#I'm sorry it took so long to finish it!

[blueepink07]

Hello!! I'm always amazed by the sybolism and connections you find -- I was wondering about your thoughts on your favorite/most interesting of the birthday cake art!

THANK YOU, I'm really glad that you like these analyses!!

I know that I have been posting a lot of Muu lately, but her birthday art is my favourite! It's simple and elegant and looks different from the other cakes, which makes it more interesting!

Before starting, I will separate this in sections so it can be easier to read!

1. Cake

2. Accesories and dress

3. Flowers

(mentions of murder, suicide and death)

Cake

Muu's cake is called Galette des Rois, a dessert originated from France and rich in traditions!

"This dish is eaten to celebrate Epiphany which is the day that the newborn baby Jesus was believed to have been visited by the three kings or Wise Men or Magi."

"Inside the cake, a fève or a miniscule trinket is usually hidden. Fève translates into ‘fava bean’ which was originally believed to be hidden in these cakes. Nowadays, a porcelain or plastic figurine representing baby Jesus is often put inside the Galette des Rois instead, a shift believed to have occurred towards the end of the 19th century. The person who gets the slice containing the fève gets a crown as well as the right to be treated as king or queen and choose their queen or king for the entire day."

Based on this description, we can see the similarities between this cake and Muu's Queen bee portrayal in the second MV. Her being shown doing what she pleases, finding comfort in her friend group.

However, before proceeding, it's necesseraly to give a brief history of this tradition and how it evolved over time...

"We traced this tradition of picking up kings back to Antiquity. In those ancient times, during the festivities consecrated to Saturn. Romans used to pick up king between their slaves. During one day this slave would have the luck to live like a master. Luck? Well.. after the day, in the best case he was returning to a state of slave, or he was just put to death. The roles were inverted to thwart the evil days of Saturn."

Awfully familiar, isn't it? The galette des rois it's a good representation of the dynamic in Muu's friend group. Because of how easily she was betrayed, it makes me think that the group was already formed or they knew eachother for a while. Despite that the old tradition tells that a poor person was chosen to be the king, which seems contradicting, because of Muu's financial state, if she were in the vulnerabile position of being new and not having friends, than she could be considered "poor" in terms of relationships. The friend group integrated Muu and started admiring her for the expensive things she had and for her beauty. For a short while, Muu felt like a queen, because of the attention she got at the expense of giving items to her friends. (In an older post I explained that Muu has the love language of giving objects to the persons she cares about!) Based of the phone messages, we find out that she has given an expensive lipstick to one of her friends, followed by Sayu who is expressing her wishes to try it too.

However, once Rei damaged Muu's reputation, the admiration and the "care" these girls expressed meant nothing in the end, followed by Muu's almost killing herself to be freed from the pain.

Basically, if we take in consideration the Galette des Rois tradition, Muu has been given the slice with the fève. She got the crown and have been treated like a queen for a short period of time by her friend group. Once the day was over (when Rei damaged her reputation), this privilege has been taken away from her. She had become nothing but a slave for these girls to make fun of, followed by Muu almost dying to escape from the pain. The same thing that happened to the people who were chosen as kings for a day in the past: being killed.

Gallete des Rois is usually eaten during Epiphany, a celebration that commemorates the visit of the Three Kings or the Three Magis to see the baby Jesus after he was born.

What I want to point out are the gifts that there were given to celebrate his birth, which are foreshadowing his life story.

1. "The gold represents Jesus’ kingship.

2. The frankincense represents Jesus’ deity.

3. Commonly used to embalm bodies, the gift of myrrh foreshadows Jesus’ death."

For Muu:

1. Muu being trated like a queen for a short period of time

2. Muu's great financial status

3. Muu being betrayed by her closest friends and almost dying because of them

Quite similar and interesting at the same time! The fact that the birthday art was foreshadowing Muu's second MV...

Accesories and dress

-> Earrings

Not a lot of symbolism, but more me describing what they represent!

The earrings look a lot like the hourglass from her MVs!

She also has a teardrop coloured in green (the colour of the honey in her MV) representing her pain and sorrow during that period of time, and how with every passing moment she felt more and more suffocated in this horrible "friend" group. For this birthday art however, Muu is crying out of joy, so let's hope that the honey teardrop represents more her happiness during her birthday!

-> Dress

This was written in my latest post...! I didn't change much, since my thoughts about it are the same!

Muu's dress looks similar with Belle's dress from the "Beauty and the beast."

I think it's interesting how the story (not the Disney version) is originated from France. No matter what version you take, Belle saved the beast by reciprocating his feelings and seeing past his appearance, Belle's presence awakening his good inner self.

Somehow, I think it fits with Muu's and Haruka's relationship, in a way. Haruka thinks of Muu as his benefactor, the one who helped him become more confident and cheerful. Although Haruka considers himself as being "useless", Muu saw past this, and found a friend that she can rely on in a weird place like Milgram. She takes care of him bringing him food, prasing him and giving attention, basically, showing kindness.

"Haruka: Muu-san praises me. The useless me… She praises me, acknowledges me, looks at me, and she needs me. My current self only exists thanks to Muu-san."

Her presence and her kindness is one of the factors that contributed in making Haruka feel more confident, changing him. Haruka and the beast are both characters who weren't used to being treated with compassion... And so, the appearance of Muu, respectively, Belle ultimately saved them, based on their perspective and situation.

Also, "Belle" means beautiful in French and Muu is canonically described as gorgeous!

Flowers

The flowers have been found by @oehale on twitter!

->Rosa Rugosa

"Rosa rugosa is a strong symbol of Love and adoration.

Rosa rugosa is associated with the Greek goddess of beauty and love in ancient mythology, Aphrodite. Goddess Aphrodite is often portrayed as having a rose crown on her head."

This flower can represent the friend group's feelings of adoration and awe towards Muu, before the incident that changed their perspective on her.

In the second MV, Muu is in the center of attention, every eye is on her and every worker bee is waiting for her comand. Adoration and loyalty is depicted as the honey which is given to her by the others. This substance is sweet, alluring, like love, a sentiment which can become addicting, until you can't live without it. The fact that the honey is more green than yellow, can symbolise the superficiality of the "love" and "adoration" that the friend group has given to Muu. The second MV illustrates how Muu escaped from this intoxicating addiction of eating this honey (towards the end she is eating less and less, until she literally escapes from the honey, without consuming it), flying away from the hourglass, the place where she once felt safe and happy, which now is just an empty, broken space.

