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svintdeath‌:

“Precisely that,” Orrin replies, without a hint of sarcasm. “He’ll come back as a ghoul, detestable creatures.” The witch drew a small blade from his front coat pocket, and in one swift movement, he knicks his own palm. He circles the mirror, and finger paints a small butterfly-shaped print onto the back of it. “Do you really want him running around feasting on the flesh of the living to sustain himself?”

Bad question, given the dragon’s seemingly insouciant disposition prior to his little reunion. Something to him the small dragon might actually prefer such a scenario.

“He’d likely attempt to eat you first since he seems to carry quite a bit of feeling for you,” he informs the man.

“Do you really think I’d give a fuck if he ran around feasting on the flesh of the living?” Felix asks, snorting. “I’d only care if he did it to annoy me. Which, knowing him, he probably would. He’d find a way to be irritating about it.”

He has absolutely no idea what Orrin’s doing on the back of the mirror -- drawing something in blood, maybe. Witches, man. Always up the weirdest shit.

“Quite a bit of feeling,” he repeats. “Is that a weirdly polite way of saying he hates me? I mean, yeah. Obvious.” He gives Orrin his most winning smile. “So is this what you do? Hang around in dark tents and let people talk to spirits?”

#orrin

svintdeath‌:

“Oh, you can try. But baby, I promise, you ain’t gonna find it without my help.” Duscha rubs his hands together in anticipation, “And I’m not going to give that to you until you can convince our boyo over here to resurrect me.”

And there it was.

“No.” Orrin resists the urge to roll his eyes, instead opting to level a very unimpressed stare at the creature. “Absolutely not. This session is ending.” The witch slaps his has hand against the mirror’s surface, Duscha let out one final yelp before dispersing into a puff of smoke. There was no way he was bringing that thing back into this world. The fog settled back at their feet, the sea of whispers that had been triggered upon breaking the dragon’s connection eased into silence. “Apologies for that just now.”

“Bye, fuckface,” Felix calls cheerily, watching Duscha’s image vanish.

Ah. Now he feels better.

Except for that one pending issue of the Hello Kitty wedding dress that’s hidden in Ashden somewhere. Felix wasn’t joking about having a witch find it for him, but Duscha is older and smarter than he looks, so he could probably have found a way around that.

Ugh.

“You’re really that opposed to resurrecting him?” he asks. “What, his winning personality didn’t do it for you?”

#orrin

svintdeath‌:

“Actually, it is.” Duscha was practically vibrating in place, unable to contain his excitement. “Do you remember when your joint got raided by humans? They took, what, a limited edition Hello Kitty toilet seat and some other dumb shit you were hoarding?” The dragon’s eyes flickered over to Orrin for a brief moment to ensure he was still there. “You remember that?”

The glance didn’t sit well with the witch, growing increasingly suspicious of the creature. “You should end the conversation. He’s feeding off the negative energy you’re generating.”

The iridescent dragon held up a single finger to silent their host. “Shh, kitten, let the real magical peeps talk.” He clears his throat, ignoring the scathing glare Orrin had just directed to him. “Anyways, that was me, bitch. And guess what? It’s hidden. Here. In town.”

Felix doesn’t know what it means that Duscha is feeding off his negative energy, but he will concede that Spooky Dude probably knows more about this shit than Felix does. Duscha is already full of enough hot air, he doesn’t need more energy. So he draws in a deep breath, and pushes his hostility aside. He’s always been alarmingly good at compartmentalizing -- all the fury just slides right off his expression.

It almost comes right back when Duscha reveals his stolen stuff is here in Ashden.

“And I suppose you want something in return for telling me where it is.” Felix studies his fingernails, putting on an effortless show of being bored. “You can go right ahead and forget it, dipshit, I’m sure there’s a witch in town who can find it for me. Besides, you’re dead, what could you even want?”

#orrin

demondorian‌:

“True, you’re way fatter.”

Smiling like he’s about to eat someone’s leg, Dorian closes in on Felix, leaving the dragon with no personal space to enjoy. “”We’re raised by powerful spells, or sent here by higher demons. There is no physical grown, aside from the growth my dick did earlier.” Dorian flips the dirty flocks of hair on the other side of Felix’ head. “Do you have baby photos?”

