#lemarc

[imsorryimlate]

just found out that peter lemarc’s son is called marc?you can’t name your child marc lemarc, what’s wrong with him

[tryingtounderstandbrainheart]

Little Willie John <3

Peter maddafakking Lemarc <3 

[edvinception]

swedish music recs?

I'm not the best person to ask (I also did this list and then tumblr failed me and my post deleted itself) but I'll try. I've tried to categorise but there's alot of overlap between artist who does music in swedish, English and both.

Swedish

Kent

Lars Winnerbäck

Ted Gärdestad

Håkan Hellström

Veronica Maggio

Melissa Horn

Markus Krunegård

Mando Diao

Lisa Ekdal

Molly Sanden

Oscar Linnroos

Magnus Uggla

Victor Leksell

Monika Zetterlund

Cornelis Vreeswijk

Timbuktu

Linnea Henriksson

Peter Lemarc

Carola

Gyllene Tider

Patrik Isaksson

Eldkvarn

Nordman

English

First Aid Kit

Tove Lo

Lykke Li

Robyn

The Sounds

The Cardigans

Both

Laleh

Sabina Dumba

Miriam Bryant

Darin

Miss Li

Cherrie

Seinabo sei

Petra Marklund (September)

[psalacanthea]

Time to start prepping to murder my tabletop players! We're working up to a boss battle of epic proportions in our Vampire game tonight.

Having interrupted a blood ritual meant to free the corrupt Order of the Thorned Wreath of New York City from the demands of their vampiric bloodline, the coterie has manufactured the perfect opportunity for not only themselves, but the enemies of the NYC Invictus, a covenant of rigid traditionalists.

The Knights are bound by their very blood to rescue and protect all kindred of the Invictus- especially the young, neonates. Unfortunately that sacred duty clashes with the demands of the leadership in NYC, and the Knights chose to turn their backs on their bloodline instead of their covenant. They abandoned their duty.

When the ritual was interrupted, the consequences of their hubris backfired on every Knight who had joined the ritual, sending all of them into a frenzy and forcing the Invictus leadership to contain and control them no matter the cost, less they break the vampiric veil of secrecy-- the Masquerade.

The coterie has allied with a rebel Invictus faction, led by Lady Hannah Russo (who they don't like). Their allegiance, however, goes not to her but to the Marquess Tabitha 'Tabby' Sangiovanni, a necromancer with a garden of dead wives and a grudge against Lady Hannah's sire, the Barone Russo, an old enemy of one of the coterie's closest friends/lovers, Connor. (well he's also in the coterie but he's adopted).

Also among their allies looking to get a piece of unstable New York City are the anarchists of the Carthian Movement, who have a werewolf named Bob Ham (and his sister Janet Ham), a love for arson, and over a century of defeats at the hand of the well-entrenched elites of the Invictus.

The Carthians are led by Grier, of their own coterie, and some old friends, slasher fanatic (and probably actual serial killer) Nathan LeMarc, his off-again boyfriend/vampire youth pastor Erroll Everhardt Young, and depressed cinephile Owen Jones, who just sort of comes with the package.

Their third ally comes in the form of a splinter sect of the Lancea et Sanctum, the vampire church. The group is basically a cult, led by coterie member Lenore's sadistic, manipulative, eternally bored boyfriend, Lachlan Doyle (aka The Butcher of Boston, aka The Mad Dog of New York, aka the Guy They Probably Wish They Hadn't Befriended).

Having 'risen from his tomb' in Boston (he wasn't there the whole time he was doing other stuff), he has convinced the Church that he has returned to lead them in a holy crusade against the evils of New York.

Lachlan once failed to take New York for the Carthians, the defeat that eventually led him into the arms of the Church, where people question him less. He's got a grudge. And also just really likes killing people.

With these three groups: the rebelling Invictus who want to throw off the old ways of Europe at last, the Carthians who can't feel cool living in Connecticut, and yet another newborn cult of Saint Lachlan Patrick Typasius Doyle, the coterie is in place to confront the leaders of the Invictus as they meet to plan their damage control.

The elders of the New York Invictus are secretive and rarely seen, but with a disaster this monumental, they'll all be gathering. Among them? Coterie enemy number one and their true target, Lysander Priest-- a member of VII, a shadowy faction of vampires with destruction of all Kindred as their aim.

