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whentheresmoonlight · 6 months

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Sand Lines, Ch1: Tuesday

Read on AO3

rating: teen

pairing: bakudeku

word count: 5.7k/40.6k

summary: It wasn’t a vacation. It was only convenient that Katsuki’d managed to trick Miruko into thinking it was.

Katsuki doesn't need a break. Post-war life has been peaceful. Too peaceful. So under the guise of a vacation, Katsuki heads to the American southwest, the only place where he can do the thing he wants to do the most: blow stuff up. Big time. And it's all going to according to plan for about five minutes, until Deku comes along. They've barely seen each other since graduation last year and Katsuki could, should blow him up for getting in his business yet again. Instead, they learn about post-war life in the way they've done everything: together.

a/n: Thank you to Ice, Genevieve, Wolfie, and most especially Lin for reading this fic and reassuring me that it's not total garbage. I really appreciate it ❤

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Tuesday

White Sands Missile Range, New Mexico

A sunburn was coming on.

It was midday on the missile range in the middle of the desert and the sun shone hell’s helmet right on Katsuki’s head. Despite the gallons of sweat and the light breeze, his soaked hair was hot to the touch and the skin on the tops of his ears pulled tight with forthcoming blistering. But he carried on.

The heat pried perspiration from Katsuki’s skin, dripping from his nose, his chin to soak into the sand below. When Katsuki stepped on those sweat-hardened discs of gypsum, they crunched underfoot, dissolving back immediately into the fine grains of sand they’d been before.

His grenade launchers were heavy with fuel, only the good stuff from his quirk as he stretched one arm out in front of him. There were a number of metal sensors out in the distance, even the closest one nearly too far to see in the blinding sunlight. Katsuki squinted, narrowed his vision on it, and rolled his shoulder back before jumping in the air and firing the explosion straight out.

Katsuki’s body blew back, the sweat burning from his skin immediately as the explosion burst forth over the White Sands Missile Range. Katsuki tucked his body in, landing on the ground in a backwards somersault to avoid the sand burn he’d gotten skating across his back during his first attempt.

Katsuki’s grin split, the corners of his mouth tight and chapped from the unexpected lack of humidity. But he didn’t mind as the remnants of the explosion effervesced into the air, lingering only in the tingling from his pecs to his fingertips. A blast like that would have shattered his arms, Deku-style, without protection. But with his bracers, they were just rattled. He still had a couple blasts left in him.

He hauled himself up, even his legs a bit shaky as he walked towards the sensors. The closer ones would measure the damage of the attack, how far back he could blow a foe. Ones off to the side would measure just how big the blast had been.

This was nothing like what Katsuki was limited to in a gym. There, every explosion had to be contained; he had to constantly calculate how to reduce damage to nearby people and infrastructure. This was maybe the one place on Earth where Katsuki could discover the ceiling of his capabilities.

Katsuki circled both arms in wide circumferences as he made the long walk across the sand to his sensors. The pain was good and his quirk was performing perfectly in the summer heat. The dryness of the New Mexico desert made his sweat evaporate much faster than it did in Japan, but that didn’t matter when it was stored in his gauntlets.

When Katsuki found his sensors, he let out a whoop. Meters and meters of distance, kilotons and kilotons of damage. With that kind of firepower, he could level buildings, blast out a cave in a mountain bigger than his city apartment and live there. He was half-tempted to run a victory lap just for the hell of it. Usually, he had someone’s eyes on him when he managed something truly impressive with his quirk. But today he’d have to celebrate on his own.

He gathered the sensors up, metal practically sizzling against the dampness of his gloves. They’d be a bitch to measure and reset, but it would give him time to stock up more sweat and go again. In weather like this, he didn’t need more than a brisk walk in the sun to soak his gauntlets, and he had the half-empty ten-gallon water cooler to prove it.

He returned to that bright-orange beacon and his bulk-sized sunscreen pack, all resting under a wide patio umbrella along with a camping chair he’d bought from the Walmart Supercenter in town. Most important were the materials loaned from the range. It was like his own private beach, sans water, plus pressure gauges and sensors. He tossed his gloves under the wide shadow that the tall sun allowed his umbrella to cast, sat, and stretched his shoulders, feeling the reverberation of his collarbone clicking back into place right up to his ear. Then he sighed and leaned back.

Now this, this, was a vacation.

It wasn’t a vacation. It was only convenient that Katsuki’d managed to trick Miruko into thinking it was.

This past year had been a vacation. Graduation was supposed to mean the big leagues, but when you’d already defeated the world’s biggest bad at seventeen, getting emergency calls for petty thieves who wet themselves as you tackled them outside the shop they’d just held up was pretty embarrassing.

It had started earlier than that, though. After being nearly disintegrated to ashes finer than this damn sand by a real villain, flitting around Ground Alpha, Beta, Gamma as classmates pretended to be villains was no grander than playing cops ‘n robbers. A third-year final exam was as good as napkin math.

Nah. He didn’t need a vacation, not while chasing D-listers under the Energizer Bunny. What he needed was a good shake up. Japan was boring. Tired. Training in isolation in the desert? That was what would get him closer to number one than ever.

He’d just moved from his shoulders up to his neck, stretching out his traps with easy neck rolls when he spotted it. A blight in the distance among the vast blanket of white dunes. There was a plume of gray overtop this relatively flat part of the missile range. But Katsuki’s explosions didn’t make that kind of smoke, the stuff that could suffocate you if you breathed it in long enough. All his smoke had dissipated before he’d sat down.

“What the fuck?” Katsuki murmured, his tongue dry in his mouth. He wasn’t drinking enough water.

There wasn’t hardly any wind to speak of at the moment, but the cloud was either growing or coming Katsuki’s way. Katsuki stood and crouched low, shook out his hands, trying to get the feeling back in them. That last move had drained him, but his gloves were at least partially saturated as he picked them up from the dusty ground. He was never totally dry of his quirk, and any villain would find that out quickly.

But no idiot would try to get the jump on Katsuki with nothing better than a Smokescreen quirk. At least, not if that was their only quirk.

Katsuki shook away the thought, even as the adrenaline in his veins melted away and his posture slacked against his will. Because if this was a quirk, and not a fire—and it couldn’t be a fire, because there was absolutely nothing that could catch anywhere around—then it was a quirk he knew well.

But…it couldn’t be that, could it? Katsuki was in the middle of the desert, the sandy toe jam of America. It had to be a mirage—those happened in the desert, right? He’d thought that mirages were usually characterized by water, desert oases for doomed travelers, but maybe his mind had conjured up something else. Something more familiar.

But as he tried to blink it away, rub his eyes and erase the mirage, it continued to grow, and Katsuki couldn’t deny what it was. There was no fire, and there was no attack. No, it wasn’t a surprise—it was a signal. A goddamn stormy portent from a stalker idiot.

Katsuki relaxed his pose, slouching as he threw the gloves back to the ground. He went for the orange jug and drank like he’d been trapped in this desert for days instead of only a couple hours. His flight had landed only that morning. Izuku must have been in the sky at the same damn time to have tailed him so fast. He wondered how many flights flew from Los Angeles to El Paso every day.

“Kacchan!” Katsuki heard mid-drink. He continued to swallow his fill before moving on to the sunscreen. It was as warm and runny as bath water.

“Kacchan!” Izuku called again as he jogged into view. He had an impressive pace, running on the sand with no evidence of One For All doing teal-toned tricks around his body.

