#post war

[earthcoversearth]

[thecoparoom]

Catsup-Glazed pineapple. Why not.

1946

[thecoparoom]

Libertyville Textiles ad detail

1946

[zlerikson]

Casting Shadows Chapter 79

------------------------ Originally written June 15th, 2025 ------------------------

“Here comes your Champion of freedom! Cassandra!” Fariba harangued the evening tavern-goers, as Cassandra descended from the second floor. Grinning, she lifted her hand to wave, but the ever-hovering Kebb slapped her wrist.

“Don’t encourage the drunks,” he muttered, pushing forward through the crowd toward the exit. Cass stuck her tongue out at him but followed along with Anatu.

Fariba moved through the people like water through stone; a comparison emphasized by their layered robes of vibrant blues and purples, and sapphire-studded headpiece, versus the drab greys and browns of the locals or the travel-stained whites of the Disciples of Flame.

“Friends! You seek to depart without acknowledging your good friend Fariba?”

“We’re not departing,” Cass said, “just going to the hawkery to send a message.”

“‘Champion of freedom’, really?” Anatu asked, annoyance plain in their tone.

“No, I like it.” Cass grinned, holding the door for Fariba and Anatu. The evening air was still warmer than inside so she fanned her long black hair out with her arms as they walked.

“The hawkery is this way, if you fancy a quick detour around the oasis,” Fariba said

“We don’t,” Anatu said.

“But the scenery is lovely! And the air-” Fariba kissed their fingers, “so fresh and cooling.”

“I am afraid we have to send a message off as soon as possible,” Kebb said. “Is there a quicker route?”

“But of course! We shall take the most direct path through the market.”

“One minute,” Cass said, walking around the tavern to where the cart was stowed. She pulled her swordspear out and hoisted it over her shoulder.

“What could you possibly need that for?” Anatu asked, arms crossed incredulously.

“There’s a blacksmith somewhere around here, right?” Cass asked, looking at Fariba.

“Of course! On the way to the hawkery we will pass the greatest smithy in all the vast desert,” they answered enthusiastically. “Why, once, Fariba’s cartwheel shattered on a stone and-”

“See?” Cass said. “I need to get this thing sharpened.”

“Shouldn’t you have done that before we left Dehenet?” Kebb asked.

“I would have, but it was in the river when I learned about the mission.”

“Why was it in the river?”

“I was drunk,” Cass said with a shrug, “and we were celebrating the fall of the Empire. I think I promised to promote any soldier who could throw it farther than me.”

“That’s hardly a fair contest,” Anatu muttered.

“We were all drunk out of our minds.” Cass chuckled.

Kebb groaned. “Cassandra, we don’t have time to-”

“I’m just going to drop it off. We don’t need to stand around and wait for them to work. Fariba said it’s on the way, right?”

Fariba nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! We will pass right by.”

“Alright, lead on,” Cass gestured casually with the long, heavy blade and followed.

The market was not so crowded yet as the tavern felt. Vendors were still setting up their stalls now that the heat of the day was breaking, setting up produce and cheeses to be sold. A few early hagglers were out, all locals from the look of their clothing. People who knew the merchants and were likely being given better deals than the traders passing through town.

The smithy would have been easily overlooked by Cass if not for Fariba stopping by an open door in a squat, adobe structure. There was no smoke or heat like she expected as she ducked through the entrance, nearly stumbling as she was immediately confronted with a short set of stairs.

The room was half-buried and several people were moving about in near-darkness; the sound of chains rattling and metal scraping made Cass feel uneasy.

“Can I help you?” a woman carrying a torch appeared behind a wood counter. She set the flame in a sconce as Cass approached, and looked at the swordspear with wide eyes. “If you need us to work on that it’ll be a few hours. We haven’t lit the forges yet.”

“No rush,” Cass said, setting the swordspear point-down in the dirt floor and leaning it against the counter. She leaned on the wood as well and gave the woman a smile; her short, brown hair and strong arms were quite pretty. “I just need it sharpened. Name’s Cass.”

“I know. Fariba of Shen's been talking about you for days. I'm Lena."

"That's a pretty name," Cass said, "for a pretty woman. Short for 'Helena'? You look Sammosan."

Lena rolled her eyes, reaching for the weapon. "Yes, my mother was from Sammos. And I'll be busy all night."

Cass took the hint. "Alright. Be careful with that, it's real heavy."

