#ode-to-an-inkwell

[galeforged]

-- crouching down and carefully digging through some of the boxes within abyss, the kleiman heiress' brows furrow as frustration slowly sets in the longer she keeps digging. shoulders slump as she sighs, giving up and putting everything back where it once was before deciding it'd be best to ask around... though the answers she was hoping for probably wouldn't be found. "hey, ah -- do you know if we have any extra inkwells..? mine finally kicked the bucket and i'm not sure if going to the market on the surface is a good idea right now." // from avery!

"Uhh..."

Thankfully for his nerves, Forwin wasn't too focused with writing his new song by the time he picked up on Avery's footsteps, closing in on him from behind. This meant no surprises, no jumps, and more evidently, no risk of spillage from his own inkwell all over his pages... an inkwell which, he now realized, he had the last one.

"I-I... can't really part with mine right now, though," was all the reply the little bard could muster. Forwin couldn't exactly guarantee there would be a sufficient amount by the time he would finish either... "What did you need one for-?"

[wistfully-wisteria]

𝐒𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 (ᴘʀᴇꜰᴀᴄᴇ) "ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴏᴏᴅ?"

PROHERO AU [f][a]

SUMMARY: You knew what you were signing yourself up for when you chose the life of a pro hero–and you loved it. Or at least, you thought you did. But when you're called to make a sacrifice for Japan that you imagined part of the job, you begin realizing how much you love your life–and the people–outside of it, too.

BACKGROUND: You're Kirishima Eijiro's little sister, and hence, his best friend, Bakugo Katsuki, adopts a protective relationship with you. Despite being the eighth pro hero in Japan, you are relatively unknown to the public eye–including number one hero, Midoriya Izuku.

Main pairing(s): Midoriya Izuku, Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

Word count: .8k

<masterlist> <next (pt. 1)>

WARNINGS: suicide mission, depressing themes, etc.

You take a deep breath, steeling your nerves as you rest your sweaty palms on the large, heavy metal doors. Closing your eyes, you exhale a final calming sigh, and with a firm push, you send the oversized doors swinging inward. "L/n Y/n," You declare confidently, briskly entering the room, taking long strides. "Pro hero 'Scribble.' " You stop as you reach the end of the long, oval table, and quickly scan the room.

"Ah. Miss Scribble. Please, take a seat."

Your eyes widen as they land on two figures more than you were expecting, disregarding his invitation to sit. "I was unaware there would be others here today, sir." You state transparently, gaze locking with that of the HSPC's acting president. "I was under the impression this conversation was something... not meant for prying eyes."

A small scoff drags your attention back to the cocked eyebrow of the ash blonde boy you had grown to know too well. "You're kidding." Disrespectful and entitled as ever, his scornful tone is accompanied by his legs strewn carelessly upon the pristine table. His eyes seem to size you up. He had, of course, done this countless times before–but this time felt differ; weariness and pity now in the depths of his eyes. "She's not right for this."

"Right for what?" You frown. You hadn't been told what was so confidential–only that it was of the upmost importance.

Your question remained unanswered as the hot-tempered boy brought his feet harshly swing down, his hard glare finally shifting to the man sitting directly across the table from you. "No. I won't."

"Won't what?"

Again, they do not respond. "Why not? Do you disagree that she would be the perfect fit? Think about this, Dynamight. Do not let your personal life get in the way of what you know is right."

You begin to bristle. They have not so much as looked your way since you got here.

Wait–that's not true.

He hasn't looked anywhere but your way, you note.

Green hair, freckles, doe eyes.

He looks young. Innocent. Too much so to be somewhere like here.

Too much so to be who you know he must be.

"What sets her apart from the rest?" The boy speaks, emerald eyes not leaving yours, staring with great, earnest intrigue. And yet, again, in the forests that are his eyes, you find pity. "What is her quirk?"

"Inkw-" You begin.

"Eighth hero Scribble possesses the quirk Inkwell. Secreted by glands in her fingertips, her ink can be brought to life when drawn with." He reads from–a file of you? Seriously? "Bound by the law, she cannot legally create paper currency, but anything other, from her ink, may be created by her and only her. Similar to that of Ms. Creati–however since she need not burn her own fat to utilize her quirk, less holds her back."

Invasion of privacy.

