#soil science lab

[match-your-steps]

what's the coolest thing you've learned in dirt class?

gotta be real, I thought so hard about this and I Do Not Know, but yesterday we used a carcinogen in lab. uh. they made us wear gloves and safety goggles but mine were so scratched up that I went to the fume hood and rinsed out the containers we put the carcinogen stuff in and then I went back to my group's table and threw my gloves away and took off my horrible scratched safety goggles and then I looked at the containers and was like um guys is it just me or are those still a little too yellow (the carcinogen-containing solution was yellow) and we asked a TA and she was like yeah probably go re-rinse those and so I used a different pair of safety goggles and they were SO much better and I could actually see this time so I did adequately rinse the containers yippee. that was was pretty cool

I do get the sense that you're looking for more of a fact, though, so I'll tell you that there is this website where you can look at the molecular structure of different soils and it is super cool!

(ignore that it's on smectite. I just put it there because that's what I was looking at. btw smectite has crazy shrink-swell properties so do not build your house on it)

[auroweirexflieslady]

different hues of dirt

[hylianengineer]

Emergency planning is FASCINATING and I think I may have a new obsession. This is a teeny tiny part of my job and the odds of me ever needing to use it are low, but apparently there are drills that my lab sometimes participates in and I wanna do a drill SO BAD!

Like, obviously it would be Very Bad if we ever actually need to implement these protocols (I am a radiochemist, these are radiological emergency plans) but can we play pretend? It would be A) exciting and B) excellent practice. I don't want my first time figuring out how to use a step-off pad to be in a situation where Bad Things Happen if I fuck it up.

[memeclassheroes]

I need a social media manager. Well, basically a director.

[doyeons]

goign on hour 6 of my 12 hour day on campus gog save me

[field-cryptobotanist]

While I was not deemed trustworthy enough by the lab assistants in the soil science lab to mix the soil sample with the distilled water. Like what could have possibly happened I opened a hole in the space time continuum?

[gnarrwhals]

Engineers will see this and ask with a straight face if you can run an Atterberg and Hydrometer on it

[pathologicalreid]

litmus test | s.r.

in which Spencer needs your expertise to help solve a murder, but crime fighting is most decidedly not for you

find more chemist!reader here!

who? spencer reid x chemist!reader category: flangst (like. the end is a little angsty and it has case details) content warnings: typical cm violence, science talk, fem!reader, reader is not built for crime, morgan being an older brother, some fun banter!! death by firework is crazy lmao word count: 1.68k a/n: this is one of my favorite fluff pieces i've written in agessss i missed chemist!reader so much i learn so many things when i'm writing her. this was a request! i hope you like it as much as i do!!

“Do you have a second?” Spencer asks, his voice slightly choppy over the phone. Between his ancient phone and being inside concrete police precincts, some disconnect was bound to happen.

Saving your document to your computer, you rest the lab phone between your shoulder and ear, “If you’re asking me if I have any corrosive chemicals in my hands, the answer is no.”

He chuckles lightly, “I never know with you.”

You roll your eyes in response, even if he can’t see you, “It was one time and I needed a new phone case anyway.”

“You fused the plastic of your phone case to the material of your phone,” he retorts far too quickly for your liking.

“Yes,” you acquiesce, “but I know the exact chemical reaction that caused that phenomenon.” You cross your legs one over the other, maintaining your balance on your lab stool as you speak to Spencer over the phone.

He gave a light hum in response, “Speaking of chemical reactions – I need your help.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, “You’re asking me for help in chemistry?” There really was a first time for everything, you suppose.

Spencer was more than capable of navigating a lab on his own, even so, he admits, “You have more applied practice than I do.”

Pursing your lips, you nod to yourself, “Fair enough. What’s stumping you, Dr. Reid?” Your inquiry, while innocent enough, garners a wolf whistle from your graduate assistant.

“There’s something burning a hole in these bones, and I’m not sure what would be causing it to happen this fast,” he explains, giving you minor background information on how long the bones were out and if the medical examiner had treated them with something.

You clear your throat, frowning at the notes you had scrawled down in front of you, “Burning or corroding?” What was seemingly a meaningless distinction would actually allow you to filter through approximately half of the possibilities.

