sentential: (jon/robb (game of thrones))
[personal profile] sentential
title: you were right about the end (it didn't make a difference)
fandom: Game of Thrones
pairing: Jon/Robb
rating: R
summary: Vampire!AU. Jon Snow is a vampire and he's always been afraid of what would happen if he ever bit another human being. When he bites Robb in a fit of passion, he flees to the Wall before he can discover the true consequences of his actions - until the truth catches up to him.
spoilers/notes: In spite of my ever-so Mills & Boon summary, this fic is actually bizarrely serious (and angst-ridden). It was written in response to a prompt, from [livejournal.com profile] jacklemmon at the [livejournal.com profile] stark_n_snow prompt meme (member's locked). Also, for the purposes of this fic, Benjen Stark is either a) already missing or b) nonexistent in this timeline. Other than that, the fic follows canon continuity and setting except for the whole, um, vampire thing. 4694 words.



There is dead silence in the yard of Castle Black as Lord Commander Mormont reads the roll of new recruits and their assignments. “Matthar to the rangers,” he says, his sonorous voice ringing out like the irreversible judgement that it is. “Dareon to the stewards,” he continues.

Those stood at the back of the crowd, behind the rows of benches, are looking over their shoulders now, distracted, and Mormont’s gaze waivers from his parchment for a moment as he looks up toward the back of the courtyard, as if something significant were afoot. “Baleon to the rangers”, he pronounces, nonetheless, as though nothing has changed.

“Excuse me,” comes a voice, quite different, and achingly familiar to Jon. Jon had barely observed the recent change in atmosphere up until then, so consumed had he been in the ceremony and in the apprehension of his name being called. “Lord Commander Mormont, I am sorry to interrupt but I need to speak to my brother.” The way he says it, says that last word, ‘brother’, makes Jon look around finally, as though a spell’s been broken.

There is Robb, standing in the yard, just a few steps behind the last row of benches, just feet away from him, wearing the same cloak trimmed with grey fur and the same determined expression he had whenever he felt challenged. Robb looks just the same as he’d always done back at Winterfell, so much the same that Jon thinks he can’t possibly be real.

Robb can’t be here, not after what Jon had done to him. Even if he could be here, Jon was sure that he couldn’t be Robb anymore. The last time that Jon had seen his brother, he’d seen his brother’s blood spilling from his neck, and he’d left Winterfell forever, hoping to leave his shame behind along with everything else.

*

Jon loved his brother, loved him more than anything else. He loved him more than all the men and stones in Winterfell and more than anything beyond that. He’d grown to accept that, slowly but surely, and to understand what it meant. He’d never told Robb as much but he’d let him know, at least, he thought he had.


The first time they’d kissed had been on a hunt in the Wolfswood. It had been a small party, a diplomatic hunt in honour of their guests from House Umber, and someone had taken down a deer - Jon couldn’t remember who’d done it now, it seemed an unimportant detail, - and after everyone else had remounted their horses, Robb had put a hand on Jon’s wrist and pressed him against the tree, lips on his, brief but firm and real and Jon had felt that thing he always dreaded and he thought please don’t let him realise, please don’t let him see.

The moment Jon realised that Robb was no longer there, no longer pressed against him, the feeling of his fingers on Jon’s wrist only a ghost in memory now, he’d seen Robb, as if from miles away, remounting his horse, smiling and saying “Come on, Snow”.

Robb hadn’t kissed him again for months. Not until after Jon had floored him in yard at Winterfell during sword-practice, and Robb must have seen something in his eyes. Jon thought it must have been that same look as the day when Robb had first kissed him. Jon remembered feeling his teeth, too sharp in his mouth, and swallowing as though to wash down the want which was welling up inside him. After practice, Robb had grabbed Jon’s wrist again, pulled him into the smallest corner of the room off the yard where they stored the practice swords, and they’d stood there for a few long seconds before Jon realised that Robb was waiting for him to make the first move.

Jon leant in and kissed him, pulled Robb in with his free hand, other wrist still encased in his brother’s, and Jon could barely breathe when he felt Robb’s tongue against his lips and he pulled away without thinking except that his teeth were feeling far too sharp again and he shut his eyes tight as if he feared that they would betray him.

