@nolanxthatcher - Tumblr Blog

Nolan’s about to spiral into a blood-lust Gael can practically smell. All evening he’s been two seconds away from yanking his fledgling back by the scruff of the neck and giving him a good shake. The words that slip from Nolan are clipped, strained - like a caged creature waiting to be unleashed.

Gael had insisted he "eat" before they left, and while there’s no doubt Nolan did, the appetite still gnaws. Gael understands; his own fledgling-years weren’t so long ago. Every vampire faces different challenges, but for Gael blood-lust was one he managed with relative ease - helped, of course, by having a witch on hand in those first years. Evidence of his slip ups persist. Vincent, though hardly an accident, had been an indulgence. One Gael guards fiercely.

Nolan, by contrast, is a calculation - a long game he and Kali debated over and over, an investment Gael intends to see through, bloodlust and all.

He presses a crystal tumbler into Nolan’s hand. “I’m going to need you to drink this before you put your teeth in the wrong person and start a diplomatic incident.” The command to behave is implicit. The glass holds bar-tapped blood, rich and dark, and Gael quietly instructs a passing waiter to keep Nolan’s drink - and temper - topped up.

“All that blood-lust and nowhere to put it. Regretting immortality yet?” he asks, a crooked grin tilting his mouth. Gael already knows the answer, but teasing might spark irritation - anything to keep those fangs from finding trouble.

"Wouldn't that be fun, though?" Nolan asked, his eyes lifting to meet Gael's. Thus far, he couldn't find any real qualities of this Gala that were redeemable. He came because he wanted to prove to Gael -- and himself -- that he could be normal in public. He came because he thought there might be something fun happening.

Nolan took the glass and downed it within seconds. It was good -- fucking delicious -- but it wasn't enough. He wanted it from a vein. A warm body. Someone that would wrap themselves around him and give in to what he wanted. "Yeah, right." He said. No. He wasn't regretting it. In fact, it had been the best decision he'd made in a long time. But what was the fun if he couldn't feed on whoever he fucking wanted?

"So why do I have to behave tonight?" A pointed, straight forward question. "What's the big deal about whatever the fuck this is?" He motioned his free hand towards the crowd of people as, in his peripheral vision, someone pours more of the dark liquid into his glass.

An annoyed huff escaped his lips as his eyes darkened. It was all so... Mannered. He fucking hated it. He glared at the crowd as he gulped down the next glass of blood. No matter how much blood he consumed, though, his teeth still ached. The hunger was still there. Scratching and gnawing at him. Tempting him. Persuading him. Daring him.

Then, his eyes caught sight on a blonde on the far side of the room. At first, he thought it was a girl he had an old fling with. It wasn't. Didn't matter, though. He'd already decided that he wanted to sink his teeth into her smooth skinned neck.

#c: gael;#blood tw

who: open [0/4]

where: the conclave gala

When Gael planned a hunt, he replayed the terrain in his mind until every tree and shadow felt etched into bone. The Conclave has been no different— days of midnight strategy sessions with Kali, decked maps pinned beneath lamplight, contingencies nested like matryoshka dolls. Yet as the chandeliers gleam and silk gowns drift past, a familiar itch scrapes at him. Polite pageantry is fine in theory, but Gael longs for the grit beneath the gilt: the grind of preparation, the hard-won truth of a clean kill. Pretty things rarely draw blood, and blood is where insight lives.

Still, charm has always been one of his sharper blades. He circles the ballroom - what can be learned, what angles revealed? “Had a chance to meet any of our guests yet?” he asks to the nearest confidant, voice smooth enough to pass for idle curiosity. In truth, his attention stays fixed on the Zhongshan delegation—con-artists, grifters, hackers who make fortunes vanish between heartbeats. Unsavory to some, but Gael respects a clean grift; Reardon itself is hardly spotless.

“I keep wondering how deep Zhongshan’s talks with Coven Mariposa run,” he muses. “With their sleight-of-hand and Mariposa’s glamours, they could be both wolf and wool—predator and disguise in a single breath.”

