#war and peace bbc

[istanblogs]

Deep and sad eyes of lovers..

Pride and Prejudice - Mr Darcy

Atonement - Robbie Turner

War and Peace - Andrei Bolkonsky

Peaky Blinders - Thomas Shelby

Anna Karenina - Alexei Vronsky

Anna Karenina - Konstantin Levin

Victoria - Prince Albert

[alleyskywalker]

this might be blasphemy to a war & peace fan such as yourself (in which case, i apologise) but the only war & peace content i've come into contact with is the bbc mini series from 2016 and i was just wondering what you thought of that? i remember thoroughly enjoying it (i do love james norton, aneurin barnard, and callum turner), but i have no idea how faithful/good the adaptation is. i was just curious about your thoughts :)

Oh boy. Ok, well first, I'm really flattered that you're asking, honestly. I'm just one person with an opinion after all lol. But ok, if you're up for a longer read (and don't mind negative reviews too much) I did reaction/review posts as I watched. That will give you a pretty detailed overview of my thoughts, though mind that they're definitely coming from the POV of someone who loves the book and is watching an adaptation as an adaptation not it's own independent thing.

I was always so into the book that I really couldn't imagine how watching this show as an independent thing would feel. As an adaptation...I didn't hate it entirely? But it my second-to-last favorite adaptation, maaaybe tied with the 1970s BBC adaptation. The only one I like less is the 1950s US movie. (The ones I always recommend are the Soviet one, if you want something super faithful but don't mind something very is Very Clearly An Old Movie In Every Way or the 2007, which takes a lot more liberties but is relatively modern and fun as it's own thing, and I think is faithful in spirit and characterizations for the most part let's not talk about 2007 Anatole despite not always being super plot-faithful.)

The 2016 does have it's virtues I suppose, but everything I can think of, I can think of another adaptation that did it better. Faithfulness to plot isn't really it's problem, granted. It's actually quite faithful to actual plot points/beats and has some minor characters other adaptations skip (Boris, Berg). But it's baffling to me in its many instances of re-writing canon scenes that didn't need to be at all. The casting is very meh. The only actors I think fit their parts truly well from the major characters are the ones for Pierre, NIkolai (despite being blonde), Sonya and Marya. Granted, Middleton wasn't so much a badly cast Helene as just the part was poorly written and maybe directed. I like Turner and he's not a bad Anatole either, tbf, but again....this was not the right casting decision, especially when you have Norton as Andrei Bolkonsky. But it's not just the casting. The characterizations also often felt off in a really weird way that can be hard to articulate and describe overall??

The pacing was way too fast. Let's not talk about the costumes.

hnjdgl So yea tl;dr: it's not the worst thing I've seen and if I hadn't read the book I'd probably enjoy it fine, but as an adaptation, while hitting a lot of plot points and being relatively accurate in terms of those, it leaves a lot to be desired imo.

[stranger-in-a-strange-new-world]

This is my plea to anyone who has seen war and peace (bbc) to please give me the timestamps for the leg scene. I looks so good but the bbc had to go the whole hog. I would be most grateful.

[aldenhan]

Natasha and Pierre throughout several adaptations of War and Peace

[BBC War and Peace (Harper, 2016), War and Peace (Bondarchuk, 1965-1967), War and Peace (Prokofiev), BBC War and Peace (Conroy, 1972), War and Peace (Vidor, 1956), War and Peace (Dornhelm, 2007), Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812 (Malloy)]

[turnerintoabutler]

😍😍😍

[danosrosegarden]

How does Dano's Rose Garden Pierre stim on his lover? (for Valentine's fluffiness)

anyone else but you - pierre bezukhov x gn!reader headcanons ₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

{valentine's requests: one ♡}

{contains: descriptions of anxiety paired with some sweet fluff. <3}

♡ Pierre's got a chronic ache sizzling in the round curve of his jaw and a constant wave of curdled dread sloshing back and forth in his gut. When you've taken beating after beating from everybody and everything around you, you begin to fear stepping out into the light and being seen.

