a million colours in your mind

Pyotr Fyodorovich Yussupov. I'm a professional musician and born and raised Muscovite, now based out of London. (Independent RP blog. Will roleplay with anyone! Normal FC: Sam Claflin)

[sexlife-e]

Amber Heard in The Danish Girl movie clip [x]

[iwantlifetobeart]

Sam Claflin for Wonderland Magazine by Ben Parks. [x]

[mancandykings]

Sam Claflin photographed by Joachim Mueller Ruchholtz for InStyle UK (November 2015) 

[its-darkinsidee]

Sam Claflin durante los GQ Men of the Year 2015

[pyotrfyodorovich]

Your life is a lie. You kill, that’s who you are, that’s what you know, that’s what you do. You grind people into dust. You have no heart, no soul, no conscience. Your hands are covered in blood. Do you care about anything? Do you love anyone?

---

Moscow, 1961. Pyotr Fyodorovich Yussupov and Ekaterina Sebastianovna Moranova are paired up for a long-standing undercover mission. Pyotr and Ekaterina have never met before--but in a matter of hours, they’ll be flying to America as newlyweds. On Moscow’s command, they’ll have children together, raise a family, play the roles of good, clean-cut middle-class Americans--but it’s on Moscow’s command too that they’ll spy, fight, lie, fuck, and kill for their country. The KGB officers next door. Personal feelings notwithstanding, they have a role to play for their nation. Love for the motherland is the only kind that matters. Anything else need not come into it.  

Washington D.C., 1981. Peter and Kathy Jennings have three beautiful children, a thriving travel agency, and lovely home in the suburbs of the nation’s capital. They might never have learned to love each other, but who cares? Love or not, they are the crown jewels of Moscow’s Illegals Program. What happens behind the scenes of their perfect suburban life need only concern them and their handler. Everything is going perfectly--until FBI counter-intelligence agent Christopher Ralston and his son just so happen to move in next door.

[luthordamnvers]

[lukebrandens-deactivated2015111]

The Riot Club

[samclaflindaily]

mrsamclaflin NY

[kathymoran]

-Here it comes, Pyotr. I love you. -And there it goes, Kath. Away it goes.

Pyotr Yussupov came back from the Somme with nightmares and a ruthless ambition to build something for himself from the dirt on which he’s been choking all his life. So he built himself a kingdom on the streets of Birmingham, the bones of thieves’ honour as his brick. He fixes horse races and protects the neighborhood for a price, looks after the beggars and communists and outcasts, plants his people in the police force that is full to bursting from the milk of corruption. His gang has a name, a reputation. The Peaky Blinders are bad men, but they are the city’s own bad men, its protection from the law. The lesser of two evils.

Then his men steal a crate that was supposed to hold whiskey but has enough guns and ammunition to start a small revolution instead, and a chief inspector comes on Churchill’s orders to track it down. If the guns are sold to the IRA, they’ll be damned. Meanwhile Kathy Moran applies for a job as a barmaid at the Blinders’ pub, sings sweet songs to soldiers and gangsters, and unflinchingly holds Pyotr’s gaze as she tells him that she’s a good Catholic girl from London. Liar, he thinks; he’d be a fool not to have ears in London, not to notice how she forgets to cross herself before entering church. A Protestant liar with the voice of an angel – Pyotr knows how to use people like that, how to draw her deeper into his work and his life. Learns, on the way, how to let her make him laugh. But he must be a fool after all, because he never once thinks, Spy.

[the peaky blinders au] famousattitudesofunconcern

[samclaflindaily]

Sam Claflin taking a break on set while filming ‘Me Before You’ in Majorca, Spain

[kathymoran]

The goblins of the city may hold committees to divide a single potato, but the strong and the cruel still sit on the hill, and drink vodka, and wear black furs, and slurp borscht by the pail, like blood. Children may wear through their socks marching in righteous parades, but Papa never misses his wine with supper. Therefore, it is better to be strong and cruel than to be fair. At least, one eats better that way. And morality is more dependent on the state of one’s stomach than of one’s nation.