He's obsessed with Lachlan, and his attempts to manipulate him and others to destroy the stability of vampiric society have all failed (mostly), thanks to the coterie.

Now, after all these years, they finally have him cornered.

Hopefully he won't escape...again.

[ragnarokascendant]

So speaking as someone who remembers when LeMarc made that sporking thread about Victoria and got the impression that he was somewhat sane... What the fuck happened?

Dude is that very particular kind of right-wing fella that likes to hype up how 'rational' and 'intelligent' he is, while disseminating bigotry or misinformation under a 'I'm just asking questions' type of performance - think Ben Shapiro except slightly smarter. If you contradict him he'll seize on something to make himself the victim in the affair. Just typical toxic behaviors.

As far as the Victoria sporking, he was sane - in comparison to William S Lind, the UberRacist.

I cut off contact with him about a year ago when he kept trying to give credence to bullshit talking points about trans people and deeply hurt one of my friends, though he was very good at pretending to be a decent person before then, good enough to fool me at any rate. I sincerely doubt he's gotten any better since.

[wraith-of-christmas-future]

The Conversion and Evolution of Christmasland :

The birth year of Christmasland and The Wraith equate the same. 1938 was the year Charles Talent Manx the III and family had died. Once he brought the car home his fate had been sealed. Tied to her as if invisible chains locked onto his very soul. Inevitable lifeline that would eventually blur inward and template as his shadow. The only way in and out of Christmasland.

This is purely book influenced , among others ; ( Peter Pan, Pied Piper , Christmas Carol etc )tethered to various headcanons solely of my own creation.

This excludes the show's capability of Victoria McQueen being able to enter Christmasland. Without the Wraith guiding her, she will never enter it's gates through the rock face or her bridge. The farthest she would obtain would be out hundreds of miles away from the park onto St. Nick Parkway ; which harbors immense danger when concerning it's flora and fauna. Another safety precaution that is heavily mixed with my own headcanons and Dark Carousel influences.

But we won't get into the Wraith just yet, let us dabble into the mystery which envelopes Christmasland as a whole in both book and show. Even though one should note that she is the instrument of Christmasland. So she will be mentioned throughout.

I.

My version of Christmasland is a blending of them both. The show aspect that it had been Charlie who thought of it since the beginning, this I intend to keep. With the help of his two children, who only one had made it into the show. In the book there are two with the Manx bloodline. Two precious , beautiful, little girls. Millicent Manx that most of you know, and Lorrie Manx. I intend to suggest he has/had both, depending on verses. Lorrie may have perished to illness at an early age, or have died due to some other cause. Unless someone becomes interested in taking her up..she will remain as a deceased character in multiple verses. Lorrie will not be forgotten on this blog.

At that time, Christmasland was just that. Stories to tell to his daughters. Imaginary , untouchable. Like an itch one just couldn't quite scratch. Having forgotten how to tap into the unseen. Or questioning if he had at all back in his youth. The memory more tattered than reserved. ( As if Peter Pan had forgotten how to fly. )

If not haunted by phantom images of this burnt sky harrowing over abdominal snowmen ( no, not yetis.. actual snowmen )with eyes of furious infliction, protecting a boy already broken. That boy being Charles. Bits and pieces of a memory equivocal, but always present in their fragmented reels. Christmasland would gradually be built onto these same reels, if not subconsciously when fantasizing over his children being allowed to just be children. To have joy and laughter. Which wasn't capable in their current reality during the Great Depression. His very own children had to be put to work in a field on a farm he loathed more than anything. It was a life that could have made anyone empty on the inside. An emptiness that still ached.

Which is why Trauma House becomes erected out amid the outskirts of the park. A name given by loving fans, that we all kind of ran with. Due to the park being built onto reels already tainted, it slipped into creation. Mostly show influenced. It harbors his worst sets of trauma within those walls. That we'll gradually lay out in the future.

