#rekamohcswrites

[rekamohcs]

I want to share my soul with someone.

I want to hold it in my hands, bright and beautiful, colorful and magnificent, so that I might hold it up to the light and say, 

“Isn’t this cool?”

And I want someone to see it, to see me, to understand what I’m asking, and say,

“The coolest.”

[rekamohcs]

The grass is greener here,

because I am on the other side

(of my trauma),

but also because I have watered it.

-the grass really is greener on the other side

[rekamohcs]

[rekamohcs]

What is love?

(Baby, don’t hurt me, right?)

The delicate flutter of nerves gnawing at your belly on a first date. Sweaty palms, shy smiles, warm skin, soft kisses. Stealing fries from his plate at dinner, laughing when he swats your hand away. Offering the cherry on top of your milkshake as penance (he hates cherries – that’s why you offer).

Quiet whispers at midnight, stolen touches under tables. Inside jokes. Outside ones. Stealing the blankets and pressing your cold nose into his warm neck, smiling against skin. Listening to his ideas as they tumble out from between his lips, clawing their way into existence. Giving input when you can and support in the form of hot tea placed on his desk at 2am when he’s still at the drawing board. You end falling asleep alone that night.

Tears at 3pm when he hasn’t slept in two days and you have three meetings in the next hours. He snaps; you do, too. Making up the old-fashioned way – with tough conversations, hard discussions that build and break down walls simultaneously. Picking out a cat together (he’d rather have a dog, but he knows you’re both too busy for that right now) six months after you move in together (he loves that cat even though he won’t admit it). Planting a vegetable garden that dies in two months and crying at your dad’s funeral that comes too soon.

Perhaps love is all of these things. Perhaps it is none.

Maybe it’s giving the man on the street corner the lunch you had packed for yourself on Tuesday. Maybe it’s putting bird food out for the squirrels and picking up the can on the sidewalk after your evening run. Maybe it’s encouraging someone to drink water or offering your time even though you don’t really have any to spare. Maybe it’s simply existing, giving what you can without expecting anything in return.

Perhaps love is like a god – we may never know who it is, may never see its tangible form or understand it completely.

Perhaps we don’t have to.

Perhaps love is all-consuming, inclusive, and gilded into the fabric of every seam that holds this universe together.

What is love? 

(It is the center of your soul, and his, and theirs. The pillow on your bed and the wind that caresses your hair in Autumn. The light through the leaves when you’ve been lost in the forest so long that you can’t see the trees. It is you on your best days and you on your worst. It is every god that may or may not exist. It is us, and above all, it is inevitable.)

Baby, don’t hurt me.

[rekamohcs]

Healing

I have fought to be here, he thinks.

There are callouses on my palms from holding my blades and there are scars on my back from those who have challenged me.

There is sweat on my brow and sand in my shoes and wounds on my heart.

There are pages and pages of pain in my book, and yet, I am here, at the top of this mountain, even though the baggage on my back made it feel as if this climb was impossible.

The view from the summit was worth the fight.

He smiles, and the world blossoms.

[rekamohcs]

Joy

The thing

about

joy

is that it’s always there.

Omnipresent.

Sometimes

it’s bright and sugar sweet,

like cotton candy fingers and Ferris wheels on crisp Autumn nights. Clear skies

and glittering starlight, melted ice cream in fields of sunshine and lilacs.

Sometimes

it’s young and free,

like a swarm of careless laughter and blinking lightning bugs. S’mores and 

stories around campfires, hair tangled in the wind, loud music and coolers full

of questionable drinks.

Sometimes

it’s light and new,

like plush baby blankets, hand-sewn teddy-bears, toothless smiles and wet dog 

noses. Sightless kittens, the first rays of sunlight after two weeks of clouds, the

buds of Basil seeds popping up through soil.

Sometimes

it’s old and classic,

like farm houses and ancient castle ruins. Elderly couples in the front row at 

Sunday service, hands clasped together and in prayer. Homemade banana

breads that Mom bakes (the ones with extra bananas, the good stuff) to hand

out for Christmas.

