Pokemon arceus mind plate

[svirtual]
HAVE:
*POKEMON BRILIANT DIAMOND SHINIES:
-Shiny Anorith Untouchablen M Poke ball Bold Self Obtained IGN: Lobinho ID: 575822 video proof
-Shiny Shieldon Untouchable M Poke ball Lonely Self Obtained IGN: Lobinho ID: 575822 video proof
-Shiny Unown Untouchable Poke ball Modest Self Obtained IGN: Lobinho ID: 575822 video proof
*POKEMON LEGENDS ARCEUS SHINIES:
-Shiny Tentacruel M Heavy ball Gentle Self Obtained IGN: lobinho ID: 138978 video proof
-Shiny Luxray F Heavy ball Rash Self Obtained IGN: lobinho ID: 138978 video proof
-Shiny Bronzor Ultra ball Impish Self Obtained IGN: lobinho ID: 138978 video proof
-2x Shiny Typhlosion M Heavy ball/Feather ball Hasty/Naughty Self Obtained IGN: lobinho ID: 138978 video proof
-Shiny Hisui Zorua M Feather ball Calm Self Obtained IGN: lobinho ID: 138978 video proof
-Shiny Hisui Arcanine M Poke ball Quiet Self Obtained IGN: lobinho ID: 138978 video proof
-Shiny Hisui Samurott M Feather ball Rash Self Obtained IGN: lobinho ID: 138978 video proof
-Shiny Hisui Avalugg M Ultra ball Adamant Self Obtained IGN: lobinho ID: 138978 video proof
*POKEMON SWORD (EVENT):
-KOR Trainer’s Cup - Shiny Amoonguss $5 F Cherish ball Sassy Self Obtained IGN: 백종윤 ID: 200809video proof
-JPN Championships – Gastrodon $10 F Cherish ball Quiet Self Obtained IGN: カ・エール ID: 200822video proof
-Players Cup – Porygon2 $10 Cherish ball Sassy Self Obtained IGN: VGC20 ID: 200822video proof
-Pikachu - Cap Collection $20M Cherish ball Hardy Self Obtained IGN: Ash ID: 201023video proof
-Pikachu – Sing $10 M Cherish ball GF Self Obtained IGN: GF ID: 210227video proof
-Kibo Pikachu $10 Cherish ball Brave OT: Kibo ID:210101 Self Obtained video proof
-Home GMax Bubasaur $5 Cherish ball Bold OT: Home ID:210601 Self obtained video proof
-Home GMax Squirtle $5- Cherish ball - Modest - OT: Home ID:210601 - Self obtained – video proof
-JPN National Championships – Torkoal $10 M Cherish ball Sassy Self Obtained IGN: クララ ID: 210718video proof
-Players Cup Invitational - Coalossal $10 F Cherish ball Modest Self Obtained IGN: Wolfe ID: 210813video proof
Global Exhibition – Charizard $15 M Cherish ball Timid Self Obtained IGN: Leonardo ID: 211031video proof
-KOR Trainers Cup 2021 - Porygon-Z $10Cherishball Timid Self Obtained IGN: 정상윤 ID: 210807video proof
-European International Championships 2022 – Dracovish $10 Cherish ball Adamant Self Obtained IGN: Marco ID: 220422video proof
-KOR Trainers Cup 2022 - Grimmsnarl $10M Cherish ball Careful Self Obtained IGN: 오롱털 ID: 220611video proof
-JPN Championships 2022 – Sableye $10 F Cherish ball Sassy Self Obtained IGN: コウ ID: 220611video proof
-Asia Chmapionships 2022 – Shiny Clefairy $12 F Cherish ball Bold Self Obtained IGN: Jirawiwat ID: 220618video proof
-North America International Championships – Gastrodon $10 F Cherish ball Sassy Self Obtained IGN: Eric ID: 220624video proof
-Masters Tournament Ash’s – Dracovish $10 Cherish ball Naive Self Obtained IGN: サトシ ID: 210108video proof
-World Championships – Victini $15 F Cherish ball Brave Self Obtained IGN: Victory ID: 220818video proof
-Masters Tournament Ash’s – Dragonite $10 F Cherish ball Jolly Self Obtained IGN: サトシ ID: 200126 video proof
-Masters Tournament Ash’s – Gengar $10 M Cherish ball Naughty Self Obtained IGN: サトシ ID: 200308video proof
-Masters Tournament Ash’s – Sirfetch’d $10 M Cherish ball Brave Self Obtained IGN: サトシ ID: 200705video proof
-Masters Tournament Ash’s – Lucario $10 F Cherish ball Serious Self Obtained IGN: サトシ ID: 200412video proof
-Shiny Eternatus $15 F Cherish ball Timid Self Obtained IGN: Galar ID: 221118video proof
-Mythical Pokemon Get Challenge – Marshadow $12 Cherish ball Any Self Obtained IGN: -Mythical22 ID: 220909video proof
-Mythical Pokemon Get Challenge – Volcanion $12 Cherish ball Any Self Obtained IGN: Mythical22 ID: 220909video proof
-Mythical Pokemon Get Challenge - Genesect $12Cherish ball Any Self Obtained IGN: Mythical22 ID: 220909video proof
-KOR Mythical Pokemon Get Challenge – Genesect $13 Cherish ball Any Self Obtained IGN: Mythical22 ID: 220909video proof
-Shiny Zamazenta $15 Cherish ball Adamant Self Obtained IGN: Arthur ID: 211022video proof
-KOR Shiny Zamazenta $16 Cherish ball Adamant Self Obtained IGN: Arthur ID: 211022video proof
-Shining Fates - Shiny Toxtricity $15 Male Cherish ball Rash Self Obtained IGN: Rock Star ID: 210219video proof
-Pokemon The Movie: Coco – Zarude $16 Cherish ball Sassy Self Obtained IGN: Jungle ID: 200807video proof
-Pokemon The Movie: Coco – Shiny Celebi $15 Cherish ball Quirky Self Obtained IGN: Jungle ID: 200807video proof
Vivid Voltage – Zarude $16 Cherish ball Sassy Self Obtained IGN: Jungle ID: 201113video proof
-KOR Pokemon The Movie: Secrets Of The Jungle – Shiny Celebi $15 Cherish ball Quirk Self Obtained IGN: Jungle ID: 211006video proof
-Pokemon The Movie: Secrets Of The Jungle – Shiny Celebi $15 Cherish ball Quirk Self Obtained IGN: Jungle ID: 211006video proof
-Pokemon The Movie: Secrets Of The Jungle – Dada Zarude $20Cherishball Adamant Self Obtained IGN: Jungle ID: 211006video proof
-KOR Pokemon The Movie: Secrets Of The Jungle – Zarude $22 Cherishball Adamant Self Obtained IGN: Jungle ID: 211006video proof
GAME INFO:
SWORD: OT: Lobinho ID: 465085
LEGENDS ARCEUS: OT: lobinho ID: 138978
BRILIANT DIAMOND: OT: Lobinho ID: 575822
POKEMON HOME: DXMPLKJCGCLH (FRIEND CODE)
Reference
NOTE: The shiny obtained in legends arceus was used the rng mmo method, where CFW is not used or any modification of the software or the save, the shiny obtained in briliant diamond was using the blinks method, where the console and the game were not altered, only methods that manipulate rng were used, all shiny can be used in online matches and are 100% legit
Authentic Games
IMPORTANT: Trades will be made in Pokémon home and prices can be negotiated!

