#he's name is lucjan

[myoongitis]

let’s see the kitties!

[quailxcrossing]

I will always jump at the opportunity to ask about your ocs!!!! Truth be told I always have so many questions about them but just forget to ask, THANK you for RBing these ask games 🙏

7, 20 and 37 and for GOAT!!!

39 and H for Auï

31, 2, and 27 for Lucjan

and A & B for Caius and Etcetera! :3

;;0;; THANK YOUUU FISH it means a lot to meeeeee excited to get to answering!!!

GOAT !!!!!!!

7. What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling? Certain smells that remind him of his old apartment, heavily wooded areas, the general concept of college sends him right back to being 4, rough felty textures and soft clothbody dolls. he usually doesn't like getting nostalgic, even in a good way, it makes him irritated.

20. If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so? ohhh this is a good question. It's also hard bc personally the lines are all over the place in a variety of ways! like, i don't think i could answer this question for myself. like. help. i just want to kiss girls

for Goat....shifting into his brain right now. well. to him, those things feel very different- the way he feels like Turrie's (unspoken) brother has a different texture and expectation in his mind than how he's Cian's best friend. he knows both of them will love him unconditionally (at least he hopes they will) but its still different. like he's allowed to wrestle and annoy and gnaw on Turrie's arm, but he'll zip everything up when Cian seems like she needs a little space.

Auï feels a little bit in the middle but also completely different- Goat wants to earn Auï's respect but he's found it's easier to be vulnerable about it. He wants Auï to view him as "his person", and feels extra special when Auï chooses him in a situation. He wants Auï to choose him every time. He's not particularly sure where this line turns from platonic to romantic, though- he definitely knows there's attraction, but he felt this way long before even seeing Auï physically. He just wants to be his little guy, he doesn't know. he wants things to be expressed differently with Auï- he wants to be his boyfriend! he knows he could do a lot of the things he already does with Auï, but he wants that title and set of expectations. he doesn't know what it means at all, but it's how he feeeeeeeels

tl'dr Goat is demiaro/demiace + gay with killer alexithymia

37. Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)? 

Unfortunately, Goat was blessed with a photographic memory, but also ADHD. He views his memories in perfect snapshots of what he saw, and can view lists and orders this way, but Cian still needs to ask him 6 times to take the trash out. he's especially good with numbers this way- don't even worry he will NEVER forget a set of numbers. names, orders...they're a little bit trickier, but he usually relies on his good long-term memory to hopefully get things right- sometimes he just goes "uh, i don't know, red red green blue purple? i don't even remember. oh, i was right?? that just felt correct!"

AUÏ lets fucking gooooo

39. How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people?

mmmmm!!!!! it used to be easy for him- he could recognize things, but he'd usually be kind enough to lend them some bit of grace. however, one of the Key Things his abuser did to him was pick his brain and make him notice and be aggravated by every little flaw in those around him, to isolate him! While in turn, holding Auï at an angle so he couldn't see his abuser's flaws.

Nowadays, he notices quite a lot, but he is trying to reteach himself to be accepting....he doesn't enjoy losing people in his life over petty things. he loves his friends despite their shortcomings, and he can put up with those annoyances as a testament of his care for them.

some people, however.....Slavavas........he just hates that guy. for a lot of reasons. its not Slavavas's fault but Auï is CERTAINLY finding every flaw in him

H) What trait do you (me!!) admire most? i really admire Auï's perseverance! he started as a vent character that I had no hope for, but he was able to prove himself to me as someone who would survive. I admire his ability to keep hope, however dim it gets at times, and how he doesn't close himself off from others despite how he's been hurt. Auï's survival is very important, to both of us!

I note this because when I was first writing his story, all the way back in BEINGS, some of you may know he was supposed to be killed off. As is the fate of a vent character written by a hurting creator. BUT....this devastated me (and Goat) and just made me feel worse....so deeply that I (and Goat) (mostly Goat, physically) had to rip open the seams of the universe so I could give him another chance- and another, and another, until he got it right! So deeply, deeply I admire his perseverance. Every time he enjoys the company of his friends or does something nice for himself, an angel gets their wings.

LUCJAN this is a fun one!?!?! how did you know I literally was drawing him today. i was JUST thinking about this guy. i love him

31. Who are they the most glad to have met?  His dear friends Alto and Pazz!! They were his favorite friends :D and trust me, Lucjan had a LOT of friends. He really connected with these two, especially Alto- he felt all of their lives were blessed to have met each other, should some divine being have guided their paths...he just really liked his best friends.

2. How easy is it for your character to laugh? Very easy!! Lucjan is constantly laughing at everything, he thinks every joke is the funniest ever, he is also one of those people who politely chuckle to confirm "yes i'm listening". he's so.... jovial... sorry i keep switching from past/present tense. im sad

27. What causes them to feel dread? 

Genuinely? When he was alive, nothing. He was an extremely trusting person, both in others and in the universe that everything would turn out. Doesn't mean he didn't feel fear! Just not dread. He did not dread! In his awesome ghost Waffle Fries AU(?), almost nothing! He doesn't like hearing noises behind him without a discernable source. Like if the floor creaks behind him and no one is there, he's on edge. just a little bit. maybe a lot sometimes.

yessss more creator questions these are FUN

A) Why are you excited about this character? B) What inspired you to create them?

For Caius and Etcetera!

I am excited for these characters because i LOVE THEM. i love their story.....its what founded my biggest story world to date! its a story which has changed a LOT over the years- did you know these guys used to be furries. its been an important story to me to cope with feelings like grief, progressive memory loss, fatherhood, neurodiversity, sexuality/closetedness....and lighter topics like my love for the beach, my love for catboys, and my love for whats going to be a very interestingly drawn comic if i can get my shit together! also my love for Kennedy. you didn't mention Kennedy but they are VERY important to Caicetera, and they did literally change my life radically (for the better) its an insane story.

what inspired me.....a lot of IRL experiences that happened in 2019, and then 2020 (not Covid). i had Caius and Etcetera's characters already down, they were literally every trope I liked at the time. i'm honestly not sure if there's any media that inspired it......i take my little snippets from media, like any writer, but i'm not really a writer who could point to any One thing, which is totally valid but it's personally not how i enjoy writing. i like working from the ground up! i work best from a wide palette! and sooo much has changed, the first Revive world was COMPLETELY different from today's Revive world. It used to be a free-for-all fantasy world with tons of different species set in the forest, to a more grounded fantasy world with solid worldbuilding/species and a SoCal flavor. i've been able to expand a lot better this way!! i mean, like, the 3 characters i talked about before these questions- aui, goat, and lucjan- they will never meet Caius and Etcetera, and yet their stories are just as rich and long! i'm very much a writer who likes to branch out in her worlds........

