augusta state!


Site of the Confederate Powderworks/Augusta Powderworks now the site of the closed down Sibley textile mill and future site of the CapeAugusta Digital Properties’s “Digital Fortress”
Augusta, Georgia

Towering 150 feet tall the chimney is the only original standing remnant of the Confederate Powderworks that once stretched along the Augusta Canal for two miles. Construction began in September of 1861 under the guidance of Colonel George Rains, West Point graduate and chemistry teacher, by March 1862 work had been completed on the powderworks the second largest such facility at the time and was producing 3.5 tons of powder a day and over the course of the war produced 2,750,000 pounds of powder. The facility produced the majority of the powder used by the Confederate Armies and it is claimed that because of this the Confederacy never lost a battle for want of powder.

By 1872 the facility was dismantled all that was left were piles of bricks and the chimney, as requested by Colonel Rains to stand as a reminder the chimney bears an inscription on the marble tablet reading,

“ This Obelisk Chimney — sole remnant of the extensive Powder Works here erected under the auspices of the Confederate Government — is by the Confederate Survivors’ Association of Augusta, with the consent of the City Council, conserved in Honor of a fallen Nation, and inscribed to the memory of those who died in the Southern Armies during the War Between the States”.

Between 1880 and 1882 the Sibley Textile Mill was built in its place using around 13,000 bricks from the original Powderworks the mill operated for 124 years and operations finishing denim ended in 2006 when the mill was shut down and the looms sold.

Starting in 2015 planning was put in place to refurbish the Mill for use by CapeAugusta Digital Properties a cyber security firm and will see the site initial deployment of a 7MW facility which will be expanded to 20MW in the future. The site runs on hydroelectric power from the mill’s turbines and plans are in place to use the water to cool the facility.

From war fought with lead and blackpowder to the war for data security fought with fiber optics and silicon the site is steeped in regional and even national history.



Late Civil War Rigdon&Ansley Colt Navy copy

Manufactured in Augusta, Georgia, at the time Confederate States of America - serial number 1581.
.36 cap and ball six-shot caliber, single action, ‘creeping’ loading lever.

This copy, made possible by the secession of the South during the American Civil War - effectively a big ‘fuck you’ to all northern patents, is in almost every ways similar to a Colt 1851 Navy. It has however twelve cylinder stops, allowing it to be carried safely, and its barrel isn’t fluted like a ‘51 Navy.
I like those confederate revolvers, they’re like regular Colts but with a bit more personality.

Sauce : James D. Julia Inc.

help me breathe again (a wish to start anew)

Summary:ย With an arranged marriage to Draco Malfoy, Neville wonders how else his life can get turned upside down

Rating: T

Genre: Arranged Marriage, Angst, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers

Words: 9232

A/N: For @septimvsmalfoy, the second winner of my giveaway!! The prompt was an arranged marriage and oh boy did i get carried away.ย 

Shout out to @lepetitcomte for being an awesome beta!!




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·.·´¯`·.·★ [ 𝓓𝓐𝓝𝓘𝓔𝓛𝓛𝓔 𝓟𝓐𝓝𝓐𝓑𝓐𝓚𝓔𝓡 ] ★·.·´¯`·.·★

Weight: 53 kg or 117 pounds  
Height: 5 ft 6 in or 168 cm
Hair Colour: Light Brown
Eye Colour: Dark Brown
Birth Place: Augusta, Georgia, United States
Date Of Birth: September 19, 1987
Occupation: Actress

Notable Works: The Flash, Arrow, Stuck in the Suburbs, Sky High, Read It and Weep, Empire Falls, Shark, Mr. Brooks, Friday the 13th, The Crazies, The Ward,  Piranha 3DD    

flyingsassysaddles  asked:

((Alright, let me have a go with the Pokemon type thingy majigy)) Maine: Fighting because she's an tough badass NH & VT: Ice because Northern Pride Jefferson: Fairy because he's not small damn it! Portland and Maryland: Water because well water Augusta and Boston: Fire because history and she can roast them NYC and Albany: Steel because have you seen the NYC subway and the steel of the law I guess Delaware: Normal because life as a small state sucks and he's INVINCIBLE except Maine damnit

The fire and history part for Augusta interests me, as Portland has a large history with fire too, but I completely understand why you choose water for him too! Also Maine would be 2x strong against NH and honestly true.