#c: gael;#event: the conclave

Blood. He could smell it everywhere. And yet, there was none being shed. Behave. Fucking behave. Nolan chanted to himself, over and over as he stood next to Gael. His fingers pulled into his palms, clenching into fists as his eyes darted around the room. It was as if he could see everything clearer. He could hear things happening far away. It was so fucking overwhelming.

"No." Nolan said through gritted teeth. While he would do anything for Reardon, Nolan didn't quite understand the politics of it all yet. He wanted to learn, of course, but his thoughts were drowning in blood, which meant he couldn't exactly focus on anything else.

His eyebrows furrowed at Gael's words. He had no fucking idea what he was talking about. There was much for Nolan to learn, that was for fucking sure. "Who?" He asked, trying to drag his thoughts away from the blood lust. Although, it was as if he was trudging through thick snow.

NOLAN THATCHER ; CONCLAVE ATTIRE

Newly turned Vampire or not, there was no way that Nolan would miss a party such as this one. In fact, he wouldn't even give Gael the opportunity to deny him of such fun. Thanks to his sire, he has a flower arrangement to pin on his jacket. Although, he had to bite his own tongue, wanting to argue that it didn't exactly match his attire. As promised, he plans to be on his best behavior. Although, that might pose a problem when he's so consumed by blood lust. @ofreardcns

#event: the conclave

Nolan’s last human breath leaves him in a sigh so soft it barely wrinkles the air. Gael stands sentinel beside the desk, counting the fade-out of every mortal marker—the sluggish pulse that stalls, the shallow electrical twitch in the jaw. When the line finally flatlines, the room feels too large, too bright. He has ended men before, but this is different. A hush settles in his chest that he will later pretend is nothing but diligence.

The syringe of potassium lies spent on a metal tray. He runs numbers the way other people say prayers: serum K⁺ peaks within minutes, but the lethal spike has to ebb before undead tissues re-ignite circulation. Rough math—thirty milliequivalents, Nolan’s weight, compromised renal clearance once the heart stops—puts the burn-off at just under two hours. Ninety-five minutes, if the kid’s metabolism is the efficient sort Gael hopes for. Long enough to relocate; too short for mistakes.

He lifts Nolan’s cooling body with the care of someone folding an heirloom suit, pressing wrist to throat to confirm the silence. Sentimentality hums—a furtive, embarrassing warmth—as he whispers, “Remember: a century of good behavior, Nolan,” and shoulders the weight.

Asphodel’s private suites are soundproofed, warded against screams and sunlight. Gael strides the staff corridors on auto-pilot, mind flicking through contingencies even as he memorizes the tilt of Nolan’s head against his collarbone. The rooms are nice. Marble, blackout drapes, no sharp edges—ideal for a first rising. He lays Nolan on fresh linens, checks pupils with a penlight, notes the faint shimmer of change already crawling beneath the skin.

Then the tactical half returns in full. Cooler on the table: eight units, color-coded. Two human AB, four O negative, and—because Gael believes in incentives—two pouches of his own vampire blood. He stacks them like chips in a high-stakes game, labels forward, tear-strips pre-scored. He stashes it under the nightstand.

Seventy-one minutes left. Gael drags a chair to the bedside and sets his watch. Between each tick, he lets himself feel the quiet throb of possibility. He watches as death recoils and the man he consigned to night exhales his first rag-and-ember breath. Tissue knits, veins ignite —each tiny resurrection reflected in Gael’s steady gaze. A fledgling, yes, but more: ledger entry, liability, promise. His. Bound not by contracts or spreadsheets but by the quiet covenant of maker and made, a cord meant to stretch unbroken across however many centuries the dark will grant them. And Gael, predator turned patron, lets the weight of that eternity settle over his shoulders like a mantle.

That’s all the reflection he gets. The last second on his watch hasn’t even faded when Nolan’s eyes snap open. Black, bottomless. The fledgling is airborne before panic can bloom.

Gael’s reflexes snap tight a breath before the impact, but fledglings move faster than panic. Nolan’s weight hammers him against the chair, fangs flashing like bad intentions in moonlight. Pain blooms—a thin, precise line—and the scent of his own blood, metallic-warm, fogs the air between them.

