#one piece 1115 raw

[gregmikaels]

ONE PIECE CH. 1114 - JOYBOY'S ORIGINS REVEALED!!

[abysscronica]

episode 1115 made me think about Birdie and the whole sniper category: it seems they are always the unlucky ones with good sight but not enough fighting strenght.

What do you think about it?

I haven’t been watching the anime in forever, but I’m guessing you’re referring to Hibari?

Think about it in DnD terms: a sharpshooter has the advantage of range combat & cover, the whole point is not getting close to the enemy, so their weaknesses will be strength & constitution. The idea is that you have to hit without getting hit. If they also had high physical strength and could tank a lot of damage, they would be broken asf.

I feel like this rule applies to One Piece too, at least to some extent. Think about Usopp and Van Augur, for example.

Coming back to Hibari and birdie specifically, I feel like it’s a bit unfair to compare the two: birdie has quite the seniority over Hibari, she’s (probably) older, has more developed Observation haki and… just more raw talent, to be honest. Birdie’s skills as a sniper were always an anomaly. She trained a lot, sure, and she’s still evolving, but it has always come natural for her. Hibari was literally her kohai.

Birdie still has average/low constitution and strength, but she has stamina and very short recovery time. From what I remember in the manga, Hibari had barely a couple of shots against extras and then rushed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m not saying that birdie could have done much more against someone on the level of Aokiji, but… she certainly would have handled herself better in the battle.

I hope this answer your question, but feel free to let me know if I misunderstood/missed anything.

[illshowyourhurricanes]

Congrats on your milestone my lovely!!! 🎉 Can I request photo number four for Benjamin please?? So excited to read these!!

Thank you so much for your kind words and your request, lady! I had so much fun writing it. I hope you enjoy!

Masterpiece

Image prompt 4: Benjamin Greene x reader

Rating: PG

Word count: 1115 (I’m incapable of drabbles. Completely incapable.)

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This drabble is related to Hopeless, which can be found in my masterlist. 

You were standing beside the stove, methodically chopping carrots . Humming softly, you peered over into the pot of vegetable stock coming to a soft boil and smiled. First garlic, then onions, and finally…

“Benjamin!” You’d heard his footsteps over the floor, but hadn’t realized that sometime within the past minute he’d swiped a heap of carrots and was snacking casually. 

He grinned at you, leaning against the counter and popping another raw carrot slice into his mouth. He reached up to push his glasses up and held out a cupped hand. “Carrot?”

Laughing, you turned back to add what was left of the chopped carrots into the start of the bean and vegetable soup coming together, followed by canned white beans. With a few stirs to the ingredients so far, you set the lid of the pot in place and turned down the heat to a low simmer. 

“I found something curious,” Benjamin spoke up, and you raised your brows in intrigue, turning toward him. He leaned in to kiss each eye, the tip of your nose, then your mouth, popping the last carrot piece into your mouth afterward. “That’s love.” 

You crunches on the carrot, nodding in agreement. “Is that the something curious you found? I thought love had been hanging around for awhile now…”

“The love, my love, is a constant.” He offered his hand again, this time for you to take, and led you into the room he used for a study. It was a disaster. You mouth hung ajar 

“Benjamin Greene.” You stepped inside the room carefully, the sunlight streaming through the picture window and drenching the complete catastrophe of every single record they owned in deceitfully warm light. The shelves they were usually stacked on were completely bare, except for one record, lying there without a sleeve. 

Taking careful, measured steps, Benjamin made his way through the absolute hellfire of a room— between the two of them, they had quite the collection of vinyl— and plucked the record from the shelf. 

“This,” his voice strained as he reached out to the shelf ,“Is the curious thing.” He presented to you a record and you squealed. 

Benjamin’s eyes widened, and he barked out a laugh. “I’ve never seen you so delighted.” 

Another squeal was followed by a little twirl of excitement. “Do you know what this is?!” You took the record from Benjamin, turning it over twice, admiring it with a special sort of nostalgic fondness. 

“Oddly enough, darling, I’ve no idea.” His eyes dropped to the label of the record, which had been painted over with a striking shade of lime paint. Outward, extending directly around the perimeter of green was a thicker, vibrant circle of cherry red. The B-side was identical. 

“This,” you sighed, holding it at arms’ length, “is… was?… an art project.” Benjamin, whose eyes had been shining with a bit of curiosity, was now completely invested. His dark eyes were wide behind the lenses of his glasses, and you smiled brightly. 

He always paid strict attention when you talked, but especially about your work. Even if he had absolutely no idea of what was different at all between willow and vine charcoal and compressed charcoal, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter to him that he wasn’t well-versed enough in the superiority of charcoal over pencil even if you’d explained it to him a dozen times, because you could draw with a dulled or broken crayon and he’d declare the end product a masterpiece. 

“It was for my basic painting class, and it was the first day of class,” you began to explain, stepping carefully around a pile of records that had fallen into a tragic sort of heap. “We jumped straight into it, taking notes about different types of paint, what they were used for, and by the end, I was completely dejected. An entire hour and a half class, even an intro class, shouldn’t be based on definition. You can’t just solely lecture on art. Just as everyone was set to leave, the professor spoke above all the rustling of paper and clatter of closing binders that for the next class meeting, we were to bring a normal household object made remarkable with the use of acrylic paint.” 

Benjamin was looking at you like you’d hung the moon. “I ran out and bought a basic 18-colour set for under £1 per tube—shit paint, but it works fantastically for smaller things—and this is my normal household object made unremarkable.”

You scrunched your nose and Benjamin wanted to scoop you up into his arms and hold you there forever. “I got a C. Not my favourite mark.”

“That professor was an idiot. A buffoon!” He dances around the mess again, weaving between stacks he’d made, and made it across the room to where you stood. He gently took the record, placed it on the turntable beside you, and pulled you to his chest. You breathed in deeply, wanting nothing more than to immerse yourself entirely in his scent.

“The soup!” You’d completely forgotten about what was on the stove and you bolted for the kitchen. Benjamin followed, completely love struck over an almost decade-old art project. By the time he made it into the kitchen, you were silently praying to a wooden spoon immersed in hot liquid that you hadn’t ruined dinner. 

“Does it play? Your masterpiece?” 

You grinned into your soup, which magically still appeared to be edible. Turning off the burner, you nodded, then shook your head. “The unpainted part but you’d rather not.” 

Opening his mouth in indignance, you spoke up again. “It’s Spice Girls.”

“The girls of spice? Salt n Peppa?” Benjamin’s jokes were sometimes terrible at best, but you loved him for it.

In response, you lifted the lid off the soup pot and dipped the bit wooden spoon in, holding it up to cool as he crooked your finger to beckon Benjamin over for a taste. “If you wanna be my lover…” you sang, looking him in the eye. 

He raised his brows in interest and took the spoon, slurping up the liquid. “It’s horrible,” he teased. “Tasteless. Needs some more time to marry.” He tossed the spoon into the sink and scooped you up like he’d been wanting to, the way a groom would carry his wife over the threshold. “Makes for a good love potion though.” Gazing down at you, Benjamin winked. His glasses slipped down his nose a bit and he left them there; he saw nothing but you. 

“Now, let’s explore what your stipulations are for that ‘if’, shall we?” Peppering your face with kisses, he nuzzled into your neck playfully, his beard scratching against your skin.