#eneas

[dujour13]

OC Kiss Week - day 7

The last one goes to my friend @dmagedgoods, because Siavash and I are utterly captivated by your Eneas. (all according to his plan I’m sure) 💜

(sorry this one's long, 2121 words)

“The Count seduced her dad?” Bluebrook’s red face is alight with hilarity.

“He said, ‘They think they want me marrying into their family? I’m just giving them a taste of what that would entail.’” Siavash imitates an exaggerated posh Mendevian accent and dissolves into laughter with his compatriots.

Eneas can’t help but chuckle.

In the Fleet Bridge Inn the Andoren bankers have become uproarious. It’s remarkable, Eneas thinks, how much volume a halfling’s lungs can produce under the influence of a few drinks and a fine storyteller or two.

In the midst of it Eneas smiles, places a story or a joke here and there, is attentive to his patron, but his whole attention has been stolen by their new friend, the guitarist who lounges at his side and laughs along with the wine-drunk halflings though he’s barely on his second glass, more tipsy with their joy and Eneas’ stories than with wine.

It is true he is charmed. He can barely drag his eyes away from the burnished-gold hair, twinkling hazel eyes and radiant smile; but he must remain concentrated on the situation at hand.

Eneas has been treading a razor-thin line with Gladstone, his patron’s secretary, wary of making him jealous of how quickly Eneas has been taken into the banker’s confidence. He has been cautious to defer to Gladstone and praise him often in front of Bluebrook, who takes his secretary’s long-suffering loyalty blithely for granted.

Like at this moment, when the tipsy secretary offers a loud toast to his boss and is silenced like a yapping dog. Poor Gladstone, thinks Eneas. How far can his loyalty be stretched before it breaks? And when it breaks, what magnificent drama will ensue?

Because he alone knows the whole story: that Gladstone secretly holds the only copy of the will that Bluebrook burned to ash in his fireplace decades ago—the will in which his mother left her fortune to be equally distributed to the family, rather than to be placed in his able banker’s hands alone.

With a word Gladstone could ruin Bluebrook, lay bare his dishonesty and take away his fortune and his family, the only two things the halfling appears to value in this life.

It is a highly intriguing situation for Eneas to find himself in the middle of.

The slightest tug on the strings could bring everything crashing down around Bluebrook. What whispers would it take to put the knife in his hand? Would Gladstone even fight back? Would they take one another out in a frenzy of violence or in a weave of diabolical plots?

But having silenced Gladstone, Bluebrook is summoning his new counsellor.

“We’ve exhausted our guitarist,” says the halfling banker with a jovial wink at Siavash, whom he has adopted since he joined their table earlier this evening. “Time for some violin! And more of that wine!”

With a gracious bow Eneas agrees, and stands at the foot of the table with his violin while Siavash and the halfling bankers hush one another.

He lays the warm wood against his cheek, poises his bow, breathes, and begins.

Each note is an ephemeral moment of aching beauty, like a lover’s last kiss.

It’s unsettling that he can sense how still and rapt the half-elf becomes at the sweet strains of his violin, as if the music connects the two of them and he can feel the faint vibrations of the man’s heart through it, and that thread that stretches between them tugs on something locked deep inside him and opens it, and suddenly old pain pours out and resonates in every stroke of his bow.

This Siavash, this Lark whose spirit is so light, whose presence is somehow so comforting, makes him momentarily forget himself.

Through his violin, he is weeping. For all that’s been torn away from him, and all he has torn away from himself; for being surrounded by people but forever alone, for traveling endless roads with no home to return to. His heart aches; a high, raw, keening note escapes his violin.

And in an instant he clamps down on it savagely, though no one suspects anything from his calm, smiling mask—or so he believes until he glances again at the half-elf.

The man’s eyes, locked on him, are full of grief.

He saw everything, Eneas realizes in shock.

When he is once again seated at the banker’s generous table alongside his new friend, Siavash is masking his own emotion as well. He is all smiles again.

“You’re good,” he congratulates as they clink glasses, but his eyes search Eneas’ as they drink.

They haven’t met for an hour and Eneas already feels a rare, prickling fear.

The contagious laugh. The soulful guitar. The way he has of listening with his heart, not just his ears. The relaxed grace of someone entirely at home in his skin and clothed in a bouquet of soft colors, which like his warm, familiar manner makes people smile.

