appalachia is devastated. towns i loved, towns i visited all the time, are gone. not damaged, GONE. they are leveled to the ground. there is nothing left but rubble and ruin. people are dead. appalachia is poor to begin with and relies on tourism for a lot of its income, and multiple of those tourist locations are just...gone.
my town is okay, but it's flooded and wrecked. trees are blocking all but one way out of our neighborhood. power lines are hanging limp in the roads. we've been without power for over 24 hours and will continue to be without power for likely another 24+. disabled people and poor people are GOING to die from this. gods save appalachia.
it's always a hit or miss with appalachian charities. a lot are just evangelism with no action behind what they do. i suggest looking into them before donating.
adding some additional photos from the other side of the mountains here in northeast tennessee. there has been genuinely catastrophic flooding in many areas and billions of dollars of damage across NETN and WNC. we are not built to withstand this. 33 people are currently missing in unicoi county alone
to those of you reblogging this, thank you. i have not seen one negative comment about appalachia and i cannot put into words what that means as someone who has lived here for their entire life. we are used to being mocked, scorned, and dismissed, to being the butt of classist jokes, and y'all aren't doing that. thank you. so much.
Hey. Hey Appalachia. We love you. We are with you. We would fling our bodies and chainsaws into the mess if we could but we can't so instead we're flinging whatever cash we can spare to the orgs who will find the gas for the chainsaws and the food and water and clothing and first aid.
burn time (5800 words) by ardenti_luna
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes
Characters: Marlene McKinnon, Dorcas Meadowes, Lily Evans Potter, James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Grief/Mourning, I Don't Even Know, i know the ending is abrupt ok?, i just wanted to start something else
Summary:
“Who’s that?” she asked him, sliding next to him at the drink table.
“Who?”
“The girl who just came in. With the—the eyelashes.”
James laughed. “Dorcas. Can never get her to come to parties, but I guess Lily convinced her. She’s in her first year, studying something to do with criminals. Sounds complicated, I don’t really know.”
---
Marlene works too much. Maybe she would party more if the people all had shimmering skin and velvet eyelashes.
idk if anyone else gets this but I always have the best writing ideas when I’m half asleep. Like. I’ll wake up from a dream and roll over and illegibly scribble it on some paper and pass out again, and then it’s got some good shit in it that I can use. Or I’m just trying to get to sleep and an idea hits me full in the face when im sleepy and I have to turn my light on and write it all out. Or even if I wake up in the night, and I have a tiny idea, and all of a sudden it’s five am and I’ve got a five book series and the beginning of another series planned.
i can't even express how much it takes out of me to do anything, because everything has to be a compulsion. i spend hours each day doing my compulsions and just trying to survive, and it makes me feel so helpless.
if you know anyone with ocd, give them a hug. it sucks.
When Mary was 14, she walked into her first Divination class and promptly fell asleep on Lily’s shoulder. It became her worst subject, Divination. She couldn’t stand it. But sometimes, Lily would help her read the tea leaves, and they would laugh together at the ridiculous things they came up with, and Mary would watch Lily’s cheeks flush as she laughed, and Mary wanted to hug her. Hug her and never let go.
Mary never really got over her crush on Lily. Even once lily confessed to liking James Potter one night, when the two of them were sitting by the window staring at the sliver of the moon. Mary had said she was happy for Lily.
"I’m glad someone you want wants you back."
Mary had cried in her bed silently. I hate James potter, she thought.
James and Lily got married in the middle of the war. Mary has a photo on her fireplace mantle, her in a light red dress next to Lily in her flowing white one. They both had eye bags like bruises, only Lily’s had been covered up with thick makeup.
After that photo had been taken, Mary had gotten sick in the bathroom. She missed Lily getting married, and spent it hunched over the sink, throwing up. Her best friend spoke her vows to the man she loved, and Mary had missed it because she was too weak to watch Lily love someone else. Mary hates herself for missing that moment. She hates how glad she is that Lily getting married to someone else is not burned into her mind.
They were going to have dinner together. Lily had sent Mary a message from in hiding, saying she had a suspicion. They were going to have dinner on Halloween night. Mary had dressed up, wearing the red dress to say sorry for missing Lily’s vows. She had done her makeup, covered the eye bags, covered the scar she now had running across her forehead. Mary tied her hair up, slicked it back, and when she had turned to look at herself in the mirror, Mary laughed at herself.
It was dinner with her oldest, dearest friend, for Merlins sake.
She took off the makeup, let her curls down, and smiled at herself in the mirror.
Dumbledore was the one to tell her. He came to her door just as she was leaving, his beard frizzy and unkempt. Mary remembers distantly wondering what happened.
Dumbledore said, "I don’t have much time." Dumbledore said, "I have grave news." Dumbledore said, "The Dark Lord has been defeated."
Dumbledore said, "James and Lily Potter have been killed. Sirius Black sold them out to the Dark Lord, and killed Peter Pettigrew. He is being carted off the Azkaban as we speak."
"Sirius would never betray Lily!" Mary had screamed. She shoved the old man out her door, pushing it closed and going back to her kitchen to finish a cup of tea. The leaves at the bottom swirled together, and the voice of Lily spoke from beside her.
"Oh," she said, and Mary could almost see her clasping her chest in feigned fear. "It’s the Grim, my dear. Looks like we don’t have much time left."
Mary drops the cup, and it shatters on her floor. The pieces go flying.
Her wand is resting on the table, and Mary picks it up, her hand calm. She digs the tip of the wand into her temple, and twists it slightly, muttering.
The pictures on the mantle fade into blank frames. The ink of the letters she wrote back and forth to Lily, even in the depths of the war, disappear from aged parchment. A stack of galleons in the entryway table fades into muggle coins. Mary’s hand drops and her wand clatters to the floor, disintegrating.
She passes out in her dining room chair.
When Mary wakes up, she looks down at the red dress she is wearing, and wonders why she chose such an ugly color.
Not all lesbians are thin white girls who wear Calvin Klein underwear and go camping every weekend. Lesbians are brown girls in salwar kameezes and bindis and black girls with dreadlocks and afros and Muslim girls in hijabs and Jewish girls in tznius, lesbians are fat girls and 5X+ girls and girls with big bones and girls who are 6 feet tall, lesbians are poor girls on welfare and girls getting food stamps and homeless girls and girls working multiple minimum wage jobs, lesbians are girls with depression and anxiety and girls with personality disorders and psychosis and girls in the hospital and girls who are suicidal, lesbians are girls with disabilities and girls in wheelchairs and girls with chronic pain and girls who are blind and deaf and girls who are in recovery and girls who can’t recover, lesbians are girls who are 5 years old and girls who are 85 years old and girls who have known their whole life and girls who just found out, lesbians are girls from literally all walks of life and all cultures and all religions and our stories are so unique and so vast and to reduce us to only a small group of girls who most of us aren’t is disingenuous of who we all are as a whole.
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