Rosa rugosa, in the language of flowers, means sad and beautiful. Sorrow and pain are sentiments that Muu felt during the time she was bullied. Sadness was a daily thing at one point, the girl wishing that tomorrow will not come, so she would not experince it again. Beauty it's one of the aspects that made her to be so adored by her peers, and also one of the factors that, due to jealousy, made her a target of bullying.

Moreover, the presence of the teardrops on her earrings, and the way she is drawn, as a queen, elegant and pretty, further illustrates this symbolism.

-> Penstemon

"These flowers are also known by the name beardtongue. This one is supposed to mean gentle courage or risks of the heart."

Penstemon is a representation of Muu's sorrow and pain and how she escaped from it. Being pushed to the point were she felt trapped in an awful situation, where she couldn't ask for help, her pleads being ignored, she managed to escape my eliminating the source of her problems. A risk of heart done in a moment of disperation, in which, once again, her feelings were not listened or taken into consideration, which ended up with Rei's death.

Courage for finding a solution to her problems, in a place where she only had herself as a friend, and avoiding, in the end, to succumb to those inner feelings which were pushing her to wish of her own dissapearence.

"Penstemon provides great strength, courage, and perseverance during challenging life circumstances. If you are feeling sorry for yourself, you may benefit from taking this flower essence. Those who have been through unusually hard circumstances may feel more ease and grace after taking Penstemon. Those circumstances could include the loss of something special, which causes a soul to lose faith and feel pity or intense despair. Penstemon brings about more courageous energy for that soul, rebuilding it with feelings of trust and hope."

After murdering Rei, she finally felt relief, hoping that things will turn to better and be as it was before. She is feeling sorry for herself and what she has experienced, in the first VD, being unsure of her actions that lead her to this point...

"It looks like each flower is sticking a bearded tongue out of its mouth, which is why we also call them “beardtongues.”

This distinctive aspect of this flower can symbolise Muu's pleads and cries which ended up being ignored by her peers and adults... She tried to alert people of her pain, but it seems like, no one has cared enough to help her to escape from this circumstance...

Thank you for reading! ~ 🎂

[gotchibam]

Espeon, Dusk Lycanroc, and Sylveon ko-fi doodle for Kaitlyn!

I'm accepting pokemon ko-fi doodle requests here! ✨

[calciumdreams]

hey hey can you draw uhm.

can you draw kross? killer x cross :D?

it's themmm

[breadmecoshy]

Oumota comic, Part 2

Headcanon - Kaito has nicotine withdrawal during the events of Danganronpa V3 (among other things, what happens to him there). Just a cute little comic

Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/breadmecoshy/736606178824650752/oumota-comic-part-1?source=share

Plot Twist - After finishing the main game (which we all want to believe was a simulation), Tsumugi became so attached to the guys at V3 that she talked Danganronpa's company into launching a spin-off in romcom format in which she would try to bring together the couples most popular with viewers

joke (or maybe not)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

ORV is about enduring the horrors in real time.

(for @everyonesfavoritebastard)

[monstermonger]

Aaa... it's been a while since I talked about The Messenger.... this funny little comic I was working on...

For those curious, I'll have something written up tomorrow about what's up and my finalized plans for it :") I hope you'll like the direction I take.

[kyouka-supremacy]

I think we should just bring back Wungo Wednesday and start a fandom collective anime rewatch

[acetier]

will you be drawing any more of torin and varre? no rush at all, but i am lowkey obsessed with them now 👀

ask and you shall receive, anon :^)

[yeyinde]

IN DREAMS | Price x GN!Reader

Sweet dreams. Warm knuckles. The ghost of your lips pressing against his crown.  He never tells you he doesn't sleep enough, but somehow you just know.

》 WARNINGS: 18+ – MATURE, SMUT | GN!Reader: no use of pronouns, gendered language or anatomy; very soft smut; soft John Price; established couple; gratuitous fluff (does this count as fluff????)

》 WORD COUNT: 4,6K

》 NOTES: Since there were no gender specifications, I kept everything as vague as possible for the descriptions of MC so this could (hopefully!) be easily read as Gen Neutral Reader, Fem Reader, Male Reader, or whatever you prefer. I did my best to exercise as much of the angst out of this as possible but still found myself having to slap my fingers from typing out legions of hurt. This is my BEST attempt at fluff. Sorry.

This is wholly dedicated to this anon!!! I hope you feel better! 🖤 

Waking, he finds, is often easier than falling asleep. 

It's a quick descent into cognisance, the dream he had—long forgotten, never remembered—fading into smoke in the back of his head. The popcorned wall of his ceiling takes its place. A water stain in the corner—coffee brown. A crack above his head. The hairline fracture is just a small river of black that cuts through off-white. 

Falling asleep takes ages, aeons. Lying on his pillow for hours without feeling the talons of sleep dip into his temple. 

Silence is consuming. Crushing. It makes the threads of his thoughts echo in the recess of his mind, bouncing off the walls until they bruise. It leaves its mark in the shape of burning eyes, restlessness. 

Cureless insomnia. 

It's easier with someone else. You. 

Price isn't a man who needs much outside of a stiff drink or a rich cigar. Cures to an age-old conundrum in the form of vice—vices because Price was never a man who could just stop at one—but nothing batters the errant thoughts into quiet disinterest quite like you sleeping beside him. 

The noises you make are loud enough to drown out the ghosts in his head. Soft snores, the rustle of sheets. Your arm draped over his broad chest keeps him locked to the mattress, forced to forego his usual nighttime ritual of rising after trying—and failing—to fall asleep after a few hours. You stop him when he'd normally pour himself another drink, light a cigar on the deck, and watch the ethereal gloom of midnight swell over this little part of Liverpool he calls home. 

Keep him in check.

Though, sometimes, it doesn't work, and he lays awake all night staring at the damned ceiling while you curl up against his side, chasing lavender in your bare palm (a recurring dream, you tell him, and he tries to remember when he last slept long enough to truly have one. He comes up short each time.)

He rises before you, always. Doesn't have the heart to tell you he doesn't sleep. That he stares at the ageing canvass of the ceiling, mind stuck in an endless loop of inanities that are not worth losing sleep but still rake across his mind with a viciousness he knows won't go away until morning, when he wakes in a daze. A fog. 

So, when you ask him how it was, running rheum from your eyes, he lies and says it was okay. 

But he slept last night. Knows it because he dreamed. 

Falling lavender. Knuckles warm, soft against his temple. A voice—susurrus, low; the sibilant echo of sweet dreams whispered against his ear.

