iiinova — where your digital self keeps evolving

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Bart⚓️ @bartgonnissen.bsky.social · 23/09/2026

The Facial Expressions of Tethys by artist Julius von Bismarck. A suspended high-sea buoy that moves in real time. Sensors on a twin buoy out in the Atlantic Ocean send live satellite data to motors inside the museum. This makes the indoor buoy copy the exact, real-time movements of the ocean waves.

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 02/09/2026

Here’s a little bit of the next chapter of Constellationism for #wipwednesday. At the moment this one is tentatively titled The Pangolin of Regret vs The Ruru of Joy. (It’s blowing a gale outside here at the moment, which helps.)

"Blink blink"
", went the cursor, "blink blink"
"I love you
" went Ed's text, still.
Stede put the phone down on his desk and experienced a sudden, desperate need to look out of the window. Crossing the study, he swept open the curtains and stood with his hands behind his back, considering the lamplit dark of his own front garden. The rain was unrelenting and the wind had picked up, swaying the branches of the skeletal apple trees and ransacking the border shrubs. The sky was starless with just a smudge of clouded moon and in the distance a fox screamed its hideous song of love.
Well, that all seemed to be in order. Definitely worth checking, though. Right. Superb.
What if he was loved? What if he was actively, at this moment, being loved? He wished he could see Ed. If he could see Ed he might know what to say.
He pictured him standing under the streetlight on the other side of the road, wet boots and a black umbrella for a halo. Even from that distance he'd still be looking Stede dead in the eye. A car drove past, wipers lashing, headlights two beams of slanting rain and Ed vanished in the spray of its passing.

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Ed’s Rose Tattoo @edsrosetattoo.bsky.social · 16/08/2026

Ray of Sunshine! (From Taika’s mother-in-law Vera)

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The London Archives @thelondonarchives.bsky.social · 12/08/2026

Calling all Lightning Talkers! (well, if you're interested in music hall!) We're looking for lightning talkers on topics inspired by London's Music Hall, variety theatre, entertainment and nightlife in the early 20th century 📅15 Oct | Find out more👉 www.thelondonarchives.org/lightning

1920s dance troupe posing for the camera

Ada Campe posing with one leg in a kick stance

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Reposted by shearwater

David K. Barnes @davidkbarnes.com · 04/08/2026

Here’s the latest stop motion animation from my Tiny Angry Witch team. (I’m the writer, I can’t take credit for the animating!) It’s one of our longest, and it nearly drove us all mad, but we’re really proud of getting it made! 1 x Tiny Angry Witch 1 x broom No AI

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 04/08/2026

Imagine an Ed/Stede The Repair Shop au. That’d be great. Has anybody written one?

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 31/07/2026

This morning I’m listening to this over and over, trying to wrangle the next chapter of Constellationism chapter into shape 💖 m.youtube.com/watch?v=xxDv...

m.youtube.com

New Order - Temptation (Official Music Video) [HD Upgrade]

YouTube video by New Order

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Kym Deyn @kymdeyn.bsky.social · 05/03/2026

This is a sheer indulgence on my part, but it turns out I never actually shared the poem here, so: 🍃

Sir Gawain Fucks the Green Knight

Here’s a tale ripe for telling. Can’t say where I heard it first—in pretty French or Dutch. Perhaps as a young lady walking ‘longside the Rijn. I’ll spin it for you in an English tongue, fine as frost on lace, sweet as malmsey wine. So it goes that young Gawain, strength kissed into his limbs, fresh as the bright dawn, comes trembling down to the Green Chapel. You’ve heard this tale, I know. His breath makes peach fuzz in the air, fear into him like worm to apple. Christmas Morn is too soon, time is short. You have your own life to save, he says, picking through thorn and bough to an ivy-clad cave.
The creature is the Jack O’ the Glen / forest prince / the wood’s own laughter. Beard of lichen and eyes like dark elder. I need not repeat their exchange—my boy’s flinching heart—a songbird in a rattled cage. It is after the blows are dealt, he asks, what god is worshipped in these green trees? Boy, the Knight replies, boy, were you not just down on your knees?
The Knight is the tang of sap / bark rough and petal soft / everywhere leaves scatter / easily crushed / Gawain clings / hardly knows what he clings to / he is the forest and the flower / a turmoil of roots / where god and tree meet and melt / the birch the oak the fern the deer / mushroom maggot crow / here Gawain is branch and bud / blow returned for blow

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 28/07/2026

Please don’t faint from the shock, but I’ve just posted another chapter of Constellationism. This one’s called ‘The Early Late’, and it’s here: archiveofourown.org/works/456174.... It’s only short. In it, Ash has some things to say about the soaking wet guy who just ran into his shop.

