The long ride home. The noise. The heat. The way everyone still expected you to be calm, patient, understanding despite the evident exhaustion and things you didn’t know how to say out loud.
So when he spoke a little too gently, a huge contrast to the events of the day—everything just snapped.
“Could you just be quiet for a moment?” you said sharply, stopping in your tracks. “Not everything needs a comment.”
The silence after felt heavy.
You swallowed what felt like thorns in your throat and waited for it. The defensiveness. The offended look. Maybe even anger, so you could justify your own.
Instead, he just looked at you.
Then, he smiled.
It wasn’t bright or amused. Not even mockingly. It was soft and careful, like he didn’t want to startle you. Like he understood that your anger wasn’t really about him.
“Okay,” he said gently. “I’m sorry.”
That only made it worse.
You turned away, frustrated. “Why are you like this?” you muttered. “Don’t you ever get tired?”
He stepped closer but not enough to corner you. Just enough that you could feel him there, steady and grounding.
“I do,” he admitted. “But not because of you.”
You scoffed, crossing your arms tighter. “You don’t have to understand me all the time.”
“I know,” he said softly. “But I want to.”
That made you look at him.
His smile was still there, smaller now, a little worn at the edges. Like he knew you might push him away again and had already decided to stay anyway.
You hated how that made your chest ache. (It's difficult to hate him.)
“I’m not easy to love. I get angry over little things. I say things I don’t mean.” you said, quieter now.
He nodded. “I know.”
You blinked. “That’s it?” (INSANE, this guy is unbelievable; bordering abnormal, you think.)
He let out a soft breath of a laugh and reached out, not to grab, just to gently hook his pinky around yours. A quiet invitation.
“That’s it,” he said. “And I still choose you.”
Your fingers tightened around his without you meaning to.
“You don’t have to smile every time I’m like this,” you whispered. “I don’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know,” he said, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “But I love you. Even when you’re angry. Especially then.”
Your eyes burned.
You leaned forward before you could stop yourself, resting your forehead against his chest. He froze for half a second—then relaxed, arms melting around you slowly, carefully, like he was afraid you might change your mind from the contact.
You felt his chin rest against your hair.
“I’m still mad,” you murmured.
You felt him smile into your hair. “That’s okay.”
“And I might be later, too.”
“That’s okay.”, he breathes, a faint of a chuckle coming out.
Your fingers curled into his shirt. “You’re really not going anywhere, are you?”
He laughed softly. “Do I look like I am?”
You shook your head, finally letting yourself breathe; finally relaxing after the hectic day.
Because somehow, even when you frowned at him like the world had failed you, he looked at you like you were still worth staying for—worth fighting for.
And this time, he wasn’t smiling just to calm you down.
MITSUYA TAKASHI had always said he didn’t have a favorite color.
When his classmates argued about which shade was the prettiest–some said sky blue, others cherry red, and a few, emerald green–he barely listened. Someone even mentioned a hex code he couldn’t be bothered to remember. With a pencil between his fingers, he was sketching something no one else could see. “Colors don’t mean anything unless you give them purpose.” he used to believe.
But that was before you.
You showed up at the sewing club one afternoon wearing a lilac cardigan, the kind of soft purple shade that looked like it could melt into spring air. Mitsuya looked up from his work, halfway through hemming Smiley's jacket, and forgot what he was doing for an embarrassing second.
“Hey, 'kashi,” you greeted with that smile that always made his chest feel too small. Not to mention the nickname only you got to use. “Could you help me fix this? The button fell off.”
He nodded, took the cardigan, and set to work with quiet focus. You leaned on the table beside him, watching his hands move–steady, precise, looking angelic as ever. He had to admit it was a little pressuring, especially when someone good-looking was watching—definitely different from those times the principal came by for the yearly observation.
When he finished, he handed it back shyly, without looking at you as he packed up. “There. Good as new.”
You slipped it on again, smoothing the fabric. “You’re a lifesaver. I owe you one.”
He smiled, whispering a soft, ‘you’re welcome. But when you left, the faint scent of lavender lingered.
That night, he sat at his desk under the warm lamplight, flipping through his collection of fabric. Blues, greens, reds–all of them dull and lifeless. Then he found it: a scrap of pastel lilac he’d bought months ago and never thought of using.
It was soft to the touch. Comforting. Familiar. You.
The next day, when Draken asked in passing what color he wanted for a keychain (probably another one of Mikey and Takemichi’s stunts), this time Mitsuya didn’t even hesitate.
He smiled as if remembering a fond memory.
“Lilac.” he answered, as if it had always been his favorite.