Sweet dreams.

Sleep, as an insomniac, is always a double-edged sword. No matter how many hours he spends chasing REM, that fickle mistress, she always evades him in the end. Dancing just out of reach. 

He wakes up feeling worse each time. Over-exhaustion. The paradoxical conundrum of being too tired to sleep. 

He feels the same clutch of evanescent slumber tangles through his lashes, making his lids too heavy to open, but it's dulled. Lessened. 

Price forces himself to keep his eyes open, staring at the blurry ceiling above. He wakes to this sight every morning. A familiar ritual. Three blinks. He watches the ceiling gradually grow clearer. 

His hand threads across the sheets, and where he expects to find the warmth of your skin, he instead meets empty space. The sheets are already leaking the heat you left behind. 

Price blinks, lashing clinging together from the sleep crystallising along the crease of his eyes. He has a headache needling behind his brow, a tension building from lack of sleep, and—

His tired eyes slide from the empty bed to the half-smoked cigar sitting in the ashtray. The empty glass of scotch beside it. 

He's found a cure for woes in the form of a stiff drink—scotch, neat; and a side of spring water—and a perfectly rolled cigar. Vices, of course: the kind that rots his insides, and stains his teeth. 

Cirrhosis. Emphysema. All the ugly little warnings on the back of a tobacco box. 

But it numbs the ache in his bones, and the ghosts in his head, so he considers it an equivalent exchange. 

(Just one that takes more than its fair share when he doesn't oblige by the rules.)

There is a respite from the steadily growing throb behind his left eye when he grinds the heel of his palm into his eyelids. A brief moment of fleeting pleasure. It rears when he pulls his hand away, letting them fall to the sheets. 

Today feels a little off-kilter. 

Without you grumbling about sleeping in beside him, peacefully chasing after lavender, and the same dream clotting behind his eyelids, he feels distinctly out of place. 

His hand slides over to your spot, fingers curling around the cooling sheets. The blankets are tucked in around him. 

Sweet dreams. Warm knuckles. The ghost of your lips pressing against his crown. 

He never tells you he doesn't sleep enough, but somehow you just know. 

You're not hard to find. He can hear the rattle of the old pipes as you shower; the hiss of the water hitting the title. 

Lured in like a beacon, a siren's call, he follows the breadcrumbs that lead him to you. 

Your silhouette is a dark line against the old curtain he keeps meaning to replace, but even the shadow of you seems to dampen the maligned feeling curling in his gut. 

A sight, he thinks, for sore, tired eyes. 

He rasps on the doorframe, announcing his presence. You scare easily, he finds, and he'd rather not get a bottle of your shampoo tossed at his head for the trouble. 

The curtain peels back. You greet him through the cracks, blinking owlishly through the rivulets running down your forehead. 

"Room for one more?"

A wide grin stretches across your face as you nod eagerly before disappearing behind the curtain once more. The spray of the shower swallows the echo of your laughter. 

"Thought you were gonna sleep all day, old man," you call, loud and exaggerated. He watches your arms lift over your head, fingers threading over your scalp. 

You think you're funny. Charming. 

(He does, too—he'll never admit it, of course, but he laughs the hardest when it's just you and him; when the world around you fades into the background, and all he can hear is your effervescent giggles over the words you uttered, the jokes that always come after the punchline. The ones that fall flat, that miss. 

It's funnier, you say. When it isn't supposed to be, you know?)

You wander through life with ease in your gait, a sense of peace in your mien like the world and everything in it is your best friend. Comfortable in your own skin, content with your lot in life. Happy, he thinks, just to be included. To be a part of it. 

Happy to have him in it. 

"Might have," he mutters, affection blooming in the gnarled remains of his heart. 

You bring a sense of chaos to his life that feels like watching a nasty storm brew in the distance from the sanctity of his window. Laughter that sounds like a whip of lightning striking the pavement, close enough to smell the ozone, to have his neck prickle with danger, but far enough to feel safe. A voice that echoes like a thunderclap. Pelting hail. A torrential rainfall. A gale. 

(All his life he was told to run from storms, but you make him want to chase the calamity brewing in the distance; to feel the hazard against his skin.)

"But I couldn't sleep without you snorin' in my ear."

"I do not—!" 

Your words of indignation taper off into a yelp when he pulls the curtain back fully, letting the chill of the mid-spring morning drift over your slick skin. Goosebumps ripple across your trembling flesh—no longer a tantalising tease behind plastic (ohh, you cooed when you first saw the simple navy and blue striped curtain. Very predictable, cap; very you) but bared to his eager, hungry eyes. 

He takes a moment to appreciate the sight that greets him, a low rumble spreading through his chest. "Well, don't you look cosy?"

"It's my day off," you whine, shivering when he draws out getting into the water behind you. "Let me pamper myself a little bit." 

"Don't you get pampered enough?"

"Do I?" 

His hands settle on your waist, nose bushing against the wet space between your ear. When he breathes in, the familiar scent of you floods his lungs. Warm milk. Honey sweet. A touch of loam, something bitter. The acrid tang of your sweat still clinging to your hairline. It reminds him of sex. Of your dewy skin when he has you pressed into the mattress, head burrowed into his neck, he fucks into the tight clutch of your willing body. 

He stirs. Want smouldering low and heavy in his belly. You feel it when he presses tight against your back, but there's no rush. He feels no urgency to seek release. To get off. He just—

Wants. 

Always, really. There is this distant buzz of desire that sits low in his belly whenever you're around. A constant simmer. 

Wanting you, he finds, is the same as craving a draw of nicotine behind his teeth. 

"Always," he rasps, nose running down the length of your neck. The warm spray of the shower rouses him from the last tendrils of sleep, clearing the congealed rheum around his lash line. "You always get pampered, love." 

When you hum, he feels it reverberate through his chest. "You're slacking today then, John."

His hands slide from their perch against your hips, your quivering stomach. Soft skin, slick from the water, flutters under his touch. He dips his hand down to cup your sex in the palm of his hand, feeling the heat of you bleed into his skin. 

"How do you want to be pampered then, love?" 

You lean back against his chest, tucking yourself into the fold of his body where you fit like a mismatched puzzle piece, bent and cut until it slides in. The gaps between your bodies are filled with the steam that curls off the hot water pulsing down around you. 

"Just—fuck, John—," you gasp when his thumb rubs soft circles over your sensitive skin, arching into his embrace. "Just—ah, just this—"

"Want me to wash you?" He presses his hips into the plush softness of your ass cheeks. "Or want me to get you off?" 

