#RIGHT SOIL TESTING LAB

[tamilnadutest]

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[pelahnar]

If working at a soil analysis lab has taught me anything, it's that you do not have nearly enough ability to do soil analysis in Stardew Valley

Like, I don't know what the real life farmers are doing with the numbers that I provide for them, but getting said numbers seem to be really important to them. They ask for numbers about the amount of organic matter in their soil, the pH of the soil, the amount of bicarbonates in the soil, the electroconductivity of liquid that's been extracted from the soil. They send samples of water and ask for numbers about that too. And that's just the tests that I personally do - there are a lot more

In stardew valley you can fill your watering can with sea water, sprinkle some sap on your seeds, and get excellent quality produce

[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.”

[ichorai]

chiropterology — mother's day.

drabble synopsis ; mind the pretzel dips! warnings ; swearing, some good ol' sibling rivalry.

series masterlist.

“Ground rules!” Stephanie called out to the hoard of bats gathered together in the living room. It was the early hours of Mother’s Day—so early that the sun had yet to rise. Each year on this day they all had a not-so-friendly competition on who could successfully pamper you the most. It was undoubtedly one of your most favorite holidays of the year. “Only two people attend to Mom at once—we don’t want to overwhelm her. To ensure everyone gets a fair shot today, you can only stick to her for two hours at a time. You’re allowed to spend time with her again later, but you need at least an hour cooling period in between.”

“What if someone goes over the time limit?” Jason grumbled. “Some people apparently have really bad “internal clocks.”” He placed air quotes around the last term with a scoff. 

Everyone simultaneously glared at Tim, who blanched at the sudden attention. “What? I’ll stick to the time limit this year, I swear!” 

“Uh-huh,” Steph said, giving him a stink-eye. Last year, Tim had gone to the movies with you on Mother’s Day, hogging up many hours of your precious time, much to the rest of their fury—it was safe to say that he was disqualified from the competition.

“And what does the winner get this year?” Damian asked, foot tapping against the polished hardwood. 

Steph’s grin widened. “Winner gets first pick for movie nights for the next three months.”

“Oh, the horror!” gasped Jason in an exaggerated fashion. “You all have such terrible taste!”

“God, if I have to rewatch Pride and Prejudice one more time—” Tim moaned. 

Jason kicked at Tim’s shin with a fiery glare. “Shut your mouth. It’s a good movie—!”

“Loser?” Cass asked.

Duke wavered nervously. It was his first year competing, and he was more nervous than a baby bird about to take flight for the first time. “There’s a punishment for the loser?”

Tim shot his hand up. “To give our dear Alfred a break… Loser does everyone’s laundry for the next three months.”

“Ooh, evil,” said Jason, a sharp grin pulling his lips thin, recalling the many condiment-soiled uniforms he had tossed into the hamper. “I like it.”

“Alright. Rules aside, I want a clean competition this year. May the best man, boy, or woman win,” Dick declared. “Though, I’ve known her the longest, so I really do think you guys should be congratulating me on my victory beforehand.”

Damian stared up at him balefully. “Oh, please, Grayson. Do you even know what Mother’s favorite chocolate bar is?”

Dick scratched at the back of his neck. “Uhm… Kit-Kats?”

“Wrong,” Damian said, an edge of pride sharpening his voice. “And even if you were right, you are an idiot to inform the rest of us of such precious intel.”

Dick crossed his arms. His little brother got him there. “Rats.”

“All agree?” Cass asked. “No bribe.”

They all nodded at each other. This was a sacred holiday, and cheating was the last thing on anyone’s minds.

“Great!” Steph exclaimed. “Let Mother’s Day begin!”

The kids were being terribly attentive this year. You could hardly step in one direction without one of them appearing in front of you with wild, eager, almost manic eyes. All of them offered to give you a massage, or read one of your favorite books to you, or run a warm bath for you, or run to the store to grab you a tub of your preferred ice cream, or clean up your lab, or volunteer as a test subject for your newest experiments (which was very much appreciated).

Urgh. You loved Mother’s Day. 

Bruce watched the kids fret over you, sipping lukewarm coffee from a mug that said Okayest Dad of The Year. “Why don’t they ever do this on Father’s Day?” he muttered.

“Please,” you scoffed, kissing your husband’s cheek. “If the kids hovered over you like this, you would go into hiding for the next fortnight.”

Bruce grumbled some more, but didn’t disagree with you.

The hours drew on, and the kids grew increasingly frantic. You caught sight of Tim hurriedly scribbling in his notebook out of the corner of your eye more times than you could count—presumably trying to keep score, even though you weren’t at all keeping track of how many favors each person was doing for you.

However, there were still very notable, thoughtful things the kids did for you today that you would cherish for the rest of your life. Steph had made you a playlist of all your favorite songs, and a few of her own recommendations that she thought you would enjoy, and she was very much right. Cass had one of your favorite books translated to braille so you were able to read in the dark without worsening your eyesight. Damian sketched a large portrait of you and your beloved cake robot together, and signed your name in beautiful Arabic calligraphy. Jason and Tim both assisted you with clearing out the closet full of your old inventions in one of the upstairs rooms, even offering to help you test if any of them still worked. Both of them walked out of your lab two hours later sore, winded, and dizzy. Dick, with the help of Alfred, made you a photo-album with old pictures from his time as Robin. Afterwards, you and Dick went out for a short session of karaoke, and it was the most fun you ever had singing to depressing 90s music. 

But there was one thing that stood out to you the most. One thing that immediately made up your mind on who was going to be the winner.

Duke had come up to you an hour before The Reaping (AKA when you picked a winner and a loser), looking somewhat nauseous. He hadn’t gotten to spend much time with you today, so he was already quite nervous.

“Hey, bud!” you cheerfully greeted, holding a basket of broken car parts. There was grease smeared over your cheek, which Cassandra had stepped forward to wipe away with a warm, damp towel. “What can I do for you?”

“I actually…” Duke fiddled with the clasp of his bag. “I had something made for you. I asked Luke to help me out with all the mechanics, but… I’ve been working on it for the past few days.”

He pulled out a long column of metal, fitted with thick, tinted glass on either ends of the tube. It resembled a telescope of sorts. 

“Ooh, how neat!” you exclaimed, dropping the basket and taking the contraption from him, lifting it up to your eye-level to examine the handiwork. Your eyes sparkled with curiosity. “What is it?”

Duke placed a hand on your shoulder, and gestured up the stairs. “I think it’s best to explain it on the balcony.” As he led you up (with Cass silently trailing behind like a ghost), Duke said, “Remember when you told me how much you loved stargazing? But doing it in Gotham is almost impossible, considering—”

“The light pollution,” you said, tilting your head. “Don’t tell me this is…”

Duke pushed open a door to one of the many balconies of the manor. “Take a look.”

You blinked at the boy, shocked at his thoughtfulness, before hastily pressing the lens up to your eye and angling your face up to the sky. And there it was—a kaleidoscope of scintillating stars like shattered glass freckled all throughout the dark canvas of Gotham’s normally murky horizon. They winked at you knowingly. You made a garbled, shocked noise, stumbling back a few steps from the balcony in your urgency to tilt your head back and see more. Duke steadied you with two hands over your shoulders. 

Duke sounded sheepish as he said, “Luke had it specially designed to filter out certain wavelengths of light. It was really all him, but I was the one who thought of it.”

Finally, painfully, you tore your gaze away from the sky. And when they met Duke’s, he was surprised to find your expression overcome with emotion.

“Oh, Duke. I don’t even know how to begin to thank you. This is so thoughtful.” You enveloped him into a warm hug. “You win, by the way. Competition’s over.”

“I promise I didn’t just do it for the competition—!” Duke protested, but you shook your head anyway.

“I know, hon. But it doesn’t matter. You win anyway, hands down.”

The time had come for The Reaping. All the kids crowded around you in the library, begging to know who would be the winner this year—and movie-picker for the next few months. Cassandra and Duke, of course, already knew, but they stayed relatively silent in comparison to their rowdy brothers and sister.

“Alright,” you said, which immediately halted the argumentative chatter. “This has been an amazing day for me, truly. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. I love you all so much, and I’m so touched that you guys go through all this trouble every year for me.”

“You deserve it,” Dick said, which earned a chorus of agreement. 

“Now, don’t butter me up just yet. I’ll start with announcing the loser,” you said, clearing your throat. You looked towards Jason. 

“Oh, no,” he said.

“I’m sorry, hon,” you told him, taking his hands. 

“No. Mom, no. How could you do this to me?” Jason appeared genuinely betrayed by your decision. The rest of the kids burst into raucous cheers at avoiding three months’ worth of stinky vigilante laundry. Alfred was also going to be very glad. 

Trying your best to stifle your laughter, you clutched his scarred hands closer to you and dramatically uttered the next few sentences as if you were giving a eulogy. “I love you so much. But when you called me from the amusement park asking what kind of pretzel I wanted, I told you I wanted a cinnamon pretzel with chocolate dip. You came back with a cinnamon pretzel… and a caramel dip. I’m so sorry Jason—I hereby declare you this year’s loser.”

“Shit,” Jason groaned, head falling back as he realized his mistake. One goddamned caramel dip cost him his victory!

“Hah!” Damian proclaimed. “So it is clear, then. I am obviously the winner this year, and you will all be watching—”

“Actually,” you interrupted, shooting Damian an apologetic wince, “this year’s winner is Duke!”

“What?” Damian barked. “Impossible! It is his first year. Nobody wins on their first try.”

Bashful, Duke awkwardly waved when everyone’s eyes fell on him. 