Hello!! I saw you wrote for Demon Slayer and that you'd write for any character so I just wanted to ask if you would do some sfw and/or nsfw headcanons for Kyogai (the drum demon) x reader? 🙏
hello! i don't write nsfw and i'm not too confident writing for demon slayer yet especially for kyogai huhu but hopefully this turned out well? ❤️🩹
⊱notes: kimetsu academy au. modern au. kyogai is a music teacher, reader is a literature teacher.
— your classes sometimes overlap in topics, when teaching ballads or classical poetry, you’ll invite kyogai in to play accompanying rhythms. the students love it, but it’s really just an excuse for the two of you to work side by side.
— you often talk about how poetry has rhythm-like music, and kyogai quietly lights up every time you point out that his drumming has “poetic flow.”
— he’s not good at casual conversations, but when you passionately talk about your favorite authors when you eat lunch together, kyogai watches you like you’re the most important person in the room.
— sometimes he’ll ask you to “review” lyrics or poetic verses his "students" are working on, but the verses are obviously written by him and the metaphors and themes are kyogai's feelings for you.
— when he notices you’re stressed or tired, kyogai finds himself playing softer rhythms while you grade papers in the staff room, pretending it’s “just practice” so you won’t get suspicious.
— you once shared a rare, old poem with him, something you thought would be forgotten later on. weeks later, you're surprised to find that he’s written an original drum composition inspired by it. kyogai never says it was for you but you know.
— once, you accidentally left a pressed flower in a poetry book you lent him. after kyogai returned it, the flower is perfectly preserved and laminated, no explanation .
— if you leave school late at the same time, kyogai walks you to the station without saying much. the comfortable quiet feels like its own kind of conversation.
— for the annual school festival, you suggest a joint act where students perform spoken word pieces or read excerpts from literature while kyogai’s students accompany them with live music. he pretends to agree for “educational purposes” but secretly just wants to spend more time with you during planning and rehearsals.
— kyogai never directly asks you to spend time together outside of work, but he’ll phrase things like, “I’ll be rehearsing in the auditorium after class if you happen to… be in the area.”. despite the hectic day, you manage to stop by and listen to him play.
i hope i did him some justice although this was short 🙏 apologies if it's not what was expected... I tried my best!
thanks for the request! it was fun trying to write for his character hehe
The argument had long gone quiet, but neither of you had said a word since. At this point, both of you had forgotten why you argued in the first place. All you knew was: it was probably a petty reason and you missed him.
You sat curled on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around yourself. He stood by the door, looking like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.
“We’re really gonna sleep without fixing this?” you whispered, voice trembling.
“I thought you didn’t want to talk anymore,” he said, tone sharper than he meant.
You scoffed, stood up brushing past him. “No. I just didn’t want to beg you to care.”
The front door shut a little too loudly. And then the silence swallowed him whole.
He finds you, breath catching in his throat the moment he sees you.
He doesn’t say your name at first–just stands there, heart pounding like he ran the whole city just to find you. His hair is damp from the rain. His lips part, close again, still figuring out what to say.
Finally, he whispers, voice cracking:
“Don’t… don’t sleep mad tonight. Please.”
You glance away, eyes stinging, unsure whether to run to him or run away again.
“I—I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean a word I said. I’d rather be wrong a thousand times than lose you once.”
He takes a step closer. Then another. Hands trembling as they reach for yours.
“You can yell at me tomorrow. You can leave, slam the door, throw your pillow at my head. I’ll take it all. But please… just spare me a glance tonight.”
You don’t say anything. You don’t have to, your silence says enough. It cuts deeper than all the words you exchanged earlier.
So he keeps going, holding back a sob.
“I know I messed up. I shut down when I should’ve listened. I acted like I didn’t care but God, I do. I care so much it scares me. I hate that I let you walk out thinking I didn’t.”
A beat of silence.
Then softer, almost a whisper:
“I can’t sleep knowing you’re out here thinking I don’t love you. Because I do. So much.”
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.
His eyes met yours as you glanced at him, voice a little more unsteady now:
“I can’t lose you over this. I won’t let us fall apart just because I was too proud to say I was wrong.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my love.”
Your fingers twitch in his, and he grips them tighter, like you might vanish if he lets go.
“Don’t sleep mad tonight, okay? Not like this. Not when I love you.”
Then your arms were around him, and he was gripping you as if letting go would stop his heart from beating.
“You’re such an idiot,” you murmured.
“I know,” he whispered, forehead against yours. “But I’m yours.”
⊱summary: A woman with a pen sharper than any sword allies herself with a revolutionary full of fire and hope. Secrets unravel and trust is tested as their worlds collide, but love grows in the quiet spaces between battles.
⊱warnings: ooc characters. profanities. punctuation and grammar errors. reader is referred to as (Name). FEMALE! reader.
⊱notes: part 2!!
part 1 | part 2 | part 3
The dimly lit room was filled with the hum of whispered conversations as few Revolutionaries gathered around a large table. At the head of the table stood Dragon, his imposing presence silencing the room the moment he cleared his throat.