(Also added Pokemon based on your answers for each of them below the cut! Also, there are only 5 full steel type pokemon, 3 from one line, one mega, and one legendaryโ€ฆ)

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So Augusta University is showing Burning Sands right when two probates are about to occur. Despite the NPHC organizations expressing their concerns and even offering an alternative movie, the school still plans to show this movie (even though Augusta University stated the alternative would be shed a negative light on IFC orgs, which this movie is doing to NPHC orgs). I’m so disappointed in my university for their lack of care towards students’ opinions, especially with such a sensitive topic


$450/2 br “

 ”…and you may find yourself, living in a shotgun shack!“”

this whole ad is a Talking Heads reference

A “once in a lifetime” opportunity. This Shotgun House is not “same as it ever was” -its been fixed up, nor is it “…in another part of the world” -its in the East-Arsenal Artists’ Colony in the Summerville Historic District near Augusta College/Augusta State University/Georgia Regents University. Walk to class, Sheehan’s Irish Pub, 5 o'clock Bistro, or The Indian Queen from this 1920s Southern-Gothic shotgun house. Wood floors. Beaded-board ceilings. Original pine clapboards. Quaint historic district setting -perfect for you and your “beautiful wife”. Ample off-street parking for your “large automobile”. Less than three miles from the Medical College of Georgia. Eat-in kitchen with “water flowing underground” and up into the washer & dryer connections and the vintage farm-house sink. Fireplace. Ceiling fans in all rooms. Cute front porch. Screened doors front & back. No worries about life “after the money’s gone” -its only $450 per month. “And you may tell yourself ‘This is not my beautiful house!’” -well, it could be. “And you may ask yourself, 'How do I work this?’” -send an email. 630 total sqft+/- Deposit: $450, Pet Fee: $100. Tenant pays: electric, gas, and water. This house has FOUR ROOMS as follows: front room, middle room, kitchen, and bath room. This house is nearly 100 years old -and looks it. Its definitely not for everyone. Central Heat & Air? - uh, no- Space heaters, ceiling fans, and screen doors. I can provide a window unit a/c or two if desired. Tiny yard out front. Tiny yard out back.*****AVAILABLE 9/1, with interior paint job since photos were taken.***** Porch Swing! Please refer to “Shotgun Shack” or similar in your message to me. Thanks.

Augusta, GA


What if the Potters had found themselves on the flip side of the prophecy, and Neville had been The Chosen One? They might have had their chance at happily ever after.

FFN    AO3

Chapter One: Deadly Stairs and Rumors


It’s a crisp, biting cold. They don’t have a proper coat for Harry, so he’s sure to get sick again, but Lily, frankly, doesn’t give a damn about the risk. They can go out in the street and take a walk around the square, so they do. James holds her hand as she pushes the pram-the one they’d been given and have only really used inside. It’s awkward, pushing it one handed, but they manage. She breathes in a deep, intoxicating breath because they are outside and waving to their neighbors, because the air is cool and refreshing in her lungs, because it’s over.

It’s over.

She wakes up to shattering glass and a swearing husband. Heart racing, wand in hand, she runs into the hall, tripping over her baggy flannels, which she still calls his but in reality confiscated from him sometime in seventh year.

Lily surveys James: long limbs sprawled on the stairs, glasses knocked clean off his face, covered in eggs and tea. She’d been up all night with a fussy, feverish toddler and James-her sweet husband-must have been bringing her breakfast in bed.

Had been, he tells her as she straightens his glasses on his face, until he’d noticed the Prophet headline and stumbled on the stairs, dropping the bloody tray.

They stay on the stairs, backs against the knobby spindles, hands intertwined, digesting every word.

The cat is breakfasting on tea and sausage and eggs; they pay him no mind.

Their attention is instead focused on the Prophet’s front page, which boasts, simply, You-Know-Who Is Dead. Really, it’s a full page spread with very little to substantiate such a claim: only spotty details, inconsistent reports, and-what stops their hearts-a line about the Longbottoms.

Such a detail wouldn’t register as the important thing for most people, but for them, the Potters, the other half of the damned prophecy that had halted all their lives, the flip side of the same coin, it means everything.

They don’t dare believe it.

Harry has woken up and is still fussy and clingy, although his fever seems to have broken.

They take turns walking the usual circuit around the house to keep him calm. They are grateful for the distraction, really, but it can only keep the need to know what’s happening at bay for so long.

