A Mark On Your Forehead Identifies The God You Must Worship To Stay Alive, Usually By Joining Its Local

i feel like. bakugou didn't have any siblings and has always been a rough-houser, so by the time he's comfortable in his relationship with you, he's SO ANNOYING.

he comes back from his early morning run to find you still in bed and he just lays his entire body weight on you. he'll put you in a headlock for NO REASON. does the thing in the kitchen with a damp dish towel and it hurts omg, he's really good at it. like aiming for your ass EVERY TIME. i love that hc about him being too wound up if he doesn't expend enough energy at work, and you're trying to lay down and go to sleep and he's yanking the blankets off you or scooching too close or trying to poke and prod at you, so you lean over and WHACK HIM ONCE and it's like over for you. it's 10pm and he's ready to wrestle.

(Absolutely don’t do this if you aren’t comfortable) ENA (Dream bbq) getting drunk with reader?

•☽────✧˖°˖ FIZZY VALLEY ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation of Headcannons Featuring Drunk Salesperson Ena X Reader

★ Character(s): Salesperson Ena (Ena: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): Mentions And Descriptions Of Alcohol

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ You should’ve known something was off when Ena invited you to what she called “a high-stakes engagement strategy brainstorm over beverages.” You were picturing coffee. Not tequila. Not her slamming two shot glasses on the bar and declaring, “Let’s reframe the concept of reality, darling.” She drinks like it’s a performance review—firm eye contact, exaggerated praise, and PowerPoint levels of misplaced confidence.

☆ Once Ena’s a few drinks in, her Salesperson side becomes so aggressively charming it’s like being smothered in coupon codes. “If you subscribe to this partnership now, I’ll offer you unlimited emotional support and complimentary hand-holding,” she hums, voice like cherry soda and half-suppressed giggles. You try to hide your flustered expression. She sees it. She logs it as “high conversion potential.”

☆ Her Meanie side doesn’t come out often at first—until she tries to order fries, but the kitchen’s closed. Suddenly she’s slamming her forehead on the bar, sobbing, “I AM THE TRAGIC EMBODIMENT OF CORPORATE WASTE—WHERE’S MY SALTED PRODUCTIVITY?!” You offer her a peanut. She throws the bowl at a breathing taxidermy moose.

☆ “Here’s your performance feedback,” she slurs, twirling a swizzle stick like a laser pointer, “You’re hot. You show initiative. You opened a door for me once. I will die for you.” You tell her that’s not how feedback works. She pulls out a clipboard from her suspenders and tries to make you sign a form titled “Love Contract (Beta).”

☆ She draws gimmicks on napkins. Terrible ones. Drunk ideas like “emotionally sentient office chairs” and “a pyramid scheme where everyone sells little hats.” You try to say “maybe we shouldn’t do this.” She claps a hand on your back like a frat bro and shouts, “WRONG ATTITUDE, PARTNER. THINK BIGGER.” Then she draws a diagram that’s just the word “VIBES” in a circle.

☆ She stares at you for a full minute, eyes glassy, voice flat: “Are you in the mood for shared assets and mutual annihilation, or should I put on my mask again and pretend not to like you?” You blink. She blinks. Her red side winks. You are either about to get kissed or yelled at. Or both. Probably both.

☆ The bar has one of those ancient karaoke machines. She picks a glitchy jazz remix of the Windows 95 startup sound. Halfway through she forgets the words (there are no words) and starts yelling improvised business jargon in rhythm. “Synergize my dividends, baby! Let’s OUTSOURCE THE PAIN!” Someone in the back cheers. You cry.

☆ Her Salesperson side leans over the counter, cheeks flushed, voice soft and too sincere: “Do you think people like me more when I smile? I’ve been smiling all night. It hurts now. But I—I want to be liked. I want you to like me. For me. Even if I mess up the pitch.” And her Meanie side chimes in: “GØD, I hate being real.”

