MovingShips

S7E22 | S9E7

Me: [angry] Fine, I’ll go to fanfiction! They never let me down.

Fanfiction: [breaks my heart but with more precision and accuracy]

Here’s the thing.

I read a lot of scripts.  A lot.  From professionals to aspiring writers to complete newbies.  Features and pilots.  Specs and treatments.

And 8 times out of 10 the fan fic that I’ve read over the last, oh, 15 years is leagues better than this stuff.  It’s more inspired.  It’s more compelling.  It’s genre bending and creative and heartfelt.  It’s well-paced and intense and funny and sexy and meaningful.  It’s smart and thoughtful and good.  It’s novel-quality.  Better than, sometimes.

Rare is the script I don’t want to put down, but how often have we stayed up until 3am to get to the last chapter of a 100k fic? And it’s not even a fan fic author’s day job.  This is what they do on the side.  In their spare time.  For free.

So my point is, fan fic authors, you’re good.  You’re good writers and great storytellers.  I know it doesn’t always feel like it, especially if you’re one of the authors who’s not a BNF and doesn’t get the notes/hits that a few do.  And  because some people still view fic as “not real writing.” You guys know the shit that gets made into movies.  You’re better than that.  So be better than that.  If writing is what you think want to do, then just know you’re already doing it.   You’ve already started.

Government building at the end of working hours, 1962

Gro Harlem Brundtland and AUF leader Jens Stoltenberg on Utøya, 1987

Utøya and Oslo July 2011

On this day it is 10 years since the 22 july attack. On July 22, 2011, a far-right terrorist detonated a car bomb in the government quarter in Oslo, before driving to the Labor Party's summer camp for young people on the island of Utøya. 8 people died in the bombing, the massacre on Utøya lasted 66 minutes and 69 people, mainly teenagers, were killed.

The perpetrator was motivated especially by the racist Eurabia conspiracy theory and hatred for the Labor Party, Muslims, immigrants, feminism and social democratic Norway in general.

While the terrorist was motivated by hate, the civilian efforts to help the victims was impressive. In the government quarter people helped each other. On Utøya, as the kids tried to hide or swim off the island, despite the fact that the perpetrator was shooting, civilians in boats went out to pick them up.

Today we take a moment to remember the victims of this attack and all victims of hate crimes and political violence, rest in peace:

casey: I'm in love with her but shhhhh it's a secret

The office manager strode down the sterile hallway, apparently expecting Alex to follow.

“Ms. Novak arranged for a friend to drive her home,” she said, looking through some files as she stopped in front of two doors marked Recovery.  “However, her friend was unable to stay throughout the entire dental procedure, and the other emergency contacts listed are too far away to be able to give Ms. Novak an escort home.”

A/N: okay quick summary of this AU world, most people develop a soul mark at around age five. some don’t. the marks burn when you get them, and then again when the soul touch is completed. also, this takes place during the events of ‘ghost’. that’s all okay bye!

———————

When her mark first appeared, she was swinging upside down on a tree branch. It burned, and she came crashing down to the ground with a yelp.

Four stitches, six hours, and one black sling later, Casey Novak went home with a broken arm- and a soul mark. 

She spent hours studying it over the years, trying to figure out how her mate could’ve touched her, trying to imagine what the moment would be like.

It was quite a large mark, a handprint wrapped around her upper arm, as if her soulmate had gripped it. It worried her slightly, the nagging fear that this mark had come from an act of violence was always in the back of her head. After all, she’d seen it before- her mother’s soul mark was on display for anyone to see- a handprint over her mouth. 

But something in her tugged away at that fear, as if she knew, deep down, that whoever her soulmate was, he or she was good. 

——————–

When her mark first appeared, she was studying in her father’s parlor. The burning sensation she’d been warned about was quick, and she dropped her book in shock.

Her father had smiled, and praised her for growing up, and her mother had even shed a few tears. Hours later, she was still transfixed, staring at her soul mark in the mirror. After all, Alexandra Cabot was convinced she wasn’t going to have a soulmate.