"Eighth?" Japan's top hero mumbles. His eyes finally leave yours as they dart around the room anxiously. "She would be rather well suited." He says, returning to normal volume. "You can't deny that much."

"You want to bet, Deku? No."

"Kacch-"

"If you wish to speak of me as if I'm not here, I'll leave." You announce, officially done with taking the disrespect. "But if you want something of me, my storming out will not help your odds."

All three pairs of eyes dart to you, a smirk playing on the lips of a certain smug boy.

"I suppose there's no point in debating this matter if she may not agree to it anyway." Mr. number one acknowledges, biting his lip.

A long- painfully so- sigh escapes the lips of the president as he massages his temples, and you swear you can hear his teeth grinding. "Alright then, Ms. Scribble." He motions again for me to sit–and coupled by the finality in his tone, you obey.

The screech of the chair resounds almost ominously through the brightly lit room as you finally take your seat; almost like a warning.

"On behalf of the Hero Public Safety Commission, I am here to present forth to you your next mission."

You snort. "Awful extravagant for just another mission briefing."

The laugh isn't returned.

"Let me be clear, Ms. Scribble." His eyes are flint hard. "This is not 'just another mission briefing.' Anything said, done, or shown hero, is never to leave these walls. Understood?"

You hesitate, your eyes scanning the room for someone you can trust. They find those of your brother's best friend–hold eye contact; search for the truth in his eyes.

You can't tell just whether the drowning sensation is from him challenging you to say yes–or begging you to say no.

In the end, it's the earnest sincerity in his eyes that convinces you.

You tear your eyes away, and for the second time in the past ten minutes, you find yourself closing your eyes.

You let out a calming exhale.

"Understood."

[carrievvhite]

Tagged by @helaenaflorent and @marymccool 💖

What is the color palette of your name?

No pressure tagging @jotterjots @ode-to-an-inkwell @eruherdiriel @full-of-stars @bypatia and anyone else who wants to do it

[greenhikingboots]

10 Comfort Movies

tagged by @chispas-and-broken-bindings. thanks, dear.  In no particular order (except the three chispas listed that are also on my list going straight to the top): 1. When Harry Met Sally 2. Clueless 3. Now and Then 4. The Princess Bride 5. Good Will Hunting 6. 500 Days of Summer 7. Little Women   8. Lady Bird 9. Crazy Stupid Love 10. Hell or High Water Apologies if you’ve already been tagged. Let me try.... @loulanorth @kitnjon @spookyclara @ladyalayne @ode-to-an-inkwell @minitafan... Wait I just realized this game doesn’t give instructions on how many people to tag. Is 6 enough?

[temaylibrary]

Hello, Thelen! Professor Bergamot's class were enjoying conjuring some blocks, and the Professor left some notes under the access key "rosemary". Could you pull those out for me?

Good afternoon, miss Aster! I am always pleased when you come by the archives. Most of your requests are much more interesting than the ones I usually service. "Thelen, tell me the history of agricultural progress in Milkthistle." "Thelen, tell me everything about spell component replacements." You always bring more interesting questions!

Let's see.

...

Rosemary is, indeed, an access key. This seems to be for something that was just recently added to the information I protect! You're the first to access it, miss Aster. It's... a pair of handwritten letters. Here they are, but please do not smudge them.

Letter the First

To Cosmo,

I trust this letter finds you on the mend and under the attentive care of skilled healers. It is with both concern and relief that I write to you today, for the incident we faced was perilous, but your decisive action, as always, displayed a commitment to the greater good.

Your utilization of Baleful Teleport, however, has left its indelible mark not only upon the fabric of our reality but upon your own well-being. The cost of wielding such power is steep, and I hope that your body and spirit find strength in their ongoing struggle for equilibrium.

While your affinity for the arcane may sometimes override sound judgment, know that your resilience is a testament to your character. In these moments of adversity, one must find solace not only in magic but also in the support of comrades, and I am pleased to note that your fortitude has not wavered.

I do not doubt the competence of the healers who attend to you, but permit me to remind you of the importance of their instructions. Rehabilitation demands patience and discipline, qualities not to be taken lightly. I expect nothing less from a colleague of your stature.