“Corroding,” he corrects himself, “My mistake.”

Crossing off some of your notes, you purse your lips at the new possibilities, “No worries. Did you try flushing it out with water?”

You hear papers flipping on his end of the call before you get a response, “That would destroy evidence.”

“Well,” you raise your eyebrows, “It sounds like your evidence is destroying itself.”

“Baby,” Spencer says in a no-nonsense tone reserved for when he was deep in a case. You could’ve sworn you heard Morgan in the background of the call mocking him for the pet name.

Turning back to your notes, you sigh, “Yeah, yeah, all work and no play. Was the body buried?”

“Partially,” his reply intrigues you, “I can have Garcia send you the crime scene photos if you think it’ll help.”

Wrinkling your nose at the thought, you made an unsure sound, “Right, because nothing says lunchtime like getting up close and personal with a homicide victim.”

“What lunchtime? It’s three pm in D.C. right now,” he caught you, a slight chiding tone in his words.

Ignoring his questions, you ask more of your own, “Was the body near water? Did they test the pH of the soil and water?”

There were more papers flipping, likely someone presenting the results of those tests to him, “Yeah, the soil was a five-point two and the water was a seven-point eight,” he listed off for you.

While your knowledge of the pH of the soil in Iowa was limited, you did know that those levels were pretty on par for the northern Mississippi River. “O-kay,” you say, extending your vowels, “and they didn’t find anything else on the scene that points to corrosive materials. Hydrofluoric acid?” You posit, “No, you know what – maybe you should send me those files. My work email is encrypted, you can give it to Penelope.”

He speaks to someone else in the room with him and you resist the urge to ask him if he’s enjoying Iowa, “It’s sent,” he confirms with you.

Pulling up your email only takes a moment, and once you get over the initial shock of seeing a dead body on your computer screen, you lift your lab glasses to the top of your head in order to get a better look. “I mean,” you think for a moment, “those look like alkali burns to me. I’ve never seen them on bones before, but you should do a litmus test to check either way.”

“So, we rinse it with water?” He asks, seeking instruction from you in a way that makes you feel oddly powerful.

Your eyes widen, “No, no, no. If it’s a metal compound then it’ll be covered in a mineral oil, so rinsing it with water would actually make the burn worse.”

Pausing for a moment, you consider the possibility that Spencer didn’t have the luxury of time – he was trying to solve a murder, not do experiments in a lab.

“Alkali burns can be serious, it all depends on what caused them, and most are helped by rinsing with water. So, unless you have the time to test for metal compounds, I’d go ahead and rinse it. You might want to brush the damage to the bones with a dry brush first. If there’s lime on the bones it’ll foam, which not only will corrode the bones even further but it might release a toxic gas,” you have no idea how the corrosion would interact with bone marrow, but something tell you that you don’t want to know

“Wait a minute,” Derek interjects, being included in the conversation now that Spencer put the call on speaker, “I thought things like alkaline water were good for you.”

You scoff instinctively, “Oh, there’s no definitive evidence that shows alkaline water as having any real health benefits. Especially not the benefits that the internet says it has.” Straightening up in your stool, you continue, “In fact, there is evidence from the NIH that says drinking alkaline water could cause kidney damage. There’s a particular-“

“My bad,” he interjects, effectively stopping your rambling before it really took off, “I forgot whose girlfriend I was talking to.”

Groaning at your new vexation, you huff, “Oh, fuck off, Derek. Go kick down a door.”

Spencer quickly switches the phone back, “Thank you, angel.”

Squinting at the photos that were still on your laptop screen, a crude, disturbing thought came to mind, “You know, sparklers can cause alkali burns. It might be something to consider because of the diameter of the burns.”

Your boyfriend was silent on his end of the call for so long that you had to check and make sure the call hadn't dropped. “Did you say sparklers?”

“Yep,” you confirm, “like the ones you can get everywhere this time of year.”

He says something to Morgan, placing his hand over the receiver so you can’t hear, “There’s only one spot in this town, though. I’ve gotta go, see you soon.”

“Stay safe, please! I prefer your bones unburned,” you rattle off into the phone before it clicks, placing the phone back on the stand and deleting the crime scene photos from your inbox.