Her mark was delicate, gentle, a thumbprint that traced down her cheek to her lips. She felt breathless every time she looked at it, knowing that her soulmate had touched her so gently made it almost impossible to wait for.

She couldn’t wait to meet him- or her- and finally feel whole. Finally not be lonely.

——————–

25 years later.

“Liv, I know- yes, I understand that Miss Cabot’s life is still in danger…” Casey’s heels click on the tile as she storms down the hall to her office, not bothering to close the door as she dumps her files onto her desk, “I will do my best…hey, no, I get it. I’m not mad, just…I wish you would’ve trusted me.”

Suddenly, a hand wraps around Casey’s upper arm, and she freezes. Her mark is burning again, and she knows, without a doubt, that the person who has just grabbed her is the love of her life. 

“I gotta go…” She hangs up the phone abruptly, still not daring to turn around, her breath caught in her throat.

“Casey Novak? This is your office, right?”

Breathe, Casey. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for.

She turns, her eyes filled with tears, and she almost cries out as her soulmate takes her hand off of her arm. Her breath is stolen from her, because oh my god, her soulmate is Alexandra Cabot.

Alex is her soulmate, and she is even more beautiful than Casey could ever have imagined.

Her thumb reaches out, and Alex’s eyes go wide, as if she knows what’s about to happen. She leans closer, and then Casey’s thumb meets her skin. It traces down her mark perfectly, and Alex gasps at the instant burning she feels- only this time, it doesn’t hurt. It feels right. 

“Y- You’re my-“ Alex tries to speak, but her voice fails her, and Casey only smiles and nods, tears falling down her cheeks. Alex leans in again, this time not stopping until her lips connect with Casey’s in a raw and passionate kiss. Casey gasps, wrapping her arms around Alex’s neck, pulling her impossibly closer.

When they pull apart, they’re breathless, their lips tingling, and Casey sobs, letting Alex pull her close.

“Not that I’m not emotional, but I’m sensing there’s something I’m missing, hm? What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Alex’s voice is soft, softer than it’s ever been, as she tilts Casey’s chin up so she can see her eyes.

“I was so afraid that my soul mark was a violent one…m- my mother had a violent one, and so my dad was always so…cruel, and I saw how much she was hurting and I- I didn’t want to end up like her.” 

Alex blinks, her own eyes filling with tears, and she shushes Casey gently, her head spinning. She knew she’d grown up privileged, but she didn’t know just how much until this very moment. Her parents were true soulmates, deeply and madly in love, and they adored Alex. Her heart breaks for her love, and she gathers her words, pressing a kiss to Casey’s head.

“I would never hurt you, darling. Never. I’ve been waiting for you my whole life, and now…now we can be together. Forever.” Alex croons, and Casey feels her heart swelling, the broken cracks in the surface repairing, and she knows that she was right.

Alex is good.

One Mississippi, Two Mississippi, Three Mississippi…

She can’t stop shaking. It’s been hours. 

She’s locked herself in her office and shut out the world, because she can’t stop shaking.

Her hands are too weak to even pick up a pen right now, let alone grip others in a handshake, or carry a briefcase down the hall. Instead, she’s curled up on the floor behind her desk, shaking and crying. It’s pathetic. She feels pathetic.

It was only Elliot, right? 

Elliot, who’s yelled at her countless of times before, who she knows would never hurt her, who she trusts. 

So why can’t she breathe?

The doorknob rattles, and then she hears the sound of a key in the lock. Fuck. Alex. Of course it’s Alex. Alex, who has a key because they share an office. Alex, who knows about Charlie and what he did, but has no idea that she’s still so fragile because of it. Alex, who Casey never wanted to show weakness in front of. 

“Hey, Case, I heard Elliot really lit into you in court, I just wanted to- ohmygod!” Alex shrieks, and Casey wonders why her appearance is so shocking, until she looks down and realizes that in an attempt to calm her shaking hands, she’s dug into her skin and torn it, and blood is trickling down a few scratches that mark her forearms.

