#arvid olsen hates the sun

[ashintheairlikesnow]

🦷 for…literally anyone. Go crazy with this

CW: BBU, some mouth whumpiness although the whump is emotional, medical whump

"Okay, here we go. Now, I'm going to insert this into your mouth, and you're going to bite down, as evenly as you can, and hold it until I say. Got it?"

Oskar looks at the little plastic tray in Arvid's hand as though the spongy, grayish thing inside of it is something alive that might bite him at any second. "Why?"

"I want to make a mold of your teeth."

Oskar shifts rapidly backwards in the exam chair in Arvid's 'medical room', also known as the half of his basement space he doesn't sleep in. One wrist brushes against the open leather buckles that can be used to restrain patients and he flinches violently away from it, face going suddenly white except for two red spots in his cheeks. "But-"

Arvid closes his eyes, taking a breath. "Oskar. Just do it."

Oskar shakes his head, curling his knees up to his chest and sliding his arms around his legs. His mouth opens and closes a few times on a word that never seems to quite make its way out. "I-... I don't want to," He whispers, hiding the bottom half of his face behind his knees, only his dark eyes showing, staring, hurt, at Arvid. "I don't want to do that. Please, Arvid, I-I don't, I don't want to-"

"Oskar," Arvid says, keeping his voice calm only with difficulty. This is irritating. "

Oskar's eyes drop and he stares down at the stirrups that hang off the end on long metal poles, where patients can slide their feet and hold their legs open. If possible, he blanches even further, and Arvid fights down his annoyance at the delay. "I have Samael coming in in like half an hour for bloodwork, we need to get this done before she gets here."

Oskar curls himself up even more tightly, closing his eyes and giving his head one more weak shake. "Please," He whispers. "I don't want to."

"Oskar. It is just to get a teeth mold! This is completely normal!" He thinks. Actually, Arvid doesn't have much of a comparison for normal, but it's normal for the work he does, anyway. He has molds of the mouths of all of the archangels and most of the other employees of the organization, too. He has molds of his own teeth, damn it. "I'm tired of you wasting my time with this, so just... fucking do as I say. You're my pet, aren't you?"

Oskar's breaths are coming shallowly, and he doesn't open his eyes. "Yes," He whispers. "I am." One of his hands moves to touch the collar around his neck, as if reminding himself. "I, I am yours."

"Right. So just. So just do the thing, so we can get it done and I can go back to doing my actual job before Samael shows up and wonders why nothing's ready for her..." He trails off as he hears a strange noise, like a clicking, and tilts his head. His eyes trail downward, until he realizes... it's the chair rattling in place.

Oskar is shaking so hard the exam chair is shaking, too.

"... hey." Arvid looks down at the molding clay in the dental tray - it'll dry out and be more or less useless if this takes much longer - and then, with a sigh, he sets it back down on the little metal rolling table and reaches out, putting one hand on either side of Oskar's face. "Talk to me. What's wrong with this? The tray, the... the chair? Is that it?"

Oskar hesitates, then opens his eyes again, looking up at Arvid without raising his chin. "... both."

"Okay... uh. What the fuck is wrong with them?" The chair is... just a chair. Arvid had gotten it at an insanely low price some years back during a private estate sale he decided not to look too closely into - but Oskar is clearly terrified of the damn thing. He's not even restrained - Arvid only uses those when one of the archangels is violent or hallucinating.

"Clinic c-chair." Oskar's teeth click together from his trembling. His eyes are glimmering in the lights with tears that haven't fallen yet. "The, the mold for a-... a gag, I don't... I don't want to have a gag here, Arvid. I don't-... I don't want to-"

"What? It's-... it's not for a gag."

Oskar swallows hard, licking at his lips. "It's... not?"

"No... no. Jesus Christ, Oskar, it's for if you get hurt and lose a tooth or something, so we can get you a good screw-in tooth and shit. I was thinking the other day about how you've ended up going out on fieldwork with me twice, plus you've been climbing the tree in the yard, and just in case, we should have shit ready to go for your records. That's all."