☆ You’re not sure what triggered it—maybe someone said “quarterly”—but suddenly she’s sobbing into your shoulder like a malfunctioning LinkedIn ad. “I DIDN’T ASK TO BE A PRODUCT OF CAPITALISM! I just wanted to sell fruit. Or stickers! Or happiness! But now I’m selling ME!” You rub her back. She hiccups and asks if you’d still like her if she was “just a weird triangle girl with debt.”

☆ The bar’s quiet now. Her hat’s fallen off. You’re holding her upright and she’s murmuring nonsense like, “Let’s invest in each other’s feelings… diversify the pain into smaller dividends… I’ll build a company out of your laugh…” Then, barely audible: “You’re my best client. Don’t ever unsubscribe.” You smile. You don’t say anything. You just let her rest.

Ahem katsuki taking care of you when your sick? 🫣

I’m so sick lately I need something to devour rn to survive (you don’t have to tho dw bb)

DUMBASS FLU PATROL

A/N: i’m SO SO SO SORRY this and all the other requests are taking so long but i’ve been running out of ideas and school took a lot of time from me. This prompt was just so fun to write ‘cause I can perfect picture bakugo taking care of reader..in his own way..I’ve been sick to after hanging out for halloween night, we all need a bakugo to take care of us🦇

It starts with Bakugo noticing something off about you during class.

He wouldn’t say anything right away, but he’s sharp enough to pick up on small changes. You’re quieter than usual, your eyes look a little glazed, and you keep rubbing your temples.

At first, he thinks you’re just tired from all the late-night study sessions you two have been pulling together, but when you keep sniffling and coughing under your breath, he starts to get annoyed.

Not at you—no, he’s irritated because you’re clearly sick and trying to tough it out, which to him is just stupid.

As class goes on, he watches you like a hawk out of the corner of his eye.

You’re shivering slightly, even though the room isn’t cold. Finally, during a brief break, he leans over, his usual scowl firmly in place as he mutters,

“Oi, what the hell’s wrong with you? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

You give him a tired smile, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine, Bakugo. Just a little under the weather.”

“Bullshit,” he snaps, barely lowering his voice. A couple of classmates look over, but Bakugo doesn’t care.

“You’re sick, dumbass. Why didn’t you stay in bed?”

You shrug, trying to play it off like it’s no big deal. “Didn’t want to fall behind.”

Bakugo grits his teeth, muttering curses under his breath.

The fact that you’d drag yourself to class, even when you’re clearly unwell, pisses him off more than he’d like to admit.

Part of him is frustrated that you’re so stubborn, but another part—the part he doesn’t like to acknowledge—feels a strange pang of concern.

After class, he’s practically glued to your side, his eyes narrowed and jaw clenched as he escorts you out of the room. You insist you’re fine, that you just need some rest, but Bakugo’s having none of it.

“Shut up,” he growls when you try to brush him off. “You’re goin’ back to your room, and you’re not leavin’ until you’re better. Got it?”

You try to argue, but Bakugo’s glare is unyielding. His hand finds the small of your back, firm but surprisingly gentle as he steers you down the hall. He’s not usually one for soft gestures, but something about seeing you weak and vulnerable sets off an instinct he can’t ignore.

Once he gets you to your dorm room, he practically shoves you inside, crossing his arms as he stands in the doorway, blocking any chance of escape.

“Get in bed,” he orders, his voice rough but laced with an unmistakable note of concern.

You sigh, knowing better than to argue with him at this point.

You climb into bed, pulling the covers over yourself as he watches, his eyes sharp and critical, like he’s assessing just how sick you are.

After a moment, he grumbles, “You got medicine in here?”

You nod weakly, gesturing toward your desk where you have a small stash of over-the-counter meds.

Bakugo grabs them, inspecting each bottle with a furrowed brow, clearly reading the labels with more intensity than necessary.

He pours out the recommended dosage and hands it to you along with a glass of water, his expression a mixture of irritation and reluctant care.