II. That does not mean he hadn't been tricked by Nicholas ( Nick ) LeMarc over a real life Christmasland. No, the stories this LeMarc spewed enticed him out of his mortgage because his words had been so enthralling due to his own stories that suddenly morphed now into possibility by another man's praise. A chance for his children to be children again. He leapt at the possibility to see those little faces light up again with joy. Strictly book influenced. Yet it had been when Charlie started to speculate he had been taken for a fool by this LeMarc, or how his wife mocked him over it harshly. Nagging him a worthless fool. It was here that he and Wraith both began to merge into each other's prowess. Triggered by the familiar turmoil which rippled the veil wide open. The scorn that ragged endless , the rift between him and the backseat pooled from whatever abyssal state of mind that cried for relief from her devastating persecution. Denying her ever the chance of laying her hands on him.

Fueled by his own pain, as well as the pain of his children -- you see, she never liked that car -- because such, she was the first to be denied. The first to die and never to rise. Blood spilt onto the back seat as two growing girls needed to eat, and all they had was the spoiled flesh of their ungrateful mother. She never believed in Christmasland you see, or him for that matter. So her life was spent.

Three tokens in exchange of making their dreams come true. Thoughts spilling out into reality as Wraith tore through the false gates to the lights just over the horizon. Where both little girls now fully turned , knew the truth was but a few miles more down the road. Encouraging their now turned, younger father to seek the second star to the right and straight on til' morning. This is highly book influenced.

The sky of this inscape changes on whim of moods spun. Purely book influenced. Dark and gloomy ? Red , like ice spawned fire. Or the vibrant serenity of the Northern lights being paraded around in the false sky harboring a moon mimicking his very own face plastered across the surface. Christmasland in show was portrayed as a rather dark but somewhat gloomy place, but not nearly as dark as it had been in the books. My draw on Christmasland is definitely more book oriented. The children are much more violent, with etches of adult like thoughts and corruption pivoting knowledge out onto how they may or may not skin their prey alive to devour later. The animals depicted among them are much more of a macabre threat, especially in park but also presentable out on the St. Nick Parkway. Ferocious monsters of wildest fantasy. Nothing is off limits.

The maze is more than just ice walls and dead end games. With booby traps that could strip your flesh from bones, walls that morphed into faceless mouths that carried a canvas of teeth. Snow covered ground that caved into an endless maw of serpent tongues with razor teeth at every contour. The rides and carney games even have possessive states of mind that mimic the Wraith, and just as violently cruel. Inanimate objects could suddenly animate, from toys to clothing. Devious forms of violence and torture. An endless amount of possibility that was untouched in show.

Outside of Christmasland these things could be killed within the right application, or evaporate into static. Inside Christmasland, they would just regenerate or respawn all together. Manx , and his very special biological children on the other hand, held much more sway over death. It would not be uncommon for them to come back .. one way or the other. Book influenced with added headcanons.

More to come |

[imsorryimlate]

[you2018]

& like naturally lemarc is her father like that was a gimmie

[myriskelashes]

Who has a weakness for personalized lipsticks?? 🙋🏻‍♀️🙋🏻‍♀️ I definitely need more!!! This is probably the coolest thing to happen to my beauty collection 🙌🏼🙌🏼 @marcjacobsbeauty @marcbeauty @marcjacobs @sephoracanada @sephora • • • • • #marcbeauty #marcjacobs #entry #marcjacobsbeauty #lipstick #lemarc #lemarclipcreme #lipstickmurah #lipsticks #lipstickjunkie #goddessglow #vancouverbeautyblogger #canadianbeautyblogger #blogger #beauty #makeupaddiction https://www.instagram.com/p/Bw7T2V0A0Zk/?igshid=1hmfc3a55xn6d

[imsorryimlate]

sången dom spelar när filmen är slut – peter lemarc // faller du så faller jag – patrik isaksson

[makeabella]

