antonalog

[antonalog]

Matvey Lykov for Pal Zileri F/W 2021

[antonalog]

irisbulstrode​:

This was the closest she has ever been to him, there was practically no personal space in between them and for once, Iris was okay with that. She felt comfortable and completely present in the moment. Whether people were paying attention to them or not, it didn’t matter, at least not to her. As she looked back into his eyes, a tiny yet genuine smile spread across her lips. There was a softness within him, she could see it in his eyes and that got her curious. How would a soft Antonin Dolohov be like? 

Ironically, he had been one of the few purebloods who showed her something as simple, yet as important, as an opportunity to explain herself. No one listened, at least not to a woman. Sebastian was a man and he was a Selwyn. He used to be one of the society’s most eligible barchelors and a golden boy. Their wedding had been splendid and fun and Iris thought that they had a lot of chemistry. Now she couldn’t help to wonder if that chemistry was genuine or if it was forced. After all, he needed a wife and Iris was young, beautiful, smart and came from a respectable family. He courted her and he did excellent, now Iris wondered if he just said what she wanted to hear. In retrospective, they hardly fought and that wasn’t normal. Not that it was normal to fight all the time, but everything seemed so perfect. She should’ve found it suspicious, but she didn’t. She was young and naïve and so desperate to have her perfect happy family. Society never forgave women, whether they were strong or naïve, right or wrong. But Antonin listened and that was way more than most people did.

Iris smirked at his comment. “I’ve been told that before, I should probably become a comedian” she joked, just looking at him for a moment and noticing how attractive he was. “And you, you should question yourself about the company you like to keep” she then said as a matter of fact before giving him a look when he said they would consider it a bonus. “Is it so hard for you to believe that I am genuinely enjoying your company and that I don’t want nor need any bonus because of it?”

--

“Leavink me alone vithout a dance partner,” he hums the question, “you be funny later. Tonight ve dance.” Her admonishment lacks the usual voracity with which she enjoys chastising him. His black eyes roll nonetheless. Even now, telling him how not to spend his money. What business is that of hers? Weren’t ladies supposed to enjoy the flattery of fine gifts? More over he’s giving her the option to choose what she wants instead of just lumping her with something she hates.

It was also a poorly hidden secret that Antonin liked to spend money. He found particular satisfaction in jewelry and clothes, even more so when they were purchased for the very few people he allowed himself to care for. Like a tiny stream of water pushing through the smallest crack in a boulder, Iris was descending through darkness to find herself seated at that very exclusive table. His own inner circle, his family. Was she aware? Did she know how much time he spent dwelling on the complication of Sebastian? It would be so much easier if he were dead; people would still have plenty to say about a poor widow just trying to find a dad for her child and settling on the cruelest but wealthiest man available. But it would be nothing more than murmurs behind closed doors. There was nothing untoward about doing what needed to be done to survive comfortably after all.

He doesn’t know how to say this though, that he wishes it was simpler. Not in Russian and not in English. Antonin already cares for Connie, the way she recklessly bowled into his life. At least Iris showed a modicum of caution, but the young girl had reminded him of Arina. Headstrong with an answer to every question. He was able to offer them both protection, even make the space for her side of the story to be told but he couldn’t promise people would listen while the yoke of her first marriage weighed her down with a living husband in Azkaban.

He sighs, looking down at her. A small mischievous smirk still plays at his mouth, “you are company I keep, I-rees. Vhy so bad I vant buy you somezhink? Maybe I like it. Maybe I vant to. First you tell me how run whores now you tell me how spend monies. How hard for you say yes to me? You already say yes before.” He pauses, spinning her out and then back against his chest. There, pressed close to him, he whispers, “you say yes one more time I-rees. For me?”

[antonalog]

There wasn’t a time I didn’t have a brother. By the time my eyes opened, he was already here, but there’s so little time between us, he also can’t remember a time before me. Our origins blur into a single birth between us and so between us is a world and its beginning. I tell myself there’s not a world without my brother in it. I tell myself I’d follow him anywhere to keep the world from ending.

- Dustin Pearson, The World at its Beginning.

