@silverfell.bsky.social
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silverfell.bsky.social
Listen, I'm not saying maths is evil. Mostly because I'm still scared of how evil my maths professors were. And it's been two and a half decades.
silverfell.bsky.social
Take care of yourselves, especially the noggin' - The Scion.

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His mother was gone. Was she? Could this be an episode like at the park? He never got around to asking her about a history of mental illness in the family. Come to think of it, other than Arbie, he knew next to nothing about his family, which weighed heavily on his mind right now. Bobby was alone, and he had no idea who he could turn to. Archie had no mobile, and his mother’s had been on the kitchen counter when… stuff happened. Did it happen, though?
This could all be a relapse into a weird universe that existed nowhere outside of his diseased head. The thought held a dark fascination, because it meant that at least his mother was fine and still taking care of him while he drooled somewhere on a bed, imagining that a monster had kidnapped her.
silverfell.bsky.social
"I would also get into a lot of arguments, if I had your mindset" - the flesh of my flesh
silverfell.bsky.social
Superman is punk rock. My demons are too. The Scion.

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Maybe the creature didn’t actually have a shape as his brain was ready to accept. Maybe the sense of madness its presence incited wasn’t the demon’s fault, but the natural reaction of Bobby’s sense to something that could not be defined by common rules. In short, maybe the demon was imply the ultimate punk rock badass. Terror and confusion were the natural result of limited minds trying to grasp it.
Or maybe it was just evil. Its best friend was a cannibal who looked like a girl.
silverfell.bsky.social
One day, I'll enjoy writing well-behaved magic and competent people who know what to do with it. Today is not that day. The Scion.

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Completely dissociated from the crowd, he started rearranging each in his brain, picturing what the sphere might have looked like had it been made right, without that messy offset. He often did this with people’s rugs when his mother dragged along to visit strangers for the holidays.
Typically, however, when he mentally rearranged carpets, they had the good sense to stay put. The orrery did not. Its central sphere started moving in response to his mental organizing. The machine was porous. It was soaking up… something from him.
When the entire thing started spinning around the central sphere, he was pulled out of his daydream. Every planet, every metal circle, every hanging gibbet, anywhere there was an axis, axle, or juncture, turned. The interlocking rings blurred into each other as they spun faster and faster. There was a whine of resistance from the air and several joints started glowing from the heat.
Bobby took a step back, scared. He’d stopped focusing on the damn thing, but he felt that warmth on his skin, the same as when the Mrs Wong creature had attacked him. The measuring device was doing its job, absorbing all the stuff that had created the tumours back then. Bobby didn’t know how to stop it.
Except that wasn’t accurate either. The thing inside him that roared with rage didn’t want to stop it. It wanted to push, and push, and give the device more of what it demanded.
Smoke started rising from every joint in the orrery, which had become a shrill buzzsaw of metal and stone that wobbled on its pedestal. This was definitely more than a single inch.
silverfell.bsky.social
Before Bobby ever heard the word "Scion", he was just mad at his family for ruining his life.

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Just as he was starting to find some peace in the familiar patterns of the view, a deep chuckle rolled over the landscape and stole his attention. It was like that, grandfather’s laugh. It actually rolled. It had energy that went beyond sound waves - infectious, lively as it danced through the notes of the beautiful, lazy day in which he had betrayed his grandson.
The old man, naturally, was late. He knew it, and his nephew knew it, but even then he kept Bobby waiting to flirt with a woman half his height and a third his age, which had been set to old movie wizard forever. The girl dithered and blushed, and Bobby snorted. It wasn’t her fault, it was hard not to get caught up in grandfather’s enthusiasm. He looked away so he wouldn’t start smiling, and to let the old man did his thing.
The park was busy today, and the birds were chirping the performance of their lifetimes.
All around, couples walked hand in hand. Some young, some older, all touching shoulders and elbows. He pictured their whispers coiling to form intricate filigrees over their heads, binding them together with slivers of hope, like a tapestry that embraced all.
silverfell.bsky.social
Those pesky elves are cosplaying as their dignified fantasy selves again in The Scion.