“We’ve intercepted communications from a kingdom in the West Blue,” Dragon began, his voice steady but laced with urgency. “The monarchy has been coordinating with several underground factions to smuggle drugs before framing the citizens. Their grip on the people tightens each day.”
He let his words hang for a moment, scanning the faces before him. Then his gaze landed on Sabo and (Name).
“That’s where you two come in.”
(Name) felt her stomach drop.
She had avoided missions tied to her homeland since joining the Revolutionaries. Returning wasn’t just dangerous, it was personal. The guards would recognize her. The streets still whispered stories of the rebel who left in disgrace. And the memories… those haunted her.
She was a coward. Running away after her parents had been framed for bringing drugs in the kingdom, leading to them being killed in front of her at their once happy home.
Dragon’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. “The monarchy stores sensitive records in a secure archive beneath the royal palace. Your mission is to infiltrate that archive, retrieve the evidence and return to base. This information could turn the tide in our favor.”
Sabo nodded confidently. “Understood.”
(Name) swallowed hard, voice steady but edged with hesitation. “With all due respect, why us? Wouldn’t operatives with no ties to the kingdom have a better chance of going unnoticed?"
Dragon’s eyes narrowed, unwavering. “You know the terrain better than anyone. Your knowledge of the palace, its guards, and secret passages makes you invaluable. And Sabo here is one of our best. Together, you are our best chance.”
(Name) opened her mouth to protest but stopped when Sabo’s curious eyes met hers. He didn’t know her full past—not yet—and she wasn’t ready to share.
“Understood,” she said quietly.
Dragon nodded and began outlining the logistics, but her mind was elsewhere, haunted by the halls concealing rot, by her parents’ faces etched into her memory, by the pain she’d left behind.
As the room emptied, the two were left inside. Sabo leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching her.
“You okay?” His voice was soft, concern threading through the usual easy charm. She pulled her cloak tighter around her, avoiding his gaze. “I’m fine. Just… dreading it.”
He tilted his head, as if trying to read her like an open book. “You hesitated back there. What’s really going on?” She forced a small, almost bitter smile. “It’s nothing. Let’s just focus on the mission.”
His eyes lingered on her, thoughtful and silent, before he nodded and fell into step beside her.
–––
The ship rocked gently as it neared the rocky shores of her homeland.
(Name) stood at the bow, fingers clutching the railing, her knuckles white. The castle loomed in the distance, a monument to tyranny.
Sabo approached quietly, his usual easygoing smile replaced by something softer. “You’ve been quiet.”
She glanced at him, then looked away, her voice low. “It’s hard to be anything else when you’re sailing back into hell.”
After a moment, he said softly, “There’s a phrase I heard once— something Lady Minerva said in her last issue: ‘Sometimes a single spark is enough to set a forest ablaze.’”
She stiffened, jaw tightening. “Lady Minerva isn’t here,” she said, her voice sharper than she meant it to be. “It’s not that simple. People don’t just rise up because someone utters a clever phrase.”
Sabo studied her, his gaze steady. “You sound like you know that better than most.”
She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stared at the shore, memories crashing like waves beneath her. “I’ve seen what happens when you try to spark a fire. Sometimes it burns the wrong things.”
The silence stretched between them, heavy with everything left unsaid.
–––
The small boat nudged the shore quietly under cover of dawn, the coastline of her kingdom emerging through morning mist. (Name) felt the cold bite of sea air mix with the old, familiar weight in her chest.
“We land here,” she said, pointing to a narrow, rocky cove far from the bustling port town. “Less patrols. We’ll move through the market first— that’s where we’ll find our best chances to talk to people without raising suspicion.”
Sabo nodded, scanning the quiet shoreline. “You sure about this? Seems like a dangerous place.”
She swallowed, voice steady but brittle. “It’s home.”
As they slipped into the town, the market buzzed with early activity. vendors called out, hawking fruit and textiles. Disguised as common merchants, they slipped through the bustling streets, heads low, cloaks pulled tight. The kingdom was as beautiful as it was deceiving.
Every glance from the guards sent a spike of tension through (Name).
At a stall, a weathered woman’s eyes flicked to (Name) a beat too long before she turned back, murmuring to her companion. (Name) caught the word Minerva and froze but the woman dismissed it quickly with a shake of her head, focusing on her products.
Passing through crowds, a few more eyes lingered on (Name), quick flashes of recognition in silent glances. She kept her hood low, heart hammering, forcing herself to stay composed.
At a dim tavern, they met a spy, a man with cautious eyes. “They’re paranoid,” he whispered. “Guards doubled since your so-called Lady Minerva started stirring trouble. The palace’s archives are tighter than ever.”