“It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.” – Confucius ••••••••••••••••••••••• @anastasiabeverlyhills Dipbrow In ‘CHocolate’ and Tinted Brow Gel In ‘Caramel’ • Contour Stick in ‘Mink’ #anastasiabeverlyhills #anastasiabrows @norvina #norvina •••••••• @salonperfect 614 Lashes Double stack #salonperfect ••••••••• @marcbeauty Velvet Noir Mascara & Scandalust Eye Shadow Palette • #soshameless Foundation In Medium Y340 😍 Under (cover) Perfecting Coconut Primer, 👄 on lips Le Marc Lip Crayon In ‘Pink Straight’ as base and ‘They Call Her’ shadow on top #velvetnoir #marcbeauty #marcfam #Lemarc ••••••••••• @toofaced Peach My Cheeks Melting Powder Blush in ‘Ginger Peach’ • Bronzed Peach Melting Powder Bronzer in ‘Toasted Peach’ • Peach Frost Melting Powder Highlighter In ‘Happy Face’ • Peach Mist Mattifying Setting Spray • #tootaced #peachesandcreamcollection @jerrodblandino •••••••••••• @urbandecaycosmetics #allnighter Setting Spray #urbandecaycosmetics @maybelline Instant Age Rewind Concealer in ‘Light’ #maybelline #mnyitlook •••••••• Contacts. @tolytolly Lenses in Mimo Gray use code Makeabella for 10% off! ••• #1minutemakeup #contactlenses #hudabeauty #vegas_nay #bblogger #makeup #makeupforbarbies #maquillaje #motd #beforeandafter #allmodernmakeup #loucaspormaquiagem #maquiagemx #makegirlz#wakeupandmakeup https://www.instagram.com/p/Bn9XSvZBUBP/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=9y30a8m86e4l

[channelping]

🎧Channelping.com✨We love to share your posts. Let’s spread the music! @summerislands_winsen @lemarcmusic RawstyleArtist⭐️Lemarc 📀One Man Genocide▶️Event: Rustyland Open Air 2020 on Friday, 14 August 5:00PM - 11:30PM ▶️tickets: deinetickets.de ▶️Benzstraße 1, 21423 Winsen (Luhe), Deutschland #channelping#music#dj#lemarc#rawstyle#rawstylefamily#rustylandopenair2020#germany#hardstyle#hardstylefamily#hardstylefestival#techno#techhouse#housemusic#trance#dancemusic#edm#nightclub#electronicmusic#radio#undergroundtechno#clubbing#psytrance#soundcloud#recordlabels#hardstyles#beatport#spotify#stream#spotify#playlist https://www.instagram.com/p/CDrwXfzAXkG/?igshid=1ns27g4vpx7ue

[iluvsarahiifunclub-blog]

Marc Jacobs spring collection 2015 ,I’ll post swatches next! … Marc Jacobs spring assortment 2015 ,I will put up swatches subsequent! @marcbeauty #iluvsarahii #LeMarc #marcjacobsbeauty

[radicalrocko234]

YES. Thank you, LeMarc! That is more-or-less what I was trying to say throughout this entire thread. I can understand why people think radical feminism is garbage because its members are hypocritical sociopaths who put women on moral pedestals, but, by that same token, i also agree with a lot of libfem ideals. Like it says in my pinned bio, my feelings on feminism as a whole are very mixed.

Basically, I try not to generalize when possible.

[tabletopmayhem]

Errol left the church at half past nine, feeling very little catharsis for his conversations.

The Reverend had been slowly coming around to discussing thornier subjects than mere philosophy and bible study.  It’d been slow progress, but the fact that he was willing to discuss it at all was hopeful.  Optimism aside, Errol had absolutely no faith at all that the Bishop over at the Cathedral would feel the same.  

Well.

Catholicism had given up on him a very long time ago, and unfortunately that was a reality he was left with no choice but to accept.  He was unwelcome.  Not by God, of course, but by those who claimed to be the sole inheritors of His intent.  So it went.

So it always had been.

And so it would be in the future, if no one ever sought change.

Fishing his keys out from the pocket of his jacket, he swung them around with his index finger through the ring, enjoying the jingle.  The night air was sharp, the dusting of snow on the ground crunching under his shoes as he headed across the dark and lonely parking lot, the city spilled out beyond the hill that curved down towards it.  

Every night, the city seemed to get brighter.

“Pretty soon they may banish the stars altogether.”

It wasn’t for himself, but for the presence he could feel lurking around his vehicle at the edge of the lot.  A familiar beastial presence, prickling at his own with its usual goading restlessness.  Sometimes he wondered if the beast truly was only born of the blood, for he could feel much of Nathan in that creature.

“I want to go down and see what Durand is up to.  He said I’m welcome to observe, so I damn well plan to,” a raspy voice replied out of the darkness.