“He had a special telescope made for me,” you said, brandishing the gift from its protective case. Everyone clamored closer to get a good look at it. “One that lets me see Gotham’s stars through all the smog. You guys are not allowed to touch it without my explicit permission, by the way. I’m serious! I will suspend you from patrolling, and Bruce would be happy to see it through!”

They all gulped nervously.

“Wow—” Steph said once she got a better look, eyes widening as she whistled a low note. “No, yeah, I didn’t stand a chance against that. Way to go, Duke!”

The rest of the siblings clapped Duke on the back, congratulating him on the win. Tim handed him the sleek back remote to the theater room’s large monitor. “For you, my liege.”

You carefully put the telescope away, then ruffled Damian’s hair. “Better luck next year, kiddo.”

“Tch. It will be war next year, Mother.” He looked up at you, determination burning within his dark green eyes. “And I shall be the last one standing on the battlefield!”

“Okay, you little gargoyle,” Tim said, gently shoving Damian away, who angrily kicked at Tim’s shin (which was already bruised from Jason’s kick earlier that day). He pretended like it didn’t hurt, and gave you a warm, one-armed hug. “Happy Mother’s Day. We love you, Mom.”

[muddyorbsblr]

back to you part 1: madness calls

Series Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Summary: It's been years since Loki disappeared on a mission gone wrong, and Thor walks in to Banner's lab with snake in hand, asking if you could check if it's Loki

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warning/s: implied/presumed major character death; snakes; mention of death by falling; mention of assumed violence on an animal

The beep of the door to the lab alerted you and Banner to the presence of a visitor. From the heavy footsteps and the musky cologne, it didn't take long for you to figure out who it was.

"Hey, Thunder." You looked up from your microscope, hand already outstretched to take in the samples that you told him to collect from your mission in the Bolivian forests. But you quickly withdrew it the moment you clocked that he wasn't holding out a soil sample.

He was holding a snake.

"I do have the samples you requested, Lady Y/N," he assured you. "But I was hoping that perhaps you and Doctor Banner could examine him first. This might finally be the one. Look at his eyes, the sheen on his scales. This is Loki, I'm sure of it."

"Thor��" you sighed, fighting back tears as you mustered up the words. "Thor, it's been years since the incident. We haven't seen or heard anything from your brother since--"

"I know, Lady Y/N," he cut you off, his voice louder than usual. He sighed, holding the serpent out to you. "But I cannot just give up on the hopes that perhaps, by the grace of the Norns, my brother is still out there. That perhaps he still lives. Perhaps he's even in my hands as we speak, and his magic has been compromised and he cannot break out of his shape shift.

"Please, my friend. I swear that if your findings prove me to be wrong, then I will burden the rest of you no longer with my search for my brother. I will scour the Realms myself until I find him. Just one final time."

You fought the tears stinging at the back of your eyes, holding out your hands to take the snake. Its black scales had an iridescent sheen to it; holding it out to the light had that sheen going back and forth from a yellowish-green to a near gold. Looking at it, you could understand how Thor could have been filled with hope that maybe this was Loki.

However, there was nothing in the creature's eyes that could have indicated any form of recognition.

Then again, it's been years. And he probably didn't even recognize me looking like this on a good day back when he was around, you thought ruefully. You carefully placed the little snake on the table, grabbing hold of the scanner that Stark, Strange, and Banner collectively worked on that could scan the presence of even the slightest traces of magic.

If Loki so much as breathed on this snake, in theory, this machine could tell you.

You honestly didn't know if it was Thor's nearly moving speech about being hellbent to find his brother, or perhaps your own misplaced feelings of hope that maybe the god's magic truly was compromised from the shape shift, and perhaps this could finally be the breakthrough you were pleading with the gods for.

Or maybe it was insanity, hoping for a different outcome despite having done this exact test countless times in the years since that fateful mission. The last memory you had of the raven haired god was him practically shoving you away from him with no warning. And when you turned around to give him a piece of your mind, he was gone.

And then an agent running comms told you that they saw footage of a strange, swirling vortex materialize where you stood right before Loki shoved you. Suddenly all your unspoken words felt monumentally heavier on your tongue, the little voice in your head now incessantly telling you that the visceral rejection would have been better than the regret of having said nothing.

So maybe it was all those things working together that had your heart turning to lead and sinking to the ground when you heard the ever disappointing monotone double beep of the machine. The snake was just a snake.

You didn't even have to tell the blond Asgardian; he could see it from your face that you didn't have a lick of good news. All he did was give you a tortured tight-lipped smile, his own tears brimming in his eyes. "I shall get the samples you requested then. Thank��you, my friend."

Just as he was about to walk out of the lab, a blaring signal started sound across the entire floor, putting everyone on high alert.

"I didn't touch anything," the Asgardian said in defense, putting his hands up.

"We know, Thor, it's okay," Banner told him, putting in earplugs that put the greening hue of his skin at ease. "It's a distress signal. An agent sets it off if they're out on the field and they're in imminent danger and need more backup."

"Except," you mumbled, mostly to yourself, listening to the pattern of the signal. You'd heard the distress calls of other SHIELD agents before and it didn't sound like this. Where was this pattern from? You listened more intently to the peaks of the signal, recognizing the morse code. A tiny signature that you and Tony put in that was easily recognizable to those in the team that understood.

"It's an Avengers level distress signal," you and Thor said in unison, both of you rushing out of the lab to the control room, the rest of the team steadily filing in. Steve walked in last, starting to count off everyone in the room.

"Everyone's here save for Xu--" he said, cut off when Shaun's face showed up on the large floor-to-ceiling screen, visibly concerned at the sound of the alarm filling the aircraft.

"I'm here, guys. I'm safe," his voice rang through the speakers over the alarm.

"So if it's not anyone on the team, then one of us had butter fingers and dropped our signal somewhere in the field. My money's on Point Break," Tony quipped, earning a strangled sound of protest from Thor as he defensively said 'I most certainly did not!'

"Boys, shut up and stop fighting," Natasha said snappily, typing away on the keyboard and pulling up a map on the big screen to show her progress on tracking the location of the signal. "It's coming from somewhere just outside of London. Lemme just get a hold of one of the satellites around that area and…whoa."

You and the rest of the team in the control room all looked at the screen in combined concern and horror, watching the utter pandemonium that was breaking out from what looked like a high-rise building. Multiple people playing a deadly game of tug-of-war for resources at the roof, some of them being kicked or pushed off the edge and falling to their certain death.

There was foliage that had caught fire, making the building a brilliant shining light calling the attention of anyone flying over the area. Anyone looking at the live satellite feed of the outskirts of London, like you and your team.

"Cap, even if the signal isn't from one of us, we can't just pretend we didn't see this," you spoke up. "We have to help."

His only response was to nod, not taking his eyes off the screen, only tearing his eyes away once the rabid tenants began to fight over a dog. Nat turned the screen off; nobody needed to see what came after.

"Everyone gear up," he addressed the room. "Get Support to prep the Quinjet, we're wheels up in ten. Our mission is to find out who triggered the distress signal. And save as many civilians as we can manage."

A/N: Well damn…here we go, I guess. Welcome to 'back to you', everybody! This is a series I conceptualized back in early 2023 and my brain's finally gotten around to writing it the last few days. The rust is steadily being worked off, and hopefully…I've got not just this, but some more stuff in store. We'll see where things take me 🫡

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie

@superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist @alexakeyloveloki @lulubelle814

[nomsfaultau]

Bunnyblade's 5-Step Plan to World Dominance

(Ok ok first as a biologist I must do my due diligence to be like, there’s actually lots of rules regarding animal experimentation and their quality of life, animal testing greatly increases the safety of BOTH humans and the environment, etc etc IACUC is extensive and thought out. However. Whump :)

Tw: referenced animal abuse, trauma, blood

Lab Bunnyblade. Blood red eyes and sleek white fur that covers up his many scars. He’s level E under the USDA Pain and Distress category. No anesthesia, no rest. Little bun who always bites when he shouldn’t and kicks at scientists and doesn’t know anything but glass and iron and white and fear.

In his immense wisdom and many years of bunny experience (he is TWO (2) whole years), Bunnyblade resolves to topple the United States Government on the grounds of unethical treatment of its citizens (born on US soil! He should get rights!). But the only obstacle between him and the country descending into anarchy is escaping the lab.

As 2 in bunny years is well over 16 in human years, it’s probably not illegal for him to drive. What? Of course he knows how to drive. Bunnyblade only doesn’t know how to break, because he’s shoved a brick on the accelerator and his widdle legs can’t reach that far. He CAN use the turn signal. He doesn’t because he’s an anarchist.

So of course the greatest evil mastermind of the 21st century escapes the lab! Determined bun. Strong bun. But alone bun. All in the cold with no idea how survival works. Bunnyblade is well familiar with human lifestyles due to deciphering human languages and that one time he stole a phone and discovered the internet (with unlimited access for an entire night! THOSE FOOLS! Those moronic scientists scarcely comprehend the monster they’ve made!). But human society turns out to be very discriminatory towards rabbits with no income, and Bunnyblade is at the mercy of the elements.

Cue Philza finding what’s obviously someone’s pet trying to eat plastic turf grass. Cue him frantically chasing down a frightened bun across the neighbor hood so he can return it. (Blast! They’ve hired goons to catch him!) Except- what the hell, this rabbit seems to be evading him no matter what. And Phil starts getting tricky with trying to corner it, but it never seems to work. But in yet another desperate bid to outrun the determined little bun, he smacks into a small child, smelling his ice cream cone. After Tommy is done cursing the stranger to hell and back, he decides he’ll show up Phil by catching the rabbit cause he’s faster and smarter and handsomer!