Sabo leaned forward. “Any weaknesses?”
The spy tapped a finger on the table. “Main entrance heavily guarded, but the western wing has old service tunnels, unused since the last rebellion. If you can get in there, you might find the documents.”
(Name) nodded, filing the info away, grateful for the brief flicker of hope amid her rising anxiety.
–––
At night, they reached the palace’s rear entrance. Sabo surveyed the guards’ patrol patterns, nodding silently.
Inside, shadows stretched long through the cavernous halls. (Name) led the way, guiding them through odd spaces she once used.
Sabo watched her with growing admiration.
“Over here,” he whispered, indicating a reinforced door.
(Name) knelt, pulling out an emergency pin. “They’ve upgraded since I last came,” she murmured.
Sabo’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Last time?” She stiffened but kept moving. “Not important. Focus.”
As the lock clicked open, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Sabo tensed. “We’ve got company.” (Name) grabbed a small smoke bomb from her pack, fingers trembling slightly. “I’ve got this.”
He placed a steady hand on hers. “Let me.”
The doors burst open, guards flooding in. (Name) darted through a hidden side door, Sabo close behind. She led them through forgotten corridors known only to a few.
They emerged near a servant’s exit, breath ragged but undetected.
Sabo glanced at her and grinned. “Not bad.”
(Name) allowed herself a fleeting smile yet her heart pounded loudly within. The mission was far from over.
–––
They navigated narrow corridors, (Name) leading the way with a familiarity born of years studying the palace’s secrets.
At a heavy iron door, Sabo readied his tools. “You sure this is it?” She nodded. “The archives.”
Inside, rows of shelves groaned under stacks of ledgers, maps, and scrolls. (Name) pulled out a small lantern while Sabo went to work opening locked cabinets.
Minutes passed, tension rising as they sifted through documents. Then she found files linking the monarchy to illicit drug deals and fabricated charges against innocent citizens, including her own family name.
Suddenly, footsteps approached. “We have to move.”
(Name) grabbed the papers, heart pounding.
“Split up,” she hissed. “I’ll draw them off.”
Sabo shook his head. “We stick together.”
She gripped on his arm. “No time. You get out with the files. I’ll find another way. I know this place better than you.”
Reluctantly, he nodded.
The dim torchlight flickered against damp stone as (Name) slipped silently through the narrow hidden passage beneath the palace. Every footstep echoed softly, but her heart thundered louder in her ears. This mission was too personal.
Ahead, the corridor branched. She paused, listening. Voices murmured faintly somewhere ahead. She signaled Sabo to take the left path, her usual instincts guiding her through the labyrinthine tunnels.
“I’ll circle around and meet you at the cove,” she whispered.
Sabo hesitated, worry reflected in his eyes. “Be careful.”
She gave him a curt nod and disappeared down the darker hall.
The cold stone walls closed in, the air growing stale. Then—
A sudden rough hand grabbed her arm.
“Going somewhere, rebel?” hissed a gruff voice.
The secret passages! She forgot. Of all the routes she could have forgotten. (Name) spun, trying to break free, but more guards emerged from the shadows, blocking the narrow exit. She kicked, twisted, fought but outnumbered and exhausted, her resistance waned.
“Got you,” one guard sneered, yanking her backward through her hair.
Her breath caught as they dragged her down a flight of steps leading to the castle’s dank dungeons. She struggled to scream, but the walls swallowed her voice. Darkness closed in, cold and suffocating.
–––
Meanwhile, Sabo emerged from the tunnels minutes later, the stolen documents clutched under one arm. His chest heaved as he raced through the silent corridors back toward the cove. The distant sound of waves crashing filled the night, mingling with an icy dread curling in his gut.
He reached the shore where the small Revolutionary ship was anchored, bobbing gently in the water, its crew waiting tensely on deck.
“Where is she?” Sabo demanded, voice sharp.
One revolutionary shook his head grimly. “You’re the first to arrive, Chief."
Panic surged like wildfire. “Impossible, she split off to avoid guards. She would’ve come straight here.”
Sabo scanned the shadows along the shoreline, eyes straining for any sign of movement.
“(Name)!” he called out again, louder this time, desperation bleeding through his tone.
Only silence answered him.
The crew exchanged uneasy glances. Some shifted nervously, glancing toward the dark forest where the palace lay looming like a beast.
Sabo’s hands clenched into fists, trembling. The weight of responsibility pressed down like iron chains. He had promised to watch her back and now she was gone.
⊱summary: A woman with a pen sharper than any sword allies herself with a revolutionary full of fire and hope. Secrets unravel and trust is tested as their worlds collide, but love grows in the quiet spaces between battles.
⊱warnings: ooc characters. profanities. punctuation and grammar errors. reader is referred to as (Name). FEMALE! reader.