“Jon,” Robb had said, “Jon,” and Jon had opened his eyes slowly, raising his head to look at Robb but saying nothing. Jon let his hand fall from Robb’s back and Robb released his wrist and just looked at his brother. Then he pressed his lips to Jon’s cheekbone, swift and soft, and walked out of the armoury without a second glance.

Robb didn’t speak to him over breakfast the next morning, barely looked at him. It took Jon far too long to build up the courage to say anything about it. It had been a fortnight, at least, maybe a month, before Jon had snuck into Robb’s bedchamber at night. Robb had been sat in bed, reading with a candle burning, and Jon came up and sat beside him. He put a hand on Robb’s face, turned it towards him and kissed him again, and, this time, when he felt his teeth sharpen and grow and felt that awful need building inside him, he pulled away slowly and looked at Robb.

Robb was staring back at him, wide-eyed, so Jon opened his mouth a little, said, “Feel them, I--” and Robb saw but, instead of reaching out with his hand as Jon had imagined he would, he pressed his mouth to Jon’s again and kissed him. Robb’s tongue slipped between Jon’s open lips and felt for his teeth. Jon’s dread that the skin on Robb’s tongue would break, his fear of what would happen if it did, was enough to make his teeth shrink away and Robb pulled back after a moment and said, “Jon, what is it?”

Jon was sure, though he couldn’t say why, that Robb was asking about why Jon’s teeth had shrunk back to their normal size, and not asking the larger question, the one he should have been asking all along, about what Jon was.

When Robb registered the surprise in Jon’s face, he said: “I always knew you weren’t like us, Snow. I found out what you were by following you and Luwin. Besides, you never were any good at keeping secrets.”

Maester Luwin had helped Jon, all his life, to deal with his condition. He’d taught him to hunt animals in the Wolfswood at night, told him how to hide the things which would give him away: his strength and the way his teeth would grow and the darkening of his eyes. Luwin had been good to him. He’d searched out the few books he could which made reference to vampirism and told Jon everything he knew about the condition. Jon still knew little enough about it though, and he’d never met another like him and he’d never spoken to anyone but Luwin and his father about it. He thought he’d kept his secret well.

“Kiss me again?” Robb asked - though it was hardly a question.

Jon did.


Everything had seemed a little better after that because Robb knew about him and Robb accepted him for who he was. Robb had these tiny things he’d do, small gestures - like the nervous way he’d touch his ear when he looked at Jon - that let Jon know that Robb wanted him in spite of what he was. And every time Catelyn gave Jon a disgusted look, Robb’s eyes would find his and he’d smile or make some tiny gesture to let Jon know that he was needed, he was wanted.

They were careful. They’d always been careful. Jon had read in Maester Luwin’s books about what a vampire bite would do to a human. He’d read that vampire bites were fatal in one book and, in another, that a single bite would turn them into a vampire. Accounts varied wildly, with one tome from the Age of Heroes suggesting that a vampire’s victim became his puppet, soulless and responsive only to the desires and commands of the vampire who had bitten him.

They were careful. Though Robb would often kiss his way down Jon’s body, sometimes sucking at the tender skin on Jon’s neck so hard that he’d bruise, Jon rarely allowed himself to press his lips to his brother’s skin, too much afraid of the urge to sink his teeth in. Sometimes, Jon would kiss him but then he’d clamp his jaws together as hard as he could to make it that much more difficult to yield to temptation.

They got by and Jon wondered how he’d ever denied himself this. He could hardly believe that he’d run so long from every kiss and every brush of skin, that he’d been too afraid of what he was and of what Robb would think. He was still afraid, though, of what he was and what it meant. He was afraid sometimes that Robb hated what he was, just as Jon himself did. When he thought this, he tried to banish it by recalling the memory of Robb looking down on him from where he had him straddled on the bed, looking down on his darkened eyes and open mouth and saying: “I love you like this.”

Jon never stopped being afraid, though. He had dreams, sometimes, that he’d bitten Robb. Sometimes, in the dreams, he didn’t even feel bad about it. But, when he woke up, if Robb was there beside him, he’d search Robb’s skin for bite marks, heart pounding, before he could even attempt to go back to sleep.