A phone and vape shop in south London, even though Ash’s shop is in north London. And this photo’s taken in the daytime even though the chapter happens at night. Other than that it’s bang on.

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 16/07/2026

Chapter 24, ‘The Pangolin of Regret’, now for your ears too!

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 15/07/2026

There’s a new chapter of Constellationism up, finally! This one’s called ‘The Pangolin of Regret’, and it’s here: archiveofourown.org/works/456174...

A photo of the interior of The Wolesley restaurant in London. It has a very high, arched ceiling. There is a lot of wood panelling and a black and white checked floor.

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 26/06/2026

It’s not the right day for it but I’ve got a postable snippet of new Constellationism so I thought, why not post it? Odd sensation to be writing a chapter set just before Christmas during a heatwave. Here I sit in the Caffè Nero air conditioning, imagining it a snow globe.

Ed poked his phone. It'd been thirteen minutes.
His thoughts had gone spherical. Should've stuck with the seabird nonsense. Seabird nonsense and paper snowflakes, that was more their level. Not just, just saying the thing.
Should've thought. Should've stopped himself.
Shouldn't have staked his personal happiness on the power of the crying-laughing emoji to negate a heartfelt sentiment.
Fourteen minutes. Ah, fuck. Well, that's that fucked then. Probably.
He wanted to flee up to his room but passing through a doorway would do something to the universe, he was sure of it. Sever the strings of the moment. He'd wait for a sign. Yes, good. He wasn't sure what it'd be but he was confident that when he saw it, he'd know. A waiter appeared beside him with the drink he'd ordered back when life was good.
"Whisky, signore?"
"Oh, yes. Grazie."
"Prego." He placed neatly on the table a crystal tumbler of scotch. Then a small gilded jug of steaming water, then a glass pot of golden honey with a glass drizzler resting inside, a neatly folded linen napkin and finally, upon the napkin, a little spoon with which Ed felt an instantaneous natural affinity.

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☠️ Skulls and Sheets 👻 @skullsandsheets.bsky.social · 21/06/2026

A mari places the sun - Hope everyone has a blessed Solstice

A mari in a triangular sectionrd and patterned cloak holds arms up and places the sun in the sky

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 04/06/2026

I made a tiny fic out of the MerMay chapters about MerStede and Sad Fisherman Ed archiveofourown.org/works/86111311

A photo of a small village on the Cornish coast at dusk. There’s a harbour in the foreground with a few small boats, in the distance houses with illuminated windows rise up the green hillside.

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 02/06/2026

Last little chapter for #ofmdmermay! In which sad fisherman Ed and Merstede go home 💖

Ed looks at the merman. He's telling the truth.
Well, what do you know? A mythical creature with a grip on life as uncertain as his own. Hm.
"My name is Ed," he says.
"Stede."
"Nice."
The merman looks all pleased with himself; Ed likes it. Then he remembers that he needs to get home somehow and sighs.
"What?" Says Stede. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing. Just thinking about the walk home." He gestures at his soaking self. "Not gonna be fun."
"Where do you live, Ed?"
Ed doesn't hear his name very often. It's a pearl in the merman's mouth.
"Right over the other side of the cove. Just on the far end of the harbour, last house.
"
"On the end of the row? With a window lamp the colour of a bottle for wine?"
"Yeah! How did you know?"

"Yeah! How did you know?"
"I see your light go off at night. I say to myself,
'goodnight, person.' Now I shall say 'goodnight, Ed.'"
"Really?"
Stede nods. "I think you should revise your sleep schedule though. You go to bed awfully late."
Ed laughs, "okay". He ferrets in his pockets and pulls out his soaking wet woolen hat, puts it on over his soaking wet hair. He looks forlornly at Stede. "I'd best be off."
"Would you like a lift home?"
"Yes."
Ed's jaw snaps shut but the word's already out.
Stede smiles. "Hold onto me and we'll swim around the cove," he says, letting the sea wash him gently back from the land as Ed stands and follows him into the shallows. "Come on, let's get you home."
THE END

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 01/06/2026

A bit late now, but another tiny chapter for #ofmdmermay. There will be one last one tomorrow, just to wrap things up, then I’m returning to Constellationism. Thank you for reading along!