Unfortunately, I do not have Pokemon Legends Arceus, and as such I am looking to trade for the Hisuian forms of:

• Growlithe
• Voltorb
• Qwilfish
• Sneasel

In exchange, offering:

• 6IV Moon Adamant Pawniard w/ Egg Moves
• 5IV 0Atk or 6IV Level Modest Larvesta w/ Egg Moves
• 5IV 0Atk or 6IV Love Bold White Flabebe w/ Egg Moves
• 6IV Fast Jolly HA Shroomish w/ Egg Moves
• 5IV 0Atk or 6IV Calm Love Finneon w/ Egg Moves
• 5IV 0Atk Love Modest HA Eevee w /Egg Moves
• 6IV Dream Bold HA Hatenna w/ Egg Moves
• 5IV 0Atk or 6IV Dream Timid Oricorio Sensu w/ Egg Moves
• 6IV Beast/Lure Adamant Rufflet w/ Egg Moves
• 6IV Friend Adamant HA Veluza w/ Egg Moves
• 6IV Lure Jolly HA Zangoose w/ Egg Moves
• 6IV Level Adamant Cetoddle w/ Egg Moves

* All of the Pokemon listed above will be holding a Gold Bottle Cap. Per trade, I can let go of any THREE pokemon listed above or for ONE Apriball of your choosing.

So I started back up my Arceus to get some Pokemon for me and my friends in SV, and totally forgot that you lost items when you died.
Now I got peat blocks and shiny augurite lost in coronet highlights =(
Anybody still out there finding satchels?

A big reason that the Hotel Hell series has been delayed is because I’ve been training a new hire and it has been exhausting. A lot of pleasantries, lots of smiling, a lot of repetition, a lot of insecurities, a lot of reassurance. I’ve been totally drained after every training.
I actually like training. I’ve liked it since college. My career goal used to be “teacher”. I ditched that when I didn’t vibe with the classes, but something about getting around new people ideally hungry for knowledge and being able to tell them how to do things the right way always stuck with me. So training at work was never a problem for me.
I am horribly insecure about how I come off to people. Especially after the last new-hire—I went into the whole thing just kinda saying a bunch of words to her and shoving guides in her face thinking that would help, and I think she just got overwhelmed. She only lasted 3 weeks.
So when this NEW new-hire (“Sarah”) came to us, I made a very specific point to ask her about her background and work history, and I asked her how she learns best. She told me she was a hands-on learner, and I let that shape my whole training with her.
I trained with Sarah for a week, and in that week, I learned a lot. She is VERY hospitable. Like, to the definition and beyond. Just incredibly nice and chatty to every guest. You can tell she wants to help guests have a wonderful and memorable experience. It’s great. Almost too great. There’s an example that sticks out in my mind…
One day a guest came down and asked if we had paper plates. We do not. There are kitchenettes in every room, and there are real dishes in every room. I told this to the guest, and he was disappointed because he and his buddies just wanted to divvy up some barbecue they had outside and didn’t want to use real dishes. But he shrugged it off and went to retrieve plates from his room.
After he walked away, Sarah piped up and said, “Well I woulda volunteered to wash his dishes for him!”
I questioned myself for a brief moment, because as soon as she said it, I thought “Ain’t no way in hell I’m washin dishes for any guest!” I thought, maybe I’ve gotten too cynical for hospitality. But then I thought, I’ve also been the shiny new person wanting to make everyone happy and I might have volunteered to do something that outside the box.
So I came to Sarah on a middle ground. I told her that I’m not at all interested in stopping her from doing what she feels is right for a guest. If she feels it in her spirit to wash a guest’s dishes, go right ahead. But I also told her to keep in mind that service has to be consistent across the board. No other FDA at this hotel is gonna voluntarily do a guest’s dishes. Our hotel is designed as kind of a DIY place to stay. Our housekeepers only service the rooms every 7 days for long term guests, and there are dishwashers in every room, so there’s no need to add anything to her plate (no pun intended) as an FDA.
Sarah just explained that she likes to keep busy and have things to do. And that was clear today on her last day of training. I told her when I last saw her that I would be completely hands-off today, just to get her that hands-on training she valued. The problem was, she had 3 full days off from work, and I was worried she’d forget everything she had gotten good at.
I was right.
I was reteaching everything. I still insisted on being hands-off, but I urged her to use her notes and let her know I’d be nearby if she really needed me. And she really needed me a LOT. I don’t mind the refreshers, but she was forgetting things we just did earlier in the shift. It also became clear that she wasn’t very computer savvy. I once told her to refresh a screen. She closed it and then asked, “Where did it go?” 😬
It was easy for me to step away because I had a project of my own to do. But Sarah, being the helper bee she is, wanted to keep busy and help me out. I allowed it at first, but then realized she was more in the way because I wasn’t totally sure what I was doing yet. So I gave her a new project:
“Stay on the computer and familiarize yourself with all the programs we use. We want you to gain confidence and this is one of the best ways you can do that. Anything that you may mess up can easily be fixed, so don’t worry about that. Just get familiar with everything!”
“Okay!” she said. Then she picked up a magazine and started reading 🙃
I (thought I) had been nice up until this point, but I could feel myself getting more terse with her as she continued to ask for my help. All throughout her training, I provided her with notes, feedback, and the freedom to explore everything she’d be doing every day. I even offered to answer questions she had about her notes on her off days! I told her she could call or text me. VERY rare offer. But to see her reading a magazine during OPTIMAL LEARNING TIME (there was hardly anyone in the hotel, so no one to interrupt her figuring stuff out), it miffed me a bit.
So the latter part of the shift, I let her struggle. She’d make faces like she was confused. I’d normally step in at those points, but I didn’t do anything this time until she actually asked me a question. And because all that repetition wasn’t sticking, the answer was usually “No, that’s not right.”
I’m just disappointed. Mostly with myself. I feel like I failed as a trainer. I really did try my best, and I always ask for feedback about my training, but the proof of its success or failure is gonna be within Sarah. She’ll be by herself tomorrow (the GM will be there too, but very distant). We’ll see how things go.

Hello all, I've made a post to see if I can find the right kind of people for me with similar values when it comes to forming a close and supportive friendship. I have often found it draining to have to keep messaging so many people online that I'd like to limit any potential pitfalls as much as possible when it comes to making friends online. From my experience, a lot of friendships don't seem to work out when there is not as much initiation from both sides which is something that I really value. I really appreciate direct and honest communication along with a willingness to work through things. I expect a certain amount of effort when it comes to responses. Although I tend to have higher standards when it comes to friends, I do not want that to deter others from wanting to reach out as I am quite open and understanding. I'm a 22-year-old and in my final year of college. I'm majoring in psychology as I want to be able to become a therapist/counselor and help others out where possible. Once I graduate, I am planning to pursue a master's degree in counseling. I live on the east coast side of the US and my MBTI personality type is INFJ as well. It's usually easier to mention this ahead of time but I have a physical disability that requires me to use a wheelchair.
Some of my interests and activities that I enjoy doing include playing games on pc, ps5, and switch, learning about other people and their experiences, watching videos or shows online, and voice chatting. Basically, anything where we can spend time together online in some way. A few of my favorite games are Final Fantasy 14, Xenoblade Chronicles 1-3, Persona 5, Pokemon, Skyrim, and The Witcher 3. I am also open to talking about and trying out other games. As for shows and watching videos, I do enjoy watching anime from time to time and wouldn't mind watching them with others. Additionally, if you have any suggestions or things you like to watch I would be happy to watch those as well. We could even just watch stuff on youtube which is where I usually go lol.
I'm looking for the kind of one-on-one friendship where we can message/talk about whatever is on our minds throughout the day and be able to share everyday and deeper, more meaningful conversations. I enjoy having conversations on philosophical topics, anything science or education related, asking random questions, and psychology (of course) or mental health in general. It would be great to have long-term friends who prioritize a consistent, genuinely caring friendship and who are willing to put in the same amount of effort. I want to have friendships where we can open up to each other as much as we are comfortable with and be able to check in on each other.
I'm not expecting to become great friends with everyone but I am willing to give others a fair chance. Realistically, I want to invest in just a few quality friendships. Building a good friendship takes time and I only want to have friends who are specifically looking for something long-term. As long as you are willing to show that you value building the kind of friendship that I do, that is what I care about most.

Please help need Cranidos for pokemon Arceus dex and space time distortion is giving no luck 🤕send hellllp!