[n-butyric-fishingdisaster]

hey, you remind me of somebody i used to be mutuals long ago :) he was from same country as you, loved cats and played mmos and i think he might be around the same age as you are but i don't remember exactly... he remade few times and got terminated at one point but i think in the end he just deactivated and was gone :(

And he had a cat named lucjan didn't he? :D

unfortunately it has been about two years since I lost him...

[littlebanna9]

@storywrought

" Lucjan!!! "

Aimi and a couple of other other Yiga children run up to him surrounding him now that he's returned from their mission it was a very long one which lasted longer then Kohga had originally planned to be. The little one tugs on the pant leg of his uniform brimming with excitement eager to hear all about his adventures.

The other little Yiga giggle there is no way he can escape them all although, it's only natural one would be tired they will hunt him down they are quite clever little things.

" LUCJAN!!" Aimi yells and the other little ones repeat her words screaming his name at the top of their voices. " LUCJAN LUCJAN LUCJANNNN!!!!!!!"

[auroraaksneswarrior]

hi, I'm back<33

i don't know if i will continue this blog or not, but i just wanted to tell you what happened since i logged out of this acc:3

1. i went on aurora's concert!!!! it was last june in praha. it was one of the best moments in my life. i was standing just in front of the scene and screaming 'I DON’T NEED A CURE FOR ME' with aurora and other warriors like omgg

(and maybe soon i will be on a festival in praha and aurora will be there omg)

2. I DON'T GO BY EY EM EIR LMAOOOO my prns are he/him aghhhh

3. i started to rap:p u can find my raps on toktok @apollo_soloist

4. i made a new blog and I'm active there:)) It’s @444novembers

5. as you can notice on that blog i tagged, i started to listen to another music... I'm still a fucking warrior and i listen to kpop too but i don't listen to fucking american pop anymore 😍😍😍 now i mostly listen to mbv, lush etc

6. i don't go by the name mafia bruh... I'm lucjan/lucian (lucian is like more international yk), the short forms are luce/shen

7. i got a diagnosis for asperger syndrome:3 it's a really nice feeling to be an autistic kiddo (btw i finally learned how to differentiate a/an)

8. i was in the bts pop up store last week🤪🤪🤪

and that's all, i guess:]

[444novembers]

hii i just started this blog and i just want to tell u sth abt myself<33

i don't really know what to tell:| my name is lucjan (or lucian) [he/him], you can also call me luce or shen:p

i speak polish english and german

my username is related to my fav band THE NOVEMBERS which consists of 4 members lmao

i love music, mostly stuff like my bloody valentine or lush yk what i mean (i also listen to some less popular bands)

my hobbies are playing ukulele, writing (poems, short poetic stories/introductions to sth or even novels), rapping (i rap mostly kpop) and cosplaying!!!

I like to dress hippie style:]

my nationalities are polish and ukrainian (im slavic yaya)

i don't really know what is this fucking blog going to be about, but i think it will mostly be about some shit that i like (my fav bands etc) or some random things of my life

[k-l-s-h]

The Black Plague

          He’d lost the notion of time by then. Unable to tell if hours or days had passed. Paying no more heed to the jabs and curses thrown at him, he was just waiting for it to come. The last horseman. His head was hanging low. Hair covering his face as he braced himself, for the umpteenth kick of the man that decided to be his new persecutor, to come. But it didn’t. Instead, muffled sounds greeted his ears. It didn’t take long to the young man to understand that he was chocking. Making Kurus frown.

And then he heard it. Hoods. Clapping on the ground.

They were here.

Gasps. Terrified ones, rose everywhere around him. Thumb! The sound of something heavy falling. Shrieks. Rapidly silenced. And then, all he could hear was his erratic breathing and his own heartbeats, thumping in his ears. He was scared. So scared.

Bare feet came into his view, soon covered by the fabric of a dress. A second passed. Another. He didn’t have the strength nor the courage to raise his head. So they crouched down. She crouched down. The first thing that he felt, was the chain restraining his remaining arm, falling to the ground. Releasing him. And then, small hands with long fingers, cupping his cheeks.

For as long as he can recall, all the tales he used to hear about Death were hushed. Whispers exchanged with an underlying terror. The dread that saying her name too loudly would invoke her cold grip. But to him, her touch was warm. Like the stone heated by the sun in the early morning. And her piercing eyes lacking pupils, peaking at him under the hem of her hood, held more care and compassion than those of his peer. Only dead people could look at Death herself in the eye. He knew that. So, he croaked a laugh. He laughed with tears in his eyes. Making her tilt her head to the side. Everything was silent. Like the whole world was holding its breath aside from him. And then she spoke.

���Do you know who I am?”

The voice of Death was, peculiar. Like an echo laced with whispers. Omnipresent and yet, in some way hushed. Nothing like what he’d pictured. So, he gulped painfully, mouth still dry, responding with a nod instead. Making her squint her eyes.

“Then why are you laughing, mortal?”

Why was he laughing? The response was simple, really.

“… Relieved.”

A pause.

“You feel, relieved?” Death queried, hands still on his face, near his neck.

He nodded again, the corners of his lips lightly lifting up. Because he truly was. Because it meant that this curse, his suffering and the weight of their hateful glares, would all cease. It meant that the memory of his sisters’ fearful and guilty faces, would haunt him no more. And death could give him all of that.