Katsuki spread the sunscreen over his face, taking extra care to cover his ears and then running the excess through the roots of his hair. He wasn’t wearing his jagged fins—no need for aesthetics in the middle of the desert—but dammit, he should have worn a hat. His scalp was gonna be as pink as Raccoon Eyes’.

“Hey, Kacchan!” Izuku said again, barely panting as he slowed to a stop in front of Katsuki’s meager set-up.

It figured that the moment he tried to do something new with his quirk, this nerd would show up. It was practically its own kind of smoke signal to someone like Izuku. Katsuki couldn’t even be surprised.

“Funny, thought I just heard Deku,” Katsuki said, slathering his arms, taking care to work his fingers just a little bit under the sleeves of his costume so he wouldn’t wake up with any surprise red, peeling patches tomorrow. “Maybe he got a quirk that throws his voice ten thousand kilometers. Sounds like the kind of shitty quirk one of the past holders woulda left him with.”

Katsuki grinned, keeping it mostly to himself as he faced away from Izuku.

“Kacchan,” Izuku whined, and if it weren’t for the jet lag and the aggressively dry heat, Katsuki would think he was back in Musutafu. “I’m here to help!”

Katsuki’s lip curled up. “Who asked you for help?”

“Miruko,” Izuku said, and it was all Katsuki could do not to curse at being caught out. “What, you thought you could petition the U.S. military for months to use a missile launching site for training and no one would find out?”

Maybe.

He’d thought that using All Might’s pull instead of Miruko’s might lead to some discretion. All Might was the king of secrets, and Katsuki might have expected the same of the U.S. military. Apparently not.

“If it took me months to be able to set foot on this site then how are you here?” Katsuki asked.

“I said I would help control your quirk,” Izuku said with a shrug.

“Contr—Deku,” Katsuki spat. “You can’t even control your own quirk.”

Katsuki stared over Izuku’s shoulder at the smoke still sticking to the air, the only thing intersecting the wavering heatwave lines on all sides.

“I was actually trying to be visible,” Izuku countered, but he still turned back towards the smoke. “One sec.”

Izuku put a hand out and took off in a blur. Shots of Air Force blasted from his fingers, clearing the smoke out faster than it had arrived. Spots where his quirk flared over his body were brighter even than the near-white sand in the shimmering heat, but they blurred as Izuku ran. Seconds later, he was back by Katsuki’s side, barely sweating.

“You got lost,” Katsuki said. “You were supposed to keep running back to the airport.”

The words came out less convincingly than Katsuki had intended. Must have been another dehydration symptom.

“Look, Kacchan, I’m already here,” Izuku said, like he was being the reasonable one. Like he was ever the reasonable one. “My flight back isn’t till next week, like yours, so you’re stuck with me.”

“Story of our lives,” Katsuki mumbled, picking up his glove again, now coated on both sides with fine gypsum. He smacked it twice against Izuku’s side to bat off the worst of it, earning himself a frown. “I’m sure the Easter Bunny didn’t send you to keep us out of trouble. So what gives?”

“No, not that,” Izuku chuckled as Katsuki thrust his sensors at his chest. Izuku grabbed them, reflexes tight as ever. His biceps were barely flexing under the weight while Katsuki could still feel that lactic acid burn receding from his. “Well, not that we’ve gotten into trouble in a while, anyway. I, uh, think she just wanted to catch you in the lie, honestly, and well.” Izuku held up the equipment. “Point one for the boss.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” Katsuki said, stalking out of the shade of the umbrella. He was rehydrated, relubricated, and recalibrated. Even if his right hand was still tingling a tad, his left was good to go. “Now that you’re through with that rot, you can make yourself useful.”

“Measuring the strength of your attacks?”

“Yep, and you’re my caddy,” Katsuki said as he bounced in place, allowing his sweat glands to dilate. “Have fun being ball boy on my vacation, Deku.”

Izuku grinned, unzipping one of the pockets on his costume. He was wearing the whole damn thing, down to the hood that was plastering itself to his dampening back. “That’s not all I’ll be, Kacchan.”

He dipped a hand into the pocket to pull out a dinky little notebook and miniature pencil. It’d be filled before the day was done, guaranteed. It was Katsuki’s quirk, and this was Izuku.

“Bring it on.”

The thing was, this was the first time Katsuki had seen Izuku in weeks. He’d only seen him a handful of times in the last year.

They’d both decided to sign under the Trix Rabbit upon graduation. She had the physical prowess with an emphasis on legs that Izuku needed, and the brash, make-your-enemy-your-punching-bag attitude that Katsuki wanted. He definitely wouldn’t have clocked her as someone to send a babysitter after him on his not-vacation vacation, but then, he wouldn’t have expected her to force him to take a vacation anyway.

And why make Izuku that babysitter when they were never put on patrol together and only partnered up for occasional busts?

Both of them were powerful heroes with big reputations, even as first-year rookies. And things were calm enough in Japan now that their combined manpower would be overkill for nearly any villain or incident. So the last time Katsuki had seen Izuku was a Class A social hour a few weeks ago, and before that it had been for an emergency call that they’d both taken, that had only taken ten minutes to wrap up and toss the perp into the paddy wagon.

This last hour one-on-one was more cumulative time than they’d spent together in months.

And it was…okay. Not what Katsuki had planned, but if Izuku wasn’t going to get in the way, then Katsuki wasn’t mad that he was there. Really, it just felt like One For All training again, except this time it was about Katsuki. And instead of Katsuki being there because he was making up for being an asshole, they were there because, well, they wanted to be. Or, well, Katsuki had wanted to be and Izuku had horned in on it.

“The pressure wave was really impressive in that second blast, and you reached the autoignition temperature way too quickly for me to measure. I wonder if it happens faster when it’s this hot outside? Obviously, you’re producing more sweat, but if you’re also able to ignite it faster, that’d be amazing to know. Not that a few milliseconds here or there makes much of a difference, but reflexes are important and Kacchan’s have always been amazing. And the temperature of the blast! It was over five thousand degr—wait, is this fahrenheit? No, it’s not! Very impressive!”

Izuku’s knees were an inch deep in sand as he looked back and forth between the gauges and his notebook, using one of his knee pads to keep the damn thing open as he scribbled. He was either already getting a sunburn on the whorl in the back of his head, or all his nerdy excitement was making the blood rush up there. But dammit if his nerdy excitement wasn’t helpful. If it wasn’t something Katsuki had been missing.

“Deku,” Katsuki blurted out. “Learn any new quirks in the last year?”

Izuku looked up from his notebook and chuckled, letting the sardonic tone roll off him as it always did. “Pretty sure I’m maxed out on quirks, but I’ve been trying some new things. I’ve gotten a handle on using Blackwhip as a propeller for Float, which can help some with speed, but not as much with control as you’d think. I’m still working One For All’s percentage up, and you’ll notice I haven’t been to the hospital once! The infirmary, yes, but not the hospital!”

In the past, Izuku and Katsuki had done that kind of training together. Even after everyone had found out about One For All, Izuku and Katsuki had still been training partners. It might have even made sense for them to be hero partners. Now Katsuki didn’t get to see any of it.

But Izuku was seeing it. Now. His eyes were on Katsuki again.

“Congrats on keeping your bones together, idiot,” Katsuki said. “Where have you been then? I know Cottontail ain’t kept you that busy. So what gives? You haven’t yammered my ear off like this in months.”

Izuku frowned. “It’s not like you’ve reached out to me either, Kacchan,” he replied, and evasively so, if Katsuki had anything to say about it. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing either.”

