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Mary Oliver, from Long Life: Essays And Other Writings originally published in 2004

#⚘ ˚◞ about ◞ 𝒾’𝓋𝑒 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒶 𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝑜𝓉𝓈.

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@bellytochin : The possum ikran is back! Though, this time she’s very adequately distracted as her rider is with her this time, doting so much affection and love on their happy bf. | wonderfully random asks ( always accepting ) ᠂ ⚘ ˚

Ten. Twenty. Twenty-five… Brianne points as she counts the meticulously stacked rows of grenades in the one steel crate before moving on to the next equipment haul. In between, sight shifts to her datapad to check that item off her inspection list. Periodically, chin turns and gaze corners, concerned with the ikran and its rider still loitering on where the Resistance marked a makeshift helipad — a patch of cleared ground for their repurposed Samson to land and pick up supplies. Any minute this spot will be put to use.

The watch on her wrist is checked. A curved nail raps on the side of the screen. A foot taps the dirt. The nerve to ask them to relocate is worked up. “< Hello. Sorry. >” Approach is slow, her tone careful; eye contact is kept on the rider, not the ikran. < I need you to move. Please. We have a metal ship coming. From the sky. It will land here. Where you stand. >” A finger points to the ground beneath their feet. Her Na'vi is improving but her sentences remain short and (purposefully) to the point. Still, she never assumes any of them understand a word she says.

#bellytochin #⚘ ˚◞ answers ◞ 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑜𝒻𝒻𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓊𝓉𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒾𝒸 𝓇𝑒𝓅𝓁𝓎. #⚘ ˚◞ verse˚ avatar ◞ 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓅𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓁𝓅𝒽𝒶 𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓊𝓇𝒾. #⚘ ˚◞ post-2170 ◞ . #(( ty for sending!! bri's memory of ikran is not the same as her memory of faces ♡))

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#⚘ ˚◞ visage ◞ 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝓁𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓂. #(( this is probably my 3rd fav look of hers in a film (i rank by bri-ness) #she does go through a fringe phase in her early 30s... #from the film contagion (2011) ))

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The specialist’s boisterous laugh maniacally echoes across the airtight steel facility, video feeds glitch, holograms flicker, and the cool blue lights bounce off a director whose features contort in confusion. Has Mugi lost the plot? If the defector files passing her desk weren’t enough, the number of mental health cases of employees not able to hack it severed from their home planet and family, and locked in a grueling and dangerous task-oriented job are skyrocketing.  

“Absolutely not.” She sputters, maintaining some semblance of professional defiance by making a beeline to the comm-unit. “You continue this and they will send you on the next vessel home.” She warns with a huff, foregoing a mention that directors like Mercer would probably have him shot on the grounds of mutiny. She picks up the earpiece only to have her hand lower back down in slow motion; the line is dead. With her eyes dumbfoundedly wide, she further realizes he is serious.

“And what do you plan to do, hm? Broadcast it? Where? To who? Obviously not home.” The cost and the RDA's control of superluminal communications assures of it.  “Or to others here? They are not in charge. They can do nothing to change it, believe me.” 

𝚀𝚄𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 ↳↳    ACCEPTING    ( @prvtocol )

❛ are you trying to get us in trouble? ❜

orion laughed, a wild bark-like laughter that was as short as it was sudden. joining the RDA had been a mistake, a horrible, stupid, naive mistake. he should have seen through the propaganda, should have known that paradise on another planet was a pipe dream at best and a lie at worst. his technological knowledge had guaranteed him a spot on their specialist team and where did it get him? a front row seat at the annihilation of an entire race.

❝ abso - fucking - lutely i am, ❞ he hit the flashing blue button on the screen of their system and the holograms flickered jarringly. mass megabytes of data flooded the screen as bagley sifted through the pools of encrypted files at his fingertips.

orion stood and turned to face her, for all the power, wealth, and access that she had, she was just another cog in the metaphorical death machine that was the RDA and yet still, he couldn't help but feel . . . angry. he at least had been blindsided, but could he say the same about brianne?

❝ everyone deserves to know the truth about what's happening here, ❞ orion said, ❝ no more bullshit, no more lies. so, you gonna help me or are you gonna stand back at watch like everyone else on this shit station? ❞

#bytectrl #⚘ ˚◞ interactions ◞ . #⚘ ˚◞ verse˚ avatar ◞ 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓅𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓁𝓅𝒽𝒶 𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓊𝓇𝒾. #⚘ ˚◞ 2168-2170 ◞ .