⊱notes: reader is the same age as Sabo pre-timeskip (20). this felt kinda all over this place... but i did my best !
part 1 | part 2
Dearest Reader,
From the bustling ports to the mysterious sky islands, there is no tale too grand, no scandal too small for this author to tell. I trust my services shall become your most cherished source of news and gossip from every corner of our World.
In these harsh waters, where the tides of power shift with fate, it is the Navy and the pirates who often find themselves at the heart of all our stories. The Navy, paragons of justice (or so they would have us believe), seem to spend more time chasing shadows than capturing criminals. One might wonder if their neatly pressed uniforms and impressive titles are merely for show, as they often find themselves outwitted by the very pirates they seek to capture. After all, it takes more than a shiny badge to deal with true justice.
As for our dear pirates, those free-spirited rogues of the seas, a colorful bunch indeed. With their grand dreams and daring personalities, they roam the waters in search of treasure and adventure. Yet, one must question the wisdom of putting one’s trust in a crew whose loyalty often wavers with the promise of gold. It’s a wonder any of them can keep their ships afloat, let alone find the legendary One Piece.
But, dear reader, it is in this very chaos that true epics emerge. The tales of love, bravery, betrayal, and loyalty that define our world. As a humble observer, I shall bring these stories to light, unfolding the layers of secrets that cover the actions of both so-called protectors of justice and the marauders of the seas.
So, as we set sail on this voyage together, keep your eyes sharp and your wits about you. The waters are filled with danger and deception, but abundant with the promise of discovery. Rest assured, this author shall leave no stone unturned, no secret kept, in the pursuit of truth and enlightenment.
Until next time, my dear reader. For in a world where both navy and pirates play their parts, a well-informed mind is the best security against the contagion of folly and evil.
Yours Truly,
Lady Minerva.
———
Thus, was the first-ever issue published by the most popular writer in all of the Blue Sea: Lady Minerva. Despite the Navy’s best efforts; secret investigations, a bounty to this unknown author, and operations by Cipher Pol, no one has been able to uncover any personal information about her. Neither her name, her appearance, nor the location of her mysterious printing services has ever been discovered. The few who claim to have seen her are often dismissed as mere storytellers wanting attention.
Her writings have spared numerous emotions across the seas. In the halls of Navy headquarters, officers furrow their brows as they read over each issue, seething with anger at her bold critiques. There’s even a rumor circulating among the lower ranks that Lady Minerva might be a former Marine who knows the organization too well, a theory that adds to the growing paranoia.
In contrast, the pirates, adventurers who sail the seas in pursuit of their wildest dreams, regard Lady Minerva with a mix of amusement and indifference. On countless ships, her writings are read aloud during gatherings, her wit met with boisterous laughter. To these sea wanderers, Lady Minerva is a source of entertainment, especially her jabs to the Navy.
Yet, not all pirates are so dismissive. There are whispers that Lady Minerva might be more than just a writer; that she could be a pirate herself, using her vast knowledge of the seas to write her paper. Such rumors only add to her sparkle, turning her into a legend among ships.
Despite their varied reactions, there is one unifying thought: none of these pirates took her too seriously. To them, Lady Minerva is an observer, a voice to be enjoyed but not feared. After all, they are the masters of their own destinies, and no writer, however talented, could ever hope to capture the true essence of life on the seas.
As for the rest of the world, they are left in a turmoil, unsure whether to admire her audacity or condemn her impertinence. Nobles are particularly divided; some see her as someone dangerous who must be silenced, while others privately enjoy her biting humor. Common people, who rarely have a voice in this corrupt world, find a strange comfort in her writings, a sense that someone out there sees the world as it is and dares to speak the truth.
However, there is one group that holds a different view: the Revolutionary Army. Her sharp wit and fearless commentary align perfectly with their mission to expose the world’s injustices. In their hidden bases, they eagerly await each new issue, savoring her every word. Among them, the Chief of Staff, Sabo, is particularly obsessed with uncovering her true identity. For Sabo, Lady Minerva represents the voice of the people, a writer in the fight against the corrupt. Yet, deep down, there’s also a personal desire to meet the woman behind the words, to see if she is truly the passionate soul he imagines her to be.
–––
The Revolutionary Army's base was alive with chatter, a rare buzz of excitement coursing through the usually serious camp. Fresh copies of Lady Minerva's latest issue had just arrived, and groups of officers and recruits huddled together, engrossed in her writing of the Alabasta incident.