"Don't worry, I'll be-" Lena tried to lift the swordspear but the weight made her grip slip and it fell to the floor with a clang.

"It's very heavy." Cass said, picking it back up effortlessly and leaning it against the counter again.

"I'm very sorry about that." Lena frowned.

"No harm done. I've slammed it into worse than a dirt floor. I'll be back tomorrow for it."

"I'll be sure it's done before then."

Cass emerged from the smithy to the sight of Fariba playing with some kids in the market. One of them was wearing the ornate blue headpiece from the merchant -backwards, so it covered their eyes - as Fariba spun the child around before releasing them to chase after the other giggling kids.

"About time," Kebb said when Cass was outside.

"Shut up, or I'll shut you up," Cass said, getting tired of Kebb's impatience. "Fariba! Which way to the hawkery?"

"That is the building there," Fariba pointed to a hut with what looked like a large chimney. Cass would have assumed that to be the smithy, until she saw a bird fly out of the adobe spire instead of smoke. "Fariba will be here when you return." The merchant laughed with the children as the dizzy kid found one of their peers and put the headdress on them to continue the game.

[westernlarch]

WIP Wednesday

Haven't posted one of these in forever, but since I'm not updating any time soon and we're all cookin' right now, I'll share the one little coherent bit I have 😆

As they descended upon Tal Valley, Kaidan stared down to see the pint-sized figures of people below, walking past or busying themselves at some task. They stopped what they were doing and seemed to look up at the skycar all at once, like a set of clockwork dolls whose springs had come unwound in concert. The vehicle came to a stop at the foot of an unfinished warehouse. The dolls’ eyes fixed upon him as he stepped out, and the steel skeleton of the building loomed large, its shadow slanting in bars across the dirt-covered square. He felt the coldness of dead stares follow him away from the building and down the main path. “It’s the uniform, isn’t it,” he whispered to Miranda over his shoulder. “Don’t take it personally. We don’t get visitors here too often, especially from the Alliance.” She strode ahead and lead the party to a cluster of buildings next to a cleared field. “This,”—she said, gesturing—“this is where we hope to open a modest trading post. Small to begin with, but with plans for expansion as more traffic moves through the sector.” “And who is this being funded by?” “Private investment,” answered Colin. “Speculators? Didn’t think there were many people left with an appetite for risk.” “No? You’d be surprised.” Colin crossed his arms, then ran his palm along the side of his stubbly jaw. “When the chips are down, investors want real options. Tangible things. And we’re making them right here on Horizon.” Kaidan knit his brows. “What, building materials?” Colin grinned smugly. Miranda’s eyes widened a little and the muscles around her mouth tightened, as if warning him off of something.

[zlerikson]

Casting Shadows Chapter 78

------------------------ Originally written June 8th, 2025 ------------------------

CW: Child abuse - Anatu’s mother is going to slap them in a dream sequence

Anatu looked in a mirror, brushing their eyelashes; separating them from the morning grit that tangled them in the night. They wanted to cut the fine hairs short, to make mornings easier, but their mother insisted they were one of Anatu’s ‘prettiest’ features.

They didn’t want to be ‘pretty’. They wanted to be productive. Useful. Efficient.

Anatu rose from the feather-stuffed bed as an unseasonably chilly morning breeze wafted in through the window, and walked across the smooth marble floor.

A box waited for them in the hall. Large, ornate carvings with jewels embedded in it. Passing the pillars on the way to it, they pressed their palm up beside the handprint they made on their last birthday. Barely any growth since they’d turned twelve.

Their twin brother, Horu, slapped his hand onto Anatu’s, the loud clap echoing in the hall, followed close by Anatu’s angry expletive.

“Jerk!” they yelled.

“Hahaha!” Horu tousled Anatu’s short, blonde hair and nimbly evaded them as Anatu tried to grab his long, golden locks. “Don’t worry shorty, you’ll catch up!”

Horu's growth spurt had him almost a head taller than Anatu, and he made sure they were well aware of their difference in height, strength, and speed. Emphasizing the lattermost point, Horu flicked Anatu’s nose, picked up the box, and ran away laughing.

Anatu ran, trying to keep up but their legs were too short. They waddled on stubby appendages down the massive hallway until they were lost among the legs of the statues. Gods and ancestors towered over them; stony glares piercing their soul. Anatu hid behind the base of one and furtively looked around for Horu. If mother found him first, they were both going to be in big trouble.

