#i mostly had energy for just doodles to help keep me sane

[koroart]

School had me in a chokehold, but I finished what work I had for the week, so I'm definitely going to work on comms when I get home-- 😭

[steampoweredcor]

So I cleaned this doodle up a bit and wrote a thing. Enjoy a thing.

Most days, he was good. Most days, he was charming and insightful. The perfect conversationalist for those long days where we just drove. He kept me sane on those days; being in my own head was not always the greatest ideas. I enjoyed his company. And I'm sure he enjoyed mine. In fact, I do know. He has told me on several occasions actually. Unlife was a lonely one, but being the one of the few that could hear him, see him and actually touch him; having an anchor to the Living helped his mental well-being. However, just like an human would, dead or otherwise, he would have bad days. It took a lot of energy to keep a form that was any resemblance of 'alive'. Something that wasn't beaten and bloody. He died violently. An explosion killed him. And it wasn't even from the battle he fought in. He was lift behind, his officers gone and his hometown in a blaze. The planned explosion was something his company wasn't informed off. They where simply left to fend for themselves. He doesn't remember much after that. So, some days where bad. Thunderstorms mostly tipped him off or sometimes trucks on the highway. Anything that was loud and sounded vaguely like cannon fire. He gets scared. He gets angry. He'll have trouble keeping a solid appearance. If it's really bad, he'll actually lash out. And I get it. It hurts. It's not fair. None of it was fair. However, I think sometimes he forgets that he can actually hurt me. It was raining pretty hard. We had hunkered down in the back of the van. He was curled up behind front seat; holding his head as heavy water droplets pinged off the roof of the car. He panted roughly as phantom blood pooled all around him; soaking into the mattress. He looked miserable. It felt miserable. The strings of lights that lit up our home; flicker and dimmed as his very corporeal form began to bend realty around him. Any more and things would start flinging around the room. "Blu," I spoke softly, trying my best to defused this time bomb, "Blu, hey, look at me. You're ok. I'm here. We're here. You're safe." When I didn't get a response, I continued, "This isn't the garrison. We're not on the commons. It's just some thunder-" I was cut short when a dreamcatcher whizzed passed my head. For a split second, for a tiny little second, I felt my heart leap into my throat and I sat there dumbly. There was another loud crack of thunder and a light bulb popped. I was brought back out stupor. Something needed to be done now. So, I did the only think I could think of. "You'll walk unscathed through musket fire No ploughman's blade will cut thee down No cutlass wound will mark thy face," I wasn't partially musically inclined. My voice was off tune and deep, often rough, contralto. My artistic talents lied on the visual then the audial. I even hated doing spoken spells when it came to my craft. He, on the other hand, was though. And so, I hoped that this would work. The ghost did slowly turned look at me; a clear sign that I was actually getting through to him. "And you will be my ain true love And you will be my ain true love," Slowly, he unfolded himself; pained blue eyes seeing right through me. A pale hand reached for me as he joined in. "And as you walk through death's dark veil The cannon's thunder can't prevail And those who hunt thee down will fail And you will be my ain true love And you will be my ain true love," His voice was crystal clear. He was trained to sing when he was alive. He played the violin. Music was one of the things he loved the most in the world. It was one of his last connections he had. "Asleep inside the cannon's mouth

The captain cries, 'here comes the rout!' They'll seek to find me north and south I've gone to find my ain true love The field is cut and bleeds to red The cannon balls fly 'round my head The infirmary man may count me dead When I've gone to find my ain true love I've gone to find my ain true love..." He stared at me in silence. Rain still crashing down all around us. He looked at the now brunt out feary lights and the things that he ripped off the walls. Shakily, he ran his fingers though my hair. "...Did I hurt you?" He whispered. All I could do was shake my head. He finally broke. The ghost let out a cry and gathered me up tightly.