#storm's eye

[cupidswoe]

Surveillance, and other things I'm subjecting her to

[the-fallen-stones]

I am bad at hiding. If you are my friend, you might recognize me. For that, I apologize.

You may call me anything you like. I enjoy and encourage nicknames. But if you need a name, Mica works.

If you would like me to write something for you, you can request it, and I will if I can. It may not be immediately. But I will try.

A warning, my descriptions can sometimes be graphic, or a little violent. It is usually metaphorical, though, don't worry.

I like both storm and calm. Chaos and comfort. I enjoy things that invoke thought, or creativity. I love hugs, snuggles, animals (especially dragons and cats), tea, fiction, and poetry.

Please do not bring up politics here. It's not that I don't care. But I've anguished myself enough over them and honestly, I need a break.

Never assume hostility! It was probably an accident. My tone comes across weird sometimes.

Tags:

#storm's eye - things that strike me, and I'd like to come back to.

#mica speaks - anything original, by me.

#mica reblogs - empty reblogs.

#mica elaborates - reblogs that are not empty.

#mica rambles - I have rambled.

#mica rhymes - my poetry.

#mika doodles - my art.

#mika's music - my favorite songs.

#mica recites - my favorite poems or stories.

#mika inquires - I ask questions.

#mika responds - I answer questions.

Credit for the image goes to @poetryforall.

My wonderful mutuals:

@kimu-dem - Keeper of comfort.

@thatrando13 - The wanderer.

@carrotsinnovember - A gentle friend.

@hersurvival - Blanket fort against thunder and snowstorms.

@caustic-splines - Writer of old love letters.

@abiethewizardduck

@randomshowerpoems - The wise wordsmith.

@poemsofanentomologist

@galaxys-universe

@literaryvein - The bright storm outside.

@same-skies

These titles can always change, as I know you better. If you'd like me to use a different one I certainly can.

Some of my favorite songs are;

One Day You Will Fly Too, by Aimee Carty,

Come Along, Does the Swallow Dream of Flying?, Egg and Soldiers, Pelicans We, Half Past Three, Run, and Linger Longer, by Cosmo Sheldrake,

Glow in the Dark by Vian Izak,

Rush of Life, My Neighbor's Car Alarm, Desire, and Rain, by Tony Ann. (Classical.)

Experience, Fly, and Eros, by Ludovico Einaudi. (Classical.)

Ilomilo by Billie Eilish,

Two, Sun, Eight, and Light by Sleeping at Last,

Big Black Car and San Luis by Gregory Alan Isakov,

Passing Through by Kaden MacKay,

The Mountain Song, Be Nobody, and Better is the End, by TopHouse,

Changing Days, Irish Eyes, I Can Never Give my Heart, and Rocket, by Rose Betts,

The Sound of Silence, by Simon and Garfunkel,

Walking in the Air, Time, Orinoco Flow, and Carol of the Bells, by Libera,

And many more.

Some of my favorite poems are;

Tug'o'War of Heartstrings, The Night Sky, Together, With a Window Between, A Heavy Wait/Weight, A Veil Not Yet There, Sharks in a Zoo, A Faustian Deal, Denial, The Voice of a Loved One, Explosions, Tribute to the Ocean, The Vast Expanse of the Ocean, Nurturing, Stalagmites in my Brain, and How Can I Put Those Boxes Away? by The Shower Poet,

Fire and Ice, and Walking by Woods on a Snowy Evening, by Robert Frost,

The Sunshine Kid, Paper People, and 59, by Harry Baker,

The Spider, by Robert P. Tristam Coffin,

Run With You, by Atlas,

A Litany, by Gregory Orr,

Landscape with a Blur of Conquerors, and Details of the Woods, by Richard Silken.

And many more.

Some of my favorite books are;

The Chronicles of Narnia, by C. S. Lewis,

Breadcrumbs, by Anne Ursu,

Ella Minnow Pea, by Mark Dunn,

Holes, Wayside School, Small Steps, and There's a Boy in the Girl's Bathroom, by Lois Sachar.

Hoot, Scat, Flush, and Chomp, by Carl Hiaasen.

Where the Mountain Meets the Moon, Starry River of the Sky, and When the Sea Turned to Silver, by Grace Lin.

And oh, so very many more.

Poems I have written;

Teach Me, Silent Serenade, Space Can Die, Weak Resolve, Boundaries Drawn, The Candle, Vacuum, One Pace, Adventure With Me, Stagnant, Workaholic, Sirens Can Cry, Dreamt of Loss, The Chalkboard, Shush, and many more to come.