It happened, all the same.


It was the night of the feast given to welcome King Robert Baratheon to Winterfell. Jon had spent all night out in the yard, feeling isolated and miserable and out-of-place. It was a cold night but Jon had never really felt the cold, so he’d sat on a hay bale and stared up at the walls and the sky and listened to the life he’d never lead. He’d drunk a little, a little too much, probably. One of the cooks had beckoned him into the scullery to take his fill of food and drink. He hadn’t been hungry but he’d felt like trying to forget who he was for a while so he’d taken a flagon of wine and he’d sat out in the yard and drank it like it was nothing because there was nothing else to do.

The music was still playing, the feast still in full swing, when Robb appeared out of a door, far distant from the festivities.

“Just put Arya to bed,” he’d said, then: “Gods, it’s cold out here.”

He sat down beside Jon, side pressed up against him as if for warmth.

“You doing okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jon had said, not even trying to disguise the tone of his voice so that it wouldn’t belie his words.

“I know what’ll cheer you up,” Robb had responded, his easy smile breaking over his face. His hand closed on Jon’s wrist, just like those first times, and he’d stood up. Jon followed the way he’d always been powerless not to.


He hadn’t meant to do it, hadn’t meant to sink his teeth in. But there he was, on top of Robb, inside Robb, and Robb was keening and arching back his head, neck exposed and so long and Jon had only meant to lean in and brush his lips, maybe his teeth, against it. He’d wanted to imagine what it would be like but Robb was moving under him, rocking, and Jon had gasped, lips against Robb’s throat and, without meaning to, he’d sunk his teeth in.

Robb’s blood didn’t taste like animals or like iron the way people said blood did. It tasted the way Robb’s hair smelt, and like the sound of his laughter, and like the orgasm which was shaking through him. It tasted the way Jon thought the end of the world might taste. It tasted, in retrospect, like shame and revolt, like anxious terror, like every door that had ever been opened to him slamming shut behind him and the end of the one good thing he’d ever had.

When he’d pulled away, swallowing, feeling Robb’s blood spilling over a little onto his chin, staring at the wound he’d made, Robb was staring up at him. Robb’s beautiful blue eyes were wide, and his neck was bleeding out over the bedclothes. Everything felt oddly distant but oddly immediate at that moment. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d done next but he remembered Robb cradling his face in his hands and saying, “it’s okay,” over and over and Jon thinking how terrible a lie it was. He remembered tearing off a fragment of a sheet and pressing it to the gash in Robb’s neck which was still issuing a slow trickle of blood and he remembered falling asleep, pressed against Robb’s chest, encased in his arms and waking up and wondering how on earth he’d managed to sleep at all, after what he’d done.


Once awake, in the bed which smelt of blood and sex, Jon stared at Robb for a long time. He looks just the same, he thought, if a little paler. He’d disentangled himself from Robb as best he could, trying to be gentle and reassuring, whispering to him when he heard Robb make the slightest sound from the back of his throat. It’s over, he’d thought, I’ve, gods, I don’t know what I’ve done to him. The makeshift bandage on Robb’s neck was stained dark red-brown and stuck to his skin with the dried blood. I should never have done it, Jon thought, never have let any of this happen.

He needed to leave, he knew. Robb was heir to Winterfell, Eddard Stark’s first born son, and Jon had done this to him. He’d killed him, rendered him worse than dead, maybe. Jon had done this, Jon who had no right to anything, whose position in Winterfell was granted only as an act of charity.

Once he’d pulled on and laced his breeches and found the rest of his clothes where they lay strewn on the floor, he’d kissed his brother’s forehead one last time, whispered an apology and then left Winterfell as swiftly as he could. He’d taken little with him and told no-one where he was headed. The stable boy had looked at him, baffled, when he’d come to saddle his horse, but he’d been too busy making preparations for that day’s royal hunt to question Jon.

He’d ridden out of Winterfell unnoticed and ashamed, the dire wolf who ran alongside him was his sole companion. He’d struck out north for the Wall. This way, he thought, they cannot behead me for my crimes. Though he wished, that night, as he slept in an abandoned hayrick, that someone would catch up to him and carry him to justice - just so long as they didn’t make him face Robb and what he’d done to him.