Well, fine, Katsuki didn’t care. He made eye contact with his fingers as he flexed and unflexed them in his gloves. He’d have to take a longer break after that one, since his right side was still tingling and his left had just nearly been blown clean off.

He never had to wait like this during his regular training—he never used moves that took this much juice out of him. But he could still stretch. Definitely manage an ab workout. Technically, he could jog, but the desert sun would probably slap him flat against the hot sand if he tried. And if Izuku thought he could get ahead with whatever post- or pre-shift bullshit he’d managed to find instead of training with Katsuki, he had another thing coming.

While Izuku sank deeper in the sand, Katsuki walked back to his water and took another big swig. It was cold—he’d filled the thing half with ice from the get-go. The temperature difference fisted at the back of his throat, tightening his soft palate with every swallow, but it was worth it for just a speck of relief on this summer day. Then he sat himself on his tailbone in the shade and began a rep of v-sits.

“Kacchan, what are you doing?”

“Keeping from getting soft like you with your dogshit posture,” Katsuki grunted as he balanced through his crunches.

“You already look good,” Izuku said. “You must have bulked up this year, haven’t you?”

He had. The general lack of villains, or at least interesting ones, had allowed him to devote more time to training than when he’d been in school for it. Frequent spars with Shitty Hair—since Izuku hadn’t been around—and regular trips to the gym had served him well. Going to a place like this was the only way he could surpass himself and get to an even higher level.

Of course, calling Izuku soft was an obvious lie—he’d clearly kept up some kind of a routine in the last year too. The only soft things about him were his chubby cheeks and, presumably, his hair. Not that Katsuki had ever checked. And it showed as Izuku tilted his head at him, smile falling all slant on one side, like it was swung down by gravity. In the silence of the desert, he could still barely hear the little exhale that usually passed as a laugh for Izuku. Katsuki kept his lips firmly downturned.

Katsuki finished his set, abs tight and new sweat already forming when Izuku’s shadow disappeared with his own under the umbrella. His feet were inching up into Katsuki’s space, but Katsuki ignored him in favor of continuing counting before beginning his next set.

“I didn’t rent a car.”

Katsuki huffed. “Guess One For All will get a good workout on your run back to town, then.”

This Missile Range had its own town name. Probably its own zip code too, in this sparse country. It was miles to get anywhere that had a real hotel, or even a McDonald’s. But Izuku could probably charge up Fa Jin and make it there in three or four jumps, if he really put his back into it.

“I also didn’t reserve a hotel room.”

Katsuki began his v-sits again, and his words came out as a grunt. “Then do that, Deku. It’s not like anyplace here will run out of rooms.”

“…I don’t have any currency.”

Katsuki broke his balance, slapping his hands down in the cool sand. The granules stuck to his sweat immediately. “What’re you telling me, Deku?”

“I’m gonna need a ride back to your hotel…at the very least.”

“Well, enjoy waiting a few hours then.”

“Kacchan.”

Katsuki didn’t stop his set, though he’d lost count. He spared Izuku a glance, solely because gypsum could only be so interesting.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough for the day?”

“Fuck off.”

He sped his crunches up a bit, returning his hands back to form, parallel to the ground, alongside his legs. Done enough for the day? The sun would still be up for hours. His day didn’t usually stop until nine or ten pm, and, jet lagged or not, he was going to stick to that.

“I’m serious, Kacchan,” Izuku urged, having the nerve to squat down to Katsuki’s level. Katsuki’s bangs were plastered to his face, laden with sweat and sunscreen, so he could only make Izuku out through a flaxen blur anyway. It blended him right in with the white sand. “You can’t pull off another explosion like what you just did, not today. Not for a while, at least. So we might as well get out of the sun and go back into town. Take a shower.”

The word can’t set the burn rising in Katsuki’s muscles to a familiar fire of contrarian spite. It was reflexive, a well-worn groove that he couldn’t help but slip into, especially with Izuku. Even though he could see the groove and all the paths around it by now, he’d still tumble in and feel those fanned flames of resentment.

He dug deep and filled them with sand.

“Tch, since when are you the voice of reason?”

Izuku grinned. “Maybe I’ve gotten better in the last year.”

Katsuki scoffed. “Fat fucking chance.”

Truthfully, Katsuki hadn’t put much thought into an itinerary for this trip. Not even which hours would be at the Missile Range and which would be in the hotel. He’d been given free range to this plot of land during business hours, and he intended to squeeze every minute out of it that he could. But it wasn’t the best place to recharge after pulling off an explosion impressive enough to make Izuku monologue into his diary for ten minutes straight.

“You carry the water jug,” Katsuki said, standing up and grabbing the arms of the camping chair to collapse it. “Don’t track any sand into the car.”

Izuku glanced at the sand that coated both of Katsuki’s hands up to the wrist, and then around to the patch that was surely still stuck to his pants. As he’d stood up, some had fallen from there and was now beaded into his leg hair, and sticking to the sweat there. Meanwhile, Izuku only had his shoes and knees to contend with, and Air Force to blow it off with.

“Haha, alright, Kacchan.”

Route US-70, Otero County, New Mexico

“Eep!” Izuku winced, plastering himself to the passenger door as a pickup truck zoomed by on Katsuki’s left down the two-lane highway. “Gosh, every time, it looks like it’s gonna hit you.”

“You’re just confused by the side of the road,” Katsuki said, putting extra effort into minding the lanes himself. Switching from the right to the left side of the car was fucking ridiculous. “ ‘Sides, these lanes are crazy wide. And it’s not like you couldn’t hop outta the car and stop another one with your bare hands. Or Blackwhip it and drop it on a cactus somewhere.”

“I’d rather not, though.”

It was only the fifth car they’d seen since leaving the military base anyway. Seriously, no one lived here. It felt like it was just him and Izuku for miles.

Which, after not seeing each other in so long, was kind of weird.

A year ago, it wouldn’t have been a surprise to have Izuku pop up mere hours into his vacation abroad—hell, Katsuki hadn’t even been able to feel shocked when Izuku had shown up, presumably quirkless, to the first day of class at UA. But now? It filled Katsuki with some kind of pit in the bottom of his stomach. Maybe it was just an after-effect of the long flight or the dehydration or the massive attempts at rehydration. Water sloshed in his belly along with an unease at the nerd’s appearance, and he had to table it immediately. They were good. They’d left school on good terms. Things were fine on the brief occasions where they’d seen each other recently. It was chill. It was fine.

“Wonder if there are any heroes here,” Katsuki mused, turning to the topic that had always been safe for them. “Maybe one who gets more powerful the less people he sees and the more loose dirt he inhales.”

There was a small twister way out in the distance. Some dirt and debris making a tornado not much taller than All Might himself, and dissipating into nothing before Katsuki’s eyes. It might have been miles away for how far Katsuki could see in any direction. There was the dinky town of Alamogordo in the distance, but on every other side was nothing but dirt, shrubbery short enough to trip over, and then mountains flanking every side. In between were dozens of kilometers Katsuki could see radially. North, south, east, and west. Even Izuku wouldn’t be able to run end to end without getting exhausted.

“There are bands of traveling heroes in this region,” Izuku stated, peeling himself away from the door. “Agencies that capitalize on speed, usually having one member with some kind of teleportation quirk, so that they can hit alarm calls all over the rural regions of the state without having to waste too much manpower on each small town.”

That made enough sense. Katsuki, for one, would hate to be cooped up in this lame town where the only crimes were probably paying the rent late or maybe some minor trespassing. Almost as much as he hated teleportation quirks.

