"Oh, don't worry. I know a guy. See my cousin Pedro - you know Pedro, he's this little guy with a lisp, kids have always bullied him for it but he's gotten a lot better since he's started working with that doctor, the language doctor, whatever they're called - see, Pedro knows a guy, a banker-type fella, works in Wall Street he says, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"So this Wall Street guy says 'Look, Pedro, my good friend, whom I cherish like the brother I have so tragically lost in a bus accident when I was but a wee boy, spawning a life-long disdain towards public transport, I know this will be immensely useful to you. The wood market in Brazil is going up, so you really should invest now.' Now, Pedro, he's smart, right?"

"Yep."

"So Pedro asks 'But Brian' - that's the Wall Street guy ya see - 'How do you know about that? Isn't that insider trading?' And Brian just goes 'See Pedro, you're smart, but don't worry. See, I know a guy, a local in Brazil, Emmanuel is his name, and we had brunch recently when he was visiting - you know the little place on 6^(th) street, with the great garlic bread - and he tells me 'Brian, my good friend, you know about the Brazillian wood mafia' and Brian goes 'Why, I do not, Emmanuel my good friend, please do tell me' so Emmanuel-"

"DUDE!"

"What?"

"Do you have a pencil I can borrow or not?"

"Oh. Sure, here you go. Got LOADS of pencils nowadays - I was just getting to that, you see? Because Emmanuel apparently knew that Brian would like to invest in..."

I’d buy that book. this is lovely, thank you!

Perfect! His inability to feel love - caused by his father being under the influence of a love potion when he was conceived - can be managed if he was given proper care and therapy and taught how to deal with it!

Tom Riddle Sr. was under the effects of a love potion when Tom Marvolo Riddle was conceived. It is canon knowledge that when one parent is under the influence of a love potion at the time a child is conceived, that child will be unable to feel love of any kind. Tom Marvolo Riddle was born without any ability to love, or feel compassion for, any living thing.

Are you midwestern? Because i stg everyone i know has had this same experience 😂 minus the vampire part of course!

What would an angel want to do in the Ninth Level?

Happy cake day McKnuckles "OldKittyGG" Goldtrickle!

Kinda how we did all the other hominids on this planet

So humans have a shorter life expectancy than butterflies and house flies?

Harry stood nervously in front of his bathroom mirror. He had been running his hand through his hair in a futile attempt to tame its splayed and tangled mess, but this had proved to be much more difficult than usual. Every time he guided a lock of hair to either side of the part down the center of his head, it seemed to maintain its new position for no more than a few seconds before creeping back to the old.

It figures, he had been thinking to himself, of course everything was going to go wrong now. He should not have taken the nap after returning from work, but failing to set an alarm was an even worse decision. By the time he woke up he only had ten minutes before his date was going to arrive.

After a few more panicked swipes at his head, he decided that he was not going to do any better. He had succeeded in transforming it from a completely untamed lion’s mane to more of a loosely packed bird’s nest. It was progress of a kind, anyways. He gave an awkward smile to the mirror in an attempt to bolster his confidence in his work before he heard a knock on the door below. It must have been Fiona.

Running down the stairs to his condo, he practically threw the door open to greet her.

“Fiona!” he exclaimed, before lowering his voice a few decibels, “Great to see you.”

“I’m happy to see you too!” she responded joyfully.

Harry knew he must have been blushing because he could feel a hot pang of heat that stretched to both his ears. Contrary to his own sloth, it was obvious that she had indeed taken the time to dress up for their date. Clinging tightly to her thin frame was a beautiful, albeit unseasonably bare dress for the middle of winter. The white fabric matched her pale skin and ended just short of her knees before opening up like the flowers that adorned it, a beautiful pattern of petals from blood red roses.

“You look…” Harry started to speak.

“Great?” she interrupted before striking a side-pose. Harry was amazed that even in the yellowing, anemic light of the apartment her skin managed to look radiant.