As Errol approached, he could smell the acrid smoke of a cigarette, cutting through the scent of winter.

It was the fifth time in two weeks he’d seen Nathan LeMarc, which was strange.  Usually he saw him once a month, or whenever the Prince summoned everyone to Elysium.  But Nathan kept hovering around lately, as if he needed something– or needed to say something.

“You told me you were done with the sticks.”

“I tell you a lot of things,” Nathan replied in a lazy slur.

He sat on the hood of Errol’s pristine white and chrome Plymouth, elbows on his scraped knees, shoulders hunched, heels braced on the bumper.  He looked like any punk that might hang out at night causing trouble, in the beat up leather jacket, slicked back hair, and blue jeans, but Nathan was anything but.  Those bright blue eyes were a predator’s eyes.  And so was the devilish smile.

Errol was feeling less sanguine.  “I just waxed this thing yesterday.  Washed it myself, too.”

Nathan’s grin only widened.  “It’s just a car.  So, did the Father tell you it’s okay to be gay yet?”

“No,” Errol said, lifting his shoulders in a shrug.  The cigarette was offered to him, and he took it, dropping it on the ground and grinding it out with the toe of his shoe.  “Not in my car.”

“You’ve been doing this for ages.  What are you expecting to get out of it?”

Okay, well, he’d come here looking for a fight.  Apparently.

“I’m not expecting anything.  Am I not allowed hope?” Errol asked, leaning against the hood of the car, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.  

Nathan scowled, reaching up and slicking back his dark hair before reaching into his leather jacket.  Errol stifled a roll of his eyes as a pack of cigarettes emerged.  

“You phrase it like that and you make me feel like a bully.  Relax.  I just hate to see you setting yourself up for failure like this.  They’re not worth your time.”

“I don’t necessarily think it’ll have to be failure.  Nothing is doomed.  Not even us.”

“Just go to church anyways if it means that much to you!  You don’t have to tell them you’re gay.”

“I don’t want to lie.”

Nathan stared at him, and then shook his head, shoving the cigarettes back in his jacket.  “Come on.  Let’s go.  Give me your keys.”

Errol laughed.  “You’re not driving my car.”

“You drive like my grandma.”

“Your grandmother is a skull you keep on a shelf in your basement.”

“And yet…”  Nathan leaned over and snatched the keys out of his hand, practically dislocating his finger in the process.  “Too slow, turtle-boy.”

Errol shook his hand, letting out a long sigh.  “Don’t change the radio.  Why are you so punchy tonight?”

Nathan didn’t say a word as they both swung into the car.  It was a few years old now, but he prided himself that it was nearly the same condition as when he’d driven it off the lot in 57’.  Apart from a small tear in the white leather in the back from Owen, and a small burn from the last time Nathan had promised he wouldn’t smoke in the car.

Having friends could be frustrating.

The engine growled to life, and Nathan hit the gas practically before he’d had the chance to slam the door closed.  Gravel crunched as they headed out and down the hill, towards the lights of Seattle below.  They drove for a while with just the tinny sound of the radio, music spilling out.  When Nathan’s hand went for the dial, Errol silently smacked it away.

Their usual fight.

Once they hit 99 Nathan finally spoke again.  “I hate seeing you get your damned heart broken over and over.  Even if one day they say ‘you can take sacrement even though you’re gay’, they’re never going to accept the rest of you.” 

Errol frowned, surprised by the pessimism.  Nathan was many things, but a pessimist wasn’t one of them, generally.  “And why not?  We never chose this life.  Je pense, donc je suis.  And what I am is a person, just like everyone else.”

“Sure, you might be, but what you am ain’t human,” Nathan countered with a rough chuckle.  “There’s no way they’re going to let a vampire take the ol’ body and blood.”

“You never know until you try.  You spend too much time listening to people who tell you that you’re evil.”

“They're right.  Look at what happened to my whole family, what they did,” Nathan replied sourly.  “Wiped out, because we need to be for the good of everyone.  They unpeopled a whole chunk of Ohio until they were burned out.”

