#climatact

[sibmakesart]

[stevencrown99]

Nami from One Piece

Original art from: Stanley Artgerm Lau

[idiotaggression]

"You going to keep looking at me like that or do something about it?"

"Dunno, want me to do something 'bout it?" He props his chin on his fist, grinning at Nami as she snaps at him. Zoro knows she's not mad – if anything, she's just trying to goad him into doing something about it, because she does want him to do something about it.

But, well.

They both like the game, might as well play.

[wesleysniperking]

Usopp’s silent genius

Okay, this might just be me being my usual Usopp fan-girl self, but I can't help but laugh at how much Usopp indirectly embodies what real-world snipers are all about—from both a professional and civilian perspective. I love how snipers are known for instilling fear in the enemy, creating hesitation so the infantry can finish the job. They catch the enemy off guard, shaking their confidence. Honestly, that's exactly what Usopp does when it counts.

Snipers aren’t just about shooting; they’re about spotting the enemy and exposing weaknesses. Usopp’s paranoia, his prepper mentality, and his mastery of deception are basically the perfect traits for a sniper. People say Oda doesn’t give him many chances to show off his sniping, but I feel like Usopp proves there’s more to a sniper than just pulling the trigger. He’s the ultimate prepper. While the monster trio charges in headfirst, Usopp is always thinking of Plan B, even if Plan A overshadows it. He’s constantly coming up with backup plans that no one else considers—until they matter. That's why he carries that bag. What’s in it? Plans no one else thinks of.

I know hyping up Usopp might sound nuts, but if you really consider all the cool things he can do, you’d see how he fits into the One Piece narrative. Yet, he’s unintentionally alienated by the crew—not in an angsty way, but because his role forces him to downplay his brilliance. Take the Clima-Tact: Usopp’s the one who made it, and that took some serious engineering, borderline quantum stuff if you ask me. Nami’s practical use of it only works because of his design. If people say he just made a useless stick that Nami had to fix, then why didn’t she make it herself? Usopp’s the genius here, but Nami recognized that genius. He could be way more egotistical about it, but he’s humble.

And let’s not forget, Usopp’s actions aren’t unforgivable because he’s always operated on a strong moral compass. I think he grounds his values in something spiritual, which makes him less rigid than someone who thinks their word is law. Just some thoughts I’ve been mulling over.

[enruiinas]

@climatact asked:

She probably should have called. Or at least sent a text. Nami didn't even know if Law was home, or even in town... but the moment she felt their child's first movement, she was ordering a train ticket. Within hours she was standing in front of his door, unable to bring herself to knock on it. And talking to herself, of all things. "Okay, we got this. It's fine." A hand ran along the small bump, just at that point between barely noticeable under a flowy black dress and jacket. After several minutes, Nami finally found the nerve to knock on the door. All the while she chewed on the inside of her lip nervously. What if he never forgive her for leaving? What if he didn't want to have anything to do with her ever again? She wouldn't blame him if he took one look at her and slammed the door in her face.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Two hours and elbows-deep into a total laparoscopic renal bypass, nearing the end of of what had felt like one of the longer shifts of his surgical residency career a few blocks uptown, it would be several hours later before Law would know anything of the unexpected arrival of an orange-haired woman on his apartment doorstep.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Several hours before months of the desperate habit he'd formed in her absence proved themselves a good decision despite every long minute spent wondering why he was wasting his time writing those notes out. Every day, the same brief sentiment - Mikans in the kitchen for you. Your things are in the top right-hand drawer. Back soon. The only thing that changed were the hours scrawled at the top of the folded sheets of paper. Each time he left, whether on shift or out to run an errand, the note would be replaced with a new one, tucked beneath a loose brick near his apartment door along with the spare key he'd once told her about.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Several hours before he'd trudge his weary way past that very hiding spot, not bothering to check and confirm what part of him had long suspected would always be the case. The note and key would still be there: they always were. But they'd be there when he went to swap the sheet out in the morning, and at the end of a shift, the last thing he wanted was a reminder that another day had passed without her. He would face that in the morning, when he was on his way out and there was no choice but to get in his car and to keep on going. He'd learned that lesson the hard way - suffered one too many hangovers on shift the next day after checking on his way in in the evenings. Long hours of nights spent alone were not the time to think of the futility of it all; other than the disappointment, he knew if he thought about it too long on his own, he would eventually have to come to terms with reality and he knew he'd stop writing them.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ And when that time came - when he truly gave up on her... What was he supposed to do, then?