And then stranger Kristin sees Phil making an absolute dorky fool of himself trying to save a frightened bunny and immediately thinks oh I can’t Not wife him she should help. So now they’re flirting in between absurdly elaborate schemes to trap the bun.

More and more goons are after Bunnyblade! This is TERRIBLE! They must know his secret plans to overthrow the government! It gets up to like 20 different people chasing him around the park. His heart is racing as fast as a rab- erm- okay immediately after he takes over the government he’ll rewrite all English idioms to be more rabbit inclusive, but until then- his heart is beating so fast it hurts, throbbing in painful desperation as more and more humans hunt him down in roaming packs. There’s so many he can’t ever stop running, knowing the second he’s caught he’ll be dragged back to the lab. It'll be so much harder to escape next time, maybe impossible. Never to see the outside world again. No warm sun tousling through his white fur. No soft grass beneath his feet, healing the lines scored into toe beans by wire cage floors. No. Bunnyblade can’t go back to the lab.

So he runs. And runs. Little body aching, unused to to wide open spaces but so desperate to become used to freedom.

Philza keeps being this close to capturing the bun. Mere whiskers off! Everyone is getting more and more invested in helping, feels like half the town is chipping in. There’s multiple teams competing for who captures him first. Philza isn’t sure how, but he’s somehow become the leader, coordinating groups and strategies since somehow the rabbit manages to get capture efforts tangled up in each other to thwart both teams. Tommy insists he’s in charge, though, and to appease the twerp a little Philza says the bunny’s name is ‘Technoblade’ when asked by the news crew. Tommy came up with it off of some kids show, seems to think it’s the raddest name ever.

The joke keeps getting tossed around that this is the reincarnation of Bugs Bunny, that this is a were-rabbit and they transform midday. But for the most part Philza really does this think is a normal, albeit insanely fast and lucky, rabbit. Until when he’s right on the bun’s tail, hurling himself at them in a desperate bid to finally catch them-

Concussion. Right. P-probably just a concussion haha! And after 20 million schemes 6 trips to the ER and enough carrots* to feed a small country, (*carrot thing is a myth but Phil is dumb he don’t know that),

...they catch Technoblade. Philza is cradling the bunny to his chest and -oh, oh he’s so small and soft. Could probably be held in one hand were he not thrashing so much. Philza pants in exhaustion, grinning triumphantly. Around him everyone erupts in the quietest cheers imaginable.

Technoblade is shaking badly. His fluttering heart never seems to calm even as Philza gently strokes them. His struggles are weak, poor thing worn out from fending off dozens of persistence predators. But he's safe now.

And elsewhere, a click of a spacebar on the live news story. The screen zooms in on a blurry glimpse of the escaped lab subjected. His large, terrified red eyes that almost seem to glow.

A long, long sigh, and a latex-gloved hand picks up a phone. “We found it. But it purposefully got as many eyes on it as possible.”

[notwiselybuttoowell]

From 1862 until 1923, US senators and members of Congress provided vast numbers of seeds to constituents. At its peak, the congressional seed distribution program delivered over 60m seed packets directly to farmers and market gardeners every year, helping introduce new varieties of everything from wheat and corn to oats, soybeans, flowers and vegetables. A century later, far fewer Americans till the soil for a living, but seeds remain central to our lives.

Maintaining the seed diversity and abundance we rely on requires constant development of new varieties to combat disease, increase production and adapt to changing conditions. Seed advances are particularly urgent now, as farmers confront the fickle weather of a warming planet while working to meet a projected 50-60% rise in global food demand by 2050. Although elected officials no longer send out seeds through the mail, federal support for these efforts remains vital.

In the era of Doge, that support has been flipped on its head.

The US Department of Agriculture employs many plant breeders directly and funds many more through grants and partnerships, but the crown jewel of its seed program resides in a bunker-like building in Fort Collins, Colorado. The national seed bank houses more than 2bn carefully preserved specimens in a facility designed to withstand floods, fires, earthquakes, power outages and tornadoes. With over 620,000 varieties from nearly 17,000 different species, it is one of the world’s largest seed collections and a major supplier to the global seed vault in Svalbard, Norway.

It is also at risk.

While words like “vault” and “bank” imply simply turning the key and walking away, managing a seed collection demands constant activity. Even in cold storage, the specimens steadily degrade and must be tested regularly to make sure they’re still viable. When germination rates drop for any particular sample, those seeds must be planted and grown to maturity – in the right conditions – to produce a fresh supply. That activity takes place at over 20 research stations in locations (and climates) as diverse as North Dakota, Texas, California, Hawaii and Puerto Rico.

Known officially as the US National Plant Germplasm System, the seed bank and its network of regional facilities recently lost 10% of their workforce in the Doge firings, including farm managers, research scientists, lab technicians, IT specialists, orchardists and more. Some have since been rehired, at least temporarily, but the program remains in turmoil. Projects interrupted or suspended range from germination trials to seed regeneration, research lending and many longterm breeding programs, weakening the entire enterprise.

Plants don’t wait on politics. Any seed varieties lost now will simply be unavailable to improve crops and address challenges in the future. The importance of a robust and diverse seed bank cannot be overstated. To combat the invasive Russian wheat aphid, for example, plant breeders screened over 54,000 wheat and barley samples to find a handful of precious strains with natural resistance.

It’s time for Congress to return to the seed business. Without its intervention, backed by the courts, additional firings appear imminent. Undermining the nation’s seed security undermines its food security and embodies the definition of reckless: “utterly unconcerned about consequences”.

[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

[murphy-kitt]

Ectober Day 8 - Toy Spaceship

Word Count: 1,663

AO3

Tags: Angst, Mention of Past Injury

Maddie finds a small worn toy spaceship buried in the park. A children’s toy. She wasn’t expecting the owner to be Phantom.

At first, Maddie thinks the rocket is just a piece of rusted metal. How a piece of rusted metal might’ve got there in the first place, she doesn’t consider.

The first thing she thinks is that it’s a safety hazard, with the screeching of children’s laughter ringing in her ears. The park is within eye—and earshot. A stray toddler only needs to wander over and get a cut, or worse.

She reaches down and expects sharp metal to prod her fingertips, except it doesn’t. Another tug and it’s out of the damp soil.

What is it? She thinks, turning it around in her hands. Half the bottom is covered with muck and stringy roots. It’s cylindrical, curving into a point at the top. What she thought was rust, is dark orange paint. What she can only describe as ‘fins’ jut out at the bottom.

Whatever it is, it’s seen better days.

And then she remembers.

Danny’s fifth birthday, the first time they’d had a big occasion for his birthday. They’d taken him to the observatory, because even back then he knew what he wanted to do.

Nowadays, Maddie’s not too sure of that anymore. He’s…drifted away. Always skipping lessons and never being where he should.

But Danny’s birthday gift had been a rocket. A little orange rocket with a lid that flipped open at the top. Maddie presses about a quarter down of the toy, and sure enough there’s a hinge.

Curious, she tries opening the top, but it’s rusted shut.

Can’t have expected anything else. She sighs, looking back over to the park. Perhaps one of the children there dropped it?

After all, it can’t be Danny’s. Despite everything, even with his failing grades and constant truancy, he still has his shelf of rockets.

He’d never let one of them get in such a state, given his attention to detail for painting them and adding stickers.

It could be a ghost related? Maddie turns the rocket over in her hands. There’s no signs of ectoplasm, but it could be contaminated.

Worth taking to the lab for a checkup. With one final glance at the rocket, Maddie begins the walk back to Fentonworks.

—

It’s the next day when Maddie debates what to do with the rocket. Tests last night showed that it is contaminated to a considerable degree.

“It could make a good bit of research.” Maddie mumbles, staring at the rocket laid out on the lab bench, “—why is it in that park? Who does it belong to?”

Suddenly, the temperature of the lab drops.

Maddie tenses, instinctively reaching for the ectogun on her hip, but her hand simply meets air. Right. Her and Jack had agreed to stop carrying ectoguns after their truce with Phantom.

It’s been a rocky few months, but there is some progress. Nowadays, the ghost doesn’t shy away when they’re hunting, even sometimes having conversations.

Perhaps Phantom will know who the rocket belongs to. He seems to have good knowledge of the town, she thinks.

But for now, she’s only focused on the current problem.

“Who’s there?” She swivels around, eyes scanning the room for any sense of an aura, cold spots.

Something is definitely in the lab. Hairs prickling on her neck, Maddie resists the urge to run into the weapons storage, come out guns blazing.

Her and Jack meant keeping a truce. And that includes no weapons (excluding life-threatening situations) even when Phantom isn’t present.

“Wow! I’m surprised you didn’t run for the weapons.” Suddenly, Phantom appears infront of her, green eyes gleaming and a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

“What do you want?” She asks, tone biting more than intended.

“Geez, don’t worry! I thought we were past the accusation stage.” Phantom folds his arms, hovering down to the floor.

“We are.” Maddie releases her grip from the bench, “I just didn't expect you here.”

She can’t help but notice Phantom subtly floating to the right of her, eyes clearly not focused despite his conversing.

“Fair…” the ghost trails off, craning his neck.

Instinctively, she turns, curious as to what’s caught his eyes.

Ah. The rocket.

Something he’s probably never seen before and is intrigued about.

“Where’d you get that?” Is expectantly the next question.

“This?” Maddie asks, as if the answer isn’t obvious, picking up the small toy in her hands, “A toy rocket, I think?”

”Yeah, it is.” Phantom nods, confirming the obvious. “It’s mine.”