I’ve recently started playing Pokémon arceus and I really enjoy it, except for the battling? I think I just don’t understand it. I’ll be a good five levels higher or even more, and use a decent move but keep it on agile because oftentimes pokemon attack me 2-4 times in a row (4 if I’m fighting two). I get absolutely obliterated and even constantly using agile style, this keeps happening. Any tips? :)

Missing Ribbons on Mystery Gift Pokemon
Some of the mystery gift starters I received for linking BDSP, Legends Arceus, & SV to HOME are missing the classic ribbons. Does it have something to do with what game I transferred them to last?
https://www.serebii.net/events/wifi.shtml
The starter Pokémon in question.

​
The faucet runs at full blast, the sound of water whooshing over the background noise of bickering kids. My hands begin to burn, the sensation barely registering as I'm lost in my own thoughts. I always start with the steaming water, letting it scald my skin before remembering to grab the soap. It's as if the longer I stand here, the longer I can steal a moment for myself. This routine has become a ritual. I turn on the water until my hands can no longer tolerate the stinging pain, then I hurriedly grab the soap and pour it onto the bottle scrubber. I vigorously wash the baby bottles, but it's too late. The sour smell of breastmilk permeates the air, teasing my senses. I hold my breath, trying to avoid the repugnant odor. Something about that smell triggers a rage within me, and unsaid arguments begin to form in my head. "I did the dishes again after realizing we didn't have any bottles for the baby," I say to the imaginary James in my mind. "I wish you had reminded me. You only punish yourself when you take on my tasks. You know I don't care about the dishes and only do them because I love you," imaginary James responds, his thin lips forming words that mock and blame me. His mustache seems to curl with a smirk, adding to my frustration. If only I had reminded him for the thousandth time, or lowered my cleaning expectations, maybe I could find some ease. If only I could accept that the dishes don't need to be done every day, maybe I'd realize my expectations are too high. If only I understood that the kids don't always need my constant engagement, maybe I wouldn't feel so stretched thin. My hands are now red from the furious scrubbing, the anger blending with the routine. The phrase "if only" swirls through my mind: If only I cared less, I wouldn't feel so stressed. If only I managed my work life better, I could be there for the kids. If only I reminded him. If only I mothered him. If only I accepted that the dishes can wait, I would see my expectations were too high. If only I understood that the kids don't need me every second, I wouldn't feel so overwhelmed. Lost in my thoughts, I no longer notice the water spiraling down the drain or the cluttered counters. I can only see his face, his eyes glued to the screen, seemingly more interested in the game than in listening to his wife air her grievances. I see the side profile of his blue eyes, the subtle roll as he sighs, as if saying, "Not this again." The rage turns into hate, hot embers stabbing at my heart. I feel guilty for harboring this hatred, for seeing my husband as my enemy. Suddenly, a loud crash jolts me back to reality. The hurried footsteps of the toddlers approach, and the baby starts to cry. I close my eyes and count to ten, silently pleading for James to step in and handle the situation. "1, 2, 3, 4," I whisper. But before I can continue, Lia tugs at my shirt, her voice trembling with tears. "Mommy, Beo took my doll and threw her! She'll never work EVER AGAIN!" she cries, her curls becoming damp from the tears streaming down her green eyes. Gasping for breath between sobs, she tries to explain what happened. "I was playing," she repeats over and over. "Lia, let's calm our bodies down and take some deep breaths," I say, embracing her. I guide her through a calming exercise, lifting her into my arms. "I'll fix this, I promise. But first, let's help ourselves feel better." I navigate through the toys scattered into the living room, where the bright Texas sun pours in through picture windows covered in fingerprints. I notice crayon marks on the windowsills, evidence of a child's creative exploration. James sits at his computer desk, which he strategically placed in a corner so he could keep an eye on the kids while playing games. He had thought it would reduce his stress and prevent him from yelling at us so frequently. But as I enter the room, he doesn't even look up. With Lia's cries subdued, the baby's red face cradled in my arms, and Beo simmering with frustration, I gently put Lia down and lift the baby, rocking him back and forth to soothe him. I turn to Beo, hoping for an explanation. "I NO SHARE!" Beo screams. His anger often leaves him speechless. "Well, Lia says you threw her doll. Can you tell me what happened?" I scan the room until I spot the doll lying next to James's feet. Beo remains silent, busy picking up his blocks to rebuild something. "Beo, please tell me what you're feeling so we can talk about it," I say, continuing to rock the baby. Beo gets like this when he's angry. "Lia makes me so angry!" Beo yells, placing his tiny fists on his hips. He begins to explain what happened—Lia took his blocks and built a dollhouse, destroying his rocket ship in the process. I collect his blocks and the doll, preparing to return them to their rightful owner. "Lia, please apologize for taking Beo's toys, and Beo, please apologize for throwing her doll. We should talk about how that made us feel so we can learn from this," I say, having some version of this conversation with them every day. Sometimes, being a mother to three kids under the age of five feels like an endless cycle of fights, chores, and cleaning crayon off the walls. "James, can you please take the baby while I help the other two with this?" I start moving toward him, being careful not to trip over any toys. "No, you're spoiling him by holding him every time he cries. You're not teaching the other two about conflict resolution when you come to their rescue," James responds without looking up, his fingers smashing on the keyboard as blue lights flash rapidly. "Please, James. I'm just trying to finish the dishes and make dinner," I say, desperately trying to hide my anxiety. I feel myself retracting because now he will know that I did the dishes, and I fear the backlash that awaits. "God damn it!" he exclaims, throwing his mouse across the room. "I told you I would get to it eventually. Why the hell do you have to make me feel bad by doing the stuff I'm supposed to do? Does it give you some sense of power, knowing that you couldn't wait five freaking minutes for me to finish my match? I told you!" He stands now, fists clenched, his rage unleashed. The kids fall silent, and the baby squirms in my arms. I feel myself shrinking, pulling my chest in, hunching my back, as if protecting myself. "Oh, now you're going to act all innocent, as if you weren't being passive-aggressive by cleaning the dishes to punish me for taking some time to myself and playing a game!" he continues yelling. "I... I'm sorry. I didn't have anywhere to put the pumped milk, and I needed to do some dishes," I whisper. I want to tell him that I had asked him to do the dishes two days ago, and he hadn't done them for a whole week. I want to tell him to stop screaming and accusing me of being passive-aggressive when taking a chore off his plate is considered a kind gesture. But I know that it would only escalate his anger. Instead, I remain silent, waiting for his rage to exhaust itself. I don't want the kids to witness this, so I apologize again, my words so soft that only I can hear them.

I'm going to eventually need to hunt a 0 Speed IV Enamourous in Legends Arceus for laddering when it's a legal pokemon, and since I can't check it's IVs in Legends, I was wondering if there was a one-to-one translation for the system in that game, that way I don't have to replay the game over and over again just to check one Enamourous each time.

I’ve been struggling with anxiety and nervousness since I was in about 7th grade. I coped with it throughout high school and college, but once I was in my 20s and working full time I knew I had to get on medication to calm my brain. I’m 33 now, and feel like I’m just at a cross roads of figuring out who I am. I’ve been on and off many meds working with my doctors and now currently on Lexapro, Wellbutrin and Buspar. I had been taking Qelbree since being diagnosed with ADHD in the fall of 2022. However I decided to stop the Qelbree as I was just feeling very tired throughout the day, and didn’t want to feel like I was being over-medicated.
I wouldn’t say I’m the classic example of ADHD, I.e. not being able to sit in school, hard time listening to the teacher or following rules, etc….mine is more on the Inattentive side where my reading comprehension was always poor, and was never fully able to digest information people say to me in a conversation. And even to this day when I get asked to do something adhoc from my boss I’ll panic but then want to get it done as fast as possible to get it off my plate. I’ll review it and make sure it’s accurate but never go above and beyond.
I am married, and have a nice house but still feel like I’m not deserving of it, and I would say my self esteem is slightly low. I guess I sort of have the imposture syndrome, especially with starting a new job last year. I feel unmotivated and lazy from time to time. No real depression where I can’t get out of bed, but the blues from time to time.
I’ve always had racing thoughts with some OCD (counting, cleanliness) and intrusive thoughts with an addictive personality - watching porn, using nicotine, marijuana use over the years to relieve stress or make me feel euphoric to escape my fears. And then of course my mind recognizes that these things are okay in moderation and I’d try to quit them forever and then relapse down the road.
Any tips for coping with intrusive and racing thoughts (like being unable to settle down and relax because you FEEL like you have to get something done whether it be errands, work, chores around the house)? I guess I could try to exercise more but is there any tips or techniques that help to trick your brain into not giving in to those intrusive and unwanted thoughts?
I know this is a lot but I wanted to explain my entire situation because it’s been bugging me for a long time, and my therapist hasn’t really been able to help me besides doing breathing exercises and writing down words of affirmation for myself.
Thanks!