Rest assured, I shall keep a diligent eye on your progress from afar, as my obligations to the Guild and the Academy permit. There is much work to be done in the wake of our encounter with Empty, and I am confident that you will emerge from this trial with renewed vigor, ready to contribute once again to our shared cause.

Until the time we can stand shoulder to shoulder once more in the halls of study and research, I bid you a swift and thorough recovery.

With earnest regard,

Artimus Cognac

And, here's the second letter!

Letter the Second

Dearest Cosmo,

I extend to thee a salutation, albeit in this curious and shadowed manner, as shadows oft bear witness to enigmas and ephemeral truths. My quill, once inured to the auras of libraries now indulges in a narrative quite extraordinary. Pray, indulge this epistolary artifice as I, Morris Jessup, a monk ensconced in both contemplation and darkness, lay forth this missive.

That which unfolded, that clash of astral fates, is shrouded in symbolism as twilight ensconces the day. Enzo, once the embodiment of light's ardor, did by fate's design become ensnared by the labyrinthine echoes of Empty's mournful cadence. A chalice of irony, perhaps, to witness a knight's armor cloaked in the sorrows of cosmic void.

In this tableau of ethereal confrontation, Abrecan, sentinel of divine grace, and Artimus Cognac, a mistress of arcane knowledge, embarked upon their celestial dance, but alas, succumbed, as any sonnet met by twilight's reprieve. And Tearing Paper, ever elusive as an ode's refrain, saw the inkwell of fortune runneth dry. Thus, in this realm of phantasmal lyricism, a melodic dirge did resonate.

As the protagonist beseeched the primordial forces to harmonize, a requiem of power inscrutable cast its spell. This, I muse, is a page unscripted in any odes of yore. Bereft of their corporeal semblance, the entity known as Empty sought a symphony dire, conjuring forth "Black Void," a resonance heralding the desolation of aeons.

Yet, Cosmo, thou who art a conjurer of fate, unfurled a stanza unwritten, a prose untold. "Bergamot's Baleful Teleport," an incantation shrouded in whispers akin to those verses of the forbidden tome "Ebon Enigma," was unveiled. In casting Enzo as the central theme, thou didst rend asunder a canvas colored by forbidden mystique. That interlude, whilst divergent from the sonnets of lore, did hold the promise of tranquility.

Yet, as stars traverse their cyclic courses, thy orchestration of this grand tapestry didst bear an indelible imprint. A tapestry of affliction and illumination, its threads interwoven with symphonic dissonance and elegiac refrains. The burns upon thy back, they are the etchings of this legacy, the inkwell of power's price inscribed upon thy vessel.

Cosmo, I beseech thee to cast thy gaze into the chalice of healing, as one seeks solace in words unspoken, for thy convalescence shall give rise to verses anew. The journey of convalescence, akin to that of a knight-errant traversing through the Canticles of Ethereal Enigma, shall weave tales of endurance and triumph over spectral adversity.

May this epistle stand as both rhapsody and remembrance, echoing through the corridors of night.

With the ink of camaraderie, Morris Jessup

...

That's everything under this key, though there do seem to be other similar records in the same collection under separate access keys as well. Does this help with your research?

[sirensea14]

My Royalty au part 3: the Enchanted Store

(How Siren met Holly*)

(incase u missed my cringy au, here's the parts:

Part 1 - VERY short comic of Cuphead seeing Siren

Part 2 - The Meeting (written)

And now part 3 will also be witten)

Siren took a stroll of the island. Alice Angel saw her walking along the street and decided to tag along. She was going to the Enchanted Store and Siren didn't really have anything to do so she agreed to go with her Despite the short time of her reign, Alice became immediate friends with her, even as her cold attitude prevails. They talked about their lives and got to know each other along their paths, and for some reason, Siren saw a familiar mermaid walking with a man with a mug for his head. She glanced away at her. They reached the front of the store,

"Welcome to the Enchanted Store! How may I help you?" a beaming voice said from the counter as she wiped the wooden surface.

"Well, Holly." Alice closed her palms and looked at her, Siren slightly raised her head to see a cauldron below, she then took note of Holly, the new girl she now met.

"Hm, the usual huh?" she smirked, Holly handed Alice some ingredients. Probably for cooking. "And you!" she pointedly looked at the confused Oceanic, "Who are you? You're pretty new for me."