“Take it” he says, watching closely as you down the pills. You can’t help but chuckle softly at his intensity, which only makes him scowl harder.

“Quit laughing, idiot. You’re the one who’s sick,” he mutters, almost to himself.

Bakugo doesn’t leave after that.

Instead, he grabs a chair from your desk, dragging it over to sit beside your bed, his arms crossed as he watches you. You raise an eyebrow, surprised by his persistence.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” you murmur, your voice a little hoarse.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Like I’m gonna leave you here to get worse just ‘cause you’re stubborn as hell. Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t do somethin’ stupid.”

There’s a warmth in his tone, buried under layers of gruffness, but it’s there.

The corners of his mouth twitch, almost like he’s considering a smile, but he quickly forces his expression back into a scowl.

You settle under the blankets, feeling a strange sense of comfort in his presence.

For the next few hours, Bakugo stays put, occasionally checking your temperature with the back of his hand (grumbling something about “damn germs” every time he does it) and making sure you’re drinking enough water. At one point, he disappears for a few minutes and comes back with a bowl of soup he somehow got from the cafeteria.

It’s barely warm by the time he returns, but the gesture makes your chest feel warm.

“Eat” he commands, holding the bowl out to you.

You take it, giving him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Bakugo.”

He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, whatever. Just don’t get used to it.”

As the day goes on, you start to drift in and out of sleep, your fever making you drowsy. Each time you wake, Bakugo is still there, watching over you with a mixture of irritation and quiet worry. At one point, you feel his hand gently brush your forehead, checking for any sign of improvement.

The touch is warm—maybe a bit too warm, given his quirk—and you find it oddly soothing.

Just as you’re dozing off again, you hear him mutter under his breath, “Stupid… makin’ me worry like this…”

It’s barely audible, but it makes your heart flutter.

You feel yourself drifting back into sleep, a faint smile on your lips as you listen to him grumble, his voice softening in a way you rarely hear.

When you wake up again, it’s late, the room bathed in the dim glow of your bedside lamp. Bakugo’s still there, now slouched in the chair, looking half-asleep himself. He’s fighting to stay awake, his arms crossed, head nodding forward slightly.

You feel a pang of guilt, realizing he’s been with you all day. “You should go rest..” you whisper, not wanting him to feel obligated to stay.

He snaps awake, scowling. “I’m fine. You’re the one who looks like crap.”

You can’t help but smile, too tired to argue with him. Instead, you simply reach out, your fingers brushing his arm. He stiffens for a moment, surprised by the contact, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Thank you… really,” you murmur, your voice soft.

He looks at you, and for a second, his expression softens, his usual harshness fading just slightly. He lets out a small sigh, leaning forward to gently press his hand against your forehead again, feeling your temperature one last time.

“Tch. You’re still warm,” he mutters, but there’s a tenderness in his tone that he can’t quite hide. Not with you.

You close your eyes, feeling yourself drift back into sleep, his presence comforting and grounding.

Just before you drift off completely, you feel his hand linger on your forehead, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. It’s such a small, unexpected gesture, but it speaks volumes—his way of showing he cares without saying a word.

As you fall asleep, you can just barely hear him mumbling under his breath, his tone low and almost affectionate.

“You better get better soon, idiot. Can’t have you fallin’ apart on me.”

Thatch is the drama queen we all secretly need/are

Also Izou is so soft ❤️❤️❤️ I’m so looking forward to Tasuke settling into the crew omggg

Snow Fall, Part 2 (Alpha!Izou x Omega!Reader)

18+ MDNI | on Ao3

The first chapter

***SPOILERS FOR WANO***

Thanks for being patient, I got kinda stuck but I'm back into the groove of this fic. Thank you to @gouraminnow for beta-ing this <3

“ Commander Izou, my h-home is to the right,” you stated with uncertainty as Izou carried you in his arms to your residence. You were wearing flimsy cloth shoes that were unsuitable for the winter climate on the island. By the rips on the sides and wear on the soles, you’d been wearing them a long time. Izou had determined he needed to carry you to the next destination to avoid having you freeze to death. Yet another reason Izou wasn’t upset by the destruction his brothers were wreaking on your employer. 