“Actually I was going to say cold,” Harry mumbled.

“Well maybe just a little bit. You had better invite me in before I get a cold.”

“Right! Yes, please, come in.”

Harry beckoned her inside before ushering her to the kitchen where a family meal from Popeyes had been sitting since he picked it up from after work.

“You always talk about keto at work and – well, I don’t really know what that means, but I know it has something to do with meat. So I went and bought this for us to eat together.”

Fiona paused for a moment, briefly moving from a vacant smile to a vacant stare and then back again.

“Oh wow, this looks great,” she finally stuttered.

“Trust me, you’ll love Popeyes. Have you ever had it before?”

“The thing is, I think I might have left myself something in the car – do I have your permission to just run and get that real quick?”

“You don’t want to try the chicken first? It’s freshly cooked from earlier, don’t want it getting too cold,” Harry insisted, honoring the dating tip his father had told him: always be closing. There was no chance he was letting this fish off the hook, not when he was already so close.

“No, it – it looks great, seriously. It’s just something in my car that I need.”

“What could you need? A coat? You’re already here so no need. Let’s have delicious Louisiana-style chicken together!”

As Harry spoke he watched a fly buzz out from the dining room behind him. The two of them watched it dance around his head and then Fiona’s before flying out the still open door behind her.

“Right. Look Harry, you’re freaking me out a little bit here. It will only take me a minute to get this from my car.”

Too much Harry, he thought to himself. He needed to be a little less strong or he might scare her off. It was then he remembered his father’s other pillar of dating: if you seem eager, then you seem meager. Yes, it was a fine dance he needed to maintain, an impossible thin line to toe, and it was of course complicated by the fact that he was really jonesing for the chicken. Seriously, though: priorities.

“Sure, fine, no problem at all. It would be weird if I did not let you go to your car, so yeah, please – go to your car real quick and come back up so we can eat together.”

“So I can leave?”

“No don’t leave – No!” Harry spouted, nearly lunging at her before restraining himself. He scratched his head for a moment, kicking a tuft of hair back up into the air.

“No, see, what I meant is go to your car but don’t leave.”

Harry paused for another second.

“That works, right?”

“Well – no, not really. You need to let me leave here first for me to do that.”

This was uncharted territory now. I mean his dad did not say anything about this and, frankly, he had never gotten this far with anybody else.

Always be meager – no – eager to be always closing – no! – damn it, he wanted to hit himself as he fumbled around with the ideas in his head.

“Yes,” he finally sputtered after a few more seconds.

“Yes? Yes, what?” Fiona chirped, her expression returning to a smile.

“You can leave to go to your car,” he announced again, happy to see that he made her smile again.

And she was happy! Yes, very much so. So happy in fact she lunged on top of him almost as quickly as the words left his lips and buried her lips against the nape of his neck. It was a surprise to him, but a welcome one. He could feel the cold touch of her lips against his neck quickly turning to a pleasant warmth.

“I thought you needed to leave for your car,” he mumbled weakly.

“Just a little something I want to take care of first,” she replied while her lips smacked.

“Always be closing,” he whispered into her ear as the room slowly turned dark, his mind still enraptured in intense ecstasy.

“It’s always the key,” she smiled from on top of him.

[removed]

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Very invested!

nice :)

I don't even know who that is.

Happy cake day

Soul splitting work provides a ton of energy in real life too!

Hufflepuff. He finds his love for farming. All the hard work brings him calm, peace and gives his mind space outside all the trauma he faced in his childhood. It ain't much, but it's honest work.

Did somebody say His Dark Materials?

This is what i meant by this prompt, and this story is very on point 👌

She's a wee Illythid, isn't she?

"You do?" Jarrod laughed dryly. "Really? Or is this part of the act. This whole 'make them comfortable thing' you've got going on."