Siren lingered for a second, "W-well I'm Siren. An Oceanic Ruler, or queen perhaps..." she muttered the last part. "Ooh! Queen? Cool!" she smiled at her face. No one has been this enthusiastic whenever they face her. Well Alice was bright but not like this.

They soon said their goodbyes for the girl, "Isn't Holly so amazing?" Alice stated. Siren's head was drifting away as she thought of how these social people were dropping her guard down. "She invents new weapons--Enchanted ones! Which is unique! Oh she also sells potions od her own and goodies for people! Isn't she wonderful?"

"Yeah... She is." Siren responded coolly. Alice told her how they were friends for quite some time, and also about what's bothering Holly. Siren listened attentively this time. Alice trusted Siren so she told her that ever since Holly moved in the Inkwell Isles, there has been someone tampering peace asode from monsters. People have heard cackles and saw a person flying on the moon by a broom. Now ain't that weird. Only a witch can do that.

Siren collected all the information Alice told her (gossiper XD) , it might be Holly, or a double. Now we can't jump to conclusions can we? No of course not, especially that now they saw Holly talking to two cup headed men, eventually Siren became familiar of them; Cuphead the Ace and Mugman the Beast Tamer. The earlier mermaid is also there, Cala Maria the Mergon.

_________________________________________

Next:

Ms chalice and the cups

Mayhem the witch of distress(includes backstory of how Holly became her)

[passionate4gamz]

An Ode to Cagney Carnation: Cuphead’s Best Boss

Today is the day I express poetry

To a beloved boss called Cagney.

His Floral Fury has such a special song,

I could listen to our battle all day long.

During my time exploring Inkwell Isle One,

There was a tedious task that must be done.

I, Cuphead, had to visit the meadow,

To steal Cagney’s soul for The Devil below.

Fanart of Cagney Carnation by @CastawayKe on DeviantArt.

When we first met, Cagney smiled at me

Appearing as innocent as he could be.

But I knew better than to belittle this flower.

Behind that face lies a monster with great power.

Cagney is charming, sneaky, and cunning,

His set of attacks sends debt collectors running.

I returned fire with a barrage of bullets

Coming fresh from my fingertips.

Cuphead shooting at the transformed Cagney.

Sometime later, Cagney began to transform.

His body grew bigger, and thorns started to swarm.

Cagney tried defeating me with his dandelions and vines,

But my last round of bullets made him scream to the skies.

Cuphead standing proud after defeating Cagney.

After the brawl finished brewing, I took Cagney’s soul contract

Because this cup’s head prefers to stay intact.

[once-a-honey-bee]

I found a sketchbook i have been drawing in for many years.

The first page is of two characters. I created one, and the other belongs to a friend I will not talk to again. I drew it seven years ago.

Three pages later are three reflections of myself and the two people I would most like to be in a group hug together with. On the page we nestle comfortably together.

Water colours stain and warp the too flimsy paper.

Some embarrassing, angsty art from when my brain was caught on the hanahaki trope. Something about emotional agony being embodied in physical shape, maybe. There is something I find liberating about raw expressions of grief. There is a deep fear I have of trying to create something that expresses those emotions and failing to provoke understanding of that expressed to my audience. Trying to be sincere and enjoy the catharsis of playing in those emotions artistically. I wonder what still makes me say my angsty art is embarrassing?

Some frogs, graded by my cousin. (She has graded almost all of the art in this book.) (The frogs received an A+)

It's four years ago. My brother has gifted me an inkwell pen i will not use again because I cannot keep track of the ink, but will think about buying new ink for frequently. I'm learning coding, the scratchy glass tip scrawls 'Hello world' twice across the page.

(The penguins i am a little proud of got a B+)

Pencil and ink pay odes to the stories we tell to each other. Each image represents one or many moments shared between us. Emotions and ideas we played with. They lack meaning to all the world but you and me.

A picture of you, as you sat next to me. That was this past summer, only nine months ago, on a cool day in Niagara falls. There is pain and tenderness in the lines. It was a nice day.

On the last page there are notes from our game night with friends. They are from weeks after you stopped showing up. Art from our stories fills the rest of the page.

I opened this book to add another image of our stories to it even now that we don't talk. Like some kind of connection.