Even as he thinks it, Eneas catches himself smiling.

A smile that is returned twofold, and not without a hint of an invitation, at which Eneas lets his eyes flick to Siavash’s open collar and the butterfly pendant that lays against his vibrant skin.

“Desnan?”

“Heart and soul. The stars have never steered me wrong.” There is no mistaking the meaning in his very direct, inviting look.

My friend, your luck may have run out, Eneas thinks, if you believe you wish to sail on my treacherous sea.

It would be so easy to let the idyll burn itself out in one torrid night. The slightest nod and in minutes they would be upstairs, and Eneas surprises himself with how clear and evocative the sweet images in his mind. Very tempting indeed.

So why not?

He wonders at his own hesitation. He tells himself this is a rare flower for his garden, one worth taking the time to cultivate. But does he also detect a twinge of fear in his heart, that once entwined about this source of heat it will be agony to tear his coils free?

He decides the intrigue is worth the danger, and besides it can’t last. An itinerant Desnan – if I don’t leave him, he will leave me.

* * *

It is time for the counsellors to withdraw. Their work here is done.

They close the veranda doors behind them and stand together looking out over the balmy night sea, pale lines of foam hypnotically rolling together and dissipating in a vast blackness of sea and sky beyond. Both are contemplating those obscure horizons: what comes next?

“I must congratulate you,” says Eneas eventually. His long, dark hair is loose around the luminous brown of his face, gold bangles on his horns and ears matching the brightness of his eyes.

“Thank you.” Siavash beams. Almost like he could take wing he grabs the balustrade and leans over it precariously, peering down into the garden below where lamps still burn, forgotten by the halfling family now gathered tearfully inside the villa. He doesn’t notice Eneas’ hand reach out to stabilize him and then quickly withdraw.

Moments earlier, under their gentle guidance the banker Bluebrook confessed the crime he’d been concealing from his family for decades and returned the money to its true inheritors, with interest. There was a risk his family would repudiate him, but it looks like at least a few are willing to forgive. Siavash is satisfied.

Ten days ago, lingering together under the stars on the Augustana quay, Eneas laid out the problem before his new friend, curious to see how Siavash would handle it.

“He does not know there is a second copy of the will. Should Gladstone choose to bring it to light, Bluebrook’s family will doubtless realize what he did, as the sole beneficiary of having burned the original. He will lose his family and his fortune, all he values. What lengths do you believe he would be willing to go to, to prevent that?”

Siavash searched his gaze for a moment and then said something that surprised Eneas at the time: “You’re not in it for the blackmail.” Not a question—a statement. “You’re just curious.”

“You’re insightful.” Eneas gave one nod and leaned closer. “And now I am even more curious to know what you would advise him.”

“What are you planning to advise him?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Tell me first what you would do.”

“He needs a change in perspective,” Siavash said. “He’s always believed his worth in life can be measured in gold. If he could see his way to confessing and giving up his fortune, he might have a shot at reconciling with his family. Don’t get me wrong; honesty isn’t always the best policy, but in this case I think it is.”

“And how would you convince him of this?”

“Work backwards. Shift his perspective first, open his horizons to a different way of life, and then gradually let him discover the path that will lead him there.”

Thus the plan that he and Eneas agreed upon: to whisk the banker away on a little seaside holiday in a small, poor bungalow with none of his usual luxuries, close to a village of friendly halfling peasants where Bluebrook might begin to feel at home, and might begin to see his life in a new light.

The unspoken ulterior motive to that plan of course was that it meant Siavash and Eneas would have a chance to spend more time together.

They walked along the beach and swam in the Inner Sea, played music and an absurd Andoren ball game with the locals, and when on the sixth day Bluebrook announced that a good cheese sandwich on the beach with friends was better than any five-star meal he did not notice the triumphant look Siavash shot Eneas over the halfling’s head.

The plan bore fruit. Bluebrook made his confession, gave away his fortune, and Siavash and Eneas’ friendship burgeoned into something rich with potential, a potential that charges the air between them now on the veranda of the banker’s villa as they stand shoulder to shoulder, Siavash full of hope and Eneas full of dread.