Oskar glances sidelong at the little plastic tray, then back at him. His lips press into a thin line, the skin paling at the pressure, before he tries to talk again. "I don't... want anything in m-my mouth, Arvid. Please-... I, I can't. Please, please don't make me. Please."

Arvid inhales. He knows if he checks his phone that time is running out, Samael's going to walk in any fucking second. "Oskar. We are going to do this and we are going to do this now. Open your fucking mouth. I am ordering you, as your owner, to open your mouth."

The look of open, honest pain and fear on Oskar's face sends a twist of some strange unpleasant chill through Arvid's chest, but he at least slowly nods and - jaw trembling - opens his mouth wide for Arvid to slide in the tray, then bites gently down. Sounds come, unbidden, from his throat - muffled whines that he doesn't even seem fully conscious of. Arvid can all but see his pulse racing in the spot just under his jaw. His eyes lock on Arvid's face and stay there.

"Good boy," Arvid soothes. Usually praise is a one-way ticket to fixing Oskar's bad moods, but this time it just seems to bounce right off him. The tears finally fall, running in clear trails over his cheekbones. Arvid wipes them away with his thumb and Oskar flinches, minutely, never quite pulling away. "It's all right. It's all right. Just a few more seconds..."

He takes the little handle on the tray, murmurs for Oskar to open carefully and slowly, and pulls it out to set it aside and get the next one ready for the bottom teeth. Oskar's trembling never stops, the chair rattling lightly, the pet's fingers dug into the padding until his knuckles are pure white.

Arvid finishes the second tray, and as soon as he removes it and says a soft all done, you were very good, Oskar uncurls, bolts off the chair, and races past the curtain that separates the two halves of Arvid's life. His feet slap on the concrete floor and Arvid watches him go, sighing.

He hears Oskar climb into the bed, the gentle squeak of the springs in the mattress as he buries himself under blankets and probably curls right back up into the little ball likes that. Muffled sobs are just barely audible, and Arvid's teeth itch to go ask him to stop that shit, it's annoying and he has shit to do today, he can't waste his time comforting Oskar's every fear.

But... he caused the fear.

Arvid hesitates, feeling that strange unpleasant twist again.

It's guilt.

He inhales, looking over at the curtain. "Oskar..." He trails off. He should just... go over there and apologize, hold him for a while, let him talk about it or something. It'd be the kind thing to do, and Oskar is the best thing he has in his life these days.

There's a harsh, loud sniff. "Yes?" Oskar's voice is thick and heavy with his tears.

"Listen, I just-" The door to the basement opens and Samael, a woman who seems created entirely in shades of black and slightly less black, steps inside. Arvid swallows the rest of his sentence.

The sounds of Oskar's fear stop - muffled even more thoroughly as he must hear Samael enter, too.

"Am I early?" Sam asks, eyebrows raising. The piercing in one glints in the flat white light of the exam side of the room. "Where's your little creature, isn't he around you all the time these days?"

"He's... busy," Arvid says. "Just give me a second to get the vials ready for you."

"Busy? Doing what?" Sam hops up onto the exam table, even swinging her legs a little. She's maybe five foot three on a good day, but Arvid knows damn well she can snap necks with her thighs alone and is one of the best in the business. "What do pets even do?"

Arvid ignores her. He walks over to peek around the curtain, faintly smiling as he sees the very Oskar-shaped lump on the bed, a hint of his hair showing on the pillow.

"We'll talk about it later," He says, pitching his voice low. "Okay?"

There's a rustle as Oskar shifts around under the blankets he's hidden himself in. He peeks out, just a bit of hair and pale forehead and huge eyes. "Yes, sir," He says, voice weak.

Arvid sighs. Oh, good. He's sir again. Great.