They finally started seeing a few more cars as an overpass came into view with a few intersections under it. Katsuki flipped on the turn signal and headed into the hero-forsaken town.

“Wow, it’s nothing like the movies.”

America had wormed its way into Katsuki’s consciousness the same way it had Izuku’s—All Might. Between living in Los Angeles and all of his movies being shot there, Katsuki wasn’t sure if Izuku had ever seen a glimpse of America that wasn’t tinsel town. Maybe New York City in some other sappy American export movie.

But this was not that. There were no skyscrapers—the tallest building appeared to be a Holiday Inn, of all of three stories in height. Tallest in the valley at least; some of the buildings working their way up the mountain were higher up, Katsuki supposed. And the houses weren’t sprawling mansions, or even the metropolitan apartment complexes that weren’t so different from Musutafu. No, they were all orange and brown. Terracotta roofs and stucco walls with lawns of gravel and dirt and the occasional wizened desert tree. And the cactuses, of course.

“It’s nothing like a real place,” Katsuki corrected.

It was another long, straight road, now flanked by dusty strip malls and pistachio fields. And when the GPS signaled a left turn, he thought that the mountains must have thrown it off. Or perhaps this town had no internet.

“This can’t be it.”

His GPS turned him into a brown parking lot of a brown building with a brown sign reading Motel. And, judging by the doors dotting the building’s facade like windows, all rooms led directly outside. Bed to parking lot.

“This is definitely it,” Izuku said, double checking the address. “But it looks fine.”

“Tch, you also think your hair looks fine.”

“I don’t think about it much at all,” Izuku said with a grin as Katsuki pulled into a spot. They unclicked their seatbelts and stepped out of the air-conditioned car and were immediately blasted by heat and the dry smell of dirt. The earth had the smell of having been toasted to nutmeg brown, dried and hardened in the skillet of this basin for millenia.

Heat radiated off the asphalt, pale and dusty though it was. It warmed Katsuki up to his knees just on the brief walk to the front door.

“Checking in,” Katsuki said in English the moment his foot stepped in the lobby. “I need to change my room from a one bed to a two. Bakugou. Katsuki.”

Katsuki sounded his name out slowly to the receptionist before laying an arm on the desk, staring the woman down.

“O-Okay. No problem, that just increases the room fee.”

“Done.”

It only took a moment for her to hand him the keys, Katsuki balking at the described continental breakfast. The remnants of child-sized boxes of Fruitloops and Cheerios, and cellophaned honeybuns and danishes were still cluttering a card table to the side. Izuku called a thanks back to the clerk as Katsuki dragged him outside to grab their bags and find their accommodations.

Sharing a room was an easy calculation. It was cheaper and, if Katsuki had his druthers, they wouldn’t be spending much time in the room beyond laying down their heads at night. And besides, it looked as though this town offered its people very little besides space. Motel rooms presumably provided the same.

They climbed a rickety staircase up to the second floor balcony, Katsuki calling: “Don’t jump, Deku, or you’ll take us down with it,” before coming up to their door.

Inside was a sight unto itself. The floor was carpeted with a wall-to-wall carpet that, charitably, could be described as smart for being a similar shade to the rusty brown dirt that Americans tracked in with their shoes. The beds—across the room from each other—were covered with a quilted faux-satin in a vague tarnished gold color, and the walls were questionably off-white. The nicest feature was the photographs of the desert. Decent shots that highlighted the White Sands Park, the flora, and the mountains. And if that wasn’t the best part, then the slim lamps that barely illuminated the uglier parts of the room were.

“This is great!” Izuku beamed as he slipped off his shoes and dropped his duffle. “Thanks for the room, Kacchan! Why don’t you shower and I’ll see where we can go for lunch? Or dinner—I have no idea what meal we’re on.”

A glance around told Katsuki that there wasn’t any kitchenette to speak of in the room. The closest it seemed they had was a coffee maker sitting on the sinks next to the water closet. Not much hope of making a potable coffee, much less anything else.

The most Katsuki could say was that at least the room was clean. The dusty smell from outside followed them into the hotel room, but at least it was pleasantly chilled and humidified and, as Katsuki stepped into the shower, he didn’t spot so much as a speck of mold. As a place to bathe and sleep, this would do.

Now, Katsuki needed to fight the hot desert off of him with its opposite. He set the water to cold, and it tasted heavy with minerals as it dripped into his mouth. As it tore the sweat off of him, the exhaustion from the flight and the training and the heat began to sink in. His arms weren’t too stiff to wash himself, but lifting his hands up to his hair pulled unpleasantly from his armpits to his pectorals, and articulating his fingers was slow work, like they were frozen in the winter.

When he stepped out, Izuku had already claimed a bed and was lost in his phone. As he heard Katsuki step out, door opening, wet feet slapping against retro yellow tile, he grinned.

“Kacchan, there’s so much Mexican food! Everything looks amazing!”

“Yeah, yeah, just choose one,” Katsuki mumbled as he toweled off his hair, another towel wrapped around his hips.

It wasn’t weird to be wearing nothing but a towel in front of Izuku. They’d bathed in communal showers countless times before. But it had never been in a shared bedroom. Katsuki’s stomach tightened suddenly, probably just the abdominal workout doing tricks on his core, so he shoved it away, putting extra rigor into toweling off. He could probably step outside and have it dry in five minutes, but the thought of facing the sun again now that he could see the pink of his ears in the mirror was discouraging. He needed some aloe.

“Well, I don’t know if we wanna choose the one with the highest rating, or maybe the closest one?” Izuku mused. “Also, we might have to stop by a bank, because I don’t want you to pay for everything. Gosh, I wish the exchange rate were better right now. But none of these places look too expensive. And aside from the fast food, they all look locally owned.”

Katsuki flopped onto his bed to unzip his suitcase and root through it to find an outfit. He’d have to ask the front clerk about laundry service to take care of his costume elements. He debated taking a pain reliever as he grunted through pulling on his t-shirt, but decided against it for now. Even if it would do some of the work of loosening his muscles for him, he needed to know if he’d overworked them without medication. Once his shorts were on, he lay back on the bed and stretched one arm over his chest, his shoulder popping encouragingly.

“You know what? We’ll be here a week and there aren’t too many establishments. Maybe we’ll just start with the closest and then hit them one by one?”

Katsuki hummed his agreement, eyes falling closed as he switched to the other arm. This one didn’t pop, but his fingers did begin to tingle as the stretch cut off just a bit of his circulation. He’d hold it for just thirty more seconds and then…

Rest.

#anjum writes #bkdk #bakudeku #dkbk #dekubaku #bkdkbk #bakudekubaku #dkbkdk #dekubakudeku #katsudeku #ktdk

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fractured-legacies · 11 months

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Imprudent, Chapter 3, Questions

Prologue | Chapter 2

Chapter 3: Questions

Our observations have revealed that the planetary population is considerably lower than recorded, and has apparently regressed. The exact sequence of events is as yet unknown. At present, the planetary population is divided into numerous small polities spread across the planetary surface, with observed technological levels ranging from lithic up to pre-industrial. Black powder weapons have been observed, but only in crude artillery pieces, with archers remaining the standard missile troops; the reason for this apparent discrepancy in technological development is unknown at this time.

###

Stylio of Kasmenarta

Stylio’s eyes opened, but she gave no other movement to indicate that she was awake. On top of her was a soft blanket—some kind of fine wool, by the feel of it, and under her head was a stuffed pillow. It had been some time since she had woken in such softness, but she didn’t let down her guard.