I flipped through a lot of pages, remembering the month's past 'there are a few more', but the sketchbook is full.

[armatization-a]

Five years to the day have passed since the promise of a class reunion, though it soured Forwin's mood a little when he recalled that one key person remained missing for the festivities. Not that wartime afforded them such leniency to begin with... Still, he felt that it only made his role as a bard that much more important, in the couple of moons since his own return into the fold.

However, keeping spirits high for the Black Eagle Strike Force and the Ashen Wolves, on this day of all days, will prove a difficult task. No amount of songs he wrote and brought back with him from his travels would serve as a balm to make up for who they lost.

Little did he realize that, thankfully, his odes were about to be alleviated of such an impossible burden. While putting the finishing touches on a new piece, Forwin heard Abyss steadily growing noisier—Balthus calling for a party that even Edelgard couldn't decline, Constance addressing someone else with her usual pride (and not scorn since reserved for the songster)—which did catch his curiosity... though he did not yet rise from his seat, not with sheet music splayed out on the table before him, a quill in his hand, and his notebook in another.

Only when he heard footsteps approaching his room did the bard finally grace present company with speech. Forwin's head turned to find behind him someone long thought dead, with goddess-green hair adoring their head and the unmistakable Sword of the Creator by their hip.

"Ah! Hello again, Professor Eisner, I will be right with you," Forwin spoke almost dismissively to the dead man now walking, but not without politeness in his tone, while he moved his full attention back towards his work-in-progress. "Sorry, I am still busy at the moment. I've a personal deadline to meet for my latest song, so I can't afford to stop yet while—"

Shock overcame Forwin in that instant of realization with a gasp from his person and his body freezing stiff, as if he had just seen a ghost and paled. The sudden jolt from his person brought his hand to knock the inkwell off the table, along with his quill meeting the pool of ink and broken glass on cobblestone. When the will to do so was restored to him, Forwin slowly turned back around from his seat, this time fully, before finally rising to his feet and sizing the Ashen Demon returned up.

Like a man out of time, their old teacher hadn't changed at all. It took a few more seconds of silence and some blinks for Forwin to finally start accepting that the man before him was the genuine article.

"B... Byleth-? I-is that really you?!"

[ unprompted ; always accepting ]

Byleth had felt nothing for five years. In fact, he didn't know he was gone for five years. It was only when he had seen his former students, now grown into fine adults, that he realised what five years actually was.

He was quickly welcomed back into the fold as if no time had passed. Did they have no suspicions that he was fake? He might have himself, if one of them disappeared with no trace. But then, he couldn't fake the crest in his blood. He couldn't fake the goddess sleeping within. He wondered still why people believed with no proof.

Maybe that was what they all needed. Something to believe in. They needed him.

He'd been thrown from person to person almost, and found himself bounced to Abyss. Not that he minded of course: he's had some students hiding in the underground. He was happy to see them too, though he was shocked by their changes. It was only yesterday to him, but it had been five years for all of them. Gone were the uniforms of Garreg Mach. All that remained were their regular clothes.

His head was spinning, he couldn't lie. He could hardly keep track of any of it. How were these the bright eyed teens of yesterday? How had life changed so much?

So lost was he in thought that he didn't think about there being a student missing. It wasn't until he was told to go down the corridor to find Forwin that he remembered. Right. He was stung with a prickle of guilt.

The guilt faded when Forwin brushed him off effortlessly.

He waited for a moment for the realisation to dawn on Forwin.

When he stood and faced Byleth, he couldn't help but be awestruck. This was Forwin? This was the same meek young man from Abyss? It had been mere moments since he had first laid eyes on him, but Byleth knew there was steel glimmering in the young man's eyes. He had changed. Byleth could feel it.

"It's me." When he said the words, he couldn't quite believe himself, either. He didn't know why. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" Not that he knew that. Not that he felt the years.

[vivilove-jonsa]

He couldn’t say when it began.

Jon had always known she was beautiful. Such knowledge was innate, like taking your first breath. Sansa was the focal point of any room. He didn’t know enough to look away. Not until she’d had her first slumber party.

