tori 🍉

@dekuipering.bsky.social

96 Followers 109 Following

28 đź’ś overwatch and remedy brainrot đź’› occasionally nsfw đź’ś morally dubious neurodivergent scientists hmu

a screenshot of emily pope from control, a white woman with short blonde hair, blue eyes and a well tailored shirt, wearing a harness device over the top of it.
a text chain in a group chat titled "bureau buds" that reads: simon arish: hey everyone. i'm bi. jesse: yeah no shit Emily Pope: Easy, Jesse. Thank you for telling us, Arish. We love you. [picture of Langston]: proud of you simon :) P6 [half cut off]: YOU ARE A WORM THROUGH TIME
Moira’s body was a traitor, she’d decided. If she had it her way, she’d have been working up until this baby was actively arriving. Angela, of course, was having none of it. That, Moira had expected. She just hadn’t expected her doctor to be just as stifling.
a small photocard of langston from the video game control, adorned with several blue and pink stickers of hearts, streamers, butterflies and sparkles, and stickers that spell out "langston!"
A screenshot which reads: Siebren knows the routine, now. It started years ago, back when he had a few less greys, a few less wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. He remembers the first time, actually, because it shocked him so profoundly.
A screenshot which reads: Langston wasn't quite sure how, after about a decade of this, he could still find himself in new predicaments. Of course, his body in its thirties tended to make more noise and wake up in more pain than it used to, and he suspected the latter feature was to blame today. He'd slept on his shoulder funny, and that plus the sticky humidity in the air had him here, his binder half on and incredibly tangled and twisted at his upper back, out of his reach. Usually, he would have to work his way out of this predicament alone. That was something that had also recently changed. “Hey, babe, I forgot my – ooh.”
A screenshot which reads: It didn’t surprise Harold that Siebren had ducked out of his own send-off. He wasn’t a party guy. He was better at small talk than most expected, but he was easily unnerved, easily knocked off-course by somebody who seemed bored or curt. His capacity for a gathering like that was small, and Harold knew it. His capacity for another spot on Horizon, though, was limitless, and so that was where Harold looked first.
A screenshot which reads: Siebren was homesick, and Harold knew it. The astrophysicist was trying his absolute best to keep it hidden, but Harold could see it. He’d felt it himself, before. It had helped that things had been so busy when he first got up here that during the days, he barely had time to think about anything but Horizon’s establishment. At night, though, he would lay awake, sometimes for hours, thinking about everything back on Earth.
A screenshot which reads: “Your amended cargo lists,” he said, and Harold took them with a grateful smile. “Finally, huh?” Harold asked, grabbing a paperclip from the small ledge beneath the whiteboard, slipping it over the papers before resting them on the ledge as well. He gave a quick sigh before reaching out and putting a hand on Siebren’s forearm. “Thank you for this. You’re brilliant. ” Siebren’s breath caught.
A screenshot which reads: Siebren had opened the door to Harold's quarters expecting nothing out of the ordinary. He'd had an uncharacteristically distracted day - for himself, anyway. Most people might expect themselves to get antsy as the week drew to a close, ready for a weekend of rest and recreation, but that wasn't usually Siebren’s style. Today, though, his thoughts had been drifting. He was more than ready to sink into Harold's arms and onto his bed, to talk about their days and weeks laying beside each other until talking started to slip further and further down their list of things they wanted to do with each other. It wasn't an uncommon way for them to ring in the weekend. As Siebren walked into Harold's room, though, his light joy leadened and fell into his gut.
A screenshot that reads: “Have you been holding out on me?” Harold asked, scandalised. Siebren instinctively reached up to wipe at the corners of his mouth, as if it was a visible mark that had ratted him out, and not the trace of a taste that Harold had picked up from his lips. “I – what?” he asked. Harold rolled his eyes. “You are good at so many things, and lying is not one of them,” Harold replied. “Didn’t have you down as being any good at smuggling in contraband, either, but I was clearly wrong on that front.” Siebren’s eyes widened just a fraction.
A screenshot which reads: “Are you going to rein it in or do I have to ask Nevsky to come fill in for you?” he asked. Meg snorted as she picked up the folder, flicking it open to a quick abstract of the upcoming presentation. “Hey, if you wanna explain to Nevsky why you and the Gravity Man are making interplanetary heart eyes at each other, be my guest,” she replied. Harold scoffed. “We won’t be making heart eyes at each other,” he insisted.
A screenshot which reads: Harold let his eyes flick across Siebren’s face. He was snoring faintly, his mouth slightly open, something he only seemed to do when he slept particularly deeply. Harold reached up with his free hand to smooth some of Siebren’s hair back from his forehead. He let his hand gently cradle the side of Siebren’s head, his fingers carding through the longer hair on top to the well-kept sides. He let some of the in-between hair, not quite the longer strands nor the stubble, catch for the briefest moment between his fingers. Upon lifting the inky tuft, Harold caught sight of it, just for a moment - a tiny crop of silvery-white hairs hiding just above Siebren's temporal bone.
a screenshot of a question asking "is it okay to hate langston" and a response, over a picture of a hell landscape, saying "live your truth but remember your final destination"
“You can drop the act,” Arish remarks, leaning back against the wall beside the access hatch. Langston frowns in mild defiance. “It's not an act, someone really did mention something about this safe room,” Langston starts. Arish folds his arms and cocks an eyebrow, which prompts Langston to continue. “... It was about two years ago and it did just happen to be a possibly paranaturally-inclined rat in the supply closet, but it did happen! ”
a picture of langston from control with the caption (in korean and english) "if you hate him, you will die and go to hell"
It was a dinner at Siebren and Harold’s like any other, but as Angela started heading back to the dining room from the bathroom, she heard a sound she thought she’d never heard before. She paused by the cracked door, and by the sound of an argument – an admittedly mild one, but an argument nonetheless. “You want them to come?” “Yes.” “So do I, let’s invite them.”
Mistletoe Sprig (AI25-PE) BACKGROUND: The sprig (appearing as the species Viscum album) is believed to have been transported into the Oldest House by an unconfirmed source in the weeks leading up to the winter holiday period. Little is known of its origin, though several Bureau experts believe it to be benign. Preliminary hypothesis is the item entered via [REDACTED].
a picture of santa reading from a list, with a thought bubble that reads "who tf asked for alan wake but [unreadable text covered with scratchy scribbles]"
two tweets, the first from emily pope stating "just saw the cutest girl with her arm stuck in a vending machine," and the second from jesse faden stating "why i think vending machines are dangerous; a thread"
With gift bag in hand, Jack knocked on the front door before stepping back. Inside, he thought he could hear a faint clatter, and a familiar, slightly frantic voice sounding out before he heard footsteps approaching. The door opened, and the redhead who answered seemed to let out a breath. “Oh, it’s just you,” Moira remarked, stepping back. “Good to see you too, Moira,” Jack replied as he stepped through the threshold, earning an eye-roll. “There’s no time for niceties,” Moira said, and another clatter from the kitchen broke up her sentence. “Angela’s on the warpath.” Jack’s face shifted to an expression of understanding almost immediately.
One of the most endearing things about Arish, as far as Langston was concerned, was how he took absolutely everything in stride. He was also a resolutely good man, one who made Langston feel safe and secure through his attitudes and beliefs, but that was something Langston had long known about. This chipper dedication and unflappable focus though? It wasn't unexpected, but experiencing it was another thing entirely, and it had a tendency to make Langston's head spin.
a picture of sigma from overwatch, with his arms crossed.