Instead, she reached over to her bag, which was right where she’d left it, next to the bed, and pulled out the bag of sand. Pouring it on the wide dish someone had thoughtfully left on the bedside table, she drew a line down the middle, and wrote with her fingertip, yes and no on it.

Producing a crystal die from her bag, she Breathed out into it. “Are we here in time?”

Then she rolled the glowing die.

It landed squarely on the yes in the sand, the face standing up showing the symbol for safety.

Relaxing as the glow faded, she inhaled and then exhaled, relieving the burning in her lungs. She was not the most skilled at this art, but seeing such an incontrovertible statement was enough to relieve her worries.

Rising from the bed, she looked around as she poured the sand back into the bag; Raavi had put her and Zoy into one of the spare rooms—apparently his sister’s. A smile rose to her face as she gently examined the furnishings. A small altar sat in one corner next to a desk with an overhead shelf filled with books. Perusing the titles, Stylio found her smile growing. A Naturalist’s Field Guide To Center Sea Birds. Songbirds of the Eastern Plains. Fast & Fecund: A Guide To The Small Mammals Of The Eastern White Mountains. Next to at least a dozen similar such titles were untitled spines that turned out to be sketchbooks. Raavi’s sister was still learning, to be sure—the proportions were off in most of the sketches, as were the colorations—but the birds were still identifiable, even without the titles underneath the sketches. And given that she was apparently younger than Raavi… well, that said a great deal about how their parents cultivated their children’s talents.

Good for them.

She glanced at the altar; it held a small carving of a bird-like blue and green dragon, with feathered wings, surrounded by piles of incense ashes.

With a shrug, she turned away and went for the door. She wasn’t Kalltii, and while part of her wanted to snort at their animistic spirit worship, it wasn’t as if she was a deep wellspring of faith herself these days.

Zoy’s bedroll on the floor next to the bed was empty, unsurprisingly; she had insisted that Stylio take the bed, after all. Hopefully her ward had gotten enough sleep, but on the other hand, Zoy hadn’t performed an extensive healing the day before. Meanwhile, if Stylio was reading the quaint clock on the wall correctly, she had slept for close to fourteen hours.

Finding the bathroom down the hall was easy enough. It was well-appointed, with a flush toilet and a bathtub that made her bones itch for a warm soak. But that would be for later.

After she relieved herself and did some cleaning up, she checked herself in the mirror, which was framed by finely wrought colored glass.

Her cheekbones stood out plainly, and for a moment, she let herself feel all of the years etched into her skin. Nearly fifty of them, now. Forty-eight winters and summers. Hair tied up into a bun that stretched out her face from some of the wrinkles. No scars on her face; her skills had seen to that.

She was who she was, and who she had made herself to be.

And hopefully that would be enough.

Going down the stairs and entering the main portion of the household, she found herself smiling at the warmth and life. Several other overwinterers who were staying in the house were present, and as she walked over the threshold into the main room, they stopped what they were doing and applauded.

Smiling back, she didn’t say anything, but motioned to dismiss them. They returned to their games and pastimes, many of them beaming smiles at her as they did so. Outside, it was dark, cold, and the wind whistled past the long row-house, carrying snow with it as it went, but in here, it was lit, cheerful, warm, and cozy, and that was blessing enough.

Making her way to the kitchen, she found Zoy and Raavi waiting for her. The boy—and he was just a boy, for all that he was legally an adult—grinned at her. “Did you sleep well?” he asked energetically, practically bouncing over to the stovetop where a large pot of something was cooking; his braid was swaying like a feral pendulum from the back of his head. “Here, I’ve got some breakfast for you! I hope stewed oats with honey and fruit is all right?”

Zoy caught Stylio’s eye and grinned, motioning with her head towards Raavi.

Stylio rolled her own eyes and nodded back before speaking up. “Yes, that will be more than fine, Raavi. Thank you, dear host. And I slept quite well.”

He got out a bowl from one of the cabinets and filled it up with the aforementioned waking food, and handed it and a cup of steaming milk to her, then sat back, like he was waiting to see what she had to say.

Resisting the urge to laugh—it would destroy the poor boy—she spooned up some of the oats and ate them. They were decent; not terribly exceptional, but quite fair and palatable. Swallowing, she nodded at him. “Quite tasty, thank you.”

“You’re welcome! Do you need anything else?”

Stylio considered for a moment; Raavi was wonderfully straightforward, and she doubted that being subtle would get through easily. “Yes. Can I have a moment alone with Zoy?”

“Oh, oh, sure,” Raavi said, not looking upset at all, thankfully. “I’ve got some projects to work on.”

After he left, Stylio spooned up another mouthful of the oats, and looked at her ward. “So?” she asked in Dormeli.

Zoy scoffed and replied in the same tongue. “I kind of want to put him in a headlock and muss with his hair, to be honest. He’s so earnest, it’s almost sickening.”

Scoffing in turn, Stylio said, “He does seem to be that way. I find it refreshing.”

Rolling her eyes, Zoy leaned in and said, “So… did you do a forecast?”

“I did.”

“And?” Zoy asked, folding her arms and giving a small huff.

“We’re here in time.”

“Well, that’s good, assuming this turns out like you thought it would.” Zoy said with a shrug, her earlier skepticism still showing.

“You didn’t have to come.”

“No, I did, and you know it,” Zoy said, and, leaning back, did a flamboyant stretch, her foot touching the back of her head as she balanced on the other foot.

“Did you do that in front of Raavi?”

“Maybe a bit,” Zoy said with a twinkle in her eye, even as she contorted herself against one of the kitchen counters in a way that still made Stylio’s spine cringe in sympathy, despite the years Zoy had spent as her ward. “He’s nice, but he’s not my type.”

“And that makes it all right to tease him?”

“I’ll be gentle, I promise. It’s this or the headlock.”

With another sigh, Stylio got back to her oats. “Just be kind to him.”

“I am!” Then Zoy leaned in and said, in a much more serious tone, “Besides, I think he’s practically the first man in this kingdom who hasn’t treated me like a criminal of one sort, or another.”

“Yes, I noticed. It’s the hair, dear. You know I could help you grow it out. With the food available here, you wouldn’t even have to deal with that much hunger.”

Shaking her head and sending her golden fringe whirling, Zoy responded, “No. I don’t want to give anyone I fight with a handle on my head to grab. I’ll deal with it.”

Before Stylio could respond to that, the house shuddered as a series of powerful gusts of wind hit, strong enough to make the milk in her cup ripple. A chorus of groans came from the living room.

“How many shingles do you think we just lost?” someone asked.

“Enough. We’ll have to go around and do a check,” another person said. “Last thing we need is to have leaks this early in the winter.”

A smile growing on her face, Stylio looked over at Zoy. “Shingles, hmm? Fortunately, I know someone who likes to climb up high…”

Zoy gave her a disbelieving look, followed by a rueful nod. “I guess. Are you sure?”

“Sure that you get into high places that you shouldn’t like some kind of cat? Only as sure as more than ten years of warding you can make me. I think you’ll be helpful.” She leaned back in her chair and picked up the cup of warmed milk. Lifting it to her nose, she took a deep sniff, followed by a contented swallow.

“All right. I guess it’s better than staying cooped up inside all winter,” Zoy said, and reached over to steal a spoonful of Stylio’s oats with a grin.

Raavi ava Laargan

“Bucket going up!” I called, and started to haul down on the rope. In front of me, the packed bucket filled with shingles and nails went up, but only half as far as I hauled, due to the block and tackle. Not that I minded so much; it weighed nearly as much as I did, so having the mechanical advantage was helpful.