He lets it ride a heartbeat longer than wisdom recommends. Part experiment, part indulgence: how badly does the man want it? The answer singes—Nolan’s jaw locks, hungry as a sprung trap. Gael feels the sting of enamel testing flesh, hunting the artery. Enough.

He shifts his torso, bracing one boot against the bedframe, and wrenches Nolan sideways in a fluid, brutal corkscrew. The momentum hurls them both off balance; the chair skitters, wood screaming across tile. Gael rides the tumble, rolls his shoulders, and slams Nolan flat to the floor. His forearm slots beneath Nolan’s chin, levering the fledgling’s windpipe—useless reflex, but the body remembers panic even after death.

“Easy, Nolan,” he says, voice low enough to pass for lullaby if not for the iron beneath each syllable. “You want to keep those teeth? Breathe.”

Nolan snarls, all feral need, pupils blown wide. The scent of Gael’s blood is an aria now, every note promising absolution for the burn in his throat. He bucks, trying to twist under Gael’s leverage. Nolan flips over and Gael pivots, knees pinning hips, and taps the underside of Nolan’s jaw, a hunter’s warning. “Eyes here, rookie.”

For a fractured second, Nolan focuses. Recognition flickers—fear’s twin brother—and Gael seizes the opening. He reaches back, fingertips unerringly finding the cooler stashed beneath the nightstand. One-handed, he yanks it closer, snaps the lid and yanks out a unit. He tears it open, plastic crinkling like cellophane over cigarettes.

“Here. Bag of O negative. Vintage three hours.” He shoves the nozzle between Nolan’s lips with the same rough gentleness used on half-trained dogs. “Draw slow.”

Nolan’s throat works and Gael watches the transformation: tendons unclench, eyes regain color, the frantic pulse of undead hunger settles to an ache. Good. He eases pressure on Nolan’s sternum with his hand, but doesn’t stand. Fledglings are earthquakes—aftershocks come cheap.

“Better.” Gael tears a second bag open with his canines—old habits—and trades it for the drained one. “Sip. You slam it, you’ll puke it back. Nobody wants that mess.”

#c: gael;#cannibalism tw #// just a baby vampire doing baby vampire things #blood tw

Teeth sunk into skin, biting down harshly as his hands grasped onto the person underneath him. Nolan isn't gentle about it, he doesn't take his time. He's carnivorous -- tearing at the flesh in an effort to gather more blood. A groan escaped his lips as his mouth fills and then he swallows. Again and again.

Then his teeth are practically torn away from the skin -- a piece of flesh stuck between his lips as he's shoved into the ground. Nolan struggled against the arm that had braced underneath his chin. He gnaws on the muscle and skin, chewing it and then swallowing it before Gael's strength fully presses into his windpipe.

He struggled even more, thrashing against the man, hissing and clawing at his arm. Nolan couldn't breath. He couldn't get air. He was going to die. He was going to fucking die--. Realization settled in seconds later that he'd already died. That he was no longer human and therefore, didn't need to breathe.

Still, he didn't want to be underneath this man. He needed blood. He was so fucking hungry. He snarled up at the person he recognized, and yet didn't; dark eyes glaring at the other as he tried to put more effort into his new strength. He managed to push Gael's arm enough to where it lessened the pressure on his neck. Nolan tried to flip to get out from underneath him, but Gael's fast. His knees pin Nolan's hips down and his fingers are underneath his chin.

Nolan's eyes flicker upward to meet the other's. A moment passed. Then another. He blinked as he stared up at the man. Gael. He opened his mouth to say something, to beg for blood, only to be met with exactly that. He wrapped his already bloodied lips around the nozzle of the bag and just as he was about to guzzle every fucking drop, Gael advises him to go slow.

Hardened eyes meet his Maker's before he did as he asked. At first. Nolan pulled the blood into his mouth, let it roll and slid across his tongue before he swallowed it. While he didn't mind the cold blood, Nolan silently wondered what fresh, warm blood would taste like. If it had a different consistency. A different scent. And what about other vampires? What did they taste like? And witches? Nolan had been in the business of getting such delicacies for his clan and now, he'd be able to try it himself.

Excitement flowed through his body as he finished off the bag. It wasn't enough. He needed more. And as if he had spoken that out loud, Gael had retrieved another one. Nolan quickly let go of the empty bag and snatched the full one. He'd managed to consume two mouthfuls before Gael had told him to sip.