The front door to the apartment opens and shuts quietly, with Spencer under the assumption that you already went to bed, he was surprised to find you on the couch, nursing a cup of tea. “Hey, baby,” he chirps, unusually peppy for this time of night.

“Hey,” you say half-heartedly, threading your fingers through the handle of the mug.

Your somber tone gets Spencer’s attention, “What’s wrong?”

The slight panic in his voice causes your eyes to snap up to his, “Nothing,” you murmur. “It’s just… the woman who was in those pictures. There- the burns on her bones, they were signs of torture, weren’t they?”

You’d been thinking about the burns ever since Spencer showed them to you, “Yes,” he answers with a reciprocating softness, sitting down next to you on the couch. “The medical examiner concluded that she was burned antemortem.”

That woman had been burned alive by fireworks, sparklers had seared their way through skin and muscle until it finally met her bones. You blink a few tears from your eyes at the thought, “I like my lab, Spence.”

The confusion on his face was palpable, “I know you do.”

“I like my minimal human interaction and my chemicals, and I like knowing why certain things cause certain reactions. I like it when things make sense.” You take a deep, shaky breath, “Killing someone. Torturing someone with fireworks. That just doesn’t make sense to me.”

You had no interest in hearing the excuses that the killer had provided. You had no interest in hearing the psychological breakdown of that woman’s killer. Spencer knows that, “The photos got to you?”

Taking a sip from your mug, you nod solemnly, “I can’t stop thinking about the way it must have felt. Oh, the smell must have been horrible. That poor woman.” In theory, it was a ridiculous notion, killing someone with fireworks seemed neither probable nor possible. Yet here you are.

“But we got the person who killed her,” Spencer reassures you, resting his hand gently on your knee. “We couldn’t have done it without you,” he adds.

Your face warms at his compliment, “I wish I could have helped before she was killed.” You were grateful that Spencer hadn’t passed on any personal information about the woman, it was easier for you if you kept things in separate storage files in your mind.

Spencer hums, reaching out and sweeping a strand of hair behind your ear, “There’s always going to be another one. I’m sorry about the photos, I should’ve made sure Garcia only sent the necessary ones.”

Nodding absentmindedly, you look at him thoughtfully, “This will pass, but for tonight I just feel bad for the victim.”

“I can have Penelope share some of her favorite baby animal videos, if you’d like,” he offers softly, resting his head on your shoulder.

In return, you give him a small smile, “Well, I suppose it really can’t hurt.”

[magical-reid]

could i pretty please request prompt #18 with spencer reid and a forensic scientist reader? would be super duper cool if she was part of the bones (tv show) crew, as i’ve always thought them and cm should have done a crossover. thanks!! ❤️

The Science of Luck

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 1K

Prompt: 18: "I thought I had the worst luck, until I met you"

Summary: Dr. Spencer Reid, a staunch skeptic of luck, finds himself questioning his beliefs after an encounter with a clumsy forensic scientist, who joins the BAU team on a challenging case. Despite their initial bickering and contrasting expertise, the two begin to form an unlikely partnership while investigating a serial killer, leading to a surprising and potentially life-changing connection.

Dr. Spencer Reid didn’t believe in luck. Probability? Sure. Coincidence? Of course. But luck? That was just a cognitive bias humans relied on to explain randomness.

Yet, as he stood ankle-deep in Virginia mud, his pristine pants ruined, watching as yet another forensic scientist nearly slipped and took out an entire evidence table, he found himself reconsidering.

“I thought I had the worst luck,” he muttered, barely dodging a flying clipboard, “until I met you.”

The forensic scientist in question—you—wobbled but managed to right yourself before disaster struck. You shot him a glare as you readjusted your Jeffersonian ID badge. “Not my fault this crime scene is a swamp. And it’s not luck, it’s physics. Slippery surfaces, unstable ground, and a lack of proper traction—”

“That sounds an awful lot like an excuse for bad luck,” Spencer countered.

You huffed but couldn’t argue. You were a forensic scientist, not a field agent, and being thrown into an active crime scene with the BAU was not in your usual job description. You were used to working in the pristine, controlled environment of the Jeffersonian Institute—not chasing serial killers through the backwoods of Virginia.