His question makes you mewl, thighs spreading to fit more of his hand between them. "A–anything—both—"

"Greedy little thing, aren't you?" 

"Fuck, John—"

Your petulant whine disintegrates into a soft hum when he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you tighter to his chest. His chin settles on the plinth of your shoulder, watching his fingers trail over your sateen flesh. 

He's content to just feel you. The keen in your naked chest when his thumb brushes over a spot that makes you melt. The harsh pants; soft, languid little noises slipping through your wet lips—uh, uh, uh—interwoven with the hymn of his name. The shudders that wrack through your body when he presses the fat length of him against the plush seat of your ass. Your hips cant, rocking into his hold, as you greedily seek your release. 

Your fingers curl around his thick wrist, thumb and forefinger barely able to lock in the middle, and it's the sight of you wholly in his grasp that ignites a childish sense of glee in his chest. 

He's never been a particularly possessive man. 

The transient lifestyle he led, the one he'd been primed for since he was young, and everyone around him just expected that he'd follow in his father's, his grandfather's footsteps, doesn't allow such luxury. 

And he'd never been the type of man to take it. To want it, to pursue it. He was content with the ephemeral romance that came and went, a flickering flame that bloomed bright before eventually burning out. It was easier. 

Lonelier, too. 

You had been unexpected—a squall. 

Your presence has ripped through his life like a violent tornado, leaving everything turned upside down in your wake. 

You left him wanting. 

It always seemed silly to run toward the thing that could kill you, but when you grinned at him—the recession of water before a tsunami hit—he finally understood why some people chase danger their whole lives. 

He thought he'd have to adjust, to make room for you when there is no more space left. 

But storms don't squeeze to fit. 

They rip through. 

He supposes, then, that there's no need to worry about making room when there are no walls left standing. 

"Give you whatever you want, love," the words are a broken snarl in his throat, bleeding with the tangled remnants of his filthy desire; an aching sense of possession, and hunger. "Anythin' you want. Anythin'. Jus'—"

The empty bed flashes behind his eyes. Your side, now cold to the touch; the heat already fading out from the sheets. Whispered promises in the sleep-stained curl of his hair. 

"Jus' stay—," the mangled plea is a faulty firecracker in his throat. 

His arms tighten around you. Possession, he finds, is a silly thing. Ownership. Covetousness. All of it means substantially little to him when the only home he'd ever known is a duffle bag packed full of clothes he'd never wear. 

And then he comes home to you. The space is saturated with your scent. Little markings around the flat that remind him of your presence. That scream out into the desolate stagnancy of a place that was always covered in a fine sheet of dust, and cobwebs, that you were here. Are here. 

The fridge is stocked. The cupboards are full. 

His bed slept in. Calendar marked with dates that mean something to you—meetings, negotiations, birthdays of people who matter in your life. 

Scented candles run out the stench of disuse. 

The days when your worlds don't overlap, and he comes home to an empty flat in a city he thinks he loves, he's never felt emptier. 

It's harder to sleep those nights, too. 

The whisper of an empty bed haunts him, echoes isolation and loneliness each time he reaches out and can't feel the warmth of your skin. 

"Greedy," you mock, words a breathy mewl that are quickly swallowed by the hiss of the shower. Your fingers tighten around his wrist, clinging to him as he works you through the gentle waves of pleasure, slowly letting you drift toward the precipice of your release. 

It's when the other reaches up behind you to thread through his damp locks, nails scratching across his temple, that he finds himself a little lost under the swell of you. Swept away by your breakneck pace. 

Possession, he thinks, and finds himself drawn to the way your fingers curl around him. How you hold him tight, keeping him locked against you as you take. Syphon your pleasure from the feel of him against your skin. 

Hard, wanting, he barely thinks of himself when he grinds his pelvis into your ass, cock slipping between the globes of your cheeks. Too enraptured by the way you fit in the palm of his hand (in his head, his bed, his house, his life—) to worry about anything else. 

"Tha's it," he slurs the word into your neck, the scratch of his beard catching the droplets that run down the smooth column of your throat. "Jus' like that, love."

You writhe against his hand, strangled noises slipping from between the parted seam of your mouth. It's when his name falls, bitten in half when you snap your teeth together, lips curled, does he realise he's not even kissed you yet. 

His hand slides to cup your jaw, craning your neck until your chin rests on your shoulder. He meets you with a kiss, and can't stop the groan that rumbles out when he feels the weight of your lips on his. 

"You're extra touchy today," you breathe into his open mouth, words curling around his teeth. He tastes you when he swallows, and it soothes the burn in his joints; the ones that ache for nicotine. "What's got you in such a mood?"

"A mood?" He volleys, thumb rubbing the skin of your cheekbone, keeping you locked against him. He isn't ready to forfeit the taste of you, the feel of your lips moulding against his. "What kind'a mood do you think I'm in?"

"You're—," you gasp so prettily when he touches you in tandem with his peppered kisses; back arching in a way that makes him throb. "—clingy," you pant, breath warm and sweet when it ghosts over his tongue. "Needy."

You have this way of pulling truths out of him. Like you know how to crack his skull open, and rifle around inside until you find what you're looking for. A remarkable ability to galvanise his whims into words. 

Price doesn't even try to bite them back when they slip out, syphoned into the air from your pull. A black hole. A vacuum. You consume. 

(And he lets you.)

"Wakin' up," he starts, words trailing off when you buck, clumsily, into his palm. 

He devours you, then, swallowing down each moan and grunt you make as he brings you close to the edge, desperately wanting to see you fall. Break apart in his hold. 

"Tha's it, love." He murmurs, trailing open-mouthed kisses across the smooth column of your throat. His matted beard grazes your sensitive skin until you shiver, whimpering from the coarseness of it juxtaposed to the soft kisses, and teases of his teeth in small nips he plants over your slick flesh. "Come on—wanna see you cum for me." 

It doesn't take much to bring you to the brink. Years of learning your body, of decoding the little places and tricks that make you howl for him, have given him the insight into how to work you to completion. He uses them all, a softer, muted descent up that wobbling precipice, and knows when your toes are dipping over the edge when your nails bite into his skin, and your hips buck into his palm. 

You're a pretty little thing when your eyes snap shut, mouth dropping open as you dive down the vertiginous slope and into the maddening clutch of nirvana. 

His pretty little thing. 

He cups you in the palm of his hand, a fluttering little bird beating against his lifeline, and wonders if he can entice you to crawl back in bed with him, nestled tight under the covers while he spends the whole day worshipping every inch of precious flesh.