♡ You're working hard on trying to pick apart those thick walls he's built up around himself as he's aged. You're diligently waiting for him to show you his true self: a wildly funny and intelligent man with powerful opinions and gobs of plans and dreams hatching in his brain. You've stolen small glimpses of him before, but each time he catches his voice rising up too loudly or hears his laugh echoing too fiercely, he shuts himself down.

♡ The truth is, his heart is blackened with worry. He's plagued with anxiety, haunted by the fear that one day, he will just be too much for you and you'll be gone. He can't afford to lose somebody like you...somebody who keeps up with his unbridled rambles and challenges his views. Somebody who sees the untamed jumble he is and holds it gently, loves it dearly. You. He can't afford to lose you.

♡ You can feel the deep, blanketed worry radiating off of him when you attend parties together. He'll hold your hand under the table and nod along to whoever's speaking, his trembling fingers playing along with yours. They trace around your fingertips, they rub against your skin. You feel his fingers snake from your hand to your thigh, where he drums them against your skin, playing piano on your leg. You watch his legs bounce and his tongue wet his lips over and over again, and you just wish he'd stop...stop worrying about his place in society, stop doubting his value. To you, he is all you see. He is the black, starry tarp spread across the backs of your eyes when they flutter shut before you drift away into rest. He's the soft, cloudy dreamscape that sparkles around you when you finally fall into sleep. There could never be anyone else but him.

♡ Pierre's got work to do, for sure. Maybe he'll never be fully comfortable or fearless in front of crowds that only see him as childish brute, careless oaf. But he's at least got you to calm his raging storm. You help quell his screeching nerves just by sitting next to him and allowing his hand to squeeze your thigh or play with the rings on your fingers. You're there, and that's enough.

[ethereal-maia]

I HAVE TIME TO WATCH MY SHOW YAYY

[nixonyaoi]

anthony hopkins as Pierre bezukhov in war and peace (1972)

[safirefire]

“Outside of the song, Lamar has never been accused of any form of domestic violence. [x]” ok thanks bbc I can completely ignore drake now

[madeleineengland]

War and Peace (2016)

[istanblogs]

Brotherhood is about feelings, not only blood relative.

Grantchester - Sidney and Geordie

Poldark - Ross and Dwight

War and Peace - Pierre and Andrei

Tudors - Henry and Charles

Victoria - Albert and Ernest

Peaky Blinders - Thomas and Arthur

Bridgerton - Anthony and Benedict

Titanic - Jack and Fabrizio

Pride and Prejudice - Darcy and Bingley

[empirearchives]

Nobody:

Me:

[thebirdandhersong]

Watching the movie I've been wanting to watch for months and lads. Lads. It's true. The boys really ARE in the boat.

[always-andromeda]

– 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: so uhhhhhh...I wrote this around the end of July during last year and I just...never found the time to edit and post it...until now! because lmao, getting wine drunk last weekend sparked my memory once more. hello again Pierre nation, I have remembered the magic and the softness that this man makes me feel.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (MDNI), cunnilingus, our boy is wine drunk as hell (and also very soft), brief usage of pet names (sweet boy, darling, dear), nothing else I can think of!!

It’s all hands and giggles as Pierre drags you into some room. You can still smell the rich, mulled wine on his breath with every heavy inhalation he takes between kisses.

Dolokhov had said that he purchased the cask from some merchant in France. The year was excellent and though Pierre almost turned him down, he couldn’t help but give in when Dolokhov said, “Just for old time’s sake.”

Pierre rarely drinks now. Not since Helene or any of his rambunctious younger years. No longer merely the Count’s bastard son, Pierre is the Count. He has a reputation. And he’s well aware of what even a few sips of god forsaken vodka will do to him. But Dolokhov is a friend. And even on the best days, Pierre has a hard time saying no to anyone.