Nolan shot the man another glare. He had to behave. He had to. It was part of the deal. The fucking deal. The one that he hadn't even known strings were attached. Had Kali put Gael up to this? Was it her that insisted he place contingencies on Nolan and being a vampire? And if he decided that he didn't want to behave. What then? Nolan had endured punishments and consequences as a human but he wasn't sure what would be done to him if he were to disobey as a vampire.

Starvation? A chill ran through his body at the thought. He was already starving. How could he survive without even a single drop?

After a few more sips, Nolan tried to shift underneath Gael. "Get off of me." He insisted, as he'd prefer to sit up while he was drinking. It was uncomfortable, laying on the floor while trying to consume blood. "Please."

⚡️Why do you keep entertaining Annalise?

"She's amusing. Intriguing. Beautiful. She's also a friend. I don't see a reason not to entertain her." A pause. "Besides the fact that her brother clearly hates it. Or did, anyway." Nolan chuckled. "But he doesn't control her. Nor does he control me. We are both adults who can hang out if we so choose."

@devilsvenom @reidhalstead

Gael exhales—one sharp breath that sounds too much like surrender. Nolan’s “Do it” is half-hissed, half-dreamt, but the clarity inside those drowning eyes is unmistakable. Consent, carved in adrenaline and regret. The forever road, then. No more hedging. He doesn’t have time to get sentimental, he needs to act.

“Hold on, Nolan,” he mutters, though the word feels brittle between his teeth. He props Nolan’s head at the right angle, fingers slipping on blood and sweat, and slits his own wrist with a switchblade uncovered from his pocket. Dark, viscous red wells up, smelling of copper and storm-soaked earth. “Drink.” He presses the wound to Nolan’s lips.

At first there’s nothing—Nolan too weighted by sedative to swallow—but vampiric blood has its own gravity. A shudder passes through the younger man, eyelids fluttering as instinct overrides chemistry. Gael feels the pull, the tiny siphon of his essence leaving him, and forces patience to anchor his spine. Three heartbeats, four—then the sluggish tug becomes a greedy suck, Nolan’s jaw working on pure reflex. Good. Gael counts ten seconds, the old hunter’s metric for the point of no return, before wrenching his wrist away and sealing the puncture with a press of thumb and will.

Phase two. Gael bolts from Nolan’s side in a blur, boots hammering the hallway’s slick flooring as though each stride could pound hesitation straight out of his blood. He barrels past overturned chairs and the echo of his own heartbeat, skidding around the corner toward Eleanor’s supply closet—the one she keeps triple-latched for emergencies no one else dares name. The door groans under his shoulder, hinges shrieking as metal folds like cheap tin, and he’s inside, lungs burning with cold sterility and adrenaline. Shelves rattle from the impact while his hands sweep for the kill switch: potassium ampoules, fresh needles, alcohol swabs—everything needed to usher a body across the thin red line between life and undeath.

Gael is back in a heartbeat—literally, one of Nolan’s failing heartbeats. He kneels again, brushing knuckles over Nolan’s brow. Fever already; good sign. He eases an arm beneath Nolan’s shoulder; the needle slips in with barely a sting. “You wanted teeth. Wanted the high-stakes immortality clause. Comes with fine print.” He folds Nolan’s limp fingers around the cooling syringe. “First rule: you owe me a century of good behavior. Break it, and I break you. Second rule: you feed clean. No kids.” His own hand curled around Nolan’s over the syringe, he pushes the plunger down. “Break either rule and you’ll wish you’d stayed dead.”

Thunder murmurs outside—summer storm rolling in, like the night Nat almost died. Different ending this time. Gael squares his shoulders, standing sentinel. “See you at sundown,” he says, voice softening despite itself. “Don’t disappoint me.”

#c: gael;#blood tw #death tw #murder tw #sedation tw #needle tw #// IT HAPPENED

Hold on. Nolan was trying to. He was desperately trying to. However, the sedative had already set in and threatened to force him to sleep. He blinked over and over, hoping that it might make a difference. But it didn't.