Might be able to, he thinks, when you go lax in his hold, chest shuddering with the shocks of pleasure the tips of his fingers bring. 

"God, John—" you whine when he keeps it up, 

 stroking your sensitive, throbbing flesh until your knees threaten to give in. "Stop—I can't—"

You could. He knows your body by now. Knows he could get you off again and again until you were a weeping mess tangled in sex-soaked sheets, begging him for reprieve. He nudges against your mettle each time, rapacious to see how far he can push you until you're overstimulated, and barely conscious. 

Greedy. Always. 

His hunger for you is never satiated. No matter how many times he buries himself inside of you, it's never enough. A ceaseless wanting deep in his gnarled chest to have, to consume. Something in the polluted pit of what was once the heart of a man who didn't think he'd succumb to greed, to gluttony, now wants to devour you whole. Ingurgitate you into his marrow, into the rotted remains of his still-beating heart where you'll stay, safe and sound, forever. 

His fingers itch, even now, to delve deep into your being. And so, he does. 

Tries to, really. But there's a surprising dearth of strength hidden in your body, and he lets you go without a sound when you push against his wandering, hungry hands. 

You twist in his hold, knees buckling as you try to slide down for him, but he stops you. 

"No, love," he rasps, the words ungluing reluctantly from his throat. "Later. Jus' wanna take care'a you for a moment, mm?"

His arm winds around your waist, pulling you taut against him. His cock is trapped between your bodies, leaking prespend over your quivering stomach. Price thinks he could get off like this. Staring at you like this—eyes lidded, cresting in the aftershocks of your bliss; gazing up at him through heated skin, warmed from the molten spray of the shower pelting across your body; lips blistered and bruised from his kisses, and the abrasive scrape of his beard over your flesh—he doesn't think it'll take much to get him there, but he finds he likes the delay a little more than usual today.

Likes the lazy way you lean into him, fingers threading through the damp, matted hair on his chest before sliding your palms down to where he aches. His cock juts up between your soft belly, and trembling thighs—fleshed vermillion, and swollen. Your fingers dance across his weeping slit, catching the thick pre-spend gathering there. The feel of your flesh on him—hot, and softened from the water—sends tendrils of pleasure coiling through his loins. 

He won't last. Not when you rest your chin against his sternum, staring up at him as you languidly work your hand over the head of his cock. Eyes heavy, drunk with the slow ebb of your bliss. 

You paint a pretty picture. One he finds he could stare at all day—every day—if you'd let him. 

Mauldin spools in his eyes. He knows this by the way your hands spasm around him, eyes catching the frisson that flickers across his face, mirrored in your liquid gaze. 

"What were you saying earlier?" You murmur, pressing a kiss to his slick chest. "Waking up—?"

You're teasing him, of course. The impish twitch to your lips gives you away. 

"Wakin' up alone—," he grumbles, hips canting into your grip. "Guess it made me miss you some." 

The impact of the words on you is breathtaking. The sudden bashful dip of your chin, the flutter of your lashes as you drink in his words—it's a sight that tucks away in the fibrils of his heart, kept safe for later when he's all alone in his bed, or off in some corner of the world with bullets raining down on him. 

(You don't have to worry much about bullets, you always quip, the barb in your voice, the teasing nonchalance, dulled by the quiver in your joints. You've fallen out of a helicopter more than you've been shot at.

He's never felt more drawn to you than when you're struggling through the fear gnarling in your eyes to joke about the many ways he'll die just to bring him some iota of comfort.)

His release bubbles quicker than he'd expected, aided when you press a soft, gentle kiss to his thundering heart. A wild storm on the horizon, one that leaves no wall left standing. You break him into pieces without even so much as a murmur. 

Price falls apart in your hands, and he thinks, then, about the promise in his dream. 

I'll catch them all for you, he'd said when you pointed to the whirling lavender petals falling down around you, eyes light with wonder. All of them. Jus' promise me you'll stay—

Your knuckles against his temple. The sun dawning in the curve of your smile. You breathe and he tastes wildflowers on his tongue. 

Stay? You echo, teeth flashing. But—

"I'd never leave you, John." 

He shudders in your grasp, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you close, slanting his mouth over yours in a clumsy, searing kiss. 

Your name is drenched in benediction when he spills himself all over you, words a hushed gospel over the altar of your tongue. 

You pull away from him, eyes gazing toward the field of yellow sprawled around the hazel boscage. 

When he looks up, he finds thunderclouds on the horizon. A looming storm. 

"It's gonna rain," you murmur. 

He rumbles. "Doesn't it always?"

"Only when you're around." 

He catches a petal in his palm. That shape of it reminds him of the curve of your smile. He tucks it in his breast pocket for safekeeping.

"Best keep me around for a while, then, mm, love?"

The sound of your laughter is swallowed by the crack of lightning.

In life, he finds there is nothing better than a cigar, and a finger of scotch after a round of sex. 

(Or anything, really.)

He sparks the lightener, holding it to the end, and takes quick puffs from the stem. The sound of burning paper crackles as it burns in the flames. 

Price stands on the balcony, eyes aimlessly drifting across the docks. The water is grey, nearly black; shaded by the approaching storm in the distance. A dark cloud on the gunmetal horizon. He tastes ozone in the air; the electric buzz of a gathering lightning strike. 

The morning leaves him feeling off-kilter. The dream—dreaming, even—and the empty bed still sits in the pit of his guts. Uncomfortable, disquieted. 

He's anxious, he notes, fingers trembling around the fat stem of his cigar. Each draw does little to quell it. Nicotine and scotch on little sleep and an empty stomach do nothing to calm his ruffled nerves. A state he hadn't fallen into since he watched Laswell grow smaller and smaller on the horizon. 

He nearly smoked three cigars back to back before Gaz snatched his lighter. 

("Don't think this is helping you much, cap.")

It does. Did. 

But—

Your arms snake through the brackets of his elbows, curling around his waist. He's too tall for you to notch your chin on his shoulder, and so you settle for leaning over, and peaking out around the bulk of his broad back. 

"Lovely morning for it," you murmur. 

He catches your eye, teeth sinking into the stem of the cigar to hold it steady as his hands drop to your forearms. He catches the derision in your gaze. The pointed look you send him, sarcasm dropping from your eyes when they swing, pointedly, between the clock on the wall—barely noon hour—to the cigar in his mouth, and the glass of scotch on the patio table. Wordless disapproval of his mid-morning choices. His vices. 