The frown that was twisting the ethereal features of the last rider, deepened at first. She scrutinized his slumped form. His face only held high thanks to her. The icy blue of her stare making shivers run down his spine. And Death softened.

“Tell me, mortal,” she then began, wiping off the dirt and dust of his face without breaking eye contact. Her ashen hands now stained. “What is the name that was given to you?”

He blinked. Weary for the briefest time and making her smirk. A name held a lot of power. Especially given to a being like her. But as his eyes met the terrified ones of the people that he used to call his own, he remembered that he didn’t have much left to lose. So he gave it away.

“… Kurus.”

“Kurus…” She repeated. Tasting it. Making it roll on her tongue while he, barely managed to utter it. “And what about the name of your family?”

Family.

The image of his sisters, his three sisters, came to him. And with it, a mixture of emotions that made him sigh shakily.

“Does it truly matters now?”

The hooded woman chuckled without malice nor sadness. The oddity that was her voice getting almost gentle, just as the way that she brought his hair back to clear his face. The vestiges of its beauty still there, despite the hollowness of his cheeks and the circles under his sunken eyes. “I suppose it does not.”

“… Kurus tell me.”

“What is it, that you desire the most?”

…Huh.

That too, was a simple question.

One that brought tears to his eyes again, but that he could no more contain.

“Please, please just- make the pain stop...” He begged, choking and spurting. The hand that she unchained weakly griping one of her wrists. “I just want it all- to stop… Please…”

In this instant, Kurus barely registered the shrieks and cries around him. Nor did he quite acknowledge, the apparition, of the three other horsemen. Which would have filled him with newfound boiling rage, if his eyes had crossed a third time, those of The Conqueror that brought the plague on him. No. Because the only thing that counted, the only thing that he had left, was death. The only thing, the only entity, that even through the blurriness of his tears, looked at him like he was still something.

“Mortal, are you aware, that a bargain with me has a price?” She warned, the whispers of her voice tinted with an underlying feeling that he’d call worry, if she wasn’t an angel of the end of mankind.

“You are no simple man, mortal. You were the first struck by my brother and yet, not the first to fall. Your God chose you in the cruelest way. And do not take my words lightly, when I say that he will not let you meet your end peacefully. After all, you were all carved in his image. And you out of them all saw, felt, how vile and vindictive humans can turn out to be. God is love. Yes. But they loves like a selfless mother, a capricious child, and intransigent father does. Wholeheartedly, selfishly and unforgivingly.”

“I understand.” He answered slowly. Voice still broken as every single one of her words hit him, like the stones that were thrown on his decaying body.

“Good.”

“But I do not care!” He hastily added. Gripping her wrist with the despair of the dying man that he was. Panicking when the only warmth that he felt in months, that her hands gave him, left his face in the slightest. “I do not I-… I would do anything, for it all to just stop. As long as it does end.”

“… These are grand words mortal.” She cautioned for the last time. “Are you ready to assume their weight? Are you capable to do so?”

Was he?

Was he really?

“J-just promise me. Please.”

Tears were running down his face again. Rolling on the delicate hands of his salvation – or damnation? – and washing in trails, the dirt of his face from them. Her expression was impenetrable. She was beautiful. He noticed. Impossibly so. Just like the three others. Just like her bastard of a brother. But with this peculiarity that defined her. Like her voice. Like her eyes. Like the silky black smoke of her hair contrasting with the white ashes of her skin. Like her warmth that maybe only he, and other mad people felt. Because that’s what he must have been if, in his last instants, he was admiring the beauty of Death. But who could blame him though? He’d always love charismatic things unless they were men that were more so than him.

“… I promise, Kurus.” She declared solemnly. Her voice full and strong. The whispers lacing it, not whispering anymore. Making his eyes grow wide. “You will suffer no more physical pain. Neither tomorrow nor for the centuries to come.”

If it wasn’t for the shock of the strength of a promise given by Death, or the shapeshifting creature that he didn’t notice until this moment, sharing the cape and hood of the last rider, Kurus would have questioned the meaning behind her cryptic words. But with the almost wonder and horror, came contempt as well. though he could have sworn, that as she stretched her neck to lay her lips on his forehead, she apologized in the weakest murmur. And all that he remembers, after the kiss that Death gave him, was the thing hovering them both, swallowing their form in soothing darkness. The pain had stopped. Finally. She’d kept her promise.

And he woke up.

[ofqueensandwitches]

Jaskier had lived for eons. He'd been around since before the Conjunction, since before Melitele herself existed. He had lived for so long that slowly, even his brothers and sisters had called him only by his title. A name was just words to him. Whatever he was called, in the end, he would always be known as what he was—the God of Magic.

It was his dearest Lucjan who’d given him the name ‘Jaskier’. The love of his life. The human he'd broken all laws of the universe to be with. The one whose death had led him to cause the Conjunction of the Spheres. The noble knight who had been reincarnated into the most powerful Witcher in history.

The fearsome Butcher of Blaviken. The infamous White Wolf. Geralt of Rivia.

[life-of-architecture]

Kraków ul. św. Anny 2 / Wiślna 1 XVI-wieczna Kamienica Czeczotki odbija XVII-wieczny Pałac pod Baranami foto z 12 lipca 2017

Zbudowana w latach 1564-1567, na murach starszych budynków, przez Gabriela Słońskiego dla Erazma Czeczotki-Tłokińskiego, krakowskiego burmistrza, zwanego Krwawym. Niesławnego Czeczotkę i jego krakowską rezydencję opisuje Mariusz Wollny w powieści historycznej Kacper Ryx.

Kolejnymi właścicielami byli między innymi podkanclerzy koronny Stanisław Miński, miecznik koronny i starosta chęciński Stanisław z Ruszczy Branicki oraz kasztelanowa krakowska Teofila z Tarłów Ostrogska. Pod koniec XVIII kamienica trafiła w ręce Jakuba Wodzickiego, po czym przez następne stulecie była wspólną własnością hrabiów Wodzickich herbu Leliwa i Mycielskich herbu Dołęga. Część pomieszczeń wynajmowali przedsiębiorcom. Tak w 1873 r. reklamował się sklep odzieżowy:

...a tak w 1874 r. kupiec winny:

W drugiej połowie XIX w. lokatorem domu był także lekarz August Kwaśnicki.