And yet, here you were.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It all started with a body—or rather, bodies. Multiple skeletal remains had been discovered in various locations across the D.C.-Virginia border, the work of a particularly meticulous serial killer. The BAU had been called in due to the pattern of abductions matching an existing profile, but given the advanced state of decomposition, the FBI had reached out to the Jeffersonian for forensic assistance.

That’s how you ended up here—cold, wet, and questioning all of your life choices.

Agent Hotchner, ever the professional, barely batted an eye at the tension between you and Reid. “Dr. (L/N), thank you for assisting us. Dr. Brennan recommended you personally.”

You straightened your back. Temperance Brennan doesn’t recommend people lightly. “I specialize in isotopic analysis and forensic taphonomy. If your unsub is moving bodies across state lines, I can determine where they were before they ended up here.”

Hotch nodded approvingly. “That would be extremely useful.”

Reid, however, still looked skeptical. “That’s assuming there’s a pattern in the body disposal locations. If the killer is deliberately choosing random drop sites—”

You crossed your arms. “Then I can still tell you about the soil composition, insect activity, and post-mortem damage, which could help narrow down a timeline. It’s basic forensic science, Doctor Reid.”

A small smirk twitched at the corner of Hotch’s lips as he turned away. “Work with Dr. Reid and see what you can find.”

You and Reid stared at each other for a beat too long before sighing simultaneously.

“Fine,” you said.

“Fine,” he echoed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Jeffersonian, you had the advantage. This was your turf, your lab, your meticulously organized work environment. And Spencer Reid—despite his genius—was a little out of place.

“Don’t touch that,” you warned as he hovered near a set of isotopic samples.

“I wasn’t going to,” he shot back, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You raised a brow. “I literally just watched you reaching for it.”

“It was a reflex!”

“Uh-huh.”

Despite the bickering, you had to admit—Reid was sharp. He picked up on patterns even before you finished running tests, and while his knowledge of forensic anthropology was limited, he had an uncanny ability to connect seemingly random details.

Together, you started to piece together the unsub’s movements. The isotopic analysis revealed that the victims had spent time in an area with a unique mineral composition—suggesting an underground water source near limestone deposits.

Reid’s encyclopedic brain immediately pulled up a connection. “There’s an abandoned mining town about twenty miles west of the last body dump site. It was shut down in the 1980s, but the underground aquifers match your analysis.”

Your eyes widened. “If the bodies were stored there first, that could explain some of the inconsistencies in decomposition rates.”

He nodded excitedly. “Exactly. We need to check it out.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The abandoned town was eerie. Old buildings, rusting equipment, and an unsettling silence. You were with Reid, Morgan, and Booth—because of course Booth had insisted on coming along.

“What are the chances the unsub is actually still here?” you asked, glancing around nervously.

“Statistically?” Reid started, but before he could finish, a gunshot rang out.

“DOWN!” Morgan shouted, pushing you behind cover as bullets ricocheted off the crumbling brick walls.

Your heart pounded as you scrambled for safety. “I am so not cut out for this!”

“Yeah, well, welcome to our world,” Booth muttered, drawing his weapon.

Reid, crouched beside you, looked equally shaken but determined. “Stay close to me.”

“Not like I have many options!”

A tense firefight ensued, but the BAU and Booth’s tactical skills won out. The suspect was apprehended, and the nightmare was over.

Mostly.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Jeffersonian, you were still rattled. Lab work was one thing. Nearly getting shot was another.

“You okay?” Reid’s voice was softer than usual.

You exhaled. “I will be. Just… not used to being a target.”

“Statistically speaking—”

“Reid,” you warned.

He smirked. “Right. Not helping.”

There was a beat of silence before he hesitated. “For what it’s worth… I think your bad luck might just be situational.”

You gave him a look. “Says the guy who gets kidnapped at least once a year?”

His lips quirked. “Fair point.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. “Guess we’re both unlucky then.”

He nodded. “Yeah. But… maybe that’s not such a bad thing. I mean, we did solve the case together.”

You tilted your head. “Are you saying we make a good team?”

Reid shrugged, but there was a hint of a smile. “I’m saying… maybe luck isn’t the worst thing. As long as you have the right person to balance it out.”

You studied him for a moment before smirking. “Are you flirting with me, Dr. Reid?”