Sometimes, this shit is harder than he thought it would be.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

"Don't worry, they'll be fine."

for the five sentence fics

- sara / @justplainwhump

"Oskar, for Christ's sake, stop making that face." Arvid groans, rubbing a hand over his face. The sun shines too bright and prickles on his pale skin, threatening to burn him lobster-red and peeling like it did before.

"But..." Oskar hesitates, his left arm bumping against Arvid's right side, staring at the front porch of the house they're walking past. "But it says they're free."

From within the box nestled just at the edge of the porch, plaintive meows come from what Arvid is sure is a bunch of dirty kittens.

"What if... what if someone mistreats them?" Oskar turns to look at him, and Arvid finds himself sort of charmed by the earnest, sincere concern in Oskar's dark eyes. "It can be terrifying not knowing who's going to take you, Arvid."

Arvid groans. "You're not a kitten, Oskar. And don't worry about them, I promise, they'll be fine. People love kittens."

Oskar nods, but his gaze drifts back to the box, and he doesn't start walking again. Arvid knows what he's going to say before he says. He sighs as Oskar starts up, "What if we-"

"Absolutely fucking not. You're all the pet I need. Come on."

He grabs Oskar by the arm and pulls him forward, the pet stumbling after him, still looking back.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

How's Oskar doing? He was always such a sweetie 😔❤️ still playing Xbox I hope

"Come on." Oskar looks over his shoulder, to where Arvid stands shaded by the porch, squinting daggers in his direction. "Come on, Arvid, please."

"No." Arvid's arms are crossed, almost hugging himself, as he glares balefully at the sun-dappled front lawn of the perfectly nondescript house he lives - and works - in the basement of. "I hate outdoors. You know that."

"But it's not so bad." Oskar sighs, turning to raise his chin to enjoy the breeze that sets wind chimes tinkling at the neighbor's house. It ruffles his hair and Arvid, reluctantly, acknowledges to himself that the pet looks kind of cute that way. "You'll like it."

"I can assure you I fucking won't." Still, Arvid takes one step and then another. Oskar's expression lights up when he notices. "Why can't we just drive?"

"Because it's only a two mile walk to the game store, I googled it. And I want to see the trees. And grass. And flowers and-"

"Okay, okay. Shut up." There's no sting in Arvid's voice and he steps gingerly onto the sidewalk. The sun bakes his Tshirt against his back, and his pale skin seems paperwhite. Oskar, by contrast, looks like someone who probably tans easily, or he did before. "Don't think this means I'll get you your boba if you make me walk like this."

Oskar stops before they even get more than two blocks away from the house to inspect bark in a tree, running his fingers over it, rubbing a thumb. His eyes are wide and fascinated. "Arvid, look."

"What? It's a tree. What the fuck is so special about a tree?"

Still, he stands next to Oskar and looks.

It's... just a goddamn tree. Oak, or something. Standard stereotype tree doing nothing for anyone.

"Bark feels so weird," Oskar murmurs. "Not like I thought it would. I thought it would be softer. But it's so rough."

"What do you mean? You've never been right next to a tree?"

Oskar hesitates, then shrugs, looking down with a shamefaced smile, nudging at a root pushing up pavement with the toe of his shoe. "... Well... Not real ones."

Arvid blinks. "What?"

"Well. I've only been outside in your yard and there aren't any trees in your yard."

"... Yeah, but. You've definitely gone outside other places."

Oskar looks over at him. "No."

"No?"

"We aren't allowed outside in training. I don't remember anything before that. I was in the Facility, and in a box, and then in your house. There aren't any trees in the stores we go to. I've never been outside before you. I haven't ever touched a tree before today. Or anything nature-y out here."

Arvid inhales, looking up at the canopy of trees, trimmed back unnaturally in one spot to free space for power lines. He has so much work to do.

Then he looks back at Oskar's gentle smile.

"Ugh... Fine. Fuck it. Come on." Arvid turns and walks a different way, heading down the sidewalk fast enough that Oskar has to half-jog to keep up with him.

"Wh-where are we going?" Oskar huffs. "The game store is the other way!"

