fi and me

The line between writing fantasy and writing science fiction gets even blurrier when you spend an hour trying to figure out what orbital mechanics are necessary to create a daily solar eclipse in a certain region of a planet without having to change its axial tilt and thus eliminate seasons as a whole just so the medieval-era people who live in said region can use the eclipse as a basic time measurement.

All because someone giving directions and saying “you’ll be there by firstmoon” sounded kinda nifty.

AU where Geno and the pens are part of a secret organization that time travels to maintain the flow of historic events, and on one mission, Geno is tasked to go back to the 1820s to save a man (whose great-great grandson will eventually be key to a medical breakthrough that will change history) from a freak accident involving a horse carriage gone rogue. 

Anyways, the man is super thankful and insists on treating Geno to dinner, and Geno is hesitant because he’s really not supposed to interact this much with the subject but the man won’t hear a no. So Geno gets taken to this guy’s estate and meets Sidney, the man’s youngest son, who is beautiful and intelligent and basically Geno’s exact type. So right there and then Geno knows that he’s screwed. 

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A fidelidade de Deus o protegerá como um escudo.
—  Salmos 91:4.
Story idea

Ok, so if you follow me (which is very unlikely because this blog is very new) you may have noticed I just adore those “humans are weird” and “humans are space orcs” and “aliens think humans are cute” posts and now I have this plot for a story in my head and I can’t get it out.

Like yeah, all the posts with human-alien culture shock and relationships are those very serious crew members and specialists that are able to explain cultural differences and human biology and that stuff, so when there is a “weird human moment” the human can explain themselves and reassure the crew. But what if the aliens had to deal with a human that just does the stuff and doesn’t know how to explain it?

Story idea under the cut.

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Astra inclinant, sed non obligant

A short sci-fi story written for @caffeinewitchcraft’s Caffeine Challenge #12. My brain took the prompts and veered off a bit, but this was fun to write! The title means “The stars incline us, but do not bind us.”




I was born on the Saratoga, a class 2 transport running supplies between the consolidated colonies of the outer ring planets. It’s down in the records as the middle day of seven in a Night cycle as we drifted between suns, all lights on emergency use only until we could make it in range of the next system to recharge the auxiliary batteries. Mom always said that Night stretched so long because I was hoarding all the light for myself, so I could burst to life as five pounds six ounces of screaming starfire. She said she knew I’d be fine out here in the black, that she knew I could make my life here and be happy without a sun and a planet because even from that very first moment she could see the light in my eyes; a true spacer, whose inner fire keeps them warm even in the darkest times.

I never had the heart to tell her she was wrong.


My defection started like this: I was seven sol-years old and setting foot on a planet for the first time. Gravity dragged at me. My feet and hands felt heavy, my head hurt. The floor seemed to roll out in front of me, curving and bucking when I tried to walk. I fell more than a few times, and my mother tried to get me to go back to the shuttle, but I refused. Everyone else in my class had been planetside, even Monica and Neil, both two years younger than me, and I was determined to have my turn.

One of the station attendants gave me a pair of crutches and I gritted my teeth and kept going, one shaky step at a time, until I was through the doors and really, really in-atmosphere for the first time in my life.

The heat of the sun felt like a caress over my hair. The breeze tugging at my shipsuit was a revelation. There were sounds I’d never heard before, smells I’d never dreamt of, more colors than I’d ever thought possible. Actual living animals flew above me. Vibrant green plants pushed between cracks in the stone path, utterly unplanned-for.

It was too much. I cried. I screamed. I curled in a ball on the ground—real, solid ground!–and bawled my tiny heart out while the sun beat on my neck, and I refused to move no matter how my shipmates coaxed and pulled and scolded. Mom always said after it was some kind of sign, that it was proof I knew I belonged in space, even that young. The rest of the adults laughed about it for years. They’d muss my hair affectionately whenever it came up at a party, or a holiday, or a community hearing, or a graduation ceremony, and say things like That’s our Astra, and A born shiprat, you are.

I wasn’t allowed off-ship again for a decade.

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Sometimes I feel such strong love for a person, it’s like a violent attack. I need to do something to vent it, be it in the form of affectionate touch, creating art, gift-giving, or maybe just throwing something at them.
— 

INFP thoughts

affectionate INFP violence is real.