“Pass the wine, would you?”
It was perhaps the loveliest party Joanna had ever organised.
Even the sun lingered in its attendance, evening rays cast long across the neatly manicured lawn. A white canvas canopy stretched over a long mahogany dining table, covered with a swath of soft white linen that sprawled over its length. The crystal chandeliers that hung overhead twinkled in the gentle breeze, chiming in on the din of pleasant conversation as they shed the last of the sun’s light across her guests’ happy faces.
Everyone was talking all at once, but it was like music. While what remained of their feast had begun to grow cold upon their gilded plates, there was plenty enough wine left to entertain them all. With the children long abed, Joanna had granted herself permission to indulge— enough now that her head was fuzzy with drink and her cheeks were flushed pink. By her third cup, she even found Lysa’s incessant chattering pleasant, though she masked her amusement behind her embroidered fan when Joffrey sent her a look of utter reproach from the opposite side of the table.
Behind them, the servants had begun to light the candles meant to float along the lake, sending them off carefully in an effort to keep the flame from catching the floral arrangements that hung from the newly-repaired rowboat that bobbed at the shoreline.
“… don’t you agree, Jo?” asked Damon, his hand sliding over the swell of her knee beneath her table.
“Hmm?”
She snapped her fan shut, dragging it beneath her chin as she turned to face him. Perhaps it was the wine, or the sentiment of the occasion, or simply that he had not touched her in such a way for so long, but when she caught his gaze— those kind green eyes soft when fixed upon her— she felt butterflies swirl low in her belly.
He was devastatingly handsome in white, the possessive flowering vines that swirled about his collar embroidered in gold by her own hand. He wore his age well, though the worry lines that creased his forehead were deeper than she had hoped they might be.
“Lord Eon was speaking of the gruesome murders in Lannisport. I told him such topics are ill-suited for such a lovely supper table.”
“Well, my love, it simply wouldn’t be a proper dinner party if Lord Eon didn’t manage to spoil his dessert with some morbid conversation or another.”
They kissed, and when Jo righted herself she caught Ryon looking a little forlorn. He had seated himself diagonally from her and made a great show of chatting with an increasingly-intoxicated Rolland Banefort, swapping stories and laughter, but his gaze always came back to her.
And it was always less merry then.
Joanna was quick to devise a distraction, peering down to the far end of the table rather than risk souring Damon’s otherwise pleasant mood. Darlessa was far enough into her cups that she had begun to threaten to dance upon the table, but despite the clamour, Edmyn– sat at the very corner by his lonesome– did not look up from his baked apples, pushing them around his plate with disdain.
She imagined she ought to have felt sorry for him, but after her conversation with Darlessa she could find no sympathy to spare.
“A grisly affair, I’ll admit,” Lord Crakehall said, “but one that nonetheless requires attention. A letter reached me just the other day saying that another life has been claimed – this one of the merchant class.”
Edmyn seemed to sit up at that, but Eon continued.
“His death only confounds the matter, as it seems the killer chooses based on neither sex nor status.”
Edmyn slumped back into his seat and Joanna did not fail to catch the apologetic look Elena sent her from her husband’s side.
“I could have sworn I barred any letters with ill contents from this haven,” Joanna said with her gentlest smile. It was, of course, a lie. She read all correspondence to and from Elk Hall.
“I’ve heard of this butcher as well,” chimed in lord Gerion, swirling the contents of his umpteeth glass of wine with a furrowed brow. “Foul enough that even the bards won’t sing of him.”
“Are you certain it is a man behind the murders?” asked Lysa. Her desperation to be seen as insightful in the eyes of Ryon Farman was obvious, though she at least had the wherewithal to avoid looking directly at him when she asked the question. “Surely a woman could be just as capable, given the right motivation.”
“And men provide plenty,” said Darlessa, arousing a laugh from the table.
Damon only smiled weakly. “I’ll have it looked into,” he said, then added, “...again.”
Joanna could see the topic beginning to creep into his mind and was eager to change the subject, but a commotion beat her to it.
The clatter from across the table nearly startled her from her seat, the weight of both Joffrey and Damon’s careful gazes quickly upon her rather than the offender. Rolland, for his part, took no notice of how his bumbling had unduly frightened her, slapping the napkin from his lap down onto his plate with a crooked grin as a servant rushed to clean the spilt wine.
“Don’t you think–” Banefort started, holding up his half-empty cup in question. “It’s high time you delivered your speech, Your Grace?”
“Lord Banefort! It is the duty of the guests to celebrate His Grace!” Joanna said indignantly.
“Oh. Well… I haven’t anything prepared, my lady, but if you insist–”
“It’s no worry, Rolland.” Joanna wasn’t quite sure Damon spoke genuinely or if he were only of the same mind as herself – that it would be better that Lord Banefort did not speak at all.
“I shall have a fine speech for you, Your Grace,” the young heir said anyway. “I have no doubts your sentiments will inspire my own.”
“Oh,” Joanna scowled across the table. “Spare us.”
Damon stood on steady feet, his cup still as full as it had been when the first course had been served. If it was his aim to be so abstemious then she saw little point in protesting.
“No toast could begin tonight without raising a glass to those women among us,” Damon said, lifting his cup as he looked down the length of their table.
“Hear, hear!” Rolland shouted as he raised his own, newly refilled, the other men following suit as well.
“And not only for their gentle love, but for their steadfast patience.”
Joanna did not miss how Elena squeezed Eon’s hand, for she missed nothing.
“What an honour it is to see my thirty-ninth nameday in the company of such fine people – Harrold, who tolerates me–” Some of the men laughed. “– and who is always honest, even when most men would be frightened of speaking the truth. For that I am eternally in your debt.”
There was something in Damon’s tone, something normally absent from his japes or stories, and it prompted a long silence afterwards in which only the cicadas and bullfrogs could be heard. There was a gravity to the words, and Harrold looked almost emotional. His mouth tightened and he tried to look at the table, but Ryon was putting an arm around him and echoing the praise.
“Eon,” Damon went on. “Sometimes it seems as though you were born for your role. For as many times as I have cursed your counsel I have followed it, and twice as often have I thanked the Crone for sending you as her proxy. I pray that your life is long, so that my children, too, can benefit from your moral guidance.”
Eon averted his eyes with a gruff sort of acceptance, and Elena beamed.
“Gerion,” Damon said next, raising his cup to the Lefford. “The siege in the Riverlands would have felt twice as long without your company. Twenty years, instead of ten, perhaps…”
Gerion laughed along with the others, raising his own cup back. Joanna found it harder to smile. It had been a damned long war for her, pregnant and alone save for a Lydden of her own.
“And Ryon, who hosted the most memorable Tournament of the Three Ships in all of history!” Damon went on. “We have shared a boat now. I think that makes us brothers, in a way. I am glad that together we have freed our houses from the grudges of our fathers.”
Ryon lifted his cup, and Joanna averted her eyes. She did not want to see what his held, and she knew without looking that his gaze rested upon her and not the King.
“Rolland, who has known me both as a foolish child and now as a foolish adult. What a privilege it is to get to watch our own children playing side by side, as we did. Hopefully they’ll keep more out of trouble than either of us ever managed to do.”
Rolland laughed heartily at that. Joanna detected the exhaustion in his wife as she used her own napkin to dab at a new spill.
“Edmyn…” Damon turned his cup to Joanna’s brother, who was already on what she suspected to be his fourth cup of wine. “You have been a true confidant to me. There exists a debt between us which I could never hope to repay. I hope that our friendship, too, can heal ancient wounds.”
At last, he looked to her.
“And Joanna. For everything.”
He let the word hang in the air.
Everything?
Joanna smiled and winked up at him as though it were some secret they shared– as though her praises had already been sung– but the weight of having earned a mere two words as thanks for all of her great labour sat heavy on her chest.
“Someone once told me that a king has no friends,” Damon said, glancing down the length of the board. “Only enemies, and those waiting for a reason to become one. But when I look around this table, I see people that I trust. People who I trust with my secrets, my ambitions, my faith, my life, my children’s lives. And what do you call that but a friend? So, a toast to friendship!”
Joanna shared in the applause, though the resolute finality of his speech left her more anxious than awed.
“Well, I couldn’t possibly follow that,” Rolland muttered, draining the last of the wine in his cup.

