peace or war

anonymous asked:

Prompt — AU where Natasha helps take care of Pierre after his imprisonment. (Your writing is lovely by the way! I always look forward to reading more of it.)

you! are so kind! i’m. tears. 

**Note: this only kind of came out in a her taking care of him kind of way, I hope that’s okay!!!!!!!!


“he’s been found,” marya says, rushing from the door, a solemn look present in her usually kind eyes. 

natasha stands still for a moment, processing, and suddenly feels her legs begin to buckle, forcing her back into her seat. fear washes over her. 

“pierre…he’s…is he alive?” she asks, her voice plagued by the tremors pulsating throughout her entire body. marya smiles, kindness returning to her soft features. 

“he’s alive. dolokhov found him with a group of prisoners, he’s…” she trails off, searching for the words, and ultimately decides to charge forward in her message,”he’s quite ill natasha. he’s been through so much… he’s been asleep for two days now.”

two days,” natasha said, her voice weak and straining, her hand gripping at the armrest on her chair. marya’s features softened even more.

“let’s see if we can pay a call,” she offers, and taking natasha’s hand pulls her quickly through the front door, asking for her coach in the process. 

their journey is not long, but marya can see that any length of journey is too long for natasha. she is pallid and sweaty, her eyes darting from spot to spot throughout the carriage, her breathing shallow. marya takes natasha’s hand and gives it a firm squeeze. 

“he’s going to be alright, you know.” 

“i just…i have to see that for myself.”

when they arrive they are taken to the head of the staff of the house, Ivan, who is standing in the front hall. his hands are crossed sturdily over his stomach, his presence offering a feeling of great security. 

“Princess Bolkonskaya, Countess Rostova,” he greets them, his face stern and hinting only slightly at nervousness, “…Count Bezukhov has not awakened yet.” 

“i was almost sure of that,” she replied, her sweet tone drifting smoothly through the air, “i was hoping… could we do anything? is there anything we can help with?” 

“i don’t know that there’s anything you can do right now, but,” he said, glancing at natasha, “i’m sure your presences would be most welcome to him if he is to awaken. i’ll take you to his chambers.” 

marya holds tightly to natasha’s hand as they ascend the grand staircase, a gesture which natasha greatly appreciates. they stop outside of his door. 

“one moment, please,” Ivan says, and he steps inside the room. 

natasha’s breathing is still shallow, her face still incredibly pale, her eyes distant. she looks at marya, who’s resolve is strong and unwavering, and is confused by it. 

“how can you be so calm?” natasha asks. 

“because…” marya begins, her voice cracking only slightly, “i….i have to believe that…that after all that’s happened, after all of the terrible things, something good will come. that pierre…” she clears her throat, fighting the tears now brimming in her eyes, “he’ll be alright.” 

natasha took marya’s free hand and squeezed, and pulled her into a tight embrace. ivan opens the door. 

“You may come in,” he says, gesturing in toward the room.

the bed is at the center of the room, an ornate four poster with a red canopy, larger than the beds natasha had in her homes. she notices pierre, dwarfed by the size of the bed. she moves slowly toward him, and takes in everything she can see about him bit by bit.

his eyes are sunken, dark circles lay underneath them. his cheeks are somewhat bony but rosy, an indication of returning health. his hair is long, uneven but clean. he has a long, thick beard, small grey hairs peeking out at points. there were scratches and bumps, and he has lost some weight, but natasha notices that he overwhelmingly looks…just like himself. 

it is a relief, and yet she finds her cheeks are hot, and tears begin to stream. 

she takes a seat beside him. 

“i’ll be back in a moment,” marya says, and she gives a half smile before leaving the room. 

natasha reaches cautiously, and takes pierres hand in hers, interlacing her fingers with his. she places a gentle, wet kiss on the back of his hand and holds tightly to it. 

“pierre,” she says, pushing his hair back, “oh pierre, what’s happened to you?”

she leans forward, holding his hand to her forehead, and weeps, filled with conflicting relief and anxiety, and her head begins to ache. 

