kokvv

[kokvv]

❝𝑵𝑶 𝑶𝑵𝑬'𝑺 𝑾𝑶𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑨𝑹❞

‣ soap, ghost x gn!reader

this is just a test. depending on what people think, i'll actually post an explanation and some context and more chapters, so don't worry if you're not getting it or thinking it's too oc !! pls tell me what you think !! <33

tw. mentions of blood, corpses, traumatic experiences, war, death, kind of child soldier

“Remember, this is a battlefield,” your father says.

It's the earliest memory that you can recall. It's the first words you can remember clearly hearing. You're five years old as of just last week, and you are standing in a blood-soaked field surrounded by violence and death; Copper is thick in the air, and it pushes up your nose and gets trapped in your throat. Your sandals squish against the wet ground, your white socks stained in red.

Rain is falling heavily from the sky, attempting to drown out the smell of blood with petrichor. It falls, succeeding only in washing clean the faces of the corpses: dozens upon dozens, their expressions twisted and frozen.

This image of death is your first memory. It melds itself into your bones and makes a home there.

The rain stings against your cheeks, harsh and freezing, seeping into your clothes. Your father stands next to you, also soaked, but seems unbothered by the chill—and by the violence surrounding you. His face is carved from steel, and his dark eyes stare forward offering you nothing in the way of sympathy. You know better than to expect any.

His words cut through the pounding of the rain. They pierce your heart. Battlefield, you think to yourself, parsing out the unfamiliar word.

It isn't a word any five-year-old should be fixing in their memory.

“This is the world soldiers live in,” your father tells you. “You will be a soldier too, someday soon. This is the world you will step into.”

You cannot articulate the emotion swelling behind your ribcage. It is not fear; it's darker than that. It is not sadness; it's deeper than that. It surges within you, and it causes such a tightness in your chest that you can't stand it.

If you cry now, the rain will conceal your tears. Your father will not notice. Still, you refuse to give in to the pressure behind your eyes. You feel that if you cry here, you will lose something fundamental to yourself.

(You don't know this part of the story, will never know: But your mother goes still in horror when the two of you return home, you with blood on your sandals and an expression on your face that marks you fundamentally changed. And that night, when you drift off to sleep, she corners your father with her eyes shining in anger.

How dare you, she will whisper fiercely, her voice trembling with a fiery, consuming rage. How dare you.)

“Father,” you say quietly. You hear your own voice as if from far away. “Why did you bring me here?”

A warm weight rests on your shoulder. Your father's hand. It isn't comfort, but rather, a heavy vice that holds your body in place and forces you to keep looking forward.

“This is the reality we live in. Even though this war may end, soldiers will always be locked in some form of conflict. You need to understand that and prepare for it.”

You're a genius, but you're still only five. You have some difficulty comprehending the complexity of the lesson your father is attempting to teach. But you understand enough to know that this will not be the last time you stand with blood beneath your shoes and bodies around you.

This is the reality I will live in, you think.

“Remember this sight, [NAME],” your father says. “Burn it into your mind and never forget it.”

You stare at the bloody field as the rain continues to pelt down. You look at the still corpses with their uniforms, the dullness of their open eyes. You do as your father says, and you engrave the image into your brain. It burns into your retinas.

This is war. This is death. This is what it means to be a soldier.

Remember, this is a battlefield.

You swear to yourself that you'll never forget it.

You are a child of war. And this first moment of your life is the one that will define you for years.

[kokvv]

just living a life in the japanese countryside with nanami. that's it. that's the idea. lemme know if u want me to write something abt it LMAO or with geto nd his two little girls, that'd be cute too <33

[kokvv]

i jus' wanna stare into satoru's eyes until i fall asleep

his eyes literally have galaxies in them. imagine just laying in bed—cuddled up in blankets, rain pouring against the window—with satoru next to you. he is holding one of your hands and you're just staring at each other in the dimly lit room.

his eyes are the only light except for the cheap lamp flickering over your heads. they're shining in a blue, gentle kind of shade. like the night sky on a really clear night. but even that doesn't really get close to them.

because you can see stars in his eyes. tiny specks of light amidst the clouds in them.

and you can never see the stars in tokyo's sky. you need to go far far away to be able to do that.

every time he blinks, the room gets just a little darker, just a little colder. as if his eyes actually radiate some kind of warmth. you know it's a little stupid to think that way, but you can't tear your gaze away from them and satoru isn't complaining about it either.

so you watch as the clouds in the deep-blue sea shift around, revealing new patterns and designs each time—you could probably see cloud shapes in his eyes if you wanted to. maybe, if it was a different time and day, you'd point at them and say something like “that one's a pig!” just to rile him up a little. but not tonight.

not when everything's so quiet and it feels like you're being hypnotized. like looking away would make you miss a shift in them that you definitely wanted to see, like you could look away for a second and the warm blue summer evening in his eyes would disappear into a cold winter night.

but as your own eyes slip shut you realize that maybe it isn't a warm summer evening at all, but instead the universe itself in his eyes. with little colourful specks of stardust——

——but you fall asleep before you can actually come to a conclusion and when you wake up the next day, satoru has his blindfold snugly fixed on his face and all that beautiful vastness is hidden behind it.

[kokvv]

you can call me nocturnal—or any abbreviation of that. 20 years old.

— @y2yorr