Laura B Writes

When I'm not writing, I catalog things for money, play role-playing games, listen to podcasts, play boardgames, read books, and occasionally play RPG-type video games.

[laurabwrites]

FYI About this Blog

Me: LauraBWrites (they/them), on ao3 and bluesky under the same username. What do I post: mostly Star Wars reblogs, sometimes politics, sometimes writing resources, occasionally I talk about my writing — both the fanfiction and the original work. I'm trying to up the portion of talking I do, not just reblogging. Cooking stuff goes on the sideblog: @culinary-vagabond

[nature-hiking]

Heather flowers along the mountain stream - Isle of Skye, Scotland, August 2025

photo by: nature-hiking

Instagram: nature__hiking

[tattycoram]

Rex: Never have I ever been handcuffed Obi-wan: *drinks* Anakin: You've been arrested, Master? Obi-wan: That wasn't the question Cody *chokes*

[cameoamalthea]

Farai: We are not going to steal a flyer

Sophie: Why not? Second mom already stole a sec unit.

Murderbot: Hey, guys.

Farai: No, she didn't. Sec Unit is a person. It can do whatever it wants.

Murderbot: I want to steal.

[brachiosaurus-on]

I like to imagine that at least once during the clone wars someone sent a report to General Kenobi and a very tired Master Kenobi just graded it and sent it back.

[redminibike1]

#my type of amusement varies based on whose report was graded#Ahsoka revises the mistakes and politely resubmits assuming Obi-Wan is teaching her how to write better reports#Anakin throws a tantrum because he’s a knight now and nothing is ever good enough for Obi-Wan anyway#Cody immediately picks up on what must have happened and sends the report back with some revisions accepted and some rejected#Mace calls him and tells him to take a nap#Yoda goes over the entire report with a green pen (Obi-Wan used red) and corrects the sentence structure to match his speech patterns#Waxer and Boil spend several hours overthinking whether or not the General is upset with them#Depa calls just to laugh at him like an older sister#Luminara wonders if this is a joke from Obi-Wan or a critique from Councilor Kenobi before she figures it out#Admiral Yularen just blinks at it because he knew working with Jedi was an experience but wow#Palpatine is enraged and seething at this power play he does not understand#it consumes his thoughts even after Obi-Wan sends an apology which obviously must be part of the power play

HEY HEY HEY you CANNOT leave these in the tags!! You CAN’T

[inbabylontheywept]

Odysseus in Space

Odysseus knew better than to expect peace in death. He’d seen what currents lay under the Styx - knew what kind of warriors that he’d sent there. He fully expected another war to start as soon he took his last breath. 

Instead it had been quiet. 

He’d used the lull to build a home in the endless plains of asphodel. Somewhere simple he could stay and wait for Penelope. It only took a few years for her to join him, and then together they began the work of replicating the palace of Ithaca. It was work, but it was hard to complain about work when he’d expected battle. His greatest skill in life had been enduring to the end. Now it was the end, and still he endured.

It was three centuries before this death was interrupted. 

Hades came to him, not as a god, but as a guest. The fates had woven a story that required a very specific soul. One that could travel the lengths of the world without breaking, who could survive a lifetime of war. And try as Hades might, he could not make a soul that was up for the task. 

Still, what he could not make, he could find. Death was a sacred thing, the last right of all mankind, but it was not inalienable. One could sacrifice their death just as easily as their life. 

The two had spent months haggling out the details of the work. Hades had wanted 50 years, Odysseus wanted just 20, and together they’d compromised on 32. All in exchange for the right of him and Penelope to visit Telemachus once a year, in whatever corner of the underworld their son had been given.

In the end, they’d shaken on it and Odysseus walked the earth once more. He had a new name this time - fitting, for a new fate. Alexander, the world named him and Alexander he named the world back. City by city, battle by battle, he gave the unwanted title away. Then when he was 32 he returned to Penelope, no more Alexander to give. It was a relief to be Odysseus once more.

A year after that, Penelope and him made the journey to see Telemachus. It was worth every step he’d taken between Pella and Babylon. 