Games of Innocence on ao3

A little pic set for @ode-to-an-inkwell​ ‘s sweet, naughty and hot series  🔥 ❤️ 

[norrlands-nonsense]

OH thank you Odie! That is so kind, you made me a happy Norry today 😘😘😘

Hello hi luv! If you have any, please tell us about some of your favorite content creator person. Not fics or painted or drawn fanart, but those who makes gifs or moodboards or edits or manips or mashups or videos etc. Or how old you are? Kisses and hugs and a little buttslap

Hey there! Thanks for this treat of an ask 😅

As for videos, like every other Jonsa, I constantly go back to AnneSoshi. There have been some gifted photo editors/manipulators in this fandom, Nyssanoone and @norrlands-nonsense to name a few.

I will also throw a shameless advertisement for the reaction channel “The Movie Buds,” who have consistently thoughtful takes on female led movies.

And I’m 26 years old 😘

[sayruq]

Jonsa Month: Day 10: Snow

For @agentrouka-blog @fedonciadale @eonweheraldodemanwe and @ode-to-an-inkwell

[estherruth-jonsatrash]

Last Line Meme

I was tagged by @orangeflavoryawp thank you! Share the last line you wrote and tag as many people as there are words to do the same.

He only needed to convince Lady Sansa herself.

The "he" in question is Jon, if there was any doubt. Tagging @sibyldisobedience @northernladywriter @ben-barnes-is-my-husband @schnoogles @ode-to-an-inkwell @vivilove-jonsa @chispas-and-broken-bindings @that-plo-koon and whoever else wants to play (no pressure to anyone)!

[chispas-and-broken-bindings]

Tag nine people you want to get to know better.

tagged by @estherruth-jonsatrash and @ode-to-an-inkwell (awhile ago, sorry!) Thanks for the tag!

fav color:  anything rich and vibrant and warm and evocative of flowers (most of the greens, poppy, plum, goldenrod, this really specific orange of the cosmos growing in my garden right now)

currently reading: I’ve been oscillating between really depressing articles about climate change and a lot of fan-fic to temper my despair (a totally healthy and sustainable combination. Couldn’t tell you why I never sleep)

last song:  “No Distance Left to Run” by Blur...because I love a good break-up song. 

last series: The Bear

last movie: Coda

sweet/spicy/savory: The spicy/sweet combo is my favorite. I’ve discovered how to make this absolutely killer gochujang marinade that I’ve been putting on all meat, and it’s just the best thing in the entire world. Could eat it forever. 

currently working on: a coffee shop au in another fandom, Nothing Sacred, and I’m maybe going to poke around in a few other drafts and see what happens. 

Tagging: @vivilove-jonsa (bc I want to know what you’re up to and about the book you just published!!!) @northernladywriter @charmtion (don’t care about your answers to any of these questions...just looking for a very specific number...you know which one, don’t forget to tag @norrlands-nonsense) @mikasaessucasaa @sibyldisobedience @elegantwoes @dontbipanicjonsa @hilarychuff

[agentrouka-blog]

i really hate the fact that media for decades now have demonized "girly" girls that though this gen has been slowly embracing it, it still has left a huge mark on women who grew up in said media. and seeing a huge chunk of the fandom hating sansa, kinda proves that.

There is a really great post by @ode-to-an-inkwell on the subject!

[cellsshapedlikestars]

Hon' if you are accepting prompts (and only if you are!) can I have some spooky Sansa and Jon? I'm still not over them in spooky scenarios so I would love to read anything about it.

And for something a little more specific (in case that helps): maybe ghost!Sansa and Jon moves to her place and she is not happy, but also she loves his dog?

Or maybe Addams AU!

Or maybe Jon is the ghost and Sansa moves into his place?

Or they are talkshow hosts or something and a ghost is trying to get them together?

Or maybe YouTubers AU and their followed bug them until they agree to a Collab and it's Halloween or something like that?

Okay I went all over the place and clearly have too many ideas, but feel free to choose any of you do choose something!

First of all, I guess I'm sort of always taking prompts? I'll never turn them away, though they may also sit in my inbox forever (I'm looking at you, the last anon prompt from when I asked for them back in December...)

Second, spooky prompts! ❤️👻❤️👻❤️ If there's anything I love in this world, it's the supernatural/paranormal. And it may be the middle of summer, but I'm already longing for spooky season and I've been trying to vibe with it but it's hard when the days are so long, hot, and humid. (I desperately want to be able to go outside and not feel like I'm breathing soup, thank you very much.)