Koala leaned forward the table in front of her, her wide grin barely contained as she read aloud to (Name), who sat writing in her journal, parallel to Koala. “‘Crocodile, once hailed as a shining example of the Shichibukai’s supposed usefulness, revealed himself to be nothing more than a vulture feasting on the suffering of Alabasta’s people. But should we truly be surprised? The World Government, in its infinite wisdom, gave him the keys to the kingdom and turned a blind eye to his corruption, until it became inconvenient, of course.’” Koala laughed, shaking her head. “She’s not pulling any punches, is she?”
The lady glanced at her and gave a short laugh. “She does have a talent for stabbing with her words.”
Koala flipped to another page, eyes wide with excitement. “Oh, this part is even better! ‘The people of Alabasta were nearly plunged into civil war, not by pirates, but by a warlord the Government trusted to maintain order. Perhaps the true villain here isn’t Crocodile but the system that empowers men like him. How many more kingdoms must suffer before we acknowledge that the Shichibukai are nothing more than pirates dressed in borrowed authority?’
Sabo, who had been leaning against the wall nearby, arms crossed, looked up from his own copy of the paper. “She’s right,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “The Shichibukai system is just a way for the World Government to control the seas without getting their own hands dirty. Crocodile’s actions prove how easily it can backfire.”
(Name) tilted her head slightly, her fingers brushing against the edge of her seat. “It's powerful writing,” she said, her voice even. “But I wonder if Lady Minerva’s words will reach the people who need to hear them most.”
“They’ll reach someone,” Sabo replied, his expression serious. “Her words have a way of cutting through the lies. That’s what makes her so dangerous to the Government and so valuable to us.”
Koala grinned. “If she ever joined us, the World Government wouldn’t stand a chance. Don’t you think, Sabo?”
Sabo’s lips curved into a small smile, though his gaze remained distant. “If I ever got the chance to meet her, I’d tell her she’s doing something incredible. But I’d also tell her she can’t do it alone. The fight she’s picked… it’s bigger than just one person.”
(Name) kept her expression neutral, though her heart raced at his words. “Maybe that’s why she stays in the shadows,” she suggested lightly. “To ensure her voice isn’t silenced before it can make a difference.”
Koala laughed, breaking the tension. “You two are reading too much into it. Let her be the mystery she clearly wants to be. Not everything has to be solved, you know.”
As Koala moved on to another excerpt, (Name) let out a quiet breath, though her mind churned with unease. Writing about Crocodile and Alabasta had been a calculated risk, one she hoped would draw attention to the World Government’s failings.
But as she glanced at Sabo, who was now silently poring over the issue with a furrowed brow, she couldn’t ignore the growing weight of his curiosity. Each word she wrote seemed to pull him closer to the truth and closer to her carefully hidden secret.
–––
By the next morning, people went back to their usual rhythm, when Sabo found himself in his office, scanning over maps and reports. Koala sat on the small lounge in front of his desk, her arms crossed as she relayed Dragon’s latest orders. “We’ve received word of unrest in a kingdom near Alabasta. Apparently, Crocodile’s actions stirred up tensions even in neighboring territories. The people there are rising against the local noble who’s been exploiting them, and Dragon wants us to assess the situation and offer support.”
Sabo nodded, already calculating their approach. “Do we know if the Government is involved?”
“Not directly,” Koala replied. “But it’s only a matter of time before they send reinforcements to protect their interests.”
A knock was heard as (Name) stepped into the room just as Koala finished speaking, her calm demeanor contrasting with the urgency of the situation. “Koala called me, is it a new mission?” she asked, her voice steady.
Koala smiled knowingly. “You always volunteer for missions involving oppressed kingdoms. Dragon thought you’d be the perfect addition to the team. You and Sabo will go together.”
The girl nodded, concealing the flicker of tension she felt at the thought of spending time with Sabo. “Got it. When do we leave?”
Sabo glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “As soon as we gather supplies. This might take a while.”
–––
As they packed their supplies, (Name)’s thoughts churned. Working closely with Sabo always felt like walking a tightrope. His keen mind made him dangerous to her secret, but his idealism and kindness had a way of softening her defenses. She focused on securing the basics; maps, a discreet notebook for notes, and enough supplies to last her the journey.
Sabo, meanwhile, approached with his usual confidence. “Ready?” he asked, hoisting a bag over his shoulder.
“Always,” she replied, managing a small smile as they set off.
The first leg of their journey was quiet but not uncomfortable.
“You seem deep in thought,” Sabo remarked at one point, glancing over at her.
“Just thinking about what we might find,” she replied carefully. “These situations are always complicated. It’s hard to know where the truth lies.”
“True,” Sabo agreed. “But people’s suffering is usually a good indicator of where to start. Lady Minerva’s last piece really hit the mark on that. Crocodile wasn’t the only problem, he was a part of a much larger issue.”
She nodded, her heart beating a little faster at the mention of her pseudonym. “She does have a way of putting things into perspective.”