He thought of Robb and wondered what sort of life would be left to him now. He remembered Maester Luwin’s books and wondered if he ought to have killed Robb rather than have left him to his fate. The thought of it, as he rode that first day, had been enough that he’d had to stop to wretch on an empty stomach, clinging tight to his horse’s reins and feeling his eyes blur up as though he were about to pass out.


When he reached the Wall, he’d been exhausted, strung out and still terrified of what he’d done. The Night’s Watch had taken him in the way they took in anyone who said they were willing to take the Black.

Someone had asked him, his first night at Castle Black, why a boy like him who had prospects by the look of him (‘you speak like a lord, and dress like one, far as I can see’) would want to join the Night’s Watch. Jon had shrugged and told the man that, if he’d had prospects once, he didn’t have any now.

The man had pressed, and pressed, he’d mocked Jon, even, so Jon had said, “I killed a man,” and then, without thinking more about it, “I killed my brother.” And it hit him then, the way it often did, like a punch to the gut, that he’d really done it. He’d bitten Robb and, probably, that was worse than killing him.

The man had looked at Jon with disgust and no one else had tried to talk to him that night. Some of them might have been rapers and murderers but not one of them wanted to speak to a man who killed his own brother and spoke about it like that, so flatly, as though it were nothing.

The way Jon fought during those days, those first days of training, that scared people, too. Jon fought every man as though he were fighting himself. Every blow was filled with guilt, hatred, remorse and the desperation he felt because he’d destroyed everything he’d had. Once he found himself about to strike a man who was cowering on the ground below him and managed to stop himself, feeling disgust well up inside him more profoundly than ever, and he threw his blunted practice sword to the ground and walked away, piercing his tongue with an over-sharp tooth when he felt to see if his body had betrayed him, the way it so often did.

They whispered about him, Jon knew, and he slept far off from everyone else, self-segregation the only kind of penance he could make. The only company he had was Ghost, who refused to leave his side, and whose red albino eyes mocked him with the truth he could never escape.


Jon hunted rarely. Only venturing out when his hunger was so strong he thought he would collapse and then it was often Ghost who would emerge from the trees near the castle with a struggling animal clutched between his teeth and lay it before Jon, allowing him to drain as much blood as he wanted. When Jon was done, and only then, would Ghost touch the carcass, tearing at the bloodless flesh and eating his fill of it.


Jon trained hard, and he tried to harden himself to the truth of what he’d done and to the fact that there was no going back. This was all he had now, he told himself, and he kept going.

Soon, he found that when he thought of Robb, he felt disgust and misery at what he’d done but he also felt, oddly, numb to it, as though it were in another life and it was over now.

When a fat, craven boy had arrived at Castle Black and been mocked by all, Jon found he could be kind to him and found that he even enjoyed the boy’s company. He grew close to Sam in spite of the voice inside his head which told him it was not in his nature to be kind, told him he would destroy everything he cared about and that Sam would hate and fear him if he knew the truth.

Sam even asked him, once, if he’d really killed his brother, as all the men said he had. He couldn’t seem to credit the idea that Jon would have done such a thing.

“Yes, I killed him,” Jon had said, as flatly and as matter-of-factly as he always did when someone asked why he’d come to the Wall.

“But you didn’t mean to, did you?” Sam had asked him, in a tone with very little questioning about it.

“No.” And, that was it, Sam hadn’t pressed him further. Instead he’d smiled as if he’d known all along and he’d talked about how he was hungry and how it was cold and acted as though Jon was his friend and not a murderer at all.

He’d even discovered Jon’s secret, followed him out beyond the gates of Castle Black one night, shaking with cold and with fear and watched from a distance as Ghost emerged from between the trees and laid a wolf, near full grown, at Jon’s feet, and watched how Jon bent over it.

Sam said nothing to Jon about what he’d seen until he’d figured it all out.

“I’ve read about vampires, you know,” Sam had said, when he was sure he’d reached the correct conclusion, and he’d prattled on and on about vampires in stories and how their existence was said to be well-known across the narrow sea. Jon knew that if Sam had told him this before, back when he’d been safe at Winterfell, before his nature had betrayed him, he would have listened attentively and heeded every tale and superstition. Now, though, he couldn’t listen to Sam, not really, not when Sam was trying to reassure him that it wasn’t so bad really, and Jon knew that it was, really, it was.