Turning to find another way past the all-seeing ancients, Anatu bumped into their mother’s legs. She towered over Anatu, holding the pretty box under one arm.

“There you are,” the dark-haired woman hissed, reaching down and grabbing Anatu’s wrist. She lifted them into the air, hurting Anatu’s shoulder. “Little whelp, running around, dirtying your dress! You look a mess!”

As she lifted her hand, Anatu tried to still her wrath. “I’m sorry m-”

Crack

The tent flap flew open and her slave entered with a panicked expression as Anatu was getting dressed, carrying the ornate box.

“What was that?” they asked, grabbing their cloak.

“The rebels broke through the barricade!”

“What? How is that-”

A loud boom shook the ground. Anatu finished pulling their clothes on and followed Kebb out into the sand. A trebuchet was in the center of their camp, shattered across several tents where Anatu’s soldiers were screaming for help.

Shouts rolled over the sand as enemy soldiers swarmed the dunes toward the camp.

“And that was when I had my soldiers surrender,” they said with a sigh, setting their drink down.

“Surrender and join the winning side, no?” the flamboyant merchant from Shen asked, shades of blue and green rippling throughout their layered outfit.

“It wasn’t that fast or simple, but ultimately yes. I was able to spare most of them execution by persuading the rebels that we would join their cause.”

“Ahh! A clever ruse. Fariba of Shen always said that you were the one with the brains of your family.” They drummed their fingers on the box in the middle of the table thoughtfully. “It was a ruse, yes?”

Anatu stared at the box and shrugged. “No? Yes? The rebels weren’t wrong in some of their issues. If I weren’t seventeenth in line for the throne I might have been able to make stronger arguments and changed things, prevented all of this fighting, but…” they sighed and pinched the bridge of their nose. “So what’s in the box?”

“Ah! Fariba will show you!” They stood up and lifted the ornate case, tucking it under one arm, and gestured for Anatu to follow. They walked across the cavernous tavern together and through a marbled archway into a familiar bathroom where blue stone and scented soaps filled the air with memories.

A wet splat under their foot drew Anatu’s attention. The empty room should have been dry, but a puddle of blood spread out under them. It flowed to the center of the room, to a pile of corpses; bodies and heads unceremoniously stacked together.

Their mother’s angry glare, disappointedly fixed on them. Horu’s genial smirk, long hair stained by the blood all around.

“Fariba is excellent with numbers,” the merchant said, setting the box down in the blood. “And counting these bodies… Anatu is the one on the throne now.”

“No…” There was no air in Anatu’s lungs. They couldn’t see anything beyond the bodies. The faces. The blood.

“Don’t worry! Fariba of Shen made a deal with you, and Fariba of Shen always keeps their promises.” The merchant’s attire was no longer gaudy blue and emerald green, but shades of red as the blood spread up from the floor to dye their clothing. “Unless, of course, a better deal comes along.”

A hand clamped around their throat, lifting inexorably. Anatu saw raw hatred boiling in Cassandra’s eyes, her dark hair dripping wet with blood.

“No. More. Empire.” She threw Anatu into the pile of bodies.

Winded and crying with terror, Anatu lifted their hands as Cassandra swung her swordspear toward her neck.

“AHHH!” Anatu screamed as they sat up. Their hair and clothes were matted to their skin with cold sweat. They grabbed their neck; cold, clammy, wet, but their hand was not covered in blood. They checked their chest and stomach; no wounds.

Knock knock knock. "Anatu?" Cassandra's voice was tired through the door. "You okay?"

"Yes!" Anatu lied quickly, not wanting her to come in.

"Alright. We're going to the hawkery as soon as you're up."

"Okay!" Anatu's heart raced as they thought back to the dream. The details faded as the seconds passed, but the goosebumps of terror took longer to abate.

[snarry-headcanons]

part 1

"Cursed?" Harry barked, as if the idea was ridiculous. Madame Pomfrey looked at Snape an equally incredulous expression, but Snape's face was deadly serious. 

"Cursed? What are you on about?" she asked doubtfully, but she turned to Harry and started waving her wand over him. Snape watched intently from his infirmary bed. It made Harry nervous. He'd suspected for a while that he had some kind of new physical ailment, but he would have never thought it was a curse. He thought back to the final battle, of all the dark wizards he'd faced in magical combat. Had any of them thrown a curse at him that could be lingering over a month later? 