Izou also told you to pack up whatever you needed and that you'd be coming with him to the ship. He told you that he was taking you away from your adopted family and you hadn’t protested. You weren’t looking at him directly as he’d informed you but staring off into the distance. You’d protested initially but he had left no room for argument. He could scent your fear and felt your trembling fingers wrapping themselves around his neck as he carried you through the snowy town. He’d have more time to explain later that you’d be safe, that nothing bad was going to happen to you ever again. But for now he wanted to put as much space as he could between you and the horrible people to dare call themselves your family. 

“B-but Commander, you don’t need to hold me, I can -” you’d been trying to get him to put you down since he’d first swept you off your feet; he'd plucked you off the ground you’d even made contact with the snowy sidewalk.

“Carrying you pleases me,” Izou said simply. Given your reserved nature as well as the strict social hierarchy you were raised with, he knew you’d defer to him.  It was a dance he hadn’t done in a long time, playing along with the social cues and mores of Wanese culture but in this case it worked to his advantage. If he tried to explain that you were under dressed for the weather or that he felt the need to feel your meager weight in his arms, you’d protest further to prevent inconveniencing him. Truthfully, it did please him to carry you, to have your scent so close to his own, to feel the reassurance of you in his arms. He’d carry you forever if you let him. 

“Ah, this is it,” you indicated, pointing to a large, solid brick house with smoke coming out the chimney. At least they’d given you a proper place to live, he thought to himself. As Izou stepped on the cleared path to the house, you shook your head. 

“N-no, sorry. The house behind this one,” you said quietly, pointing to a shack set back in the snowy woods.

Of course.

Izou noted the rickety shack and the rags covering the windows - either to keep in heat or to keep prying eyes out. Swiftly walking towards the hut, he opened the door and set you down inside.

“Gather your things,” Izou said softly, putting his hand on the small of your back to encourage you. The inside of the single room hut was as dismal as Izou imagined it would be. There were gaps in the thin wood walls, letting in the harsh winter air. Your tiny bed was crammed into the corner, leaving enough room for a table and a broken chair. There was a small chest, he assumed for your clothes and other necessities. There was a tiny stove, barely large enough to boil a kettle of water. Your home, if it could be called that, was tidy and clean. You'd tried to brighten the space with pictures and dried flowers but it hadn't helped the dismal feeling inside the shack.

“I apologize for the state of my house, Commander. If I had known someone like you would be joining -” you were already bowing to him again, your hands stiff at your side balled into fists. Izou bent down to put his hands on your shoulders and righted you to an upright position.

“Do not apologize. Collect your things,” Izou ordered in a gentle tone. You frowned but nodded and walked over to the small bookshelf on the wall. You grabbed an old, battered tome, wrapping it like you were swaddling a baby in one of the few blankets on your bed. Holding it to your chest, you put it in a basket and saw Izou watching you.

“Ah, the cookbook my father gave me before I left Wano,” you said in answer to Izou’s unasked question. You’d mentioned leaving Wano a few times but Izou hadn’t heard of many people leaving the country in recent years. He’d have to get the full story out of you on the Moby. Moving towards you, he noted a picture of himself tacked onto the wall.  It was from his most recent Wanted Poster (an attractive photo, if he did say so himself). You had cut off the bottom portion with his bounty and wanted status so it looked more like a photograph of a friend - or lover. You followed Izou’s eyes towards the picture and hung your head.

“This is embarrassing. Please do not take offense, Commander,” you begged while looking down at your feet. Izou laughed softly into the sleeve of his winter yukata. 

