Daily OpusEverything I write is freely rebloggable. Just keep the source and tell people about my books :D [Until I decide otherwise, my pronouns are Ze/Hir/Hirself. As in "Ze went to the shops to get hir medication hirself". Thank you for the respect.]
The dereggers owed him a lot of money. But they didn’t want to pay. However, he knew a way to get what he wanted and get back at them at the same time. He wrote a contract, iron clad, and had both deregger and galactic witnesses to sign as well as the leadership, smilingly, signed over a solar system that was at the edge of their space in between their space and galactic space. And in the signing, he grinned.
It was a trash planet. Polluted, filthy, air unfit, water unclean, barely anything living.
It had been a trash planet, covered in centuries of detritus the dereggers ditched there, garbage they now just shot into their solar system’s sun because it was cheaper than sending it here.
He had a dream, he had a vision, and a planet to turn from a pariah into paradise.
When the DeReggers saw the verdant, green, healthy planet that was a havenworld-like paradise, well, let’s just say they regretted signing that contract. – TrashToTreasure
The difference between garbage and treasure is all in who values what. Dereggers are famous for routinely throwing out anything they don’t like but is valued by others. Lots of them devalue the weirdest stuff. Like half the population. Or, in this case, lots of biomass. Food waste is definitely a thing for a lot of Dereggers and for a solid century or so, it was more profitable for them to just chuck everything they didn’t want onto one garbage planet on the edge of their territorial claim. Food, defunct technology. Honestly, Humans get very wasteful when they have entire solar systems of resources at their disposal. They drained off the chemistry of an entire gas giant to fertilise their crops. Then they went shopping for a system full of gas giants.
You wouldn’t believe it if it wasn’t so real for so long and in so many places. Heck, some of it’s still going. So. Long story short, this mob of Dereggers was defaulting on their bills so hard that the combined forces of the Alliance were breathing down their necks. It wasn’t until the CRC decided to withhold “additional genetic information” - translated, more gene patterns for their gengineered women - that they finally relented and began to negotiate.
Small shock that this Deregger colony, like every other Deregger colony ever, had vastly inflated their holdings and couldn’t actually hand across the value they initially promised. I know. I shouldn’t have believed them. But here’s the trick. This was exactly what I was aiming for. In exchange for a public apology across all of their networks for one week, I would be willing to settle for a trash system they had bordering agreed Alliance shipping lanes. They thought I was a born sucker.
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Due to the well of my friends’ “def not an axe murderer” date recommendations drying up, I have turned to that most sacred of modern relationship institutions: online dating. As a very busy person trying to get it in with other very busy people, I prize honestly and directness above all else when it comes to profile creation. I include full body shots in my photos, try to minimize the use of MySpace angles in selfies, and write at the very top of the summary/caption/profile that I am fat. Not “curvy,” not “thick,” not “lots to love”–I’m f*cking fat. I’m not ashamed of it, but I also known that weight is a dealbreaker for lots of people. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.
About a year ago I met “Evan” via Tinder. We exchanged friendly messages for a few hours one night and agreed to meet up for drinks the following evening. I waited for a full hour past the designated time, and just as I was getting up to leave, the texts started rolling in.
“I can see you sweating from here.” “How long does it take you to roll out of bed every morning?” “Is there an earthquake or are you just getting up for more pretzels?”
Really idiotic, juvenile shit. Four separate numbers, commenting on things like my clothes, which clued me in that the senders were nearby. This went on for 15 minutes before I finally saw Evan, trying to hide in at a corner table and giggling with a group of buddies. I made eye contact, saw that he saw me, and then walked out. The texts kept up until I blocked the numbers a few hours later.
I ran into Evan about 3 weeks later. We got on the same elevator, and he tried really hard at being super interested in the emergency phone instructions. I just confronted him, and he admitted it was just some “game” that him and his friends play. He knew I was fat before agreeing to meet up; they all did, because that’s what they do. Match up with fat women, then either ghost them or “troll” them at the meet-up. It was also kinda obvious he’d never seen any consequences from this bullshit, as he was sweating pretty hard and looked more humiliated than I felt. I just said whatever and walked out, expecting to never see him again.
About a month ago, some local foodie wrote a great review of the restaurant I own, and we’ve been slammed ever since. In the past, I stayed mostly in the kitchen, but I’ve been doing more and more front-of-house stuff lately, and Valentine’s Day I was working a bit of a split between the two.