WATERFALL

“Look, mate,” the man says tersely. “I only went in ‘cos I thought you were drowning. You could be a bit less pissy about having to fish me out.” He hesitates. “Pardon the pun.”

“I’m sorry,” Stede says. He is genuinely contrite; he so wants to be friends. “I truly meant no offense. I’m not really used to talking to people and I’d hate to start off on the wrong foot. Um. Pardon the pun.”

Then… oh! How wonderful to have his deductions confirmed! The man’s eyes do crinkle when he smiles! A waterfall of happiness cascades over Stede! It passes quickly though, and his expression unspools into a sadder aspect. Stede longs for the smile to return.

“What’s the matter?” He asks.

“Ah, nothing. Just that me being cross with you for saving my life sort of… tracks.”

“What do - oh, I see. Oh dear, I am sorry to hear that. And, well, can empathise, to an extent. Quite a fair extent, to be honest.”

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juniper & lamplight @juniperlights.bsky.social · 31/05/2026

Last minute art for #ofmdMerMay: embroidery & watercolor mer-Gentlebeard! Created with kind permission from @sailorsruin92.bsky.social, who made the gorgeous original design (below)

White fabric in an embroidery hoop, featuring mer-Ed and Mer-Stede in a blue, white, and gold style similar to an old school china pattern. They are swimming in a circle around a lighthouse, and they are ringed by vines, as well as shell and skull accents

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 30/05/2026

A another tiny #ofmdmermay chapter, in which Ed and Stede worry they may have perished at sea.

STREAM
"No, you're not dead," says the merman. "At least, I don't think so?"
"Right. Could you rustle up a bit more conviction, do you think?" says Ed.
"Well... I don't know. You got into difficulty on your way to visit me and,"
"That was you?"
"That was me!" The merman beams.
"Fuck's sake."
"Pardon me?"
"I thought you were drowning!"
"Oh! Oh, that's. Disappointing. Never mind." He shakes his head. "You were sinking, and | thought you might be better off not in the sea. So I towed you up here to the land. But you were very, very cumbersome,"
"Pffft."

"Pfft."
"and it was a bit of a struggle, so... oh!" The merman's eyes widen and he raises a shaking hand to his mouth. "What if we didn't make it?
Oh no!" He looks around, god knows for what, clearly trying not to panic.
"No, no, wait. I reckon we're alive. Look at the state of me. I'm streaming water, freezing my balls off. I don't think death would bother with all that."
"Do you really think?"
"Yeah, mate, yeah. We're not dead. Anyway, I might drown but you're not gonna, are you?
How'd you die in this scenario?"
"Exhaustion, perhaps?"
"What, from the extreme inconvenience of me?"
"No! No, you were no inconvenience at all!" The merman looks mortified. Then uncertain. "You were very heavy."

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 29/05/2026

Another little #ofmdmermay bit! In which Ed is startled. These are really helping me get out of my writing slump, thanks very much to those who’ve been reading along 💖🧜‍♂️

AIR

You don’t really appreciate air until you’ve been deprived of it. Ed’s appreciating the shit out of it now, heaving in walloping great lungfuls and coughing till his guts cramp. He feels a bit sick from all the salt in his mouth and his eyes are rough as a badger’s arse but it’s not bad actually, being alive. He doesn’t mind it as much as he thought he did. He wonders if he rescued the guy he was heroically swimming out to; he can’t remember a thing apart from a cool dream about a merman.

He rubs his sore eyes. The sand he’s sitting on is wet and freezing, the beach dark, the waves lapping innocently as if they didn’t just try to murder him. He’s ended up around the other side of the cove from the harbour and he’s going to have a long, cold, wet walk home. Bollocks. He looks around for the drowning guy and finds, there in the surf, glittering in the moonlight, the merman from his dream. His tail is gold, with long diaphanous fins that drift gently with the tide. He looks a bit sheepish. He looks very, very real. Ed tries rubbing his eyes again but the merman persists. In fact he not only persists, he gives Ed a little wave.

“Fuuuck,” says Ed. “Did I die?”

