I am very sorry for your misfortune, but I could hear Stede saying “It had become saturated with fake tan water, Ed!” and it really made me laugh
12.02.2026 20:14
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I am very sorry for your misfortune, but I could hear Stede saying “It had become saturated with fake tan water, Ed!” and it really made me laugh
Audio for chapter 23 of Constellationism by @shearwater-bird.bsky.social now ready for your earballs. 37 minute file and a delight throughout! on.soundcloud.com/PMPMGo247wEE...
A dark brown marble table top, on which sits a black coffee in a white cup with a silver spoon resting its saucer and a small glass ramekin full of green moss. There is a small twig sticking out of the moss. It is baffling.
There’s a new chapter of Constellationism here, freshly posted: archiveofourown.org/works/456174.... It’s got text messages, Venice and little pots of moss.
I think I’m going to get it!
I’m so tempted to try this
It was going very badly. Stede was on edge. He reached for his white linen napkin, yearning for something to fidget with, but it was folded so prettily he had second thoughts. Why destroy something lovely for no good reason? His fingers twitched. He squashed them under his thighs. There was a small carafe of iced water on the table. Perhaps he could stick his head in it. The Wolesley was packed this evening, which, you know, he was pleased about, good for them et cetera, but after the sardine tin of Hatchard’s and the near-riot of Fortnum’s, and on top of the recent and unnerving presence of both Mr Roach and some actual commerce in his shop, plus the persistent absence of Ed, plus the several glasses of crémant that were fizzing in his belly in a way that was beginning to go rather heavily with his disposition, plus, and this was really the heart of the matter, the presence of a great many Eds in the form of the enormous book that he’d just bought as a Christmas present for his wife and which was currently sitting in a shopping bag at his feet in much the same way a land mine would, to be quite honest today really was odds-on favourite in the ‘all a bit much’ stakes. He squashed his fingers harder.
An offering for #wipwednesday: Constellationism Stede is not having a very happy time.
There he is! 💖
And then we get the story of Ed and His Incredibly Brave and Reckless Quest to Get New Spectacles for his Love…?
Cute bunny with the words: I contain mountainous volumes of unfathomable existential anxiety & also whimsy
I contain mountainous volumes of unfathomable existential anxiety & also whimsy
I love that programme so much, impeccable choice.
They walked the squares and alleyways open under the stars. Their lowered voices echoed under bridges as they passed through, off stucco walls and suffering white-eyed saints that watched them walk the floating streets. Ed reckoned he was about eleven thousand miles from the room he was born in, give or take. Evie, about four. Four and a half? Say four. He tipped his head back. He could see the Bear up there. Hello, Bear. Evie’d taken her shoes off as soon as they were out of the gallery. ‘Fuck these motherfuckers’ her exact words. She said the icy flagstones were numbing her blisters, doing her a favour actually. And there was a wind-scoured sort of cleanliness about the streets here in winter, Ed reckoned. He was fine but he’d taken his boots off anyway, in solidarity. His odd socks were not very chic. Together they walked, armlinked and unshod, each dangling their shoes pinched in the outer hand, balanced. He was glad because it meant he had no hand free to smoke the cigarillo he wanted to smoke. They walked with excellent posture and great dignity, in case anyone said anything. Nobody said anything. There was nobody to say it. Waiting round the bend, said the light on the water. My huckleberry friend. He didn’t want to come, thought Ed. Stop it. Palm tap, stop.
I missed #wipwednesday yesterday because some dear friends came round for New Year’s Eve. But I’ve been working on the next chapter of Constellationism, so here’s a late snippet anyway.
An essay by Laura Sackton inspired by Heated Rivalry, reflecting on the complexities of “coming out” as a political/discursive act in a heterosexist world… vs inter-community signaling, recognition, language, intimacy, etc for showing each other who’s family
poetryschool.beehiiv.com/p/volume-5-n...
Incredible robining from this robin, lovely stuff 💖
@shearwater-bird.bsky.social
A photograph of the Palazzo Grassi art gallery in Venice at dusk.
It’s been a little while (ahem), but there’s a new chapter of Constellationism up archiveofourown.org/works/456174...
Good luck! 💖
IT IS THE WINTER SOLSTICE
Check out the Livestream of Newgrange, starting in less than 2 mins!!!
www.youtube.com/live/lRgumO6...
9.03 am marks the UK winter solstice tomorrow morning. So the days are growing longer from here on. Embrace the light in every way and happy solstice to you all
It is the winter solstice tomorrow (in the northern hemisphere) this is your reminder that English Heritage live stream the sun rising over Stonehenge on their YouTube channel from 7.30am tomorrow morning.
www.youtube.com/live/FEnQmoc...
I would like to give his brain a gently melting ice cube, it’s true 💖
It felt like a whisky night, requirement of warmth. He ordered his very particular set-up just as he liked it, which was a challenge for his poor grasp of Italian, which mostly ran to restaurant ordering and pick-up lines. Bad pick-up lines too, probably. They were old now, after all. He wanted something that would burn off the dull ache of missing Stede that’d been following him around since they’d said goodbye. Maybe the distance made a difference, maybe the quantity of time. Like a muscle stretched too far, so far the fibres started snapping like tiny little optical strands. Christ. He didn’t want to sit at the bar: the barman might talk to him. He found a nice dark little corner with a marble table and a flickering candle in a glass. He put his phone on the table. Funny, the weight of it. Full of hope. It lit up. A photo had arrived. There was a dark green leather surface, unmistakably the desk in Stede’s shop, on which sat, unfolded from quadrants, the drawing he’d made on the back of the cocktail menu at Awen House. Tiny little lines and circles mosaicing all over the page, linking, linking and linking, all at once.
A little bit of Chapter 22 of Constellationism for #wipwednesday
I’m so so glad to hear it because I did wonder if I was going to need to apologise to you and Lindie, both for the quantity and the presence of a whole blimmin song 😂
A festive illustration of a robin in the snow, with rosehips and ivy.
Goodness me, another chapter of Wingman has appeared. This one has a title; it’s called The Robin and The Man archiveofourown.org/works/622635...
An old painting (origin unknown) of a wren sitting on an open book and writing with a pen held in its tiny claw.
A new chapter of Wingman for a very grey and blustery day archiveofourown.org/works/622635... (Image: not a robin this time, but an accurate picture of me writing this chapter)
He wanted to take a photo of it! Genius!
SPLASH! Some other pillock from a stag night’s fallen in! No one else has noticed, but Ed can’t have two bodies in the fucking water, that’s ridiculous. Now he’s got to fish this blond dishrag out before he can push the right guy in. Fucking hell! Etc etc and so it begins etc 3/3
If he were on a stag night or something, just coax him into the water. Easy. Ed’d be good at that, I thought. He didn’t kill that guy, the harbour did. He specialises in ‘accidents’. But what if one night he’s lurking at the harbour, all neon lights, music blaring, hit’s nearly complete, then… 2/3
I was in Bristol, round the harbourside, which is full of enormous bars and restaurants. There are lots of signs advising you not to get in the water. Not fall in, *get* in. This tells us something about the bars. So, I was thinking this’d be a great place to carry out a hit on someone. 1/2
Yesterday a skeletal but complete idea for a fic dropped into my head like a penny in a puddle. Go away fic idea! I’m writing other things! But… hitman Ed 😫
Seconded!
