leohtttbriar - Tumblr blog

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Anne Mortimer (British,b.1958)

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The prototype unit was much like 3947 in design. Some of the material in his arms and legs was less uniform in stitch and weave, but for the most part, on looks alone, B’Elanna wouldn’t have been able to tell either unit apart. The thing that made them different and distinguishable was small but, by all practical measures, unattainable. 3947 was alive. The prototype was not. 

chapter 2 of 2

and i will defend it (ao3 link)

Kes and B'Elanna have a quiet and real friendship. But Kes suspects that B'Elanna Torres is the type to collect monsters and strangers, and, being something of that kind herself, Kes means to look out for her in whatever way she can, with a controlled mind or burning one, no matter how desperate the plight of the robot who is pulled aboard. (Chapter 1 of 2)

i rewatched "prototype" for the fourth time and out of love for b'elanna was arrogantly compelled to add on to the story myself, like some fevered gothic "scientist" who doesn't know what he's doing but still intensely interested in the asking the question of what kind of person deserves to create someone else by the strength of their own hands.

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“I Taste a Liquor Never Brewed”

by Emily Dickinson

I taste a liquor never brewed, From tankards scooped in pearl; Not all the vats upon the Rhine Yield such an alcohol!

Inebriate of air am I, And debauchee of dew, Reeling, through endless summer days, From inns of molten blue.

When landlords turn the drunken bee Out of the foxglove’s door, When butterflies renounce their drams, I shall but drink the more!

Till seraphs swing their snowy hats, And saints to windows run, To see the little tippler Leaning against the sun!

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Anna Syberg - Roses (1898)

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dreaming about unit 3947 having to go back to their life as a maintenance unit, fighting a war that feels meaningless to them now, mourning the prototype and becoming overly fascinated with their new plasma conduit that leaves them reminiscing about b’elanna’s compassion and fighting their programming to search for her in the stars— with prototype unit 0001 always in tow, hoping for its return to life, thinking about what it means to give life and what it means to truly preserve it, how that choice extends to some & not others, recalling the weight of her in their arms, against their body… they loved the builders, who wanted to destroy them, where b’elanna wanted to create life…

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Playing around with something a bit more fanciful with this painting. The inspiration came from thinking about how cute it would be if there were tiny horses roaming wild.

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such a cap

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the most romantic thing ever to be honest with you. i think statues and carvings in klingon culture run a really cool and compelling parallel and make a fantastic aid to the function/beauty of storytelling and poetry and song. there's a few examples of the importance of stone carving in the show/beta-canon, including of course worf's statue of kahless and morath, but there's also a famous historical statue of the lady lukara on qo'nos that was personally carved by kahless with a bat'leth, and the hall of heroes on qo'nos/hall of warriors on ty'gokor are full of statues that serve as a really proud reminder of their history

i think that sculpture work and carving being a big part of klingon culture really fits into the ideas that were introduced in the paq'batlh by marc okrand- according to him, in klingon music, beauty is the result of two forces opposing eachother, and the blurring of the line between the audience and the story is a natural part of klingon opera- the audience is encouraged to join in the narrative and become part of it.

i can see this being a natural result of the sculpting process- the sculptor and his material, the story he's trying to tell through the carving, the shaping and the molding- he shapes the material, and the material shapes the story, and in that way the line is blurred- the sculptor becomes part of the story he's trying to tell because he has to form it, and the opposition between the two of them- the material vs the sculptor represents this honorable challenge and this potential and this battle, because it needs to be shaped into the kind of narrative you want to tell the way you'd like it to be told. and the end result is organic in that same way, it evolves and changes as you work (or in the case of oral storytelling, as it's retold and shared), and just. i don't know if this is intentional across the whole show/franchise but i can really see the way this art form in particular might become a big part of klingon culture and history

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good lord

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Anna Boberg (Swedish,1864-1935)

Northern Lights, c. 1901

oil on canvas

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Roswell T. Weidner - Upstream (1981)

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so… I’m watching the original series…

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Star Trek: Voyager Parallax

Just remember, Torres, I'm the senior officer and I speak for Engineering. Try not to say anything unless someone asks you a question.

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In the sunlight in the center of a ring of trees Lev sat cross-legged, his head bent above his hands. A small creature crouched in the warm, shallow cup of his palms. He was not holding it; it had decided or consented to be there. It looked like a little toad with wings. The wings, folded into a peak above its back, were dun-colored with shadowy streaks, and its body was shadow-colored. Three gold eyes like large pinheads adorned its head, one on each side and one in the center of the skull. This upward-looking central eye kept watch on Lev. Lev blinked. The creature changed. Dusty pinkish fronds sprouted out from under its folded wings. For a moment it appeared to be a feathery ball, hard to see clearly, for the fronds or feathers trembled continually, blurring its outlines. Gradually the blur died away. The toad with wings sat there as before, but now it was light blue. It scratched its left eye with the hindmost of its three left feet. Lev smiled. Toad, wings, eyes, legs vanished. A flat mothlike shape crouched on Lev’s palm, almost invisible because it was, except for some shadowy patches, exactly the same color and texture as his skin. He sat motionless. Slowly the blue toad with wings reappeared, one golden eye keeping watch on him. It walked across his palm and up the curve of his fingers. The six tiny, warm feet gripped and released, delicate and precise. It paused on the tip of his fingers and cocked its head to look at him with its right eye while its left and central eyes scanned the sky. It gathered itself into an arrow shape, shot out two translucent underwings twice the length of its body, and flew off in a long effortless glide toward a sunlit slope beyond the ring of trees.

The Eye of the Heron, Ursula K. Le Guin

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A reminder in the year of our lord 2024 that Tumblr has an option to report posts for “election integrity”…. since there’s already a ton of propaganda on here featuring false or misleading info by people who openly say they want Biden/Democrats to lose or Trump to win, maybe consider doing that next time you see some of it on your dash.

(Especially important to do with people who are downplaying the human rights violations of the Russian and Chinese governments, demonizing Ukrainians or Uighurs or Hong Kong democracy activists, or currently, delegitimizing the security concerns around TikTok as “Sinophobia” or something. Be extremely skeptical *especially* of anyone whose issue with Biden is that he’s not pro Russia or pro China enough. Just unfollowed someone for reblogging this crap and blocked and reported the OP.)

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The Song of the Cell, S. Mukherjee