“I- I don’t- Alex…”

“Did Elliot do this to you?! Did he hurt you?!” Alex is by her side in an instant, kneeling down by Casey, but the sudden movement startles her, and Casey flies backwards, back thudding against the wall as her eyes widen in fear. 

“Don’t touch me!” Casey cries out, and Alex understands. This isn’t Elliot’s doing, Elliot would never hurt Casey like that. This is…this is Casey’s doing. She’s trapped in her mind, and it breaks Alex’s heart.

“Casey, honey, it’s me. It’s Alex. I’m not going to hurt you, baby, I’d never hurt you.” The pet names slip out subconsciously, as Alex reaches out a hand, slowly extending it towards Casey. She breathes out a sigh of relief as she sees recognition in Casey’s eyes.

Alex? Where’s Charlie? Did he hurt Alex? Wait- no- Charlie- Charlie’s dead. Alex…Alex is okay. Alex is safe. Trust Alex.

Casey’s eyes fall to Alex’s hand, and then she moves closer, reaching out and grasping her hand with her own shaking ones. Alex gasps at how much she’s trembling, and her arms open for Casey to fall into.

“I’m- I’m sorry- I thought you were- I didn’t know-“

“Shh, Case, it’s okay. I understand. You don’t have to explain, just…let me hold you.” Alex smiles, and Casey can’t help but smile back, collapsing into welcoming arms. Alex holds her close, and Casey nearly cries.

They sit there for what feels like hours, Alex gently shushing and comforting Casey, wiping away the tears that do end up falling, and Casey feels like she can breathe again. She looks down, and then she notices: her hands have stopped shaking.

Professor Flitwick’s Charms 5th-year Charms class was close enough to catch the full effect, and the door had been left open besides; en masse the students recoiled with shock and a miscast Hiccuping Charm broke one of the windows (out which the entire flock of ravens they were practicing on escaped to the Forbidden Forest where they only had to worry about centaurs, rather than annoying young humans with wands).

Up in the Divination Tower, Sibyl Trelawny preened over her foresight to have warned her students of an unprecedented catastrophe likely to occur before the hour was out.

Out in Greenhouse Five, a NEWT-level Herbology class looked up in puzzlement, and most of them were subsequently bitten by the Venomous Tentaculae they were attempting to propagate. It does not do to ignore a Venomous Tentacula when you’re prodding at its intimate parts with a cotton ball held in tweezers, so the class was cancelled while two-thirds of the students headed for the infirmary and the rest of them headed into the castle because if they stayed with the Venomous Tentaculae they’d be outnumbered, and nobody wants that.

And down in the dungeons, Professor Snape turned away from comparing Lee Jordan’s Pepper-Up Potion to spoiled cream at what sounded like a woman screaming from the entrance hall. At the second scream, he ordered the class to remain where they were and behave, sweeping out of the room just in time to miss Theodore Nott suddenly jumping up and yelping as if someone had put a crocodile heart down the back of his robes.

Fred Weasley stepped back from the unfortunate Slytherin, shared a smirk with his twin, and stuck his head out the door to make sure Snape had rounded the corner before leading the way out of the classroom.

-

Back in the Transfiguration classroom, about four minutes ago, it had started innocently enough. Ron Weasley, possessed of a broken wand and a lurking suspicion that most of the family’s magical talent had been soaked up by his siblings before he was around to get any, had attempted to turn his pet rat, Scabbers, into a teacup.

Scabbers had not become a teacup.

Scabbers, blast his useless furry little backside, had become a furry, vaguely teacup-shaped monstrosity out of which absolutely no one would have been tempted to drink, and to make matters worse, he still had a tail.

It was moving.

Harry was hiding a smile behind his hand. Dean and Seamus weren’t even trying to hide, elbowing each other and laughing. Parvati and Lavender were looking with disgust and horror at either Scabbers or him, and Hermione was opening her mouth, no doubt ready to tell him exactly what he’d done wrong.