[pyotrfyodorovich]

If I Can Learn to Do It ~ Kathy & Pyotr (Anastasia AU)

Pyotr has mellowed towards Kathy considerably since the catastrophe on the train; his nose almost feels healed again from when she’d sprained it by elbowing him accidentally-on-purpose during their escape, and he finds it’s considerably easier to be pleasant when his face isn’t throbbing. But a week later, as they’re travelling on foot through Poland, Kathy reacts to the news that she’ll have to actually pretend to be the Grand Duchess as well as Pyotr might have expected. Pyotr’s best efforts at persuasion failing, it comes down to Chris to convince the girl. And somehow, he manages it. Pyotr watches from a distance with anxiety and no faint disbelief, but he knows better than to question Chris’ methods, especially when they yield such results. Pyotr’s smiling sunnily when the two come and rejoin him he can practically see Kathy opening up, trusting Chris, coming round to the idea. God knows how Chris has done it–but Pyotr’s not going to question. He’s smiling sunnily when the two come and rejoin him. “Are we ready to begin?” he asks, looking with raised eyebrows between the two of them.

[kathymoran]

Kathy doesn’t remember anyone ever believing in her the way that Chris seems to, or caring about what she wants in the genuine way that he has. “It’s worth the effort,” he’d said, simply and with a smile. “You’re worth the effort. If you’re the princess – and I really do think that you might be – then it’s your family’s history. And if not, well, it’s the history of your homeland.” Never-mind that it’s the homeland that has never felt like home; never-mind that Kathy is so focused on running to Paris that she forgets that she is also running away from Russia. 

There is something about Pyotr’s smile that sets Kathy’s teeth on edge, however. It feels like he doesn’t care about anything other than grooming her to be the Grand Duchess. In the rare moments that she actually thinks about it, his enthusiasm is almost as suspicious as it is irritating. Before she can throw a half-clever, half-mocking comment Pyotr’s way, though, Chris offers his elbow and intercepts with, “You were born in a palace by the sea.” She looks at him, momentarily silent, and he grins and adds, “You rode horseback when you were only three, you know. And not side-saddle, either. Had your own horse.”

[pyotrfyodorovich]

Pyotr feels a strange, uncomfortable prick of jealousy as Chris offers Kathy his arm. The man has been his sole parental figure since he was twelve years old; he’s used to a certain monopoly on Chris’ kindness and care and loving attention, and as grown-up as he is now, he doesn’t like sharing it one bit. But he also doesn’t like feeling like a third wheel, so he jumps in with, “It was a white pony. Your father had it imported from Arabia for you and trained it himself. You rode out with him for an hour or two every afternoon.”

[pyotrfyodorovich]

 kathymoran:

Kathy is visibly surprised at that. “I thought royal families are supposed to be cool and restrained,” she mutters, but she can’t hide the note of longing. What was it like to have someone so devoted to your happiness?

“Your father cared for you very much,” Chris says in an odd tone, his smile just a little tight around the edges. “He had much more caring in him than he gave himself credit, if you ask me.” He clears his throat and begins to lead her down the dirt road, his face momentarily turned away. Then he continues: “You were quite a troublemaker, I’ll have you know. Always sneaking down to the kitchens, getting in the way. All of the servant children knew your face more than they would have liked.” He makes eye contact with Pyotr, smiling faintly.

Kathy is worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, her expression naked and earnest. “How do you know all this?”

Chris shrugs. “I was an adviser to the tsar. Knew him since we were a little younger than you are now, probably.” It’s offhand, casual – it doesn’t matter.