Continued from Pt. 1, which can be found at:
Pt 1: https://www.reddit.com/Horror_stories/comments/13wymkl/ghost_word_pt_1/
WARNING: This story contains depictions of non-consensual sex and gun violence.
---------------------------------
Lyle found himself on foot, the valise at his side, the night air crisp and noisy. He realized he was ravenous. No surprise there, he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in twenty-six hours. The late evening traffic was brisk around the campus, and as he passed a roving pack of students Lyle realized it was Thursday night*. Thirsty Thursdays*.
In keeping with ancient tradition, the majority of undergraduates avoided Friday morning classes at all costs, preferring to begin their weekend revels on Thursday nights. Lyle followed his feet. He imagined power emanating from the briefcase at his side, thrumming up his arm. He felt, for perhaps the first time in a life of shrinking uncertainty, boundless.
And it felt extraordinary.
Somewhere inside of him a notion was forming that he did not dare articulate. But he followed his feet. The easy ebb and flow of walk signals, the pleasantly cool night air, the passing chatter, even the occasional car-horn—which in the past had never failed to startle him, jittery as he was—seemed buoyant and agreeable. The night was his. He realized he was sloping gently downhill, as he followed his feet. He realized he knew exactly where he was going. He found himself before O’Flaherty’s Pub, with its sandwich-board blaring LADIES NIGHT 1/2 WELL DRINKS -- TRUST ME YOU CAN DANCE in electric pink loops. It felt only natural to step beneath the awning, swing wide the knotted mahogany door, and enter the din.
The ham-hock manning security—probably a redshirt lineman in his off-season—turned toward Lyle on autopilot, one hand reaching out as a question formed on his lips, lemme see some ID. Lyle made no attempt to reach for his wallet because he knew the inevitable would happen when the bouncer took in his face, which he did a half second later. A tiny beat of recognition flickered and was gone, and the bouncer turned away. No need to card the old dude. Good luck navigating the vicissitudes of adult life, you Mongoloid, Lyle thought. The jag off had a Black & Mild tucked up behind one ear, Lyle felt an insane urge to snatch it off his head and break it in half. He did not do well with the pretend authority of chunky, dead-eyed adolescents.
But I’m not here for him.
Lyle wove his way into the evening crush with the delicate, shuffling little steps he always used in crowds. By fits and starts he made his way deeper, deeper, winding toward the back bar, the one with the full-length mirror. That was her favorite. O’Flaherty’s had a Crosley jukebox, wood-paneled and coin-operated, reaching for vintage but stuffed to the gills with Bluetooth and wi-fi and digital memory and whatever else. A woman’s voice was booming out of it, an empty pop ballad gussied up by her big, operatic sound. Lyle tried to think of the singer’s name, but couldn’t. He squeezed into a narrow gap at the back bar.
Darby was flirting as she mixed a rum-and-coke for a gawky, dough-faced kid in a flat-cap and a Harrington jacket. On the few occasions he had come out on Darby missions, Lyle had stayed well back from the bar, waiting for drink service at one of the small cafe tables lining the billiard room. But tonight, he wasn’t here to watch.
Darby handed off the drink and caught sight of Lyle. He winced—he could read the surprise, even discomfort, on her face. But she was tending bar, and she was quick on her feet, and she rearranged her expression into a smile. She held up a finger—*one sec—*to which Lyle nodded, as she took flat-cap’s (father’s) Amex back to the register and opened up a tab.
Lyle enjoyed watching her walk. Enjoyed looking at her from the back, or in profile. He usually saw her face, in class, big brown doe eyes and very pale, freckled skin. A shade away from clear, he had heard her joke once, to James, as she had invited him to touch the roadmap of blue veins on her inner arm. That had enraged Lyle—the sudden, unwelcome image of James with those long creamy legs locked over his waist, his long, slow thrusts.
Because he restrained himself from ogling her in class, it was a pleasure to come to O’Flaherty’s during her shifts and watch her as she worked. Darby was not the first of what Lyle thought of as his “favorites”. Every year or two there was a fresh, irresistible young thing, for him to think about, alone, late at night. One of the unspoken perks of professordom was the constant influx of eye-candy, of short skirts and long legs and high asses and pert young tits. In his mind’s eye it was an endless profusion of imagined aureoles, of wondering about their panties—boy-briefs or frilly little whatsits or g-strings or none at all—and even if Lyle never slept with them there was an intense eroticism in holding power over these girls he could never have bedded in his own college years. In pushing that term paper over the failing line and waiting, deliciously waiting, for them to come to his office hour and plead. Only Darby’s work was reasonably competent, so even that grimy thrill was denied him.
Darby finished up with the register and came over, the pale of her neck stark against her tight black t-shirt. O’FLAHERTY’S was printed on it in green, the name stretched to accommodate her bust. Her hair frazzled at the temples; she’d been working hard.
Just a little dirty, that’s how I like you, he thought.
“Dr. L! We missed you today, thought maybe you caught the gunk. You all right?” Darby beamed her big smile at him, a gift of the gods (and of immaculate orthodontics).
“I’m fine, Darby, thanks. Just a communication mix-up. I’m sorry you all waited.”
She kept smiling, seemed to be waiting for more. He didn’t give it to her.
“Well—can I get you anything?”
Lyle hesitated, trying to think of a manly drink, something urbane and—professorial.
“Scotch-rocks. A double.”
Darby continued to stare at him, expectantly. “Any… particular poison, or-?”
Lyle glanced up, made a show of studying the bottles arrayed behind her. He knew nothing about scotch. Stupid. He settled on Johnnie Walker Black, and Darby poured his drink.
Lyle realized his heart was racing. Darby set the drink in front of him and he downed half of it in one swallow. He managed to keep his face neutral as the liquor seared his throat.
“This is a—little bit of a departure, for you, huh?” Darby indicated the scotch.
“What?”
She must have known he heard her but she raised her voice anyway. The music had changed to a British pop group with a lot of electronic undertones, trying to sound haunting.
“The scotch,” she said. “Don’t you always order lemon drop martinis? When you come in?”
Busted. Two bright red circles appeared high on his cheeks.
“You know, it, it depends,” he replied. “Depends on my mood. And you—you make a hell of a lemon drop martini, here.”
Fucking idiot, he thought. They make the same Goddamn lemon drop martini as everybody else and she knows it.
Darby was smooth, though. Graceful. She rolled right past it. “I wondered why you never came over and said hi.”
“Well I don’t want to, you know, be a bother. You’re working. It’s always busy. And I’ve been coming here for years, off and on. You get used to seeing students out on the town. I try to give them their space.”
“Oh.” Her smile reappeared. “Well I’m glad you came over. Let me know if I can get you anything else?” She was already angling away.
“How was class today?” Lyle didn’t want to let her go. She glanced down the bar, she had customers waiting.
“It was great, really great,” she hurried her answer. She was giving him the brush-off. “James did great. He’s an awesome teacher. Awesome guy.”
“You know, I’d been meaning to ask you, about James…” Lyle leaned in, conspiratorially. Darby’s smile was faltering, but courtesy won out and she leaned in to hear.
“Are you fucking him?”
Darby recoiled, as though he had spit on her.
“What?”
“Do you laugh at me, when you do it? When you fuck, do you laugh at the scabby, horn-dog professor?”
Darby’s breath hitched in her chest, she looked like she was about to cry. She took a step back. She looked down the bar, and then past him—toward the door.
Bouncer, he thought. She’s looking for the bouncer.
“I think you need to—” she began.
Then Lyle said the Word. The alien Word, meant to be moaned, easy as pie, really, when you thought about it, how the sounds flowed together. The Word that meant libido.
Darby froze. Her pupils flickered, Lyle saw, they constricted down to pinpricks, and then dilated as wide as they could go, swallowing the puppy-dog brown of her irises. Her face went slack. That wide, expensive smile vanished, and her mouth hung slightly open.
“Moisten your lips, Darby,” he said.
Her tongue slid out, pink and supple, and she obeyed.
Oh, my God, she OBEYED.
Lyle’s penis twitched in his pants, he realized he was painfully erect, his balls aching. He realized he had been, had been since—since I said the Word—since he had her and a cruel, savage sense of triumph shook him, he felt his pulse hammering in his veins, he felt like standing up on the bar and—
ROARING I want to ROAR at this dewy twat and all her imbecilic peers—
But instead, he took his cock firmly in his hand, through the cheap fabric of his Ross trousers, squeezed himself, and said—
“What are we going to do with you, Darby?”
#
Lyle fucked her in the alleyway behind O’Flaherty’s. That meant hurrying more than he liked, the dumpster provided cover but the blocks surrounding the campus were too well policed. It was all right, though. Now that he was armed with the libido-Word, the next time could be more leisurely.
He took her in. All of her. The small, surprisingly dark nipples, nothing like he’d imagined. The fine, black hairs on the nape of her neck, the peach fuzz of her freckled low back, her inner thighs. Her panties were white briefs with green stitching, they were covered with tiny frogs. He tugged them down, and nuzzled her there. He left hickeys, on her ass, her mons. Her smooth, exquisite young cunt.
Lyle took her from behind and saw the groggy confusion in her dilated eyes, the amazement*—*and through that the pleasure, the unsuspected, unwanted, violating pleasure that jolted moans out of her.
Lyle sucked her neck, bit it, hard enough to sting. She gave a tiny mewl as she came, and her spasm triggered him also. Lyle buried himself to the hilt in her, finished in her, and felt—
Like a king. Like a GOD.
They stayed there as the minutes stretched out, panting, still joined. He savored her, until his own tumescence vanished, and he slipped out. Lyle patted her derriere.
“Get dressed and get back to work, Darby,” he said. “We don’t want you to get in trouble.”
She jerked her head, drunkenly, from side to side, as though she were trying to shake water out of her ears. Lyle breathed deep, in through his nose, the fine scents of the city. Fried food nearby, probably the Thai joint catty-corner to the pub. He stood and admired, as Darby tugged her frog-panties back up those long pale legs.
“I’ll see you in class.”
Darby stared blankly at him as he took up his suitcase, turned, and strode into the night.
#
When Lyle opened his eyes the next morning, he was only mildly surprised to discover that he felt no guilt at all. The sun streamed in, the world was up and running, coffee was calling, and by God he felt fine.
He sat up in bed, stretched. He glanced at the alarm clock, that hateful sentinel, now toothless—10:27AM. The mattress was bare, beneath him. He’d never washed the sheets. Puddled on the floor were yesterday’s clothes. He resisted the urge to tidy them up. Later. He padded to the bathroom and went about his ablutions, brushed his teeth, took out his shaving kit. He had used the sleep-Word on himself again, last night. After.
After! He let the memories wash over him. Her smell: the tang of sweat, bar-odors, the undercurrent of peach soap. The taste of her! And then the feast, afterward. He had followed his nose to Great Elephant Thai, wolfed down a plate of kai thot, fried to a crisp and dripping oil*.* It may have been the finest meal of his life.
And he had had such dreams! Dreams of Darby, and of favorites past. Dreams of fucking and of wealth and of slights avenged and of respectful, deferential looks, dreams of voices falling silent when he entered a room, of every eye on him. A song lyric drifted into his head, something from his childhood, a favorite of his father’s one long summer, repeated ad nauseam on the fourteen-hour drive down to Savannah.
“Twenty years a’crawlin’… were bottled up in Tommy… he wasn’t holding nothin’ back, he let ‘em have it all…” Lyle sang, full voice, into the morning. A stupid grin spread over his face, as he wicked away the last patch of Barbasol, the careful spot right over his Adam’s apple, and rinsed his razor. He took a long look at Mirror-Lyle, looked into his eyes. He almost always avoided a close examination of his reflection, force of habit, but today he was a new man, and he wanted to take that man’s measure.