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 27/05/2026

Tiny new #ofmdmermay chapter! (Slightly late because I forgot I have to post it as well as write it.) In which Merstede finally meets a real live person (sort of).

Stede is finally meeting a real person! Wow! He'd always imagined the person would be awake when he met them, but this is the next best thing; even lying on a beach unconscious the man is spectacularly more interesting than anything else he's ever seen.
Pushing the man far enough up the shoreline to not be washed away again was quite difficult, so Stede considers this opportunity to observe him as a reward for his efforts. Up close, the man has a kind, rather weatherbeaten face, half of which is hidden behind a steely grey beard. Stede can't see his eyes, but he's interested in the outer corners of them where the man's wet eyelashes finish in a charming little flick. At these corners he observes tiny radiating lines of ever so slightly paler skin, as if the elements have been unable to touch it. Stede touches it though, with his index finger. The man does not wake up. He deduces that these lines mean the man's eyes crinkle up when his face is moving. Interesting!
He wants to see! He deploys his index finger once more to gently poke the man in the ribs, but nothing happens.

The man wears a thick woolen jumper of the type typically worn by men in boats. He wears breeches of rugged material upon his two legs and thick woolen socks upon his two feet. The socks display many variances of colour where the man has repaired them, Stede observes. The cover of all this clothing is very interesting, he thinks, but not as interesting as the bits of actual man he can see: his face and, aha! His hands!
Oh now, this is fascinating: one of them has the image of a spider etched into the back of it! And upon the same hand the man wears an old silver ring in the shape of a creature that looks very like Stede's good friend Octavio. He wonders, has the man met Octavio? Stede takes the man's hand into his own, better to ponder it. As he does so, the man's nose begins to twitch.

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 26/05/2026

Little #ofmdmermay chapter for today, in which sad fisherman Ed has a lovely dream.

SAND
Ed's having the coolest dream. He's sinking deep, deep, deep down but his head is light, lighter than it's been in years. Ever, maybe.
Floating away. All around is silvery steel blue; bubbles and seaweed, darting little fishes and boom! His boots hit the ocean floor and a cloud of sand all glitters up around him like a snowstorm. He thinks he's supposed to want to swim back up but he doesn't, he's fine here. It's nice. Warm.
He's just thinking how good it'd feel to lie down, when a flicker of bright gold distracts him.
There's a merman! He's hiding in a patch of kelp.
A glimmering merman, who looks so real. Wow.
Well done, brain, thinks Ed. A-plus dreaming, mate. The merman is so pretty, all sparkly, but he looks worried. Oh no! Why's he worried? Ed doesn't want him to be worried. The merman swims towards him and he really wants to reach out but his arms aren't working like they usually do. His chest feels weird.
The merman is right in front of him now. Ed curses the dream for not letting him move, but the merman is moving. He's putting his soft hands on Ed's face, gently, on his jaw, and he's looking into Ed's eyes with such concern and then he's moving closer and Ed thinks, kisses?
Oh, yes please.

The merman is right in front of him now. Ed curses the dream for not letting him move, but the merman is moving. He's putting his soft hands on Ed's face, gently, on his jaw, and he's looking into Ed's eyes with such concern and then he's moving closer and Ed thinks, kisses?
Oh, yes please.
The merman kisses him and oh wow, that's nice.
He's aware beyond the kiss of new air -air! He'd forgotten about air! -filling his lungs and if he's honest it hurts a bit but he's really into kissing this merman, so. It's unfortunate through, because just as he's wondering if the dream'll let him move now, a clear voice inside his head says:
Edward, you're drowning.
And everything goes WHITE.

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Whitebeam (Tara) 🏴‍☠️🦄💜🤡 doing it for Rhysie! @whitebeam1.bsky.social · 25/05/2026

Saw this at the local charity shop and thought of them! It’s also a fab idea for next fandom auction. Crochet / knitted teapot cosies 🏴‍☠️🧜‍♂️

A knitted mermaid teapot cosy with a pink tail

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 25/05/2026

Another tiny #ofmdmermay chapter, in which merstede is looking forward to making a new friend.

SWINGS
At first Stede was worried because the man had seen him. But then the man waved in greeting! Stede was delighted. He’d waved back, and now the man is coming to visit! He smooths his hair to make it more becoming and fans his fin to make sure there isn’t any seaweed or other unwelcome detritus caught in it. Ideally he would’ve liked to be a bit glitterier, to make the best impression, but he’s cold and one can only do one’s best.