The conversation flowed naturally and before he knew it, one glass turned to two, two turned to three, three to four, and suddenly he was off his rocker. Absolutely wrecked, well oiled, three sheets to the wind, and utterly inebriated.

Dolokhov, being able to hold himself better just kept pouring until Pierre simply grabbed the bottle by it's neck and swung it back so far that he nearly tipped over in his seat. And as he swallows the last few swigs of the wine, you curse that frilly collar of his that hides his Adam's apple. You're sure it's bobbing jaggedly, daring you to suck marks into his skin that'll turn just as deep red as his drink.

As soon as Dolokhov retires to his own room, you find that you actually like this new version of your husband. Some men are angry, mean, and forceful drunks.

But not Pierre. Not even though he practically towers over you and rivals your own strength. Because when he does leverage that strength, it's in the best way possible. You like the way his hands greedily roam your figure and the way he puts more of his weight on you with each kiss. He compresses you against the closed door like if he pressed hard enough, you’d become one bundle of warm, intoxicated flesh.

He’s more daring this way. Perhaps the wine elevates his feelings or perhaps he’s had these urges inside all along, he just keeps them locked away.

Because a gentleman doesn’t do these things; doesn’t give in to such carnal desires. He can’t help it. Not when you look the way you do tonight. Not that you look any differently than you normally do. But the burgundy colors his view and sends his imagination into overdrive as he thinks about mussing up that coiled hair of yours and making you shed the layers upon layers of fine fabric keeping him from really feeling your plush skin.

“Oh, I love you…” he mumbles between kisses. His lips miss yours just slightly, instead landing on the corner of your mouth. You giggle as his nose knocks into your cheek. You gently take him by the chin and pull him away so you can catch your breath and get a good look at him. He’s got stars in his eyes already, pupils blown wide with want.

“I love you too, Pierre,” you smile, then reel him back in and give his buzzing brain a bit of a break as you lead the kiss. He melts into your touch like he always does; leans into your hands on his face and groans desperately. Through the befuddled fog of his mind, a lightbulb goes off. He separates from you once more, eyes lidded and a crooked, toothy smile plastered across his face.

“I want to give you something,” he says, brows already raising hopefully and hands rubbing your thighs lovingly.

You bit the inside of your cheek to stifle a smirk. He’s adorable like this, cheeks flushed and glasses slipping down his nose. Whatever he’s got planned can’t be so bad. In the home of a friend, your sweet Pierre wouldn’t dare do more than his heated little kisses.

So you turn your nose up, challenging him to do his worst. “Go ahead, my sweet boy. Give me what you’ve got.”

His smile seems to get impossibly wider as he kisses you searingly once more and trails down your chin over the curve of your chest. You’re confused until he drops to his knees with little grace.

From his spot on the floor, he buries his head into your skirt, his nose poking you a little too close to your core. You sigh at the sudden ache; humbled by the pure lust as he wraps his arms around your legs and hugs them to his chest.

“So beautiful. Radiant. Bewitching. Ravishing. Heavenly. Enchanting. So…so…divine, darling,” he grasps at the ends of all the prettiest words he can think of, and still they are not enough to describe the floaty, fluttering feeling in his belly. You could cry right then and there as he glances back up.

Always a gentleman, with his hands fisted around the hem of your flowing skirt, he says huskily, “May I?” 

You nod eagerly, accepting his unspoken proposal with no hesitation.

Pierre smiles lazily once more before disappearing beneath the fabric. You stare up at the ceiling and count your blessings, hoping that no one needs to use this room as you feel him poke around between your legs. You try not to think about how mortifying it would be to be caught by a servant with the great Count Bezukhov forming a squirming lump under your skirt. You don’t hear him moan as he pulls your bloomers down.