W 1897 r. kamienicę zwaną już wtedy Pałacem Wodzickich nabył kupiec Ignacy Rajal, po czym, po przebudowie według projektu Karola Scharocha, otworzył na parterze centrum handlowe. Tak reklamował się w 1913 r.

Pierwsze piętro zajmowała otwarta w 1900 r. kawiarnia Secesya, wkrótce miejsce przemian obyczajowych. Pisał o niej Tadeusz Boy-Żeleński: Nie pamiętam dokładnie, kiedy zaczęła się do kawiarni inwazja kobiet. Zdaje mi się, że to było w Secesji (róg Rynku i św. Anny), z jej tandetnym szykiem, muzyczką i w ogóle wiedeńskim stylem. Tam zaczęły chodzić rodziny i w ogóle damy. (Znasz-li ten kraj?..., 1932) Zmieniali się jej właściciele, ale sama kawiarnia trwała przez cztery dekady. Oto jej reklamy z lat 1900, 1907, 1910 i 1912.

W latach 1908-1939 działał tutaj Instytut Muzyczny i połączona z nim Krakowska Szkoła Dramatyczna. Nauczycielami byli m.in.: Stanisława Abłamowicz-Meyerowa (matka kompozytora Krzysztofa Meyera), Aleksander Bandrowski, Adolf Billig, Franciszek Bylicki, Józefina 'Carnioli' Zapałkiewicz, Klara Czop-Umlauf, Kazimierz Gabryelski, Zdzisław Jachimecki, Cezary Jellenta, Wilhelm Mantel, Włodzimierz Miarczyński, Bolesław Raczyński, Konrad Rakowski, Józef Reiss, Bernardino Rizzi (założyciel Chóru Cecyliańskiego), Lucjan Rydel, Paulina Szalitówna, Michał Świerzyński, Włodzimierz Tetmajer, Ignacy Warmuth, Stanisława Wysocka. Tak Instytut ogłaszał się w 1913 r.

Kamienica mieściła także inne przedsiębiorstwa. Sklep delikatesowy i restauracja Józefa Kuczmierczyka przetrwały tam co najmniej trzydzieści lat. Reklama z 1908 r.

Równie długo działał sklep galanteryjny Franciszka Lubańskiego. Reklama z 1908 r.

...sprzedający nie tylko rękawiczki. Reklama z 1910 r.

Sklep firmowy Gazowni Miejskiej; reklama z 1905 r.

Destylarnia alkoholi założona w 1881 r.; reklama z 1904 r.

Na początku XX w. lokatorami kamienicy byli także neurolog Mieczysław Nartowski oraz sędzia Zygmunt Tałasiewicz, honorowy obywatel Strzyżowa.

Ostatnią wielką przebudowę kamienica przeszła w 1936 r. według projektu Adolfa Szyszki-Bohusza; zyskała wtedy drugie piętro. Po wojnie przez kolejne pół wieku działał tutaj Dom Handlowy Krakus. Tak ogłaszał się w 1970...

...i 1975 r.

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

Kraków, Poland 2 św. Anny St. / 1 Wiślna St. 16th c. Czeczotka House reflecting the 17th c. Pod Baranami Palace taken on 12 July 2017

Built in 1564-1567, on the remains of older houses, by Gabriel Słoński for Erazm Czeczotka-Tłokiński, a Mayor of Kraków, called Bloody. The infamous Mayor and his home residence was described in a historical novel Kacper Ryx by Mariusz Wollny.

Among the next owners were Deputy Chancellor of the Crown Stanisław Miński, Sword-Bearer of the Crown Stanisław Branicki of Ruszcza, and Castellan of Kraków's wife Teofila Ostrogska née Tarło. In the end of 18th c. the house became a property of Jakub Wodzicki and for another century it was jointly owned by the counts Wodzicki of the Leliwa coat of arms and the counts Mycielski of the Dołęga coat of arms. They used to rent some of the rooms for various businesses. First picture in the text above (Adam Lipczyński) is an ad of a men's clothing store from 1873. The next one (handel win) is a vine shop in 1874. One of tenants in the second half of 19th c. was also August Kwaśnicki, physician.

Ignacy Rajal, merchant, bought the house - called Wodzicki Palace by then - in 1897. After remodelling by design of Karol Scharoch, he opened a department store on the ground floor. The third picture is an ad of Rajal's store from 1913. The first floor was taken by a café named Secesja (Polish name of the Art Nouveau style), opened in 1900 and active for next four decades. Soon the café became a place of social changes. Tadeusz Boy-Żeleński wrote about it in his memoirs: I don't remember when exactly the invasion of women on coffeehouses started. I think it was in the Secesja (corner of the Main Square and Saint Anne St.) with its tawdry chic, music and overall Viennese style. Families and in general ladies started attending it. (Dost know the land?…, 1932) The series of four pictures are the Secesja's ads from respectively 1900, 1907, 1910 and 1912.

Institute of Music and the Kraków School of Drama worked here in 1908-1939. some of the teachers were: Stanisława Abłamowicz-Meyerowa (mother of composer Krzysztof Meyer), Aleksander Bandrowski, Adolf Billig, Franciszek Bylicki, Józefina 'Carnioli' Zapałkiewicz, Klara Czop-Umlauf, Kazimierz Gabryelski, Zdzisław Jachimecki, Cezary Jellenta, Wilhelm Mantel, Włodzimierz Miarczyński, Bolesław Raczyński, Konrad Rakowski, Józef Reiss, Bernardino Rizzi (the founder of the Cecilian Choir in Kraków), Lucjan Rydel, Paula Szalit, Michał Świerzyński, Włodzimierz Tetmajer, Ignacy Warmuth, Stanisława Wysocka. Next picture is the both schools' ad from 1913. The address was shared by even more businesses. Next ads belonged to a grocery&restaurant (Józef Kuczmierczyk, 1908), a haberdasher shop (Lubański, 1908 and 1910), the City gaswork's retail store (Gazownia Miejska, 1905) and an alcohol distillery (Edward[a] Urban[a], 1904). Mieczysław Nartowski, neurologist, and Zygmunt Tałasiewicz, a judge and a honorary citizen of the town of Strzyżów, lived here in the beginning of 20th c.