​

Ms. Kesner relaxed in her chair, casting a speculative gaze over him. "I do. Off the clock answer - yes, I really do." Her quizzical eyes studied him for a few moments, her foot tapping lightly against the soft carpet. "How do you feel about what we do?"

​

"I - I.." Jarrod struggled to formulate his thoughts. He hadn't taken their opulent meal, or their whiskey, or their wine. Part of him was determined to retain his sense of stoicism. He wouldn't give them anything - not his wants or desires or feelings. Yet part of him also knew these were his closing moments. If now wasn't the time to express his thoughts, when was?

​

"I hate it. I think it is everything that is wrong with the world summarized and wrapped in a neat bow." Jarrod gave in to his weakness. He would have these few moments. The last gift of men resigned to the gallows.

​

The young woman nodded, her face impassive and urging him to continue.

​

"It's a neat solution, I give you that," Jarrod continued, "you cull the population and reap countless millions in energy savings. The lights of the groomed downtown streets stay lit, and the people who couldn't conceive of making this choice will sip their drinks in the warm glow of light provided by the dead. Beyond that, you manage to quell the rising population crisis. A real two birds with one stone type of deal. Hell, I can see the jagged beauty in the thing."

​

Jarrod's fist began to clench inadvertently. His heart, which had remained calm all the way through this process, began to beat faster. An engine roaring to life. It drove not fear now, though, but a quiet and hot rage.

​

"Of course, you even manage to convince the population at large it's a service. That by freeing us of this world you cease our pain. That by neatly cutting our souls free you forgo the sins of the thing - we will not be resigned to heaven or hell. Our payment is the smooth and impartial darkness of eternity." He cast out a condemning finger towards her. "But you, and the people like you, know all of this. You knew only the hopeless would come here. Only the destitute who have on known destitution. You profit off of our euthanasia."

​

As Jarrod finished he felt his veins pumping hot blood to his face. He was turning red - he was blushing in rage and sadness and at the sheer injustice of it all. He was blushing and he hated it. His hands reached out for the crystalline glass of water. Trying to slow his breathing, he took a long drag of the ice cold drink.

​

Die with dignity. You've had your say. You won't walk into the chamber flushed. You can't give them the satisfaction.

​

*"*All of that is true, to a degree." Ms. Kesner replied. Her mesmerizing features had shifted into something that sat just between the boughs of regret and sadness. Looking closer though, there was something else. Something in the way her eyes softened.

​

"Well.." Jarrod spoke in a voice which he fought hard to level, "I've had my say. You're welcome to yours."

​

"Do you imagine it to only be people like yourself, Jarrod?" she asked. "People like yourself that come to us, I mean."

​

Jarrod shrugged.

​

"Would it shock you to know the majority of the staff that work on the operations level have had at least one close personal contact come to a generation center?" She blinked a few times, shaking her head slightly. "You are right in some sense. That only the misfortunate find their way to our doors. Yet, that is more often than you think not nessacrily symptomatic of socio-economic class or birthplace. Rather we take all kinds of destitution. Those destitute of heart, of body, and of mind as well."

​

She paused, leaning back in her chair. Her voice was low and soft, tinges of exhaustion creeping around the edges. "When my mother come, it was shortly after a diagnosis of rapid onset Alzheimers. With what lucidity she had left, she elected this fate. It was, in some small sense, fighting back. Declaring with finality that her death would not be recessed and alone. She chose her death to be, if even in a small way, an act of compassion. That her soul might bring warmth heaters on a cold night, or luminescence to the bulbs in a room dark and forgotten. So, I suppose when you - "

​

She was cut off as her watch emitted a series of low tones. The alarm. She deftly flicked her finger over the face of device, silencing it. Her eyes shot towards Jarrod, who met her gaze unflinchingly.

​

"Well. That's the bell. You can leave, of course. It's an option until the very end." She extended her hand towards him, palm open.