The man is taking quite a long time to swim out. He has no tail, so it’s not his fault, but Stede is impatient to meet him. A real live person! He’s already thinking of things they could chat about. Stede wonders if he should meet him halfway but he doesn’t want to make him selfconscious about his lack of tail. That would be rude. So, he waits politely. If anything, the man’s swimming is slowing down; he’s practically stopped. His arm rises out of the water - another greeting? - then swings slowly sideways and submerges with the rest of him.

Stede waits for him to emerge and say hello properly. The man does not. He begins to suspect that something may be awry. Still not wanting to be rude, he swims closer and ducks under, just to see how the man is getting on. He’s just in time to see his new friend, lax arms drifting and hair clouding above him, sinking into the icy deep.

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 24/05/2026

Next tiny chapter for #ofmdmermay, in which sad fisherman Ed’s evening continues to unfold suboptimally.

24) COLD

Fuck me sideways that’s cold, thinks Ed. He’s a strong swimmer, always been a strong swimmer since he was a little kid. But this is pretty fucking exceptionally fucking cold, this. And he wouldn’t normally have so many clothes on was one thing, and it wouldn’t usually be this dark was another. And wool submerged in seawater is heavier than a ship’s anchor, turns out. The weight is crushing his lungs. He can see the guy he’s trying to save in the nearer distance, still waving. Keep fucking waving man, I’m coming. Help is on the way. Is it the wool that’s crushing his lungs, or is it the whole Atlantic Ocean doing its best to smash his ribs in? Fuck he’s tired. He’d give his left tit for a decent breath. He’s not as young as he was. The guy is closer now, not waving anymore, and he seems to look… he looks…. He looks fucking overjoyed, thinks Ed as he sinks beneath the waves.

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 23/05/2026

Another tiny chapter for #ofmdmermay, in which sad fisherman Ed thinks aw, fuck it.

23) Smoke

Ed squints. It is, it’s definitely a person: a head and broad shoulders bobbing above the waves, a gleam of wet hair. Where did they come from? There’s not an unmoored boat to be seen and it’s too cold and dark for a swim. Ed stands and waves his arms, trying to communicate ‘are you alright?’. Please be alright, come on.

The head vanishes underwater. Shit. He waits. Scans. Are they drowning? At last the figure pops back up, waving its arms and shit, oh shit, they are drowning. He looks around for anyone else, literally anyone else but all the village offers is distant fiddle music and drifting chimney smoke. Well, so be it. So be it. He’s had enough of life anyway, or life’s had enough of him. Why not flip the coin?

He strips off his jacket and kicks off his boots, waves his arms again to say ‘I’m coming!’ and sprints full pelt off the harbour’s edge.

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 22/05/2026

I think I might too! I was in a shop yesterday and Temptation came on the radio. I don’t want to speak too soon, but I think I’m starting to have Constellationism thoughts again, finally.

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jeanni #LongLiveOFMD 🤡🏴‍☠️ @railingcaptain.bsky.social · 22/05/2026

fuck this, life is short the week has been rough, im rereading Up Down Turn Around by @shearwater-bird.bsky.social

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 22/05/2026

Another little bit of sad fisherman Ed for #ofmdmermay

BELL

In the distance the bell of St Brendan’s chimes ten. If he doesn’t want to have to talk to anyone, if doesn’t want to be bothered and seen, if he wants to get home through empty streets with no company but the Moon, then he needs to leave the harbour before chucking-out time. Because after, the streets will heave with souls half-cut and seaworn, stumbling home from the Crown and Anchor in a haze of beer and pipesmoke. They’ll greet him and jostle him and put their hard arms around him and he doesn’t want a bit of it.

The cottage will be cold.

Ed takes a last look at the waves, thinking to offer Poseidon a prayer for tomorrow’s catch. He stalls before the horizon.

There is a person out there.