Gael's command muffled against Nolan's ears as warmth spread across his body. And then, there was something wet against his lips. Nolan grunted, tried to shift away for a moment before he realized what it was. Blood. Gael's blood. Nolan immediately tried to move his mouth and tongue, to force the blood out of Gael and into himself. It took more of an effort, considering how exhausted he felt, but he managed to pull the blood into his mouth. It coated his tongue, his cheeks, and then slid down his throat.

Then, he's gone, and Nolan's head is dropping back down onto the table. He let out a groan as he forced in a breath, and then another. The breaths weren't deep enough, his lungs feeling as if someone was stepping on them, pushing all of the oxygen out. As much as he'd wanted to die for so long, fear still managed to latch at his body, carving through his chest cavity and straight to his heart. What if Gael didn't come back? What this had all been a lie? A long, drawn out lie, and Nolan had fallen for it.

Blood, mixed with saliva, bubbled at the corners of his lips as Nolan blew out a breath. He opened his eyes wide, frantically looking around his club. He'd built this. This place was his. He'd fought and worked hard to get it where it was and he didn't want to fucking lose it. What would happen to it after he was gone? Would Gael take over? Would Kali force it to shut down? Or turn it into something that she'd condone of?

The thread of fearful thoughts disintegrated in his own mind the moment he heard Gael's voice again. Nolan closed his eyes, forcing his body to listen to every word that fell from the other's lips. He allowed Gael to manipulate his hand, his own fingers wrapping around the syringe that had just pierced his shoulder. A century of... If he had any control over his facial expressions, Nolan would have glared at Gael. None of this had been discussed beforehand. Although, the second rule wouldn't be hard to follow. He hated children.

Then, Gael's hand draped over his own and slowly pressesdthe plunger down. Nolan had no idea what's in it, nor did he know what it will do to him. But he was in no shape to argue, fight back, or even inquire about what was happening. The corners of his lips lifted into a smile as he realized that this must be what his victims feel like. That, and the fact that he was practically shedding his humanity. A chuckle, that came out in a gargle, escaped his lips before he was dragged downward, straight into the darkness of death.

-- time skip --

The first thing he recognized was that he no longer felt heavy underneath the sedation. The second thing he realized was that he was starving. Nolan's throat was like sand paper as he tried to swallow with no saliva in his mouth. He groaned as he turned over, his fingers digging into the sheets underneath him.

His eyes snapped open. He was in a bed. A bed he didn't recognize. Nolan jerked his head up, gaze darting around the room, waiting for something familiar to trigger in his own mind. When it didn't, he immediately sat up. Or... he thought he was going to. But instead, he was out of the bed before he could even blink again. "Whoah." Disorientated was an understatement.

The third thing he recognized was a specific scent. Nolan's eyes peered towards the man sitting near the bed. A man he recognized. "Gael." He blinked several times, trying to stay focused on him. Not on the sweet scent that floated in the air around him. Nolan clenched his jaw as his teeth began to ache. He knew it would take some getting used to, but the burning was not something Nolan had expected. The amount of thirst that he felt was so overwhelming, that he found himself staring at Gael's neck.

No, Gael didn't have a heartbeat. But Nolan had heard on several occasions that vampires could feed from one another. That they did. And if there was no other blood in the room...

Without another thought, Nolan practically collided with Gael, his teeth aiming directly for the right side of the other's neck.

dearestdarkling

I s u g g e s t.

She actually laughs, a cynical sound that feels rough in her throat. A pretty little word anyplace else, sure, but here it has fangs. The idea that anything she's experienced thus far has been even remotely near the realm of suggestion is enough to make her want to put his head through a wall. ... Which wouldn't be terribly difficult, all things considered.

Eleanor regards him with a cant of her head. A human. How quickly she's taken to their programming. A month ago she was no different than him, would've never thought to make any distinctions. But everything's backwards and distorted now. She's dead, but alive. Powerless yet near invulnerable. A scientist playacting as a monster. "Or what, exactly?" she asks coldly. "Is the human chew toy going to put me in my place? You know, as far as they're all concerned you're still dragging your knuckles on the ground. You're an inconvenience. I hope it's worth it."