"There's a stupid plant store down the road here, and they have a farm stand. You can go pet the pretty flowers or something. For a minute. Pick a couple out and I'll buy them. After that we'll go pick up the game."

"Really?" Oskar settles back into a regular rhythm beside him. "Arvid-... And we can get boba after? And Takis at the gas station?"

"Sure, yeah, whatever you want. It's your first day outside, or whatever, so you might as well enjoy it. Don't thank me."

Arvid keeps his scowl on, but when Oskar's hand brushes his he allows himself to grasp the pet's warm fingers with his own.

"Thanks," Oskar says, in a whisper.

"Fuck off," Arvid snaps in return. "I said don't thank me."

But Oskar just keeps smiling.

Takis do sound pretty good, anyway.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Miss Likesnow, I am still obsessed with Oskar and would love a soft domestic piece with he and Arvid (if you're up for if ofc!)

CW: Pet whump, complicated whumpee/whumper relationship, whumper who mostly doesn't whump, dehumanized whumpee

Oskar's eyes open all at once, like the shades pulled in a dark room to reveal a sky burning a terrible orange beyond the trees. His breath is caught in his throat, and he opens his mouth only to find air is... stopped, somehow. His throat feels like it's closed, the barest whistle of oxygen winding through.

It takes him three trees to inhale, and then it's in a hoarse wheeze, swallowing repeatedly, wheezing again.

His pulse beats in his forehead and his ears, blood rushing in the quiet room, his hands are bunched into fists in the blanket and he whimpers, tipping his head back. He's drowning in carbon dioxide his lungs can't expel.

Then, all at once, his throat opens and he gulps in a breath, and another, and another and another and another.

Only when his head is spinning from too much instead of not enough does he realize his face is wet, he's crying, and his gulping breaths have become quiet sobs. He rolls onto his side, jamming the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to force them back.

"Oskar?" Arvid's voice is slurred with sleep, and his hand is lukewarm against Oskar's bare back. "Th' fuck's going on w'you?"

"I'm s-sorry-" Oskar shudders in self-disgust as the apology becomes an animal whine, breaks apart into yet more tears. His knees pull up to his chest, and he feels tears burn hot and chill to ice just as fast as they leave his eyes. His head throbs, pressure and weight behind his eyes and above them. "I'm so sorry, sir, I'm sorry-"

"Hey..." Arvid's voice trails off, and his hand pulls back. "It's Arvid, man. You know that. None of that 'sir' shit."

Oskar's mouth opens in a soundless scream at the loss of touch.

When no one wants to touch you at all, you are worse than nothing. His body starts to tremble, hands sliding down to press his collar into the skin of his neck until it hurts, until it reminds him that it can't be too bad, because it's still buckled on.

Arvid's hand returns, running down his side and then slowly curving an arm over him, gripping him around the stomach and pulling him backwards until his back meets Arvid's narrow chest. He can feel the heat of Arvid's breath on the back of his neck, above and below the collar. Shaggy hair brushes against his skin, and he isn't sure if it's Arvid's hair or his own.

"Talk to me," Arvid says. His lips move at Oskar's nape, making him shiver.

"I'm sorry," He croaks again, and feels Arvid shaking his head without even needing to see him. "I'm sorry I woke y-you up-"

"Don't worry about that. It's like four a.m., I was gonna get up with my alarm at four-thirty anyway. It's all right. Tell me what's wrong. I'm your owner, right? It's my whole... deal to make it better for you, isn't it?"

"Is it?" Oskar's voice is a whisper. His throat still feels too small, he still has to work for air but at least it's coming at all. "I-I had a nightmare, that's a-all, Arvid, a nightmare."

"What about? Sometimes talking helps."

Oskar has never once been asked about his dreams. He hesitates, then says softly, "It was me you hit, because you didn't want me anymore. With the-... the van. You ran me over again and again and I kept t-trying to ask you to stop but you hit me every time I tried to breathe and I woke up ch-ch... choking-"

"Oh, shit. That's dark." Arvid inhales, and squeezes his arm a little more tightly around Oskar's side and belly. "You've been thinking about that a lot since it happened."