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 16/05/2026

A nice by product of #ofmdmermay is you get to write sad fisherman Ed

CAGE

The beer in Ed’s belly is sour without enough bread to soak it up. Hunger’s a hollow nag he’s becoming used to. Two days lost when the storm blew in, then back to sea but barely a catch to show for it. He’d hoped for mackerel but their way was to come in shoals or not at all and today they avoided him like they knew him.
He touches the pipe to his lips, draws rolling smoke to the back of his throat and holds it there, one warm point in a body of cold. He wisps it out in increments as befits a man whose tobacco pouch is dwindling and whose pleasures are few and far between. After a few draws he tamps the pipe and rests it on the stone step beside him to cool. The rest is tomorrow’s smoke.
He props his elbows on his knees and sighs. The stars are bright and the sea glitters endlessly into the horizon. He cages his head in his hands and looks through his fingers at the waves. When he was a boy he’d wonder what lay out there for him. Now he’s a man, he has the answer. Nothing. There’s nothing out there, not for him.

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 14/05/2026

Another little bit of merstede for #ofmdmermay, for yesterday’s prompt because I missed it. Will I get another done today? Let’s see! It’s an effort to revive my writing brain, thank you for indulging me.

STAIRS

For two nights it’s too stormy to sit upon the rock. Stede tried, but the slap of waves and wind forced him home. But the night after the storm all is cold and still. The tide laps, laps the rock and the harbour lights call and before he can think twice he’s slipping off the other side, the side he usually hides behind, and he’s diving, diving, pushing through the deep and rushing on until he reaches the very edge of the cove. He breaks the surface just enough and, oh! What a world is before him now! Boats bob in the moonlight, tethered with wet ropes to the harbourside. Beyond the boats, shopfronts glimmer, all glassy dark except one with a swinging sign and lamplit windows clouded with steam. Music swells from within, and voices. Beyond the shops, cottages full of sleeping people rise up the steepness of the land like barnacles.
A flare of light! He gasps and ducks. Waits. No disaster befalls him. He emerges and, low in the water, lets the tide pull him closer to the curious spark. There, on the slick stone stairs that rise from the sea to the walkingplace, sits the darkened shape of a man.

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 12/05/2026

Here’s another little bit of merstede for #ofmdmermay

THORN
The next night is clear. Stede heaves himself into the air and onto the rock, cleaves his tail tightly to the cool damp stone. Beneath him cracks trap driftwood and strands of translucent seaweed; his fin dips into the warm foam and tangles amongst them but he doesn't worry, he trusts the tide to wash it free.
Tonight the wind is cold and soft. It dries the sheen from his skin and leaves a
crackle in its wake, powders the water to salt and blows it away. He isn't close to the coast but he is dangerously close to the coast. His rock is the start of a gathering, a petering in of limestone that thickens and rises until the sea gives way to land. Along the craggy border, beyond the rolling green and into the deeper distance he can see a curve of harbour lights twinkling like a string of stars. The land, the land. He thinks constantly about the land. Oh but it's a thorn in his side, the longing.
On land there are creatures beyond his imagination. Tinderbox forests and giddy mountain air, fireplaces and green glass bottles filled with wine and stoppered with corks. And there are people. People and people and people. All his life he's heard the stories. He even saw a picture, once. Every night he comes to the rock just to look at the land and every night the land looks back. "And?" It says. It says,
"when?".

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 04/04/2026

Lads, without wanting to curse it, I seem to be writing again (punches air, does forward roll, wolf-whistles at god, etc)

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Chuck Tingle @chucktingle.bsky.social · 23/03/2026

you prove love

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Jillian Sauers @jilliansauers.bsky.social · 23/03/2026

Hey OFMD crew, we can make a tangible difference today by helping out Pirate Nana. This is a gfm Bix set up for them. I just confirmed with them it's still connected to their bank, so we can relieve a bit of pressure if you're able to help www.gofundme.com/f/help-pirat...

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 03/02/2026

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.

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.

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 21/01/2026

An offering for #wipwednesday: Constellationism Stede is not having a very happy time.

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.

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Hannah Bluish @hannahbluish.bsky.social · 19/01/2026

I contain mountainous volumes of unfathomable existential anxiety & also whimsy

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 01/01/2026

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.

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.

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Lee Mandelo @leemandelo.bsky.social · 28/12/2025

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...

poetryschool.beehiiv.com

Volume 5, No. 16: Queer Syntax is Infinite

The 6 minutes of television I cannot stop watching

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shearwater @shearwater-bird.bsky.social · 24/12/2025

It’s been a little while (ahem), but there’s a new chapter of Constellationism up archiveofourown.org/works/456174...

A photograph of the Palazzo Grassi art gallery in Venice at dusk.

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