Paper Walls

Faith Deverill, bitchface extraordinaire and Queen of the Huffy-puffs.

I used to go to Hogwarts but I had enough, soon as I got sorted and put in to Hufflepuff. Told the sorting hat, go fuck yourself and I quit, 'Cause everybody knows that Hufflepuff is shit!

Antonin?

do—the—bad—thing:

Of all the things he had expected her to say, of all the ways he had expected, perhaps even hoped for her to react, what she did say in that moment was enough to cause genuine surprise to pass over his face. His hand fell to his side and in a moment an entire kaleidoscope of feelings passed over him. Antonin had never liked to feel as if he were not making his own decisions. He had always believed emotion to be of importance, it gave a person drive, an edge and for him personally he felt it gave him power. Only now for the first time in his life he felt emotion to be a weakness. Perhaps all this time it had been Rowle who was right. Caring only made you weak and he was not weak and yet for the smallest of moments he forced his eyes to meet hers and they were begging, they were begging to be saved.

That’s when he felt the anger seize up inside of his chest like a red hot poker had been forced down his throat and was erupting inside of him.

“You don’t understand,” the words came out bitterness wrapped around each syllable.

It was then it wouldn’t have mattered if it were Faith sitting there, it was then he found himself coming undone. A long time coming perhaps with his father, his duty, his fiancé-… A woman he might have truly loved and one who he might have truly cared for. There had been a time he had said yes so blindly, signed his name on the dotted line because he was Antonin Dolohov and he was stronger than such frivolous things. He didn’t need any of these luxuries- he simply wanted them. He could survive without them because take everything away, everything surrounding him and you would be left with a blunt instrument designed for one sole purpose, devoid of regret.

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“You don’t understand!” he erupted, suddenly on his feet, “Don’t you know who I am?” he found himself repeating, his hands running through his hair, “I’ve been built for this, this is what my life has been given for. I have no hope! I have no salvation, no single piece of goodness or light to hold onto. I don’t get to be saved! I don’t get to be in love. I won’t ever be able to wake up in the morning and feel okay. I’m nothing but what He wants me to be,” he swung his fist violently to the left of him coming into contact with a pile of Quidditch supplies. The pain he was numb too, the blood only a colour in his peripheral vision, “I’m Antonin Dolohov!” he shouted his face returning to hers and yet he felt himself falter and fall back as the last of the words fell from his tongue, “And no one cares.”

Faith could do nothing about her situation, despite absolutely aching to do so. She was utterly aware of every single thing around her in that moment— the rapid beating of her heart, the pulsing in her head, and every little change of expression that flashed across Antonin’s face as he spoke at her. For at least one short moment she was certain she saw a hint of regret, of pleading in his eyes, but before she could even process it the look had changed.

And that look was utterly terrifying.

It was the look of a man torn. He had cracked right before her very eyes.

The problem now was that she could not predict what this would mean for either of them. Would he simply continue to speak, to shout? To monologue, have a change of her and let her go so he could release his anger on his own? Or would he do the unthinkable? He had already cursed her, she was already in front of him, easy pickings, to do whatever he wanted. What was to say he wouldn’t?

Oh, how Faith wished more than anything that she could have seen this all coming. Why didn’t she listen to her instincts? Why didn’t keep that goddamned wall up like she did with everybody else?! Of course everything he promised was utterly false! Just like the promises every other person in Faith’s life had made.

Her train of thought had strayed briefly, a silly move because within a split second his anger had rose so terribly that he turned and struck the Quidditch equipment full force. Despite previously being unable to move, she clearly flinched and sat back as far back as was possible under constraint, her breath hitching with the action. She could see the blood on his hand but he was so wound up that he appeared to completely ignore it.

Her eyes met his once more and she held her breath as if keeping the last ounce of courage in her body. Shut the fuck up and pipe the fuck down! she wanted to scream. If only she could stand up and slap some good old fashioned sense into him. Then again, she also wanted to burst into tears and run for the hills but neither was going to happen. She had to think of something to say that would calm him down, perhaps something that would make him realise there was no need for her to be the victim of his rage. Could she convince him to let her be his confidante instead?

"Would you let someone care?”

(Source: bitchfaced-faith)

Antonin?

do—the—bad—thing:

image

“A toy,” he repeated, his voice soften and yet there was no affection wrapped inside it anymore. He looked her over once more, that strong defiant gaze could have pierced even the strongest of structures and the soft curve of her upper lip, the gloss to her eyes that he let his own rest upon for a moment before he kneeled down in front of her, their eyes just level.

