⌗ 𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑰𝑬

/    OMG  sweet pls 

@buriedhaunts 
            
            / got me missing dal & beni again..  (i need to lock in and get on them again)

‧₊˚ ┊ ❛  @arcanepaws 
            ⠀ ⠀ i  think  you  mean  cool  —  thanks  !  also,  i’m  dead,  so…

@buriedhaunts 
            
            / on beni & dal.. Pleassse

/   yes. always  <3  anything ghost related ❗️

O.o

yeah,  he’s  uh  ..  complicated.  he  doesn’t  like  most  ghosts,  but  that’s  because  they’re  jerks  to  him.  you’re  not,  so  he  likes  you. 

‧₊˚ ┊ ❛  @blackcqt- 
            ⠀ ⠀ are  you  sure  ?  i  thought  animals  didn’t  like  ghosts.

/    sugar smelling him  <3 

‧₊˚ ┊ ❛  @sufferingeternal 
            ⠀ ⠀ y’know  ghosts  are  surprisingly  boring  and  depressing.  you’re  at  least  entertaining  !

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ the lost boy borrowed his name from a grave not too far from where he woke up.  it was a fresh,  newly engraved stone with flowers at its base.  the headstone read  :
            
            ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀“  IN LOVING MEMORY 
            ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ of OLIVER  ‘ OLLIE ’  THORNE  
            ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ gone,  but not forgotten  ”
            
            ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ how lovely it must’ve been to be loved and remembered,  to rest peacefully.  he wanted that.  the headstone and grief that came with being dead,  the light and warmth that he always assumed would fall over him in death.  not the emptiness of his chest,  the forever cold skin,  the lack of a heartbeat to lull him to sleep. in desperation to feel some belonging,  he called himself oliver or ollie.  lying by the headstone as if it were his, instead of the patch of dirt he first found himself in.  pretending that the flowers that were replaced weekly were for him instead of the poor boy he pretended to be.  wishing that he knew the faces that showed at the grave,  that he knew what they were talking about, and shared the memories they recollected. 

INTRO  ;  ollie 
            
            ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ the only thing the boy remembered was waking up.  he remembered the feeling of dirt underneath his nail beds,  the foul taste on his tongue,  and how cold he was.  that’s all.  no matter how long had passed or how hard he tried,  he couldn’t remember anything before that moment.  not his name,  given or family,  not his favorite color or hobbies,  if he liked the dark or always found it tiresome and lonely.  he didn’t remember dying,  just not staying dead.