“What man would take offense at a beautiful woman having his picture on the wall? Please, continue to gather your things. I would like to take you away from here. This building offends me,” Izou said. You were spurred into action from his words. You gathered a few clothing items and a lacquer hair comb, likely also from Wano based on the style. 

“I am finished, Commander. I await your next instruction,” you replied seriously, like you were one of the men under his command. He’d have to get you to relax eventually, to accept help and seek it out from him. The Alpha in him wanted to grab you and take you back to his rooms, to show you he could protect you. But Izou knew you were traumatized and nervous, unsure what to do with yourself while you navigated the relationship between them. He’d give you the time and space you needed to recover before making any large moves. Well, larger than taking you to the Moby Dick and away from the island you called home.

“That is all? Do you have more winter clothes? You are not returning to this residence,” Izou stated, nearing you once more. You shook your head and took a step back, making him scowl at your learned muscle memory. Maybe he should return to the shop and teach your family some lessons in proper manners towards women.

“You will come to no harm under my hand, either from myself or any other,” Izou said softly, cornering you against the wall. You cowered away from him, increasing his anger towards those who had harmed you. Without warning he picked you up again, making you squeak in surprise. The scent of fear was strong in the air, souring your perfect snowy smell. Izou detected the scent of his own anger joining your fear, a potent but unpleasant combination.

“I apolog -”

“Do not apologize to me. None of this is your fault,” Izou said, cutting you off. He wished he had met you in Wano, perhaps before you’d become so averse to any kind of conflict.

“Where are you taking me, Commander -”

“ Izou. Just Izou,” he corrected. If he was going to be your Alpha, you needed to get used to calling him by his first name without any honorifics. He didn’t want to force you to be his mate but he was going to do everything in his power to make it so.

“I-izou, where are we going? To another island? Are you taking me back to Wano?” you asked, your hands kneading together as your legs dangled over his arm. Izou frowned at your question. You were agreeable to leaving the island to get away from the people who had been abusing you but he wasn’t so sure how happy you’d be sailing the seas with pirates, especially ones as notorious as the Whitebeard Pirates.

“Would you like to go back to Wano?” Izou couldn’t take you but Kiku was likely still there. Perhaps he could find a way…you paused, considering his question in silence before speaking in a tone so soft he almost couldn’t hear.

“No, there’s nothing for me there. I - my - there’s no one there I don't think,” you said softly. You didn’t say anything further and neither did he as he felt your warm breath on his neck. Afterwards the only sound was Izou’s boots crunching on the icy path as he continued to walk towards the ship. He didn’t want to pry, it was your story to tell, but he was burning to hear how you’d escaped Wano. 

“You’ll come with me on the Moby Dick, Whitebeard’s ship. We will figure out next steps from there,” Izou stated less as a suggestion and more a demand. You looked up at him through your lashes and gave a short nod of your head. That was all it took for Izou to leave the hovel you’d been calling home, reminding himself to have Ace torch the family home later.

“Should I - is my debt transferring to you?” you asked, your hands gripping his clothes as he walked through the wintry terrain. The closer you were to him, the sharper your snowy scent in his nose. He pulled you closer to his chest to smell you further but resisted from burying his head in your uncovered neck. 

“Yes, you’ve mentioned this debt. To what does it refer? Your…adopted family mentioned it briefly,” Izou asked, as if he was completely unconcerned. 

“Ah, it’s kind of a long story,” you hedged nervously, avoiding his gaze. Izou smelled smoke coming from the other side of the island.

“Is there anyone you’d like to say goodbye to -” Izou began to say before you interrupted him for the first time. He assumed you didn’t want to see your abusers again but perhaps there was someone on the island who had shown you kindness.

“No,” you replied without hesitation. Good, they could wreck and raid the island. Made things easier for Ace to remember. With Ace on his mind, Izou smelled smoke and saw the plume rising from town so Izou decided to take the path away from the center of town on his way to the Marina. He didn’t think it would bother you to see the bakery burning to the ground but he didn’t want to distress you any further. To distract you from the destruction he tried a new avenue of conversation.