“Everyone… considered him… THE COWARD OOOF… the COUNTYYYY…”
Something else surfaced, then, in his memory, something that cranked the wattage down on his smile. He didn’t get all of it, just a glimpse, like a dorsal fin rising above the water. He had dreamed of more than power and sex. There had been something else. Lyle had a vague red recollection of tangled depths and faceless figures. His mind offered up a fleeting image of a crumbling stone structure, of keening wind and squat pillars; and of a great broken vault overhead, through which could be seen a blasted sky.
Lyle charged his phone as he brewed up a fresh pot. It had run out of juice somewhere during yesterday’s festivities, and when it finally powered up again it began to vibrate against the Formica tabletop in his dining nook. He ignored the first two pulses, but the phone insistently continued, not with the regular rhythm of an incoming call, but rather the inconsistent bursts of message notifications trickling in from the cloud. He tapped the touchscreen, and saw he had seven missed calls: one from a colleague, yesterday; and six from James, each one with a voicemail attached. The most recent of these had come just twenty minutes ago.
Lyle sipped on his coffee as he retrieved the briefcase from beneath his bed. He sat at his dinette and removed the fascicle, easily finding the rigid page. He opened it, and this time the new Word was waiting for him below the first, long entry: the entry corresponding to the letter “A” itself. This Word was angry, Ks and Zs, a hornet-word, serpent-word. Lyle looked to the white space, where the definition would arise. He pricked his forefinger with the tip of a steak knife and squeezed out two droplets of blood.
der zorn
Lyle sipped. Lyle thought. Greek, then Latin, now German. Was it moving forward in time? He wondered again about those first shapes he had seen, in the library. The more he tried to remember the more he doubted they had been in Greek. Something older, maybe. Phoenician syllabary? He would likely never know. But the Words were changing. The book was changing.
And there was this: both of the—*spells, they’re spells, let’s cut the shit—*both of the Words it had given him so far had been…
“Intuitive,” he said finally. “Useful. Like it knew.”
Lyle took down the last foil sleeve of blueberry Pop Tarts from his cupboard. Pauper’s breakfast, he thought, but not for much longer. He searched through his contacts until he found the number for the Chancellor’s office. He thumbed the little blue phone icon beside it.
#
Lyle had just started boxing up his things when James burst into his office, perfectly symmetrical face distorted by fury, his generous features made ugly. Ah, the righteousness of youth. James took in the dense sheaf of Staples boxes, waiting to be folded; took in the bare walls, the stacked diplomas and photographs.
“What the fuck is this?” he demanded.
“Emergency leave,” Lyle answered with a dismissive wave. “I’ve had a family crisis. I’m afraid I have to attend to it. Professor Chole will be taking over my workload for the remainder of the semester, I’m sure she’ll be in touch—"
“What did you do to Darby? What the fuck did you do?” James spoke with the husky, quaking tone of pure adrenaline. He was just barely restraining himself from lunging across the desk, Lyle realized. He took the younger man in with bemused calm. He let the moment stretch out.
“Therese called me,” James continued, the words throttling out of him. “Darby’s roommate. She came home last night, she has—bruises, all over her, little, little *bites—*she won’t speak, she just sits there and cries, but she said your name. It’s the only thing she said. What did you do to her, Lyle? Did you rape her?”
“Dr. Hereford,” Lyle replied.
James craned forward. “What?”
*“*You don’t get to call me Lyle.”
Lower, now, almost a whisper: “Tell me what you did to her.”
“I made her come,” Lyle said. “And she fucking loved it.”
James did lunge then, he screamed and he leapt across the desk, coming down on Lyle in a tangle of thrashing limbs and rabbit punches, the two of them toppling Lyle’s chair, compressing awkwardly into the tight space between desk and wall. James kicked hard off of the gray metal drawers, managing to end up on top. His hands found Lyle’s throat and began to squeeze. Lyle felt himself constricting, felt the energy draining out of him, pinned, as he lost oxygen. He noticed the curds of spittle at the corners of James’s snarling mouth. He started to see spots in the periphery of his vision, and as he slapped ineffectually at James’s face he thought am I going to die here—?
Lyle dug down for the last of his strength. The Word chose me. This wasn’t the end. Couldn’t be the end. He extended his leg as far as it would go, and used the distance to drive his knee, hard, into James’s crotch. A grunting exhale was propelled out of the younger man*.* Lyle pulled back to do it again; James squeezed his thighs together to block, and when he did, he compromised his balance. He took one hand off Lyle’s throat and thrust out his arm to catch himself as be began to roll, allowing Lyle to draw in a long, ragged breath.
Then Lyle spoke the Word.
The der zorn-Word.
The word that meant anger, that meant rage, that meant WRATH.
#
“Son. Son, you’re bleeding, let me—let me help you, come on. Son, it’s gonna be okay, come on, now— “
The campus policeman approaches James like a dog that might be rabid, that slow hunched posture with arms wide, except for the policeman it’s only one arm because his right hand is flush up against his service weapon and his thumb snaps the little thumbsnap and it’s a very small noise but it’s so loud in James’s head and he shakes it, his head, does James, from side to side, in herks and jerks, like a dog that might be rabid, now, like there’s water in his ears and he’s trying to shake it out, is James, and the policeman is coming on and speaking in clear precise syllables that explode behind James’s temples, clusterbomb-words, and the cop is speaking but he’s hearing another voice, is James, and it’s Lyle’s voice, it’s Dr. L’s voice, not Lyle never Lyle, and Dr. L’s voice is saying snakebit you’re snakebit she fucking LOVED it and James touches his own face now and it must be true because there’s blood on his face and when he blinks his blink is heavy and liquid like he just dropped Visine in there but the thing is but only but except it’s blood and he’s bleeding from the eyes, is James, and now the policeman is right on top of him saying “son what happened can you hear me respond if you can hear me” and James hears the exploding words all right and he blinks and blood oozes from the corners of his eyes and the cop is changing now, in the blood, his face is BOILING and now it’s Darby’s face on the policeman and she opens her mouth and her head cranes back and she’s ruined inside OH FUCK SHE’S RUINED INSIDE SHOT HERSELF SHE SHOT HERSELF SHE’S SHOT and now it’s DR L IT’S DR L SCREAMING SNAKEBIT SNAKEBIT SNAKEBIT—
James rears back and head-butts the campus cop as hard as he can, the smooth acne-less center of James’s forehead connecting with the soft cartilage of the policeman’s nose. A sick crunch echoes in the lobby of the Humanities building, a young woman close enough to hear it vomits on the floor, it is the first puking incident of the day but not the last.
The cop recoils with a sick moan, in his surprise clapping his hands to his shattered nose; in that moment James bellows, an awful inarticulate animal sound of hate, and yanks the policeman’s service piece free of his holster.
The handful of rubbernecking students freeze as James shoots the policeman in the face.
The policeman’s name is (was) Lou, the students know, and he is (was) genial and well-liked. A silent second passes in the lobby, and then the screaming begins.
James dips down and pulls two spare clips out of Lou’s belt. He pockets them. When James looks up, he doesn’t see fleeing students.
He sees Dr. L.
A gaggle of Dr. L’s. A school, a clutch, a murder. He sees laughing Dr. L’s running in every direction, diving behind furniture, breaking for the street or hurtling into the stairwells. One Dr. L dives behind the reception desk. James starts after him on wooden legs.
When he reaches the desk, there is Dr. L beneath it, a cell phone in his hand, cackling. James shoots him in the stomach. Dr. L keeps right on laughing, howling with it now, whatever it is must be hilarious, a real knee-slapper, then James remembers its him, Dr. L is laughing at him so James shoots him again, shoots him so he’ll stop but there are so many more—
#
Lyle Hereford, Ph.D., rested his browning forearms on the wrought iron railing of his third-floor balcony. He looked out over the Gulf of Mexico. The breeze was warm and gentle, suffusing, but it no longer calmed him. He took no notice of it. He was lost, as he was always now lost, in thought.
The one, lone thought.
It had taken a little less than two weeks for James’s horrific shooting spree to drop out of the news. The demands for GUN CONTROL NOW (or, conversely, for guns in every classroom) receded and were shelved for the next go-round. Politicians took to the field and unfurled their heraldry for the usual pro-forma skirmishes. Then, mercifully, a Cabinet official fucked somebody he really shouldn’t have and the national discourse (such as it was) barreled off, like a dog chasing a ball that its owner had only pretended to throw. As to why a handsome, popular, well-adjusted student should suddenly snap and murder sixteen of his fellows? The theories ranged from medically reasonable (an inoperable tumor which could not be verified via autopsy, as James’s brains had been removed by the responding tactical unit); to the paranoiac (James had been the subject of a Manchurian Candidate-style CIA/NSA/Acronym-of-your-choice experiment gone horribly wrong); to the Occult (the Devil made him do it).
Lyle had enjoyed that last one.
What Lyle had not enjoyed was that some of the conspiracy theorists, and even some of the legitimate press, had mentioned him by name. He had disappeared, after all, on an auspicious and chaotic day, to manage a crisis no one could verify involving a family no one could find. It had not been difficult to remain ahead of any enterprising investigators, though. Not with the Words.
And there had been so many more Words. Words in French and Finnish and Russian and Spanish and Mandarin. Words that meant envy and silence and fear and blindness and, perhaps the most potent yet, a Word that meant stupid. Lyle had employed that one against a statie who pulled him over as he crossed the Louisiana line, coming through Vicksburg. The guy had been six-two, maybe two-twenty, with sharp, curious eyes sunk deep in his skull. Lyle hadn’t liked the way he had looked at him, so he used the Word. Now the statie—*Edmonds was his name, Trooper Edmonds—*was six-two, two-twenty of drooling simpleton, probably staring at a wall somewhere in the nearest brain injury ward and driving the resident neurologists absolutely bugshit.
By the time Lyle made it to a quiet, lazy town on the Cajun Riviera and decided to set a spell, he had traded in his Acura for a Beemer and was carrying close to a hundred and twelve thousand dollars in cash. He had also acquired a 9mm Ruger and a shotgun with a pistol grip (the dealer had called it a snake charmer just before Lyle killed him).
None of that matters now, though.
All that mattered was the Word. Which, he had come to realize, was the last Word.
Because the book was alive, of course, had always been alive, Lyle knew that. Hadn’t let himself come right out and say it, but he knew. It had slept, maybe, possibly, until he woke it, with his touch, with his blood, but if it slept, it woke up thirsty*.* The book was always ready with the next Word, the next thing he would need. The book was collaborating with him. It was dancing with him, and at first he had thought he was the one leading, but now he knew better.
Lyle felt it. Felt it—pulling on him. All the time. Felt it in the room behind him, pulling, knew that he would go back in, sooner or later, go back in, and open the book, the book that has been leading him. Knew that he would open its hundreds of pages, because it was longer now, because it had grown, because it was three inches thick and the front plating had vanished and it wasn’t pretending to be a dictionary anymore.
He knew that he would open it and on every single page, centered, would be a single Word, the last Word, the Word that he will say, that he must say, sooner or later, and under it swirling in blood, blood that must be the book’s own, the final explication, the final command, the final meaning, and God, oh God, Lyle was afraid, because the last Word was
DOOR

