#iaw fic prompt

[indiaalphawhiskey]

— So, I guess what I’m saying is… who’s gonna write the NSFW You’ve Got (Candy) Mail AU?

[set-phasers-to-whump]

“look at me”

prompt: “look at me” 

whumpee:sonny carisi

fandom: Iaw and order svu

hey several disclaimers - i have never seen the episode (18x07) i based this on, only gifs. idk what actually happens after the scene at the beginning so who knows if this could even happen in canon. i also have not seen a whole lot of the show, certainly probably not enough to get his characterization down at all. nonetheless the idea for this fic came to me like last week and then earlier today i wrote the whole thing in my head and decided i had to get it down. surprisingly i really like how it turned out but i have no idea if it is like. good for the show or not so. keeping it out of the tags and such :)

He thinks that he should probably pray. The gun is pressing into his forehead and his knees are aching against the floor and he knows there’s only one way this ends. But he can’t make himself pray and in fact can’t make himself do much of anything at all except stare forwards at the man who currently holds his life in his hands. Maybe he should try something - try and escape, knock the gun away, something. Because if he’s dying anyway, he might as well die trying to save himself. But he doesn’t move. Can’t move, maybe. He is going to die, and there is nothing he can do about it. He doesn’t want to. But the metal is against his skin, cold and unrepentant, and he is dying. It’s just a matter of when. 

Bang. 

He flinches, closes his eyes. His ears ring with the shot and he still can’t really think but he must be dead. Right? Except he didn’t think it would feel like this. Like his knees still hurting against the hard floor. Like something wet and warm on his face. Like him still breathing. 

He opens his eyes. 

There is so much around him. Movement and light and noise and his brain refuses to focus on any of it. He looks around and tries to work out whether he is still on Earth when a shape draws his attention and answers his question. 

It’s Tom Cole. He is lying facedown on the ground and there is a hole in the back of his head seeping red blood into the ground and his gun is still in his hand and he must be dead but he still has his gun, the gun that had very nearly killed Sonny, but hadn’t (because if he is dead, he’s pretty sure Tom Cole wouldn’t be here with him, so he must be alive). He reaches out and pushes it away and then sits back hard and stares at the dead body that is not his. 

Another shape approaches him, and he backs away out of instinct. But the shape stops moving, then bends down so that they are at the same level, and he recognizes it as Liv. He relaxes slightly, because if she’s here then he must be safe, but then he raises a hand to his face and wipes away the wetness and his fingers come away bright red with fresh blood and it doesn’t hurt but there’s blood on him and maybe he hadn’t gotten so lucky, maybe he really is dead, maybe - 

“Carisi? Carisi. Sonny. Can you look at me, please?”

Liv’s voice breaks through the ringing in his ears, and he slowly looks up at her. She smiles at him - soft, comforting - and he doesn’t know what to do, he can’t think, he can’t - 

“Breathe,” Liv says, and there’s a hand on his chest and he leans into a bit without really meaning to. He tries to breathe but he’s aware that he’s not really doing it right. His lungs feel tight and the air feels thick and choking and - 

“Look at me. You’re safe. He’s dead and he didn’t hurt you and I know it’s a lot to process but you are okay. Sonny. Can you look at me?”

He does. “You’re okay,” she repeats, and he nods, jerkily, and breathes just a little easier. 

“Do you wanna get out of here?”

He nods again. He really wants to get out of here. Away from the blood and the body and the voices of everyone else and the way that they are trying not to pay attention to him, trying to pretend like he’s okay, which he’s grateful for but also hates because he knows that they know that he’s not okay. And he hates that he’s not okay, because this shouldn’t be a big deal, right? He’s alive and not even hurt so he shouldn’t feel like this. 

But that’s all entirely too much to be thinking about right now, so he stops thinking about it and simply lets Liv pull him to his feet. For a second everything starts to spin and he worries that he’s about to collapse, but then the spinning stops and Liv’s hand is on his back, steady, supportive, and he doesn’t bother to try and pull away.

