Meanderings of a Fandom Geek

Wherein I drop the funny, interesting, important, moving, amusing, and educational things I find around the net.

when you’re reading a period fanfic and suddenly there’s Jammy Dodgers in it…

theworldaccordingtobod:

ppyajunebug:

thelethifoldwitch:

Imagine Hogwarts after the Battle, after the War, sure –
But imagine Hogwarts’ students, after their year with the Carrows and Snape.
Imagine a tiny little first-year whose porcupine pincushions still have quills, but to whom Fiendfyre comes easily. The second-year who tried to go back, to fight; whose bravado got Professor Sinistra killed, as she pushed him out of the way of a Killing Curse. The third-year who perfectly brewed poisons, hands shaking, wishing for the courage to spike the Carrows’ cups. The fourth-year who throws away all of their teacups, their palmistry guidebooks, because what use is Divination if it didn’t see this coming? The fifth-year who can barely remember what O.W.L.S. are, let alone that she was supposed to take them. The sixth-year who can’t manage Lumos to save their life, but whose proficiency with the Cruciatus Curse rivals Bellatrix’s.
Imagine the seventh-year who laughs until he cries, thinking about the first-years who will fall asleep in History of Magic while their story is told.
Imagine the Muggleborn first-years left alive, if there are any: imagine what they think of the magical world, when their introduction to it was Death Eaters and being tortured – by their classmates –for having been born.
Imagine the students who went home to their parents (or guardians, or wards, or orphanages) and showed them what they’d learned: Dark curses, hexes, Unforgiveables; that Muggles are filth, animals, lesser. Who, yes, still can’t transfigure a match into a needle – but Mum, there’s a hex that can make you feel as though you’re being stabbed with thousands. (Don’t ask them how they know.)
Imagine the students who will never be able to see Hogwarts as home.
Imagine the students Hogwarts has left, when it starts up again – the lack of Muggleborns, blood-traitors, half-bloods, dead and gone – the lack of purebloods; the Ministry would have chucked everyone of age (and possibly just below) in Azkaban for Unforgiveables, wouldn’t they?
Imagine how few students there are left to teach; imagine how few teachers are left to teach them.
Imagine the students who can’t walk past a particular classroom, who can’t walk through a hallway, who can’t walk into the Great Hall without having a panic attack or breaking down. Imagine the school-wide discovery that the carriages aren’t horseless after all; that everyone, from the firsties to the teachers, can see Thestrals.
Imagine the memorials, the heaps of flowers and mementoes – in every other corner, hallway, classroom; every other step you take on the grounds.
Imagine the ghosts.
Imagine the students destroying Snape’s portrait, using the curses, hexes, even Fiendfyre they’ve been taught how to wield – it has to be restored nearly every week; Snape stays with Phineas Nigellus semi-permanently. (None of the other portraits will welcome him. His reasons do not excuse his conduct.)
Imagine the students unable to trust each other – everyone informed on everyone, your best friend might turn you in.
Imagine the guilt that everyone carries (it should have been me, it’s my fault s/he’s dead, I told on them, it’s all my fault), the students incapable of meeting each other’s eyes because it’s my fault your best friend, your sibling, your Housemate, your boy/girlfriend is dead.
Imagine the memorials piled high with the wands of the dead. Imagine the memorials piled high with the self-snapped wands of the living.
Imagine the students who are never able to produce a Patronus.
Imagine Boggarts being removed from the curriculum because Riddikulus is near impossible to grasp, even for the sixth- and seventh-years. Because their friends and families dead will never, ever be funny.
Imagine the students for whom magic feels tainted.
Imagine the students who leave the wixen world – hell, the students who leave Britain entirely, because there’s nothing left for them there.
Imagine the students who never use magic again.
(Image source.)
(From the mind of the wonderful lavenderpatil, a keen look at how students might be after war.)

Reblogging this kickass post by the equally kickass
lavenderpatil
because everyone should read it

Reblogging this in a curled up bawling mess

Some of this has been beautifully explored in Written in the Body (http://archiveofourown.org/works/604174?view_full_work=true) by poetheather aka whistlingwombat. It’s about Hermione, mostly, but it touches on the aftermath of the war and how it affected a lot of people, how they deal with anxiety, depression, ptsd, survivor’s guilt, and more.

theworldaccordingtobod:

ppyajunebug:

thelethifoldwitch:

Imagine Hogwarts after the Battle, after the War, sure

But imagine Hogwarts’ students, after their year with the Carrows and Snape.

Imagine a tiny little first-year whose porcupine pincushions still have quills, but to whom Fiendfyre comes easily. The second-year who tried to go back, to fight; whose bravado got Professor Sinistra killed, as she pushed him out of the way of a Killing Curse. The third-year who perfectly brewed poisons, hands shaking, wishing for the courage to spike the Carrows’ cups. The fourth-year who throws away all of their teacups, their palmistry guidebooks, because what use is Divination if it didn’t see this coming? The fifth-year who can barely remember what O.W.L.S. are, let alone that she was supposed to take them. The sixth-year who can’t manage Lumos to save their life, but whose proficiency with the Cruciatus Curse rivals Bellatrix’s.

Imagine the seventh-year who laughs until he cries, thinking about the first-years who will fall asleep in History of Magic while their story is told.

Imagine the Muggleborn first-years left alive, if there are any: imagine what they think of the magical world, when their introduction to it was Death Eaters and being tortured by their classmates for having been born.