[antonalog]

Matvey Lykov by Polina Vinogradova for EUROMAN

[antonalog]

@s-lowe

Who: Ant & Sin

When: Current Game Time

Where: Dolohov Publishing (A recently acquired book publishing firm)

Antonin sits behind a desk in a room with a single window looking out. It has been enchanted to resist opening, bullets and shattering. It is devoid of anything besides the desk, the chair he sits in and a chair on the opposite side of the desk. It’s depressing, at best, but compared to the back room of Alecto’s bar he normally conducts business from, it is a vast improvement. When Sinistra enters he rises from his seat and offers her a hand, “Velcome Miss Lowe. You vant talk about publishink next book?”

[antonalog]

@ms-emmelinevance

“Connie?”

Antonin turns around from the bar where he’s been plopping an outrageous amount of cherries into Connie’s shirley temple, only to find she’s run off. A flash of brown hair. A giggle. He spots her running and hops over the counter, long legs quickly closing the distance, even among the crowd. “Let go my daughter,” black eyes blaze, wand already out and poking into the neck of who ever has their arms around Connie. She isn’t his daughter, he and Iris aren’t even courting technically but it was the first word in English he could grab. 

A very tenuous moment passes before he recognizes Emmeline and slowly he lowers his wand. Antonin frowns at the little girl and the auror, “vhat you doink? Vhy you run avay,” his attention shifts back to the adult woman, “vhy you lettink my girl run up to you Emmeline? Give me vorries you try hurt her.”

[antonalog]

@arvnkas​

“What the fuck is this Arina?”

Antonin’s voice bellows through his house, daring his sister to respond. Snowflake is tucked a safe distance away, standing near the threshold of the tea room. He can see the white frills of her lace dress rumbling with suppressed giggles and it makes him even angrier. His dark eyes find Arina’s when she finally emerges with all the grace of a Czarina. It’s a practiced air of superiority. His finger points at an annoyingly large golden dragon statue, though he can tell it’s only been painted gold, the ruby eyes mere pieces of plastic. 

“You wasted my money on FAKE gold, for what? This isn’t even a real species of dragon!”

[antonalog]

irisbulstrode​:

.

For a moment, he seemed like a normal man, not the King of an empire nor a murderer. The brunette couldn’t help but to let out a chuckle when he said she was always finding trouble. “I would argue that I don’t find it, if anything, trouble finds me, Antonin” she grinned. Which was true, is not like she went through life wanting to pick up fights or unnecessarily exposing herself… well, maybe she did on ocassion, but only because she was a comedian and she ocassionally offended people.  Her heart skipped a beat at his actions, he kissed her hand a second time and this time Iris dared to brush her index against his cheek. It was sweet and subtle and intimate, even when they were in the middle of a room full of people. She was sure no one noticed that, but if anyone did, she couldn’t bring herself to care, really.

He made it seem so easy, almost as if Iris was meant to dance with him. She vaguely remembered when she and Sebastian went out and danced. He wasn’t graceful nor elegant, but they always had their fun in spite of the struggle. There was no struggle here, everything flowed smoothly: from the dance to the conversation. Iris blinked, noticing she had been staring absentmindedly at the purple handkerchief in his pocket. Her gaze went from there up to Antonin’s handsome face. Sebastian loathed him, he never said why and she never cared. Iris had purposefully looked the other way, she never wanted to know about his death eater’s stories because she didn’t agree with that. Had something happened between the two of them or was it just jealousy? 

“Oh, no, no… you don’t need to get me anything” she said quickly, He had spent so much on the dress and he didn’t need to buy anything for her, she was happy just enjoying his company.

--

Antonin lets his eyes close for a half second when she touches his cheek. It felt like a moment from one of the stories he wrote; when the princess realizes she wants to stay with the dragon and not go back with a Knight who just wants her kingdom. It’s a dangerous feeling. Something too easy to drown in and one he’s avoided feeling for very specific reasons. Arina was already enough of a soft spot. The beads he’d added to the rosary tattoos around his neck were proof enough he was willing to fight a war for her.