His ears turned red. “W-what? No! I mean—maybe? I just meant that—”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe you were unlucky. But if it meant crossing paths with Spencer Reid?

Maybe, just maybe… luck wasn’t so bad after all.

[childrenofcain-if]

Has there been any instances where Mc and C did work together other than the fake baby thingy?

the science lab was filled with high schoolers scrambling to set up their projects, all of them either too caffeinated or not caffeinated enough for the stress of the prestigious state science fair in washington.

the tables were crammed with an impressive array of projects: models of volcanic eruptions, elaborate circuits blinking in synchronized colors, experiments with soil composition in tiny terrariums. but none of them held a candle to your table, and you knew it.

you worked quickly, your fingers deft as you adjusted the components of the intricate apparatus. the machine—an elegant contraption meant to demonstrate clean energy storage using solar capacitors—was you and C’s brainchild.

they had done the research, the design, the equations scribbled out with ruthless precision in their sharp handwriting. you’d handled the practical end of things: soldering wires, programming the software, ensuring that their theoretical masterpiece could actually, you know, work.

you didn’t notice the way C stood a few feet away, arms crossed tightly, their posture as stiff as a statue’s. their chalcedony green eyes followed your every move like a hawk watching its prey, catching each adjustment you made, each tool you reached for.

finally, they cleared their throat. “you’re doing it wrong.”

you sighed without turning around, tightening a bolt on the panel. “good morning to you, too, lacroix. nice to see you’re in a supportive mood today.”

“supportive?” their voice had that sharp, clipped quality it always took on when they thought you were being deliberately obtuse. “i’d be supportive if you weren’t—” they made an exasperated noise, gesturing vaguely at the machine. “look, the angles on the solar panels are all wrong. the light’s not going to hit them efficiently like that. it’s basic geometry. i explained this to you yesterday.”

“okay,” you said evenly, glancing at them over your shoulder. “anything else?”

C blinked, their expression flickering into something almost like confusion. “you’re just... accepting it? like that?”

“well, yeah,” you said, shrugging. “you’re the brains behind this, aren’t you? if you’ve got more suggestions, i’m open to them.”

C suddenly seemed at a loss for words. the tips of their ears turned a faint pink, and they glanced away.

“well, i, uh...” they began, before scowling at you like it was somehow your fault they’d stumbled. “fine! move the reflector two inches to the left.”

you did as they asked, your motions slow and deliberate. “happy?”

“stop talking to me,” C snapped.

you blinked at them, incredulous. “you’re the one bossing me around!”

C ignored you, their nose tilting upward in that infuriatingly haughty way they’d perfected.

***

when the judges arrived at your school’s section, the air grew thick with anticipation. there were four of them—an engineer from spacex, a college professor from MIT, a tech startup CEO, and some local entrepreneur who had been introduced as a ‘philanthropist.’

they moved from table to table with an efficiency that made your stomach churn. you’d been rehearsing your answers for days, but there was something about the way they scribbled on their clipboards that made even your confidence waver.

but the presentation began smoothly enough, much to your relief. C handled the technical explanations, their voice steady and precise as they guided the judges through the intricacies of your design. you handled the broader picture, spinning a compelling narrative about its real-world applications.

but when the judges started asking questions, something shifted.

“so, who came up with the original concept?” the engineer asked, pen poised over her notepad.

“well,” you started, “it was—”

“me,” C interrupted, their green eyes glinting. “i developed the initial framework.”

you gave them an irritated look. “what they actually meant to say was that it was a joint effort.”

“sure,” C drawled sarcastically. “you jointly borrowed my calculations and then messed up the assembly two separate times.”

you bristled. “maybe if your diagrams weren’t as convoluted as your personality, i wouldn’t have had to ‘mess up’ anything.”

“convoluted? that’s rich, coming from someone who thought capacitors and resistors were interchangeable—”

“that was one time, and it only happened because you mislabeled them!”

the judges exchanged glances, two of them clearly trying not to laugh, the other two looking mildly alarmed.

“would you say you two work well together?” another judge ventured cautiously.

“oh, absolutely,” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm.

“can’t agree more,” C added, voice as flat as a table.

the judge raised an eyebrow, scribbling something down.

by the end of the presentation, both of you were red-faced and fuming, but the machine worked perfectly, and the judges seemed reluctantly impressed.