”Yours?!” Maddie clutches the rocket tighter, unable to muster the surprise in her tone, “Did you find it?”

”No.” Phantom drops to the floor with a light thump, eyes fixated on the rocket. “I—uh—got it when I was alive.”

”When you were alive?” She parrots, “I though ghosts—“

”Couldn’t feel pain, couldn’t remember their past lives. Yeah.” Phantom grimaces, hand tracing a line across his stomach.

Maddie remembers, stomach flipping, that she gave him a severe wound there once with a Fenton Spear.

For some reason, her mind trails back to Danny. Him being five, so excited to visit the observatory for his birthday. Much more excited about that than his favourite fudge cake. How when they’d went into the gift shop, the bright orange and blue rocket was what had caught his attention. He didn’t want anything else, just that rocket.

And at some point, Phantom had that experience. Perhaps not a birthday, or at the observatory. But he saw the little rocket in her hands on a shelf one day, and it gave him the same joy as it had her own son.

Probably still does, if it was stubborn enough to follow him into the afterlife.

That brings another thought which she instantly shoves back down. What if he was killed whilst playing with the rocket?

”How—how did you get this, then?” Maddie regards Phantom’s confused expression, “I mean, if you had it when you were alive, then how did it…join…you as a ghost?”

”I did always say it had a mind of its own.” Phantom chuckles, before advancing forward.

Maddie obliges, allowing the ghost to take it, arms falling awkwardly by her side. It is his after all.

After a few seconds of Phantom examining his reunited possession, he shrugs.

“None of my other stuff reacts like this does. I mean, yeah, it’s important, but this rocket is connected, somehow? Like, my core can sense where it is.”

”That’s why you knew to come here.” Maddie nods, pieces falling into place.

”Yeah. I went flying with it a few days ago on patrol. I guess I must’ve dropped it at the park, because my core was telling me to go there.” Phantom explains, “And then my core was telling me to go here, so I figured either you or D—Jack picked it up.”

”Perhaps it’s related to your obsession? A ghost’s core is primarily formed from an obsession, after all.” Maddie suggests, looking over at the strewn out papers on the desk. All their theories and explanations that will have to be rewritten about ghosts. Even from this simple interaction.

So many things proved wrong.

The ghost ‘hmms’ then nods, seemingly satisfied. “That could be it, y’know? I’m just glad it was you who got it and not like…some kid. I’d have a harder time getting it back.”

”Well, don’t be too sure.” Maddie quips, “It’s quite an interesting little piece. I’ve never heard of a physical object connected to a ghost through their core, especially from their past life.”

”Well, what can I say? I’m…unique.” Phantom shrugs, suddenly looking more like the awkward teenager he is, which took her and Jack much too long to notice.

An awkward silence fills the lab as Maddie considers what to say, drumming her hands on the table.

”Well, I better get going. Thanks—“

”How did you get the rocket?” Maddie blurts out to a bewildered Phantom.

”It’s just, my son, Danny. He has that exact same rocket. We went to the observatory when he was five, and when he saw it, well that was it. Absolutely infatuated with the thing! He’s still got it on his shelf to this day. I think his is in better condition than that, no offence.”

”Well, would you know it?” Phantom quirks a crooked grin, “I got mine at the observatory for my birthday too. I knew when I laid eyes on it that was what I wanted. My Dad thought I’d want cake or something, but my Mom knew straightaway.”

Just like Danny’s experience.

Phantom looks relaxed, shoulders slack. There’s a colour to his cheeks, light dusting of green freckles and a sparkle to his eyes. It’s nice, Maddie thinks. A far cry from a few months ago when he was worn down, pale, sunken-in by their weapons.

Perhaps talking about the good things about his family has helped, too. One thing undoubtably in Maddie’s mind is that Phantom didn’t have a good home life as a child.

It has to be. A teenager dies, becomes a ghost acting-vigilante. In life he couldn’t be saved, so spends the afterlife dedicated to seeking justice.

”Thanks.” Phantom grins again, and as quick as he appeared, is gone.

Sighing, Maddie lets herself lean against the bench, glancing at the sea of research papers and dogeared notes. All the news theories from her conversation with Phantom and discovery of the rocket swirl around.

She could sit here in the lab for a good few hours, developing research and new alternatives.

Or, instead, Maddie walks to the lab stairs and starts going up. She decides to go up to Danny’s room and talk about the rockets on his shelf with him.

Her children are growing up, distancing by each passing year, especially Danny.

After all, Phantom’s parents likely never knew that their sons life would be cut so short. One minute talking about rockets, the next gone, as if he was never there.

Who knows how long she has left with Danny?

—

A/N: Surprised I’ve made it to day 8 and four works to be honest. This was the first prompt I had planned for ectober. Inspired by A Ghost Story by Cordia, one of my favourite fics ever!

[fishy0bishy]

Mission upcoming

AN:after a minute of bringing up Mrs.Unamed and at one drawing I did of her and Merrit fighting reunited I wrote a little something leading up to that fight (long way of saying I wrote Merrit lore.)

also all of North’s crew is here! And Gilded!

Start of something bigger.

It was a cozy evening and Lizzy was wandering about and stumbling on Merrit in her lab making and testing some Filter soil but before doing or saying anything Merrit pauses and goes “Goggles and coat before doing anything in here”. 

Lizzy rolls her eyes and puts on the gear “what did ya parents told you to do the same thing beforehand?”

  Merrit smiles and nonchalantly goes “Nope never knew them. But my grandma and my other caretaker did” 

Merrit pointing at two photos on a bulletin board. One image is of two tiny elderly women, one a ferret and the other a possum. But the other photo is blurred by a drink spill stain but Lizzy could still make out ferrets one with creme colored fur and the other brown colored.

  Lizzy blinks at the photo and turns saying “wait what? You don’t seem like a person to have as trauma as everyone else on this ship.” Merrit exclaims and shakes her head

 “Woah woah it’s not like that. I just never knew them and I don’t mind it. All I know is that they’re space riders so I assumed they were always busy” 

“But wouldn’t you see them even when you became a space rider?”

“Someone is getting curious are we? You can ask poppy when we’re at HQ”

“We’ll I’m just say-“

Before the conversation (or questioning if you will) continues North interrupts by loudly knocking on the door and yells “Mission time! Suit up we got a big boss on our hands!” 

 Both Merrit and Lizzy look at the other and they go to the halls removing their Lab gear and Merrit going to her locker to change up and Lizzy leaving with north but a time skip and the whole crew is meeting up and discussing plans. the first to speak up is Zane “i heard we have a big boss what’s that about?” North smiles and leads by excitedly going “I found a lead with the cult and I’ve tracked down a High ranking member! There’s no photos of her, not a lot of information well except that she leads supply raids from our docks and only seen a total of 2 times within 22 years that she’s appeared and apparently there’s a urban legend about her!”

 “Woah she’s pretty tough and sneaky if there isn’t anything about her!” Jaz exclaims and stares at an artist rendition of the woman. A red cloaked figure with a twisted smile and crème colored ears sticking out the hood. But North nudges Lizzy’s shoulder and asks “Hey you were a high member ever seen them. If you don’t mind answering of course.” 

“A please would work but sure-“ Lizzy looks at the photo and her ears raise up and turns back to north pointing to the photo going “you do know who you’re dealing with? I dunno if the urban legend said something but she’s crazy scary. Even I didn’t get buddy buddy with her.”

They all stare at Lizzy till Zelda breaks the silence and tells North “what’s the legend about? Can’t be that bad.” 

“Well from what I gathered from Poppy apparently this lady used to be a space rider. A very honorable one as well. And she had a husband who’s was a medic in the crew she was in but he also disappeared but myth states they had a child but I couldn’t find anything on files dealing with Rider disappearances. Except the crew Zane’s mother was in. The room immediately goes quiet and they all give each other looks but Merrit speaks up “are we even qualified? Sure we are B+ rank but this woman is maybe a S rank cultist. And remember what happened with Gilded.” 

  Jaz teases Merrit and North by saying “oh the cultists that Merrit has the doki dokis for and the one who whooped North?”

 “Jaz this is serious.. but yeah you’re right…But let’s head out crew we don’t wanna lose track of this woman” “oh changing the subject so quick boss? Sunny remarks as the meeting ends with everyone nodding their heads and the crew leaving to their bikes flying to the upcoming red filled planet.Lizzy and Sparky waving bye waiting for their return. 

Meanwhile Mrs.Unamed with a treat left by a certain kitsune (cough cough @truelazymaker )

All Ocs Belomg to the listed!:

NorthHeat(@north-heats-stronghold) Lizzy and Sunny(@novalizinpeace) Jaz(@fanofanythingsblog)

Zelda and Sparky(@fandomssvetlanafrom) Zane(@moonspiritleaf) And finally Gilded(@qxurugosk)

And this Au Belongs to @onyxonline!

[jeahreading]

"Rage" - Writing Snippet - 2

TW: Blood, Gore, Cuts, Burns, Guns

Gale wiped the wet rag across her back. The unnerving sight of the utterly mangled flesh sent shivers down his spine. There was a concerning lack of skin without gashes or scars, how was he to know that this was just the beginning of the mutilation he would witness on Rini's body?

He didn't know what to be more worried about, the innumerable scars littering her body like paint splatter or the fact that she did not react to the antiseptic.

"If it becomes too painful you have to tell me..."

The slight movement of her head was the only indication of her agreement. Once he was done wrapping up the numerous new and old wounds, he got down onto the floor, sitting beside her right leg.He slowly and gently started cutting up the soiled and rough fabric, the kind of fabric that would make sandbags look like a joy to be in.