"I don't sense anything, Severus," Madame Pomfrey said, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. Snape's sneer was back. Harry felt no relief at Madame Pomfrey's dismissal. If Snape sensed something, Harry knew there was reason to worry. 

"You don't sense the very powerful, very obvious curse?" Snape demanded. Madame Pomfrey rolled her eyes. Snape's small but strong hand gripped Harry's arm and yanked him off of the stool and closer to the bed. Harry started to protest as Snape poked a finger into his chest, right over his heart. 

"Here, Poppy. The curse is centered here. You can't possibly miss it," he said. Harry was having trouble not falling over, on top of Snape. Madame Pomfrey tutted and leaned over to examine Harry once more. After a moment, her expression changed from one of irritation to curiosity. 

"Why... yes, there is something here," she said. "Something strange." 

Half an hour later, Harry sat on a bed next to Snape's, shirt off, Madame Pomfrey examining him. To his embarassment, Snape had gotten up from his own bed to oversee the examination. 

Harry had little reason to be embarassed. He was big and muscular from all of the training for the final battle. Sure, he was self conscious about the little bit of weight he'd put on, but all in all, he was a well-built young man. Still, the reality of Snape looking over him so intently made him self conscious. 

"I'm not sure what kind of curse it might be. We'll need to call in a specialist," Madame Pomfrey said before leaving the infirmary. Harry put his arms over his chest. Snape, who stood there in just a t-shirt and joggers, looked at him deadpan. 

"I think Voldemort did it," he said flatly. "I recognize his magical signature." 

A wave of nausea hit Harry like a brick. Voldemort. He'd found a way to leave a little piece of himself behind again. 

"What does it do? Is it just going to keep making me tired all the time?" Harry asked. He knew that was wishful thinking. Snape sneered and looked away. 

---

When Madame Pomfrey returned, three healers from St Mungo's followed her. They didn't even acknowledge Harry before going to work, running their wands over him, murmuring to each other. They had him lie down and spread his arms out. His heart pounded with dread as they worked. He was so nervous, non of their individual features registered to them. His eyes moved around the room until they landed on Snape. He stood to the side of the bed, looking quite small in his oversized t-shirt. Somehow, Harry felt a great comfort at his presence. After all, Snape had been saving his life since he was a child. 

When the healers were done with him, they walked from the infirmary to Madame Pomfrey's office without another word. Harry sat up and covered his chest again. Snape walked to his side. 

"You can probably put that back on," Snape said, indicating Harry's shirt. 

"Why didn't they say anything to me?" Harry asked in a weak voice. He wondered if the Weasleys were starting to miss him. He'd been gone for quite a while now. Snape tightened his jaw, looking at Madame Pomfrey's office door. He looked back at Harry. Harry thought he saw sympathy in Snape's eyes. It unnerved him. 

Harry heard the office door open. He looked over just in time to see Madame Pomfrey walking out, grim look on her face. Harry stopped breathing. Snape stepped a little closer to him, hovering over him. 

"Harry, I'm afraid it's not good news," she said. Her voice was shaky. Harry bit down on his lip. He kept flicking his eyes over to see Snape's hand, gripping the side of the bed. His knuckles had gone white. He wanted to imagine Snape was worried about him. That he cared. 

"The curse is irreversible. And... I'm afraid it's fatal." Her voice broke when she said the word 'fatal'. He thought he heard Snape hiss behind him. 

But Harry didn't feel anything. It was like the words didn't register. He'd heard what she said, but the meaning escaped him. 

"How long," Snape demanded. He'd said it softly. Snape often spoke softly. There was a comfort in that familiarity. 

"A year and a day from the time he was cursed," Madame Pomfrey responded. 

"We can assume it was during the final battle. It's June, now. That gives me eleven months to find a way to break the curse," Snape said. He had said it very matter-of-factly, as if he had no doubt in his own ability. 

"Severus, those were the best healers in all of the UK. They assured me it was irreversible, that there was no ho--"

"So we should do nothing?" Snape shouted. Harry flinched. "You're going to accept that?" 

Snape began pacing around the room. Harry watched him, trying to hold back tears and panic. Snape was a rather small man, but he commanded such presence, even in a pair of faded black joggers. 

"Well, I'm not," he said decisively.

part 3