“Look,” he’d said, eventually, “I don’t want to talk about it. I am what I am, okay? Just as you are what you are.”

“And what’s that?” Sam had asked, with a touch of unusual defiance to his voice.

“A craven,” Jon had said plainly and then, repentantly, added: “and a good friend.”

Sam had given him a sort of uneasy smile and dropped the subject for a time.


Jon lived, day by day, and tried to ignore the way he ached for home. He told himself that Winterfell wasn’t his home anymore and that it never should have been.

He dreamt, far too often, of Robb. He dreamt of waking up with him some nights but, most often, when he awoke beside Robb in his dreams, Robb’s body was cold beside him and he wouldn’t wake no matter how much Jon shook him.


He’d slept worse than usual, the night before they were due to be assigned to their orders in the Night’s Watch. He’d dreamt fitfully of Robb and Winterfell, of running after Ghost in the Wolfswood in search of prey and finding Robb, who took his wrist and pulled him behind a tree and kissed him. Except that, in the dream, when Jon kissed him, he could feel Robb’s teeth against his, sharp, and Robb’s eyes hardened and went dark and Robb said, “I’m going to have to kill you now, it’s only fair” in a voice which wasn’t quite his own.

Jon went through the motions that day, living as though he were asleep, and trying not to wake up enough to remember why he was there. He sat on the benches, beside Samwell Tarly, and listened the names. He waited for his fate and thought, at least as a Ranger, I will be able to go out into the cold and die, maybe I’ll even save a few people first, maybe I can atone, in a small way, and, maybe, they’ll forgive me.

When he heard Robb’s voice, turned to see him, and saw him alive and there, right there, his cheeks tinged red from the exertion of his ride, Jon just stared. “I need to speak to my brother,” Robb had said and Jon couldn’t process it. Robb was here. Robb was alive, and he was Robb: he looked just like he always had, a little tired maybe, and his eyes were blazing, his stance was oddly defiant, as though he’d accept no refusal but that was Robb, that had always been Robb.

From somewhere behind him, Lord Commander Mormont was saying something and Jon understood, though he didn’t hear the words, that it was his agreement to allow Robb to speak to him. Jon found that he’d stood up without meaning to and that he was walking towards Robb. He wasn’t sure what he intended to do only that he was glad when he found that someone had come between them and was saying that they ought to talk indoors and that there was a room that they could use.


Neither of them spoke as they were led into a small meeting room which Jon supposed the heads of the various orders of the Night’s Watch must use to discuss matters of importance. The man who led them there, obviously aware that this was a private matter, merely closed the door behind them and left them without a word.

Jon met Robb’s eyes for a minute before lowering them to his neck, in search of the place where he’d sunk his teeth into his brother’s skin. Robb’s cloak covered it and Jon could see no trace there of what he’d done, just as he could see no change in Robb.

“Why the fuck,” said Robb, voiced oddly contained, “did you run away?”

When Jon refused to look up at him, Robb lifted Jon’s chin with his hand but Jon still couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Robb’s fingers were warm against his throat. Robb was alive, he thought, alive, alive, alive. Robb was alive and staring at Jon and Jon swallowed and said: “I thought you were dead. Or worse, maybe. Probably worse. Fuck.”

Jon felt the fingers of Robb’s other hand close on his wrist. “Well, I’m not dead and I’m not worse than dead either but I have spent the last month, gods, more, thinking, wondering what the fuck you were doing and why you just left like that. No one fucking knew and I couldn’t even tell them what I thought I knew - but I think some people guessed. Gods, Snow. You don’t even -” Robb swallowed and Jon hated himself, hated that he couldn’t say anything to make it better.

If I tell him that it was worse for me, that I thought I’d killed him, that I hated myself more than he can imagine, that won’t help, he thought, so he pulled Robb close, instead, and kissed him.