The house underwent the last significant remodelling in 1936, by design of Adolf Szyszko-Bohusz, acquiring a second (American third) storey. After the World War II, for another half a century it housed the Krakus Department Store. The last two pictures are its announcements from respectively 1970 and 1975.

[passednote]

Iwan on Halsted Street

This story is a bit more on the recent side. Please note that this is an adaptation of events, and therefore details have been altered or recontextualized. I am not an impartial actor in this or any story, and will not pretend otherwise.

Iwan is an architect, and the youngest son of Lucjan and Francesca. His two brothers are Tymon the Eldest and Marcel the Middle. Born in the city of Chicago, Iwan was twelve years old when the first cases of HIV were reported in the United States in 1981.

Tymon, Marcel, and Iwan were taught to play baseball, go to church, and never watch the news. The baseball diamond was just about as sacred as ground would get for the three brothers, whose heads were filled with promises of future greatness, given enough practice. Unfortunately, Iwan found himself unable to focus long enough to remember to catch the ball.

In class, Iwan would be distracted by the improper mixtures of colors on wallpaper, the ever so slightly crooked arrangement of desks, the incorrect distribution of windows to classrooms. He would dream his way into detention once or twice a month. He was fickle and flighty, with a tendency to prefer the company of his girl classmates.

When his English teacher told him to shape up or he’d catch the gay cancer, Iwan knew better than to ask Lucjan. Instead, he brought a book of medical conditions home from the library. After skipping dinner to pour over its contents in search of answers, there was a gentle knock at the door. Francesca always thought it polite to knock first, though she never waited for a reply.

She asked Iwan what he was reading while commanding him to eat the green beans she had brought from the kitchen. Iwan ate, but refused to tell Francesca what he was researching. All he had learned of defiance had come from Francesca, and she was unused to seeing it turned against her. Grabbing the book from her son, Francesca skimmed its worn pages. Iwan looked at his toes when she asked who was sick.

Tymon graduated from high school that spring, and asked his brothers to play one final game of baseball before driving to Sioux Falls for college. It was at this game that Iwan met Husam. He was as clean a pitcher as they come, and as dirty a lover as Iwan would ever know. The memories of that summer with Husam would linger in the middleground of Iwan’s mind long into adulthood, particularly the lush feeling of fingertips on his back and the bitter euphoria of each night's goodbye kiss.

Lost in the sea between his brothers, Marcel began to invite himself along to movies and bike rides with Iwan and Husam. When he was there, the hand-holding and the glances of intimacy were tucked away as a polite secret. Before long, there was no oxygen between Iwan and Husam and their lust withered into a cordial friendship, two points on a triangle deemed never to intersect. At summer’s end, Husam moved back to Akron. Neither he nor Iwan would recall their last kiss, or when it was that their spark fell away.

Many years later, Husam would marry a beautiful woman named Adrianne. Marcel and Iwan were both too busy to attend.

Now in his freshman year of high school, Iwan quit baseball and began discovering a world of arts, culture, and current events that flooded him with indignation and inspiration. He would drift silently through his classes, sketching his best impressions of Atwood or Wright, whose architecture dominated the city. More and more, he snuck out at nights to Halsted Street, drinking up liberation at Opal and the North End. There he began to see a world brimming with context and vitality, and learned the feeling of yearning.

It was Iwan who first discovered the lumps in his mother’s neck that would not go away with tea and a long night’s rest. He had been taught the first signs of HIV by a group of men on a sweaty night at Sparrows, and implored Francesca to get tested. By the time she listened, she was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer and worsening fast.

Marcel and Iwan grew cold and harsh in the following years, accusing the other of abandoning their mother. Marcel would follow Iwan out at night, stalking his brother on crowded trains, only to lose him in the evening rush. Both siblings avoided Francesca’s company, lest their bottled up terror and hope and tears fall out in front of her. She would sleep by herself as Lucjan took the living room couch as refuge. They were each as far from home as they had ever been when Francesca was brought to hospice.

Tymon took a break from school to visit. All four boys were given their time alone with Francesca, singing half-remembered songs they’d made up years ago and squeezing every bit of memory they could into those final days. Iwan came in one afternoon carrying a model he’d built for class. A delicate contradiction of foam arches and garish cardboard asymmetry held up in defiance of gravity, the tiny house that garnered him scholastic praise remained at Francesca’s bedside for the rest of her stay. Before passing from her body, she remarked that we would all be so lucky to live in Iwan’s inconstant world. She thought the colors were funny, too.

Francesca’s funeral took place just before Iwan’s senior year. Tymon remained for a few weeks to help Lucjan sort the affairs before returning to school. For the second year in a row, Marcel attended a score of baseball tryout camps without success, and had gotten a job selling cars. His cheeks flushed bright red each morning when Lucjan dropped him off at the dealership in his ‘75 Pacer on his way to the office. Iwan too entered the daze of affecting life, dancing with his father and brothers around an abyss of loss.

As the months dredged on, Iwan and Marcel’s simmering reached a constant, never-ending breaking point. Distrust seeped onto their skin. Their room became a space thick with loathing, neglect, and unspoken pain. Both began spending nights in far away clubs and on the couches of friends. Lucjan quietly continued to sleep on the living room couch. So it came to be that the house’s four beds lay empty.

The first lonely Christmas came and went without much flare. After New Years Marcel announced he would not be trying out for teams in the coming season, and Lucjan softly nodded before commenting that his office was hiring. Iwan saw that what his brother had really wanted was a father to tell him anything beyond the passive acceptance of life washing him deeper and deeper into its tides.