​

Jarrod wordlessly put his his hand into hers and allowed himself to helped out of his seat. He did not speak a word as they departed the room.

​

The dark oaken door slowly shut as they exited, as silent as when it had opened.

Jarrod sat at a polished oaken table, the warm glow of the bulbs that occupied various ornate light fixtures reflected in its lacquer polish. In front of him was a single plate, silver and ornate, with a simple spam sandwich placed in the middle. The choice of food seemed out of place among the refined and understated taste of the rest of the room.

​

Leaning forward slightly, Jarrod took another bite. Good, he noted. Despite the feeling that the kitchen staff were likely unfamiliar with his particular choice of meal, it was delicious. Some small part of him found that vaguely annoying. That people with so much could take something like that, something that he felt belonged to people like him, and improve upon it. Make it something better. He took another large bite and left the remaining half of the humble sandwich atop the shining plate.

​

Part of him felt that he should be scared. Surely, anyone would be scared. Yet despite willing his heart to race, he couldn't shake the sense of calm. Perhaps the calmest he'd been in years.

​

The dark door at the end of the room gently swung open, and the face Ms. Kesner pushed through the now open portal. "Jarrod, need anything?" she asked.

​

She was a beautiful woman. Her auburn her fell lazily around her shoulders. Its brown and red shades complimented her stormy hazel eyes, further accented by her simultaneously simple yet elegant grey dress. All of this was starkly in contrast to Jarrod's own meager appearance.

​

Jarrod knew beauty like that. Beauty that you might mistake as a casual sort of accident at first. It wasn't brought about by shades of expensive satin or gaudy makeup. There was not any overt display of wealth. Yet, most often that kind of calculated simplicity was brought about by those who'd spent their entire life perfecting the art - wolves in the clothing of sheep.

​

"Some water, maybe?" Jarrod replied. Despite their best efforts to spruce the sandwich up, you couldn't get all the salt out of spam.

​

Ms. Kesner raised an eyebrow and cast a disarming smile. "Water? Are you sure? You know you can anything you'd like. If you can dream it, we can arrange it."

​

Worried I have cold feet, then? he thought.

​

"No, thanks. Water is fine."

​

The woman nodded and exited as gracefully as she'd arrived, the door closing silently on well greased hinges. What am I trying to prove? Jarrod pondered. Part of him wanted to ask for top shelf whiskey. Part of him wanted to taste wine more expensive than a car's down payment. Yet his being refused to do so. He'd leave the way he lived. Simple. He wouldn't give in to the luxuries denied to him for so long. He wouldn't surrender now - he couldn't. Not after so long.

​

In the soft glow of the room, Jarrod wondered what other men and women must've felt like in his spot. Some had undoubtedly panicked. Felt the constricting darkness of death creeping in from the edges of the peripheral vision, and squirmed at its midnight touches. Of course, they could leave anytime as long as they pledged to pay back whatever items they had consumed. This was, after all, a voluntary action.

​

It hadn't always been. They'd started with prisoners. Of course once the general populace caught wind of this, the bleeding hearts of the world had gone into an uproar. They'd dared to ask the question 'what is the worth of a human life?' Ironically, Jarrod knew that was probably the wrong question to ask. The answer, though most with a lesser understanding of the will of men would protest, was that many lives aren't worth the husk they were imprinted upon. A week's worth of power for a city? Shit, it was a bargain.

​

He was stirred from his bout of contemplation by Ms. Kesner returning, a crystal glass of ice water clinking softly in her hand as she strode forward into the room. She deposited the glass neatly in front of him and turned sharply on her heel to leave.

​

"Wait," Jarrod spoke.

​

She paused, turning back towards him. "Yes?"

​

"How much longer?" he asked.

​

She delicately turned her wrist and inspected the shining watch which adjourned it. "About 5 minutes, now." Her features grew ever so slightly concerned. "Are you still looking to move forward with this?"

​

Jarrod let out a soft chuckle. Of course that's her concern.