The hand Robb had under his chin moved to the back of his neck and urged Jon in closer. It was a brief kiss, though deep, and when they broke apart Robb said, “Come back to Winterfell with me,” as though there was nothing more to discuss. Jon had nodded and said nothing about the fact that, if Robb had come tomorrow, it would have been too late. They’d stood there, close together, for a while, kissing occasionally, hands searching out forgotten places.


They pulled away from each other, when they heard movement outside, the sounds of the new recruits coming back inside the castle for their evening’s repast. The Lord Commander himself had come for them soon after that, to invite them to dine at the high table.

At dinner, Robb had told everyone that he was sorry but that his brother could not join the Night’s Watch because he was needed in Winterfell. Jon knew that Robb hoped, in speaking for him, to save him the shame of backing out for himself.

After the meal had ended, Jon introduced Robb to Sam and Sam turned to Jon and said, “I thought you killed your brother.”

Robb quipped that “Snow here wouldn’t know a corpse from a newborn babe,” and they’d smiled and talked amicably enough.


It wasn’t until late that night that Robb said, “I’ve been looking into it, the biting thing.”

They were in bed together, Jon looking down at the place on Robb’s neck where there was only the faintest mark now and tracing it with his finger, “And apparently,” Robb continued, his own hands playing along the bare skin of Jon’s side, “it’s alright if you bite me, as long as you don’t drink too much. I’ve heard that, in the Free Cities, they even have replenishment potions which mean that I won’t even feel weak afterwards.”

Jon’s lips found the place where he’d bitten Robb and kissed the skin, soft but lingering.

“Jon,” Robb said, hand moving up along Jon’s back and finally nestling in his hair, “we’re going to make this work.”

Jon replied without thinking, because he didn’t need to think about it, and, meeting his brother’s eyes, said: “I know.”


Date: 2011-07-11 10:39 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] rachel2205.livejournal.com
This really works! I love how Jon isn't certain what he is, what it means to be a vampire, that the rules are unknown. And it's great how Jon's sense of being an outsider in the canon works here becomes physically expressed.

Now I want them to go off and have Free Cities adventures!

Date: 2011-07-13 04:56 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] sentential.livejournal.com
I'm so glad it worked out! It seemed like a really out-there premise but being a vampire actually fits a lot of Jon's canon issues alarmingly well.

... I half want to write them in the comments here now. *tries to resist*

Date: 2011-07-13 07:31 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] rachel2205.livejournal.com
I admit that I too have been thinking about vampire!Jon after reading that prompt, though mine would end up not really filling the prompt in any way except Jon-being-a-vampire. I might write it, I don't know... I would totally like to see some more of this! :)

Date: 2011-07-11 10:54 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] franklover2007.livejournal.com
This is absolutely gorgeous, I think it's my favourite Jon/Robb fic that I've read so far. I adore vampires too so this story really drew me in. I loved the repetitiveness of Robb wrapping his hand around Jon's wrist, it's such a lovely little touch. Wonderful characterisation especially of Jon and his angst and you've created such wonderful imagery with your words, especially the bite scene. This is definitely a fic I'll be coming to re-read again and again.

I especially loved the last 3 lines, it really summed their relationship up. Lovely stuff. Great job! :)

Date: 2011-07-13 05:00 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] sentential.livejournal.com
I'm so glad you liked it and I'm massively flattered that you plan to reread it! It's comments like this that keep me going when I'm slogging through a tough bit of editing. (:

Thanks so much for reading and commenting! ♥
Also: you clearly have great taste in icons. ;)

Date: 2011-07-13 05:12 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] franklover2007.livejournal.com
I think it's great to give positive and encouraging comments to writers to keep them going. We really need as many great writers such as yourself in this tiny fandom. :)

As do you! ;)

Date: 2011-07-13 05:19 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] sentential.livejournal.com
Agreed! Comments are the best way to let people in fandom know that their contribution is appreciated. If you keep flattering me like this though I will end up flailing in my seat until my arms fall off or something. (: We definitely do need to make sure our little fandom thrives though, for sure.

And now I am wishing I had more icon space on this fic journal. Jon Snow's face in that icon is just so classic.