Which only made it worse that he really thought he’d done everything right this time.

He snatched Scabbers off the desk (eww, the base of the cup had the same texture as rat feet) and turned away from Hermione. He made the wand movement again, picturing in his mind the way McGonagall had demonstrated it. “Erreverto.”

“Erreverto. Erreverto. Erreverto.”

It didn’t work. It didn’t work when Professor McGonagall stopped by and gave Hermione two points for Gryffindor for getting the spell perfect in both directions. It didn’t work when Harry made his successful transfiguration (Ron looked; the pattern was a little bit furry but it was definitely a teacup). Ron’s lips formed the shape of a word that would’ve made his mother box his ears had she heard it and attempted the reverse transfiguration, which didn’t work either.

Finally, faced not only with the indignity of failure but the threat of Scabbers being stuck like that, he’d gone up to Professor McGonagall’s desk.

“Um, Professor?”

Professor McGonagall looked up from the paper she was grading and looked from him to the squirming teacup. “Problems, Mr. Weasley?”

“Um, yeah, Professor. I can’t get it to work in either direction and it’s not fair to Scabbers to make him stay as a teacup just because I can’t do a spell right and can you maybe … ?”

“I suppose so, Mr. Weasley,” she said, and waved her wand in the exact manner Ron had been doing all along.

Nothing happened.

Professor McGonagall looked very, very puzzled.

“Now that’s odd,” she said softly.

As one, the other students rose from their seats and quietly moved closer.

She did not attempt the transfiguration in the other direction. Instead, she made a complex motion with her wand and murmured an incantation that possibly only Hermione recognized. The teacup squeaked. Professor McGonagall looked more puzzled than ever, and made a sweeping wand movement that ended with a sharp jab and uttered, “Arcanum finite!”

And there was a loud bang, and there was a pale, pudgy, and very naked man sprawled out on her desk, and she jumped back hard enough to knock her chair into the wall and screamed.

-

Having taught a particularly rigorous course of magical study to children and teens for quite some time now, Minerva McGonagall had become accustomed to certain things. Students who didn’t listen. Students who did rude things to the mice when they thought she wasn’t looking. Students who accidentally turned a frog or a raven into a flock of starlings or a school of strange slimy South American fish (and tried to solve the immediate problem by filling the classroom with two feet of water, neglecting to consider the gap under the door). Students who tried to transfigure their noses into a more appealing shape and wound up in the hospital wing regrowing their nostrils.

Naked men on her desk was something Minerva McGonagall had never had an occasion to get used to. What made it worse was that she recognized this one, and he’d been dead for more than a decade.

Inferius! was her first thought, followed shortly thereafter by Animagus, which collided with Peter Pettigrew! and produced the utterly horrifying thought of what if all four of them were Animagi? which didn’t bear thinking about at all, so her brain jumped to if he wasn’t killed by a Dark Wizard then why didn’t he say so? and realized there was only one possible explanation why, and about that time her eyes registered that parts of Peter Pettigrew she really doesn’t want to know about were flopping about in front of her face, and she was screaming as she jumped back.

The flow of invective which followed somehow failed to surprise her one bit. Some part of her registered, peripherally, the shocked faces of her students, but most of her attention was directed at Peter Pettigrew, who at very least faked his own death and at worst framed Sirius Black and if Black didn’t betray the Potters then who … did. And the words poured out of her, filthy English and filthier Latin while Pettigrew squirmed on the table, his face rage and guilt and fear and something shifty and contemptible, and he turned to look at the stunned students and lunged for Ron Weasley’s wand.

-

Severus Snape had reached the Entrance Hall by the time the scream died away and the invective replaced it. He almost smirked, amid the alarm; of all the things he’d never expected to hear from Minerva McGonagall … he took the stairs two at a time, still not noticing the students who followed.

He did notice the Herbology class, which had stopped on the way to the Infirmary and were staring transfixed in the direction of the Transfiguration classroom, but pushed his way through them, getting Venomous Tentacula pollen all over his robes in the process.