"How long....how long did they..." he trailed off. The effort it took for him not to immedietly look away and gag at the numerous burns and welts that covered even just her calf was immense.

"How long did they fuck with me?" Rini looked away with a mirthless laugh.

"....5 years"

Gale sucked in a breath, his mind running haywire at all the things that Rini may have gone through, she was, after all, their lab rat, their test subject, their plaything to ravage and destroy without an ounce of concern. Unbridled anger bubbled under his skin, barely contained by the restrictions of logic, if he just went barging into the facility he too would end up like her, and that would help neither her, nor him, no, he had to keep his head straight and devise a plan, a way to break the very foundations of the facility, to unleash chaos upon those wretched...things...they did not deserve the grace to be called human. A human could not possibly torture another of theirs in such a beastly manner.

Gale was proud of his morality, of his ability to differentiate between the good and the bad, between the right and the wrong, but seeing what they had done to Rini, his moral standing was dropping and it was dropping fast, oh he was ready to paint the facility ground red without a sliver of remorse right this second. But he had to wait, he had to hold himself back...

He refocused back onto Rini's thigh, he had been lost in his thoughts trying to pull down the red screen of anger clouding his vision when he saw it.

A sickly burnt patch of skin at the side of her thigh, a circular mark with a star in the middle...the facility logo. The knife froze mid-air and the world caved in around him. He had not felt such absolute white-hot rage like this...in a long long time, it skittered across his skin, like it would burn every single thing he stared at long enough let alone touch.

He let the knife slip, an eerie calm enveloped him as he picked out the colt from the safe, without a single word said he started loading it up with bullets.

"Gale...what are you doing.."

clink....clink...clink

"Gale...no.."

clink...clink...clink

with more strength than she thought she had in the moment, she pushed herself onto her feet, stumbling across the room to the boy who saved her.

"Stop...stop it" she hissed, slamming the safe shut.

As though he couldn't hear at all, Gale slid the last bullet into the revolver.

"I said STOP" Finally, he looked up at her, face as rigid as ice but his eyes betrayed the raging storm muddling his head, all thoughts of logic wiped out, all but one...

"What are you doing?"

"Something I should have done already"

"So what? you're just going to barge into the facility and go bang bang bang?"

"No, I'm gonna barge into the facility and go straight into the Seon's room and shoot him in the brains"

"Do you want to die?"

"No I want to kill Seon, I couldn't care less what happens to me"

"If I can't reason with you, then I'll just have to stop you from going out of this room"

The unwavering determination in Rini's eyes almost swayed Gale, almost...

"You know you can't stop me right?"

"Not physically, no, but I can cut myself up more, so if you leave I'll die anyways" She knew what she was saying was irrational and dangerously reckless, but there was someone else in the room who was just a tad bit more reckless than her right now.

"You won't...do that" Gale's eyes flickered between agitation and fear.

"Do you want to test that theory?"

"....No"

"Give me the revolver"

"No"

"Give.Me.The.Revolver" He let out a frustrated sigh before dropping the weapon in Rini's outstretched hand, his anger calming down a little.

Rini grabbed onto Gale's arm and dragged him back to where they were sitting.

"Now, continue doing what you were doing, and let's get this done quicker, the alcohol stings"

"I...I don't think I can"

"Fine then, sit for a bit and continue when you're back in your right mind"

Gale thumped down on the ground, knees folded up to his chest he cradled his head in his hands.

"They... they branded you, what kind of...monsters would do that to someone" He choked out, his emotions swirling around him, the pain in his voice immense.

"We were always just cattle for them anyways"

"I'm going to make Seon eat his own entrails till he chokes on it and then I'm going to put so many bullets in his head that he'll hear them jingle in there till the moment he dies"

He will feel the pain you felt for 5 years in the 5 minutes that I take to kill him

-Jeah

[coraniaid]

98 + Fuffy

This one ended up being a bit longer than I was aiming for, sorry. A few years post-canon (but mostly canon compliant, except that I ignore the comics and that perhaps some people who die in Chosen or the final season of Angel are still alive here). Buffy POV.

Years later, she still has nightmares.

Bad ones: the kind that ... well, she's sat through enough college psychology classes in her life to recognize one of the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.  And she was an active Slayer for almost eight years, after all.  She fought ancient demons and gods and monsters; she risked her life pretty much every night.  She saw friends die. Died twice herself.  No wonder she’s still a little messed up.  

But knowing why they’re happening doesn't ever seem to help.  She still wakes up in the middle of the night, and for a minute -- or five minutes, or an hour -- she's just a scared little kid again, too afraid of the things that go bump in the dark to lie down and go back to sleep.  Terrified by the weight of everything the world wants her to do.  By the thought of having to be the Chosen One again.  

Dawn's always telling her she should talk to somebody about them.  An expert, she means.  A specialist. 

But -- even if it wasn't ever real -- her false memory of that time in a clinic when she was younger is too strong.  She doesn't want to go back there.  Not ever.  Or to go anywhere even a little bit like it. She doesn't want to be a freak in somebody's lab -- poked and prodded and tested and restrained.  She just wants to be herself.  She just wants to be Buffy.

So she still has nightmares.  Sometimes she dies: drowning alone in the dark, unable to move or cry for help; tumbling from a tower in the sky; not strong enough to drag herself out of the grave before the dead soil fills her lungs and she suffocates below the ground.  And sometimes she doesn't die.  Sometimes the dreams are much worse than that.

The thing is, they never seem to happen when she expects.  Never when it feels like they should.  Significant milestones come and go without even a bad dream -- she’d slept right through the anniversary of that last, desperate fight under Sunnydale, not even waking up once -- and then other times, without warning, she'll spend a whole week unable to sleep at all, or waking up shaking and sweating every time she tries.

It all started after she decided to step back from the Slayer Organization she'd helped set up.  Half a year in charge of that was enough, she'd told herself.  Living out in some remote castle in Scotland, cut off from the normal world ... that wasn't who she wanted to be anymore. That wasn’t what she’d been hoping for when she said goodbye to Sunnydale.  She wasn't the one and only Chosen One any more, after all.  Maybe it was time to stop pretending.  Maybe it was time to grow up.

So they'd held a vote on who would replace her, made it all official. And then, when it was over – and after she'd congratulated Kennedy as sincerely as she could manage -- she'd packed her things up and moved back to California.  Northern California though, this time.  San Francisco.  SoCal still had a few too many unpleasant memories (the bits of it that weren’t literally underground these days).  

Once she’d arrived, she'd settled into that normal life she'd always told herself she wanted.  Went back to college.  Signed up to be an English major. Bought a house, with some of the old Watcher’s Council money that GIles had passed on to her.  She'd even gotten married, a couple of months ago, just a little while after graduating, however unreal that still feels.  Willow's been telling her she should look into grad school, but she’s not sure whether she wants to follow in her younger sister’s footsteps quite so soon.

So, yeah, everything's been going really well.

Except that, after a few months, the nightmares had started. 

That's why at 3 AM she finds herself downstairs in the kitchen, pretending to read a book, wondering if it would be a bad idea to go out for a run.  This is a pretty safe neighborhood, but still, she might get lucky.  Something supernatural out there might be too stupid to stay away. 

If she’d thought it would help, she’d be out there already.  But would it?  She doesn't really know. She doesn't know what to do.

And while she’s deliberating, a creaking floorboard reminds her that she's not alone.

"Hey, B," a familiar voice says sleepily.  "What's up?"

Buffy had never asked Faith to come with her when she left Scotland.  Actually, she'd kind of assumed she was leaving the Slayer Organization in Faith’s more than capable hands: the girls all still loved her, after all, all idolized her in a way they'd never quite seemed to treat Buffy herself.  (The same way she remembers Dawn treating her, the first few months after Faith arrived in Sunnydale, even if intellectually she knows that that’s not what really happened.)  She'd assumed it would be Faith, not Kennedy, who would be replacing her as leader.  Right up until the point she told Faith about her plan to go back to the States, and the other Slayer had just nodded and asked her when they were leaving and whether she’d already booked a flight.  Like it wasn't even a question whether she'd be coming with her.

She'd stuck with Buffy for four years since.  Not always sharing the same house, but always close by.  She’d listened to her complain about her course load, or bad professors, or unfairly difficult exams, or let her rave and enthuse about analysis of poems or novels which she isn't sure Faith has ever read.  It’s been good – really good, better than Buffy had expected – to have a familiar face around.  To not be doing this all by herself.  It’s been good for her to have Faith.

(The two of them are still going patrolling together most nights too, however retired they might be officially.  She thinks that that's an itch that never really goes away for anyone.  Though there weren’t many active vamps in the Bay Area even when she’d first arrived, and these days there are barely any.)

Faith’s stuck by Buffy for almost as long as anyone.  And now she's here with Buffy in the middle of the night, wearing a pair of Buffy's old pajamas and a concerned look on her face, and Buffy can't even bring herself to face her.

"Glory again?" Faith guesses.

Buffy shakes her head, wordlessly.  Keeps her eyes glued to the book she isn’t reading.

It's true that those are some of the worst of the recurring nightmares.  Everything about that year is painful, and worse in the dreams.  Dropping out of college, or being found out as a total academic fraud, as somebody who shouldn't even have been let into college in the first place.  Losing her Mom, again and again, for different reasons every time.   Not being able to save Dawn, or not being able to want to save Dawn.  Watching her fall, or forgetting her entirely: stumbling across her broken body lying on the ground and only seeing a stranger.  Thinking that she'd always been an only child and always would be.  Sometimes, in those dreams, it's almost comforting when the world drifts inexorably into hell.  