“She does,” Sabo said, a note of admiration in his voice. “I can’t help but wonder if she’s seen this kind of injustice firsthand. The way she writes… it feels personal.”
The girl quickly changed the subject, steering the conversation back to their mission. “Speaking of personal, we should focus on understanding why the people went into unrest. If the Revolutionary Army is going to get involved, we need to be sure we’re not walking into a trap.”
Sabo gave her a curious look but didn’t press further.
–––
When they reached the village, the tension was palpable. The people eyed them warily, their faces lined with exhaustion and distrust. Sabo stepped forward, his presence calm but commanding. “We’re here to help,” he said simply, his tone reassuring.
An older man hesitated before speaking. “Help how? You don’t look like you’re with the Government, but we’ve had strangers make empty promises before.”
“We’re not with the Government,” the writer interjected, her voice firm but gentle. “We’ve seen what’s happening here, and we want your voices heard. But first, we need to understand the full picture.”
Slowly, the villagers began to open up, sharing stories of excessive taxes, land seizures, and brutal enforcers sent by their so-called king. Sabo listened intently, his jaw tightening with each account. Beside him, (Name) gripped her pen tightly as she wrote in her notebook.
Later that night, as they camped just outside the village, Sabo and (Name) sat by the fire, the weight of the villagers’ stories hanging between them.
“This is why we fight,” Sabo said, breaking the silence. “Not just against the Government, but against every system that allows this kind of suffering to continue.”
She nodded, staring into the flames. “It’s overwhelming sometimes. Knowing how much there is to fix, how many people are counting on us.”
Sabo glanced at her, his gaze soft. “That’s why it’s important to focus on what we can achieve. Even one village, one family; we’re making a difference.”
Her heart ached at his sincerity, the duality of her life suddenly feeling heavier. “You’re right,” she murmured, though her voice carried a hint of weariness.
As the fire crackled between them, Sabo leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “You remind me of her sometimes, you know.”
She tensed. “Her?”
“Lady Minerva,” he clarified, his voice contemplative. “You both have this quiet strength, this determination to uncover the truth. It’s… inspiring.”
She laughed softly, masking her panic with humor. “I think you’re reading too much into it. I’m just doing my part.”
“Maybe,” Sabo replied, his lips curving into a faint smile. “But I have a feeling there’s more to you than meets the eye.”
With a sweat, she changed the subject, but the conversation lingered in her mind long after Sabo had fallen asleep. His words were both a compliment and a warning; a reminder that the truth she was hiding was inching closer to discovery. And as much as she trusted Sabo, the stakes were far too high to let her secret slip now.
You raise an eyebrow. "Really? You’re saying you’d succeed where Orpheus failed? A challenge even Hades himself admits he would've failed to do?” With a smug smile he replies, "Absolutely. I trust you more than he trusted Eurydice."
You burst out laughing at the sudden serious tone, but he's already taking the challenge to heart.
The two of you set up the rules: he will walk ahead, and you’ll follow silently, just like Orpheus and Eurydice. At first, he seemed confident, each step without falter, calling back to you playfully. "Don’t worry! I’ve got this!"
But as the silence stretches on, his steps slow. You could see his shoulders tense slightly as they fight the temptation to turn around.
"You’re still there, right?" He called out, trying to sound casual. "I don’t know, am I?" you reply teasingly.
He laughs nervously but don’t turn around. For a moment, it seems like he might actually pull it off. Then you notice it, the slightest tilt of his head, the quick dart of his eyes to the side, catching your reflection in a shop window.
You grin.
"You looked!"
"No, I didn’t!"
"Yes, you did. I saw that sneaky little glance!"
He stops walking, spinning around fully now, their expression a mix of guilt and amusement. "Okay, maybe I peeked. But only to make sure you weren’t plotting something."
"Like what?" you say, smirking. "I don’t know! Running off to join Hades…maybe..."
After a few more attempts (and even more laughter), he finally admits defeat. "Fine, maybe I’m no better than Orpheus.”
"Actually, I think you’re a little better," you say, stepping closer. "Oh yeah? Why’s that?"
"Because when you turned around, it wasn’t because you doubted me. It was because you cared. You love me!"
He lets out a soft chuckle, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Leave it to you to make my failure sound poetic."
"Hey, we just watched Hadestown. I’m inspired."
As you continue walking, side by side this time, he claims to try again someday. But for now, he's content holding your hand and making sure you’re always in sight.
Majd Al-Habeel @youseffamily has known little of life without suffering. After losing his home to IOF bombardment, he and his parents were forced to live in a tent. This wreaked havoc on Majd’s health, as he is diagnosed with a serious respiratory illness that limits his ability to breathe. Living in a tent leaves one exposed to dust, dirt, debris, vermin, mold, fungus, and harsh weather—the worst possible environment for a child with his condition.