From the other end of the corridor came Professor Flitwick’s Charms class, with Professor Flitwick bringing up the rear and pushing his way between students.

-

Ron looked stunned as the man who’d been his pet rat snatched the wand from his hand; Professor McGonagal’s expression shifted to one beyond fury and when the entire class recoiled, it wasn’t from the naked man with the wand.

“Laedo!“ Minerva McGonagall roared.

-

Ron Weasley’s wand cast a Splintering Curse many years beyond its rightful owner’s abilities, and it did Peter Pettigrew the poor favor of eliminating the door, which might have slowed him down a bit.

-

Severus Snape flailed and skidded to a halt as the Transfiguration classroom’s door shattered. He stepped back just in time, and stared, jaw dropped in shock, as a naked man he recognized from his school days flew past him and bellyflopped against the wall, bounced, and collapsed to the ground just in time to avoid the “Exitium!” which followed and vaporized an impresive chunk of the castle’s stone wall.

Fred and George and Lee Jordan, determined to stay at the front of the crowd, had been pushed almost against Professor Snape by their fellow Potions classmates and some pollen-coated Hufflepuffs. Fred squirmed aside hastily as Professor McGonagall appeared in the doorway, the look on her face so utterly livid that Professors Snape and Flitwick both reflexively stepped back.

Snape tripped over George’s foot and fell against a knot of Hufflepuffs, releasing another cloud of pollen and knocking them backwards. Pettigrew saw his opportunity and took it, scrambling to his feet, stumbling sideways, and launching himself towards the gap.

And Minerva McGonagall made a thrust with her wand and said, “Perdo.”

In the very loud silence which followed, Filius Flitwick squeaked, “The Splinching Charm, Minerva?”

She might’ve looked embarrassed for a moment, and then she smiled as she looked down at Pettigrew, who lay on his belly, his arms and legs lying akimbo some distance away.

“Unorthodox,” she said, “but useful in a pinch. If someone would inform the Headmaster, and send an owl to the Ministry—-not Fudge, not Crouch, someone competent—-Shacklebolt, perhaps. Students, return to your classrooms, please. Mr. Weasley, I’m very sorry, but I do believe it’s impossible to return you your rat. However, the zero I was going to have to give you for the day’s work is entirely undeserved, as you were not transfiguring a normal rat. You may make the lesson up any time this week.”

-

The story was, of course, much embellished by the time it reached all the students. Versions of it had the intruder peppering Snape with a Glitter Hex or transfiguring Ron’s rat into a pair of boxers, and people had to be disabused of the notion that it had been Voldemort who’d been hiding as a rat all this time.

Snape gave both Weasley twins detention for tripping him, and took forty-seven points total from Gryffindor over the next few weeks for various pretend-subtle pollen references.

Kingsley Shacklebolt showed up with a team of Aurors in time to meet Professor Dumbledore; the Wizengamot launched an investigation into the events surrounding the Potters’ murder; the results turned into a scandal which saw the release of Sirius Black and the forced resignation of both Director Bartemious Crouch and Minister Cornelius Fudge. Director of Magical Law Enforcement Amelia Bones was confirmed as Minister of Magic shortly thereafte, and the Daily Prophet reported that Sirius Black (“Godfather to the Boy-Who-Lived!” “Framed, Abandoned, Condemned to Living Hell!” “Heart-Wrenching: His Release In Pictures, Page 17!”) was considering applying for a teaching position at Hogwarts, “but just for a year, I’ve been cursed enough for one lifetime.” (“The Prophet reminds its readers that the so-called “curse” on a certain Hogwarts teaching position is almost certainly a mere string of coincidences.”)

And, Minerva thought with relish some months later, it was almost three weeks before anyone attempted messing around in her class.

— Francesca Coppa, “Introduction to The Dwarf’s Tale,” The Fanfiction Reader (via francescacoppa)

Marvel Danvers vs. DC Danvers…

because in this scenario we ALL win.