“Dude. It’s kinda weird to be chatting about baby photos when you’re getting all up in my business,” Felix deadpans, but he doesn’t move, because he’s hardly opposed to Dorian getting up close. “And I’m older than photos. So, no. No baby photos. But.”

He turns, and scrounges around in one of the piles for a second, coming up with a scrap of paper -- complete with drawing of an egg, a three tiny dragon heads clawing their way out of it, looking furious at dealing with life already. “My adoptive dad said I was super cute. I bet you were never this cute.”

#dorian

aesthetic moodboard : felix rusakov

#ashdenhqtask

thealphaazrael‌:

“Who knows? Maybe he could have been preserved. Like so many other celebrities. A good number of them weren’t so lucky. There were only so many available safe havens for celebrities. The rest, well, their fates were left in our hands.” Azrael looked through more pictures of his celebrity conquests. “It would have been nice to add JT or Biebs into the collection.” He shut the album and placed it down on the coffee table, following the young dragon as he continued to peruse through his belongings. The kid picked up katana in presentable condition, and it was probably older than he was. “That belonged to a shogun samurai, who hunted down werewolves. I’ve never touched it, because it’s made of silver that’s been bathed in wolfsbane for over a thousand years. He had the upper hand for a while in a battle with him and his army against a large rogue pack of wolves. I was one of them. I overpowered him, of course…and took his blade as a prize. A shame I won’t be able to know what it’s like to hold it.” He chuckled at Felix’s words before speaking to the dragon in his mother tongue. “You’re easy to rile, aren’t you? It’s quite adorable. Just like back then when you were struggling to turn into your dragon form.”

“Oh, you think that was me getting get riled up?” Felix chortles, answering back in English. He finds English way easier to be an asshole in -- Russian is much more direct and to the point. “Nah, you’d have to-- I don’t know, destroy my hoard to get me riled up. Or ask lots of dumb questions.”

Since he knows absolutely nothing about swords, the story behind Azrael’s keepsake is somewhat lost on Felix, but he can appreciate how absolutely lethal it must be to werewolves. Curiously, he pokes a fingertip against the blade, but it just feels like steel to him. No burning.

“So if I came at you with this thing, it’d hurt a fuckload more than usual swords?” he asks, somewhere between curious and cheerfully challenging. “It must suck having a weakness like that.”

#azrael

svintdeath‌:

Orrin has seen this sort of behavior only once in his life, the brief moment he had a glimpse of something called The Jerry Springer Show at a client’s home was enough to haunt the witch for decades after. The man’s body tensed as Felix hurled threats at the ghost.

“Oh, yeah, yeah! Rub that finger all up in my face, you birdbrained bean!” Duscha pressed his face up against the glass, sliding his tongue up the length of glass between him and Felix’s finger. “Rub it! Because you know what, you limp winged chicken? Sasha’s up here with me!” He let out a manic laugh, eyes practically bulging out of his sockets. “Oh, yeah, baby. I’m fuckin that tight lumberjack ass day and night! He practically swims in my cum! Splash, splash!”

Orrin covers his mouth with a hand, looking slightly green as he turns away from the two bickering idiots. Duscha collects himself again. “But that’s not why I called you here, Felix. Oh, no, I’ve got a surprise for you, potato child.”

“Fuck you, you dipshit lumberjack fucker, I’m not a potato child! You’re a potato child! Go fuck yourself!”

That stunningly elegant comeback could probably be heard halfway across the festival.

Having snatched his hand back so it doesn’t get phantom Duscha spit on it (even though that’s probably not going to happen, what with him being in a mirror and all), Felix abruptly falls silent, possibly aware that his furious hollering was a bit too loud. He doesn’t come even remotely close to apologizing, though he does cut a glance at Orrin to see if he’s on the verge of getting tossed out. It’s hard to tell. Spooky Dude is mostly just looking nauseous.

“Okay, Duschbag, why did you call me here,” Felix grumps, on the verge of sulky. “If it’s about the wedding dress, I might forgive you if you tell me where it is. And also how you died. I need a funny story.”