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sometimes making tea is less about drinking it and more ab it keeping you company

#⚘ ˚◞ about ◞ 𝒾’𝓋𝑒 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒶 𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝑜𝓉𝓈. #(( and bri felt that ))

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The vague answers result in a hum. It’s not that she needs a comprehensive process on intended lab and field safety, but she does expect some ideas for improvement. The stretch of silence instead has the director assuming her question presented a curve ball of expectations. It’s as if she’s giving a first round job interview. He adjusts his posture. His tail flicks. If she had more experience with blue faces perhaps that skin of his even appears a little ashen. She’d ask if he is alright but fears it might lead to more discomfort; keep it professional.

“Suits. Other standard procedures. Those are all well and good, but I did read an incident report from prior. As you know, they may not be enough.” She pauses. Hands refold on her lab. Might as well provide her thoughts since her own preliminary plan of action has already been formulated. “There are currently projects underway testing shock control on wildlife. I’m afraid it’s not quite working as intended for conditioning purposes. As a side note, if you would like to read any reports on these training programs, I can arrange that.” Yes, more communication between labs would be beneficial to the operation as a whole. One lab’s discoveries might be useful to another. 

“But,” she cycles back swiftly, “I think it would be useful to implement the same as a sort of non-lethal kill switch. An easily accessible button to put the animal down. No seconds wasted. No need for SecOps intervention. More control. The biotech is already developed and can be fitted quite easily.” Her voice is bright and confident as she speaks, believing in this solution as the answer to her scientist’s safety (and little regard for the test subject’s autonomy).

“Also, how do they function after the removal of their stingers?”

Now was the hard part, the part that had his mouth run dry and throat grow tight. Sparrow’s mouth strung into a thin line, and he found himself staring just above and beyond the Director’s head, the burning flames in the oven he’d stepped into like an animal into a trap. His throat bobbed down as he swallowed, trying to hold onto his façade of silent nonchalance. Looking down to her once more, he let out a soft small breath as he put together his words.

“Stab proof suits, that all about you can do.” Sparrow signed cursing himself for the slight slip in his turn phrase. Adjusting himself as he sat on the ground as but a means to breath in the whole situation, he couldn’t get the distinct sound of his heart pounding just behind his ears to leave as he fussed with his sitting position. His large tail softly flicking alongside him.

“Standard procedure stuff of course too. Like medical.” Flashes of Goober attacking personnel, scientists removing his stinger, the poor creature being shot on sight while a human did their best to fend themselves all swirled like a cocktail of stress in his mind. Then came the words… Intrusive phrases calling him soft or reprimanding him for thinking one creature’s life had more value over a human being, or why should he care over what happens to humans… After all he himself was no longer one of them why should their worries matter to him?

The swirl of thoughts attacked him, hell they down right were trying to drag him under and drown him get any sort of answer any kind of reaction from as he sat waiting for the Director to speak.

#pandoranfalconer #⚘ ˚◞ interactions ◞ . #⚘ ˚◞ verse˚ avatar ◞ 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓅𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓁𝓅𝒽𝒶 𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓊𝓇𝒾. #⚘ ˚◞ 2168-2170 ◞ .

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“Change, I’ve come to understand, rises up like nausea: the promise of relief is what makes it bearable.”

— Durga Chew-Bose, Too Much and Not the Mood

#⚘ ˚◞ about ◞ 𝒾’𝓋𝑒 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒶 𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝑜𝓉𝓈.

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So leaves her last cry for help before a palm flies to cage her mouth shut, thumb pinching her nose against her index finger. The uncomfortable pressure of her hit head bursts against the need for air to fill her lungs. Still, she tries — desperate — crawling on her knees, her free hand anxiously pushing items aside to seek another mask hidden beneath. Somewhere between hearing metal creak to Mays’ entry, her body gives out; collapsing, the hand that gatekeeps falls from her mouth and toxic air inevitably seeps in. Her twenty seconds to unconsciousness counts down.

Landry? The recom’s voice is as blurred as her vision until the hiss of the valve stirs a shrill gasp, and oxygenated air fills her hurting lungs. Breathe. Shaky and uneasy inhales follow while his orders to tighten the straps will the movement of her limbs. Slowly, fingers rely on muscle memory to hinge the clasp behind her head. Unable to stand, she rolls to her side, sight lulling with the movement only for Celene to come into view — still lifeless but this time, without a mask. A trembling hand recoils, fingertips making contact with the thin perspex shield over her face as if physically making the mental connection. 