***

after the presentation, you and C sat side by side in the waiting area, the hum of chatter and distant applause filling the space. your hands rested in your lap, but when you shifted slightly, your fingers brushed against theirs. the accidental contact sent a jolt of heat up your arm, and you risked a glance at them.

C was staring angrily at the floor as if it had just demanded to drain their bank account, half of their face buried in the high collar of their dark green turtleneck. the tips of their ears had turned even more pink. their foot tapped against the floor in rapid, agitated beats.

when the winners were announced, your names rang out together, tethered like an inevitability.

you and C locked eyes, both startled, before standing up in unison. the applause was loud, but all you could focus on was the awkwardness of walking side by side to accept the award.

you still fell into step beside them, the trophy handed over in a flurry of handshakes and flashes from the crowd’s cameras.

the microphone passed between you two for the acceptance speech.

“we’d like to thank our school for supporting this project,” you began, glancing at C.

“and, of course, this wouldn’t have been possible without the cooperation of my... partner,” they added, their jaw tightening as if the words physically pained them to say.

you were tempted to laugh at how they looked like they were having a particularly bad case of indigestion, but managed to keep a straight face for the cameras.

***

after the ceremony, the two of you lingered near the refreshment table. C cleared their throat awkwardly, avoiding your gaze.

“you did... good,” they muttered.

you cocked your head, thinking you misheard them. “what?”

“i said you did good,” they repeated, louder this time. “you didn’t embarrass us. much.”

you snorted. “thanks, i guess. you weren’t too bad yourself.”

C hesitated, their eyes darting to the trophy in their right hand as their other hand fidgeted with the edge of their aldervale prep blazer.

“you’re smart though,” they said finally, their voice softer than usual. “you would’ve won without me.”

the admission startled you. “was that... a real compliment?”

this time, C’s cheeks turned pink as well, and they huffed loudly, turning on their heel. “i’m leaving. and i’m taking the trophy.”

“wait, what?” you snapped out of your stupor and hurried after them. “that’s not fair, lacroix! we both won!”

“too bad, starkid,” C called over their shoulder, their tone maddeningly smug. “you want it? come and get it.”

you groaned, chasing them through the crowd. “lacroix, get back here!”

and for the first time all day, C’s smile was genuine enough for their dimples to show.

[rottenpumpkin13]

We covered Gen’d be a brilliant chemist, but what would the other boys have done if they didn’t join SOLDIER?

Genesis: Besides being a chemist, I think he'd thrive being an agriculturalist** just dropping this in here.

Angeal: Farmer, florest, something that lets him work with the earth, hands in the soil, watching things grow and thrive.

Sephiroth: Would've ended up in something helpful and intellectual—professor, researcher, historian.

Zack: Anything outside, anything active, anything that lets him help people. Lifeguard, park ranger, firefighter. He just wants to be moving, doing something good, making sure everyone's okay.

Lazard: Has a headache because they all still act like this in SOLDIER. A slow day where no one has assignments lined up, and training and paperwork have been dealt with looks like a war zone, because that means everyone has time for hobbies.

*Lazard makes the mistake of passing by the lounge, where a tiny, suspiciously well-maintained herb garden now exists*

Lazard: Angeal, I hate to bring this up, but do you think this is an appropriate place for a vegetable garden?

Angeal: Huh? This isn't a garden. This is a mini learning experience. A garden would be the 12-by-12-foot plot I've set up on the roof without anyone noticing, where I'm currently cultivating tomatoes, carrots, pumpkins, and, experimentally, a small orchard.

Lazard: EXCUSE ME???

*Genesis strolls by, wearing a lab coat and holding a tray of flasks filled with ominous bubbling liquid*

Lazard: Please tell me those aren't explosives.

Genesis: Oh, relax. I'm merely perfecting my Banora White Soda recipe. I've been using advanced carbonic acid fermentation techniques to infuse the extracted Banora White essence into a fizzy, ethereal apple elixir. I'll create a drink so divine, lesser men will weep.

Lazard: That was too much science for me to feel safe.

*Genesis saunters off just as Sephiroth approaches, engrossed in a massive legal textbook*

Lazard: Sephiroth, please knock some sense into these men. SOLDIER is not a place for extracurricular chaos.