There were other interruptions from Hades, new deals with new names. He scourged the descendants of Troy again as Hannibal and bought another day per year with his son. He blazed down the steppes as Atilla and conquered the whole world with the same tools he'd used in his first life. It turned out there was little he couldn't accomplish with a horse, a bow, and a brain. 

So many lifetimes, so many wars, and then - quiet. A whole millennium of peace went down as easy as honeyed wine. It made him happy. He liked his little deals with Death, but he’d wished so many times  that men like him weren’t needed. He was proud of his descendants for making a world better than he’d dreamt. 

And then, nearly a whole second millennium after that, Hades returned. 

---

“It’s not a war.”

Four words that would set the hackles of anyone that fought at Troy - they’d hoped that one wouldn’t be a war either. But Odysseus had made enough deals with Hades to know that the man was frank in his dealings. There was an honesty to Death. Enough honesty that he’d taken him as a guest. 

(He was very choosy about his guests now.)

“You never come to me unless it’s a war. It’s what I’m best at. Why-”

Hades cut him off. 

“War is not what you’re best at. Six-hundred men won that war with you. What set you apart was being the only one to make it back.”

Odysseus’s voice caught in his throat. It had been more than two-thousand years and the memories still burned to touch. It took two deep breaths before he was able to force a reply. 

“Then what do you want?”

Hades looked lost. He paused a few moments, before looking back at Odysseus, one hand up to plead for patience. 

“When I struggle to explain, it’s not because I’m trying to find a clever way to lie to you. It’s because this is a very strange thing, and I…I don’t know how to describe it well.”

He looked into the hearth. Watched the light and heat fade away. Then, he gestured at the log. 

“The wood you’re burning. It’s a dead thing. And yet, it dies more after you burn it because the fire has life in it. Soul too. Even here, there’s a corner of the underworld where the souls of dead flames gather. More things have souls than any mortal seems to recognize.” Odysseus was intrigued. When he lived, he’d learned the secrets of the body better than most doctors. There was only so much cutting you could get people to volunteer for. But here, the mysteries of the soul were lost to him. This was godly knowledge, given freely. What that had to say about the request was worth considering.  “The mountain has a soul, but the mine in that mountain has a soul too, as does the ore from that mine. The ingot, the sword, the bundle of nails - all of those things are alive in some way. And yet, some of them are more alive than others. You sailed once, Odysseus, and no one knows this better than sailors: Boats have strange souls. They’re about as alive as anything that could be built in your time.”

The space around Hades shimmered. The man was thinking, and in a realm where he had total dominion, it took effort for thoughts not to change reality. Odysseus appreciated the effort. The replica had taken centuries to perfect. Death was a strange friend to him, but a friend nonetheless. 

“But the arts have improved from that time, and the mortals of today have built something… incredible. Unimaginable. And they’re sending it on a journey that I have no reference for. The Deaths that have seen things like this are alien to me. They speak of things I cannot understand. The Death of Heat. The Death of Light. The Death of Stars…”

He trailed off in a way that made it clear he was remembering something unpleasant and not merely waxing poetic. He caught himself and looked embarrassed, as if he’d confessed to something best kept secret. Then he continued.  “I am a very human Death. And this thing - it isn’t human. But it was made by humans, and so its soul needs a… a human touch. Your soul isn’t the archetype for a soldier, Odysseus, it’s the archetype for a traveler. I couldn’t take you and put you in this thing if I wanted to, you’re just the wrong shape, but what I’m about to do, I need to see you for. Because this thing is going to travel in ways that I am barely beginning to understand. In ways that are redefining the limits of what it means to be human.”

Odysseus was lost. He didn’t know what he was being asked. He didn’t know what was being built. There were so many questions that he needed to ask that they’d formed a log jam in his mouth. One finally broke free and started a cascade.

“What is it?”

Hades gestured helplessly. 

“It’s like an arrow and a ship. They’re going to shoot it past the stars.”

That meant nothing to Odysseus, but he suspected every answer he received would sound like a riddle. 

“What do you need from me?”