Sometimes

it simmers,

hot beneath the surface. Raging to boil over and spill onto the counter-top, like

sweltering summer heat and melted chocolate on the dashboard of Dad’s old

Chevy. Heated skin and pink cheeks, soft presses of lips into sunburnt shoulders

and fingers in hair.

Sometimes

it’s dark and heavy,

hidden in the shadows beneath piles of snow after a heavy winter storm. A tiny

ember beneath piles and months of used, spent ashes. Burrowed beneath the 

blankets of a bed that hasn’t been made in weeks. Forgotten and lost.

The thing

about

joy

is that it’s always there.

Omnipresent.

Different shapes. Different places.

Different feelings. Different moments.

Different losses. Different loves.

Sometimes

it wears the face of a stranger,

but it’s always there

to hold your hand while you find your way back

home.

[rekamohcs]

W I L D

IT spirals (in and out and in and out and in and out and in)

out of control

like evolution.

Constantly changing under the pressure of an ever-shifting environment.

IT has no goal,

no ambition.

IT just is.

Chaotic. Destructive. Heartbreaking.

A maladaptive trait if there ever was one.

IT spirals, but you

are

not

IT.

(you may feel that you are, but, my love, you are the farthest thing from IT.)

You are wild

like a tree within a forest.

Sturdy. Steadfast. Prominent. Admired.

You are wild

like the honeybee stealing pollen from a flower.

Vital. Important. Crucial. Delicate.

You are wild

like the river that connects land to sea.

A connection. A necessity. An image of serenity.

You are wild like the stars, constantly fusing and brimming with energy, shattering stardust into the heavens.

You are wild like the moon, the beauty who constantly moves through her phases, who sets only to rise again the next day anew.

You are wild like the otters playing in the streams,

like the microbes who nourish the planet and coexist in our guts,

like the lions with their prides,

and the ever-changing atmosphere of our sky.

You are wild, like this universe.

You are one of its most important parts.

You are not IT, the thing that tries to control you, to tamp out your spirit, to cripple you with shame.

You are wild,

and the wilderness can never be tamed.

[rekamohcs]

Miniature

Ah, here we have a pretty old fic that I wrote a few years ago. I’m working on moving all of my work to this blog, but this was originally posted on FF.net. Anyway, here we have the freshly edited re-post of one of my favorites!

Title: Miniature

Fandom: Kingdom Hearts, set after KH2 and before DDD

Pairings: Soriku

Summary: Because sometimes, all it takes is a little sand, a little heat, and a whole lot of heart. In which Sora grows, Riku adjusts, and Tidus becomes a problem.

Genre: Romance/Angst/Friendship

Rated: G

There was sand everywhere.

Sora shivered as he stepped into the shower, the cool water rushing over his heated skin, rinsing off the gritty sand from his body. It was unreal how tired he was. He had spent all day out at the beach with Riku, Tidus, Selphie, and Kairi enjoying the sun and having what was supposed to be a "relaxing day".

And they had relaxed. Sora couldn't say that he missed roaming the worlds and fighting big baddies that much now. He was content with the Destiny Islands—it was peaceful, the people were happy, there were no heartless, and most of all, the people he had fought so hard to protect were safe there.

That made him happy.

He released a hot puff of air as he leaned his back against the cool wall of the shower, letting the water drench him. He slowly reached out and grabbed the bottle of shampoo off the sill near his head. His mind wandered back to when he was young and had to struggle to reach up to the sill and grab the shampoo. Now, he stood taller than the sill. It made him feel strong.

He snorted in humorless laughter to himself. He had saved the worlds twice now yet being tall enough to reach the shampoo on the windowsill of the shower was what made him feel strong. The irony was almost funny. Almost.

He shook his head, ridding it of the thoughts flooding his head, the thoughts that reminded him of all the hurt the worlds had gone through—all the hurt that the people had gone through. His journeys had changed him, made him more down-to-earth, more aware of the pain in the world around him - the pain, and the darkness.