Pyotr knows Chris’ history with the last tsar, and knows damn well that it does matter. He looks at Chris out of the corner of his eye, wondering at the casualness with which he manages to speak about these things. Pyotr’s never been properly in love before, but he doesn’t think he would be able to manage it. Maybe it’s just Pyotr, but the silence feels a bit loaded and awkward. He doesn’t want Kathy to ask any more questions about the nature of Chris’ relationship with the tsar; wants to spare him the pain, the indignity. So he jumps in with another detail, another story. “ One time when you were on a family picnic, you accidentally pushed the cook into a creek. You were the servant children’s hero for a little while after that.” He grins, warming up into the memory. “Until the next time you sneaked down to the kitchens and tried to steal a block of ice cream.”

[kathymoran]

Chris has had over ten years to learn to speak of the last tsar of Russia with the proper amount of composure, and even while Sebastian was alive there was only so much warmth Chris could allow into his tone. It stings, of course, that that he must keep up the secrecy even now when he is alone. But that is a bitterness that he knows very well how to live with.

Kathy is grinning, turning to beam at Pyotr. “Did I succeed? I bet I did. Stealing ice cream can’t be too hard if you’re there to eat the evidence.” She hasn’t had ice cream at the orphanage, but she’s sure that she has eaten it sometime. She makes a face. “That wasn’t very princess-y, was it?” She sounds too pleased about it.

[pyotrfyodorovich]

“Yeah, you succeeded, and the cook was furious, because the ice cream was supposed to be served at a ball that night. But then again, he should have seen it coming–you loved ice cream.” In the back of his mind, Pyotr knows that the princess’ famed lack of courtly decorum is perhaps their greatest saving grace; it’ll explain any of Kathy’s lingering rough edges by the time they finish with her. But for once, there’s not a hint of calculation or disapproval or annoyance or dislike in his tone; if anything, he sounds just as gleeful as Kathy is. “And nah, it wasn’t very princess-y. But you were such a cute child, you could have gotten away with murder.”

[kathymoran]

“Oh, I’m sure that being royalty didn’t protect me from any sort of serious repercussions,” Kathy says wryly. Next to her, Chris snorts.

“Shoulders back, love,” he coaches gently; evidently he is taking this more seriously than she and Pyotr for once. “Chin up, back straight. You’re a princess, aren’t ya?” He steps away from her and demonstrates, tall and confident. “Try to float.”

Kathy stretches her arms out and assumes the position with a serious expression, her head high. “How’s this?” It’s impossible to keep a note of amusement from her tone, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Am I floating?” 

[pyotrfyodorovich]

Pyotr steps back to look at her from more of a distance from behind, a smile on his face even as he tries to seriously judge her. “Like a little boat,” he pronounces, his smile widening as he assumes the posture himself. All of a sudden, he feels like a little boy again, trying to mimic the elegance and grace of those who lived upstairs. “You’re not bad at this, y’know. You’ve got a knack for it.” 

[luthordamnvers]

It’s a job. You can quit anytime. She is not your responsability.

[pyotrfyodorovich]

If I Can Learn to Do It ~ Kathy & Pyotr (Anastasia AU)

Pyotr has mellowed towards Kathy considerably since the catastrophe on the train; his nose almost feels healed again from when she’d sprained it by elbowing him accidentally-on-purpose during their escape, and he finds it’s considerably easier to be pleasant when his face isn’t throbbing. But a week later, as they’re travelling on foot through Poland, Kathy reacts to the news that she’ll have to actually pretend to be the Grand Duchess as well as Pyotr might have expected. Pyotr’s best efforts at persuasion failing, it comes down to Chris to convince the girl. And somehow, he manages it. Pyotr watches from a distance with anxiety and no faint disbelief, but he knows better than to question Chris’ methods, especially when they yield such results. Pyotr’s smiling sunnily when the two come and rejoin him he can practically see Kathy opening up, trusting Chris, coming round to the idea. God knows how Chris has done it–but Pyotr’s not going to question. He’s smiling sunnily when the two come and rejoin him. “Are we ready to begin?” he asks, looking with raised eyebrows between the two of them.