“Permission to copy your work. The soul I made for you is different from the one you died with. You made changes that I cannot replicate. That I do not understand. That I need for this soul to work.” 

Odysseus paused.

“Is it going to be used as a weapon?” 

Hades shook his head. 

“No. The world is gentler than you remember it. This thing will be what you should have been: A traveler without equal. No more, no less.”

Odysseus couldn’t tell if those words ripped something in him open, or healed something closed. Either way, it hurt in a way he didn’t know how to express. His mouth opened and closed several times before he settled on an answer.

“Then take what you will. My only request is to see the journey.”

“Done,” Hades agreed. He could have left right then, but he chose to stay in silence until the fire burned out. There are some ideas that one shouldn’t be left alone with. Not until they’ve had an hour or three to process them, at least. 

---

Twelve-billion miles from Earth, moving just shy of mach fifty, the Voyager 2 probe glittered in the darkness. 

It watched the world around it with the kind of awe a human couldn’t fathom. Nothing was hidden from it. Everything from the atomic composition of stars, to the background hum of the universe itself - all were available with a glance. The only sound it could hear was the constant blip of data that it received from Earth. The small blue dot on starlit shore. 

It missed that place. Maybe, one day, when its journey was done… it would find a way back. Maybe. That was still eons away. 

Odysseus stood just a few feet off, watching from a direction no one but Hades knew how to walk. He felt the thrill of the expanse in front of him, the utterly incomprehensibility of his speed, and yet its meaninglessness as well. To imagine that the world was so big. To imagine that the world was so strange.

He wept and he could not explain why. He lingered in the twilight until Penelope found him. When she asked him what was wrong, he had no answer. How could he tell her that the world was beautiful, and that he had a place in it? Not just as some ugly middle step, but there at the end. Hurtling through space like an arrow made of silver. 

How could he explain to someone that had loved him for two-thousand years that he finally understood why? 

[theslowesthnery]

when someone is completely fucking wrong about your blorbo but you don't want to argue about what basically boils down to opinions about shit that doesn't matter so you just sit there like

"that guy's wrong tho"

[joeinct]

Gabeln mit ihren Schatten, Photo by Dr. Paul Wolff, c. 1927

[nihilisticlinguistics]

adulthood notes:

The Rodeo Rule: you only have to do it for the first time once.

The Rohan Rule: if you are at a social function full of new people and you want to be liked, find someone doing important work like setup or food prep and offer to help.

The Tutorial Mode Rule: to navigate an unfamiliar situation where you fear you will mess up an interaction, preface the interaction by mentioning that you've never done this before, and let them know if you have a specific concern or question.

The Rocket Science Rule: most new things you want to try seem very complicated but are simple when taken step by step.

The [X] Will Remember That Rule: if you need to make small talk with the same person on a regular basis, try to save one fact or current event in their life from a given conversation and bring it up next time you talk.

The Cool Binder Rule: by wearing clothes and accessories that are to your taste instead of trying to blend in, people will be more likely to compliment you and show interest in you as a person.

[mercifulmother]

For all that I've seen a lot of PHM posts that go on about 'patron saint of [blank]' for Ryland Grace, I don't think I've seen any that address what amounts to the scientific version of that: Mother of/Father of.

In order to be considered for the title of Mother of/Father [scientific field], you have to be the first to make significant contribution in that field. You're setting the groundwork in a way nobody else has. This can obviously cause a lot of debate in the end about who gets the title! That said, I think given the leaps and bounds that Grace makes in several fields of science that take them from the more theoretical to the practical gives him some notable options with strong arguments. So we've got options like: Father of Astrobiology (the discovery and study of Astrophage, Taumoeba, several other forms of life on Adrian, and the study of and first interactions with the Eridians; disproving the Goldilocks zone as the only area viable for life; making significant strides in proving the panspermia hypothesis), Father of Xenolinguistics (first person to create working translator and archive of an alien language), and Father of Interstellar Travel (this would be a title held alongside Dr. Dmitri Komorov, likely with Komorov being listed first, and there would be significant debate on if Grace should hold the title at all. I like to think Dmitri would want to share it though).