It makes his lip twitch up, pulling back from his teeth. It's hard to talk around the delicately balanced cigar clenched between his incisors, but years of practice lead him well. 

"Ain't it jus'?"

He likes it when you're close to him. 

Needy, you'd said. Clingy. 

He feels it, too. There's a desperation inside of him, a clawing sense of affection woven with the threads of anxiousness, and it makes him unsettled when you're too far away from his greedy hands. 

His fingers latch around your arms. 

"You should stop smoking so much," you say in that tone he knows well—the one that, despite the subdued words murmured in a soft breath, actually means: stupid old man, you better listen or so help me God—

The same tone his mother had perfected when he was younger. Equal parts hedging, cautious, but firm enough to feel the blooming heat behind them. A caustic warning. One that, translated, means: there won't be another one. 

No more chances when you speak to him like that. None. 

And he gets it. 

He's on the wrong side of forty, and you're tired of the ashes on the sheets, the cigar burns punched through the mattress you just bought (at a steal, you'd said, gleeful and bright, and—fuck). 

So, he says, "sure, love."

(And really, giving up that extra cigar a day seems easy when you smile at him like that.)

You say nothing when he holds you a little bit tighter to his body, keeping you close; but he catches the soft sigh when he relaxes in your arms, and the tension bleeds from his shoulders.

You make a soft noise when he stubs the cigar in the ashtray, and then turns to you, eyes heavy.

Thunder cracks in the distance. The heavens split in two sending a deluge down that rips across the grey docks. Liverpool smells of ozone and wet pennies in the downpour.

Price pulls you in to his chest, hands heavy on your skin. Firm, rough. He's never been a gentle man, but you make him want to try. To be tender. Soft. Whatever you need, and more. Anything, he thinks. Anything.

You echo the call, and place your warm palm on his cheek, lids cresting in that sleepy desire that never fails to make his heart race.

He likes the way you make yourself fit against him - an imperfect puzzle piece - and draws you close when you lean up on the balls of your feet, eager to meet him in the middle. It's a searing kiss, the kind that instantly warms him against the sweeping winds howling through the wet streets below.

Nirvana in whispers. A soft tongue tracing the seam of his lips. He imagines this is the closest to peace a man like him will ever get, and it makes him hold on to you just a shade tigher. A bit more desperate. Unwilling - unable - to let go.

Thunder booms in the aether above, and echoes through his hollow bones. He feels the pulse of it thudding in his throat when it strikes again, and scents the livewire tang of a lightning strike when it cracks across the grey sky in a blinking, evanescent flash that makes you jump a little when it hits.

Price huffs into the kiss when you tremble in his arms, and holds you closer in the bracket of his chest.

"Jus' a storm, love," he whispers, the words a rough rasp pulled from his throat. "It'll pass."

"I know," you murmur, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt when another strikes scorches the pavement.

"Maybe I should distract you, mm?" He peppers kisses across your face, brows drawing together. "Could go for a nap after."

It makes you hum, a soft, honeyed coo. ", Take me to bed, John."

"Gladly, love."

He's never felt more at peace than in the middle of a terrible storm.

(But that should be a given considering they always seem to remind him of you.)

[ywpd-translations]

Ride 758: The senpai's few words

Pag 2

1: Aoyagi-san!!

Pag 3

1: Wha- what happened, Danchiku, you stopped so suddenly

2: Why is he here, in Kyushu!?

What is it, what is it

4: He's probably the person I'd want to see the most right now!!

5: What is it, is there someone in the audience area?

Someone you know? You look so surprised

I wouldn't be so surprised even if someone was there

Pag 4

2: He-hello!! You... you came to... cheer us on!?

3: It's been a while, Danchiku

4: Yes.... yes!!

Thank you so much for coming so far to see us!!

5: You got bigger

Pag 5

2: Thank you so much

3: Uhm, actually

There's something I'd like to talk to you about, is that....

4: Aoyagi-saaaan!!

-okay!?

Pag 6

1: What, for real!?

What, are you really here- amaaazing!!

Oi, Issa, I was....

2: Wait... did you just made Aoyagi-san lose consciousness with your tackle!?

3: Aoyagi-saaan!! Hahahaha!!

You're attacking him when he's already down...!!

4: I'm... o... okay...

No, he keeps pausing while talking!!

Hahaha

5: I'll lead you to our tent!! Carry him, Danchiku!!

'Carry him'....

Pag 7

2: Thank you

2: I wished you had told me you'd come though, Aoyagi!!

You forgot to add “san”, Kabuagi

3: There was something... I wanted to talk to you about but

4: I guess it can't be helped....

(You're ending up yielding again, Danchiku)

5: Ah right

6: Aoyagi-san is

Pag 8

1: A member of last year's team!!

He's the column who supported Sohoku from below last year!!

2: Someone who gained experience through hard work and difficulties and debuted in his third year, ran as a sprinter, pulled the team, and brought back the members so many times

3: Without talking, without refusing, he just did it silently!!

5: Even when he was in a pinch, when he was injured, he moved forward with all his might without ever standing out!!

If he hadn't been there, there's no way Sohoku could have won!!

Pag 9

1: He-he sounds amazing, teh

Right!! I'm really flashy, so his way of running is probably the exact opposite of mine

2: Hearing it again, he really is an amazing person.....

and I also know well what happened with his leg on the third day

4: If I was in the same position and got injured.... would I be able to run the same way?

5: “He'll run away right away”

“He's a chicken”

Pag 10

1: In this Inter High that is about to start

Pag 11

1: Since Aoyagi-san came to see us, I'll smash the starting dash!

There's no need to smash, run calmly

2: Should I get subbed out?

I'm still in time

4: “No one will blame you”

“I can be done in fifteen minutes”

5: I'm at my peak now!!

Save it for the race

6: You're an idiot as usual

I'll forgive everything you say, Aoyagi-san!!

7: What can I do, what......

Nothing....!!

Pag 12

1: The stage event is starting soon

Last year's champions, Sohoku High School, representative of Chiba, please come to the stage

Kakaka, it's our turn!!

2: Teh.... I'm nervous, the

There's gonna be tons of spectators!!

3: Do-do we take a video? I'll do it, Sugimoto-san

I'll leave it to you then. I'll finish up here

4: Su-

Sugimoto-san!!

6: Ao.... yagi-san.....

Pag 13

1: Could you do me one favor?

2: Ah- yes!

Do you want something to eat!! Right away!!

3: The food truck is there... is curry alright?

4: …. no

5: A band-aid!? A nail-clipper!?