I saw Evan just as he was pushing in his date’s chair. My name isn’t on the restaurant, and he didn’t see me. I checked the section up at the hostess stand and saw that one of my favorite old-timers, Nan, was going to be his waitress. I went to the bar till, took out $400, put it in her hands, and said, “This is going to be your only table for the rest of the night. You are going to make this the worst date he has ever been on.”
She spilled every single thing she brought out to the table, all over him. I was waiting for him to blow up on Nan, but he bottled it up, obviously trying to make a good impression on his date. She seemed like a perfectly lovely lady; I told Nan to make sure everything was good for her and terrible for Evan.
She poured ice water on his d*ck. She smacked the back of his head with the edge of a tray. Spilled soup on his shirt. Dropped every fork he asked for. I personally oversalted his food, used the shit liquor for his drinks, used flour instead of sugar on his dessert. To be honest, I don’t know why he didn’t just walk out. He must have really wanted to f*ck this woman.
Finally, he cracked. Demanded Nan find the manager and bring her out. I was only too happy to emerge from the kitchen with my chef’s coat and say what, I’m not ashamed to admit, I’d been planning out all night.
“I would have said hi earlier, but I didn’t want the earthquake to disturb your dinner.”
I will savor the look on Evan’s face for the rest of my life.
He was a little too flummoxed to explain, so I pulled a chair up to the table and introduced myself to his date, Amanda. Told her how I met Evan. Showed her some fun old messages. Then I told gave her a voucher for a free meal on her next visit and told Evan to get the f*ck out and never come back.
Human teenagers had terrible lives in their intergalaxy school. When humans joined to Galaxy Alliance they’re started to sending their children to schools on other planets. Well… Teenagers have been harassing and bullying without any kind of defence because “humans will always be barbarians and if they do something to someone is abuse and they should be held in cages like animals”. One time some Havenworlder starts to offend [name]. He choose wrong person. This was last time that anyone tried to piss of human teenagers. – Anon Guest
Integration is always a rough time. Just ask Ruby Bridges[1]. Of course, in the intervening centuries, assorted people have become more… subtle… about ostracising the different.
Imagine coming into a group of peers, every day, and having them feign being afraid of you. Imagine being unable to tell that they are feigning those fears. Imagine being singled out of shared classes because your mere presence causes upset. The teachers do not want to teach you. The administration wants to get rid of you, to shunt you away and declare integration a failure. They want to blame you, because you are the newest factor and the change is in correlation to your presence.
Imagine trying to handle all this at four years of age. Imagine continuing to handle it from there to the age of fourteen, when hormones and growth patterns both begin to do things to the body, to the brain, to the mind and heart and soul. Imagine all those stresses for an otherwise kind and gentle soul who has nevertheless held out hope against the face of it all that they could still make friends, in spite of all evidence to the contrary.
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for a link to the rest of this story, and details on how to support this artist. Or visit steemit (dot) com (slash at) internutter for the stories at their freshest]
Anonymous asked, "Taz prompt: Angus gets bullied at school, but hides it from Taako because he’s scared about him over reacting. "
Angus stabled the deer he’d ridden and crept through the less obvious corridors of the farmhouse to his room. He needed his sanctuary right about now. Just a few minutes to breathe where nobody could get to him. Just time enough to centre himself. That was all he needed.
The smell of the old tree almost instantly soothed him. He nearly burst out in tears at the smell of Taako’s cooking, down in the big kitchen. One of his Welcome-home extravaganzas with all of Angus’ favourites and mood-boosters in the mix. Of course, too much for one small boy, two parents, and an aunt and uncle to devour alone, so friends of the family would be invited for an instant party.
Some of those friends had kids who also went to Miller Academy. Kids who knew everything. Every little detail of every embarrassing thing that nobody could shut up about whenever he was in earshot.
Angus could just imagine what that party would turn into. It made him feel so very not hungry. Which was bad. He knew that intellectually. He also knew that he hadn’t been eating much at Miller’s either.
Angus didn’t want another caring lecture about proper nutrition from Taako. Especially not in front of anyone he went to school with. That sort of thing would spread like wildfire. He wouldn’t ever stop hearing it in mocking voice from anyone and everyone.
He huddled up on his bed, clutching at his stomach. He didn’t want this to happen, he didn’t want to feel sick, he didn’t want to dread the news of today and tonight reaching the Miller’s gossip mill. Yet… here he was, doing all of that.
