#A Lire

[kitsunetsuki]

Pour Lire À Deux, 1937, from 1000 Dessous: A History of Lingerie by Gilles Néret (1998)

[gum-iie]

centuries wept away

[malamilkbeats]

THERE THEY ARE (Pentellow x Concavex, really)

[Slaps this here and levitates off the map]

Concavex's Spotify playlist

Some backstory about Concavex:

Concavex's father, Cirque Lire, was part of the Rond de Chambre. Truly, the most poignant reason for the King's consideration of appointing him as a valet was due to his pioneering musicial talent and the mere fact one of their childen had an unusual, specialized ability to read the minds of nearby shapes. Her father, 27 at the time, knew this as hard as it hit his esteem.

To be included into the Royal court was to be in a position of some status, often given to scientists, politicians, musicians, and others, who generally spent most of their time on their specialized work. Originating from a humble background himself, Cirque dedicated most of his time away from Concavex to study and cement his craftsmanship for the King in turn to care for...his family.

["Legato, not tenuto...", Cirque Lire saying ominously to Concavex, whilst practicing Paganini's Caprice 24 on the violin]

With Cirque's heightened passion for wanting to further his status as a courtier, he in turn, imposed the same standards on Concavex. She would immediately start training her abilities as well as practicing violin lessons on her third birthday. Their father was relentless with their training, enough for Concavex to become anxious around the court and their father. She was to be secluded, practicing after schooling and meal, ensuring they were fit in the eyes of the king, despite already training to becoming a type of filí for the monarch to utilize for his council.

[That's all for now..]

[soeurdelune]

l'année s'achève doucement, c'est quoi le meilleur livre que vous avez lu en 2024?

[lire-casander]

🎶 Dancing

for @bluepandaears

There are not many things that Edwin misses from when he was alive. Certainly, he does not mean the stares and the murmurs following him wherever he went in Saint Hilarion’s; he does not miss—much—the weight of human touch on his skin.

But he misses dancing.

He did not do it much when he was alive; it was unbecoming of his upbringing to admit that he liked the activity, designed to introduce young girls into society, conceived as a marketplace where young men could find a wife. But Edwin loved the beats of music thrumming in the ballroom at their countryside mansion. Despite not being too keen to dance himself—not unless he had a suitable partner, which almost never happened—he had enjoyed seeing the dancers float across the floors, choreographed movements in sync, beautifully executed.

Modern dancing does not hold a candle to the wonderful séances he had sat through during the early years of his life. Edwin has always eyed the incoherent movements with a hint of apprehension, if not outright disgust at the most vulgar steps he had had the dubious privilege of watching during one of Charles’s escapades to a nightclub in Soho. And yet, he misses the almost inescapable feeling of rhythm forcing his feet to move.

He yearns for a chance to feel it again.

But his taste in music is not something that he shares with many people, dead or alive—not even with Charles—so it has been a while since he has enjoyed the quiet peace of a good tune.

That is, until he hops back from a quick trip to the nearest library and finds the office turned into a ballroom of sorts. There is nobody around. Instead, there is only furniture pushed against the walls and the soft melody of a well-known waltz escaping from the horn of their old Victrola.

Edwin stares in awe at the display, not fully understanding what is happening in their office right now.

“May I have this dance?” asks Charles, stepping out of the shadows next to the Victrola.

Edwin turns around to watch his partner—the love of his afterlife—smiling brightly at him. He cannot help the smile that matches Charles’s as Edwin grabs his proffered hand and allows Charles to lead them into an old-fashioned waltz dance across the office, now turned into their own, private ballroom.

send me an emoji and i’ll write you a drabble

[logogreffe]

Je viens de découvrir qu'il y a un adjectif en français pour qualifier quelqu'un ou quelque chose (statue) qui a de belles fesses : callipyge.

[thegaysciences]

Ben Whishaw à Cannes, le 19 mai.

[silcochoe]

Y a des chanceux.ses qui vont pouvoir voter utile ET voter pour Poutou ? Purée

[kitsunetsuki]

Roger Schall - Pour Lire À Deux, 1936, from 1000 Dessous: A History of Lingerie by Gilles Néret (1998)

[gay-impressionist]

Ma mairie va bientôt organiser une votation sur l'ajout de caméras de surveillance dans la ville, et ils ont publié des arguments pour et contre... Mdr bah je sais pour quoi je vais voter maintenant.