Oskar sniffs. "Yeah. I-I've never-... seen-"

"Yeah. In my line of work, you kind of get used to gross dead people. You forget other people aren't so used to it. It's okay, Oskar. I've got you right here, in my room, and in half an hour I'm gonna get up and make us coffee and you can start on Skyrim while I get breakfast going. No harm done. I wouldn't hurt you."

Oskar breathes - in and out - the tightness of his throat slowly relaxing. "Do you-... do you promise?"

"Abso-fuckin-lutely," Arvid says, and he shifts, pulling on Oskar so he rolls over and they're face to face, eye to eye. Arvid's eyes seem like clear glass in darkness. "Cross my heart and hope to die, shoot me right in my fucking eyes if I lie."

"I-I don't think that's how that goes," Oskar says, but he can't help himself - he huffs a soundless laugh.

"There you go. Now you feel better. C'mon, get close until my alarm goes off." Arvid's other arm in around him now, and he rolls onto his back while pulling Oskar with him. He ends up with his head on Arvid's chest, hearing his steady heartbeat through his left ear. "There. Good boy, Oskar." Oskar makes a soft sound of genuine, open, innocent pleasure at the praise. "Yeah. Damn straight. You're a good-ass boy and I wouldn't do any shit worse to you than, like, take the Xbox away."

Oskar laughs again, this time with the barest hint of sound, and Arvid smiles in the darkness and holds him until it's time for them to rise. Gradually, the rapid rise and fall of Oskar's back from his breathing settles, and slows.

When his alarm goes off, he catches it before Oskar can wake back up.

Arvid Olsen slips out of bed, leaving his pet tucked in and warm, to go start in on the coffee.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Why does grumpy man Arvid hate Nanda specifically?

Arvid, eating sour cream and onion potato chips in a basement on his incongruously expensive couch: "Because he's a fucking asshole, that's why."

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Arvid is a very interesting character ... he reminds me of male protagonists from those european classic lit novels from the turn-of-the-century. Just sweaty & irritable & observant of those around them but not fully in tune with themselves. I'm looking forward to seeing how you expand of his characterization 🥰

He HATES making house calls, he loathes being expected to care for someone other than the actual employees, and he really dislikes Nanda specifically.

I swear he's nicer at home in his basement.

A little bit.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Oh man. I love Arvid as a character already. Would love to write fanfic of him if I knew anything about classic movies lol

Arvid: rude, irritable, unpleasant, near-agoraphobe. He's nicer at the main building.

... a little bit nicer, anyway.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

@hold-him-down​, here is a wee drabble just for you

CW: Intimate whumper, creepy comfort, creepy caretaker, pet whump, bbu, dehumanized whumpee

Arvid Olsen knocks, shrugging to get his medical bag a little higher up on his shoulder. His jaw is locked. He doesn’t go outside in the daytime often, and he’s especially not happy about it on a day like this.

The sky is a perfect clear cloudless blue, the sun shining down on Arvid’s clammy-pale skin, all but reflecting off the colorless near-white, his blue veins showing through a little too well. 

“Come on, dumbshit,” He mutters, shifting from foot to foot uneasily. He isn’t often seen outside in the daytime because he barely leaves the main house at all. He’s busy enough there, with the archangels coming and going.

But no, Azrael had to have a medical call sent directly to his stupid mansion.

The weight and heat of the sun is just starting to itch, promising the telltale rash, the little bumps that will soon cover his arms and the back of his neck, just as Azrael opens the door.

He doesn’t even bother to try for a smile at the older man, just muscling past him inside, ignoring the subtle opulence of the entryway. All the archangels have houses like this. 

You can’t impress Arvid with a house. He grew up in a bigger house than this one, before his feckless, useless son of a bitch father sold him to save his own life. 