He lets out an amused sigh, continuing to spin them around the floor and daring to press her just a bit closer. Whether she finds trouble or it finds her doesn’t matter, the result is the same. He can only hope that since absorbing her into the fold of his business alliances she has found some social reprieve. Her marriage had been little more than a sham, and leaving Sebastion alive had been a mistake. Not while he was around to shout lies louder than her explanations. But he had broken the sanctity of their home, the pact of their marriage. He had broken a promise to the person he was supposed to put above all others. Sebastion had betrayed his family and Antonin hated the fallout Iris suffered; for Antonin could not abide someone who betrayed their family. Even in the war, whn Voldemort was at the height of his power and Antonin was deep within the inner circle, his family came first. He would never lose sight f his true purpose -to be there for them. 

“You first vomen not vant spend my monies I-rees. You are funny,” he smiles again head tilting up for a moment, washed in the light of the chandeliers overhead. He drops his gaze back to her, “ve consider it bonus, da?”

[antonalog]

ophelia-burke​:

—

“I understand, yes.” Ophelia nods. “But I am not a very trusting woman by nature, and given that I don’t have that same connection with Gregorovich, I will remain on the side of caution until I can be absolutely certain.” She explained. It had nothing to do with Antonin himself, of course. And she hoped that he understood that. But over the years she’d had countless people try to chance their luck when doing business with her store and she much preferred to be the person that people ended up on the wrong side of rather than she herself ending on the wrong side of something due to a lack of cautiousness. 

She lets out a short laugh at his question. Had she been any other woman in their stuffy society, she suspects she ought to have been at least slightly appalled by it, but that wouldn’t be like her at all. “Sure. You could go out in to the Alley right now and find several of them.” She replied with a small nod. Among the dangerous and suspicious people that could often be found in Knockturn Alley, there were also those who were shunned from society hiding in the darkest corners.

--

“You make joke but,” he studies her through narrowed eyes, amusement still decorating his face, “not bad idea.” There’s a handful of galleons in his pocket right now that could probably answer the question, if his reputation alone wasn’t enough to generate a volunteer. However that would still lead to some plausible deniability about the necklace. He was the one trying to sell it, he could lie to make sure he got a bigger pay out. Antonin wouldn’t burn that bridge. Ophelia could become a beneficial ally; he could wait, as long as needed. 

“Hmm, vhy don’t ve find volunteer. You and her come to comedy show on Tuesday. Ve see if necklace vork or not? Zhere vill be ozher mens and I-rees funny so zhey do not pay attention her zhen ve know necklace real. You hate comedy show I have sinker comink Zhursday? Late Saturday night I have. . . vhat zhey call it. . . mmmm Burlie-eskie. . . you know vear vomen dance naked after poppink out from box or cake.” 

[antonalog]

irisbulstrode​:

He was right about that, she did not belong to that world. She didn’t even agree with the Death Eaters’ views. All her life she acted like it was expected, she was a great student, a great wife, a great lady and a wonderful mother. Now, in pretty much everyone’s eyes, she was none of those. She had been average at school, and what kind of wife sent her husband to jail? Not to mention that she left her child fatherless. And the comedy? No lady should get up on stage and talk about sex or th hipocrisy of the pureblood society.

Iris was sure that she would’ve been insulted or cursed by now if it weren’t for Antonin. It was like walking right into the lion’s den. But Iris acted as if she were unaffected, even if it did hurt that the people she considered to be her frieds were now hating her so much. 

The office was… well, she didn’t know what it was and where to begin with all the things she would add to it. Like a window, windows were nice, they let the natural light in. Art or pictures would be nice as well. Iris had to take in a deep breath and tell herself that this was fine, that there was nothing wrong with this room, it was just a room. It was strange to think that a nearly empty room could be so intimidating. 

You von’t be Sebastian vife anymore.

Those words, the concept behind it felt so liberating. Technically speaking, she was still married to Sebastian, she was still a Sewlyn. Iris closed her eyes for a moment, her back was facing him given she had been pretending to inspect that room. Those words coming from his lips sounded like a promise. Iris opened her eyes again and turned around to face him. He had his glass of what she assumed it was vodka and was sitting behind the desk. That was the man everyone feared, she could see that, she could understand why. 