In this darkness, he can’t see your heat, but he can practically sense how badly you need him to alleviate the ache. Despite his altered state, he maneuvers your flushed cunt with soft and slow movements. He familiarizes himself with your folds and crevices in the dark like the tips of his fingers are candles, the fire already beginning to dim.

Until he feels the hood that obscures the pearl he's seeking. Gently–oh so gently–he pulls it back and rubs a finger over the bead. And he's more proud than he'd like to admit when you jolt. You're sensitive; just like he likes.

And that's the pocket of oxygen he needs to burst into flames. His tongue goes in for the kill. You let out a soft squeal as he laps away at you like a parched man.

Your hands want to fly to his hair, but his soft locks are hidden by your skirt. So instead you try to grasp his head over the fabric and sharply jut your hips forward into his mouth. His nose knocks into your clit each time and it’s almost like those impacts alone could knock the breath out of you. He doesn’t need to work at you long before your legs begin to shudder.

Pierre wraps his arms around you once again to keep you steady as the steep climax rustles your entire being. He pulls your bloomers back up and places a polite kiss right over your cunt before re-emerging. His face is as red as a tomato and a few drops of sweat roll down his upper lip.

And of course he gazes up at you again through his now fogged up glasses and says dreamily, “Thank you, dear.”

[tlbburke]

As if filming Musketeers wasn't enough, during the start of S3, Tom was also filming WAP. Now Musketeers was always good vs evil, but S3 was more: wrapping up for sure, but also finding happiness within. Nearly every episode has a little story of someone finding some sort of internal peace or happiness. Even nasty Feron 😪. Watching WAP again, I wonder how much inspiration the writers of Musketeers took from Tolstoy's classic?🤔

Credit to creators

[danosrosegarden]

that fateful night - pierre bezukhov x fem!reader headcanons (NSFW) ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

{kinktober: day twenty two. prompt: virginity. 🎃}

{contains: anxiety surrounding sex, very mild descriptions of penetrative sex, and pierre generally being a sweetheart to you. <3}

☽ It seemed like a given: you would wait until you were wed to be intimate with Pierre. You didn't feel pressured by the searing hot, disapproving glare of God, you simply desired something special. And truth be told, lightning strikes of stomach-churning apprehension crackled through your body when you thought about sex.

☽ It wasn't as if you didn't want him. Quite the contrary. Your bones were simply coated in fear. Your blood was plagued. Molded and diseased by a ravaging dread. The dread when you thought of how it must hurt, how it might not live up to your expectations, the dread of feeling far too vulnerable and bare, even as his wife.

☽ Pierre thought you were an enchanting lady, the glimmering highlight of each party he appeared at. You were mysterious and spoke less than the more boisterous characters at the table, yet your fierce intelligence sweetened each word that dripped from your lips. He was determined to learn about you, find out about your goals, your hobbies, your aspirations, your dreams.

☽ Your dear friends had mouthfuls to say about your decision to accept his proposal, but their words melted away like slushed snow when you peered into his eyes, always sparkling with love and excitement to speak to you.

☽ All this to say, when that fateful night finally falls, Pierre would be a gentle and attentive lover, holding your hips with a loving grip as he'd rock into you and examine each and every change that twitched upon your face. He'd breathe in the intoxicating smell of each wrinkle of pleasure that creased your skin. He'd softly break your cupped hand away from your mouth. Don't do that. I want to hear you.

☽ He simply could not live with the thought of causing hurt to you in any way. He'd be slow, deliberate, tender, as he dragged in and out of you, doing anything he could grasp at to make you comfortable and feel safe with him.

☽ Life did feel safe with him, despite his tendency to overexcite himself and get into quarrels he had struggles getting out of. Even still, you had a lifetime of marital euphoria, slow, sleep-soaked mornings, and bliss-injected long nights to spend in his company. Your nerves had no reason to twist and buzz within your skin when you had Pierre by your side. He'd be there to hold, to comfort, to love passionately, wildly.