They walk slowly out to the car, and then he’s in the passenger seat and neither one of them says anything and he thinks that he kind of wants to lock himself away and cry and he kind of wants to scrub at his face until it bleeds, because then at least the blood on his face will be his own (he knows, now, that it’s Tom Cole’s blood - it has to be - and he wishes it wasn’t). But neither of these thoughts are very rational or helpful so he decides that mostly, he would like to sleep. Just sleep for a long time and forget that this whole thing has even happened. 

--

When they get back to the station, he shrugs off Liv’s attempt to help him out of the car. He feels bad about it, but she looks like she understands and she doesn’t look mad. She lets him walk back inside on his own, even though he’s sort of stumbling - he’s trying to focus on walking, but everything is just so much at once and it’s distracting and disorienting. Still, Liv lets him walk apart from her - he imagines that she knows that he needs this, needs to do this one thing. 

On the walk in, he gets a few curious stares and well-meaning questions (there is blood all over his face, after all), and he decides that actually, what he wants right now is to disappear, just sink right through the floor and never come back. At least then no one would be looking at him.

And then they’re in Liv’s office and she’s closing the door and he wonders for a second if she is going to yell at him. 

She doesn’t. He sinks down onto the couch and she disappears - he doesn’t know where to - and when she comes back, she is holding a washcloth, and she sits down next to him and places it in his hands. It’s warm and wet and he imagines that he is supposed to be doing something with it but he can’t make his hands work.

“Can I touch you?” Liv asks, and it’s not quite her victim voice, but it’s somewhere in the neighborhood, and he thinks he should hate it a little, but he doesn’t. He nods, and she takes the washcloth from him. 

“Turn towards me?” she asks, and he draws his right leg up onto the couch and turns his torso towards her. She smiles at him and takes his hands - he realizes that they’re shaking. He hadn’t noticed that before - and cleans them of the blood that he’d streaked across them earlier. 

She moves to his face when his hands are clean, and he can’t stop himself from leaning forwards into the warm and gentle cloth. He closes his eyes, and only opens them when Liv again asks if he can look at her.

The washcloth is gone now, and the dampness it’s left behind feels different than the blood had, but not different enough for him to be completely sure that the blood is really gone. He asks her, tentative, slightly aware that he’s probably being paranoid. It’s the first words he’s said since all of this, and Liv gives him a careful once-over, even though she must know he’s being paranoid. 

“It’s gone,” she confirms with a nod.

He nods back, satisfied with the answer, and then turns away, putting both legs back on the ground. He rests his freshly-clean chin in his freshly-clean hands and tries to think of something other than this but finds that he can’t. All he can think of is the gun and the shot and the body and the blood and above all, the fear, raw and intense and unwelcome and unyielding, and then there is a hand on his shoulder and Liv says, “look at me,” for what must be the fiftieth time that day. 

He turns and looks at her, and he isn’t really sure what he expects to see on her face, but it's definitely not the sheer understanding that he’s greeted with. It startles him for a second, but Liv keeps looking at him, and he can’t make himself look away, and then he breaks. 

He’s crying and he can’t stop and the tears on his face are warm and wet and feel horribly like blood, and he sobs, once, and then Liv is pulling him close and somehow his face fits perfectly against her shoulder, and he thinks that there are probably a thousand people who have had that exact same thought. She holds onto him, softly, gently, and he knows it’s so that he won’t feel trapped. He doesn’t. He feels safe, actually safe, for the first time in what feels like forever. Liv doesn’t say a word, and he knows that she will let him stay right here for as long as he needs. 

Eventually, he falls asleep, exhausted, still leaning against her shoulder.

thanks if you read this! i haven’t been this nervous to post a fic since i posted my first work to ao3 lmao. maybe that nervousness is justified maybe not. we will see. anyway like i said i have only seen a couple gifsets of the beginning scene and not that much of the show with him in it. this might suck. idk. 

[jestbee]

you already know what the fuck is going on; talk to me about after all these years!!!!!!!

