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#iaw gifset
indiaalphawhiskey · 1 year
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“Love is friendship on fire.”
I think the thing I love most about seeing Football!Harry and Football!Louis together is that it’s a tangible reminder that they’re best friends, first and always.
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And that’s exactly how they made it through.
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“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. 
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abangchan-archive · 4 years
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HELLO. CHANGBIN. OF COURSE and then... the rest of SKZ. (i am not cheating not at all...) OKAY. I'M KIDDING. IMMA SAY... changbin jisung and felix GO GO GO!!! (also... it's @flowerchangbin cause it's a side blog so i gotta go on anon but we are mutuals otherwise... i... i think- but it doesn't matter i just wanted to say hi so HI hehe!!!)
changbin > felix > jisung
I cant believe u asked me to rate skz,,,, my only ult group,,, jagajsjsksins but honestly this rating means nothing bc i love them all sooooo much and like the order of love might change every second depending on the what happened (like for ex. today i was watching some vids from iaw era for a gifset and felix and bin were extra cute so thats the reason for this order rn🐥🐥🐥) ALSO HI HI CUTIE! 💞💌💘💗💕💓🐇
send me 3 of ur biases and I'll rank them💌
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indiaalphawhiskey · 3 years
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Best Friends, The Masterpost
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That sure is a lot of talk about best friends. 🥺🥺🥺
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indiaalphawhiskey · 3 years
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“Okay,” he began warily, trying to be gentle, open, hoping that if this got bloody, Angela wouldn’t place the blame entirely on him. “Present your argument, counsellor,” he teased.
Marcel smiled back calmly, a lilt of certainty already woven into his voice like this argument was a shoo-in. “You first,” he said, almost gracious. “Why combat?”
Louis pursed his lips, quickly running through the things he wanted to say, trying to figure out what Marcel was up to.
“Well, first of all,” he said, carefully. “Combat is about movement, and describing any kind of movement is difficult.” A simple enough statement, he decided confidently. “When you write it, the sequence has to be logical, both for your character, and for your character in relation to another person. You have to be conscious – aware of where all the bodies are, all the time. It’s choreography – every action begets a reaction. It has to flow.”
“Mm-hmm,” Marcel agreed, nodding slowly. “Movement, choreography, bodies,” The last word sounded slightly sweeter than the rest, and it made Louis pause for a beat, but Marcel had his eyes on the table, too busy with his pen flying across a page of scrap paper like he was taking notes. He flicked his eyes up at the silence, his expression expectant. “Go on.”
Louis licked his lips, and shook off the vague niggling at the back of his mind quickly, beginning again.
“Then you have the vocabulary, which is incredibly particular because the weight of certain actions differ,” he turned to the fan in an effort to illustrate his meaning. “A punch means something different than a slap, or a smack – “
“Kind of like a peck, or a bite, or a lick?” Marcel’s unassuming tone was a little infuriating now, just enough to make Louis’ jaw flicker before he turned around. He was met with only an innocent shrug, Marcel’s white teeth sinking shallowly into the plush of his bottom lip as he tried to bite down on a smile.
-- Combat vs. Smut, from Our Lives, Non-Fiction by indiaalphawhiskey
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