“natasha…” she hears a faint voice. her eyes dart up to see pierre’s flutter open for a moment, to see a gentle smile cross his face, and for them to drift closed again, back into unconciousness. 

“i’m here. i’m here. i’m not leaving. not right now.” 

she feels a gentle squeeze on her hand, and smiles. 

cicadaemon  asked:

Pierre and Natasha cuddling in bed. Its cold outside but underneath the blanket theyre so warm. Natasha kisses Pierre's nose and he kisses her back. They are happy.

Christina you….you are here to save lives.


pierre stretches and grunts into consciousness, absentmindedly swinging his feel to the floor, and is startled by the cold of the wooden planks beneath his feet. he quickly withdraws them, tossing the covers back over himself and rubbing his feet rapidly together. 

“don’t….get up….stay here,” grumbles natasha, her voice muffled by her pillow. she turns onto her side to look at pierre, throwing her arm across his stomach, her hair pressed firmly against her cheek. he brushes it backward off of her face and she steals a kiss into the palm of his hand. 

“sneaky,” he chuckles, and settles back into the bed, positioning himself closer to natasha. she rouses herself a little more, blinks her eyes, stretches her arms above her head, scoots upward slightly. she moves closer into pierre, puts his arm around her waist, and pulls the covers over the both of them. 

“it’s so much warmer under here,” says natasha, scooting in closer still, “i really think it’s best for us to just… stay here all day…”

“oh you do, do you?” 

“no one can be truly productive in the cold. it slows down your thinking, makes your movements stiff. neither of us would get a thing done today, trust me. no, no, i’d much rather stay right here where everything’s clear and i can move just fine,” she teases, pulling herself on top of pierre, kissing his nose and laughing lightly. 

natasha props herself upward slightly and looks at pierre, his eyes crinkling at the corners, a smile spreading wide across his face. he moves his face toward hers, their lips brushing lightly, warmth radiating from everywhere, and he kisses her, first softly, and then much more deeply, the movement of his lips unrestrained and electric on hers, and breaks apart suddenly, breath rushing from him. 

“hold on a moment,” pierre says, giving natasha a quick kiss on her forehead. he leaps out of the bed and shuffles toward the door, swinging it open, the creak of the steps under the weight of his movements echoing through the halls.

a moment later he rushes back in, the door closing behind him a little too loudly, and all but leaps back under the covers. natasha gives him a look of confusion mixed with amusement, and giggles feverishly when the force of his body hitting the bed displaces her slightly. he settles back into his previous position and kisses her once more. a light moan emanates from natasha’s throat, reveling in the feeling of pierre. 

“just had to take care of something,” he says, barely pulling away, ”i’d like to have a day alone with my wife, if she doesn’t mind.”

“i don’t think she minds one bit,” natasha laughs, and pulls pierre back to her with a surprising and, pierre thinks to himself, delightful amount of force. 

“i’m sorry,” comes a servant’s voice drifting through the halls, “the count and countess are not accepting visitors today.”

i used to be better, i used to be better, i used to be better

i was lucky enough to see The Great Comet on broadway last week (Oak’s second performance as Pierre)!! and now i’m reading war & peace so,,, here’s a pierre

It’s January 2018. A new year has begun. The Imperial Theatre still lights up, the digital marquee showing “The Most Tony-Nominated Show of The Year!” The snowy posters outside read “Final Performance September 3rd!” The wall, showing the ensemble, is faded, but still reads “The Great Comet.” The barricades are outside the stagedoor, waiting for the show to end. Inside, the cast board, now dusty, is still up. The faint notes of the orchestra play from inside the theater. The audience members are living off of the pierogis in the theater. Standing near the stairs, Lucas Steele is still holding his “WOOOOOOAAAAOOOOAAAAHHH” note. There is scattered applause every few minutes. Dave Malloy sits in the orchestra pit, proud. The Comet never ends.