She takes a slow drag, lets the words settle as she places the name. Nolan Thatcher. She knows who he is. They've shunted her underneath his club, after all, though truth be told she'd been surprised to learn that a human, not a vampire, owned the place. And she knows his reputation, too; what he provides for the club. His arrival can't mean anything good. Her shoulders tense and she rethinks the antagonizing, just for a moment. "What do you want?"

Nolan forced himself to remain calm, cool and collected when it came to Eleanor. She was new, after all. She didn't know the inner workings of the clan, or No Man's Land. Not really. "I think you should study some more on the place you are staying before you start talking to me like that." He said, his voice firm as he stared at her. He wasn't a chew toy. Not even fucking close. He was the one allowing her to do her business inside of his club. Yes, it was for the benefit of the clan, but Nolan knew that he could easily tell Gael or Kali that it wasn't a good fit, and they'd find somewhere else for her.

Somewhere that might not be as accommodating.

"You're required on a job. And you can't say no. It's already been decided." The last thing he was in the mood for was to hear her complain or whine. "You work for us, now. You do exactly as you're told. And today, you will be coming with me to replenish some of the supplies for my business."

#c: eleanor;

Annalise

"Have smashed, can smash, will smash. Need I say more?"

@devilsvenom

He smells the blood first—sharp, metallic, threaded with the bitter chemical tang of a sedative. By the time the scent registers, Gael’s already sprinting, vaulting the last three steps, boots skidding on the bloody hardwood, and dropping to his knees beside Nolan. “Jesus—Nolan.”

The sight punches straight through his practiced composure, dredging up another night, another body cooling in his arms while the woods howled around them. Nat, bleeding out beneath the moon; Gael crushing dead leaves between shaking fingers, begging any spell to stitch her back together. He can still feel the damp moss, hear his own frantic heartbeat, remember how Kali stepped from between the trees like an omen. The memory slams into the present—same panic, same iron-rich air, except this time it’s Nolan on the floor and no Kali looming amongst the pillars of trees.

“What the fuck,” Gael snarls at Nolan’s stubborn recklessness. Who did this—and what spectacular mess did you pull to deserve it, Nolan? he wants to ask, a question edged in equal parts worry and fury. Instead, he wrests Nolan’s ruined hand away from the boards. “Don’t do that—hey, look at me.” Nolan’s pupils stutter, shutters in a gale, but they find Gael’s face. Terror—and something rawer, regret—scorches between them.

Gael clears the closest desk with one sweep, hauls Nolan up. The computer monitor crashes to the floor, glass tinkling like cheap wind chimes. Bones grate beneath his grip; whoever did this didn’t hold back. Rage flares, quick and bright, but anger is useless if Nolan bleeds out. “Couldn’t wait till I made rounds like normal, huh? Finally picked a fight you can’t win.”

Yet beneath the seething frustration, the same desperate calculus claws at him that night in the woods did: cast cast cast, do anything to keep this one breathing. He snatches a towel from a filing cabinet, watches red bloom like a grotesque flower. His mind races—tourniquet? Maybe bagged blood if the blood loss is too steep?—only to slam against the fact that the sedative is already turning Nolan’s limbs to lead. Nolan’s weight grows boneless, breaths thinning to papery rasps as the drug ices his veins. Gael grips his jaw—gently, mindful of the break—and forces their eyes to lock.

“Nolan, listen.” His voice is steadier than he feels. “You’re circling the drain. I can pull you back, but it’s the long road—the forever road.” He knows Nolan gets the implication; he’s been begging for it for months. But death’s doorstep changes people, and Gael needs to hear it one more time—the unambiguous, sober truth of it. “I won’t drag you into that without consent. So if you want out—say it.”

#c: gael;#blood tw #pain tw #sedation tw #death tw

Awake. He needs to stay awake. He needed to... get to someone. To say something. Nolan blinked as he lay at the bottom of the stairs, fighting against the mental fog that threatened to take over. Then he hears his name. A familiar voice. Gael. Nolan blinked again as he tilted his head to look up at the vampire. Nolan couldn't focus on anything specific. He could barely string a few words together in his head.