Before I get to the prompt itself, because I'm too wordy for my own good - your one prompt of Sansa/Jon is a ghost and the other moves in to their place... well, I've read that fic! It's actually locked on AO3 and I don't know if that means the author doesn't really want people finding it/linking to it, so I won't, but I guess DM me if you wanna know what it is?? I don't know the protocol for that. There's also Haunt Me, Then by the lovely @ode-to-an-inkwell which I read back when I was lurking and I loved it. It's the same base premise, but with a ton more plot!

The prompt I have chosen is the youtuber collab! Because I also love writing about/dissecting social media, apparently.

.

.

Sansa breathes – deep and even – and tries to stay centered in the middle of her group (away from the edges, away from the dark corners and the sounds coming from them and the people she knows are waiting for her there).

She wishes with all her strength that her followers had never found out that she's related to Robb. It's not something she was hiding, necessarily, but when she started her channel, she'd kept a lot of her personal life private. And honestly, she never thought it would get to this point – the point where she has millions of followers and Robb and Theon have millions of followers and those followers inevitably found out she and Robb are siblings.

A collab had been unavoidable. She just wishes it were any other activity than... this.

She lets out a strangled scream as something crashes to her right and she stumbles left, straight into the other person who's been dragged along tonight – Jon Snow. He catches her arm and keeps her upright and she almost thanks him until she hears him let out a laugh. It infuriates her and she rips her arm out of his grasp and sends him a glare, though it's short lived when she sees what looks like a jar of eyeballs on a shelf behind him and bile twists in her stomach.

She hates Halloween - she hates horror movies and jump scares and gore, and she especially hates haunted houses. But what else should she have expected for this collab? Robb and Theon have a dumb prank channel, of course they'd bring her – notorious wimp Sansa Stark – to a haunted house for the video. She thinks Robb got permission to film, because Dacey and Olyvar are flanking them with cameras to capture everyone's reactions.

“It's all fake,” Jon reminds her, though she barely hears his voice over the din of sound effects echoing through the dark corridor as they pass from one room to another.

“I know that,” she hisses, heart pounding wildly. They approach a doorway and – sure enough – right as she passes through, there's a person with heavy special effects makeup waiting on the other side to grab at her (another thing she resents – this is one of those places where the actors can touch you. They'd had to sign a waver). She screams in the actor's faux-bloody face and she swears he laughs at her.

In front of her, Robb and Theon are being obnoxious as usual. She doesn't really condone their prank channel and has often had to reign them in from doing something that would get one of them needlessly hurt (or would be considered, you know, illegal). Jon is usually an unwilling participant in their videos, and he has his own woodworking channel that has nowhere near the viewership that her makeup channel or Robb and Theon's prank channels do (she's told him, over an over, that if he showed his face on camera, he'd get more viewers, but he insists that he wants the focus to be on his work, not him). Jon walks next to her, calm, like nothing in this place fazes him, and she sort of resents him for this.

She understands it's all fake, she's not stupid, but that doesn't stop her fear response from kicking in every time something jumps at her, every time lights flicker or go out. It doesn't stop her stomach from turning whenever she sees the needlessly gory scenes like that doctor cutting a girl open, her fake intestines spilling out as the actress screamed.

“It'll be over soon,” Jon leans in close so she can hear him better, and for a moment a sense of calm washes over her. She loses it, though, as he moves away to give her space and she panics and reaches out and grabs his hand, tugging him back close to her.

A strange look passes over his face, but he doesn't say anything, just lets her grab onto his arm as they continue through the haunted house. She can't explain it, but with Jon next to her she feels... safe. She knows none of this is real, she knows none of these actors will actually hurt her, but it doesn't seem to matter, and it doesn't seem to matter that Jon won't actually have to protect her (though she somehow knows that he would if he ever had to, and that's a strange realization to have as she's walking through a room of terrifying clowns).

When it's finally over and they're outside, she breathes a sigh of relief and she feels muscles that she hadn't even realized were tensed relax.

“That was awesome,” Theon nearly shouts at one of the cameras. He and Robb talk loudly and animatedly for the cameras about the house, summarizing it for their audience (she knows they're likely to cut out a lot of the extreme scares and gore, since a good portion of their audience are kids and young teens).