​

"Yeah - yeah, don't worry about that."

​

Though she tried not to make it obvious, a bit of tension left her shoulders as she heard his response.

​

"Will you sit with me?" Jarrod asked.

​

The easy practiced smile which had danced across her features earlier returned, and she flashed a white smile. "Of course," she spoke as she moved to pull one of artfully crafted wooden chairs back from the table.

​

She settled in, running a hand through her hair and removing a few stray auburn wisps which had fallen lightly across her forehead. "So... are you ready?" she asked in a soft tone.

​

Jarrod took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess. Hell, I have been for a long time."

​

She pursed her lips and offered a sympathetic look. As he had wondered about the feelings of those before, he wondered how many times this woman had offered that exact look to those which had sat in this room.

​

A few moments went by in the resulting silence.

​

"Do you all feel good about this?" Jarrod began again, "About what it is you do here?"

​

As soon as he spoke he regretted it slightly. It's not like this woman in particular was to blame for the way the world had turned out - how his world had turned out.

​

"Frankly, yes." She didn't offer a sympathetic look at this. In fact, a thoughtful certainty crossed her features.

"Do you ever wish you could soar above the earth, taking in the view from horizon to horizon, only the wind holding you aloft?" asked the human.

"No, that sounds...unpalatable. The deep recesses of the earth call to me. The smell of cinnabar, the tang of cuprium, the ethereal glow of argentum, the vibration of corundum, the visions of quartz. It all is wondrous to explore, to discover, to share with others," the dwarve replied earnestly.

"What about you, dear elven one? You sit with us and listen much, yet you speak little of what brings you joy," said the human.

"I speak long and much, much too much among my own," the elve replied. "So much that they send me to sit with the likes of you just to shut me up."

The human and the dwarve laughed. "Tell us a little of what you say that makes them want to send you our way," the dwarve gently prodded.

"If I do, I may lose your company, too. But you have been given fair warning."

The elve sat back and seemed to peer off past the two as if something held their gaze. "I live to feel new grounds, new grasses, under my feet. I seek beautiful trees whose shape tells the story of their growth, of having been battered by storms, beaten by winds, and yet they still slowly reach for that sky that you humans wish to soar through, wish so strongly to conquer.

"I live to meet young and old, wise and foolish, strong and weak, bold and shy, arrogant and humble, and learn from them. Through each encounter, I am reminded how ignorant I am, how much there is I'll never know. But each and every one has learned something of which I am ignorant and teaches it to me.

"I return their gift by telling them something that was told to me, that they didn't know. And little by little, I spread knowledge, share the wisdom and foolishness of others... and spread a bit of foolishness of my own.

"I revel in the colors of the seasons, live to hear the storms howl from within the safety of a dwarve's cavern. I sit in the pubs where you humans gather, and listen to your loud exchanges, as the spices of the food cooking on the hearths tickle my nose, reminding me of the many places those same spices permeated the air.

"I have come to favor certain paths, even though as the years advance, less and less of the familiar faces greet me, as their younger selves grow and mature. To many I am ancient, but to the young, I am as new as the last spring they saw me.

"I have memories of places that are no more that I can only speak of around others like me. We share a common sadness that comes with the burden of seeing so much pass before us. This is why we seek to keep moving. We need to replace what is no more with what is new and wondrous, otherwise we lose ourselves in the past."

The elve stopped and sighed.

The human nodded in understanding. "So that is why the others send you away. What you speak of is familiar and yet reminds them of so much that has come and gone."

"Yes, I know the effect I have on them. They send me away, but they always call me back when the isolation threatens to intrude too much. Together we fight oblivion by laying down our memories on vellum and parchment in letters of aurum. As long as we remember and record it for others, those people and places are not lost. The paths to them are just untraceable."

"So, will you speak of me in letters of aurum?" asked the dwarve. "To know my legacy is a few lines held in memory would give me contentment."