[kathymoran]

Kathy doesn’t remember anyone ever believing in her the way that Chris seems to, or caring about what she wants in the genuine way that he has. “It’s worth the effort,” he’d said, simply and with a smile. “You’re worth the effort. If you’re the princess – and I really do think that you might be – then it’s your family’s history. And if not, well, it’s the history of your homeland.” Never-mind that it’s the homeland that has never felt like home; never-mind that Kathy is so focused on running to Paris that she forgets that she is also running away from Russia. 

There is something about Pyotr’s smile that sets Kathy’s teeth on edge, however. It feels like he doesn’t care about anything other than grooming her to be the Grand Duchess. In the rare moments that she actually thinks about it, his enthusiasm is almost as suspicious as it is irritating. Before she can throw a half-clever, half-mocking comment Pyotr’s way, though, Chris offers his elbow and intercepts with, “You were born in a palace by the sea.” She looks at him, momentarily silent, and he grins and adds, “You rode horseback when you were only three, you know. And not side-saddle, either. Had your own horse.”

[pyotrfyodorovich]

Pyotr feels a strange, uncomfortable prick of jealousy as Chris offers Kathy his arm. The man has been his sole parental figure since he was twelve years old; he’s used to a certain monopoly on Chris’ kindness and care and loving attention, and as grown-up as he is now, he doesn’t like sharing it one bit. But he also doesn’t like feeling like a third wheel, so he jumps in with, “It was a white pony. Your father had it imported from Arabia for you and trained it himself. You rode out with him for an hour or two every afternoon.”

[pyotrfyodorovich]

 kathymoran:

Kathy is visibly surprised at that. “I thought royal families are supposed to be cool and restrained,” she mutters, but she can’t hide the note of longing. What was it like to have someone so devoted to your happiness?

“Your father cared for you very much,” Chris says in an odd tone, his smile just a little tight around the edges. “He had much more caring in him than he gave himself credit, if you ask me.” He clears his throat and begins to lead her down the dirt road, his face momentarily turned away. Then he continues: “You were quite a troublemaker, I’ll have you know. Always sneaking down to the kitchens, getting in the way. All of the servant children knew your face more than they would have liked.” He makes eye contact with Pyotr, smiling faintly.

Kathy is worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, her expression naked and earnest. “How do you know all this?”

Chris shrugs. “I was an adviser to the tsar. Knew him since we were a little younger than you are now, probably.” It’s offhand, casual – it doesn’t matter.

Pyotr knows Chris’ history with the last tsar, and knows damn well that it does matter. He looks at Chris out of the corner of his eye, wondering at the casualness with which he manages to speak about these things. Pyotr’s never been properly in love before, but he doesn’t think he would be able to manage it. Maybe it’s just Pyotr, but the silence feels a bit loaded and awkward. He doesn’t want Kathy to ask any more questions about the nature of Chris’ relationship with the tsar; wants to spare him the pain, the indignity. So he jumps in with another detail, another story. “ One time when you were on a family picnic, you accidentally pushed the cook into a creek. You were the servant children’s hero for a little while after that.” He grins, warming up into the memory. “Until the next time you sneaked down to the kitchens and tried to steal a block of ice cream.”

[kathymoran]

Chris has had over ten years to learn to speak of the last tsar of Russia with the proper amount of composure, and even while Sebastian was alive there was only so much warmth Chris could allow into his tone. It stings, of course, that that he must keep up the secrecy even now when he is alone. But that is a bitterness that he knows very well how to live with.

Kathy is grinning, turning to beam at Pyotr. “Did I succeed? I bet I did. Stealing ice cream can’t be too hard if you’re there to eat the evidence.” She hasn’t had ice cream at the orphanage, but she’s sure that she has eaten it sometime. She makes a face. “That wasn’t very princess-y, was it?” She sounds too pleased about it.