That January was an especially dark and cold winter, and the three men found themselves trapped inside for several days as the snow beat down relentlessly. Exhaustion overtook them as the two brothers found themselves unable to sustain their anger throughout the storm. Annoyance at the other’s idiosyncrasies turned to nostalgia, and the card games they played served to bring a crack of a smile on their faces rather than simply another knife to slice past the time with. Lucjan presided over the tepid reconciliation of his sons, two men whose capacity for hurt had been well and truly spent.

Marcel became the first member of his family Iwan came out to, shocking himself in the process. Marcel said it didn’t change anything, which as far as responses go was better than feared and worse than hoped. Lucjan’s response was more to be expected: a horror quickly deflected but that crawled up inside him and squirmed throughout his heart. He was a stone of Hades, for whom even the lyre of Orpheus could not shake him awake.

Lucjan silently vowed never to speak on the topic again. In turn this led to very little speaking on any topic for the remainder of the school year. Iwan waited for his father or brother to give him a response, even the hint of an opinion that never came. Graduation came in silence, and the following day Iwan loaded up all his belongings onto a bus to Providence, where he would begin classes in the fall.

​​

Many years later, Iwan returned to Chicago to begin drafting the remodel of Comiskey Park, then called U.S. Cellular Field. He found it difficult to focus on, as inevitably he would wander into memories of playing games in backyards and tiny parks with his brothers. Exasperated and nearing his deadline, he dialed Marcel’s phone number.

They sat on the rickety bleachers deep behind third base. Neither man had grown to have much use for small talk, so they waited there until something was ready to be said. After some time, Iwan said that Marcel would have hated being a baseball player. Marcel agreed, he didn’t like traveling. Iwan wondered aloud what Marcel did like.

Sundays in October. Driving down LSD as it bends around Lake Michigan. Ice cream in the wintertime. The feeling of waking up in the middle of the night and knowing he had four more hours he could sleep.

Of course, he didn’t say so. Instead, Marcel murmured that he liked his family, which was also true. After a moment he added that he hoped Iwan was happy and liked his family too. (Iwan had just broken up with his boyfriend of ten years the month prior. Not that Marcel knew that.)

There were many nights since leaving for college that Iwan wished his father and brothers told him he’d burn in hell, to stay away from their funerals. He’d fantasize it’d be easier that way, to know that they cared enough to hate him.

Indifference is as bitter a poison as any to swallow.

It was not in Lucjan’s nature to take so great an interest in the damnation of others. Far safer to just bob along and see where the river ended. Marcel, on the other hand, found the current far too fast for his liking. How could you possibly have the time to care?

They sat. The sun’s last light had fled the sky, but the field’s fluorescent lights stayed off. Marcel asked what the new park would look like. Iwan confessed he didn’t know. Marcel suggested leather seats for the lower box. Unable to help himself, Iwan blanched in horror.

​

Suggestion after suggestion poured out of Marcel’s mouth, and the gears in Iwan’s mind unstuck, ready to parry each idea with a retort of palettes, shapes, structures. He began to see the new stadium, making mental notes to himself to include in drafting. Marcel joked that Iwan never found a subject he didn’t have an opinion on.

For a few more minutes they talked, starting points crystallizing in Iwan’s mind for the next day’s work. A jab here, some nostalgia there, and then Marcel and Iwan caught sight of something in the other’s eye. A softness of some sort. All of a sudden, both men realized the lateness of the hour. Iwan contemplated offering to buy Marcel a late dinner, but thought better of it. Marcel feared the look he’d seen from his brother, and feared even more that it might disappear forever if he asked Iwan to come meet his kids.

They shook hands, promising Christmas calls and birthday gifts next year. It would have to be enough for now.

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Halloween Art Throughout History

Hello my loves! I must first apologise (again!) for slacking with my blog posts. I’ve been really beating myself up about not writing more but I have been attempting to complete Inktober this year and I just couldn’t fit it all in.

I thought, since it is Halloween I could make it up to you by sharing twenty of the creepiest, spookiest, gruesomest paintings I could find.

[TRIGGER WARNING: Some of these paintings depict death, dead bodies, skeletons and blood]

Aksel Waldermar Johannessen - The Night

Aksel Waldemar Johannessen was a Norwegian humanist painter who focused on working class and unfortunate subjects. He is considered Norways ‘forgotten artist’ because he only gained recognition after his death. Johannessen trained in sculpture and painting and was able to make a living first as a furniture maker and then as a painter. He suffered as an alcoholic for many years and often painted himself into his work in an autobiographical attempt. “Thematic, the images are very ambitious ranging from the grotesque to the idyllic; from depictions of sexuality, violence, prostitution, alcoholism and war to idyllic and intimate work.” In this painting, his wife posed to become ghost-like figure standing in the park at night. The use of colour (dark background colours contrast with the bright blues and yellows of the figure) make this painting seem very spooky and creepy.

Henry Fuseli - The Nightmare

Henry Fuseli was born and grew up in Switzerland until he was forced to flee from a vengeful corrupt family; he explored Germany before ending up in England where he spent most of the rest of his life. Fuseli’s father, Johann Caspar Füssli, was a portrait and landscape painter. Having received a classical education in Zurich, Fuseli later paid his way by writing before Sir Joshua Reynolds advised him to pursue art. He was both Professor of Painting and Keeper at the Royal Academy of Arts in London. Fuseli is famous for his supernatural imagination; although he paints in a style consistent with Romanticism, his paintings are inspired by the paranormal. He was a master of light and shadow which he utilised to emphasise the drama in his paintings. The Nightmare portrays a “dreaming woman and the content of her nightmare.” This painting is often described as “a nightmare that causes nightmares”; it is a horrible representation of some of humanity’s deepest fears. Fuseli’s powerful use of light and shadow in this painting makes it very emotive to view; I can imagine myself in the place of the sleeping woman and feel genuine fear. This painting portrays a fear as old as humanity – the fear of not being safe while sleeping.