“And you are Tasuke, yes? Or is there another name you’d prefer to be called? ’ he continued. He wanted to make sure you felt as comfortable as possible with him. He had heard of other Wanese people taking more “common” names after they defected because their given names were difficult for most people to pronounce.

“Oh, Tasuke isn’t actually my name. It kind of ties into how I came here. About ten years ago, Father - ah, my adopted father - came with the Marines to Wano to trade resources with Kaido -”

“How? The borders are closed and Wano isn’t under the jurisdiction of the World Government, Marines can’t trade there,” Izou asked quietly. He didn’t want to interrupt the flow of your story but he hadn’t heard of Marines on Wano. Not that he’d heard anything out of Wano in 20 years but it was interesting information to know.

“ Ah, my parents owned property along the seashore. Seastone was discovered along the cliffs of their property and Marines paid Kaido for the rights to mine it out,” you explained. Ah, that was the connection. Seastone was known to only come from Wano and given that it was being used by Marines across the Grand Line it made sense they were trading with Kaido. Izou idly wondered how much money Kaido had amassed from seastone mining.

“They spent their life savings to bribe a Captain - Father - to smuggle me out of Wano. I was much younger at the time but still hadn’t presented as anything. Well, I was supposed to be an Omega but my scent never developed. They thought I would have a better life outside of the country, or maybe could find a doctor to tell me what’s wrong with me,” you continued. Izou wasn’t going to interrupt your story again but he wanted to tell you that there wasn’t anything wrong with you, that you were the most perfect Omega he’d ever met. 

“The Captain brought me out of Wano and brought me here, saying that the amount of danger he had risked increased the cost of my trip. He said that the amount of money my parents paid was not sufficient and that I would need to work for him to pay off my debt. So I cleaned his house, tended to his bakery, cooked for his family, did the family’s laundry, anything they needed. He said that my wages were going towards my debt but the amount I owed only ever seemed to increase. They would charge me for anything that I needed, any time I took off for being sick, any food I consumed, anything,” you continued. No wonder you were wearing shoddy clothing, Izou thought, you were paying for it in sweat and blood.

 “So after a few years on the island, I realized Father had no intention of letting me go. And Wido, my brother…well, you saw. He’s always like that - or, um, worse. I kept asking for people to help me - tasukete. I wanted to, ah, leave those people, maybe escape the island and go back to Wano. I didn’t have any concrete plans, I just wanted to leave here,” you said, rubbing your arms where the bruises lingered. Izou fought the urge to scowl at the memory of Wido harming you but settled on holding you tighter in his arms. You needed comfort from him, not aggression. He wanted to show you that he wasn’t a mindless alpha like some, ready to tear off your clothes and sink into you. He wanted you to see that he would wait until you were ready.

“After a while everyone assumed Tasuke was my name and that’s what they called me. I don’t mind anymore,” you said with a small smile as your story concluded. Izou reflected your own mannerism back to you though he felt like murdering everyone on this godforsaken island and leaving nothing standing. Unfortunately he’d have to trust in his brothers to wreak havoc on the island and not partake in this particular adventure.

“ And your parents?” Izou prompted. 

“I haven’t heard anything from them in ten years so I don't know anything for certain. Father’s missions changed and he stopped going to Wano shortly after I came to the island. I can only hope they are alive and well, though they were quite elderly when I left,” you said wistfully, staring at the water he was now approaching by the docks. Izou knew that longing, twisting, yearning. He felt the same for his own sister who he hadn’t been in communication with for decades, since he'd left with Oden. He had written hundreds of letters and saved them all with the intention of somehow getting them to her eventually. His brothers, though sympathetic, didn’t understand what it was like to be completely and irrevocably cut off from home. He wanted to continue the conversation but was now at the dinghy that would take you to the massive ship moored father into the icy ocean.