Imagine the students who went home to their parents (or guardians, or wards, or orphanages) and showed them what they’d learned: Dark curses, hexes, Unforgiveables; that Muggles are filth, animals, lesser. Who, yes, still can’t transfigure a match into a needle but Mum, there’s a hex that can make you feel as though you’re being stabbed with thousands. (Don’t ask them how they know.)

Imagine the students who will never be able to see Hogwarts as home.

Imagine the students Hogwarts has left, when it starts up again the lack of Muggleborns, blood-traitors, half-bloods, dead and gone the lack of purebloods; the Ministry would have chucked everyone of age (and possibly just below) in Azkaban for Unforgiveables, wouldn’t they?

Imagine how few students there are left to teach; imagine how few teachers are left to teach them.

Imagine the students who can’t walk past a particular classroom, who can’t walk through a hallway, who can’t walk into the Great Hall without having a panic attack or breaking down. Imagine the school-wide discovery that the carriages aren’t horseless after all; that everyone, from the firsties to the teachers, can see Thestrals.

Imagine the memorials, the heaps of flowers and mementoes in every other corner, hallway, classroom; every other step you take on the grounds.

Imagine the ghosts.

Imagine the students destroying Snape’s portrait, using the curses, hexes, even Fiendfyre they’ve been taught how to wield it has to be restored nearly every week; Snape stays with Phineas Nigellus semi-permanently. (None of the other portraits will welcome him. His reasons do not excuse his conduct.)

Imagine the students unable to trust each other everyone informed on everyone, your best friend might turn you in.

Imagine the guilt that everyone carries (it should have been me, it’s my fault s/he’s dead, I told on them, it’s all my fault), the students incapable of meeting each other’s eyes because it’s my fault your best friend, your sibling, your Housemate, your boy/girlfriend is dead.

Imagine the memorials piled high with the wands of the dead. Imagine the memorials piled high with the self-snapped wands of the living.

Imagine the students who are never able to produce a Patronus.

Imagine Boggarts being removed from the curriculum because Riddikulus is near impossible to grasp, even for the sixth- and seventh-years. Because their friends and families dead will never, ever be funny.

Imagine the students for whom magic feels tainted.

Imagine the students who leave the wixen world hell, the students who leave Britain entirely, because there’s nothing left for them there.

Imagine the students who never use magic again.

(Image source.)

(From the mind of the wonderful lavenderpatil, a keen look at how students might be after war.)

Reblogging this kickass post by the equally kickass
lavenderpatil
because everyone should read it

Reblogging this in a curled up bawling mess

Some of this has been beautifully explored in Written in the Body (http://archiveofourown.org/works/604174?view_full_work=true) by poetheather aka whistlingwombat. It’s about Hermione, mostly, but it touches on the aftermath of the war and how it affected a lot of people, how they deal with anxiety, depression, ptsd, survivor’s guilt, and more.

(via knowhereplansfornobody)

breakfast-at-elysian-fields:

buffytags:

mindycollette:

marshmallow-the-vampire-slayer:

lawvatos:

endless list of incredible scenes
» Buffy, BtVS (The Gift)

In hindisight, you can trace Buffy’s depression in season 6 back to this moment (and even to earlier episodes: definitely to Joyce’s death, and even in Spiral when she shuts down and decides she has already lost against Glory). Buffy’s depression was about much more than being torn out of heaven, and you can see why in this scene. A lot of people criticize season 6 for being too dark, but I feel that Buffy’s depression was one of best written arcs in the show. 

          (via wouldbeheavenly)

#i actually think buffy’s depression was something she struggled with throughout the series #you can trace it all the way back to when she was killed by the master #but it probably started even earlier than that (via mindycollette)

#Also SMG’s physical performance in The Gift shows how relieved she was to be ending it. She doesn’t look overly frightened for someone who’s about to kill themselves she just looks like “I’ve got to do this. This is all I have left to do and then I’m done.” as though she’s relieved it’s over. She accepts her death pretty readily. It’s foreshadowed with the line “every slayer has a death wish”. Season 5 really felt like it was building up to her death in it’s entirety and there was closure on all fronts and then it was like “Oh no… you have to carry on now. There’s more. You’re not getting out of this.” and it reflects life in that way that it just carries on going even when you’re tired of it.

I think she had depression issues throughout the series, and the older she got and more shit she dealt with, the worse it got (because that’s what depression does when untreated). And I think the reason it was so much more obvious in season six is exactly because of her death and her time in heaven. 

If you’ve ever been depressed, and then you have a really great day, or maybe a few of them in a row, and then you crash again, that crash seems all the harder because of how good you were feeling just a minute ago. Her death, that closure and “then I’m done” feeling, her time in heaven, knowing that everyone she cared about was okay, and that she was done and could feel peace - that was her “really great day.” It gave her hope, and Bargaining took it away. My theory is that it’s not because she had to face life again, or fight demons again (at least not external ones), but because in heaven, depression doesn’t exist, and when she came back, she had to deal with it again.

So, yes, I pretty much agree with everything in these comments, and then some. Depression is a bitch of a disease.

(Source: nayaswifee, via knowhereplansfornobody)

lizinprogress:

hummels + doing whatever it takes to make sure their significant other is happy

Such good people, those Hummel men. Not perfect, but so very good down to the core.

(via dontbefanci)