Once was a girl, who would talk to herself. Stories, tales, thoughts in passing, of the past, future, of the sky and leaves, wind and breeze, of storm and calm. She longed to speak in a cadence. One to soothe. To heal. Doesn't everyone want that, to heal? To be somebody to someone, to have a voice like an anchor, eyes like a vice, that soften, that go warm like a bird's shelter?

Storm seeks calm. Calm seeks storm. They find a balance. But never, never do they stay still. She couldn't stay still. Her mind was a hurricane. And sometimes a breeze, sometimes a song to put you at ease, and sometimes, tight, coiled like a spring.

The calm wasn't who she was. Nor was she as much of the storm as she thought she was. Dear, she was a fire. She'd dim, and grow brighter. Her voice would get high when excited, she'd smile. Her embers couldn't rest. She'd smoulder. Then big stewing pots would bubble over. She'd speak in paragraphs, eyes like beacons, stumbling over words and not always making sense...

But it was beautiful. She loved, she loved deeply. She wanted to be loved, too. And she was. But when the smoke gets high, water and frost meeting that bright smile all too many times, it blurs out the hands, hearts, the words reaching, seeking...

She was silenced. Of course, the embers still burned. But the very things she stifled were the things she was beloved for. And she couldn't hear them.

But slowly, wet wood dries, my dear. You can't always cry. Time passes by. Wounds heal, scars fade, even when clouds pass over the stars. She was stronger than that.

She learned again to love. And though she had times she couldn't muster the songs, the words, the strength to hold on so tight, she began to heal.

Please, my dear, have patience. She is still healing.

Burnout is a dangerous thing. If you are stuck it never eases, never ceases. And things that brought you peace are no less, then, but grievous. It feels like Sisyphus himself is in charge of pulling you out of that rut. My dear, he can't.

The world moves so fast... I can't help but be dizzy. The facts and the future, like stones, whizzing, past my head, I bustle, I catch them, I'm busy...

The earth turns fast but not as fast as my head. Live, die. Fireflies. On my deathbed. I crave a rest, but I get anger instead. For injustice, for fury, the memories I shed...

Give my hands to the stars, fire for every digit. They fall from the sky when in darkness I fidget. Tear through the clouds, but then cry when I can't fix it. My brain is a void and...

I just.

Can't.

Bridge it.

[moonfruito]

this draft is so fucking funny NOOO PRE-CANON WANING CRESCENT THOUGHTS!!! THEY GOT HER!!! FUCK! THEY WERE DOOMED FROM THE BEGINNING BY THE INHERENCY OF CONFLICT TO THEIR RELATIONSHIP!!! SHIT!! THERE WAS LOVE BUT LOVE ISN'T ALWAYS ENOUGH!!!!!

[image id: draft by op from september 17th, 2022, which reads, "it's too late for me lizzie and ava bitter exes have taken my mind hostage save yourselves before it's too late... don't think about". it cuts off abruptly. /end image id]

[medicus-mortem]

@chatcambrioleur answered [+]

There's a huff under her breath, as she sends a bolt of lightning from her Clima-tact. An empty spot on the island they'd docked at, meant it was the perfect place for Nami to do a little shoot and fire, to blow off some steam. Goodness knows, she needed it. The rage towards her captain stayed burning in her chest --- and the wildfire had yet to be sated. Perhaps she would form a lightning storm, and see what happened. Let nature take its course.

The staff twirls between her hands, and with an abrupt movement, it stops --- a bolt flies from its end, and electric sparks in the sky. She watches with narrowed eyes, as the streaks meet the ocean waves. No harm to the wildlife (aside from the fish), and the chances of hurting anyone were slim. Still, it felt good. A way to let it all out. She can't help but be brought back to Cocoyashi Village, once upon a time. When she was left to destroy her mother's old belongings, as a release. The standing offense wasn't nearly as bad as everything Arlong had done, but it still left a churning, vile feeling in her gut. She was angry. She was humiliated. Come with me. How odd it seems, that his offer seems more tempting by the minute. It leaves a terrible taste in her mouth. Perhaps venting to Law about this had been a bad idea. Her brow is pinched as she turns to him, abandoning her therapy, her staff clicks back into its smaller form. She slides it back into its strap, attached to her thigh, as she swivels to face him. Serving a captain since she was ten years old. Bounced from one crew to the next. She was free, but she was still serving under the reign of the future pirate king. She was nothing, if not loyal. Her hand reached to play with his goatee, a smirk resting on her lips. As tempting as it was, to rebel in her anger, she can't. "Dismemberment? Seems drastic. Does someone else getting my attention make you jealous?" She coos, innocently. A manipulator can recognize when they're being manipulated. No matter how airy the attempt. The playful gait falls as she sighs, her shoulders slumping. Her hand doesn't leave his cheek, and she presses a kiss to the side of his mouth. "I told you. Ask me again. When Luffy is pirate king..." Her head tilted, her eyes softened as she looked upon him. How she adored him. "You know, gotta say, I admire your persistence --- and the way you see a clear opportunity, right before your eyes."

