#vampire!jon

[dcartcorner]

Commission for @archivalhaven! Thank you for the support!

[occudo]

Highly inappropriate-

-or there are times, when asking your vampire collague for a kiss clean up is a perfectly reasonable thing to do, don't worry about it. Re-reread @milkteamoon 's Tounge to Teeth , and well, I had to draw them again

[dipperscavern]

ive been back in my vamp fixation lately, how did you KNOW. I WANT JON SNOW TRYING TO RESIST HIS TEMPTATIONS BECAUSE HIS HONOUR WONT ALLOW IT AAGHHGG

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP RIGHT NOW

“You can come in.”

and he twitches forward before pulling back — like it’s a war between his body and mind, and he hasn’t decided which to side with yet.

a shaky inhale, a flick of his eyes from your gaze to your lips. you can see his fangs poking out from where his lips have parted and, absentmindedly, you can’t help but wonder their sharpness.

his lips twitch after your impure thought, and it’s as if he can read your mind — or, more likely, the thrum of crimson that sits under your skin.

old nan used to tell stories, exaggerations twisted from those aged lips seemed to come endlessly. Vampires, she’d say. Those blood-creatures can tell if y’ do right or wrong just from the smell of your own.

the taste, you could probably believe, but the very smell? you think nan just privied the fearful look in your eyes as she recited her words.

regardless of how much the old woman lied, it feels as if you couldn’t lie to jon if you tried. like he’s both flipping and reading the pages of you in real time. perhaps he is.

“I mustn’t.” he says.

but the way his lips curve around the syllables make it seem like he wants to. like he’s teetering on the edge of righteousness the same way he is the threshold of your door — like he’s seeing how much you’ve made up your mind before he makes up his.

you don’t seem phased by a creature of the night, a blooddrinker, telling you something shouldn’t happen. in fact, you seem amused by the very prospect. you have to be, for you cross the threshold, taking a step closer to jon. closer to his breaking point, closer to teeth and blood and the cold — closer to eternity.

“Must you not?” you begin, looking at him through your lashes. another flick of his eyes to your lips, a second longer than before. he’s fun to play with, you think. curls blowing in the winds of winter, eyes darkening, roving over your features but still always returning to your eyes.

“Don’t you want to come in? Get out the cold?”

his lips twitch upward — revealing more of a row of teeth, all ebbed to a point, all contributing to a smirk. he shifts, his attitude with it, beginning to take a step toward you. shoulders hunched forward, like they’re caving in on you.

“Love, I am the cold.”

[buggestofbugsandbattestofbats]

A new fic I've started!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/86654316?view_full_work=true

Can You Free Me From This Wretched Existence?

ArcSilverfishTheBugWriter

Summary:

Jonathan Sims is a vampire in 1700s England, turned around a century ago by Elias Bouchard when he "found [him as] a pretty young thing who was throwing his calling and life away working at a library of all places? No - Jonathan Sims with his predisposition for servitude to the Great Eye even if he refused to acknowledge it, would be his." Now he's trapped in an emotionally and physically abusive relationship with his Sire who forces him to kill (or else suffer harsh punishments) and likes to parade him about town on his arm to make sure the townspeople don't forget he's a gay (they don't know what bi means) vampire so he'll be executed should he ever try to leave.

Martin Blackwood lives with his abusive and ill mother, forced to care for her even while she treats him quite badly. He works by day at the bakery and by night at the apothecary under his boss Gertrude and with his colleague, Gerry. One very early morning he's getting ready to leave when a new patient comes in with a stake rammed through his shoulder. This is unusual both because Martin thought he knew everyone in town and because the man was able to drag himself there with such an injury, even though he did pass out in the doorway upon entry.

[birdifulhuman]

for the new years i present to you, Vampire!Jon and Moth!Jon

[pastadrawstma]

Hes having fun (hes not)

Day 39 of posting magpod art daily

Disclaimer: I made this peice before wilbur soots actions came to light. I do not support him or his actions in any way

[murderandcoffee]

Uno reverse carding that vampire jonmartin prompt

Vampire Jon who feeds on Martin WAY more than he needs to bc Martin (the monster-lover he is) thinks its hot

MONSTERFUCKER MARTIN YES ANON THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT

martin who learns jon is a vampire and is immediately like 👉👈🥹 "do you think. do you think I'd taste good. do you wanna try"

[magnetarmadda]

A day late, here's my ficlet for @tmaappreciationweek Day 3: Alternate Universe. It's inspired by this tumblr post

Jon's had several centuries now to come to terms with both his immortality and his all-encompassing but unrequited infatuation with one Martin Blackwood. The immortality, you can imagine, was much easier to grasp. When he was a boy, his grandmother had told him tales of the bloodsucking monsters in the hills, and Jon had the misfortune to not properly believe her and be full of unquenchable curiosity. He'd mostly abided by her rules as a child, having had one close call that instead claimed a neighbor, but in adulthood, he had found an excuse to travel into the hills in search of something or other for his village—he can't even remember properly anymore.  Going on a thousand years later, he's still paying for it. He supposes that's why he's madly in love with Martin, a kind of exquisite cosmic torture for his sins. He'll love this man until the end of time and crave a kind of intimacy he cannot have that surpasses the cravings for blood. Chalking most of the negative things in his very long life up to paying for his sins has become so standard that, the moment he recognizes his handwriting in a display case, he immediately wonders if this will finally be the moment he's earned forgiveness for his foolishness as a young man. Jon and Martin had met up for their usual Saturday afternoon excursion, this time revisiting a museum to see a new exhibit on Victorian era letters and documents. Martin had joked as they walked in that he hoped he'd see one of his early poems here, since he'd lost a whole wooden box of them during a move a hundred years ago. They've been wandering slowly through the exhibit, Martin's arm looped through Jon's in the casual way they've developed, and have recognized the handwriting of a few other vampires they've come to know, but so far, none of Martin's poems. Until they come across Jon's handwriting instead. "Jon?" Martin asks, using his free hand to point to it. "That's…that's your—" He trails off, eyes glued to the words on the aged page.  It's a letter Jon thought he'd burned over 150 years ago, and what little color his skin carries now is flushed away as he remembers the agony under which he'd penned it.  He and Martin had spent the day at the World's Fair, much like this day at the museum, and there had been a moment when one of Jon's remarks had been returned by Martin with such affection that Jon had dared to hope. He wrote all of his burning feelings out on the page and determined to give it to Martin on their next meeting. The exact words Martin had said that made Jon hold back the letter have been forgotten now, but Jon remembers the coldness that spread through his limbs as Martin made a remark about the solidity and dependability of their friendship. Jon had never given the letter over. And now, it's here, his own handwriting laying him bare in this very public space. "That's—that's me," Martin is whispering now, getting closer to the display to read the words again, his expression hungry. Then he turns to Jon, eyes wide. "Jon, what…?" Jon takes a deep breath, even as meaningless as oxygen is for his system now, but nothing comes out of his mouth. He tries a few times, opening and closing it, and he scrutinizes Martin's expression as he does so.  He has absolutely no idea what's going on in his friend's mind, and terror takes root in his soul. Is he about to lose his best friend? "All this time, and you've never told me?" Martin finally breaks the silence, stepping close to Jon. "You really felt that way?" Jon nods, a lump in his throat now.  "D-do you…" At least seeing an opening, Jon dives into it headfirst. "I have loved you for hundreds of years," he says softly, taking a step to fill the decreasing gap between them. "How could I not, Martin?" Martin, eyes wide and flashing, smiles brightly back. "You idiot," he says, and then leans down to kiss Jon.