Errol gave him an amused sidelong look.  “They, not you.  I don’t think it’s wrong to acknowledge you need boundaries imposed on you.  You seem to think that accepting that you shouldn’t embrace means that you have to accept everything they say about you, which simply isn’t true.  No, your sire should not have embraced you.  Or any of the other dozens he did.  But he did.  What does that have to do with you?  Absolutely nothing.”

“It has to do with me because it’s what I am.  I’m a damned Locust, it’s in my blood, and my blood is doomed to slaughter.  Aren’t you one of those that believes in original sin?”

“No,” Errol said, intercepting another habitual cigarette that was fished out before Nathan could bring it to his lips, throwing it out his window.  “My boundaries also exist for a reason.  Stop it.  No smoking in the car.”

“Relax, Altar Boy.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Farm Boy.”

“I’ll buy you a dozen pretty cars if I ding it, stop getting your drawers in a twist.  You’re so uptight.”

“If you call me ‘daddy-o’, I’ll throw you off a cliff and mail what lands at the bottom to Jane,” Errol said, letting his arm dangle out of the window.  “Cash on delivery.”

“There’s my boy.”

The heart of the city was approaching, and with it the lights that bathed the pavement in a white glow.  Although he enjoyed driving, the street lights he wasn’t enthralled with.  They made it too hard to see the sky.  Now, a cruise down one of the old highways in the middle of the night, sky overhead and the top down?  That was a drive worth having…for no other reason than to have it.

He watched the lights flicker across his arm like an old movie.  “One day it’ll be nothing but lights.  Well.  I suppose we’ve always been afraid of the dark.”

“Them, not us,” Nathan said, glancing sidelong at him with a feral grin.  “It’s the humans that are scared of the dark.  We are the dark.  That’s why they’re so afraid of us.  That’s why they’ll never accept you.”

“You’re being unkind tonight.”

Nathan’s smile faded, and he jerked his stare forward again, expression turning pensive.  His fingers tapped restlessly on the wheel.  “I just don’t want you hurt.  You’re too good for all of this horseshit.”

“You and your pedestals.  We’re all going to disappoint you one day, and what will you do when you’ve put us up so high?”

“You won’t.”

Erroll turned his attention out the window, having no response that wouldn’t be cruel.  Sometimes he’d forget how young Nathan was, and then he’d go and say things like that.  It was jarring.

If only he could stop seeing nothing but the bad in himself, and the good in everyone else.  Nathan wasn’t stupid– in fact, he was one of the smartest people Errol had ever met, but in a way that was all inborn.  Cleverness, survival instincts, and a lot of charm…but very little introspection.

Errol had been out of the heart of the city for a while, and it was jarring to see what was waiting for him as they reached their destination.  Nathan was looking at him expectantly as he pulled the keys from the ignition, resting an arm atop the wheel and leaning in.  “So…what do ya think?”

The strange skeleton of steel that towered above them was a bizarre thing, with three laddered legs that came up to a point and then flared out to support some sort of saucer.

“What in the name of-”

Nathan grinned.  “It’s Adrien Durand’s.  Six hundred feet tall.  See that round bit?  Going to be a restaurant.  They’re calling it the ‘Space Needle’.”

Mind blank, Errol tried to comprehend the purpose behind such a- “But why?”

“World’s Fair next year.  Ugly thing, isn’t it?  Owen said it’s going to end up looking like a cock, and I can’t say he’s wrong.”

Baffled, he pushed open the door and swung out, closing it on Nathan’s amused cackle.  Shoving his hands in his pockets, he walked down the sidewalk towards the monstrosity, craning his neck up to look at it.  It stood, like some mockery of ancient monoliths, or something from one of Owen’s science fiction movies.

“Are we certain the Ordo Dracul isn’t creating this…thing for some profane ritual?” Errol asked, hearing Nathan prowling up behind him.

An arm slung across his shoulders.  “No, no we’re not.  But Oya looked over all the permits and things, she approved it.”

Oya, right.  He kept forgetting to call Jane by her new chosen name, which was his fault entirely, but she seemed to have decided he was doing it on purpose.  He’d never been friends with the Prince, not precisely, but they’d not been enemies, either.  She was getting prickly with him as of late, though.

“She should have rejected it on aesthetic grounds, really,” he murmured.

“What are we doing tonight?”