Leave it to me, after all I worked a lot behind-the-scene last year

6: Oi, Danchiku, what are you doing. Let's go

8: Ye.... yes

Pag 14

1: Take care of that idiot

Pag 15

3: The Inter High is harsh and long

But he's reckless and can't read the air

5: You, on the other hand

6: You always keep an eye on your surroundings and pay attention to what people say and do

And that means

Pag 16

1: That you can make an accurate judgment of risk in any situation

3: The ability to read small details when you're in a pinch is essential in road racing

4: Earlier in the midst of more than a hundred people in the audience area, you

Pag 17

1: found me at one glance

4: I think you know this too, but he can only look ahead

Please support him, take a step back and, as always

5: be watchful

Pag 18

2: Yessir!! Thank you so much!!

4: “Take a step back”.....!! Taking a step back.... yielding, are my...

5: If this small heart is my ability

Pag 19

2: then I'll be the one running, Issa!!

Together with you!!

At full throttle!!

Pag 20

1: Run, Danchiku

Just like I did last year

2: with Junta

3: I'm sure your feelings will give you strength

These are the members of Sohoku, the Chiba prefecture representative who won the championship last year

Pag 21

1: So far they have won two times in a row

3: What's wrong.... your balloon... shall I get it for you?

Pag 22

2: Thank you, Onii-chan

3: That's surprising, Midosuji-san

You're so kind

4: Puku.... I am kind, though?

To

5: anyone who doesn't wear a number bib, that is!!

[bubbyisatitagain]

After 10 long hours it's finally finished

My human boxmore bot designs!! 😄

[posletsvet]

A Somewhat Messy Exploration of the Concepts of Purity and Impurity in Satosugu, and perhaps some more

The yin and yang symbolism in Satosugu (here I'm using 'Satosugu' as a short way to refer to the relationship between these characters, not necessarily a ship dynamic) has been brought up and discussed a lot in fan analyses lately, and by those who have mental capacity to express it far better than I ever could. However, there is one more thing I would like to talk about in relation to Suguru Geto and Satoru Gojo's dichotomy, and perhaps some more.

As much influence as Chinese philosophical concepts (such as already mentioned yin-yang) have on Japanese cosmology, religious views of the people of Japan are actually an intricate and complex amalgamation of various teachings and beliefs, with Shinto being numerically the most prominent faith of the country. I was curious as to how the ideas found in Shinto could be applied to Gojo and Geto's relationship, and I guess I've stumbled upon some inkling of a thought in this regard -- so please bear with me while I rant.

Before this gets too long, I'm putting my rambling below the cut.

To begin with and give a little bit of context, the core teaching of Shinto is to have profound respect and reverence for nature. As a polytheistic and animistic religion, Shinto is defined by its belief in the kami, who are stated to inhabit all things, including objects of the surrounding landscape and various natural forces. Due to such elemental qualities of the faith, purification takes place as one of its central aspects and a widely followed practice, as well. There is a great emphasis laid on spiritual and physical purity and cleanliness. That being so, the moral categories of good and evil (or virtue and sin), so important in the western worldview, give way to a different outlook on things: the world is perceived in terms of 'clean' and 'dirty' rather than 'good' and 'bad'.

This concept finds a reflection in Gege's writing primarily through Tsumiki as someone who's essentially an embodiment of the virtue of being innocent and pure at heart. When she's brought up in the narrative, the image is frequently accompanied by flowers -- and more often than not, especially when it comes to Megumi's perspective, those flowers are white lilies. And those are one of the most common and prominent symbols of purity. When Tsumiki's innocence is symbolically destroyed with Yorozu taking over her body, white blossoms are depicted as thrashed and stained in the background. Her purity is further defiled by her death as everything related to death and decay is considered foul as it desecrates the world's natural state of cleanliness, fertility and life.

I'm only bringing this up to show how Gege incorporates this religious framework into the body of symbolism in his story. And the further you search with these concepts in mind, the more you are able to uncover.

Satoru Gojo as purity and perfection

Satoru Gojo is a character whom you can't help but read as a perfection within the context of the world he exists in. He's the absolute strongest, wielding the power to bring all the knowledge of the universe and the forces which shape it under his control, he's repeatedly elevated by the narrative as someone unreachable and untouchable whereas nothing seems to be beyond his reach. He also has an extraordinary appearance, matching vibrant aquamarine eyes with fair hair, so rarely found among full-blooded Japanese people. He embodies an ideal for his society.

Satoru is associated with white and sky blue -- the colours most widely believed to represent purity, innocence, perfection, serenity and safety. Those are lofty, noble, airy and spacious hues which also bring in mind vast open spaces and immeasurable and unreachable heights and depths, symbolizing Gojo's detachment from the mundane world where corruption and putrefaction take deep root. Not to mention Satoru's noble background as an heir of one of the Big Three Sorcerer Families.

Actually no, forget this, I do want to mention it and expand a little on my thoughts regarding Satoru's family and upbringing. It's highly likely he was overprotected and sheltered as a child, and along with a teenage-years rebellion on his part which such a childhhod brought about, it also thwarted his ability to make connections with people around him as he basically lacks common experiences and/or interests with them. He's somewhat sterile when it comes to displaying empathy and emotional intelligence, which results in a peculiar sense of innocence about him. For the lack of any better way to articulate this idea, I'd say he's pure in this regard: clean and untouchable and spotless, devoid of nearly everything that comprises a regular person's experience.

This shows even in the way Gojo chooses to cope with his trauma in the aftermath of the Star Plasma Vessel Incident. That traumatic experience seemingly barely leaves a mark on him because he opts for pushing it aside and moving forward, while going out of his way to make sure there's a safe distance between him and the source of his vulnerability by improving his technique. He fixates on bringing his Infinity technique to perfection, and as a result it leaves no opportunity for anything to touch him if he himself does not want it to. Yet again, it leaves him stainless.

Not only that: he becomes emotionally detached from the cruelty and filth of the jujutsu world, becomes numb to it, with little to no emotion ever reaching his core to shake it. He's neither angry nor vengeful on Amanai's behalf after her death. He does not allow for hatred and spite to poison his mind, neither does he feel any doubt. He stays clean from all the negativity at the cost of coming off as cynical and unsympathetic.

He masks this by putting up a front of an emotionally immature individual with childlike mannerisms and an attitude resembling that of a teenager rather than a fully grown man. He also nurtures a somewhat naive belief that Suguru still can be trusted, that there's some hope for him turning away from the path he's chosen. In this regard, he still bears the innocence of a child.