#orrin

demondorian‌:

“Never?” Dorian pauses mid throw of the newest junk in his hand, a rainbow spiral that, if his memory serves him right, was huge in the 90′s. “So you don’t move in herds?” Call it a family seems to humanizing for someone who has scales and horns. “That’s true for most beings over 200 in my experience. It’s like they forgot how to enjoy existence.”

Dorian takes the offered doll and spares a moment to look absolutely confused by it. “No. Doesn’t look like I missed out much.” He hands the doll back, looking as bored as he feels about it, and moves on. “Tell me about a dragon’s upbringing. How are you raised?”

“No, you dipshit, we’re not cows,” Felix drawls, snatching the slinky away from Dorian before he can complete his uncaring toss. Clearly the demon has no idea how badly tangled these things can get, and how impossible it is to untangle them.

He’s exceedingly disappointed at Dorian’s non-reaction to his cool Nick Carter figurine though. Dorian is a man of no taste, it seems.

“How are demons raised?” he shoots back, avoiding the question. “Do you emerge as little puffs of smoke in Hell? That actually sounds bizarrely cute. Do you have baby photos?”

#dorian

svintdeath‌:

“Правильно, сука,” the eye roared with laughter. He stopped abruptly, eye swiveling to Orrin, the pupil constricting in surprise. “Подожди, мы очень грубы. Sorry, pretty kitty!”

Orrin’s body tenses at the terrible nickname the spectral had just bestowed upon him. He doesn’t respond but merely turns his attention to the blond. “It would appear so, yes.” Orrin eyes the still spectral dragon wearily. He’s never had a dragon spirit before, and his knowledge on such creatures was limited, which left him feeling a bit exposed and unprepared to deal with such a thing.

The white mist shifted and the eye morphing into a surprisingly small and pudgy humanoid form, shorter than even Orrin and the still living dragon beside him. “I’m Duscha, hello.” The dragon offered a little bow. “Please excuse this ослик awful manners, he was raised by a potato. But thank you for hosting us, you are an adorable little monkey, you.” He reaches out to pat Orrin on the head, only for his hand to slam right into the hard barrier between the two worlds. He cursed under his breath, rubbing at his knuckles. Fixing his suit, Duscha cleared his throat, his gaze drifting back to Felix. “Anyways, pigeon. I wore that pink little number like nobody’s business. I looked damn good in it. It drove Sasha wild.“

Felix is practically vibrating on the spot in his effort to refrain from launching his entire self right at the mirror to fight it. Because what the fuck! He hadn’t been allowed Outside Time very often, once a week at the most, and 127 years ago he’d gotten a massive crush on a man in the nearby mountain village, and this furry faced fuckface had slept with him!

“I’m going to uppercut you directly to heaven’s door,” Felix swears. He’ll address Spooky Dude’s hilarious new nicknames later. “I’m gonna shove my foot so far up your ass you’ll have a brand new Doc Marten brand of dentures. I’ll put my fist so far into your ribcage you’ll--”

Hang on. He keeps forgetting the most important thing here. Dude’s dead.

“You know what, fuck you, Duschbag,” he crows. “Get a load of this.” Felix proceeds to put his middle finger right up against the mirror, and rubs it directly over Duscha’s stupid face. “You’re dead, dickweed, so I win!”

#orrin

10th-sfga‌:

“F-fondling?!” Franklin recoiled in horror. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was he touching some serious no-no spot? Franklin suddenly felt very dirty and not in the good way. “Look, I was only trying to figure out if you’ve got wings– not… y’know.”

Dragons were gullible. Or at least this one was, and Franklin wasn’t quite sure what to do with this. One, he could troll the shit out of the thing for laughs and suffer the consequences later, or two he could manipulate the dumbass and find some kind of use for him in his escape. “Oh, it’s going to take a lot more than just one chicken,” Franklin replies, accepting the food, having decided it’d be funnier to just troll it. “I have to eat several hundred pounds of food. This will probably just make me a few millimeters taller.”

It’s then that doubt starts to tick at the back of Felix’s brain. Because he knows how a dragon can eat that much food and not literally explode, but it just doesn’t seem physically possible for humans, and--

Fuck. Franklin’s having him on.