La vidéoprotection contribue à la résolution de seulement 1% des enquêtes + pas de diminution d'infractions constatée après l'installation de caméras, voire ça incite les gens à se masquer et être plus violents...

Pourquoi on veut mettre des caméras du coup ?? 🤣

[malamilkbeats]

Ink Meister

Such a swell guy. You can trust him with your tax information.

His name "Cirque Lire" emphasizes his connection to reading, information, and perhaps... manipulation of knowledge (which ties into his ink abilities and courtly intrigue). "Lire" (meaning "to read" in French) fits well with his cunning nature—someone who "reads" people, situations, and texts to his advantage.

Cirque Lire

Orientation: Aromantic

Gender: Male

Age: 27 (once appointed) 45 (currently)

Alignment: Lawful Neutral to Lawful Evil

Cirque Lire's ink abilities and how he uses them:

His ability to manipulate ink could extend far beyond just composing music; he could use it as a weapon in more subtle ways, especially in a court filled with intrigue and deception.

***************

Cirque Lire's fingertips sway as liquid shadows dance to the silent melody of his mind. With a twist of his hand, the ink dispersed into familiar calligraphy on the parchment before him. A royal decree—one that had never been written by the King's own hand, yet bore his perfect signature and seal.

Another masterpiece of forgery.

Another stride forward.

To the court, Cirque Lire was a master composer, a patron of the arts, a nobleshape whose ink created symphonies that moved the soul. His charisma was like a spell of its own; his honeyed words wove through courtly banter to ensure that his name was spoken with admiration and trust. But beneath the polish lurked a careful orchestrator of downfall—a man who knew that true power was not just taken with brute force but cultivated through deception, reputation, and carefully placed words.

His ink was his greatest weapon. One touch and he could rewrite the records or history, craft messages that shattered alliances. It's proven one letter would unmake a man – though, of course, no one could ever substantiate such charges. His talent for manipulation was subtle, a ripple in still water that never came back to him as the source. It never dirtied his own hands; it was the rumors, as well as the court that tore itself apart over trumped-up scandals while he stood above it all.

Lire did not merely ruin reputations—he got something out of it. A disgraced noble meant lands and titles went up for sale, assets were sanctioned, and his debts were called in. With his influence, he ensured that those desperate enough would turn to him for aid, signing away their wealth in return for salvation he never truly intended to give. A true robber barron in the making. He would orchestrate financial ruin, the buy out their holdings for a fraction of their worth to supply his own allies, growing his fortune while his targets dwindled to nothing. Shapes who owed him were never **truly** free, bound by invisible chains of obligation and debt that he tightened at his leisure.

He was politically keen enough to know the importance of positioning; he whispered advice into the ears of the right shapes, offering solutions to problems he himself had quietly created. His influence spread like ink upon a page, whereby ministers and lords alike depended upon his counsel. He did not need to raise a blade; he merely needed the right words, the right moment, and the right target. And when lords and ministries were under turmoil, Cirque Lire stood untouched, ever the benefactor of chaos.

Concavex, his daughter, was both his greatest asset and his biggest obstacle. She had been the simple key to his ascension, her telepathic abilities a tool he wielded with precision. The court was in strange fear, fearing what she would reveal. But Cirque Lire? He had molded her into something greater, something useful. She was his unseen eyes and ears, whether she wanted to be or not.

“Read them now,” Cirque would murmur while they sat among the masked smiles of the nobles. And Concavex would begrudgingly follow his command, her mind brushing against the thoughts of unsuspecting men and women too foolish to guard themselves. Through the insights, Cirque would know who was weak, who had doubt, who could be influenced given the proper incentive or broken with the right rumor.

[thankyouforthememoriesworld]

https://x.com/5h4k3/status/1847288304791961737?s=46&t=fXESb-ff6Hpvgt-qQNbuKg

feeling each other up in front of millions, check✅

[eightiesfan]

Nice collection !

[angelsdean]

hate how they retcon repear lore in the later seasons. tessa doesn't even look like tessa, she just takes on that form to get dean to trust her. but what she actually looks like, what she calls her "true form" is the scary floaty thing dean sees hovering above him when he's flatlining. and that form looks a lot more similar to the repear we see in 1x12. reapers are freaky! but they can glamour themselves to look like anyone. and it's not a vessel like angels, it's more an illusion. or like a shifter / siren. the reapers are not occupying someone else's body they're just altering their appearance to look more human.

anyways society IF they kept playing with reaper lore instead of demoting them to some class of angel.