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ So, no. Law did not check to see if note or key had been disturbed in his absence. He strolled determinedly past it, the two bags of groceries he'd stopped to procure on his way home tucked under one arm as he fished in his pocket and slotted the key into the lock to let himself in. He didn't let himself think about the night he'd spend on his own tonight, or how he'd realize, as he always did, how quiet the space seemed when he laid his head down on his pillow a few hours later. These things would creep up on him as they always did, but he wouldn't give them a second of his attention until they were upon him. Every day, it was the same routine: get through the door, drop the keys on the counter on his way through to the kitchen, put the groceries away on nights he'd had to stop by the little corner market. A shower to rinse the day away, the water warm to soothe the aches that followed long shifts on his feet and hands that ached from hours of operations. Dinner: usually what he'd stopped to pick up on the way home; sometimes something he'd bothered to put together for himself - occasionally leftovers from something a friend or coworker had prepared for him for the week. Depending on how late it had gotten, he might read or turn the TV on and unwind as he scrolled through his notifications to see if he'd missed anything eventful throughout the day. More often than not, this was where the thoughts would find him. Somewhere along the way, he'd grown to favor early nights, though sleep rarely came easily or lasted long despite his best efforts.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ It was routine. Methodical. Habit. It had to be; that was what he'd clung to in the months since he'd awoken to the empty space beside him. Variation on that routine was highly inadvisable and never resulted in anything good. And it was for that reason that Law didn't notice anything was amiss until he was setting the bags down on the kitchen counter. It took a moment to place the strange feeling that crept over him - that sense that he'd missed a step in this rotation, but couldn't quite place what that step had been. Because it was one of the small things - the filler between those big steps he'd learned to focus on. He'd come through the door. Set his keys on the counter. Was moving to put the groceries away.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ What he hadn't done was turn the kitchen light on. Or the hallway light, for that matter. One by itself, he might not have thought of; methodic as he was, even Law forgot to turn a light off here and there. Two was unlikely. Three was unheard of.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Especially considering, as a glance at his surroundings revealed, the third light was the living room light. He didn't even bother turning that one on in the mornings; he certainly hadn't left it on that morning.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Law's pulse had grown suddenly deafening in his ears, his heart lodged somewhere in the general vicinity of his throat. The groceries lie forgotten on the counter behind him, for before he'd even realized what he was doing, the doctor found himself moving numbly through the open-floored apartment, turning the corner until the living room came into view in its entirety - coffee table, dark-screened TV, couch, and the woman asleep upon it.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ A woman he'd never thought he would see again and never stopped hoping might one day be there waiting for him.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ His breath caught in his throat.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Either Nami had come back for him, or this was both a dream and the cruelest trick the universe had ever played on him.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Law froze on the threshold.

[countfulminus0]

Nami and Zeus

Top Navigator of the strawhats

[realmofthekatana]

@climatact asked: "When did you get hot all of a sudden? I could look you up and down all day..." to her boyfriend whatever Zoro is

He blinked, pausing in the reps that he'd been doing to lift his gaze to hers, not missing the slight flush to her cheeks nor the way her eyes were slowly roaming over his body. The sight of her like that, so clearly caught off guard by him, had a slow male smirk pulling over his lips as she slowly lowered the weight to pick up the next one. "Pretty sure I've always looked like this, Nami."

[kaizoku-dan]

I want like a lot of pink, and for an accent color i was thinking more pink - perona @horonomi to Mihawk

"... You seem to be making yourself quite at home here."

He spares a glance towards their surroundings — across the expanse which she so deemed her room. "So long as it doesn't cross the threshold, I care not what you do with it." ┊ @horonomi — @climatact