Very carefully, Felix doesn’t let any of that show on his face. “Yeah, well, you’re not gonna get several hundred pounds of food, so eat this anyway.” He shoves the roast chicken at Frank again, because if he can’t see a fifteen foot human, he can at least feed the guy some decent food. It seems like the slaves get fed like shit, and Felix doesn’t exactly sympathize, but he knows what starvation is like. It’s not fun. “Bonus points if you can unhinge your jaw like a snake and swallow it in one go. Should I make a blowjob joke, or are you gonna freak out?”

#franklin

thealphaazrael‌:

“You don’t believe me?” Azrael asked as escorted Felix into the den area, where more treasures were displayed and it was obvious the dragon was smitten by all of the things found in the wolf’s home. He approached a shelf of different books, even though he did have a very large library, he kept some here. He pulled out an old photo album, which he kept some of his conquests of different men in his long span of life. He opened it, scanned through it until he found what he was looking for. A photograph he took with a polaroid camera, it was of Lance smiling at him as the picture was taken, and he was naked, his privates covered by a blanket on the bed he laid. Azrael’s nude reflection could be seen on the mirror near the bed as he took the picture. He pulled the photograph out and showed it to Felix. “Better than any autograph,” he replied and chuckled at the other’s response. “Good answer. You’ve passed the test.” There were times Azrael had to stand and defended his kind, but at the end of the day, he had to have gotten something out of it. It was good the two of them thought alike.

Books don’t hold a whole lot of interest for Felix -- mostly because the group he was kept in never taught him how to read -- so he only gives those the most cursory of glances. Instead, he focuses on the picture, laughing under his breath as he studies it. “Nice,” he approves. “Poor Lance. He’s probably dead or a vampire by now.”

He then completely bypasses the rest of the books, and heads straight to another display of cool old weapons. Since he was clearly never taught the concept of private property and asking permission, he lifts up one of the swords, taking a few experimental swipes with it.

“The test?” he snorts, quirking an eyebrow at Azrael. “What, I say, yeah I don’t give a single solitary fuck if you kill another dragon, and I’ve passed a test -- what do I even win? Or, better question,” he gives Azrael a shit-eating grin, “what would happened if I’d failed? Would you kick me out? I’d like to see you try.”

#azrael

demondorian‌:

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Feeling invited to, Dorian grabs a weird plastic things and looks at it closely, before he moves on to another one. He’s not particularly gentle with either item. “How old are you that you still don’t know what’s a ‘dragon thing’ and what’s just you being eccentric?”

Money probably doesn’t count, so Dorian thinks if he’s developed sentimentality for something during his years in a human body. “Not that I can think of. I collect new fucks. Used to keep a little black book, before it became a thing and they made a damn romcom about it. Lost it’s appeal then.”

Felix trails along behind Dorian, catching each item as he discards it, to save it from a fall. “I don’t know, I’ve just never hung around a bunch of other dragons,” he dismisses, which might just be the most truthful answer he’s ever given one of Dorian’s questions, and it’s still not anything close to all of the truth. “It’s not like I love socializing, other dragons mostly seem like ancient assholes.”

He rolls his eyes at the idea of collecting fucks, because that’s not exactly an item you can keep -- with the exception of the little black book which is, apparently, gauche. “Aw. So I could have had my name in book? Wow, I totally missed out by not banging you sooner,” he says drolly, offering a Nick Carter doll for Dorian’s inspection, clearly expecting him to be super impressed. “So you don’t collect anything tangible anymore?”

#dorian

thealphaazrael‌:

“I would. I’d fuck the shit outta that little twunk. Make him my bitch. Add him to the collection of celebrity asses I’ve had over the years. I wouldn’t know about JT. I’ve only ever had Lance Bass from that group. And fuck Hanson. None of them are attractive. Let’s talk about the Jonas Brothers…the three of them were very fun for me.” As big as Felix was in his other form, he’d always be the little dragon that flourished late to the wolf. When they were inside, it can be seen that Azrael’s place wasn’t like those of posh men. He was quite the collector of weapons and rare objects. Many of those can be found everywhere. One prized item he had in his collection was his suit of armour he wore in many battles when he led armies of wolves to conquering. It was one of a kind, sleek blackened steel with red accents, and his steel twin blades. No silver, being that it was dangerous to werewolves. His armour was made of a special sky iron, coming from comets that had fallen to the earth many years ago, large stones that were mined and purified into precious metals. Yes, he had many rare things in his home. He rolled his eyes at the suggestion. “I’d rather behead a big dragon for a trophy,” he said, “And that would mean I’d have to find slaves who can build a special extension for the mansion, and they already do a shit job around here. So you’d be fine coming in here and seeing the head of one of your kind?”

