#ghost tw

((I just. I'm not Mexican but this is genuinely one of my favorite folk tales and ghost stories ever. I first heard it when I was a kid and it kinda got to me.

"Ghost? Don't be stupid, such things are only fairytails!"

Episode 2: The blind (feat. Lee and Chiisai)

Lee belongs to @xxlea-nardoxx

Chiisai belongs to @troubleshade

Uh. To my people out there that know/believe in spirits and stuff… if I regularly go to a place that just feels kinda occupied should I like. Talk to it or something? Like for the vibes? Or no don’t talk ignore?

This building was built like 2006 on a lot that had been empty for many years so it’s not like a past resident.

I don’t know why the universe gave me a song about a ghost desperately trying to make his presence known to his mother with a rap break from the pov of carbon dioxide and didn’t expect me to like it. Anyway

[Image Description: a 7 panel page of a colored Legend of Zelda AU comic, Linked Spirit. Panel 1: Sky adjusts his glasses with a pause, quietly saying “oh good” then, louder, “You’re not Pipit” Panel 2: Hero’s Spirit looks confused, saying “What’s a Pipit?” Panel 3: Sky smiles, holding aer trembling right hand, saying “A friend of mine. You must be a native of the Surface?” Hero’s Spirit looks confused, and slightly concerned, hair shortening and darkening as they get closer, muttering “uh” Panel 4: Sky holds out a hand with a smile, saying “I’m-” and both Sky and Hero say “Link, of Skyloft” at the same time. Hero glows, looking more like Sky, eyes briefly white. Panel 5: Sky looks surprised wide-eyed, hand still outstretched, as if frozen. After a brief pause he says “Huh?” Panel 6: Sky points at them, shocked, stuttering “Y-your face changed” Panel 7: Hero grabs their cheeks, wide-eyed and confused. They shout “It did?” End ID]

You see him in flashes.

An ear, nestled in brown curls, any other features passing by too fast to catch mote details. Behind you, in the bathroom mirror, walking down the hall, mouth twisted into a grimace as he looks down at his hands. A loud cackle as you talk to an empty house—first only to yourself, then, cautiously, indirectly to him.

Finally, when the moon is full and even your curtains don’t shut off the stream of light into your bedroom entirely, you get tired of it. You get tired of staring at your ceiling, on your back in the dark, until a headache throbs in your temples and the sun rises on you, a lonely insomniac in a house too big for one.

There’s the sound of a light footstep outside your door, and it creaks barely open. No one’s outside.

“Hi,” you say, a half-question, feeling silly talking to the air. “Can you stop with the sneaking around? I don’t have the patience, right now.”

A brown eye, under that same swooping hair. A hand, pushing the door open.

A full picture. Your ghost is a young man, in the full glow of health, skin pale and lips curved into a perpetual smile that makes him look very smug indeed. He’s dressed in modern clothing, if a little out of date, and you can see the outline of what could be a phone but is probably a ZEN (complete with earbuds!) in his pocket.

“I didn’t know you could see me,” he says, cautiously. You throw a hand up in the air, it’s whatever, and enjoy the way it bounces limply upon returning to the surface of your bed. He perches next to your bedside, a grey-and-blue inverted image. The ghost keeping vigil over the living.

“Just a little bit, before. I wasn’t sure talking to you would work.”

“You can see ghosts?”

“No,” you shrug, turning on your side to look at him. “Not usually. Just you.”

He looks pleased by this, and you have to stifle a laugh. You have a vain spirit, then, wandering the halls of your parents’ home.

Your grandmother always told you you had a strong intuition, a sensitivity to the world that would set you apart. This isn’t your first encounter with spirits (how could it be, growing up with her), and you can feel that this one is not malicious, not hungry. He’s simply... here, for no discernible purpose other than to coexist with you for now. Separate stories living together.

“I’m—” you give him a nickname, an old one that makes nostalgia flow through you so strongly you stop breathing for a moment. It’s true, he feels safe, but you can never know. “Who are you?”

“Tooru,” he says, and the corners of his pretty mouth turn down. “It’s always a little hard for me to remember the rest of it. Oikawa, I think.”

“That suits you,” you nod. Your eyelids feel heavy, closing until the boy in front of you is a smear of colors, a stained-glass picture. “Sorry, I—” you yawn, and force your vision to focus on him. It’s not just you, though; he seems blurrier at the edges now. You can see your night table through him. You wonder how much energy he has to expend to be corporeal. How much sleep do the dead get? “I didn’t really sleep.”

“I know,” he says, and his voice is like rain falling on the windowpane, steady and soothing. “I’ll be here. Okay?”

“Okay,” you close your eyes, and you know that behind them, Tooru with swooping brown hair and a family name a few steps ahead of him is fading back into invisibility. You reach a hand out, blindly, palm up.

He takes it; you draw it towards you and kiss the cold fingers. Then you sleep, deeper and sweeter then you have since you came home.

CHAPTER 3 : ALEX (part 5/5)

TW : Ghost / Death / GIF

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