But those aren't the dreams she's been having lately.  That's not what's keeping her from sleeping.  It’s Faith.  That’s who she’s been dreaming about.  That’s why she can’t sleep.

"I killed you," she mumbles, putting the book down but still not quite able to make eye contact.

It all feels so real, even now. Even with Faith – the real Faith, not a dream – sitting only a couple of feet away from her, patiently waiting for her to explain.

"We were fighting, just like we ... before," she goes on. "Just before graduation.  I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop.  And when I ... at the end, you didn't fall.  I stabbed you, and you bled to death in my arms.  I killed you."

The other woman shakes her head.

"Don't know if you've noticed, but I'm tougher than I look," Faith says.  "Haven't even died once, unlike some Slayers I could mention.  And lucky for me, all the cool chicks dig scars."

She pulls her pajama top up slightly to demonstrate.  There’s still a pale scar there, yes, even after all this time.  Proof of what Buffy had done: not just in a dream, but in real life.  Something she’ll never be able to undo.  She reaches out, just for a second, as if she was going to touch it.  To trace the faint mark she’d left across her fellow Slayer’s skin.

"Did ... does it hurt?"

It's not the first time she's asked the question.  Guesses that it won't be the last.

"Sometimes," Faith admits.  "A little."

She used to pretend that it didn't, Buffy remembers.  But they’re more honest with each other these days.  They’ve had to be.

"You shouldn't be beating yourself about this, B," Faith says carefully, sitting down next to her.  "It was a long time ago, and you did what you had to do.  Like you said back then, I'd have done the same if I had the chance.  Hell, I did a lot worse.  I think we both know that I’m the one who should be apologizing"

Buffy remembers.  How powerless she’d felt, how violated, how justified she’d felt in her rage afterwards.  But she’d thrown the first stone, hadn’t she?  She’d crossed the invisible line first.  And in truth, when she thinks about things she’s sorry for doing to Faith, the scar is only the start of it.

"It's not just the fight," Buffy admits.  "It's … it’s everything about that year.  I could have ... I should have done so much more for you.  But I never knew how scared you were.  I never realized that you were so alone.  I think … I think I didn’t want to see it."

Faith frowns.  Gets that look in her eyes that Buffy knows means she’s fighting down the urge to say something impulsive.  

"I was scared," the other Slayer admits, slowly.  "You’re right.  And angry. All the time. And a little bit crazy too, I think, at least towards the end.  But I don't think you could've talked me out of it.  Not you, not anyone. None of it was ever your fault.  I think I had to figure that stuff out on my own.  Had to be honest with myself about what I felt, and what I could do about it."

"I should have tried harder," Buffy says stubbornly, not wanting to let this go. Because arguing with Faith, fighting with her – that’s always been easier, hasn’t it?  That’s always been something she could do.

She’d had a whole life of her own, back then.  A mom, and a sister, and a big house.  She could have tried to share it with her.  That would have been better, wouldn’t it?  But she hadn’t wanted to share.  She’d refused.  That was what she’d told her Mom, the very first night Faith came for dinner.  That Faith trying to spend time with her was creepy.

(That was one of the only nights that Faith had ever come for dinner, she realizes now.)

"You did try, Buffy," Faith says firmly.  "You were the only one who ever did.  You were the first person in my life who ever tried to look out for me, even after everything I did.  I'm not ever going to forget that, and you shouldn’t either."

Part of Buffy wants to believe that.  She does.  And she knows her friends would all agree.  Vocally, some of them.  But it’s too easy though, isn’t it?  Too convenient.  To make excuses, to find reasons why you didn’t have to help.  To make yourself seem better than you ever really were.

“You came to Sunnydale looking for me,” Buffy says, putting her hand on the table, brushing against Faith’s.  “You wanted to be with me.  And I tried to murder you.”

They’d never talked about it at the time, not openly.  But looking back, she must have seen it, mustn’t she?  How much time Faith wanted to spend with her, how little she cared about anyone or anything else.  How pleased she’d been when Scott Hope dumped her, how furious she’d been when she found out about Angel later.  How could Buffy not have seen what was right in front of her, unless she was trying to ignore it?

"You did what you had to do," Faith tells her again, more firmly this time. She rests her other hand on Buffy’s.  Squeezes it lightly, just for a second.

Buffy sighs.

"You always say that," she says, trying not to sound like she’s complaining. 

"Always will," Faith nods equably.  "Because it's the truth."

Buffy shakes her head.

"God, Faith, you were just a kid.  If I--"

"So were you, B,” Faith says.  “We all were."

She pauses, looks a little uncomfortable.

“Look, Buffy,” she says, “I dunno if it helps at all, but when I was in prison, the shrink we had at group sessions used to tell us that an apology had to convince two people.  The person you’d wronged, and the person you wanted to become.  So, uh.”

Buffy listens.  Tries to be patient.  Willow had pulled some tricks after Sunnydale – a bit of magic, a little old-fashioned hacking – and these days nobody seemed to remember that Faith was supposed to be behind bars.  But Faith remembers, she knows that, and she knows how hard it is for her to talk about that part of her life.  

“He used to have us write them down,” Faith adds.  “I guess there are a lot of unsent letters to you back in the big house that I forgot to take with me when I split. None of them were ever good enough anyway.  We were meant to write them down, and then try to imagine how the people we were going to write to might reply.  Try to put ourselves in their shoes, I mean.”

Faith fidgets a little in her chair, as though she’s having second thoughts about this speech.  Or maybe because putting herself in Buffy’s shoes was a large part of why she’d ended up in prison in the first place.

“The point is … maybe that’s stupid.  Maybe it was only ever a way to get some of us to shut up for a few minutes.   But I thought maybe we could try it.  Only, instead of you having to imagine how I’d respond, you could just listen to me.  Maybe copy what I said.  Say it yourself.”

Buffy nods slowly.  Faith was right: it does sound a little stupid.  But at the same time, she guesses it can’t hurt.  She manages a weak smile.  Nods her approval.  Waits for Faith to tell her when to start.

“I’m sorry I didn’t help you more, when we were both kids, Faith,” she says, when the other Slayer gives her the signal.  “I’m sorry I didn’t let you into more of my life.  I’m sorry I stabbed you.”

“I hear you, B,” Faith says seriously, brown eyes focused on her.  Gestures for her to repeat it, to keep echoing her as she continues.  “I get what you’re saying.  And I forgive you.  I know you helped me as much as you could.  More than anyone else.  Way more.  And for what it’s worth, I don’t think I could have been happy back then unless I was the only person in your life, the way you were for me.  Unless you gave up on your mom and your Watcher and all your other friends.  And that wasn’t ever fair to ask of you.  That wouldn’t have been healthy, for either of us.”

Faith pauses, face serious, waiting for her to finish repeating that all back to her.  Leans in a little closer, like she’s sharing a secret.

“Plus,” she says, waggling her eyebrows, “You kind of looked amazing when you stabbed me.�� Total smokeshow.”

“Faith!” Buffy protests, feeling herself starting to blush the way she had when she was younger.  “I am not repeating that.”

Faith smirks, and Buffy lets herself think.  it still seems kind of stupid, even without that last part.. She’s not naive enough to think it will fix everything. But at the same time, she thinks that maybe it was useful.  A little bit, anyway.  

“Thank you,” she says.  “That helped.”

For a minute neither of them says anything.  The only sound in the house is the ticking of the clock over the kitchen table.  Faith still hasn’t let go of her hand.

"Still … if I could go back and change things, I would," Buffy admits. "Back to the beginning, I mean. I wish that I--"

She doesn't finish the sentence.  You don't spend years of your life in touch with Anya, on-again  and off-again vengeance demon, without realizing it might not be a good idea to make open-ended world-changing wishes out loud in the middle of the night.  (She thinks Anya’s mostly human these days, but it’s hard to keep track.  Maybe she should write more.)

"It … uh.  It hasn't been all bad, has it Buffy?" Faith asks her, suddenly sounding almost nervous. "There's some things you wouldn't change, right?"

She’s looking at one of the rings she’s wearing, Buffy sees, on the hand that’s resting on top of her own.  A silver one. 

Faith's always loved wearing rings.  Has done ever since Buffy met her.  She’s got a whole collection of them.  This one is a little different though.  Brand new, something Faith’s been wearing all the time for weeks now.  This one Buffy helped pick out herself; a perfect match to the ring she's wearing on her own hand.  It turned out Faith was a bit of a traditionalist that way.

"You wouldn't change this, would you, B?" Faith repeats softly, staring down at the ring on her left hand.

"You know I wouldn't," Buffy says firmly.  "That goes without saying."

She pauses.  Faith’s looking at her expectantly.  Waiting for her to take the lead.

"But you want me to say it anyway, huh," Buffy realizes.

Well, she can do that.  She guesses it’s her turn to be the one doing the reassuring anyway.  Buffy steps up, leans in, wraps her arms around the other Slayer and kisses her softly on the forehead the way she knows she likes.  Feels Faith shiver slightly under her touch, leaning into it the way she always does. Remembers suddenly just how thin those pajamas are; how little Faith is wearing underneath. 

"I've made a lot of decisions in my life that I regret," Buffy says softly, "But you, Mrs. Summers, are not one of them."

Faith was a bit of an unexpected traditionalist about that as well.  Buffy had been all for both of them keeping their names, or hyphenating them,  sharing them, but the other Slayer had insisted.  Had, finally, admitted that she just didn't like her old last name at all, that there was a reason she'd never used back in Sunnydale, why it had taken Buffy so long to even learn what it was.  "Faith Summers, though,” the other woman had said quietly, "I think that's a name I could be proud of.  That's someone I'd like to be."