“You’ve fucked Lance Bass?” Felix sounds somewhere between scandalized and outright awed. He doesn’t give a shit about the Jonas Brothers (they’re far too late in his timeline, he’s only in that good nineties and very early 00′s shit), but Lance Bass. Wow. “Did you get an autograph?”

The suit of armor very clearly gets his attention -- Felix makes an ooh noise and gets up close to study it, running his fingertips over the sleek steel of the swords. Now this is the kind of rich stuff that he’s cool with. Crystal chandeliers and artwork and fountains? No. Cool old weapons and armor? Fuck yes.

He snorts, amused, at the question. “What, you can’t tell me you’d cry like a baby if someone beheaded a werewolf,” he drawls. “Why would I give a shit if some dragon loses their head?” Felix grins, shark-like, over at Azrael. “I’d actually be pretty impressed, to be honest. As long as it’s not one of my heads. Which, okay, I’d survive it. But it’d still hurt.”

#azrael

10th-sfga‌:

“I’m not gay, plus I don’t fuck goat-lizards.” Franklin assures him, giving the dragon one last awkward pat on the back. It was done completely heterosexually. Not in the least bit gay. Because he wasn’t gay. Nope.

“Uh, yeah, that’s exactly how that works,” he nodded, almost feverishly. This thing new nothing about humans, so why not fuck with him a little. “The tallest I’ve ever gotten was fifteen feet. Do dragons not grow after eating?” He stares at the small blond, tapping a finger against his chin as he wondered just how he was going to go about guiding the thing in the most heterosexual manner a heterosexual man could muster. “Do pumpkins count as a fruit? I think they do. Which makes pumpkin pie a fruit pie, so you could give that a try?” He gestures towards some of the autumn festival decor arranged nearby. “Or just eat one of the pumpkins on display.”

“Sure, you’ve just been fondling my various appendages because you’re totally not gay,” Felix agrees.

He might have done something to push it for his own amusement -- smack Franklin’s ass, for instance, or a bounce a penny off it -- but he’s utterly diverted by what Frank says next. Felix has in fact met humans before, he has a rough idea of how they work, but there’s still a lot that’s an utter mystery to him. Back in Russia, they’d mostly left him alone, they hadn’t done things like eat in front of him.

“Fifteen feet,” he repeats, stunned. Franklin’s going on about fruit; Felix doesn’t care. He stalks off to a nearby tent, where they’re roasting whole chickens, and gets one with some of the cash he’d won off a fight bet earlier. When he returns, he thrusts the chicken at Frank. “Eat,” he demands. He needs to see a fifteen foot human. It’ll be so awesome.

#franklin

svintdeath‌:

“Either you were drawn here by a need, one that you can already see when you look into the mirror,” Orrin tries to explain, when he suddenly senses a very heavy presence in the room. He turns, eyes scanning their otherwise empty surroundings. “Or, something used it to lure you in here…”

A low rumbling laugh echoed through the room, fog took on a faint glow as it begun to climb into the mirror, swirling at the center until it formed one very large dragon eye. “Голуб…“ it cooed to Felix, mirth evident in its voice. But, whatever amusement and joy the spirit had quickly vanished. The eye, somehow, took on a very confused look. “Почекай, чому я не можу побачити правильно?“ There was a loud thump, the mirror jerks as if someone had just hit it from behind. Orrin sighs quietly, resisting the urge to physically express the irritation he felt just then with a pinch of his nose. Dragons. “Авжеж. Я в крихітному дзеркалі.”

It’s not like Felix instantly recognizes who it is just by the look of one eye, but he’s kinda surprised the thing even works. He’s seen some magic here and there, mostly of the demonic variety, but he’s never seen anything like this. He is, very reluctantly, impressed with Spooky Dude and his spooky mirror.