“You good?” Jon murmurs to her and she realizes she still has a death grip on his arm.

“Oh,” she breathes with a forced laugh, “yeah,” and she lets go of his arm and immediately wishes she could have it back. (And then, some part of her brain whispers that she wishes she could have his arm wrapped around her instead, but she pushes that thought out because where did that even come from?)

Jon brings a hand up to scratch at his beard and shifts on his feet and she wonders if its because he feels awkward on camera. Jon's never liked being on camera, not really – it's why Robb and Theon always have to catch him off guard and why his videos – at most – only feature his hands and forearms (the comments on his videos about how attractive his hands and forearms are had been one of her main arguments for showing his face, but Jon had gotten weird after that and so she'd dropped it eventually).

“Hayride next?” Robb asks, which brings her back to the present.

“There's more?” she whines, twisting her face into a pout that always got her out of trouble when she was a kid, but Robb and Theon are already making their way towards the next attraction.

“You can sit next to me,” Jon offers, and she feels relief flood through her. “I'll be on the outside.”

She feels herself smile for the first time all night and nods and she's even more pleased when he – after a moment of hesitation – holds out his arm for her to take. She does so, curling her own arms around his and hugging it to her, keeping herself as close to him as possible as they walk through the fairgrounds to the haunted hayride.

They arrive right behind Robb and Theon and when Robb sees the way she's basically clinging to his best friend, there's a look that she can't figure out – it flicks from their joined arms, to Jon, then back to their arms, then to her, then back to Jon again and she feels Jon stiffen up next to her. Something silent passes between them and Robb looks almost... concerned? But then Jon shakes his head so subtly she thinks she's not supposed to see it and Robb nods back and turns around to face Theon and the cameras and Sansa's left more confused than anything.

The next tractor and wagon pull up to the entrance and the previous riders disembark. She waits with Jon, and though there's a slight fluttering in her stomach, she's not terrified like she had been right before the haunted house. Jon keeps his word and as they climb onto the open-topped wagon, he lets her sit in the middle and he takes the outside so she won't have to deal with the actors that run up to them during the ride. She settles into the hay and, without thinking, leans her head on his shoulder, arm still linked through his.

“Thank you,” she says.

“Robb and Theon shouldn't have made you do this,” Jon says back and his voice sounds a bit shaky. She can't see his face, she's too comfortable resting her head against him to look up, but she wonders why he sounds nervous. Maybe he's more scared of all of this than he was letting on? He hadn't seemed nervous at all in the haunted house.

“Don't worry, I'm going to have so much fun giving them a full face of glam makeup when it's time to make the video for my channel.” That's the point of this collab – she does a video for their channel and they do one for hers.

Jon lets out a soft laugh as the tractor starts up and the wagon lurches forward, heading into the dark forest. “Can I watch?”

“Definitely,” she says as she squeezes his arm tighter, her heart jumping at a noise off in the woods – a signal that the scares are about to start. “You should let me do your makeup,” she continues to try and distract herself. “I think glam makeup would look amazing with your beard.”

“Sure,” she can feel his shoulder lift into a shrug, and that does make her lift her head up and look at him.

“You would? I thought you hated being on camera?”

He shrugs again, but whatever response he was going to give is cut off as an actor takes a running leap at the wagon, latching onto the side and pulling himself up, and the passenger nearest to him (right in front of Jon) screams. Sansa sucks in a breath and tries to calm her racing heart (and out of the corner of her eye, she sees Dacey with a camera pointed right at her and Jon, a smirk on her face).

She spends the rest of the ride (and all through the haunted corn maze), hanging onto Jon for dear life and she swears his calm presence is the only reason she survives.

(And when she finally gets home to her little apartment and gets into bed, she tries desperately not to think too hard about why that is. She tries not to analyze the safety she felt with him or the way her heart had been fluttering during the car ride home, sitting in Robb's back seat and staring at Jon's profile illuminated by moonlight in the front seat as he and Robb talked and joked around. She tries not to obsess about the way he'd told her to call him if she ever wanted him to be in one of her videos, tries not to read too much into the look Robb had given Jon when he said it.)

(She tells herself that the reason she can't sleep that night is because of the haunted house.)

(It's definitely not because of Jon.)