said Pierre, and despite twenty-two degrees of frost Fahrenheit he threw open the bearskin cloak from his broad chest and inhaled the air with joy.”

·  “It was clear and frosty. Above the dirty, ill-lit streets, above the black roofs, stretched the dark starry sky.”

·  “Almost in the center of it, above the Prechístenka Boulevard, surrounded and sprinkled on all sides by stars shone the enormous and brilliant comet of 1812—the comet which was said to portend all kinds of woes and the end of the world. In Pierre, however, that comet with its long luminous tail aroused no feeling of fear.

·  On the contrary he gazed joyfully, his eyes moist with tears, at this bright comet which, having traveled in its orbit with inconceivable velocity through immeasurable space, seemed suddenly—like an arrow piercing the earth—to remain fixed in a chosen spot, vigorously holding its tail erect, shining and displaying its white light amid countless other scintillating stars.

·  It seemed to Pierre that this comet fully responded to what was passing in his own softened and uplifted soul, now blossoming into a new life.”

[goldensmilingbird]

#i also headcanon bri as chronically ADHD; but felix is such a doomprepper they balance each other out :V

#catching his beautiful fiancée by the ahoge as she tries to leave the apartment in her pajamas

#because this is NOT following felix's incredibly specific 35-step morning routine >:|

#meanwhile bri leads their social life and felix is very content to just follow her instead of panicking about everything

#her zest for life enraptures him :)

Omg I've been headcanon-ing that felix is like that cause he's autistic for years it's great to see The Felix Agreste Enjoyer agreeing

(Mentor AU) Felix is so deep on the spectrum he classifies as shrimp colours!

He masks with minimal social interaction and an intimidating aura. Only Bri knows what a creature he truly is (and that's why she loves him)! 💖