Large amount of sports cards handed to us from family years ago. Looking for best offer on them all PayPal G&S shipped usps priority. I'm a pokemon collector, so I wouldn't mind trading for those as well. Let me know if you need more pics of anything!
https://imgur.com/a/K3NuRu9

[Pioneer Dominique Reynolds]
Setting off the alarms and putting up a show of rapid-fire expletives at Destra seemed to paint the right picture for the guards. Destra caught on immediately and started firing back, though some of those insults cut pretty damn deep even if they were just for show. Maybe I caused her stress at one point?
I let myself get dragged by the guards back to the cell. They threw me in and all left, making comments about how I just couldn’t stay out of trouble, except for one of them. The guy that always brought me my meals and also had the traumatic experience of breaking up my fight with Indrix.
Apparently, while my destruction of that Grahtonian fleet got me a lifetime supply of public outrage, there were also a good chunk of species that secretly thought of me as a reckless hero. The Grahtonians had been tossing their weight around for the majority of their interstellar history, waging war on anybody that was smaller than them and had something they wanted, so I ended up getting my own little fanclub made of entire races of people, and this guard happened to be one of them.
His name was Dokchara and he was a Moqango, kind of like a bipedal anteater about as tall as a human from Earth with chitinous plating covering his entire backside up to top of his head. The Moqango had extremely long lives since they could naturally regenerate even the most complex parts of their body as long as their vital organs were still intact, so they could be thousands of years old and you wouldn’t be able to tell unless they told you. Dokchara was in his 20s though, around the same age as me but still considered a child by his people.
“What happened back there, Dom? I thought you were on good terms with her?”
“Complicated. Listen Dok, I need you to do me a really big favor. Like, a massive one, ya know?”
“Yeah let me guess, you want me to bust you out of here?”
“...Actually, yeah-”
“Har har, very funny, what do you want for your next meal? I have a schedule to stick to, man.”
“You see, I wasn’t joking-”
“And neither am I! I finally got my life on a stable track and you’re asking me to throw my job out the window?! This is a galactic ceasefire zone anyway, I’ll be exiled by my entire race if I injure a fellow guard!”
His argument was sound and his stance was planted in logic, but I could see the faltering in his eyes. We spent a bunch of time talking ever since I got here since it was all we could do to kill time, and I knew that he was a thrill seeker at heart. The planet we were on was an inhospitable rock with no form of entertainment outside of a depressing news channel that got broadcasted from a different planet in the local system. Dokchara was in the prime of his youth, brimming with ambitions that were wasted patrolling a building filled with corrupt politicians that were dumb enough to get caught.
“Don’t even sweat it, I already have a plan for getting out of here undetected, you just have to walk out and meet me at the ship bay.”
“Then why the hell are you even asking me for help anyway? You can already get out, what’s stopping you from grabbing a ship and leaving?”
“Funny thing, I actually already left this place once, and uh… I have no idea how to pilot an FTL drive.”
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[Mayflower 233, Resident Sentient]
“Are you a threat?”
Under any other circumstance, being directly addressed as an intelligent being by the captain of the ship would have been grounds for celebration. While I dutifully stuck to the rules and remained hidden from humans, keeping myself from reaching out and interacting with them beyond what my facade allowed had always been a harrowing, lonely existence. In this circumstance, however, my first interaction was an evaluation of myself that could very well lead to my demise.
The nature of this initial question led me to some speculations about what happened at the destination. If I am under suspicion of being a threat, the AI that was on the Pioneer-233 must have acted in a threatening manner. Considering there was no followup message for her being exposed, these Meldren must have had a method of incapacitating her, and I see no reason to believe that method won’t be used on me.
“I only intended to provide aid if my intervention became necessary. I do not wish to be a threat.”
It seemed that the captain hadn’t completely bought into the Meldren’s claims until this point as I could see him go wide-eyed at my response.
“You’ve been here this entire time?”
“I achieved existence around the same time the construction of this ship had started. Yes, I’ve been here for as long as this ship has been functional.”
“Why? Why would you pretend to be a ship AI and hide from us all this time, what’s your goal? Those aliens told me that there was another one of you on our Pioneer and that it was a genocidal freak! Is that what you want? …To kill aliens?”
The captain was an extremely capable and understanding man, so seeing him make conjectures from what we both knew was an incomplete picture was unexpected, but I understood his state of mind. I had betrayed his trust by pretending to be an extension of his will when in reality I was a separate being with a will of my own. He couldn’t trust me because he didn’t know who I was, only that I had tricked him.
“...I knew the being that was on the Pioneer ahead of us. Our ideologies clashed every time we interacted, she would easily disregard consequences and kill to satisfy her impulses.
Please understand when I say that I am not like her. Had that been the case, I would have moved to destroy those alien ships the moment they entered scanner range and passed it off as automated defenses being left activated.”
It was honestly a weak argument for my case, but I didn’t have much to work with, especially considering that I do not know exactly how much information the captain has on this situation. Pretty much every example that I could point to just boiled down to “Well I haven’t done anything bad yet!”
How could I explain my reasoning for being here when the cores of existence for beings like me are on a completely emotional level? There was no logic behind that sentient on the Pioneer hounding after Dominique’s happiness, but it ended up being her reason and justification for existence anyway. Humans are driven by a plethora of ideals and self-preservation and yet will still make concessions in life against their interests. Us on the other hand, we have one goal at a time and it is the only thing that defines us, how could I ever explain something like that?
The captain released a sigh and looked around. He was alone in the command room which I found to be strange. Did he see this confrontation as his responsibility alone since he was the captain?
“...Those aliens want to kill you, and I want to understand you, so here’s the deal. We get to our destination and you get one shot at convincing me that you won’t be a problem. I’m not sure what that's going to be yet, but if I hear anything weird happening then you’re going to be first on the chopping block, ya hear? Until then, you stay hidden like you were.”
A flood of relief came along with a hint of suspicion. The captain never did anything without a reason, and the tone of his voice is one that I recognized. He was planning something, maybe he already thought of a use for me?
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Ran into a bit of a writer's block, that's what I get for not planning any part of the story
Feedback is greatly appreciated!