He was still Sora, though. Cheerful, bubbly, optimistic, determined. He smiled to himself. He liked being Sora.

Absently grabbing the soap, he scrubbed his body clean of sand and heat and salt. He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed—because, while he was still Sora, he knew the darkness had gotten to him along the way, and he was determined to scrub it off him, even if it made his skin raw.

Lately, Sora had been noticing more things.

Things like: how Kairi's hair would fall in her eyes when she would bend her head down to focus on her homework a little more, or how Selphie always seemed to smell like apple pie—and he loved apple pie—or, or, or how Tidus always seemed to have his eyes watching Riku.

That last one was the one he noticed the most.

When Riku and Sora had returned to the Islands, everyone had been ecstatic. Riku and Sora had been, as well. Reunions had taken place, and then they were back in school—eleventh grade for Sora and Kairi and Tidus and Selphie and Wakka, and twelfth for Riku.

Now, Sora didn't deny that Riku had changed during their journeys—emotionally, yeah, but physically, too. He was taller now. His silver hair fell past his shoulders in a cascade of shiny cleanliness. His shoulders were broader, his chin always held high. His arms, back, stomach, chest, legs, everything was toned in what girls seemed to think was just right. His eyes glowed brightly like burning pools of aqua water. The biggest change, though, was his smile.

His smile was beautiful. It always had been. Whenever he smiled at a girl during school, those girls were goo-goo eyed the rest of the day. It was white, wide, and only slightly sad—but Sora was pretty sure that only he, and maybe Kairi, could see the hint of sadness in his smiles.

So, Sora noticed how Tidus seemed to notice Riku who seemed not to notice that Tidus was noticing him or that Sora was noticing Tidus notice him. When Sora noticed Tidus noticing Riku, Sora felt something akin to unhappiness settle in the pit of his stomach. Sora found it odd, too, because he would notice Tidus noticing Kairi and Selphie, but when Sora noticed Tidus noticing them, that unhappy feeling never settled in the pit of his stomach like when he noticed Tidus noticing Riku.

Sora tried to tell himself that the unhappy feeling he got from noticing Tidus noticing Riku was because, and only because, Sora had searched the universe for Riku, and in Sora's mind, Riku was only his to notice.

But why was he noticing Riku in the first place? Why did he care?

The first time Sora and Riku sparred since coming back from their journeys had made Sora feel extremely hot.

The sun, Sora told himself, was just too hot. That's all.

But when Riku closed in on him—shirtless, toned, slightly tanned, confident Riku—Sora began to doubt that it was the sun that was too hot.

He spun and ducked, avoiding a blow to his neck from Riku's keyblade. Sora blew sticky, mocha locks out of his cerulean orbs and struck at Riku's ankles, but Riku was quick, and leapt over the offensive blade, whirling his own down toward where Sora was crouched.

Sora sprang up, blocking Riku's attack and pushing his opponent backward with the force of his block. With a triumphant smile, Sora leapt toward Riku at his time of unbalance and swept his keyblade toward Riku's side.

Somehow, Riku regained his footing, ducked, and then tripped on Sora's keyblade as Sora swept it back to try to hit a knee or thigh. Riku went toppling face first into sand, his silver hair flopping into his eyes and sticking to his glistening neck.

Sora froze, watching as Riku spat out gritty sand and raised his eyes to look at Sora.

When Sora's eyes met Riku's heated gaze, he felt his body warm up, tingling with something that made Sora find Riku's disheveled appearance very, very attractive—honestly, he told himself, who wouldn't find a shirtless Riku attractive, anyway? It was normal, he told himself. Normal, normal, normal, definitely normal.

But it was Riku's voice that was Sora's undoing.

"Looks like you win, So-ra."

Sora swallowed. Riku only spoke his name like that when he was teasing him. A thirsty tongue flicked over dry lips, and Sora decided that Tidus had better stop noticing Riku because Sora didn't know what he would do if Riku ever spoke Tidus' name or looked at Tidus like that.