[pyotrfyodorovich]

“Yeah, you succeeded, and the cook was furious, because the ice cream was supposed to be served at a ball that night. But then again, he should have seen it coming--you loved ice cream.” In the back of his mind, Pyotr knows that the princess’ famed lack of courtly decorum is perhaps their greatest saving grace; it’ll explain any of Kathy’s lingering rough edges by the time they finish with her. But for once, there’s not a hint of calculation or disapproval or annoyance or dislike in his tone; if anything, he sounds just as gleeful as Kathy is. “And nah, it wasn’t very princess-y. But you were such a cute child, you could have gotten away with murder.”

[pyotrfyodorovich]

If I Can Learn to Do It ~ Kathy & Pyotr (Anastasia AU)

Pyotr has mellowed towards Kathy considerably since the catastrophe on the train; his nose almost feels healed again from when she’d sprained it by elbowing him accidentally-on-purpose during their escape, and he finds it’s considerably easier to be pleasant when his face isn’t throbbing. But a week later, as they’re travelling on foot through Poland, Kathy reacts to the news that she’ll have to actually pretend to be the Grand Duchess as well as Pyotr might have expected. Pyotr’s best efforts at persuasion failing, it comes down to Chris to convince the girl. And somehow, he manages it. Pyotr watches from a distance with anxiety and no faint disbelief, but he knows better than to question Chris’ methods, especially when they yield such results. Pyotr’s smiling sunnily when the two come and rejoin him he can practically see Kathy opening up, trusting Chris, coming round to the idea. God knows how Chris has done it–but Pyotr’s not going to question. He’s smiling sunnily when the two come and rejoin him. “Are we ready to begin?” he asks, looking with raised eyebrows between the two of them.

[kathymoran]

Kathy doesn’t remember anyone ever believing in her the way that Chris seems to, or caring about what she wants in the genuine way that he has. “It’s worth the effort,” he’d said, simply and with a smile. “You’re worth the effort. If you’re the princess – and I really do think that you might be – then it’s your family’s history. And if not, well, it’s the history of your homeland.” Never-mind that it’s the homeland that has never felt like home; never-mind that Kathy is so focused on running to Paris that she forgets that she is also running away from Russia. 

There is something about Pyotr’s smile that sets Kathy’s teeth on edge, however. It feels like he doesn’t care about anything other than grooming her to be the Grand Duchess. In the rare moments that she actually thinks about it, his enthusiasm is almost as suspicious as it is irritating. Before she can throw a half-clever, half-mocking comment Pyotr’s way, though, Chris offers his elbow and intercepts with, “You were born in a palace by the sea.” She looks at him, momentarily silent, and he grins and adds, “You rode horseback when you were only three, you know. And not side-saddle, either. Had your own horse.”

[pyotrfyodorovich]

Pyotr feels a strange, uncomfortable prick of jealousy as Chris offers Kathy his arm. The man has been his sole parental figure since he was twelve years old; he’s used to a certain monopoly on Chris’ kindness and care and loving attention, and as grown-up as he is now, he doesn’t like sharing it one bit. But he also doesn’t like feeling like a third wheel, so he jumps in with, “It was a white pony. Your father had it imported from Arabia for you and trained it himself. You rode out with him for an hour or two every afternoon.”

[pyotrfyodorovich]

 kathymoran:

Kathy is visibly surprised at that. “I thought royal families are supposed to be cool and restrained,” she mutters, but she can’t hide the note of longing. What was it like to have someone so devoted to your happiness?

“Your father cared for you very much,” Chris says in an odd tone, his smile just a little tight around the edges. “He had much more caring in him than he gave himself credit, if you ask me.” He clears his throat and begins to lead her down the dirt road, his face momentarily turned away. Then he continues: “You were quite a troublemaker, I’ll have you know. Always sneaking down to the kitchens, getting in the way. All of the servant children knew your face more than they would have liked.” He makes eye contact with Pyotr, smiling faintly.