Her eyes met his and for a brief moment, she just looked right into them, those dark eyes. Her heart was now beating ridiculously fast. The wise thing would’ve been to say ‘no thanks, I changed my mind’ and just leave. Or more like run. But instead, Iris took a seat and with that simple action, no matter the outcome of this meeting, she was putting her life in his hands. Iris then opened her purse and observed the list of things she wanted to say, all perfectly written down in bullet points. They were supposed to be like a memory card, but Iris realized that she didn’t need them, that it was a waste of time and he would laugh at her, so she closed her purse and looked up at him.

“Your best prostitute currently earns five times my salary” she spoke calmly but with confidence. It wasn’t a question, it was a fact. “She entertains one person at the time, maybe two, hell, even three… but I entertain an entire venue. I make them laugh and cry, and I make them buy drinks when they are happy or when they need to drown their sorrows. And then, those people recommend my show to other people, which means new clients for you” she then continued. “I should be earning at least six or seven times what I’m currently earning… plus a bonus for every sold out night” she then finished.

--

He tensed briefly when she opened her purse. Iris seemed inept in these types of situations but he had been fooled before. However, the purse snaps shut and there is no weapon or wand in her hand. His muscles relax. He pours her a glass of water and meets her azure gaze. Sadness and hunger ripple through it in equal measure. He knows that look, the faintest flame of hope hardened by determination. 

His memories of Sebastian are faint, dulled by how minimally important he had found the other man. The only thing that really sticks out is him asking for a ‘friends and colleagues’ discount at his brothel. As if being Death Eaters together meant something, or it was excusable to betray a good woman because she was pregnant. Good wives were hard to come by, Antonin would know, he hadn’t even feigned a courtship in years due to lack of an agreeable choice. He had even been willing to suffer the fallout of Arina’s canceled betrothal because he would not saddle his sister with a mediocre and incompetent lizard. 

He smirks a little at her demands. Not so much the amount, but the way it’s stated. He wonders how she knows so much about prostitutes and their earnings an if she’s so comfortable talking to them maybe she’d be willing to manage them one day. Rodolphus Lestrange might be running the books for him, but he still needed someone to run the ‘stable’ so to speak. That would be a conversation for a much later time. 

“You talk to many whores, I-rees? You know lot about vhat zhey make,” amusement flickers across his features. It’s a curious matter, how did she come to know so much about the cost of call girls and sex workers? He doubts she knows from recieving such services herself but maybe her and her husband had similar tastes after all. 

His head tilts, eyes roaming her face. “I give you zhis, make you most vell paid entertainer in club. Vhat I get in return? Hmm you vant take and take and take but vhat you do earn so much? I vonder, you really zhink you deserve more zhen anyone else,” he’s pushing, trying to see where her weak spots lay and how she’ll respond to him. Her salary request is a bit exorbitant comparatively speaking. His profit margin would be deeply reduced but that’s not really a concern. He could take a loss on her and it’d still be pennies in the pond of his ocean of Galleons. He’ll barter for the sake of it but mostly he’s just enjoying being entertained for the time being. 

[antonalog]

irisbulstrode​:

“Oh” she smiled. Did the Bulstrodes have a family crest? Maybe? Frankly, she never gave it too much of a thought. Her family wasn’t very big, she had aunts and uncles and some cousins, but they weren’t really close. It had always been her and her parents. Iris always wished for a sibling but never got it, so maybe that’s why all she ever wanted was to have her own happy family. She thought Sebastian had been the right one, but clearly she had been mistaken. He kissed her knuckles and Iris felt her hand growing warm. She had to resist the strong impulse to gently caress his cheek with her index. “Next time?” She asked, quirking an eyebrow, though her expression was still gentle. Was he planning on asking out again?

Iris nodded understandingly. Should she make a donation as well? She haven’t really thought about it, although her family did donate monthly to different charities.  “I mean, one should do with their money whatever they please, but I understand your point” she nodded her head. “I suppose that in the end, it’s still a good cause” and not a political one. There was nothing political about Dragon Pox or ilnesses. This time, her cheeks flared when he said she was too beautiful to not show off. He was a strange man, a strange man who was making her feel things. “Oh, don’t be mean” she chuckled softly when he mentioned about pranking his sister. “Why get her something ugly when you can get her something nice?” She grinned before placing her hand over his shoulder and taking his other hand. She looked up from his chest to his eyes, his dark eyes, and noticed that they had never been this physically close and that realization only made her heart beat slightly faster.