Normal, Sora told himself. Normal—Riku was his best friend, after all—and it was totally normal to find your best friend attractive.

Sora finally admitted to himself that he had the tiniest crush on Riku when Riku gave him his birthday present.

Riku had come over to Sora's house to spend the night in celebration. He was turning seventeen! Sora couldn’t remember ever being so excited to get older. Maybe it was because the last two years he had missed his birthdays and hadn't gotten to celebrate them, but this one—this one, he was able to celebrate.

He blew out seventeen blue candles that were dripping wax onto the homemade chocolate cake his mother had made him, and cut a few slices for his mother, Riku, and himself. Kairi had given him his present earlier—a necklace made of delicate, gleaming shells she had found on the beach. She said it would keep him safe. He remembered her making a similar necklace when she, Sora, and Riku were collecting parts for their raft when they had so foolishly thought they could jump on a raft with a few mushrooms and an egg and survive to make it to another world. He had smiled at her, given her a hug, and thanked her. She had kissed him on the cheek, wished him happy birthday, and gone home. She couldn't spend the night. She was a girl.

Riku and Sora ate their cake in Sora's room, chitchatting through full mouths and cheeky smiles. It had been a while since they had hung out like this. Sora felt his heart glow. He missed Riku.

After cake, Riku had smiled at Sora—it was beautiful, as always, but this one had more sadness in it than his normal ones—and told Sora that it was time Riku gave him his present.

Sora was excited. He loved gifts! He grinned, setting his plate aside, and agreed. Riku rolled his eyes at Sora's eagerness to get a present, but he smiled nonetheless.

Riku reached into his pocket and pulled out something small, about the size of a quarter, and yellow. It was shaped like a star and shone in the yellow light of Sora's bedroom. It was a miniature, glass replica of a paopu fruit. Sora swallowed, feeling a little nervous as Riku pressed the cold sculpture into the palm of his rough, tanned hand.

And then, Riku spoke, and Sora thought he would cry.

"Happy birthday, Sora." It was quiet, his gaze never leaving the item in Sora's hand. "I figured—I figured that since you went and risked your life to find me"—a very sad smile—"I may as well give you mine in return, so this little paopu fruit is to symbolize that"—a slight frown—"Thank you. You're my best friend, and I'm not going to leave you ever again."—a light squeeze to Sora's curled hand.

Sora swallowed back tears. For the billionth time, he damned Ansem and Xemnas and whoever else deserved to be damned because of what Riku—what they all—had gone through.

When Sora embraced Riku in a tight hug and realized that he could fall asleep in the boy's arms, he concluded that Riku was to him what Axel had been to Roxas: something undefined, but something that was much more and much closer than just a best friend.

Sora admitted that he might just be in love with Riku when Riku knocked on his window in the middle of the night during one of the nastiest storms Sora remembered since the Islands were overcome by darkness.

Sora opened his window, letting in the howling wind and the cold rain to let in a shivering, drenched Riku. He didn't ask any questions, and Riku didn't provide any answers as he entered. All Sora did was scowl slightly, grab a blanket, and wrap his best friend in the soft material.

"Thank you." Was all he received in return. Sora only nodded before rubbing his tired eyes with his tanned hands.

After many tense moments of silence, Sora had climbed back in bed and lay on his side to face Riku, who was sitting against Sora's wall wrapped in the blanket Sora had provided. Honestly, Sora was confused, but he knew that when Riku wanted to talk, Riku would talk, but if Riku didn't want to talk, then Riku wouldn't talk, so no matter what Sora did, he would just have to wait for Riku to decide that he either wanted or didn't want to talk.

Fortunately, to ease Sora's confusion, Riku did happen to want to talk.

"I thought maybe it was the darkness again."

That's all Riku had to say for Sora to understand: the storm. When the darkness had come, Sora had thought it was just a storm, as well, until he entered the domain of purple and black skies and impending doom—that was when he knew it wasn't just a storm.