The ceremony itself, back in June, had been a pretty small affair.

They’d only allowed themselves a handful of guests each.  Willow and Kennedy; Xander and Andrew; Dawn and Amanda.  Faith had spent weeks threatening to invite Angel to play the part of her best man – especially once she realized just how mortifying Buffy found the prospect – but in the end she'd opted to be merciful and just invited Gunn and Fred and Wesley up from LA, plus Robin from wherever he called home these days.  Buffy has a feeling neither Angel or Spike minded missing out on this experience.  

And Giles had been there too, flying out of England for the first time in almost two years.  She'd been so pleased he could make it.  It was a little bit like ... well.  He was family, wasn’t he?

"Your mother would have been very proud of you today," he'd told her at the airport, when she’d rushed up to meet him and totally embarrassed him with a hug.  "Proud of you both.  As am I.  But then, I hope you already knew that."

And then – because of course nothing could go smoothly for long – they'd had to reschedule the whole thing almost at the last minute; pushing everything back by a week so they could all make an emergency trip to Cleveland.  

Even though she and Faith were pretty much retired now -- and even though Kennedy was too, as of last year, along with Amanda and Rona and most of the other former Sunnydale Potentials -- they still got called up for the main events.  For the real apocalypses, when the Organization needed its biggest guns.  This time it had been the Sisterhood of Jhe again, Buffy thinks.  Trying to open another Hellmouth, almost ten years after the first attempt.  Their timing had sucked, but at least she'd been able to take her frustrations out on a few big demons.  She's sure Faith had been a lot more vicious than usual in her Slaying too.  Between them, they hadn't really left much of anyone to interrogate afterwards.  Maybe it was a good thing that that wasn’t something either of them had to worry about anymore.

(Buffy had met Kennedy's replacement as head of the Organization briefly in Cleveland, while they were being briefed before the mission.  She was a nice kid called Satsu, who had been gratifyingly starstruck at meeting both of the original Slayers, but who had still kept her head enough to give them their orders just like everyone else.  It was good to know that the other Slayers -- the new ones, the ones young enough not to have retired yet -- were in competent hands.  And Buffy knows that they have been, all along, whether that means Kennedy or Satsu or whoever will come after her.  That's part of why Buffy doesn't regret her decision to step back from that side of things.  Not for a minute. Even if it has meant a few more sleepless nights.  Nobody can carry that much weight for long.)

And a week after Cleveland, that was it: Faith and Buffy, married. Not because of a wish, or one of Willow’s spells gone wrong, but for real.  Forever.  Legally binding, recognized by the State of California and everything (although a lot of awful people seemed awfully unhappy about that).  When Buffy had been younger, she could never have imagined any of this.  She'd thought that being a Slayer meant that anything like this was impossible.  That this was something only normal girls got to have.  And she'd never thought that she’d want it quite so much: her own parents’ marriage hadn’t exactly endeared her to the institution as a whole. Even a couple of years ago, she’d never have admitted to anyone quite how happy it would make her.  

And she is, Buffy realizes.  Even with the odd nightmares.  She’s sitting in her kitchen with the love of her life, waiting for the sun to come up and a new day to begin, and she’s never been happier.  She thinks her younger self would be delighted to know that, somehow, everything had worked out okay.

Maybe she's been looking at things the wrong way all this time.  It's not that the  nightmares started when she moved out here. It's that the waking nightmares – the real world nightmares, the kind with teeth and names and minds of their own – had become rare enough she finally started noticing the other kind.

"Look, B, I've got to get back to bed or I won't be any use for anything at work tomorrow," Faith says, fighting back a yawn, shooting an apologetic look at the clock on the wall.  “Guess I’m not as young as I used to be. Good thing I’m still wicked hot.”

Buffy nods absently.  She's still not sure what she's going to do next.  Whether she's heading off for that late night run, or ...

"I'll see you in the morning before I head out for work," Faith promises.  "Unless, uh."

Buffy makes a decision.  Stands up.

"Well," she says slowly, "I guess it wouldn't be very chivalrous of me to leave my wife alone all night, would it?"

Faith grins at her wolfishly. Just the way she had when they'd first met. Like a co-conspirator; a partner in crime. As if the two of them still had a secret that nobody else could share.  And for a second, it's like no time has passed at all.  Like they could still be dancing together back in the Bronze, just the two of them, or out on patrol looking for vampires in some forgotten Sunnydale cemetery that's long since been buried deep in a hole in the desert.  When it seemed like high school was going to last forever.  When they'd both only been able to focus on the present; on the immediate demands of the here and now.  Finding the next vamp, dusting it, and moving on to the one after that.

Buffy puts her arm around Faith's waist, fingers resting carefully just below her scar, walks with her towards the stairs.  Maybe they weren't so wrong, back then.  Maybe this is what matters.  Maybe this is all that ever did.  Just the two of them, just the present moment.  And when the other Slayer looks up at her, when she leans her head to rest on her shoulder, something in her eyes makes Buffy sure they're both thinking the same thing.

"There's my girl," she breathes.

[terrakan]

The Risks You Can’t See: Safely Rebuilding After a Wildfire

Wildfires are an ever-present reality in Los Angeles, with their destructive force reshaping landscapes, displacing families, and threatening health and safety. Each year, the flames remind us of the fragility of the environment and our homes. While evacuating and ensuring the safety of loved ones is the top priority during a wildfire, the aftermath can be just as perilous. The hidden dangers left in the wake of a wildfire are often overlooked in the rush to return home, but addressing these risks is vital to long-term health and recovery.

Stepping back into your home after a wildfire isn’t as simple as unlocking the door. It’s a calculated process that demands awareness and preparation. From air filled with hazardous particles to the possibility of unstable structures or toxic debris, the dangers are numerous. Mold, ash, and even displaced pests are just a few of the less obvious threats you may encounter. Each of these hazards has the potential to impact your health, safety, and recovery efforts.

The Hidden Hazards of Air Quality

The smoke and ash from wildfires don’t simply disappear when the flames are extinguished. Fine particulate matter (PM2.5) can linger in the air, affecting your lungs and overall health. Carbon monoxide and other harmful gases also pose risks, especially in poorly ventilated areas. In a city like Los Angeles, where winds can carry pollutants far from the burn area, even homes miles away from the flames can be affected. Monitoring air quality and taking precautions, such as using air filters or wearing protective masks, can reduce the risks significantly.

The Unseen Damage to Structures

Buildings may look intact, but intense heat and fire can weaken walls, roofs, and foundations. Electrical wiring and gas lines may also be compromised, creating potential hazards for fires or explosions. A visual inspection might reveal cracks or sagging roofs, but professional assessments are crucial to ensure safety before re-entering your property.

Environmental Hazards Lurking in Debris

The debris left behind by wildfires can be toxic. Burned materials release harmful chemicals into the air and ground, and ash may contain heavy metals such as lead or arsenic. Older homes may have asbestos that becomes airborne when disturbed by fire, posing severe long-term health risks. Soil and water contamination are also common in the aftermath of wildfires, necessitating thorough testing and cleanup by professionals.

Biological Hazards: Mold and Pests

The water used to fight wildfires often leaves homes damp, creating ideal conditions for mold growth. Left untreated, mold can cause respiratory issues and damage to your home. Wildlife displaced by fires, such as rodents and insects, may also seek shelter in your home, posing additional health risks. Both issues require immediate attention to prevent further complications.

How to Identify Post-Wildfire Hazards

Detecting these hazards isn’t always straightforward. Tools such as air quality monitors, gas detectors, and mold test kits are invaluable, but some dangers, like asbestos or structural instability, require the expertise of licensed professionals. Don’t rush to clean up debris yourself—contact environmental testing labs or home inspection services to ensure your safety.

A Plan for Safe Recovery

Returning home after a wildfire is not just about rebuilding—it’s about doing so safely. Equip yourself with the right protective gear, including N95 masks and gloves. Ventilate your home thoroughly and avoid touching or disturbing ash and debris. For structural and environmental assessments, always rely on qualified professionals. Document damage for insurance claims and take your time addressing each hazard methodically.

Final Reflection

Wildfires don’t just leave behind charred landscapes—they create invisible threats that linger long after the flames have been extinguished. By taking the necessary steps to address these hazards, you can safeguard your health and home as you begin the recovery process. Stay informed, seek professional help when needed, and prioritize safety above all else. Protecting your family, your property, and your well-being requires patience and preparation, but it’s a crucial investment in a safer future.

Resources for Los Angeles Residents

Los Angeles County Fire Department: Offers post-fire safety guidelines.

South Coast Air Quality Management District (SCAQMD): Provides real-time air quality updates

California Office of Emergency Services (Cal OES): Connects residents to recovery resources.

Environmental Testing: Search for certified laboratories specializing in asbestos, mold, soil, and water testing in your area. Verify their credentials before hiring.