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“My ward was overjoyed to be given a chance to apologize for her behaviour in person, Scion. But first, let me greet you formally. I am Alcar, and I bid you welcome in Riverwell. My light is your light for as long as it shines.” 
His voice was sharp, and his words didn’t quite end where they should have, echoing through the air and dissipating more slowly than was natural. Bobby was entranced by his calm demeanour, and his beauty. He had no wings. Did the males of his people have no wings?
When no one moved, and his grandfather just looked at him, Bobby realized it was his turn to say something. How on Earth do you thank the stunningly beautiful but weird pointy-eared, slender folk who welcome you to their retro, cocaine-themed pad?
It was with no small measure of scorn that his mother’s voice echoed in his ears, tut-tutting one of her earliest lessons. Be polite, listen to what people tell you, no matter how weird it may sound. Often, it is what they want to hear themselves. So, Bobby did as his mother, a lifetime and a million miles away, had taught him.
“I thank you for your hospitality, Alcar. I am Bobby, and my light is your light for as long as it shines.”
Alcar’s expression remained impassive, but the pale man’s shoulders relaxed and Bobby could see that his grandfather was covering a smile. What the hell were they doing here? Why wasn’t everyone running around looking for his mother? Bobby turned to his grandfather, but Alcar wasn’t quite done yet.
silverfell.bsky.social
#ifinished The Conjuring 4. A 3 hour story cut down to 2. It takes almost an hour to get to the horror part and then prioritizes family moments over character and plot advancement. It’s a perfectly competent scary movie that says farewell to its heroes but does not scare at all.
silverfell.bsky.social
#ifinished The Naked Gun. A laugh out loud, outrageous homage to the originals. Maybe more of the team copying their homework than brilliant. Watched it. Enjoyed it. Would not do so again. Great Liam Neeson and Pamela Anderson.
silverfell.bsky.social
Thank you! These characters have been with me for a while. Nice to see I'm not the only one to appreciate them.
silverfell.bsky.social
I have batteries, twice on the same page. Time to edit a little, I guess. The Scion meets a pharaoh.

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His reluctant host was actually seeing to a customer, which was uncommon enough. However, when bobby walked up to the front of the gas station, questions and morning joke alike died on his lips. Standing on the other side of the counter, mutely but expressively complaining about the price of batteries, was an actual zombie.
It was as human as a desiccated corpse can look. Its lips were sewn shut, and dry muscle stubs that ended in thin tendons twitched in empty, raw eye sockets. It was missing two fingers on its right hand, but there was no doubt it was pointing aggressively at Voulk right now, over the stack of AAs between them. Bobby immediately liked the creature.
Absorbed by the spectacle, he bumped a shelf with his shoulder, and the revenant snapped around to track the boy with a crack of bone and sinew that made him queasy. Then, in the wordless way that only a tongueless corpse can muster, it tilted a curious enquiry at Voulk.
“Don’t mind the human, Amhotep. This is between you, me, and your eighty-year-old tab. Come back with one of those gems you promised back then, or find someone else to scrounge up batteries for your games of Operation.”
The corpse threw up three bandaged fingers in Voulk’s direction. It may have been arcane, Bobby got the feeling that maybe back when Amhotep was alive, they hadn’t figured out that just the middle one would do.
silverfell.bsky.social
I edited an old short story to trim it and present it to some competitions. It's going great, I'm really happy with the progress that started at 3700 words and is now 3947... #WritingCommunity
Reposted
inventingreality.bsky.social
#Indieauthor #writingcommunity #amwriting #authorsky #writersky
silverfell.bsky.social
Safe? NO ONE IS SA... ah. OK. 67 times? Whatever. The Scion meets the hobos of destiny (tm).

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He ran past rows of houses that had once seemed familiar and safe. The streets of home, neighbours he half remembered, a faceless army that may even help him if he stopped. He almost did, but no one deserved what had happened to the dogs. What had happened to his mother.
His hand was brushing against the stone of a filthy wall, his fingertips scraping grime and lichen from its warm surface, when the homeless man stepped out of the shadows under the railway bridge.
“Your kind doesn’t often come here, kid”
Shadows shifted behind the figure in rags and filthy skin. Of course, a parliament of beggars was going to judge him. Why not? At least they didn’t hate tentacles anywhere. Yet.
It took Bobby a moment to gather his mind back into a state where he could offer a coherent, human reply. How far had he run? Where was he now? What did the man mean, his kind?
His clothes. Of course. They probably didn’t see a lot of teenagers fresh from the closet of an overprotective mother, down here. The words had been rough, but there was no menace in the old man’s voice or attitude. In fact, Bobby looked into his eyes and saw resignation, and a defensive stance. There were at least two other figures in the deep shadows cast by the
silverfell.bsky.social
#Ifinished Last Shift - a horror reviewer darling, which was remarkable and interesting. Single location, zero budget, small cast, the camera and lead tell the whole story. It builds up a great sense of lore and dread. Shame it never actually delivers and cops out with the shooty ending.
Reposted
skadixiii.bsky.social
In 2021, Colombia’s Ministry of Energy unveiled an ambitious plan to transition to clean energy by 2050 by replacing fossil fuels with a low-emission hydrogen solution. As of 2025, Colombia is on track to becoming a regional leader in energy sustainability.
Updates on SDG 9 in Colombia: Hydrogen, Jobs and Innovation - The Borgen Project
The government of Colombia has already taken several steps to advance its SDG 9, which include industry, innovation and infrastructure.
borgenproject.org
silverfell.bsky.social
I did a foreshadowing. The Scion.