“No." A whimper escapes under hasty breaths, her body inching closer to the lifeless lab assistant. “No. No.” Anguish contorts her face; guilt seeping in with realization. Frantic. “This is her mask. You … you took her mask. She’s….” Words meant for Mays are not directed at him. Sight instead shifts, desperately searching again for what she couldn't find before — another mask. “Is it too late? How long has it been? Where is Josh?” Then, more firmly with a tinge of hurt, she calls, “Weber? Where were you?”

A cough stands in for an initial answer. The scientist only then rises from his supine position in the corner, a hand splayed on the side of his head, a frown on his ruddy face. “I am bleeding,” his whiny voice is sharp, annoyed. Beady eyes corner on the recom. “I want to ask why I am bleeding — what the hell were you boys doing out there? Obviously not your job.”

Hit by a wave of dizzying nausea, Brianne reels back, palms finding the floor again; her breathing deepens. "I think I'm going to throw up." The mask is coming back off.

　　　No later than hearing the croaked plea for help does Mays start working on the door; he grips the edges that he can fit his hands around. Both boots firmly plant on either side of the opening and he pulls. A creaking runs deep through the mangled metal as it fights against the marine's strength. One second, two, three -- the door scrapes through its bent frame and pops open; Mac catches himself upright. Well, if there is one thing these recom tails are good for, it's to help one easily catch his balance. Feet first, the marine squeezes himself through the warped doorway like a pipe fitter into a manhole.

　　　Even before disaster, fitting through the cabin of this hauler was always going to be a game of tetris for the recoms, and now that it lay on its side he finds less headroom in the course of his crawl beneath the passenger seats. Mays weaves his head through the canopy of dangling seatbelts until he's at Landry's side. Hastily he examines her. No mask. She's asphyxiating. Yellow eyes dart around in search of the spares. Where the fuck did the rack go?? His gaze lands on the female lab assistant laying within reach. She's masked. Oh, fuck that; a million things race through the recombinant's mind but above it all remains one paramount obligation; the Director can't die.

　　　Mays reaches over and rips the exomask off of the other woman whose name is already forgotten. The pressure of circumstance makes this sacrifice necessary. He begins to calm his adrenalized breathing as he gently fits the faceplate to Brianne's nose. No valuable time is wasted trying to get the straps around her head; one blue palm stretched across the faceplate, his thumb and forefinger instead pinch the polymer seal airtight against both sides of her face. Then he releases the high-flow valve. A cough from somewhere else in the cabin draws his attention; Mac looks up and over.

　　　Weber. Seems he got to the exopacks before Landry did. So then why hadn't he helped her? Even in critical situations the asshole's still thinking only about himself? Mays' face darkens with anger and resent, but he has no words for the man right now. He looks back down at the human beneath his hand.

　　　"Landry? Breathe. When you're ready, I need you to tighten the straps around your head."

#badtrigger #⚘ ˚◞ interactions ◞ . #⚘ ˚◞ verse˚ avatar ◞ 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓅𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓁𝓅𝒽𝒶 𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓊𝓇𝒾. #⚘ ˚◞ 2168-2170 ◞ .

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my heart is confused she needs a break from all of this

#⚘ ˚◞ about ◞ 𝒾’𝓋𝑒 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒶 𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝑜𝓉𝓈.

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Those words are already familiar to her ears. The same goes for the cold, unforgiving stares, the whispered threats, the damning thoughts locked behind teeth and fang. It’s marked in the stilling of hands on carved weapons and in the chatter among kin. Skorakstxey says more than what others are willing to say to her face. He’s either incredibly brash or something deeper drives him. She wonders.

With composure barely won, her gaze unenergetically lifts from the transparent screen of her datapad. She’s tired of this, tired of his persistence. A moment passes, and her blank stare melts into the ground before his attention is won. Those green eyes peer so confident with what his mouth wields; the bitterness of his words lingering long after they fade. But the point of view does not resonate in the way he intends. Brianne cannot help but think it is not about her. She is simply a whipping post that he knows will not fight back. And as his lashes increase to no prevail, in the end, it is only his pain put on display. 

A sigh breaks the tense silence; concern is projected in eyes that beseech him to look at her. “Does it make you feel better to tell me this? To make sure I know exactly what you think of me?” A slow shake of her head offers pause but foretells her thoughts.