Have you heard? An owl comes from Emmaline, telling them what she’s heard: that Frank and Alice are dead, that Voldemort is gone, but adding, hastily, that these are just rumours. She wanted them to know, but she hasn’t heard from anyone else-she means Dumbledore, they know-to make sure it’s true.

It’s the limbo, the not bloody knowing that’s eating their stomachs from the inside out.


As she does every morning, Bathilda stops by with biscuits for Harry.

She hasn’t heard from Dumbledore, either.

Lily scrambles to make tea.

Harry sits on Bathilda’s lap, munching happily away at the tray of biscuits left untouched by the adults.


WWN is full of speculation, but it’s chaos; everyone is celebrating but no one knows what’s actually happened.

James wants to leave and find out for himself, but he can’t because it might not be true and what a damn foolish risk to take.

Sirius shows and stems off the impending row. He’s been there, he’s seen it all, and he tells them every horrible detail.

The ruins of the little cabin they’d been hiding away in. Neville, rounder than Harry, bloodied forehead but alive, wrapped in Hagrid’s arms. His grandmum-solid, stately, domineering Augusta Longbottom- broken on the floor, weeping over her dead, heroic children.

Frank and Alice are dead.

The cost is terrible, it’s too high, and Lily reels.

Frank and Alice can’t be gone.

Frank, who stepped on her toes at the wedding and Alice, who twice saved her life.

Three times, Lily corrects herself. Alice has now saved her life three times.

She lets the horror of it wash over her.

She will never smile that sweet smile again, and Frank will never belt out his obnoxious, boisterous laugh again. They are gone, their comrades and their friends, and it rips her apart.

And there’s this: Lily hates herself for being relieved that it isn’t the Potters in the Prophet this morning.

It’s over.


After lunch, a quiet affair in the sitting room, Sirius leaves to go check on Peter, to track down Remus. They’ll be back for supper, he tells them, and she tells him to bring whiskey.

Harry ate a solid lunch and he settles into a deep, contented sleep.

James is holding her hand as they stand against the cot. She’s not sure he’s let go since this morning, actually, but she’s not complaining. They stare at him, this piece of them, their breathing, alive, bundle of energy and love they have been trying so desperately to save.


They haven’t spoken yet, but they don’t need to. Shock is slowly, by degrees, giving way to relief. Their new reality is setting in.

It’s over.


They don’t make it to the bed, taking each other instead hard and fast and glorious against the door. She feels like she’s seventeen again, and he is intoxicating, as always. He tastes like salt and peppermint tea and freedom.

They sink to the floor, finished for now, adrenaline still pumping, and the dam within Lily finally bursts.

Throughout all of this, these last two years-she’s cried only a handful of times, the last of which was when Dumbledore himself came to tell her about Marlene. Now, though, she cannot stop. She doesn’t want to.

He holds her, runs his hand up and down her back. Her shoulder is soon wet with his tears.

It’s unhurried this time, on the floor, tender and sweet. They’re giving, rather than taking, pouring all they’ve got into this moment. Gradually, kiss by kiss, whisper by whisper, everything aching inside Lily unfurls into a peaceful, satiated calm. They drift to sleep where they are, half dressed, a tangle of limbs and tear streaked faces, curled together on their bedroom floor.


She wakes up to the sound of Harry’s happy chatter, which is drifting from his room across the hall. She untangles herself from her sleeping husband, reluctantly lets go of his hand, and goes to Harry.

Harry is safe.

It’s over.

It’s over, but it feels an awfully lot like the flip side to another coin. The end of the war; the new beginning for them that she’d long hoped for but didn’t really believe would come true.

They can move into a bigger house, though she doubts they will because, despite everything, this has become home.

They can travel now that it would be a holiday rather than an escape. She wonders if they could pull Christmas in France.

She’ll surprise James with Cup tickets for next summer. They can go camping-Harry would like that.


James comes into the kitchen, kisses his wife, scoops up Harry from his spot on the floor and blows a raspberry onto his belly.

Lily puts a casserole in the oven and tells him the boys probably won’t be here for an hour or more.

He asks her what she wants to do, and she knows they’ve come to the same conclusion:

It’s over. Our lives are reordered. We are free. We can do whatever we want.

They decide to go for a walk.

anonymous asked:


ARCHatlas is an abbreviation of ARCHITECTURE atlas which was the original vision for this blog (not sure if that has been accomplished). Each of them built to commemorate a important person or an significant event in history, each of them a beloved icon of their country. No explanation needed of why they are the best of the best.

Arc de Triumph, Paris, France

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