   Gotta say, hearing Nami complain about her captain is a huge relief. He likes knowing he’s not the only one that gets irritated by the kid’s bullshit, but in this case it’s different. Nami’s anger, her willingness to complain to him, one of Straw Hat’s rivals, boarders on insubordination and speaks of the unclear hierarchy that plagues the Straw Hat crew. As a fellow captain he should tell her that she needs to heed her captain, that he probably had a good reason to stop her attempts at thievery, but that isn’t what comes out of Law’s mouth. Instead, he gives an offer that isn’t masked by speculation this time. It’s genuine and manipulative.

   It’s a dick move really, seeing this possible chink in her loyalty and taking advantage of it to fulfil his own selfish desires. Not the actions of an ally or a friend but as he watches Nami create lightning Law knows he does not care. He’s a pirate and he takes what he wants. What he wants in this moment is Nami by his side, permanently. But of course, that won’t happen.

   Nami’s last lightning strike flashes, thunder clapping in the air. The water roils where the strike hit, giving a hint of just how damaging her weather science can be. As that boom fades Law drags in a breath. The doctor had unintentionally stopped breathing for a moment there. He leans against a tree, arms crossed over his chest and golden eyes locked on the Straw Hat navigator. She spins about, clima-tact getting put away. At first, he expects anger but instead she gives him that smirk and a hand rises to run fingers through his facial hair.

    Eyes watch her face, his own features now serious. Then he huffs, jaw locking and teeth grinding. Gaze darts away for a moment, averting with the accusation that he’s jealous when she flirts with others. He most certainly is. The Surgeon of Death is a possessive man and the horrors he’d inflict on anyone who so much as touches what is his do not bear mentioning. So, he says nothing and waits for what he knows comes next. Rejection, once again.

   A heavy sigh, shoulders slumping even with that kiss on the corner of his mouth. Then her voice is softer and again Law looks Nami in the face. He drags a breath in through his nose, pulling himself back up. He puts a smirk back on his features, giving a dismissive shrug.

   “When I want somethin’ I’m gonna take every opportunity I can get to make it mine,” he says, smooth voice unbothered, even though he is indeed a little bothered. Time to find a distraction.

   The doctor straightens, hands unwinding from his chest. He grabs Nami by the waist and turns her about. He rests his chin on her shoulder, eyes scanning the ocean beyond the cliffs they stand on. Hand rises, pointing out to sea and at a set of stone pillars that rise from the waves.

   “That stone formation, can you hit it?” he asks, and then his voice drops an octave. “I wanna see you destroy something.”

[dndtreasury]

Storm's Eye

[the-fallen-stones]

I spoke to a person less than a moment ago.

He spoke, I responded, and he responded to me.

I remember what he said.

But I can't remember what I said.

Only the automatic, respectful 'Alright, thank you, sir.'

Probably.

That would fit.

I live too much in my head. I'm always thinking of several things at once. And my memorised script takes over on autopilot.

Maybe I'm just tired.

But I slept a full night. I wouldn't be able to sleep now, if I tried.

I feel fully rested.

Maybe it's just a bad habit. Yet another, that I made to cope, and couldn't let go of.

Made to mediate conflict and survive. Even though I haven't been in danger. The danger was in my own mind. It made rebukes split farther into the core of the log than an axe should. And the tree still grows too many rings at once to hide the old marks.

Xylem and phloem. Or poison? Slow poison. Pour pain into poetry. So the poetry hides fragments, splinters for the eyes that rove. They stick in my mind. And weigh me down. And I have to wade through the sharp glass.

Because poetry is powerful.

You read it to feel something.

You write it to release something.

My head is full of ideas and fragments of things that could be great but it is hard to sit down and make use of them.

Metaphors are knives. With which I cut the apple of my eye. I cut right across the adam's apple and wonder at how the juice is the same color as an apple's skin.

Unless it's green with envy. Green with immaturity. Because envy is immature. When you mature, you learn to do what you can with what you have and make the most of what you've got and not waste time trying to copy or steal what others can make.

And you tell me. That grown people do this.

And I tell you. That sometimes you should never grow up. But I also tell you. That there is a difference between childlike and childish.

And I'm still tired.

[dndtreasury]

Storm-Eye Sling

[xivartref]

Storm's Eye