Katsushika Hokusai - The Ghost of Kohada Koheiji

Hokusai was a Japanese artist from the Edo period; his most famous artwork is The Great Wave off Kanagawa, a piece which I’m sure everyone has seen at some point in their lives. Hokusai began painting at a very early age, practicing the skills his father had as a mirror-maker for the Shōgun. During his teenage years, he was an apprentice learning wood carving, print making and painting. Throughout his career, he distinguished different artistic styles by changing his name for each one. This painting depicts a scene from a Japanese legend where a murdered actor haunts his wife and her lover. The figure is quite gruesome in is design; the skull still has some hair and skin attached. The painting is very eerie as the zombie actor peers through the mosquito net at his wife.

Francisco Goya - Saturn Devouring His Son

Goya is considered simultaneously as the last of the old masters and the first of the modern masters; during his lifetime he enjoyed great success as a Spanish Romantic painter and printmaker. He trained under José Luzán y Martinez and Anton Raphael Mengs, later securing a position with the Spanish Crown as a court painter. Following a severe illness which left him deaf in 1793 his work became darker and bleaker.  This painting depicts a scene from a Romanised Greek myth in which Saturn eats his children to avoid a prophecy that one of them will overthrow him. Goya painted this piece, along with thirteen others known as the “Black paintings”, with oil paints directly onto the walls of his home near Madrid. While he never intended these paintings to be seen by anyone, the painting of Saturn is particularly disturbing.

Francisco Goya - The Dog

Another of Goya’s ‘Black paintings’ is this one of a drowning dog. This stark and empty painting holds so much emotion; the scared dog is trapped between two oblivions of empty space. This sad and lonely painting depicts a dog that seems to be sinking instead of swimming and is at any moment about to be caught by a huge wave. The fear portrayed in his painting is one of helplessness – perhaps reminiscent of Goya’s own struggle with deafness and old age.

Francis Bacon - Study After Velázquez’s Portrait of Innocent X

Francis Bacon was an Irish-British painter renowned for his raw style of painting and his typically religious subject matter. Bacon was a late-comer to painting; he drifted through most of his life as an interior decorator, bon vivant and gambler. His artwork was often focussed on a single subject for extended periods of time. After the suicide of his lover, his artwork become “more sombre, inward-looking and preoccupied with the passage of time and death.” Throughout his career, Bacon returned to Velázquez’s Portrait of Innocent X, painting and repainting his own interpretations of the original. This study of the original is often viewed as Bacon’s “best pope.” His powerful use of a purple colour palette and lines turns Pope Innocent X into a horrific image shrieking almost ghost-like as he fades into the background.

Henryk Weyssenhoff - Premonition

Henryk Weyssenhoff was a “Polish-Belarusian landscape painter, illustrator and sculptor.” He was a descendant of the Livonian nobility but grew up in the Ural Mountains from the age of four after his father was exiled to Siberia. His first art lessons were from Lucjan Kraszewski. He graduated from the Imperial Academy of Arts in Saint Petersburg in 1885 with a silver medal and the official title of “Artist.” This painting is very ethereal; the purple colour palette and whispy brushstrokes work well together to establish spooky scene. The fog and smoke in the painting coupled with the eerie ghost-like figure in the centre and scared howling dogs make this artwork incredibly powerful. Looking at it, you can imagine the atmosphere and fear really existing.

Shawn Coss - Generalized Anxiety Disorder

While he has a background in emergency nursing, Shawn Coss is an incredible artist from Ohio who specialises in dark art. He is most popular for is work on the webcomic series Cyanide & Happiness. In 2016, he used the popular challenge Inktober to create a series of drawings which portray mental illness, Inktober Illness. The drawings all resemble alien humanoids (Doctor Who’s The Silence, anyone?) that embody the symptoms of each mental illness they are depicting. While these characters are definitely a bit creepy, the scary thing about them is how real they are in their portrayals. As someone who suffers from mental illness, being able to see my usually invisible illness validates my experiences and lets me know that I am not alone.

William Blake - The Ghost of a Flea

William Blake is most famously remembered for his poems however he also made a considerable amount of paintings. Blake’s paintings have philosophical and supernatural elements while still being in the style of Romanticism. This painting was inspired by a “spiritual vision” that Blake had; fleas contain the souls of men who were greedy and bloodthirsty. Blake’s representation of the flea as a humanised character could be suggesting the idea that humans possess horrible qualities or that humans and animals are no different. By painting this piece with dark and muted earth tones, Blake manages to make the flea appear incredibly creepy. This character is the stuff of nightmares, creeping through the darkness to its victims.

William Blake - The Great Red Dragon and the Beast from the Sea

Another spooky painting by Blake is this one of The Great Red Dragon and The Beast From The Sea. Blake takes his inspiration for this piece from the Bible’s Book of Revelations. This terrifying painting depicts a representation of the devil standing over a seven-headed sea beast. The dark and muted palette add to the horror and drama of this painting. I would not want to meet either of those creatures on a dark night!

Emil Nolde - Mask Still Life III

Emil Nolde was a German-Danish artist who practised expressionism. He was one of the first artists to begin experimenting with colour in oil and watercolour, and is now known for his frequent use of yellows and reds along with his expressive brushwork. While he worked in creative industries throughout his early adulthood, he only began to pursue becoming an artist in his thirties. This painting is a study of masks in the Berlin Museum; the brilliant colours and bold brushwork becomes a macabre and almost surreal painting.

Edvard Munch - The Scream

This artist is one of Norway’s most famous; Edvard Munch was a painter and printmaker who was inspired by psychological themes and expressionism. He was raised by his aunt and deeply religious father:  "My father was temperamentally nervous and obsessively religious—to the point of psychoneurosis. From him I inherited the seeds of madness. The angels of fear, sorrow, and death stood by my side since the day I was born." Munch suffered poor health throughout his childhood and began painting to ease his boredom as he was kept home from school. His imagination was overwhelmed by macabre visions inspired by ghost stories and religious dogma. He later attended the Royal School of Art and Design in Kristiania (Oslo). The Scream was inspired by a feeling he had as he was walking home one night while the sun set that nature was screaming. The blood red sky certainly heightens the horrible intensity of this painting as the figure “screams” with anxiety.