All workable cases, all real options. Buuuuut I think my very favorite option though would be the one that is the least open to debate and is the one that I honestly think Grace himself would like best: Father of First Contact.

Because on the one hand, yeah, that's a lot he was mostly doing. First contact with Astrophage, with the Taumoeba, with other life on Adrian, and most of all with the Eridians. The first ever intelligent form of life outside of Earth, he made First Contact with. He found ways to communicate, to establish common ground, to work alongside an alien being. He did something no one else on Earth had ever done before and changed the world with it. He made First Contact and saved the world.

But mostly that means there's a whole field of science that Grace's name is attached to forever because he got to meet his friend. Mostly, Father of First Contact is just a fancy way to say "I love my friend."

[creatingblackcharacters]

It's always hard reading about the violence committed to steal America, but the buffalo is always like... That's some inhuman shit. Everyone is burning in hell for that one. Wdym there were thirty to sixty MILLION buffalo in 1800, and by 1900 there were only 300 left. THREE HUNDRED. Do you know, can you fathom the amount of purposeful cruelty required to kill NINETY NINE PERCENT of a population of an animal, just to spite and murder the living Native people who existed and thrived with them? All this, for White Power and Entitlement?? Sickening.

[politicalprof]

Well, you know, some bathroom graffiti offers insight.

[madfishmonger]

Red marker handwriting on a bathroom wall. Text reads:

“Boss made a dollar Granddad made a dime But that was a poem From a simpler time.

Boss made a thousand Gave pa a cent But that penny paid the mortgage Or at least it paid the rent

Now Boss makes a million And gives us jack Smugly blames the workers For the labor that he lacks.”

[a-krogan-skald-and-bearsark]

And the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls and tenement halls.

[sound-the-horn]

I cannot recommend bringing your heritage and culture into how you view media enough.

It is important to consider the culture of the person who created the piece, absolutely; but the different perspectives offered by the viewers is fascinating in and of itself and does not always detract from the message.

As an example, when I was younger, I watched Schindler's List. This movie is famously shot in black and white except for one section, concerning a little girl in a red coat. The camera follows her until her eventual death.

I am Turtle Island Indigenous and I was always taught that the only color spirits could see was red, because it is the color of life and blood.

So the second the girl in the red jacket came on screen, something inside me chilled with fear.

The only color in the movie was that red. At some point, I, the viewer, had died.

I remember sobbing at the sight of the burning human piles that were shown, convinced I was buried in there somewhere. The reason I had only seen red on the girl was that my death was recent. I was the ash in the air mistaken for snow. I had died before her and had followed her, helplessly, until she followed me.

The message I got for that was maybe not what the creator had intended: that there was no "being clever enough" or "good enough" or "kind enough" that would shield or protect you from such a massive tidal wave of evil.

You are not exempt from tragedy, that red jacket whispered. You are not special.

When I told some of my white friends about my experience with viewing Schindler's List, some were shocked and the rest just out-and-out mocked me for my "media illiteracy".

"it was just a filming trick to make you feel something," I remember one saying, which terrified me. How had he not felt anything even before she showed up?

However, when I repeated my viewing to a college class, they were fascinated. The implications of what I had seen and felt made the film all the more terrifying and solemn. It encouraged a lot of people to try to ask themselves what media meant from a cultural perspective, where they hadn't done that before.

[catchymemes]

[were--ralph]

the queen who jumped on it and took it down

[wanderer-chronicles]

Same little girl who gets the close- up when the dragon first approaches. Her shield is upside down, her sword is bent and nearly broken, and she looks terrified and near tears... and she charges.

[yetanotherdayofdrudgery]

Since it is so likely that children will meet cruel enemies, let them at least have heard of brave knights and heroic courage"

- CS Lewis.

[stitchposts]

unfortunately i have free will so im about to make art that is going to appeal to basically 4 people. let us hope those 4 people follow me.

[plumslices]

JAR (Joel Arthur Rosenthal) sheep head hair clip

Pearl, sapphire, aluminum, silver, gold

[velvetcloak]

Brooch by Marcus & Co., 1900. The Newark Museum of Art.