After All These Years started as a prompt from @i-am-my-opheliac who asked for something in the If It Happen Now series - This is where I write fics where they get together later on/now as opposed to in 09. 

It was supposed to be a one-shot like all those are, but of course as happens all too often, it got out of hand. 

I was also writing another fic at the same time where I wanted to essentially do a getting together slow burn but didn’t really know where it was going. That fic started with what is now Chapter 11 of AATY, with Phil’s family being like “we always thought you’d get together eventually”. 

Except, I realised that I was actually only writing one fic, not two. So I combined them. 

Then I did the outline, and as I shared it for IAW, I’ll share it for this one too (or at least a bit of if so no spoilers):

This is how I outline, I do it in another doc most of the time (or on the bottom of the one I’m writing in) and I strike it out as I’ve done it. Sometimes I’ll do it all in the same doc, and make what isn’t written yet a different colour and deleted as i go, but it depends on the structure of the fic and how I’m feeling at the time. AATY was a separate doc.

I planned it all JUST as tour was finishing, and they kept doing things to mess up my timeline, so in the end I was just like fuck it,this all happens in an AU AU where none of those things happened. (hence why I don’t mention dapg dying, because in my au I can do what I want)

Anyway I love this fic, it’s just fluffy and happy and nothing hurts (okay, maybe a little bit hurts) and we only have about 4 or 5 chapters to go. 

Maybe it’s a bit of a ridiculous premise, and god knows it’s not the best written bedsharing fic out there, but it’s mine and I love it.

[actualbabe]

In Another World Hiatus

Hey folks,

I’m gonna be completely honest you guys: I don’t like how chapter 21 turned out. I love love love the episode Chicago and I was really excited to work with it. Instead I wrote the majority of this last chapter in about 3 hours the day it was supposed to be posted, and I really don’t think I did it justice. I wish I’d had more time to work on it, or honestly, more motivation to write this story.

I guess I’m just feeling a little burned out by this fic. Writing chapters feels like a chore. It’s so easy and quick to just pull longs strings of dialogue out of a transcript and when I’m pressed for time and feeling uninspired, so that’s what I fall back on. It’s hard to just push against that natural wall of writer’s fatigue when it feels like no one really cares about what I’m writing, especially me.

I’m disappointed with myself. I wish I could go back and redo chapter 21. Just the other day I was thinking about how it turned out and wondering if it was even useful to the progression of the plot, or if it was just something I threw in to make part 2 the same length as part 1. I genuinely don’t know if it’s important to the fic as a whole. With the way it’s currently written, I’m not sure it’s really necessary.

I wish I would've had more time to write chapter 21 so I could’ve further explored Jess’ headspace. I wish I had finished it earlier so that my beta reader had more time to edit it and really help me dig into the characterization. I wish that writing the lawyer au didn’t feel like an obligation that I couldn’t wait to be over with. I wish I wasn’t neglecting my actual schoolwork and pulling all-nighters and routinely getting 5 hours of sleep most nights just to crank out 5,000 word chapters for “fun.” Sometimes I wish I could just abandon this fic or post the outlines or something and just be done with it.

I’m tired and I’ve pretty much trashed my GPA this semester and poured all my free time into working on something I don’t even like anymore. So I’m taking a break. I’ll come back to this story, because I like the idea and want to see it finished. But I want to do it on my own terms, when I have the time and I’m actually excited to write about it. I’m going to keep chipping away at the rough draft on my computer, but I’m going to stop posting new chapters of this fic for the indefinite future. Having a regular update schedule was a fun challenge to have, but now it’s just an extra source of stress in the middle of final exams. It’s a distraction that I really can’t handle right now.

If you want to read my other stuff, that’s cool, and I’ll still be posting short fic on tumblr (and please keep sending me prompts! I love all of them!). If you want to know the ending to IAW is or what the next chapters would’ve looked like you can send me a private ask or message on tumblr and I’ll tell you all the spoilers I have. But please don’t harrass me about this fic or when the next update is going to be because I don’t know.