Salvator Rosa - The Temptation of St Anthony

Rosa was an Italian Baroque artist known for being a bit of a rebel. He studied art with relatives until his father’s death when he had to take over the care and financial support of his family. Following the advice of Giovanni Lanfranco, Rosa moved to work in Rome. When he returned to Naples he started exploring spooky landscapes in his artwork, painting romantic picturesque pieces. While he painted in a very classical style, the subjects he chose were often far more imaginative than was usual for his time. This painting depicts a scene from St Anthony of Athanasius’ biography where he was attacked by demons in the Egyptian desert. Rosa’s portrayal of the demons is particularly horrifying and terrifying.

Hans Memling - Hell

Hans Memling was a German painter working in the style of the Early Flemish painters. Memling was very successful during his lifetime; he became one of Bruges leading painters of religious portraits and diptychs. This painting depicts Memling’s interpretation of Hell and was intended to scare piety into members of the church. This terrifying painting shows a monstrous amalgamation of “man, woman, dragon, devil, bird and dog” dancing on top of its burning victims. The distinctly red colour palette lends itself to the religious imagery of hell as a place of eternal fire. This creepy painting must have certainly achieved its purpose – I definitely find the grotesque image spooky.

Andy Warhol - Big Electric Chair

Andy Warhol was an incredibly successful American Pop artist. He is often considered one of the most notable people of the 1960s; his work focussed on exploring the “relationship between artistic expression, celebrity culture and advertising.” This eerie painting depicts an electric chair alone in the middle of a desolate room. A sign on the wall read ‘silence’ as though a promise for those who await the chair. This terribly disturbing artwork is an ode to the cruelty of humanity. “Everything I do is connected with death.”

Théodore Géricault - Heads, Severed

This horrific painting comes from the work of French artist, Théodore Géricault. He was educated by Carl Vernet and Pierre-Narcisse Guérin in English sporting art and classical composition, respectively. While he was very talented, he was bored of Neoclassicism and instead painted in the Romantic style. What makes this particular painting so gruesome is the fact that the heads were found by Géricault in Paris Morgue. Obviously unafraid to study emotional and morbid subjects, he has tragically posed these heads as though they were simply sleeping. I think it is part of the human condition to be at once terrified and fascinated with death.

Salvador Dalí - The Face of War

Salvador Dalí is one of the most famous surrealist artists the world has known. The Spanish artist practiced in a range of mediums including painting, sculpture, film and jewellery. His imaginative and eccentric style lends itself to his surrealist work. This painting was created while Dalí lived in California inspired by the trauma of war. The infinity implied by the repeating faces inside the eyes and mouth seems to suggest a feeling of being haunted by the memory of people lost in the war that is never ending. In addition the portrait is painted against a stark and desolate background which could hint at the feelings of isolation associated with depression. Almost definitely representing Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, this painting is haunting and emotional; the overall feeling is of being consumed by the mental illness left from the war. Dalí himself believed his work to be premonitions of the war to come.

Giovanni Boldini - Spanish Dancer at the Moulin Rouge

This Italian artist was known as the “Master of Swish” because of his loose flowing painting style. Boldini studied at the Academy of Fine Arts in Florence and while in Florence he met the Macchiaioli painters who had a profound influence on him. Most famous for his portrait paintings, Boldini also painted a range of other subjects such as landscapes. This incredibly expressive painting of a Spanish dancer at the Moulin Rouge perfectly captures the movement of dance. What makes this painting spooky is the fact that there are too many hands – there seems to be a ghost haunting the dancer.

Zdzisław Beksiński - Untitled

Zdzisław Beksiński was a Polish artist focussing on surreal dystopian art. His style is usually described as Baroque or Gothic with expressionistic elements. Beksiński trained in architecture but found that he didn’t enjoy it so he started exploring sculpture, photography and painting. His paintings often portray feelings of anxiety especially in his later more spooky artworks. This untitled ominous painting depicts two skeletons wrapped in each others’ embrace. Painted with dark earthy-red tones this powerful piece conveys a sense of the struggle between the struggle for life and the inevitability of death. I think this piece is particularly emotive because it plays into such a deep human fears.

Vincent van Gogh - Head of a Skeleton with a Burning Cigarette

And to end this post on a slightly more light-hearted note: this painting by Vincent van Gogh. He is arguably one of the most famous artists ever. The Dutch Post-Impressionist painter painted everything from landscapes to still life’s and portraits; he amassed over two-thousand paintings, most in the final years of his life. Van Gogh suffered from multiple mental illnesses, including depression, psychotic episodes and delusions, which saw him in and out of psychiatric hospitals. Van Gogh painted this piece while he studied at the art academy in Antwerp where anatomical drawings were a regular exercise. Instead of taking this exercise very seriously, van Gogh painted his skeleton with a lit cigarette in its teeth. I will always appreciate this slightly rebellious humour.

For more spooky art see here, here, here, here or here.

I hope you all have a fantastic Halloween!

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The Winter Vault (Vintage Anchor Emblem Canada Series) by Anne Michaels

In 1964, a newly married Canadian couple settle into a houseboat on the Nile just below Abu Simbel. At the time of the building of the Aswam dam, Avery Escher is one of the engineers responsible for the dismantling and reconstruction of a sacred temple, a “machine-worshipper” who is nonetheless sensitive to their destructive power. Jean is a botanist by avocation, passionately interested in everything that grows. They met on the banks of the St. Lawrence River, witnessing the construction of the Seaway as it swallowed towns, homes, and lives. Now, at the edge of another world about to be inundated in the name of progress, much of what they most believe in is tested. When a tragic event occurs, nearing the end of Avery’s time in Egypt, he and Jean return to separate lives in Toronto; Avery to school to study architecture and Jean into the orbit of Lucjan, a Polish émigré artist whose haunting tales of occupied Warsaw pull her further from her husband, while offering her the chance to assume her most essential life. Breathtaking, vivid in its exploration of both the physical and emotional worlds of its characters, intensely moving and lyrical, The Winter Vault is a radiant work of fiction and contains all the elements for which Anne Michaels is celebrated.