“Hey! What gives?!” Thatch complained from inside the boat. There was some soot on his winter coat and gloves but Izou didn’t mention it.

“What do you mean?” Izou replied coolly, still cradling you in his arms.

“You’ve never carried me before. Not even when I broke my leg! You made me walk to the beach and Marco had to come get me!” Thatch huffed. 

“.....and?” 

“AND you’ve been carrying her this whole way! S’not fair,” Thatch pouted, crossing his arms like a petulant child. Thatch broke into a soft smile when he saw the confusion on your face, looking between them rapidly while trying to determine if there was true anger between him and Thatch. Izou guessed you spent the last decade walking on eggshells, attempting to maintain peace between your “family” members and avoid being beaten as a consequence.

“S’alright. Come on, let’s head back before we’re barbecued,” Thatch said, grabbing the oars to the boat. Izou stepped into the dinghy, still holding you and your meager belongings. He settled you into his lap as Thatch shot him a dirty look you couldn’t see and began rowing the three of you back to the Moby. Izou rolled his eyes and pursed his lips, his brothers liked to claim he was dramatic but really, Thatch was the biggest drama queen on the ship. You were busy burying your head and hands into Izou’s chest to avoid the freezing winter winds blowing off the seas. Thatch eyed you sympathetically and grabbed the warm winter hat off his own head.

“Ask her if she wants it,” Thatch suggested, holding the gaudy orange hat outstretched in his hand. Izou didn't wear winter hats, they mussed his hair and he didn't often feel cold. But now he wished he did so he could give you his own.

“My brother Thatch is offering you his hat to keep you warm. You may remember him from the bakery. Would you like it?” Izou asked you softly, patting your hair while he spoke. You picked your head up and looked at it longingly.

“How much does it cost? If I just wear it once?” you asked, biting your lip. 

“Nothing. Your debt has been paid off. For good,” Izou said, his voice a little tighter than he intended. Your eyes flicked to his, trying to read his face to determine if he was lying or not. Izou kept his face impassive to let you make your own choices. You turned to face Thatch in the boat and did a bow as large as your limited positioning allowed.

“Thank you,” you said simply, reaching for the hat with shaking fingers. You sniffed the hat as politely as you could and must have found it not repulsive because you put it on your head. Izou was pleased you were warm but was a little annoyed you weren’t wearing anything with his scent on it. He would make some Wanese winter clothes for you like he did for himself once you settled in on the ship. Izou decided to give you some general ideas of who the siblings you had met were.

“Thatch is in charge of the Culinary Division of the crew, Ace - the dark haired young man who ate the most in the bakery - is in charge of Navigation. Marco - the tall blond - is the doctor of the ship and in charge of the Medical Division,” Izou explained. Thatch waved when he heard his name, he probably assumed that Izou was doing introductions. You gave a smile and waved back.

“Nice to meet you,” you said in your beautifully accented voice. Clearly you had learned some Common but your family had likely prevented you from learning enough to make an escape. Language barriers were an easy way to keep you on the island in perpetuity. 

“I would be overjoyed to work in the kitchens if Thatch would have me. I am best at baking but I am also competent at food preparation and stocking, dishes, cleaning, and knowledgeable in cooking most types of standard fare. I would be thrilled to learn anything that is needed to -” Izou took your cold hands in his own, partially to warm them and partially to stop your speech.

“ It would be our pleasure to learn from your expertise in the kitchens. But let me make something clear before we proceed - you do not need to earn your keep. You have no debt to settle and no need to prove your worth. You are free.”

Taglist: @mfreedomstuff @animefreak818

Writing a natsume fic that is so goofy and silly

people who use dog as a metaphor for love or loyalty or hunger or desperation or violence or devotion, I am kissing you on the mouth with tongue

I love when platonic love and romantic love is so blurred that it doesn’t even matter anymore. All that matters is the devotion that’s there, the unwavering devotion

What am i doing here i dont even work at this mcdonalds