Siavash nods to himself. “I’m glad it worked out for him. He’s not a bad guy. One panicked youthful mistake shouldn’t destroy someone’s whole life.”

Eneas contemplates the stars. “Yet it would have been such a glorious tragedy.”

“Tragedy is only beautiful on stage, not in real life. I can’t bear when people are separated.”

These words fall into a silence between them.

Eneas recoils, the slightest movement, but it betrays that he’s been stricken. His whole long life has been a tragedy of separation. He recovers with his usual grace, tilting his chin up to look sidelong at Siavash and smiling. “Did you know, I had a wager with myself that you would succeed.”

“You bet on me? Smart move.” Siavash laughs, the carefree sound cocooned by the washing of sea waves so that it is for Eneas alone. “What was at stake?”

There is a pause and when Siavash glances curiously at Eneas he witnesses the mask slipping. His mesmerizing golden eyes have misted over with the pain of a tremendous inner struggle. The effect steals Siavash’s breath. His heart forgets to beat.

There is hope after all.

“An indulgence,” says Eneas at last very quietly, lips trembling, agonized golden gaze locked on the night sea. “A respite. A suspension of my one absolute precept.” As he speaks he turns toward him and Siavash can almost feel it physically: the barrier between them crumbling and blowing away like sand.

Rarely in his life has Siavash felt this drawn to someone only to have his attentions rebuffed. By now he knows enough of Eneas’ past to know he’s had lovers of all kinds.

So why not me?

Why, each time he thinks he catches a glimpse of real warmth under the mask, does the mask spring up again, hiding true connection behind false charm, meeting Siavash’s spontaneous flirtations with practiced deflection? Is the harmony he feels between them—that he hears resonating in his bones when Eneas is near—only wishful thinking? Siavash wants desperately to reach over, gently pull the mask aside so that they’re truly face to face and let him know what has been tormenting him, filling his waking mind and his dreams and his heart and soul this past fortnight—

Whatever haunts you, let me set you free.

But the force of will that was holding back the magnetism of their bodies has been abolished. Both are powerless as it draws them together.

“My Lark,” Eneas whispers. “May I kiss—”

But Siavash is already there.

[mysterious-secret-garden]

Creusa appears to Aeneas in burning Troy on a cloud and points out a princess.

Engraving from a German children’s picture-book version of the Aeneid by G. J. Lang and G. C. Eimmart, “A tapestry of Roman virtues as seen in Vergil’s Aeneas and his brave deeds, rendered in sparkling engravings, as illustrations of the remarkable deeds of antiquity, for the common benefit of noble youth,” (Peplus virtutum Romanarum in Aenea Virgiliano eiusque rebus fortiter gestis, ad maiorem antiquitatis et rerum lucem, communi iuventutis sacratae bono, aere renitens) (Nuremburg: J.L. Buggel, 1688), pl. 10.

Image and text from here.

[softservewidow]

yass kween give us a homophobic rant

[yogiurban]

¿Cuál fue la obra más importante de Virgilio?

La Eneida es el gran poema épico inacabado de Virgilio. Consta de doce libros (de unos 900 versos cada uno) y narra en clave legendaria, y en cierto modo religiosa, los avatares pre-fundacionales de Roma focalizados en el héroe troyano Eneas.

[benhurdebastianiteixeiralove]

ENÉAS CARNEIRO - VIDA E PENSAMENTO DE UM ÍCONE BRASILEIRO

Enéas Carneiro foi uma das personalidades políticas mais marcantes da história recente do Brasil. Com uma trajetória de superação e demonstração de erudição, sua presença no cenário político brasileiro foi marcada por um discurso enérgico e opiniões conservadoras. Seu grande conhecimento em áreas científicas diferentes impressionou muitos brasileiros, trazendo admiradores mesmo entre…

[albumdellefigurine]

[kingofthering]

endless list of random motogp things - marc marquez + giving thank you pats after borrowing a tow

le mans 2022 (fp3) | portimao 2023 (q2) | misano 2023 (pr)

[argentinagp]

Enea Bastianini for ducaticorse

[dujour13]

💎💎💎 Well then, Siavash's thoughts about Eneas?