An answering call came from the roof as I kept hauling on the rope, and Zoy’s scarfed face appeared over the edge. Reaching out, she snagged the rope and hauled the bucket over to the rooftop.

Footsteps crunched on snow nearby, and I turned to see Stylio standing there, her arms folded with her hands in her armpits.

“Everything all right?” I asked.

“Oh yes. I mostly came out to keep an eye on Zoy, and be on site in case of any injuries.” She craned her neck to look up at the row-house that had lost a large patch of shingles in the wind. “I just hope that nobody falls on their heads.”

I shrugged. “They know what they’re doing, and they’ll be careful.” The wind whipped up again, making the rope quiver enough that it banged against the side of the house. If I hadn’t been holding on to it, it would have gotten blown away from me. “How are you feeling?”

“Quite fine. Thank you for asking, dear host. But I just worry that they’re choosing speed over safety.”

“Bucket coming down!” came the call from above, and I gripped the rope. The weight settled in a moment later as Zoy or one of the others let the bucket dangle from the block and tackle above. Letting the rope slide through my hands at a steady pace, I had the bucket, filled with broken shingles and bent nails, down in a few moments, and then dumped the contents into a waiting wheelbarrow.

“How many more do you need?” I called up.

“At least another dozen! A whole patch tore loose!”

I winced. This early in the winter? I knew that it was typical for an average roof to be completely replaced every ten or so years, but they’d already used up a whole crate of the ceramic shingles, and we only had so many. And it wasn’t like we’d be able to get more, even though the town that specialized in making them was only about forty miles away on the canal. Shingles were heavy, and the limited winter traffic wasn’t going to be able to transport them—even though the town in question was undoubtedly making thousands of shingles at this very moment, just as we were melting iron and casting glass.

Still… it wasn’t like we had a choice. Well, technically we did. We either fixed the roof… or dealt with water damage and weather damage inside later.

So fixing the roof it was.

I loaded up the bucket and started hauling on the rope. The wind gusted, sending the bucket swaying, and I hurriedly pulled faster before the bucket could smack into a window.

“You know, as attractive as it is, I would think that the curved walls and the waves in the roofs would be more trouble than they’re worth,” Stylio observed after the wind had died down and the bucket had stopped swaying.

“They help divert and channel the winds,” I said as I focused on hauling on the rope. “Same reason as why we build the houses together in a long row shaped like a wedge.” The long streets ran north to south, so that the wind could pass down them unimpeded, and the east-west cross-streets were wide so that the wind coming off of the buildings wouldn’t make giant vortexes.

“I know. I just think that there has to be a better way.”

“Well, unless you know how to make a copy of the King’s Tower and the other crystal spires, we’re going to have to make do with this,” I said. “At least we’re not any of those crazy nobles who want glass shingles for their homes, though.”

Stylio smiled, judging by the way the skin around her eyes crinkled through the gap in her scarf. “Indeed. I’ve seen a few of those. They’re quite the rich man’s folly.”

“Exactly! No matter how much they want it, we can’t make the crystal—”

A shout from above cut me off, and I jumped out of the way just as a hammer and several other tools fell from above, plummeting right where I’d been standing, followed by one of the men who had been up above.

He hit the ground with a sickening thud and wet cracking noise.

Above I heard swearing; looking up, I saw that Zoy and another man were dangling from the pulley for the bucket, with Zoy holding onto the rope for dear life, and holding the man with her legs. Another man was dangling from the gutters.

Even as Stylio rushed to the man who had hit the ground, I tried to think of what I could do to help—but I was too surprised, too stunned to think of anything. It had all happened so quickly—

“Don’t let go!” came from above, and I tried to think of what I could do; the pulley was useless, as I couldn’t do anything with it without dislodging Zoy and the other man, but I could see the man dangling from the gutter was slipping free.

As I stared, Zoy started swinging back and forth, trying to get the man she was holding in reach of the other—but she wasn’t fast enough.

He slipped free, and fell, hitting so close to me and Stylio that I felt the air shift from the impact and some of the snow that was thrown up hit me.

I ran over to him; Stylio couldn’t do anything, as she was already in the middle of singing the spell for the first man, and I tried to assess the damage, even as I identified him. Shattered leg bones, broken ribs… my mother would have been proud of how I tried to focus on the medical emergency, instead of going into shock.

“Raavi…” he muttered. “I… I don’t want to die…”

“You’ll be fine, Beeno,” I said, even as I started to try to sing a spell to stabilize him. But I didn’t even know where to begin. He was just so broken—

“Don’t…” he coughed, with foaming blood coming from his lips, “don’t lie to me. I… I just want to see Biianka married…”

Desperately, I started to hum, trying to come up with something to help him—but where did I even start?

Stylio finished her spell, sending a stream of blue-white Breath into the man lying on the ground in front of her. She turned, and looked over Beeno…

And shook her head.

“But, but, but—” I stammered. “You’re the best there is!”

“Not in time,” she said, and reached down to take Beeno’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

“I just wanted to see Biianka married…” he repeated, his eyes going glassy.

Stylio looked at me. “Who is Biianka?”

“His daughter. She’s engaged to be married in the spring…” I said softly.

Before Stylio could say anything more, though, Beeno seemed to tense, and his lips moved one more time, repeating his plea—but this time, something I’d never seen before happened.

Purple-black Breath came streaming out of his mouth, and his back arched, even as it seemed that the Breath sank back into his body.

“What just happened!?” I blurted.

“I… I believe that Beeno here is a man of uncommon Will,” Stylio said, and motioned towards his eyes.

They were alert and moving.

But his chest wasn’t.

I almost jumped out of my skin, and did go sprawling in the snow. “Revenant!”

“…and the shingle was loose. I stepped on it and slipped. I fell, knocking Beeno and Daagoberht down the roof,” Geerd said, his head bowed as we all stood in front of the Mayor, who sat behind his desk with his hands together, fingers interlaced.

The Mayor looked at Zoy. “And what about the Dormelion girl here? Could she have had something to do with it?”

Geerd shook his head. “No. She caught me, but we couldn’t catch Beeno or Daagoberht before they fell.”

“Hmm. So this was just a stupid accident because you didn’t take proper precautions when repairing a roof in winter?”

“Yes sir.” Geerd didn’t look at where Beeno was seated in a chair, half of his body broken… and still quite dead, even though he was looking around as much as he could.

I shivered; he was the first revenant I’d seen, and it was just… wrong, seeing a body that broken still moving, but not breathing. His skin was purpling like a bruise in just the time it’d taken for us to first get Daagoberht fully stabilized and handed off to the hospital, and then be escorted over to the Mayor’s offices.

“And Beeno ava Leohaart paid the price for your negligence. I was informed that Daagoberht will make a full recovery, which is good… but, well…” He motioned to Beeno’s body. “You killed him.”

Geerd cringed. “It was a stupid accident!”

“Yes. It was. And now I need to hear Beeno’s petition.” Mayor Laarthan turned to Beeno, and in a voice much quieter than I had ever heard from him before, he said, “Beeno ava Leohaart. What is your purpose for remaining past your time?”

Beeno coughed, and his chest inflated slightly. In a rasping voice that I could only describe as ‘broken,’ he said, “I need to see Biianka married…”

Mayor Laarthan closed his eyes for a moment, and then nodded. “You understand what you are asking for, do you not? As soon as your purpose is fulfilled, you will die. Your daughter will have her wedding marked with the final death of her father. Do you truly want to go through with that?”

Nodding, Beeno said, “It’s all that’s left for me.”