Read a more thorough blog here - https://www.terrakan.com/blog/Hazards-to-Watch-for-When-Returning-Home-After-a-Wildfire_97

[stevebattle]

Grendel (1992) by Rodney Brooks, Colin Angle, and Helen Greiner, IS Robotics (iRobot), Somerville, MA. Designed for spaceflight and planetary exploration, “The rovers had to weigh only half a kilogram, and they required a new onboard computer architecture. At the end of the summer of 1992 we had three good test rovers. By this time Colin Angle and I had been joined at our company by Helen Greiner, another former Artificial Intelligence Lab student. Helen did mechanical design, Colin electrical, and I wrote the software. It was intense work but fantastically satisfying. … Our flight vehicle was installed in the payload of a kinetic kill vehicle and left there for some days, with no communications, to simulate the time it takes to get to lunar orbit. The kill vehicle itself had been modified with landing legs. Everyone was evacuated from the test site, lest the rocket motors blow up. A countdown happened just like a real one. The kill vehicle lifted off, and hovered in the Earth’s gravity, six times what it would encounter on the Moon. It automatically flew over to a mocked-up lunar surface, then descended and landed with only a minor thump. The first major hurdle of the mission had gone without a hitch. … The robot had its legs all folded up to minimize its volume so that it could fit into the cocoon. To get out it had to use one of its folded legs to unlatch a retainer holding the pod together. The robot realized that its mission had started right on cue, again with no explicit control from the mission overseers. … Grendel, the robot, untangled its legs. It stood. It started walking away from the lander, looking for a place to scoop up some soil with its underbelly shovel. The control room crowd went wild. This scheme actually worked!” – ROBOT: The future of flesh and machines, by Rodney A. Brooks.

[foodtestjourney]

How to Start a Small Home Garden

Starting a small home garden is a rewarding way to grow your own fresh produce, flowers, or herbs while bringing a touch of nature into your home. You don’t need a large yard or a green thumb to get started—just a little planning, creativity, and patience.

1. Choose the Right Space

The first step is finding the perfect spot for your garden. Consider a place with enough sunlight, as most plants need at least 6 hours of sunlight per day. If you have limited outdoor space, you can start with container gardening on a balcony, patio, or windowsill.

2. Decide What to Grow

Think about what you’d like to plant. If you enjoy cooking, herbs like basil, mint, and rosemary are great choices. For fresh produce, you could start with easy-to-grow vegetables like tomatoes, lettuce, or peppers. If flowers are your focus, choose varieties that thrive in your climate.

3. Gather Your Supplies

You’ll need basic gardening supplies like soil, containers, seeds or seedlings, and gardening tools. Opt for high-quality soil with good drainage to help your plants thrive. If you’re growing in containers, ensure they have drainage holes to prevent water from accumulating.

4. Prepare the Soil

Healthy soil is the foundation of a successful garden. If you’re planting directly in the ground, loosen the soil and mix in compost or organic matter to enrich it. For container gardening, use a potting mix that provides the right nutrients for your plants.

5. Plant Your Seeds or Seedlings

Follow the planting instructions on your seed packets or plant labels. Typically, seeds need to be planted at a certain depth and spaced appropriately. Water the soil gently after planting and keep it moist, but avoid overwatering.

6. Maintain Your Garden

Water your plants regularly, especially during hot or dry weather. Remove weeds to prevent them from competing with your plants for nutrients. You can also add mulch to retain moisture and reduce weed growth.

7. Embrace Organic Practices

Using natural methods to control pests and nourish your garden is not only eco-friendly but also healthier for you. When I started my garden, I learned that some plants could trigger sensitivities. Taking a food intolerance test through Advanced Food Intolerance Labs helped me identify which fruits and vegetables worked best for me. This knowledge allowed me to focus on growing foods that supported my health and well-being.

8. Enjoy the Harvest

There’s nothing quite like enjoying fresh produce or flowers from your own garden. Harvest your crops when they are ripe and enjoy the fruits of your labor. You can use fresh herbs in your meals, create beautiful floral arrangements, or share your bounty with friends and family.

Conclusion

Starting a small home garden is a wonderful way to connect with nature, enjoy fresh produce, and add beauty to your home. Whether you’re a beginner or an experienced gardener, the joy of watching your plants grow is truly fulfilling. If you’re interested in making mindful choices about the foods you grow, considering a food intolerance test from Advanced Food Intolerance Labs might be a helpful step. Happy gardening!

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NASA scientists recreate Mars's spider-shaped geologic formations in lab for the first time

Tests on Earth appear to confirm how the red planet's spider-shaped geologic formations are carved by carbon dioxide.

Since discovering them in 2003 via images from orbiters, scientists have marveled at spider-like shapes sprawled across the southern hemisphere of Mars. No one is entirely sure how these geologic features are created. Each branched formation can stretch more than a half-mile (1 kilometer) from end to end and include hundreds of spindly "legs." Called araneiform terrain, these features are often found in clusters, giving the surface a wrinkled appearance.

The leading theory is that the spiders are created by processes involving carbon dioxide ice, which doesn't occur naturally on Earth. Thanks to experiments detailed in a new paper published in The Planetary Science Journal, scientists have, for the first time, re-created those formation processes in simulated Martian temperatures and air pressure.

"The spiders are strange, beautiful geologic features in their own right," said Lauren Mc Keown of NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Southern California. "These experiments will help tune our models for how they form."

The study confirms several formation processes described by what's called the Kieffer model: Sunlight heats the soil when it shines through transparent slabs of carbon dioxide ice that built up on the Martian surface each winter.

Being darker than the ice above it, the soil absorbs the heat and causes the ice closest to it to turn directly into carbon dioxide gas—without turning to liquid first—in a process called sublimation (the same process that sends clouds of "smoke" billowing up from dry ice). As the gas builds in pressure, the Martian ice cracks, allowing the gas to escape. As it seeps upward, the gas takes with it a stream of dark dust and sand from the soil that lands on the surface of the ice.

When winter turns to spring and the remaining ice sublimates, according to the theory, the spiderlike scars from those small eruptions are what's left behind.

Recreating Mars in the lab

For Mc Keown and her co-authors, the hardest part of conducting these experiments was re-creating conditions found on the Martian polar surface: extremely low air pressure and temperatures as low as minus 301 degrees Fahrenheit (minus 185 degrees Celsius). To do that, Mc Keown used a liquid-nitrogen-cooled test chamber at JPL, the Dirty Under-vacuum Simulation Testbed for Icy Environments, or DUSTIE.

"I love DUSTIE. It's historic," Mc Keown said, noting that the wine barrel-size chamber was used to test a prototype of a rasping tool designed for NASA's Mars Phoenix lander. The tool was used to break water ice, which the spacecraft scooped up and analyzed near the planet's north pole.

For this experiment, the researchers chilled Martian soil simulant in a container submerged within a liquid nitrogen bath. They placed it in the DUSTIE chamber, where the air pressure was reduced to be similar to that of Mars's southern hemisphere. Carbon dioxide gas then flowed into the chamber and condensed from gas to ice over the course of three to five hours. It took many tries before Mc Keown found just the right conditions for the ice to become thick and translucent enough for the experiments to work.

Once they got ice with the right properties, they placed a heater inside the chamber below the simulant to warm it up and crack the ice. Mc Keown was ecstatic when she finally saw a plume of carbon dioxide gas erupting from within the powdery simulant.

"It was late on a Friday evening and the lab manager burst in after hearing me shrieking," said Mc Keown, who had been working to make a plume like this for five years. "She thought there had been an accident."

The dark plumes opened holes in the simulant as they streamed out, spewing simulant for as long as 10 minutes before all the pressurized gas was expelled.

The experiments included a surprise that wasn't reflected in the Kieffer model: Ice formed between the grains of the simulant, then cracked it open. This alternative process might explain why spiders have a more "cracked" appearance. Whether this happens or not seems dependent on the size of soil grains and how embedded water ice is underground.

"It's one of those details that show that nature is a little messier than the textbook image," said Serina Diniega of JPL, a co-author of the paper.

What's next for plume testing

Now that the conditions have been found for plumes to form, the next step is to try the same experiments with simulated sunlight from above, rather than using a heater below. That could help scientists narrow down the range of conditions under which the plumes and ejection of soil might occur.

There are still many questions about the spiders that can't be answered in a lab. Why have they formed in some places on Mars but not others? Since they appear to result from seasonal changes that are still occurring, why don't they seem to be growing in number or size over time? It's possible that they're left over from long ago, when the climate was different on Mars—and could therefore provide a unique window into the planet's past.

For the time being, lab experiments will be as close to the spiders as scientists can get. Both the Curiosity and Perseverance rovers are exploring the red planet far from the southern hemisphere, which is where these formations appear (and where no spacecraft has ever landed). The Phoenix mission, which landed in the northern hemisphere, lasted only a few months before succumbing to the intense polar cold and limited sunlight.

TOP IMAGE: Spider-shaped features called araneiform terrain are found in the southern hemisphere of Mars, carved into the landscape by carbon dioxide gas. This 2009 image taken by NASA’s Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter shows several of these distinctive formations within an area three-quarters of a mile (1.2 kilometers) wide. Credit: NASA / JPL-Caltech / University of Arizona

CENTRE IMAGE: These formations similar to the Red Planet’s “spiders” appeared within Martian soil simulant during experiments in JPL’s DUSTIE chamber. Carbon dioxide ice frozen within the simulant was warmed by a heater below, turning it back into gas that eventually cracked through the frozen top layer and formed a plume. Credit: NASA / JPL-Caltech

LOWER IMAGE: Dark splotches seen in this example of araneiform terrain captured by NASA’s Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter in 2018 are believed to be soil ejected from the surface by carbon dioxide gas plumes. A set of experiments at JPL has sought to re-create these spider-like formations in a lab. Credit: NASA / JPL-Caltech / University of Arizona

BOTTOM IMAGE: Here’s a look inside of JPL’s DUSTIE, a wine barrel-size chamber used to simulate the temperatures and air pressure of other planets – in this case, the carbon dioxide ice found on Mars’ south pole. Experiments conducted in the chamber confirmed how Martian formations known as “spiders” are created. Credit: NASA / JPL-Caltech