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The intensity of their scrutiny was predatory, not unlike that of people watching a train wreck in case they miss any of the really gory, messy corpses. Bobby made a note to ask his grandfather about the full extent of his powers. Maybe he could cast energy beams from his eyes. Energy beams would be very cool.
silverfell.bsky.social
#ifinished It Feeds - a decent if completely predictable Insidious-like movie that still manages to spring a couple of surprises if no actual scares. The Goth makeover ending is special, if completely deranged for lack of context. Great example of a movie that punches up and hits.
silverfell.bsky.social
#Ifinished Red Sonja - a gloriously silly, perfectly fun movie that demonstrates just how heart and the complete lack of pretence can make for an entertaining, fun watch. Not one for the history books, but the leads were having fun and the story was decent. 3/5, times not wasted.
silverfell.bsky.social
I may have taken a liberty of two with traditional elves of lore, but it's all deliciously meta, I promise. The Scion.

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Elven war bikes were made just like human bikes: metal and leather, bolts and spokes put together by greasy engineers listening to the elven equivalent of Southern rock. The difference was how every single component was imbued with the spirit animal of its rider. Charged with life magic, baptised in the blood of the tribe’s hunting kills, the bikes would slowly awaken, taking on a life of their own. If they lasted long enough, they even acquired something resembling a personality.
Admittedly, it seemed to always be the personality of a pissed off, hungry predator, but who was going to imbue their mystical steed with the spirit of a relaxed rabbit?
silverfell.bsky.social
Do you remember when people released things? Launched products? Announced stuff? These days, everything is dropped. I'd complain, but I've sampled some of these droppings and I agree with the word choice.
silverfell.bsky.social
I'm saving mama for the sequel.
silverfell.bsky.social
Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes? The Scion.

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Too aware of his breathing, wondering whether his heartbeat was too loud, Bobby tried to simultaneously step lightly and bounce over to the girl, to the centre of their light. It wasn’t for another hundred metres at least, which meant two corridors and at least ten rooms filled with glistening nightmares, that he risked talking.
“What the hell are those snakes?”
Idue whispered back, even lower than he’d spoken. “Naga babies. Don’t worry, they’re easy to kill at that age.”
“Hold on. Babies? Are you kidding me? Some of those bodies were two metres across!”
“Yeah, they only get their arms later on. Stay quiet, let’s walk on. Summer’s passing, they’re starting to hibernate.”
silverfell.bsky.social
Listen, the Scion can have a rude awakening of exquisite beauty if he wants to, ok?

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The house of the Braves
Bobby rose to consciousness in a sea of light. Even with his eyes closed, a glorious brightness flooded his skull and threatened to burst out of his temples. A delicate choral melody played in the background, sounding like children’s laughter twinkling through a field of crystal teeth. His back sunk in a mattress so soft that it nearly hugged him.
When he tried opening his eyes, it hurt. Light assaulted him, bursting from the blanket, from the walls, even from the curtains on the windows and the drapes around his bed. The room was made entirely of shades of bright, and they all wanted him to go blind. Outside of Sunday afternoon fantasy movies, he’d never seen that many surfaces glow at once.
The whole heavenly thing was really annoying, and made his eyeballs sore. It took him forever to focus on the shapes around his bed, and even then it took a few more minutes for the whiteout to subside.
The first thing he did was to look around for the speakers the angelic singing was coming from. It was starting to grate on his nerves, which was no mean feat considering the luminal assault on his vision. Sadly, he found nothing that might have been broadcasting the thin, ethereal whine. There was nothing in the room that looked even remotely technological.
The polar bear rugs covered an ivory floor on which an albino redwood desk stood. Arbie sat on one of the two ice-coloured chairs loaded with pillows that might have well been made of clouds. Bobby tried to look for a window out of curiosity, wondering just how white the sky was going to be.