When cornered Siavash is usually an expert at deflecting, but you catch him glance up guiltily as soon as the name is out of your mouth, and there’s no way he can hide the color that rises to his cheeks. He makes a good show of laughing it off but he’s been caught and he knows it. And he knows you know it.

“Three thoughts for three diamonds,” he says with exaggerated casualness, flipping a strand of hair from his face. “I can do that.”

“First thought. He plays the violin superbly.” A defiant grin. Are you going to make him elaborate? Delve into music theory?

You hold your ground. He must complete the thought.

“All right, fine. It’s warm, true, enchanting, terrifying. Like your soul is the strings and his bow makes it resonate…”

He trails off as if his tapered ear has caught a melody on the breeze only he can hear.

“All right, second thought. He’s fascinating.” That second thought seems to absorb him completely, and he’s elsewhere again for a moment. His eyes have gone dreamy. You are patient.

“Of course, that’s his talent. It seems too obvious. But I mean everything about him, not just the mask he happens to be showing the world. Underneath it—the core of him that he hides behind veil after veil—the golden tattoos and the pale scars. The depth of years stretching out behind him. The mystery of the places he’s been and the stories he tells. The secret longing in his heart—for freedom, for connection, for life.

“And in the center of it all is—" he stops himself. He will not entrust you with Eneas’ deepest secrets. “I’m fascinated. I can’t look away. I don’t want to look away.”

You make a note to ask how he knows about the tattoos and the scars, but that may put him on the defensive. You simply nod for him to continue.

“Third thought. Eneas is manipulative, sometimes even cruel, but he loves people more than anyone I’ve ever met, including me, and that’s saying something. The power of his enchantment emanates from his heart.

“He knows people. He loves what’s beautiful and what’s ugly and he sows their seeds, and he can coax blooms from all kinds. That’s his garden—people. He tends them, waters them, nourishes them, prunes them, twists their vines into elegant or terrible shapes, shines on them until they burst into flower of bright color or pale, monstrous blossom. And his favorite thing is to walk in his garden. He loves all of them.”

You can see Siavash steeling himself, drawing a steadying breath. “But that’s aesthetic love, not—not love love.” His voice falters.

He’s unable to meet your gaze anymore. He speaks barely above a whisper when he finally continues.

“That, he takes but he’s afraid to give. I think I know why but it still h—”

He squeezes his eyes shut and blinks to clear them. “It might heal him but it might also destroy him and I—I wouldn’t want that.”

He manages to transform a shaky breath into a laugh. There—he got through it. He’s smiling as much from relief as to hide the turmoil.

“I know you’ll report back to him. He has you on a string too.” He shrugs as he gets up to go. “I don’t mind.”

[motocorsas]

motogp as pokemon: a presentation by me

[muxas-world]

Oh they really exile enea to the non believers garage 😭

[f1ctional]

Brother was absolutely ready to take all of Enea 😭

[marquezian]

P3 in Austin, 2024

[indiangp]

[anitalianfrie]

How likely is it for them to hit on you with "faccio una carbonara che non la batte nessuno" (i make an amazing carbonara)

Believe it or not, this is a thing Italian men use to flirt. Unfortunately.

Diggia: 10/10. I've never seen a man who looks like he's about to try and amaze me with his (mid) carbonara more than him in my whole life, ever

Enea: 9/10. No. Stop booing. Deconstruct the myth of soft boy Enea. Let's face it: he's truly too coatto not to.

Bez: 5/10. He's spiritually 10/10 but he is aware of his complete lack of culinary skills and his inability at making a carbonara. He offers you a piadina instead.

Pecco: 7/10. Does he have the skill to back it up? Debatable. Does he have the confidence? Oh, absolutely.

Luca: 3.5/10. Probably has the skills to back it up, seems socially aware enough to realize that it's a terrible pick up line.

Mig: 8/10. Too much of an Italian man to not get this rating. Probably undercooks the egg.

Cele: 6/10. Not as confident as Pecco, but I can picture him saying "faccio una carbonara da paura" in my mind and that's enough.

Franky: 5/10. Seems like a normal individual and the most well adjusted out of all of them. I was debating whether to give him a 3 or a 4 but unfortunately, he's from Rome.

Vale: 8/10. Does not have the skill to back it up in any way.

[kingofthering]

PORTIMAO 2024 | Enea Bastianini with his cape in parc fermé.