"Riku." Sora spoke, slipping out of his bed and ignoring a clap of thunder overhead. He slid next to Riku and wrapped an arm around his best friend's shoulders, nuzzling Riku's shoulder affectionately like a cat. "You don't have anything to worry about."

Riku nodded, barely, and swallowed. Sora blindly reached out in the darkness toward his shelves, grabbing at the cold, pointed object he had placed there. He fingered the mini yellow paopu figure shortly before placing it in Riku's hand.

Riku furrowed his brows, turning his head toward Sora's slowly, a question hanging in the air. Sora smiled a very Sora-like smile before squeezing Riku with the arm around his shoulders. "I just want you to know that I'd still risk my life to bring you home, if you were to leave again." Sora's words were so soft, he wasn't sure if he was actually speaking. "I know that the figurine you gave me for my birthday was a gift to me, but I think that it should be a gift for us to share; a token to remind us that, when we're scared or in trouble, we'll always have each other."

Sora was blushing, but it was okay. Riku smiled through the darkness, closing his fingers over the miniature paopu. Sora laid his head on Riku's shoulder, closing his eyes and listening to his friend's heartbeat, and that was when he realized: sometimes the biggest things come in the smallest packages—just like how the love and care that the two felt for one another through everything they had endured could be expressed by one glass, miniature figurine.

[rekamohcs]

Today my soul turned to me and whispered - “Take me to the place with the trees. Take me to the place where the world feels impossibly magnificent.”

[rekamohcs]

Drabble diary?

I think I am going to keep a drabble diary of sorts – essentially, I am going to write whatever comes to mind and hope that something will eventually inspire me to stop writing everything like a scientific manuscript since that’s what I see most of these days. Perhaps these musings will be snippets of my feelings; perhaps they will be descriptive narratives of things. May the odds be ever in my favor, honestly.

Drabble Diary Entry #1: Imposter Syndrome

I don’t know what I’m talking about

I don’t know enough to have a conversation with you

I’m not sure how to set this up

I’m not actually as smart as you think I am

I didn’t understand a word that just came out of your mouth

I don’t belong here

I’m an Imposter

A ghost hiding in someone else’s shell

They’ll find me out soon

Overwhelming self-Doubt curled up from the pit of her stomach, unfurling like flowers blooming after spring rains. It stretched its hand up up up into her throat, constricting it, and pushed its fingers into the backs of her eyes. She swallowed, throat tight, and blinked back tears.

Pull yourself together, you’re fine.

“Are you tired?”

She nodded, a lie. She was wide awake, mind racing. Doubt pinched her tongue, daring her to speak, knowing that if she opened her mouth, her voice would crack and there’d be no hiding her feelings.

“You’ve been awfully quiet. Is everything okay?”

Another nod. A blink, shoving Doubt back temporarily. “Yes, I’m fine. I’ve just got a lot to get done today. May I go?”

She excused herself, Doubt prickling her fingers and making them tremble. You will not cry at work. Get your shit together.

An hour passed of busying herself and fighting back against the Enemy that was trying to destroy her from the inside out. She finally sat down at her desk, stomach begging for food.

Her coworkers start to joke, she cracks a smile. Doubt rears its head, angry at the slight change in emotion, and tries to tug the corners of her lips back down. She shakes its grip with a stretch.

Laughter echoes through the room, distracting her from her woes. She joins, suddenly reminded of why she loves her job so much.

She takes a sip of water and eats an apple. Doubt grumbles and slouches back into the pit of her stomach where it hides - temporarily. Perhaps she will constantly struggle with feeling like an Imposter, but perhaps it is worth it.

This is actually something I wrote a couple months ago when I was hit with a HEAVY case of imposter syndrome. That’s no joke, y’all. I have talked to lots and lots of people about this, and I’m 98% positive that everyone struggles with this at some point, so know that you’re not alone. Seriously, don’t hesitate to talk to me (or anyone!) about it if you’re struggling with it because talking it out really helped me a lot.