*Sephiroth calmly flips a page*

Sephiroth: According to Shinra Corporate Code, Section 7, Subsection 3b, employees are permitted to engage in personal hobbies on company property so long as they do not interfere with mission efficiency or pose a direct hazard to personnel.

Lazard: …Since when are you a lawyer?!

Sephiroth: I wouldn't call myself a lawyer. But it is good to be informed. I have spent too long in ignorance. If knowledge exists, I will learn it.

Lazard: That sounded ominous but okay.

*An earth-shattering explosion shakes the entire floor. Smoke billows from the materia room. Genesis staggers back into the room, covered in soot, coughing*

Genesis: Good news! I've invented a new kind of explosive!

*Before Lazard can even process that, Zack bursts into the room, fully decked out in firefighter gear*

Lazard: WHY

Zack: I'm a firefighter!

Lazard: Where's your hose??

Zack: Angeal, Genesis and Sephiroth are standing right there.

Lazard:

[nshtn]

// The Empirical Evidence

Wesker has never been one for the uncertainty of emotion. The answer to why he finds his lab partner so appealing, then, eludes him.

He considers the price of discovery. ▷

498 words, tags: Valentine's Day special, sfw, medical - mentions of sedation;surgical tools;syringes, wesker/gn researcher reader, themes of obsession, TRICELL - lab unit setting

There is a moment in which his unfettered gaze wanders across the expanse of your skin, wrists bare and easily broken, soft and pliant. He considers it, the call of your unbidden flesh to pierce, examine – to truly gaze upon that which confounds him. Such a mystery, the way you continue to seek him out despite the obvious tells of his deeper, darker innards. You don’t fret around soiled edges or discolored flecks.

The lens of a microscope suit you better. Only a scalpel could outpace that.

He supposes, quietly, that he’d never given anyone the time. No time to ponder meant no time for him to hurt when they walked. Humans always walked – and he didn’t stride among them, perfectly content to the individualism in the beat of his own heart.

Albert Wesker didn’t need anyone. Didn’t want anyone, for that matter. Those days had long passed with the snapping of an old man’s arteries.

Until you came along – you, mind sickeningly bright and achingly present, terrible in the ease of getting along with. A willing subject to bad science – messy with emotion, and yet somehow in the thick of it all you find yourself worthy of his private investigation. Wesker cannot explain it with his tongue. His efficiency nearly outpaces him, but it falters in the light of your pure, curious gaze.

When it flickers from the migraine light of a holographic display to the human cell cultures before you. When it settles on tubes and wires and plastic-capped syringes. When it crawls onto him after the steady beat of silence that hard work brings, when it’s late, and dark, and TRICELL’s night lights stammer onward to push you into the late hours...

You make him feel clumsy.

How much of a social misstep would it be to truly figure you out, then? What did you really desire? Would you allow it – foolish trust, dog-like loyalty enough for the steady drip of Propofol so he could submerge his gloved hands in the sanguine understanding of you?

Unlikely.

No amount of vivisection will lead him to the satisfaction of a perfect understanding of your synapses. You are an uncontrolled variable. Part of your beauty is the exotic lack of understanding that comes with someone so pure and civilian, undiluted in your humanities.

For a second, his hand twitches as his gaze rises from the embrace of an electron microscope. You are there, within reach, so close… unscathed, unanalyzed, unquantified – the harsh illumination of the halogen lamp in your own light microscope blurs into your skin like a spotlight...

You have no idea of the length of your appeal. It shouldn’t matter. It does.

...and then it’s gone. You don’t even have the time to question him – and neither does he, this trembling urge like a cascading reaction.

Cold, calculating reflex neuters him. A single utterance pours from his lips, a comment you can’t hope to entertain the reason of, held securely and intentionally away from you.

“Curious.”