“I wish I could say something in return that could satisfy your needs. Maybe something that could further justify your anger and pain.” She speaks as a mother soothing a young child; the softest trembles of a habitual gentle voice further hushed as if meant for only him to hear. “But I cannot. Nothing can. You already know this, and I am sorry.” 

Skorakstxey observes Brianne's reaction with a mixture of pity and disdain. He knows his words have struck a nerve, but he feels little remorse for speaking his truth. To him, Brianne embodies the epitome of everything wrong with the RDA's presence on Pandora—a symbol of exploitation, destruction, and disregard for the Na'vi way of life. As he watches her struggle to regain her composure, Skorakstxey feels a flicker of satisfaction. In his eyes, she represents the face of oppression, and he relishes any opportunity to confront those who perpetuate the suffering of his people.

However, beneath his outward hostility, Skorakstxey also harbors a sense of resignation. He knows that Brianne is merely a cog in the larger machine of the RDA, a pawn manipulated by forces beyond her control. Despite his anger towards her, he recognizes her humanity, albeit tainted by her association with the corporation. When Brianne inquires about the translation of his words into her own language, Skorakstxey's expression softens slightly. He sees a glimmer of vulnerability in her eyes, a crack in the facade of indifference she wears like armor.

For a moment, he considers withholding the translation, relishing the discomfort it brings her. But then, with a sigh, he decides to offer her the truth. "In our language," he begins, his tone measured but tinged with bitterness, "I would say, vrrtep... or säsrätx." Skorakstxey watches Brianne closely as he delivers the translation, observing the way her expression tightens at the sound of the Na'vi words. He senses her discomfort, the weight of his accusation settling heavily upon her shoulders.

For a brief moment, he considers offering her some semblance of forgiveness, a chance at redemption. But then, he remembers the countless lives lost, the land desecrated, the culture threatened by the relentless march of progress. And his resolve hardens once more. "You may wear this costume, but I see through your facade," Skorakstxey continues, his voice steady but laced with contempt. "You and your kind are nothing but parasites, feeding off the lifeblood of this world until there is nothing left."

#tarsyu #⚘ ˚◞ interactions ◞ . #⚘ ˚◞ verse˚ avatar ◞ 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓅𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓁𝓅𝒽𝒶 𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓊𝓇𝒾. #⚘ ˚◞ post-2170 ◞ .

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@badtrigger & @cyberpawn : Joy | Send a word and I will write a drabble or headcanon based on it ( accepting ) ᠂ ⚘ ˚

Gummy toothless smiles stretch between the chubbiest cheeks as two pairs of blue eyes stare wide in wondrous anticipation; little hands reaching, kicking feet aching for attention. Motherhood is a stage with no reservations, and no care for appearance. Willingly on show is Brianne, her tickling fingers dancing above her babes' soft bellies before traipsing up their legs to press against the pads of their tiny feet. Her eyes are just as wide, and her smile is also open.

“< Ah, whose foot is this? >” She gasps in faux shock as she grabs Mi’kwel’s little foot, sending the babe roaring in laughter. “< Oh, there's another one? >” Her hand switches over to Mon’te’s; the sound that bursts from his lungs echoes his brother’s. On repeat, she grabs one’s foot, and then the other’s. “< Another? So many feet! >” She exclaims in between pauses to blow raspberries into their ankles.

Their laughter fills the marui with joy, and her heart the same. “< My silly little boys, >” she hushes taking a moment’s breath. Her adoring gaze sweeps over them only to lift and see her mate San’tos staring, the clear hint of a smile on his usually stoic facade. “< And papa thinks we are silly too, >" she whispers, her eyes sparkling with this perfect slice of happiness she someone won.

#badtrigger #cyberpawn #⚘ ˚◞ answers ◞ 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑜𝒻𝒻𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓊𝓉𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒾𝒸 𝓇𝑒𝓅𝓁𝓎. #⚘ ˚◞ verse˚ avatar ◞ 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓅𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓁𝓅𝒽𝒶 𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓊𝓇𝒾. #(( ty for both for sending this one. i cannot think of anything more joyous for her than being a mom ))

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“I’m so scared of dying without ever being really seen. Can you understand?”

— David Foster Wallace, The David Foster Wallace Reader

#⚘ ˚◞ about ◞ 𝒾’𝓋𝑒 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒶 𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝑜𝓉𝓈.