“Oh look,” a voice cut in from the darkness, annoyed and mostly-americanized, with only a hint of the old accent he’d been trying to get rid of.  “If it isn’t the greaser and the beatnik.”

Walking up the sidewalk towards them, hands in the pockets of his long gray coat, the slim, grim figure of Ivanov approached.  The leader of the Ordo Dracul was fairly unassuming, but with a harsh, cold look in his eyes and a beast that spoke of Ventrue strength.  Nathan’s posture stayed relaxed, but Errol couldn’t help drawing himself up.

Nathan’s hand squeezed his shoulder, an attempt at comfort, but he couldn’t stop bristling slightly.

“Just coming to take a look at the progress, Ivan.”  Nathan whistled in admiration, tilting his head back.  “Boy she’s a big one.  Not as big as the Chrysler Building, I’d wager, but not bad!”

“It’s the biggest structure west of the Mississippi,” Ivanov said blankly.  His eyes scanned across both of them, eyeing Errol for a few seconds too long.  Just to make him jumpy, no doubt.

Nathan smiled.  “Wow-ee, imagine that, huh?”

“You’d know that, if you were capable of reading the specifications,”  Ivanov said, standing just below them on the sidewalk.

Fighting back his beast’s sudden surge of anger at the nastiness from the Ventrue, Errol clenched his teeth and fought to keep his face blank.  Ivanov met his eyes, and smiled a small, coldly amused smile.  “A problem?”

“Your manners,” Errol replied, clipped.

“Illiterate Locusts and human-loving fools can win a war, but we shall see if they can hold a city,” Ivanov replied.  “Please step aside so that I might pass.”

Rage was rising, furious and hard.  Well, if he wasn’t going to have any manners… “Perhaps you should-”

“You got it,” Nathan said cheerfully, fingers digging into Errol’s shoulder as he pulled him down and off of the sidewalk, into the street.  The beast snarled, furious with the insults, straining against the leash of self-control as Ivanov walked past them.

“Have a good night, Ivan!”

Ivanov paused briefly, now standing above them on the sidewalk, and fixed Errol with one last look.  “Get a haircut,” he said, clipped, and then continued on his way.  As he disappeared, there was a quietly muttered: ‘Daevas.’.

“Okay, come on,” Nathan said quietly, turning in to face Errol, grabbing him securely by both shoulders and pushing him down the hill.

There was no point fighting it, the closer he was to the fucking Ventrue, the closer his beast would be to losing control.  He walked backwards through decaying leaves and autumn sludge, eyes locked on Nathan, beast snapping at its boundaries.  “Who owns this city?”

“We do.  And we’re going to keep owning it.  They know that, and they know they’re only here because we let them be here.  They hate that, and they’re just trying to get their dignity back.  That’s all this is.  Let it go.  It’s nothing.”

“Jesus had long hair,” Errol muttered, and then abruptly stopped and shrugged, pushing Nathan’s hands off of his shoulders.  “I’m in control, I’m all right.”  Turning away, he paced down, and then turned and came back, raking his hair back with both hands.

Nathan threw up his hands.  “You almost started a fight with an elder!  You gotta stop doing this, Oya’s told you-”

Damn it, why did he have to keep defending this?

When they’d called an end to the war, it was only Nathan’s interference and his friendship with Jane that had let the other covenants stay.  And for that gracious philanthropy, they treated him like trash!  If only the idiot would stand up for himself more!  He let everyone walk all over him, and Jane just allowed it!

Errol cut him off with a slash of his hand through the air.  “Maybe they should have a bit more respect for you, then.  I don’t care what they say about me, but you’re the only reason they’re not dead, and if they really wish for that to no longer be the case, I can certainly-”

His hand was jabbing out again, but it only came into contact with a thin t-shirt as Nathan stepped in against him.

He reached out and grabbed the back of Errol’s neck in a vice grip, pulling their foreheads together.  The contact was grounding, and although the anger of the beast receded, the anger of the man remained.  An old, frustrated anger.

He closed his eyes, exhausted.  “Why do you let them treat you this way?”

“Haven’t I been asking you the same thing tonight?”

“Entirely different things,” Errol denied.

“I am a farm boy who can’t read,” Nathan said, the slur in his voice dripping with fond amusement.  “And I’m a Locust.  A kindred plague.  Embraced by bad blood.  Is me getting mad going to change that?”