Until that voice starts coming out of it, and Felix immediately knows who it is.

“You! You absolute motherfucker, ты украл мой Hello Kitty свадебное платье. Это был предмет коллекционера! You dumbshit asshole!” Felix looks about ready to throw himself at the mirror and fight it, but after one side-glance at Spooky Dude, he thinks better of it. He doesn’t want to get turned into a toad for breaking this guy’s mirror. “Wait, hang on. You said spirits. Is this dipshit dead?” he asks Orrin, gleeful.

#orrin

thealphaazrael‌:

“Hm. It’d be a hot play. Both Justins, seeing who’s top dog when we know Biebs is a fucking bottom boy, and Justin only tops when there’s no tops around.” Azrael, as old as he was, kept up with time appropriate events, things and people. He would definitely fuck both Justins if the opportunity ever presented itself. He rolled his eyes and beckoned the dragon to follow him, as he picked up his shirt and walked toward the entrance. “You know such big words, little dragon,” he teased, “The gamble? We each handed one another a list of ten names. Names of men around the city we needed to fuck. Whoever completed the list first, would win a prize. I woulda had to give up my dire wolves and my ass. Dire wolves are rare and hard to come by. But he was missing just one person on his list…and in the end he couldn’t finish it. So…I won his ass and his house. Here’s a fun fact, I killed the last guy on his list and buried him outside the city, where he wouldn’t find him. Call it cheating if you want, but he was a hit I had to take care of anyway.” He looked at the other with a raised brow. “Nothing like that. But I don’t know…you might find a dragon’s head in there.” He walked a few steps ahead, let that linger, then turned around. “I’m joking. There’s no room in the house big enough for one.”

“Yeah but you’re forgetting the crucial fact that nobody wants to even go near the Biebs,” Felix retorts. “JT wouldn’t sully himself like that. One of the Hanson guys might, though.”

He pulls a face at being called little dragon, but follows nonetheless, peering curiously around the mansion. True to Azrael’s word, it’s thankfully not filled with the sort of obscene, ridiculous shit that rich people buy when they want to show off. Then again, Azrael’s old enough that he might have lost interest in that stuff centuries ago.

“So find a smaller dragon and behead that one,” he replies airily. “We’re not all ginormous mountains that can’t fit inside big rooms. Or just build a really big room and go challenge the biggest asshole in Ashden. If you can kill a dude for a bet, you can definitely kill a dude for a dragon head themed room.”

#azrael

thealphaazrael‌:

He rolled his eyes and moved over to his satchel he had thrown off to the side when he took his shirt off, opening it and pulling out said figure Felix mentioned. The red eyed alpha tossed the figure at his dragon friend. “Maybe you can make it butt fuck that Justin Bieber figure you have,” the hunter said, not caring if he sounded vulgar. It was just him and Felix at the moment, not that his language was censored, usually. “As for the cat, it probably didn’t stay too long. Big scary alpha, three scary giant wolves. You do the math.” He laughed at the other’s comment. “They work in exchange for clothes and food. That’s how it works. But I’m far from the snooty dipshits you mention. I’m not prancing around in some ten thousand dollar suit, showing off my sweet ride. I won this place during a gamble. The owner lost his home, and his anal virginity, to me.”

“Pfft, no, it’s already in a semi-permanent installation of an NYSNC orgy, JT doesn’t have time for the Biebs,” Felix chortles, tucking the figurine into his pocket. He’ll admit to being a little surprised that Azrael didn’t try to bargain something for the return of it -- getting a piece of a dragon’s hoard can be a pretty big deal.

Then again, maybe Azrael just hadn’t wanted to deal with a three headed dragon throwing an absolute tantrum all over his mansion. Fair enough.

“Yeah, I really can’t picture you in a fancy suit. Ruins your whole aesthetic,” he drawls. “What was the gamble? You can tell me while you give me a tour, I wanna see the inside of this place. And if I find fucking fancy suits in there, or crystal sculptures or whatever the fuck else rich people buy, I’m gonna mock you so hard.”

#azrael

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