Not that Arvid minded that much. He hated his father. He’d used his first year’s worth of pay after room and board was docked to pay someone to kill the bastard right back.

“Welcome,” Azrael says, voice dry. There’s a spot of blood on his right cheek above his salt-and-pepper beard, and humor sparkling in his eyes alongside something Arvid suspects is worry. Not that he cares. “I’m sorry to insist on a house call, Raphael-”

“Shut up, Az. Where’s the patient? My driver’s waiting and you know I never fucking leave the house. Let’s get this over with.”

Azrael rolled his eyes, gesturing to the curving staircase. “He’s upstairs, in the bathroom. I went a little overboard with him.”

“That’s the idea behind those damn things, right?” Arvid just starts walking, knowing Azrael will fall in behind him. “You buy one, spend an arm and a leg, and who gives a fuck if they disappear?”

“Hm. Not quite what I want mine for.” 

“Bully for you, then.”

Azrael’s warm, rich laughter makes the hairs stand up on the back of Arvid’s neck. He hates assholes like this, friendly as can be, while he’s never been anything but prickly, quick to annoyance and irritation, and... painfully lonely for it. “You’ve been watching all those old movies again.”

“I’m always watching old movies. That’s my surgery soundtrack. Show me the pet.”

They head down a nicely appointed hallway, with tastefully framed works of art hanging on the walls. At the center of the hallway, there’s a large set of double-doors, and Azrael opens them to let Arvid into a master bedroom easily the size of the entire basement in the main house. It’s obscene.

He’s envious.

Even his hated father’s fucking bedroom wasn’t this big.

Which pisses him off. 

Azrael doesn’t notice his anger this time - or if he does, he doesn’t care enough to mention it. He leads Arvid into a beautifully warm white bathroom. Well, it’d be white if it weren’t for the giant pool of fucking blood in the middle of the floor, drying slowly, and the curled-up, naked young man in the middle of it.

Oh, he’s pretty - but this isn’t the first pretty pet Arvid has seen. He’s unmoved by the way the young man’s hair falls dark against the white floor, unmoved beyond an aesthetic appreciation for the way his hair and his collar complement the brighter whites and reds of the blood and the walls. 

The young man’s eyes lock on his, and Arvid comes to a stop. 

There’s a burning, brilliant intelligence in those eyes far beyond the naïve stupidity of the other pets he’s worked on. 

“You’re in over your head, Az,” He says, and he’s not talking about the injuries.

Azrael doesn’t realize what he means and just sighs, stepping forward to crouch next to the pet, running fingers through his hair. The pet sighs and relaxes, just a little, whining softly in a way that makes Arvid’s teeth itch. “I know. Usually I patch him up on my own, but we got a little... we weren’t careful.”

“Yeah, I can fucking tell. He needs stitches.” Arvid moves over as well, stepping delicately around the drying spots of blood. He drops to a crouch as well, as Azrael gently murmurs to the pet, easing him onto his stomach to give Arvid a better look.

“Knife,” Arvid murmurs, looking the wounds over. “Cut too deep, that’s all. Handful of stitches for each laceration should do it. Keep him still.” He stands, wetting down a washcloth and returning to wipe clean the pet’s back, listening to the little whimpers and sounds of pain, very nearly mewls, that the pet makes with disgust. “Was he trained to do that shit?”

“What? To take pain? Yes, I was especially interested in someone who would naturally-”

“I don’t care about your fucking sex life, Az. I’m asking if they trained him to sound like a stupid fucking animal when you hurt him.”

Azrael’s eyes narrow. “No. He’s overwhelmed. I’ll ask you to keep a civil fucking tongue in your head when you talk about members of my household.”

“He’s your fucking sex toy, Az-”

“Even so.” Azrael leans over, and Arvid is well aware that Az is the highest-rated employee at the company they both work for, and his life would be considered much, much more important than Arvid’s. “Speak civilly about him. He’s a member of my household.”