--

“Next time,” he confirms in a tone so gentle he has no right to it; not a man with his reputation. He squeezes her hand softly, “can’t let you be unattended. You alvays findink trouble. Don’t vant lose my headliner.” Antonin brings her hand closer and kisses the top of it again, with no real justification as to why beyond some impulsive desire to be affectionate. She fits so comfortably against him he’s too liable to forget himself, delving into the warm and wishful daydreams of having his own wife. His own queen. Antonin swallows thickly and lets his midnight gaze drift towards the band and away from the tinge of pink on her cheeks.

He clears his throat and begins the dance. He can’t help but smile when iris suggests he get something nice for Arina. If only she knew how deep that money pit went. No cost was too high for the things his mother or sister wanted, he’d pay any price for the few he loved and had come close to paying the ultimate price more than a few times. Such were things that fate always intervened and lifted him from the cold embrace of death every time. Though he had never met Fate and known it at the time, every time he reflected back on it Fate always came wearing the face of his sister. “Arina have more nice zhinks zhen Czar of Russia. Ve get you you somezhink nice. Ve get her somezhink ridiculous. For good cause right? Charity you say so yourself I-rees.”

[antonalog]

irisbulstrode​:

.

Iris liked the process of picking dresses and deciding what to wear, it was one of the many ways in which she connected with her feminitiy. But since she had no intentions of coming to this event, she never bothered with choosing anything. Deep down, Iris didn’t know if she came because of the dress or because Antonin invited her. It also raised the question: why didn’t he invite her in person? Was he afraid of rejection? That didn’t sound right. Was that man even afraid of anything? 

It was an involuntarily reaction, but her cheeks turned to a soft shade of pink at his compliment. “Thank you, you look very handsome as well” she responded, offering him a sheepish smile. “Is purple your favorite colour? Mine is green, emerald green, an unexpected tribute to my Hogwarts House” She smiled, appreciating that piece of information. It was then when she noticed those subtle accessories in his outfit. They were the same colour as the embrodied flowers of her dress.

Oh. 

They were matching and he did it on purpose. That thought alone only deepened her blush.

“I mean, I don’t intend to buy anything, but it could be interesting to see what’s on display. Are you participating on the auction?” She asked curiously. “However, I could never refuse a dance, first of all because I love dancing, but also because this dress is too beautiful to not show it off” she then added with a small smirk.

--

“Da, purple my favorite. Dolohov crest black dragon flyink on purple field,” he decides to answer her question, despite his misgivings about opening up. Something subtle, something quiet and small and unmoving inside him says he can trust her. After all, doesn’t he know her story? Didn’t he see the pictures of her damaged home and the bruises on her skin? Hasn’t she proven herself a valuable investment already; despite the ridiculous nature of her salary demands? He lifts her hand and kisses the top of it, “zhen next time it be green.” 

Black eyes drift back down to her from the side. He smiles to himself, “da. Important Arina and me show support Dragon Pox foundation. Ve both vork at Ministry and ve immigrants but zhey know ve vealthy. Vould not be forgiven I do not spend money.” He leads them towards the dance floor, “you are too beautiful not show off. You dance vith me zhen ve spend some monies. Maybe put  Arina name on somezhink hideous. Make her vin it.” 

[antonalog]

Matvey Lykov for Pal Zileri F/W 2021

[antonalog]

ophelia-burke​:

—

“I see.” Ophelia tilted her head as though giving his words genuine consideration. “I’d say that’s a fair bargain.” She said before offering a amused chuckle. She has heard plenty of stories, or perhaps more rumours about the wizard in front of her, but at no point had she been given the impression that he had the ability to joke or make anyone laugh. Not that she had any interest in listening to any of the rumours that circled around about anyone. The wizarding community wasn’t that big, everyone no doubt had some sort of story about them out there being passed around. She’d heard plenty about herself over the years. So unlike many others who would invest themselves in such stories, Ophelia instead chose to judge people based on how they interacted with her, made her mind up solely on personal experiences. 

“Alright, that seems like a reasonable arrangement to me. Whether to take the money or credit is your choice as either option will benefit us both.” She nodded. “As for confirming if the enchantment is legitimate, you may have to give me some time to figure that out. Short of just putting the necklace on to see what happens, enchantments can be tricky to verify.” 