[archaic-stranger]

the environmental science students

understanding how everything is interconnected

analyzing how we impact the world around us

evenings in the lab, analyzing soil and water samples

pressing plant specimens between the pages of your textbooks

dirt marking the creases of your palms

a strong sense of justice

ice cold water from a glacial lake

looking for the past in tree rings and ice cores

science textbooks alongside Walden and Silent Spring

a garden filled with native plants

seeking a more sustainable way to live

long summer afternoons, warm and languid

the faint sound of birdsong, a backdrop for your thoughts

picnics with your friends after a long day of fieldwork

tracking change in an ecosystem over time

studying everything from geology to atmospheric chemistry

helping to shape how environmental policy is written

seeing firsthand how species adapt to changes in their environment

pointing out different types of clouds

a desert after rain, alive with brilliant color

memorizing biogeochemical cycles, the systems that keep us alive

[rnbwtrout]

It's very funny having a STEM degree and ignoring it entirely to do something else because it's like. Yeah I'm a full time anime convention fan artist now. What did I go to school for? Uh. Crop and soil science. Yeah I did a study on soybean maturity groups and wrote a 15 page essay on citrus greening disease. I worked in a peanut fungal disease lab. I am using this knowledge to sell images of shirtless Satoru Gojo.

[ilovedirt]

feeling like the buffest hamster in this hamster wheel tonight

[libraloves-writing]

My last AP exam is on Monday (calculus 😔✊ pray for me) so I’m thinking about which AP class the 141 would teach

(If you don’t know what AP classes are, they’re college level courses for high schoolers and are notoriously difficult, some classes more than others. At the end of the year there’s an exam where if you pass you’d get college credit.)

The most obvious to me is Johnny he would do teach AP Physics or AP Chem cause like dude is a demolitions expert ie bombs and explosives. He HAS to have a high level of education in the physics/chemistry of explosives to do that so I think that background would make him a very qualified AP teacher. I know his class is a lot of hands-on labs and cool presentations. He would also just be that teacher that made everything so cool and interesting, def a favorite of the energetic kids. Has he set off the fire alarm before? Of course he has. He has a poster in his room of how many days his class has gone without setting something off, the longest they’ve gone is three days.

Price is a bit tricky for me. I want to say he would be either AP World or AP English language. He gives me history buff dad who has like a bajillion books on WWII but he also gives me English major. I’m leaning towards World I just feel like his class would deeeefinely be a weeder class, like only the strongest survive. But he would be super good at setting his students up for success, def tough love. His class is clean cut and straight to the point, practice exams throughout the year and pop quizzes without mercy, but that’s also the reason his students have the highest passing rate of his schools AP classes. Dad jokes galore also, if you do well on a test he’ll write one on the back of the paper.

Kyle would be AP Environmental Science. Science with a smidge of history sprinkled in is my fav (nuclear energy unit was my favorite 😩 ask me about Three Mile Island). His class is definitely lecture heavy but he always makes the coolest slide presentations. FIELD TRIPS dude loooooves field trips he has like two per semester. You’re going to a national park to look at soil erosion and he makes it so fun. He takes his job so seriously like beyond an AP teacher he wants his students to see the world around them with new eyes. He has kids fighting over who gets to be his TA every year cause they love him so much. Although being his TA is like a full time job bro has you grading so much stuff, you’re on a ladder stapling student projects to his Wall of Fame TM. He makes up for it thought by having a nice lunch for his TAs at the end of the year though.

Simon would be AP Calculus. Besties w/Johnnh obvi cause their classes are both math heavy/math based and their students are often taking both of their classes (Simon def calls his students nerds but he loves them). He just really likes how straightforward calc is, like no fluff it’s formulas and theories and boom there’s your answer. He’s made a reputation for himself for being a tough teacher but he just wants to challenge his kids. His classes always have the same structure everyday and it’s very organized, grades put in every other day and test grades even sooner. He knows math is scary for some students so he makes sure to look out for the ones who struggle a bit more, the last thing he wants is for someone to totally give up on math. To encourage his students to participate, to get them comfortable with being wrong sometimes, he gives candy when students go to the board to solve an equation (they get candy if they’re right or wrong 😉). His classroom is definitely a lunch hangout spot for quieter students, he lets them stay there to eat and over time they open up and boom besties.

😘

Anyway, pray for me on my exam. ISTG I BETTER MOT SEE AN E OR LM ANYWHEREEE (i definitely will and I’ll be cooked. I’m sooo good on area under the curve tho 😛)

HAPPY AP EXAM SEASON WE WILL ALL GET FIVES