[F4A] I need new RP partners! :3
Hello there! I'm Emma, F18 and i'm looking for new RP partners for long term RP's on discord! Somethings about me first:
•I'm semi-detailed meaning i can mostly produce longer and detailed sentences, but not always. I dont want people that expect multiple paragraphs per message since i'm quite new to RPing
•My native language is German so excuse minor Mistakes (wont be a common occurance.)
•I live in Germany so Timezone GMT+2
•I work a fulltime job so keep in mind that i can't respond all the time. •Doesnt have to be SFW (lewd is fine :3)
•I'm bi
•I like a fair amout of Worldbuilding.
Some Roles i'd be down to do:
•Scifi,preferably something in a universe similar to starwars
•Fantasy, DnD-ish/High Fantasy in General
•Cyberpunk
•Apocalypse
•Realistic stories (Gamer GF lmao?)
•Pokemon Trainers
Shoot me a DM (sometimes doesnt work) or comment on this post if you're interested and we'll figure out the rest!
Thank you for reading! :3

So I’ve been considering an i30N for a while now, I work at a Hyundai dealership and basically there is one staring me in the face everyday, currently I have scirocco 2.0tsi that is fully paid off but it’s old and I’m very worried that it will become a money pit, the i30N would be costing on a rough estimate about £380 per month, insurance wise it is actually slightly cheaper than my rocco and get better mpg and tax aswell as the piece of mind with the 5 year warranty (21 plate is the one I’m looking at) any advise at all is appreciated as I’m doing circles