"Only if you provide me the aurum," laughed the elve.

"I will gladly bring you enough aurum to fill sheaves and sheaves of vellum. I will bring you stealite to wipe away your mistakes, though few may they be. I will bring you the finest powdered lapis, ferrous salts, cinnabar, minium, and crystals of agates for polishing your words."

"I will gladly bring you the flight feathers of the geese to write those words, and the eggs of their hens for you to mix into those powders so the words you write can glow, if I knew I'd live on through a few lines penned by your hand," said the human.

"You both place a burden on me, but it seems you wish to ease it as best you can," laughed the elve.

"What if those lines are not complimentary? We are not known for our, as you humans say, diplomacy and you dwarves describe us as speaking few words but the most necessary ones to be heard."

"What will I care?" replied the human. "I suspect you only record what is no more, and by the time what few lines may be laid down that may relate to me, whether complimentary or fact, I will have passed onto my next adventure."

"I feel the same," the dwarve added. "What I give you freely is for you to keep alive that which cannot be held alive any other way. By the time I have become one with the earth itself, I will no longer be held foolish by my vanity."

"Oh, you are quite the vain one," teased the human. "Look at these baubles! Don't they shine! I found them!" he mimicked the dwarve.

"Oh, to see the view from the top of that mountain as the sun rises behind me, dear dwarve. Why you don't ever join me, I cannot fathom," the dwarve mimicked the human.

The elve smiled. "Both of you are why I tread this path. Sharing your meals and the long evenings together these cold days are gifts more valuable than anything you have offered me.

"You both have taught me that if any of us tried to live as another, we would not be content, but cursed."

The human raised their mug. "To the lives that fit us, that we wear like our favorite capes, that allow us to enrich ourselves."

The dwarve raised their mug to the human's. "To riches found and laid to vellum, may the words they form forever outstrip them in value."

The elve raised their mug to the human's and the dwarve's. "To the riches found in the lives of others, far outstripping the value of life itself."

The three touched their mugs together and all drank deeply. Laying their empty mugs aside, none of the three wished to break the ensuing silence as each found contentment by simply basking in the quiet companionship of the others.

It all started with Ginger. The regulars said she didn't show up for her day-shift at the Cookie Jar. I heard about it three days later on my regular snacktime visit. Ginger was my favorite. Her angelic smile would snap you to attention. That round figure. The spicy personality.

Shortbread was the second one to disappear. She was in between customers at the Jar, they said, then like that, gone.

The coppers were sent out, two useless buffoons. The short one had a perma-smile. He was one of Duckie's regulars at the Rubber Factory. He was a decent part-time saxophone player, apparently.

The tall, thin one with the unibrow I had seen around town back when the Cannoli sisters had been smashed. That's an image I'll never forget, seeing them crumbled on the pavement, ricotta leaking everywhere. I had been the main suspect then. They knew I had a violent past.

Snowball was the third. That's when I decided to get involved. I went to the Cookie Jar for some answers, but I knew I would get zilch.

I asked about the three regular troublemakers, the Wheel-Stealer, the Flute-Snatcher, and the Crown-Grabber, but no one had seen them in years.

I then went to the backstreets for some answers. The greenman was there, rummaging through garbage. He had gotten worse with the years. Couldn't get anything from him besides some incoherent grumbling.

It was on my way back that I found the crumbs. I couldn't see them at first in the darkened alley, so I tasted them. Oatmeal. I only put the clues together when I found a trail of paper clips and bottle caps.

I heard his voice then. He had been following me. I turned around to see Unibrow, feeding pigeons. "It looks like you finally figured it out. There's a market for them, you know. I've been snatching them and sending them overseas. And it doesn't matter who you tell, they won't believe you. They only see you as a monster."

That's when I lost it. If it's a monster he wanted, a monster he would get. I dashed and grabbed him by the throat and shouted, "Me want cookies!"