The mayor closed his eyes again and drummed his fingers on his desk a few times. “Yes, it would be, wouldn’t it? Well. Given the timespan… it is unlikely that you will go mad before then. Very well. Your petition is granted. But I do not envy your family for their heartache when the sun rises.”

“It’s… better than just telling them that he died in the winter, right?” Geerd offered.

“Ah yes, because knowing that your father will die at the end of your wedding day will certainly not put a pall on that!” snapped the Mayor. He scanned the group of us. “And I understand that I have you to thank for Daagoberht not also being dead?” he said, looking at Stylio.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“That’s two of my people you’ve saved from serious injury and death in the time since you’ve arrived. Believe me, there is a part of me wondering if it was… coincidence. But accidents happen.” He leaned forward. “I just hope that there will not be any more.”

“I understand what you are saying, and I hope the same,” Stylio said. She nodded towards Beeno. “I can help get him ready to walk again, if you would let me?”

The Mayor nodded. “Yes, yes. It’s not like he can heal on his own anymore, is it?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“All right. Dismissed. And try to keep any more accidents from resulting in deaths. Normally the worst we have to deal with are burns at the ironworks and hot shop.”

“I will do my best,” Stylio said.

“Good. Now get out of my office.”

I didn’t need to be told twice, and went out into the hallway, holding the door open so that they could carry Beeno out.

Stylio frowned as she examined him. “Well, this will be difficult.” She patted Beeno on the cheek. “At least it doesn’t hurt, right?”

“It doesn’t. I can barely feel anything,” he said, and then his eyes narrowed. “I can’t feel anything. Is this what drives revenants insane?”

Stylio nodded. “Yes.”

Beeno shook his head. “Just a few months. I won’t be like this forever, like you hear in the stories. Just a few months. Fix me up, and I’ll help for as long as I can.”

“I’ll do my best, but it will be a painful healing for me to perform,” she said.

Geerd said softly, “I’ll donate some Breath. It’s my fault he’s like this.”

“Nah. I wanted it done fast too,” Beeno said. “Just… just drink a beer for me, all right?”

Geerd nodded, and I looked away as I saw a tear go down his cheek.

“Well then. I think a place where we can work and set those bones and lacerations will be best,” Stylio said. “Raavi?”

“Yes?”

“You have been a most excellent host, and I hate to impose, but can I request that you get a hearty meal and a hot bath ready for me back at your home?” She motioned to Beeno. “I’m going to need it when I’m done.”

Grateful for the excuse to get away, I nodded. “Sure, sure! Any requests?”

“Whatever you have on hand. Thank you.”

I didn’t need to be told twice, and went off. Behind me, they were discussing on where best to heal… or would that be ‘repair?’ Beeno, but all I could hear and see was the sight and sound of his body hitting the ground in front of me, over and over…

Stylio of Kasmenarta

As the newborn revenant walked cautiously around the hospital room behind her on freshly repaired legs, Stylio made her way to the main doors. Her head was pounding, random spikes of pain sizzling like lightning bolts up and down her limbs and through her gut. It was not the worst pain she had ever experienced from a major healing, but it was certainly notable.

But for what was left of that man back in that room, the pain he had experienced at the end would have made what she was experiencing pale in comparison. It was a small thing to give him back what little she could of his existence. At least the bones, sinews, muscles, and other tissues remembered what they had been in life, and fitted back together without complaint. He would need to consume some meat and other foods to help provide some raw material later on, and drink water to keep from drying out, but for now, his needs were nearly nonexistent.

Zoy was waiting for her down the hallway. “How are you feeling?” she asked, falling into step with Stylio.

“I have felt worse. Back when we first met.”

Zoy winced. “Yeah, he was smashed up pretty good. Damn it that I wasn’t faster.”

“I just want to point out that you saved one man who would have otherwise plummeted to his death or serious injury, and did so with panache and skill, despite you yourself being in a dangerous position,” Stylio said. “I will also note that nobody has called attention to the method you used, due to the distraction offered by Beeno.”

“What? My legs are stronger than my arms, and I needed both of those to keep us from going splat.”

“Yes, you did. It was still impressive as a show of strength.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I wasn’t thinking of it that way. I was just trying to survive… and make you proud.”

Stylio paused as they reached the doors, turned, and cupped Zoy’s cheek with one hand. “You always have.”

Her ward’s expression softened, and then she pulled Stylio’s hand away. “Come on. You need food, rest, and relaxation after that. Knowing Raavi, he’s probably got a small banquet ready for you.”

“I would not bet against it,” Stylio said with a smile, and allowed herself to be led to the exit of the small hospital, dressed in her coat and winter gear, and then escorted through the streets to their temporary residence.

On the way, she noted that a number of the local overwinterers were giving them respectful looks, which was good, especially as the Kalltii had no reason to feel especially warmly towards Stylio’s own people. There was a great deal of history there after all, most of it etched in blood. So the fact that the ordinary men and women of the town seemed to accept them, even conditionally, was good.

Hopefully it would mean that, when whatever it was that they were waiting for arrived, they would be in a position to help.

<<<<>>>>

Prologue | Chapter 4

Chapter was up a little late this week due to travel. Hope you enjoyed, and remember to share the story if you find it interesting!

My Patreon for this work can be found here.

#fractured legacies imprudent #imprudent #original writing

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playitagin · 10 months

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1945-Trinity (nuclear test)

The Atomic Age begins when the United States successfully detonates a plutonium-based test nuclear weapon near Alamogordo, New Mexico.

Trinity was the code name of the first detonation of a nuclear weapon. It was conducted by the United States Army at 5:29 a.m. on July 16, 1945, as part of the Manhattan Project. The test was conducted in the Jornada del Muerto desert about 35 miles (56 km) southeast of Socorro, New Mexico, on what was then the Alamogordo Bombing and Gunnery Range, now part of White Sands Missile Range.

#Jul.16.1945 #Trinity #nuclear test #Alamogordo Bombing and Gunnery Range #Manhattan Project #World War II #history today

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capt-riverdry · 11 months

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M551 Sheridan

M551 Sheridan light tank. firing a MGM-51 Shillelagh Anti-tank miisile, Likely an XM551 at White Sands Missile Range, New Mexico or Yuma Proving Ground, Arizona, October 1967

#m551 #shillelagh #anti tank #tank #afv #american tank #light tank

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lonestarflight · 5 months

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View of the A-002 Apollo Command Module Boilerplate 23 ad LES atop the Little Joe II launch vehicle at Complex 35, WSMR.

Date: December 7, 1964

NASA ID: S64-35835

#A-002 #BP-23 #Little Joe II #launch escape system #LES #Rocket #NASA #Apollo Program #Abort Test #December #1964 #White Sands LC-36 #LC-36 #White Sands Missile Range #White Sands #New Mexico #my post

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humanoidhistory · 8 months

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Instrumentation bunker at Trinity Site, White Sands Missile Range, New Mexico.

(Library of Congress)

#trinity site #bunker #oppenheimer #architecture #new mexico #white sands #atomic #abandoned

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mightyflamethrower · 4 months

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Clyde William Tombaugh was born on February 4, 1906. He was an American astronomer. He discovered Pluto in 1930, the first object to be discovered in what would later be identified as the Kuiper belt. At the time of discovery, Pluto was considered a planet, but was reclassified as a dwarf planet in 2006. Tombaugh also discovered many asteroids, and called for the serious scientific research of unidentified flying objects.