Thanks to everyone who’s supported me this whole time. Y’all mean the world to me. I’m sorry if I let you down.

-M

[indiaalphawhiskey]

Hello! Just wanted to stop by and say thank you for sharing your writing with us!!! I truly appreciate it! Whether a snipped to a long story you’re working on or a drabble from a prompt… thank you so much!!! So don’t have to share and yet you do!! I stop here every once in a while to see if you have anything up… Cant wait for another tid bit… also, the most recent snippet of the omega-verse is part of a bigger story right? Are they all housed somewhere or am I tripping??

Hello, love!

Thank you so much for this, it’s such a sweet message and I really appreciate it! Writing can be tough and lonely, especially when you’re not that prolific (me), and posting snippets is kind of my way of reaching out and saying hi. I’m glad you stopped by to encourage me, it means a lot. 🥰

Yes, Omegaverse is part of a bigger story, although the concept for the fic has evolved a lot since its original inception (by that I mean my idea keeps changing). I don’t have a singular tag for it though. I might have to go back and think of one. Maybe #iaw omegaverse au since it doesn’t have a nickname.

I’ll go back and tag it tomorrow. Thank you for being interested 🩷

[indiaalphawhiskey]

— This, but Louis has been talking about his imaginary boyfriend ‘Harry Styles’ (what a ridiculous, clearly made up name) for three years to his pub friends, and is ‘finally’ going to propose this weekend.

It’s a shock to Niall, the newest addition to their Thirsty Thursday group… who’s best friend is Harry Styles.

“Harry Styles, did you say?” Niall asked, leaning his back against the bar. Louis liked him; he was funny, and loud, and told a dirty joke in the first five minutes of their meeting. Plus, he was buying this round, so.

“Mm-hmm,” Louis hummed easily. “Yes, Harry Styles.” And then, to head him off at the pass, he added, with his perfectly practiced soft smile. “Cute name, right? Although, I suppose it’ll be Styles-Tomlinson, if everything goes well this weekend.”

Niall didn’t seem to hear him, which was par for the course with the lads at the pub. His brow furrowed. “Harry Styles? From Cheshire?”

“Er…” Yeah. Louis supposed his made up soon to be fiancé could be from Cheshire. “Yeah. Yes,” he said, with a definitive nod. He needed to wade into safer territory. “Tall, green eyes,” he lied with practiced ease, adjectives purposefully nondescript. “Went to University of Manchester.”

Nothing he hadn’t mentioned to the rest of the lads before, he noted inwardly, proud of himself for keeping those facts straight.

“Son of a bit—” Niall swore, startling Louis with the force of it. Staring back at Louis with unexplained betrayal all over his face, he said, “My bastard of a best friend kept a boyfriend from me for three years, and now he’s getting married?”

[indiaalphawhiskey]

Keep Driving, a fic prompt.

Still grief-stricken three years after losing his husband, famously reclusive author Louis Tomlinson finds himself seeking refuge from a sudden downpour in a quaint little BnB in the Middle of Nowhere, Cheshire. All but empty, the place is… quirky, to say the least (an adjective, Louis quickly realizes, is as befitting of the house as it is of the Harry residing in it).

With the roads washed out for a week, Louis, to his infinite displeasure, is forced to stay and endure the determined, er—hospitality—of what his lauded writing prowess can only describe as John Lennon and the Easter Bunny’s long lost love child.

But… could Harry’s House turn out to be his refuge for more than just a little rain?

Cue: sexy pond swims, too much walking in on each other shirtless, and, of course, maple syrup, coffee, pancakes for two.

[indiaalphawhiskey]

omg that story idea sounds amazing!!!

I so did not expect that to blow up like it did. 🤣 thank you!

You guys are all adorable and very, very sweet, but alas, I’m still in the middle of the last tumblr prompt someone begged me to write. 😂

Thankfully, we have a taker! I won’t tag them, to make sure they don’t get pressured, but please come back to link us all to the fic when you’re done!! ❤️