Forcing himself to meet Nathan’s eyes, so close that they were burning into him like the heart of a flame, Errol put every ounce of conviction he could into his voice.  “You are not evil.”

Nathan dropped his eyes, smiling with chagrin.  “Then what am I?”

Irritated, he grabbed the idiot by the front of his shirt and dragged him in.  “Too good for these bastards.  Don’t let them drag you down like this.”

Nathan laughed, a little sharp and dismissive, grabbing him by the wrist and shoving him away.  The t-shirt tore, but neither of them let go.  Nathan’s fingers tightened, pressing between the bones of his arm.  “Too good.  Right.  You ever stop to think that maybe it’s you that’s thinking too much of me?  Maybe you’re the one who’s too good.”

“Too good for what?” Errol asked, feeling the evasion– and not for the first time.

He sure as hell knew it wasn’t because he was a man.

“It doesn’t matter,” Nathan muttered, letting go of his wrist.

“Too good for what?” Errol repeated, voice softening.  Usually he’d let him escape, but everyone had their breaking point.  Even him.  “Too good for what, Nathan?”

“Let go of me.”

He released the t-shirt, pressing his palm to Nathan’s chest and shoving him back a full step.  Nathan swayed back, lifting a hand to smooth over his hair.  Head hanging low, he shook it, taking another step back.

“Give me my keys.”

“Come on,” Nathan muttered awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets.   “This doesn’t have to be anything.”

“If you say so.  Keys.”

With predictable Seattle timing, the misty haze in the air was turning into proper rain, no doubt soon to be an Autumn storm.  Errol didn’t bother to close his jacket against it, he just stood there, hand out expectantly.  Nathan stepped back again, and then abruptly started prowling back and forth across the sidewalk and into the street, both hands raking through his hair.  His frustration was palpable, not just in the predatory stalking, but in the uneasiness of the beast.  

They were both on-edge now.

“Keys.”

“Shut up about the fuckin’ keys!”

“Stop me!” Errol suggested, throwing both hands up.  “Please, I’d welcome a punch at this point!”

“You want to fight?  Is that what you want?”  Nathan asked, rounding on him aggressively.

He really had no damned idea what he was doing, did he?  

“Would you stop talking and kiss me already?!”

Errol hadn’t meant to say it, he hadn’t meant to push.  He was well aware that people needed different things, and sometimes an infatuation was only that.  But it had become increasingly clear that Nathan was only worried about being inferior, and that was damn well infuriating.

It could have backfired.

Terribly.

But instead Nathan finally stopped being ridiculous and surged towards him.  His fingers as both hands caught his jaw were a little too tight, a bit too desperate, but it was a welcome discomfort as they finally met in a fierce, almost antagonistic kiss.  It was hard, hungry, but as Errol wrapped his arms around him and banished the space between their bodies, some of that torrid desperation in his lips eased.

The kiss softened and the conflict eased, eventually breaking.

A few small, private seconds passed in the quiet space between them as the rain sheeted down, and then Nathan laughed, awkwardly.

His head thumped forward, landing on Errol’s shoulder.  With a smile, he lifted his arms higher, wrapping them around his shoulders, pulling Nathan in tight.  “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The response was muffled, tentative.  “You sure?  I’m a mess.  I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me.  I’ll always be your friend, no matter what happens,” Errol reassured him, feeling confident in that.  “Just…try to remember I’m not perfect.  And that you’re not as bad as you think you are.”

“That’s a tall order,” Nathan said, pulling back.  And then he glanced around them and gave a faint curse, abruptly pulling back, hands on Errol’s shoulders.  “Shit!  I’m sorry.  I forget how people can be.”

“It’s late, it’s raining,” Errol assured him, reaching up and taking his hand, but heading back to the car regardless.  Just in case.  There was always a chance someone saw them and called the police.  “I’m well aware of how shameless you are, it’s not a surprise.  Let’s get out of here.”

“You sure?”

The two words were laden with a lot of nuance.  Errol smiled to himself, shaking his head.  It seemed like he was going to have to get it through his thick head somehow.  It might take all night.

“I’m pretty sure I can find a way to convince you that I am.”