“Don’t move,” he continued, “Please.” It had to come to this; it always had to come to this. Antonin couldn’t deny it any longer nor could he continue to lie to himself about who he was. He was not a person, he was a monster and they were not worthy or capable of salvation. There could be no love in his heart and there could be no fire or compassion in his soul. All he would ever be, all he could ever be was what he was now. A little boy thrown into a killer’s shoes, sharpened from a blunt instrument to a fine blade and he had only one purpose and that was to be obedient. The outlines were clear, it truly did seem so simple on paper and he would be lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed it. He had pulled back her defences, he had charmed her, shared with her, he had even found himself questioning his motives but that had merely been his own foolishness getting the better of him.

“You were,” he said softly, a hand rising to gently brush a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, “But you were the prettiest toy on the shelf, a real prize. Perhaps my only regret should be that you were born a mudblood. If things were different you might not have to die a mudblood,” he sighed softly feeling any and all doubts he had float away. This was who he was, “I learned a very important lesson Faith,” he held her gaze as he spoke, “You can’t run from destiny, you can’t pretend to have hope and you certainly cannot trick yourself into believing that it doesn’t have to be this way. It’s always going to be this way,” he let out a humourless laugh, the slightest hint of emotion hitting his eyes, “I never stood a chance.”

Taking commands was never something Faith enjoyed, but all those times she had complained about doing things for others was nothing in comparison to the utter lack of control that she now had. Don’t move he had commanded and with those two simple words she was completely powerless. She could not move her feet, she could not pull herself to stand, and worst of all she could not finish reaching for her wand. Faith could not remember ever, even during her time in care or on the streets, feeling as powerless, as hopeless as she did at that exact moment. A tingling sensation ran from the tips of her toes to the very top of her head, but she couldn’t shake to rid herself of the uncomfortable feeling. Her chest became tight as if someone or something was squeezing her as tightly as they could without suffocating her completely, but she could not breathe deep enough to satisfy her need for calming air.

Now she had no other choice to look him dead in the eye. To see every single word roll off his tongue. His hand grazed her cheek and moved her hair and for a short moment it was the only thing she could feel. Having the ability to perform such a simple action taken completely made Faith realise just how much trouble she was in. What else would he do to her? In how many other ways could he make her feel like less of a person and more like an object for him to play with?

An emotion pulsed through her chest as he spoke of blood and regret, but if she were to ever look back she would not be able to describe what this emotion was, or where it came from. It hurt for damned sure, but was it from heart break? Or simply broken pride? Either way, she had nothing to lose and without so much of a second thought, she spoke.

"You stood a better chance than most of us. You just… gave in at the last second."

(Source: bitchfaced-faith)

doppel-vision:

Claire - BTS s1 The Originals Press Interviews…
high resolution →

doppel-vision:

Claire - BTS s1 The Originals Press Interviews…


she is just a girl, she loves blindly and recklessly..

she is just a girl, she loves blindly and recklessly..

Antonin?

do—the—bad—thing:

image

Antonin loosened his grip on his wand as she done as he requested. Of course could it really be called such a thing when she was under his control? He let his eyes look up at her and there it was. The thing that had started it all. That look. That look of defiance even in the face of fear. That strength softened only for a moment when she wished it by a beauty she chose to reveal when it suited her. She was a mudblood but a prize if ever he had seen one.

"I never thought it’d turn out like this," he found himself saying, "I knew all my life what I was going to be, who I was and what I’d become," his hand moved instinctively to the mark on his forearm, "It all looked so easy on paper, so achievable… I never meant to care for anyone especially not for you. You were only a source of entertainment, a moment that would pass by, a hex I’d soon forget-…," he paused meeting that defiant gaze masking the terrified girl beneath, "I let my obsession get the better of me."

Faith’s legs had pulled her to the bench and dropped her down as if she were being pulled by invisible strings. She was numb, tingling, but it was unclear whether the sensation was cause by the curse or adrenaline. Why me? Why now? she thought as her gaze met with the boy had caused her to all but pour her heart out. Surely that glare alone should have sent everyone and anybody running in the opposite direction. It certainly had done until now. Of course, that was precisely the problem. Anybody who was willing to brave her sharp tongue and icy facade must be someone who truly cared. How else could they completely break her down until she was vulnerable speak freely about herself? Faith had gone against everything she had taught herself, went against her own rules, for two people and it was now coming right back around to hit her full force in the gut. How could she have been so stupid? Now she was stuck here, sat on a cold wooden bench in a dark Quidditch supply closet, willing herself as hard as she could to stand up and run and put on the bravest of faces. She couldn’t leave, she couldn’t fight against what might happen to her if Dolohov didn’t have a change of heart.

She steadied her breath and listened, though she did not want to hear. “I was just a… a toy…” she found herself muttering and it hurt far more than she had initially expected. He had tricked her into believing she was something important, something different, from the very beginning and only now had she come realise it. It was supposed to have ended a long time ago but he had continued to reel her in, closer and closer, simply for the thrill of it. Still she continued to hold her head high, but the confidence was utterly false.

(Source: bitchfaced-faith)

Although… Maybe it’d be better if I didn’t make it out…

What if he really does hurt me and I don’t make it out of here?