And yet, a shout tears through his lips as Gael grabs him and lifts him off of the floor, placing him on a nearby table. The pain was there for a moment and then it vanished. Nolan couldn't even remember where the pain was from. If it was from something Reid had done to him, or from something that might have broken from tumbling down the stairs.

Gael's words are lost on him as his body sinks further into the table. If he wasn't so sedated, he might have cursed at the man. Spat in his face. But that wouldn't have changed anything, even if he had. He hadn't intentionally picked the fight with Reid. It had just... happened. Nolan had helped create a dangerous situation all because he thought he could outsmart his old friend.

Nolan blinked several times as Gael spoke again. Focus. Fucking focus. It was growing harder for him to intake oxygen. His body didn't want to even breathe anymore. And for a moment, he wondered what it would be like to give in. It seemed peaceful enough. He couldn't feel any pain, either. He could just close his eyes and...

No.

Gael’s hand was on Nolan’s face but he couldn’t feel the sensation. He was telling Nolan something. He managed to hear enough to understand what Gael meant. “Do." Nolan practically hissed through his teeth as his gaze met the other's. "It." He didn't want to die. He wanted to be a fucking vampire. If he his body wasn't being dragged down by the sedative, he would have been pissed that Gael was even asking him, considering the fact that he'd all but begged for it on several occasions.

Please. His eyes begged as he maintained eye contact. It was almost all Nolan could do, even though his body wanted him to close his eyes. To succumb to the concoction he’d made himself. I promise I won’t disappoint you. He’d had a speech prepared at one point, wanting to show his dedication. But it didn’t matter. Not as he could feel his heartbeat slowing. Not as his muscles no longer responded to the movements he wanted to make.

As his eyes fluttered, he silently wondered if Gael was actually going to follow through with the deal they’d made. The promise. Or if this was all for fucking show. Nolan wouldn’t know, though. Not until he woke up after the transition. If he woke up.

closed starter for @ofreardcns

Death. It was such a final thing as a human. A thing that Nolan never thought he'd have to experience. At least, not in this way. He'd imagined his death so many times and never had he thought that it would be from someone who he used to consider a friend. Karma, some might call it. But Nolan didn't believe in such things.

If he were to go over the situation again, Nolan wished he'd have been more careful around Reid. Or, in general. He'd acted like he was invincible. As if he could do anything he wanted and never truly die. But as the sedative traveled through his veins and settled into his body, he'd come to the realization that Gael had been right. Time was something that Nolan always assumed he had.

That was no longer the fucking case.

Nolan forced air into his lungs as he crawled on the floor of his office, blood streaking along the wood as he tried to get to the door. If he got to the door, he could open it. If he could open it, he could try to shout for Gael. Kali wasn't there today. She was rarely there. But Gael... Nolan knew he was there. He'd seen him earlier.

He only had minutes to spare before the sedation completely took over. Before his mind was muddled and senseless and his body no longer responded to what he wanted. Nolan reached for the door handle, turned it, and opened it.

"Gael." Nolan breathed as he blinked, focusing on the staircase that led down towards the fighting ring. Shout. Fucking yell. Do something. Nolan opened his mouth -- his jaw still broken from Reid -- and forced a shout that sounded more like Gaaaa than Gael's actual name.

The pain in his hand was no longer there. Fuck. He lifted his torn up hand and dropped it on the ground, over and over again to try to feel something. The amount of time he had was growing slimmer. He needed Gael. So Nolan did what he thought he needed to do in order to get someone's attention. He pushed his muscles, crawling towards the top of the stairs and then... pushed himself over, his body flailing and twisting as it practically rolled down until he crashed onto the ground floor.

#c: gael;#blood tw #sedation tw #death mention tw

reidhalstead

#c: reid;#syringe tw #syringe mention tw #needle tw #attempted murder tw #sedation tw #broken bones tw #blood tw #body horror tw #gore tw

Smash or Pass: All of Reardon

"Pass. They get enough from me as it is."

If a vampire outside of Reardon offered to give you what you want. Would you take it?

I've already had a friend, who is a Vampire, offer and I refused. Might not soon, but I've refused thus far.

Do you really want to sparkle Nolan is that it? Just want to be a little spider monkey don't you?

"Fuck. Off."