[prvtocol]

Send a word and I will write a drabble or headcanon based on it

Sunlight

Alone

Darkness

Streets

Cupboard

Snacks

Doubt

Joy

Peace

Moment

Rain

Hum

Kitchen

Bedroom

Family

Friend

Garden

Relax

Stress

Job

Fury

Betrayed

Absence

Vices

Pets

Absolve

Stars

Scorn 

Praise

Laundry

Papers

Smoke

Wine

Couch

Kiss

Doors

Tree

Dirt

Flowers

Collect

Remove

?+ add your own.

#⚘ ˚◞ meme ◞ .

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The generous invitation to explore their Metkayina hosts’ ocean home, to partake in festivities among the colorful confines of the protected bay and beyond the shade of the Mangrove trees came to a painful end. Having kept to her work and comfortably under her modest human-styled coverings, Brianne can only bear witness to the aftermath — sun-blistered skins, supine bodies groaning in discomfort, the clan’s tsahik not willing to tend them, and a young tsakarem with her work cut out for her. 

With attention won and a directed need for help suggested, Brianne gives an accepting nod before imposing further onto the marui. Always careful not to offend. At her side, sight drops to inspect the salve being concocted in her mortar, its application necessitating more hands than just the one making it. 

“I can do that. Put it on.” Her quieted voice gently agrees before feeling the need for a brief introduction. “My name is Priann,” she tells her, a phrase which was among the first she learned in Na’vi. Her language ability is enough for questions and answers but still lacks fluency, making any conversation strenuous without a patient listener.

Eyes give another doleful scan of the ones in need; this will take some time. “This is kind of you. To help us.”

supernatural starters !

the omatikaya's arrival to awa'atlu has been anticipated for several days. their allies wear avatars like a placating costume; some semblance of professionalism that tsireya can almost understand.

but their skins itch and burn in the hot, salted air, under the too-bright sun. a testament to being grown in a low-lit, airtight metal room; their bodies designed for cool, shady jungles. they huddle in the shadow of the tsahik's healing marui, moaning, groaning, as their skins peel and blemish.

ronal would not touch them. but tsireya is more enduring.

"they should not have gone into the water without oils," the tsakarem tuts, addressing the group, her expression conveying a conflicting amalgamation of worry and amusement.

@prvtocol watches the scene from the mouth-opening of the pod, and tsireya can see the concern etched into the lines of her forehead, her mouth, shaped as if it were always meant to frown.

she hears the doctor say, in na'vi, can i help you?

tsireya stops grounding the salve with the mortar and pestle in her hands, takes a moment to scrutinize the woman's intentions.

"help me with this," she concedes, gesturing to the grounded herbs and bark, meant to be applied onto sun-bruised skin, "we will have to help them put it on. they can barely move!"

#seasmoon #⚘ ˚◞ interactions ◞ . #⚘ ˚◞ verse˚ avatar ◞ 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓅𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓁𝓅𝒽𝒶 𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓊𝓇𝒾. #⚘ ˚◞ post-2170 ◞ . #(( thank you for this! bri would adore tsireya and her kind heart ♡ ))

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James Cameron’s Avatar

#⚘ ˚◞ reference ◞ 𝓈𝑒𝒶𝓇𝒸𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝑔𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹 𝑒𝓃𝒸𝓎𝒸𝓁𝑜𝓅𝑒𝒹𝒾𝒶. #⚘ ˚◞ locations ◞ 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓁 𝒶𝒹𝓋𝒾𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓎. #(( parker pacing :') ))

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yeah. thats not very mouse wearing a sweater and holding a cup of tea behavior. sorry.

#⚘ ˚◞ about ◞ 𝒾’𝓋𝑒 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒶 𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝑜𝓉𝓈. #(( thanks for sharing sam! ♡ #bri is that mouse ))

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Brianne traveled to Pandora with time-locked data on an external drive. The RDA Pandoran operation runs on Earth time. Every year data is timed to unlock to view on her birthday and other holidays. These files include video messages and notes prepared before departure by her half-sister, mother, father, and other family and friends. It's all part of a special send-off package the RDA encourages their contractees to collect for their 5-6 years tour. It's meant to help them feel connected to home sans the ability to keep in communication. 

#⚘ ˚◞ headcanon ◞ 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓌𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊. #(( why i started thinking about the 'preparing for your pandoran tour' manual today idk #i don't think these really punch her in the gut until post-death/recom times. she's never going home ))