--

Antonin considers her sentiments for a thoughtful moment. She is right, there’s difficulty in these matters peddlers of normal wares don’t face. The risk of harm is higher and the venues for testing are fewer. Slender fingers, crooked in more than a few places drum against the counter top thoughtfully. “True,” he exhales, “I trust Gregorovich not give me somezhink cursed or dangerous. He might lie little bit about item but he not risk betrayink my family. Ve allies very lonk time. Several marriages across generations. You understand da?” 

Antonin stands up straight again, folding his arms over his chest. The tailored lines of his suit pull and then relax against the motion. “Ve know anyone dumb and ugly,” he asks with an inappropriate amount of seriousness. Having someone try it out seems the most logical solution but Ophelia is already quite pretty and he’s the only man in the room so the point seems moot. Nor would he want her shouldering the risk herself, no matter how moderate the chance might be, there was still a chance. Money had changed hands between ANtonin and the wand maker for years, he was confident in their alliance, but he also knew greed was a powerful motivator. A one time pay out with a large enough number could sway someone from the good sense of steady business. 

[antonalog]

nevercallmeteddy​:

Ted & Open Ministry Gala

“Surely you’ve got better moves than that!” Ted grinned. He had all but made a fool out of himself on the dance floor and had no qualms about having done so. Admittedly ridiculous antics, but it was a night that involved enjoying himself and making sure others did as well. “What good is showing up if you aren’t willing to let loose a little?”

--

“Vhy I vant look like idiot Edvard,” Antonin’s brow furrows in disbelief and confusion, “I learn years how dance properly. Vhy I not do zhat?” His normally serious tone is more incredulous than normal, though his voice still sounds like a dark rush of a waterfall down an ice crevasse. Down. Down. Into the darkness never to be seen again. “I zhink I-rees and Arina prefer I dance like man not drunk penguin.”  

[antonalog]

irisbulstrode​:

Iris had no intentions of coming, what was she going to do there anyways? Go there and get deadly glares from one part of the atendees and pitty looks from the other? Lydia had been insisting but she always found a different excuse. That was until the morning before the event she recieved a package, a large package. Iris was suspicious at first, but when she opened it, she found the most beautiful dress in there. The fabric was so beautiful and the embrodied flowers were to die for. She wasn’t told who was the sender, but when she found a note, she recognized the hand writing immediately. This man was just… well, she didn’t have the words. She never knew what to expect. One moment he was being nice (as nice as Antonin Dolohov can be) and then the other he had this cold and menacing look in his eyes.

Eventually Iris decided to go. It would be such a shame to not use such a beautiful dress. So she told Lydia that she changed her mind and here she was. It didn’t take long before she was on her own. And now here she was. Wandering around the place with a glass of champagne in her hand. Was he here? Why send her a dress that he was not going to see? And almost as if she had called him with her mind, he showed up out of nowhere. “Well, I got this dress… it would’ve been a shame to not use it” she told him, giving him a knowing look. Iris hesitated for a moment, but then nodded her head. “Okay” she responded as she took his hand. “Thank you, by the way, the dress is beautiful” she told him sincerely.

“It vas nozhink,” Antonin answers politely, leading her forward. That is a lie, of course. He had been very particular about what type of dress he wanted made for Iris and the time pressure made him even less popular with the seamstress. He had paid handsomely for it in the end but had had paid just as much for Arina’s dress and he was positive that dress only used half the fabric. He was glad she had chosen to come, chosen to wear it. 

“I vant only make sure you come and see you in favorite color of mine, you are beautiful tonight,” his lips press together for a moment. Wondering if perhaps he has shared too much. Their business arrangement is neither as professional nor as separated as it ought to be. There’s no reason for him to attend one of her shows a week or insist she get dinner afterwards. There’s no reason for him to suffer her insolence. There’s no reason for him to put out the word that she’s to remain unharmed. There’s no good reason for any of it. She was betrayed by her husband; she failed to deal with him properly and seeing to those details should be none of his business. “You vant see items for auction or you vant dance I-rees?” 

[antonalog]

Antonin Dolohov || circa 1985 Ministry of Magic Spring Gala