Kathy is worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, her expression naked and earnest. “How do you know all this?”

Chris shrugs. “I was an adviser to the tsar. Knew him since we were a little younger than you are now, probably.” It’s offhand, casual – it doesn’t matter.

Pyotr knows Chris’ history with the last tsar, and knows damn well that it does matter. He looks at Chris out of the corner of his eye, wondering at the casualness with which he manages to speak about these things. Pyotr’s never been properly in love before, but he doesn’t think he would be able to manage it. Maybe it’s just Pyotr, but the silence feels a bit loaded and awkward. He doesn’t want Kathy to ask any more questions about the nature of Chris’ relationship with the tsar; wants to spare him the pain, the indignity. So he jumps in with another detail, another story. “ One time when you were on a family picnic, you accidentally pushed the cook into a creek. You were the servant children’s hero for a little while after that.” He grins, warming up into the memory. “Until the next time you sneaked down to the kitchens and tried to steal a block of ice cream.”

[kathymoran]

Our hearts beat so loud the neighbours think we’re fucking when I’m just trying to find the nerve to touch your face. 

- Andrea Gibson, Pansies

[pyotrfyodorovich]

If I Can Learn to Do It ~ Kathy & Pyotr (Anastasia AU)

Pyotr has mellowed towards Kathy considerably since the catastrophe on the train; his nose almost feels healed again from when she’d sprained it by elbowing him accidentally-on-purpose during their escape, and he finds it’s considerably easier to be pleasant when his face isn’t throbbing. But a week later, as they’re travelling on foot through Poland, Kathy reacts to the news that she’ll have to actually pretend to be the Grand Duchess as well as Pyotr might have expected. Pyotr’s best efforts at persuasion failing, it comes down to Chris to convince the girl. And somehow, he manages it. Pyotr watches from a distance with anxiety and no faint disbelief, but he knows better than to question Chris’ methods, especially when they yield such results. Pyotr’s smiling sunnily when the two come and rejoin him he can practically see Kathy opening up, trusting Chris, coming round to the idea. God knows how Chris has done it–but Pyotr’s not going to question. He’s smiling sunnily when the two come and rejoin him. “Are we ready to begin?” he asks, looking with raised eyebrows between the two of them.

[kathymoran]

Kathy doesn’t remember anyone ever believing in her the way that Chris seems to, or caring about what she wants in the genuine way that he has. “It’s worth the effort,” he’d said, simply and with a smile. “You’re worth the effort. If you’re the princess – and I really do think that you might be – then it’s your family’s history. And if not, well, it’s the history of your homeland.” Never-mind that it’s the homeland that has never felt like home; never-mind that Kathy is so focused on running to Paris that she forgets that she is also running away from Russia. 

There is something about Pyotr’s smile that sets Kathy’s teeth on edge, however. It feels like he doesn’t care about anything other than grooming her to be the Grand Duchess. In the rare moments that she actually thinks about it, his enthusiasm is almost as suspicious as it is irritating. Before she can throw a half-clever, half-mocking comment Pyotr’s way, though, Chris offers his elbow and intercepts with, “You were born in a palace by the sea.” She looks at him, momentarily silent, and he grins and adds, “You rode horseback when you were only three, you know. And not side-saddle, either. Had your own horse.”

[pyotrfyodorovich]

Pyotr feels a strange, uncomfortable prick of jealousy as Chris offers Kathy his arm. The man has been his sole parental figure since he was twelve years old; he’s used to a certain monopoly on Chris’ kindness and care and loving attention, and as grown-up as he is now, he doesn’t like sharing it one bit. But he also doesn’t like feeling like a third wheel, so he jumps in with, “It was a white pony. Your father had it imported from Arabia for you and trained it himself. You rode out with him for an hour or two every afternoon.”