Date: 2011-07-13 06:35 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] franklover2007.livejournal.com
Well I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself :P but honestly, there is some amazing writers in this fandom, it's crazy what such great quality all the stories have been so I try and comment on every fic I read to encourage people to continue writing, especially more Jon/Robb fic *nudge* ;)

I do enjoy Jon Snow's face greatly. Damn that icon limit, it pains me greatly, I really need to invest in a paid account.

Date: 2011-07-12 02:43 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] devymel12.livejournal.com
You took my favorite ship to a whole new level. I think this is my favorite! Jobb + vampires = &hearts
Amazing work, truly.

Date: 2011-07-13 05:01 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] sentential.livejournal.com
Eee, thank you! I'm so glad you liked it. This ship is amazing - I swear, it just writes itself, really.
♥!

Date: 2011-07-12 07:43 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] sky-somedays.livejournal.com
I adore this! I'm so excited that there are AUs being written about this pairing. I was really curious how the vampire thing would work in the canon setting but you made it fit beautifully and kept everything so realistic. I really love the dynamic Jon and Robb have; just so loving, and Robb's acceptance of Jon, akdjfkd ♥ Awesome!

Date: 2011-07-13 05:04 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] sentential.livejournal.com
I'm really glad you liked it! I was surprised how easy it was to fit Jon being a vampire into the fabric of canon, actually. You have to know that Robb would accept Jon, no matter what. They're amazing like that.
Thank you for the lovely comment! ♥

Date: 2011-07-13 01:10 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] minka-g.livejournal.com
Goddamnit, I missed the sparkles. Shiny shiny!

Ok, seriously now, good job. Glad there was no Twilight sparkles and god, Jon's issues transverse universes so well, don't they? He is perfect for some serious angsting.

Really odd, but in all of it, the thing that really, really really stuck out was Jon hunting with Ghost. The idea that Ghost ran off and brought him the kill and then pretty much destroyed all evidence of it afterwards was just so damn powerful. Great job on that and the whole thing.

Thanks for sharing.

Date: 2011-07-13 05:13 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] sentential.livejournal.com
Haha. Next time I write vamp!Jon he will totally be standing in a beam of sunlight in the yard at Winterfell and everyone will see him sparkling in the sun and start staring at him. Then Robb will notice the way everyone's looking at his boyfriend brother and sidle up to Jon and announce to the crowd: "fuck yeah, he's a vampire and he sparkles, wanna see?" And then he'll tear open Jon's shirt (and his overshirt and undershirt, too, because this is Winterfell after all) and let everyone see just how sparkly Jon is whilst simultaneously asserting that Jon is his, all his.

*coughs* Yes, um, I don't think I would ever have gone the Twilight route, to be honest, having a new way to talk about all of Jon's issues was just far too tempting for me not to try it out.

The Ghost thing came to me part way through writing the fic and I couldn't let it go. The dire wolves are so important in canon that it was great to be able to give Ghost a role in the fic.

Thanks for reading and for the lovely comment. Please ignore the insanity that is the first half of this comment. (: ♥

Date: 2011-07-23 03:25 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] sickletongue.livejournal.com
I am so loving these AUs I've been reading lately. *fans self* damn

Date: 2011-07-23 10:49 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] sentential.livejournal.com
So glad you're enjoying the fandom. It's fab, isn't it? :D

Date: 2011-07-24 10:54 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] theirempires.livejournal.com
Wow, this fic is incredible! I love Jon as a vampire, and I love how easily it fits into the timeline of the actual show. Also, something about vampires is really hot, and I'm glad you used it to its full potential. I just watched the entire series of Game of Thrones today and am absolutely in love with the fics I've read so far, so I can't wait to delve in further. Thank you so much for sharing! :)

Date: 2011-07-29 10:14 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] sentential.livejournal.com
I'm so glad you liked it! :D I was surprised at how easy it was to make vampires fit into the Game of Thrones 'verse. I hope you keep enjoying the show & the fandom. Thanks for commenting. ♥

Date: 2011-09-20 02:35 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] loneohone.livejournal.com
Very good take on Jon and Robb. I like that Jon is frighten at what he is, but not weepy, and Robb is not afraid, but not overpowering. I would like to know why Jon is a vampire, and why Lord Stark brought him to Winterfell? Hope you will write more in this universe.
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