His family requires mutual aid to provide for Majd’s life-saving care, as well as to procure food, water, medications, other supplies, and clothing and gear for winter. They are a little over two-thirds of the way to their current listed goal, with still a long way to go. Please help this family out and give sweet Majd a better chance at life.
Thank you❤️
Majd’s family’s campaign was reblogged by 90-ghost and is supported by @khanger
*Introduction:*
Hello everyone,
I'm Youssef Al-Habeel. Prior to the conflict, … Yousef Alhabeel needs your support for Save the life of
His family’s campaign is moving very slowly. He needs frequent medical treatment, which is unfortunately very expensive. His parents cannot work due to the invasion, they have no way to pay for Majd’s treatment. Your support is literally helping keep this little boy alive.
Please help Majd by supporting his family’s campaign, and boost posts from @youseffamily to increase visibility and stay updated!!
I stand on the rubble of our home, but my heart is filled with hope. I need your help to leave Gaza and complete my education to build my future. Every donation, no matter how small, will help me achieve my dream. Join us on a journey of rebuilding
GoFundMe link: https://gofund.me/463cbf01
Thank you for your support. Every bit of your kindness means so much to me 💔
My campaign has been vetted by:
1-@beesandwatermelon here #190 link here
2- @gazavetters
Shared by :
1- @a-shade-of-blue here
2- @dlxxv-vetted-donations here
Help Mahmoud Jehad and his family to leave Gaza to study and … Renee Hassert needs your support for Help Mahmoud and his family escape Gaza
I would extend my deepest gratitude and thanks for being supporters of people who are in dire and bad need due to the shortage of all living necessities. 😥😥😥
My family has been undergoing all forms of humiliation and oppression for almost ten months . Being jobless, my father is suffering much because lots of our basic living necessities can't be attained. 😢😢😢
Living circumstances are getting harder and harder, and this makes our daily life tragic and disastrous. Getting the basic needs has become our biggest challenges, leaving behind our dreams and aspiration. Our daily sufferings have become too great for us to bear. ,😥😥😥
A photo taken for the same girl before the war and nowadays.🤯🤯🤯
A photo of our beautiful house taken after the invasion of our neighborhood. Much destruction and rubbel have taken place. Nothing has been left for us to live in. Our belongings and possessions were completely destroyed😥😥😥
The life inside the tents under the hot weather is another tragedy. Such a life of sufferings and hardships is adding to our pain and sorrow. But with your support and standing by us, you have been lessening our loads lifted on our shoulders. So please keep helping us by donating whatever you can, sharing as much as you can and reposting messages to help get the campaign promoted.
From Flour to Rubble: Ismail's Journey of Resilience
Ismail, a baker from Gaza, on… Valeria V needs your support for Please Help Ismail
I'm Ismail Almughanni an entrepreneur from devastated Gaza trying his best to rebuild his Bakery 🍞🥐🥖
On a quiet morning, the aroma of freshly baked bread filled the street, signaling the start of a new day at your small bakery, a place you took immense pride in. For years, this bakery had been a haven where people from all around would gather to enjoy the warm, delicious pastries and bread that you carefully crafted. It was a symbol of hard work, a beacon of hope, and a destination for anyone seeking a taste of comfort amidst life's challenges.
But one day, in the blink of an eye, everything changed. The sounds of bombing began to shake the city, and it wasn’t long before the fires of war reached your neighborhood. There was no warning, no chance to escape or save what you could. Shells rained down on the district that housed your beloved bakery. You watched helplessly from a distance, unable to do anything.
Minutes passed like hours. When the noise finally subsided, and the thick smoke that blocked out the sun began to clear, you looked towards your cherished place. It was destroyed.
The walls that once protected you and brought you closer to your customers had collapsed, and the oven where you had kindled the flames of hope had turned to ash. Everything was shattered, broken, as if that place had never been a sanctuary of peace and comfort.
But the destruction wasn’t just physical. The pain in your heart was far greater than any material loss, a place filled with beautiful memories now reduced to rubble. The moments when you saw smiles on people’s faces as they savored your bread, the laughter that echoed through the bakery—those were now just memories, dissolving in the ashes of devastation.
As days went by, you tried to piece together the fragments, not just of the bakery but of yourself as well. You knew rebuilding wouldn’t be easy, and the wounds left by the war wouldn’t heal quickly. But you also knew that the hope you had infused into your bread would remain alive in your heart, even if the tables and chairs were destroyed, even if the bakery itself was gone.
The bakery may have been destroyed by war, but its spirit lives on in you, in everyone who tasted your bread, and in everyone who walked into that small place and found a slice of happiness.
From Flour to Rubble: Ismail's Journey of Resilience
Ismail, a baker from Gaza, on… Valeria V needs your support for Please Help Ismail