Worse. Taako had noticed, and come upstairs. “Hey, boychick. Not feelin’ so good?”
Angus deduced that Taako had rolled high on his Perception and Investigation checks and was probably running an Insight check right now. Lying would be pointless, but he could still tell a very specific truth. “I don’t want a neighbourhood party tonight, sir.”
Shit. Fuck. He’d called Taako ‘sir’ instead of ‘Papa’. That was the deadest of dead give-aways. Now one of his adopted parentals knew that there was trouble.
Taako was the king of over-the-top reactions to literally everything. He would call down storms. If there was anything worse than being tormented, it was having a parent rescue you from being tormented.
That sort of thing never died down or went away.
“So who do you not want at the party?”
He was fishing. “Please don’t call down any wrath, sir…” Shit. Again. He did it again. “I couldn’t… I don’t… Please…”
Gentle hands ran through his hair. “Ango… Sweetheart… I’m not gonna do anything to anyone, I promise. I know how the pecking order goes in asshole schools. What’cha need is a means to get back at ‘em while looking completely innocent. So… who’s on your kill list?”
“I don’t want anyone killed!”
“Metaphor, metaphor. I promise.” Taako crossed his heart. “At least give me their usual routine.”
Explained at length, it didn’t sound as horrible as it felt, but it was what Taako referred to as making hag stones. One little drop of water didn’t do much, but dozens, day after day, year after year, could wear the heart out of anything. It had been a very hag-stone semester for Angus. Hour after hour, the concentrated effect of five drips had literally made him sick to think about it.
Papa Taako eased him through the episodes, using a little bit of magic, a little bit of comfort, and a lot of logic. Eventually, the beginnings of some plans hatched forth.
For now, not inviting them to the welcome-home bash was punishment enough.
For now.
Real justice, served at sub-zero temperatures, would happen later.
[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 4]
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Across societies, across worlds, there are things that could be counted as gifts - but definitely aren’t. Drum kits for the hated one’s children. A bear cub. A baby ape. A dragon’s egg. All of those and more can only be called trouble. And then there is the coup de grace of malevolent gifts for a despised individual.
A pregnant housecat. Specifically, a fluffy pregnant housecat. Which makes it difficult to tell that said cat is even pregnant at all.
Sadistic observers know well what happens next. The cat will have her litter in a secret place, safe and secure for her kittens. The new owner will not be immediately aware that they are even there. Cats, of course, are stealthy predators that can also be prey. It’s in their vested interest to conceal their helpless young. Then the owner suddenly finds out that they have four to six cute, fluffy little kittens of doubtful parentage. But they are adorable.
“I may be crying, but I can still kick your ass!” – OohLookShiny
To be heroic, you don’t have to be physically strong. It’s an advantage to have that, but it is not necessary. To be heroic, all one needs to do is continue in your efforts to improve the world despite the torturous circumstances in your way. People even have a term for the sort who can deal a lot of damage, but also end up almost ruined in the process. “Glass Cannon”.
To be heroic, one must be willing to lay everything on the line to right what once was wrong. Even one’s own life. Because the stakes matter that much.
Gin had taken the moniker ‘Glass Cannon’ as a warning to her enemies and her teammates alike. Yes, she could go off. She could knock a great deal of hit points off the bad guy of the week. But she could also end up in a lot of trouble from some relatively low hitters. And now she was here. Facing down the biggest, baddest, big baddie of them all. The one who started this fucking nonsense in the first place.
“Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die. ” - Carrie Fisher – @recklessprudence
There had never been a more elaborate plot to advance a child in the history of anywhere. It was so elaborate that it didn’t come to light until years after the fact, when they found Chatelaine Fairweather’s diary.
It began, as most things do, with a snub. Chatelaine Fairweather’s daughter was passed over for advancement to the Lady’s Maid, or even one of them, in favour of a cousin with all the brains of a mayfly. And the worldly experience of one, too. But since the Lady’s Maid was also the feast’s cup-bearer for the Lady and her staff, the Chatelaine came up with a plan.
First, she gained a favourite cup, and instructed the witless Lady’s Maid to always bring her drinks in that cup. But she made certain that nobody else heard the instruction. It was a cheap thing of gilded bronze and glittering glass, appropriate for the Chatelaine’s station.