Tombaugh was born in Streator, Illinois, son of Muron Dealvo Tombaugh, a farmer, and his wife Adella Pearl Chritton. After his family moved to Burdett, Kansas, in 1922, Tombaugh’s plans for attending college were frustrated when a hailstorm ruined his family’s farm crops. Starting in 1926, he built several telescopes with lenses and mirrors by himself. To better test his telescope mirrors, Tombaugh, with just a pick and shovel, dug a pit 24 feet long, 8 feet deep, and 7 feet wide. This provided a constant air temperature, free of air currents, and was also used by the family as a root cellar and emergency shelter. He sent drawings of Jupiter and Mars to the Lowell Observatory, at Flagstaff, Arizona, which offered him a job. Tombaugh worked there from 1929 to 1945.

Following his discovery of Pluto, Tombaugh earned bachelor’s and master’s degrees in astronomy from the University of Kansas in 1936 and 1938. During World War II he taught naval personnel navigation at Northern Arizona University. He worked at White Sands Missile Range in the early 1950s, and taught astronomy at New Mexico State University from 1955 until his retirement in 1973. In 1980 he was inducted into the International Space Hall of Fame.

The asteroid 1604 Tombaugh, discovered in 1931, is named after him. He discovered hundreds of asteroids, beginning with 2839 Annette in 1929, mostly as a by-product of his search for Pluto and his searches for other celestial objects. Tombaugh named some of them after his wife, children and grandchildren. The Royal Astronomical Society awarded him the Jackson-Gwilt Medal in 1931.

Direct visual observation became rare in astronomy. By 1965 Robert S. Richardson called Tombaugh one of two great living experienced visual observers as talented as Percival Lowell or Giovanni Schiaparelli. In 1980, Tombaugh and Patrick Moore wrote a book Out of the Darkness: The Planet Pluto. In August 1992, JPL scientist Robert Staehle called Tombaugh, requesting permission to visit his planet. “I told him he was welcome to it”, Tombaugh later remembered, “though he’s got to go one long, cold trip.“ The call eventually led to the launch of the New Horizons space probe to Pluto in 2006. Following the passage of Pluto by New Horizons on July 14, 2015, the "Heart of Pluto” was named Tombaugh Regio.

Tombaugh continued searching for over a decade after the discovery of Pluto, and the lack of further discoveries left him satisfied that no other object of a comparable apparent magnitude existed near the ecliptic. No more trans-Neptunian objects were discovered until 15760 Albion in 1992.

However, more recently the relatively bright object Makemake has been discovered. It has a relatively high orbital inclination, but at the time of Tombaugh’s discovery of Pluto, Makemake was only a few degrees from the ecliptic near the border of Taurus and Auriga at an apparent magnitude of 16. This position was also very near the galactic equator, making it almost impossible to find such an object within the dense concentration of background stars of the Milky Way. In the fourteen years of looking for planets, until he was drafted in July 1943, Tombaugh looked for motion in 90 million star images (two each of 45 million stars).

Tombaugh was probably the most eminent astronomer to have reported seeing unidentified flying objects. On August 20, 1949, Tombaugh saw several unidentified objects near Las Cruces, New Mexico. He described them as six to eight rectangular lights, stating: “I doubt that the phenomenon was any terrestrial reflection, because… nothing of the kind has ever appeared before or since… I was so unprepared for such a strange sight that I was really petrified with astonishment.”

Tombaugh observed these rectangles of light for about 3 seconds and his wife saw them for about 1 1⁄2 seconds. He never supported the interpretation as a spaceship that has often been attributed to him. He considered other possibilities, with a temperature inversion as the most likely cause.

From my own studies of the solar system I cannot entertain any serious possibility for intelligent life on other planets, not even for Mars… The logistics of visitations from planets revolving around the nearer stars is staggering. In consideration of the hundreds of millions of years in the geologic time scale when such visits may have possibly occurred, the odds of a single visit in a given century or millennium are overwhelmingly against such an event.

A much more likely source of explanation is some natural optical phenomenon in our own atmosphere. In my 1949 sightings the faintness of the object, together with the manner of fading in intensity as it traveled away from the zenith towards the southeastern horizon, is quite suggestive of a reflection from an optical boundary or surface of slight contrast in refractive index, as in an inversion layer.

I have never seen anything like it before or since, and I have spent a lot of time where the night sky could be seen well. This suggests that the phenomenon involves a comparatively rare set of conditions or circumstances to produce it, but nothing like the odds of an interstellar visitation.

Another sighting by Tombaugh a year or two later while at a White Sands observatory was of an object of −6 magnitude, four times brighter than Venus at its brightest, going from the zenith to the southern horizon in about 3 seconds. The object executed the same maneuvers as in Tombaugh’s first sighting.

Tombaugh later reported having seen three of the mysterious green fireballs, which suddenly appeared over New Mexico in late 1948 and continued at least through the early 1950s. A researcher on Project Twinkle reported that Tombaugh “… never observed an unexplainable aerial object despite his continuous and extensive observations of the sky.”

According to an entry in “UFO updates”, Tombaugh said: “I have seen three objects in the last seven years which defied any explanation of known phenomenon, such as Venus, atmospheric optic, meteors or planes. I am a professional, highly skilled, professional astronomer. In addition I have seen three green fireballs which were unusual in behavior from normal green fireballs… I think that several reputable scientists are being unscientific in refusing to entertain the possibility of extraterrestrial origin and nature.”

Shortly after this, in January 1957, in an Associated Press article in the Alamogordo Daily News titled “Celestial Visitors May Be Invading Earth’s Atmosphere”, Tombaugh was again quoted on his sightings and opinion about them. “Although our own solar system is believed to support no other life than on Earth, other stars in the galaxy may have hundreds of thousands of habitable worlds. Races on these worlds may have been able to utilize the tremendous amounts of power required to bridge the space between the stars …”. Tombaugh stated that he had observed celestial phenomena which he could not explain, but had seen none personally since 1951 or 1952. “These things, which do appear to be directed, are unlike any other phenomena I ever observed. Their apparent lack of obedience to the ordinary laws of celestial motion gives credence.”

In 1949, Tombaugh had also told the Naval missile director at White Sands Missile Range, Commander Robert McLaughlin, that he had seen a bright flash on Mars on August 27, 1941, which he now attributed to an atomic blast. Tombaugh also noted that the first atomic bomb tested in New Mexico would have lit up the dark side of the Earth like a neon sign and that Mars was coincidentally quite close at the time, the implication apparently being that the atomic test would have been visible from Mars.

In June 1952, Dr. J. Allen Hynek, an astronomer acting as a scientific consultant to the Air Force’s Project Blue Book UFO study, secretly conducted a survey of fellow astronomers on UFO sightings and attitudes while attending an astronomy convention. Tombaugh and four other astronomers, including Dr. Lincoln LaPaz of the University of New Mexico, told Hynek about their sightings. Tombaugh also told Hynek that his telescopes were at the Air Force’s disposal for taking photos of UFOs, if he was properly alerted.

Tombaugh died on January 17, 1997, in Las Cruces, New Mexico, at the age of 90. He was cremated. A small portion of his ashes was placed aboard the New Horizons spacecraft. The container includes the inscription: “Interred herein are remains of American Clyde W. Tombaugh, discoverer of Pluto and the Solar System’s ‘third zone’. Adelle and Muron’s boy, Patricia’s husband, Annette and Alden’s father, astronomer, teacher, punster, and friend: Clyde W. Tombaugh (1906–1997)”. Tombaugh was survived by his wife, Patricia (1912–2012), and their children, Annette and Alden.

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