“Fine.” Arvid hesitates, and then spits out, “Sorry,” like a child pouting over being asked to apologize to an angry sibling. With the worst of it washed off, he can see the depths of the cuts more easily. he pulls out his supplies - sterilized needle in a small single-use package, thread, sanitizing wipes, bandages, adhesive strips. 

Finally, the syringe with a dose already prepped in a little vial he fits into it, gives a quick test. “Hold out your elbow, pet.”

With a grunt of pain, the pet rolls his arm and stretches it out, showing the inside of his elbow, faded track marks still visible from whatever weirdass training they give these poor bastards. 

Arvid watches the pupils of pet’s eyes blow wide with fear that he shows only as a snarl with bared teeth. 

The needle slips into his skin, and once the drug hits his system, the pet half-collapses, limp, his head resting in Azrael’s lap. His eyes flutter closed, only a hint of the whites showing at the bottom.

Azrael keeps petting through his hair.

Arvid rolls his eyes and gets to work. He preps each cut, one by one, stitching shut the wounds and applying the bandages. Azrael never offers to help, and Arvid wouldn’t have let him, anyway.

His stitches are perfect and he knows it - precisely measured, perfectly placed. One by one, he begins to undo the damage that Azrael did to this pretty little thing, naked on the floor. 

Once he finishes, he bandages them up, as well. It’s just as careful a job as the stitches - have to make sure they won’t pull enough to make the pet want to rip them off too soon.

Then he digs in his medical bag and tosses Azrael a small bottle that rattles. “

“Oxy,” He says, shrugging. “Just a few. Give him one when he wakes up for the pain, and another two per day for the next two days. Then switch him to ibuprofen or whatever the fuck else you have in this else, I don’t give a fuck.”

“Your bedside manner is impeccable as always, Raphael,” Azrael says, still petting the pet’s hair, now moving his hand down to gently trace circles on the back of the pet’s neck. “He never says no. That’s what they train them for. I could kill him, Raph, and he’d fight me, for sure, but he’d never say no.”

“Sounds fucking awful to be him,” Arvid remarks, closing up his bag and standing back up. “Sounds like hell.”

“Heaven,” Azrael murmurs. “would be hell for us both. Abashed, the Devil stood and felt how awful Goodness is... I read that in high school. Paradise Lost.”

“I saw that movie,” Arvid says, but he doesn’t care. “Devil’s Advocate. Keanu Reeves with the worst southern accent in the goddamn world.”

“It’s from a book-”

“I don’t read.”

Azrael sighs. “Right. Thanks for coming by. I’ve already moved the money into your account. I would hate to lose him.”

“Would you? Just get another if you do.” Arvid walks to the bathroom door.

Behind him, he hears Azrael say, “I couldn’t. This one is perfect, and no one else ever could be.”

Arvid rolls his eyes and clomps down the stairs and out the door, wincing as the sun hits his skin again. His hair hangs in black clumps, he should probably shower sometime this week. 

“If he’s so goddamn perfect, why doesn’t he have a fucking name?” He mutters, slamming himself into the backseat of the car. The driver pulls away, and Arvid fiddles with the buckles to his first aid bag.

Still, might be nice to have someone around for whenever you get lonely... and his bank account could take the hit for it, easy...

He pulls out his phone and pulls up the WRU website, clicking on the catalog to look at what’s available right here and now. 

- 

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @raigash @whump-tr0pes @eatyourdamnpears @orchidscript @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @whumptywhumpdump @thefancydoughnut @outofangband @justabitofwhump @downriver914 @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @newandfiguringitout @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whumpiary @burtlederp @evermetnotforgotten @what-a-whump @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @thecyrulik  @wingedwhump @writingbackwards​ @butwhatifyouwrite​ @endless-whump​

painful post-freedom medical whump involving jameson. :) or pre-freedom tbh. i wish you would write a fic that is medical whump involving jameson.

... ooooh let me consider. I have a potential drabble brewing when I think about that... I think I know how I'd start it, too. Oooh.