Last but not least, shedding away the more humanly parts of himself, Gojo instead becomes more attuned to the natural world through his ascension -- the main source of purity, as Shinto has it. Moreover, he basically rejects death by coming back from the dead after finally grasping how Reversed Cursed Energy works. And I've already explained the importance of something like this when talking about Tsumiki's passing.

Gojo Satoru's mind is free from resentment and hate, his body unstained by death. He's a character who represents complete spiritual and physical purity.

Suguru Geto as impurity and corruption

Where Gojo's character exhibits perfection, Geto shows abruptly stunted growth and degradation gnawing away at him bit by bit; where Gojo stands to symbolize cleanliness and purity, Geto presents desolation and decay and that filth which is left in their wake. Geto is a character whom the narrative treats as a symbolic foil to Gojo, starting from him being expelled from Jujutsu High and ending with his death being described in the light novel as a curse purged from existence. If Gojo serves as an example of a perfectly fit cog in jujutsu society and sets up a desirable ideal, Geto, named the worst of all known curse users, represents everything that the very same society fears and despises.

Starting with colour symbolism again, such colours as black, dark brown, warm beige and mustard yellow are the most common colours to be associated with dirt and a filthy, dingy appearance. And while I'm not saying Suguru himself has such an appearance (although he does forsake taking care of himself at some point), those all are the colours found in his palette. Black is also considered to be the hardest colour to keep clean, even more so than white, as it shows all the stains and grime so well. Which is quite interesting if you consider that Suguru's downfall and defection ultimately bring out, both to the audience and to Satoru, everything not only malfunctioning, but straightforward cruel, vile and despicable in the existing system.

Geto's deeply empathetic personality is the basis for his own corruption, his inability to set boundaries between his own emotions and the suffering of others leaves him extremely vulnerable in a society which actively punishes people for being unable to extract emotion from their duty and caring too much. The thing is, Suguru is elbow-deep in emotion. For instance, if Satoru managed to shove his feelings aside in order to put together a plan of action when Kuroi got abducted, Suguru immeadiately plunged into self-blame. His own empathy is what's clouding his vision, his feelings pile up within him without any healthy outlet until they start rotting him from the inside.

Geto lets the rot in by caring too deeply, vile emotions that he feels on behalf of others festering in his mind. He can't stand the sight of atrocities commited by Jujutsu society and finds them nauseating, while the rest of the world he exists in treats those abominations as a norm. And even so, he dives deeper into all this by trying to make a difference and save ordinary people.

This is symbolically represented by Geto's Curse Manipulation, with him consuming curses which are basically a corporeal manifestation of all the negative emotions people vent into the world in their daily lives. The more curses he absorbs, the more doubt and resentment he lets inside and the more they consequently stain his once pure ideals and aspirations with bile building up inside of him. His very sense of self is twisted by the weight of the unsightly hideous reality, and while he stays true to his strict set of ideals he is forced to adapt by the trauma of his experience as a sorcerer and the 'realisation' which it brings. Because if one endures such severely traumatic events, one must sooner or later come to the conclusion that there's something inherently wrong and malfunctioning -- either with you or the world you live in. Geto chooses to stay true to himself by assuming it's the latter, and this choice results in his corruption in the eyes of those who run that very world.

There's also something to be said about the intimacy of the act of consumpton: you let the thing you consume nurture you and become a part of you. Cursed spirits taste absolutely foul, and what that means to put this despicable thing in your mouth and swallow it is unimaginable. Geto's absorbtion of curses is supposed to represent how he basically desacrates himself by letting himself experience everything at such a deep emotional level, inevitably tying himself to putrefaction of the world.

And of course, the last thing that plays its role in the defilement of Geto's character is his death.

Brief wrap-up thoughts

I could honestly ramble on and on about this for ages, but I guess it all just boils down to my admiration for Gege's ability to break the mold with his writing. He takes a trait which is largely associated with protagonists of their stories and shapes his villain's whole personality around it -- and vice versa, with Gojo and his seemingly egotistic tendencies.

Once again, Japanese religious beliefs organically encompass so many elements originating from so many cultures with no coherent systematization existing up untill late 19th centuary, and I find it absolutely fascinating how Gege's story reflects that. It leaves us with such an interesting controversy of an emotionally detached hero dwelling in a morally grey area alongside with a deeply empathetic antagonist whom both other characters and the audience find deserving of sympathy and pity.

[oshiawaseni]

Trails of Love Hori's been paving down in the build up for the series' ending

Part II: Decoding the love story being told through other characters

Part One | II. KamiJirou | Part Three ->

.•° ✿ 5. "I̥̰̟͈̣̮͑̑͐̓̌z̴͉̙̲̋͗͌u̶̫̝̒̊̐Ocha" ೋღ

Oh look, time to defeat the raid boss of BNHA: IzuOcha. (I wrote this meta in March, and after reading it now, I didn't feel I needed to change anything, but I added a small bonus section at the end. Hope you enjoy!)

I have a lot of things to say about why Ochaco was never meant to be the one... but I'll try to stay concise and on topic with regards to this meta. Ochaco appears set up as Izuku's love interest from the get-go, but is that really what Hori wanted to do? I'll be taking a dive into their themes and in part three of this meta, I'll be explaining why the answer to that question has been a resounding: NO!

When I compared the feedback Ochaco got from Aoyama, Toga and Mina about her having a crush on Izuku for wanting to be like him, to Izuku, who didn’t get any feedback for all the times he did the exact same thing and copied Kacchan, it felt very unfair.

See what I mean? It is completely unfair. And this was such a hard topic for me to navigate and answer for the anon at that time. But then I did some thinking.

Compress, Gentle/La Brava, Kamijirou and finally Kirimina (which came as a pleasant surprise, and for me, cemented Hori's intentions with all of this)... all of these characters have been written to highlight various things about BkDk's relationship.

Then, there is Ochaco's admiration of Izuku and she always gets told it's a crush, and it's so weird of a plot to begin with. This very one-sided "crush" also felt out of place with the rest of the themes going on. I eventually realised maybe we had been looking too closely at the admiration issue all along. By attempting to explain the meaning of the tree and why it's different from this other tree, we didn't see the forest it's connected to and that there was actually something bigger going on that Hori had been crafting.

Scale it back and you’ll see: It’s not that Izuku didn’t get his own feedback about his feelings for Kacchan in the various ways he shows he wanted to be like him, but Ochaco’s conversations with Aoyama and Mina and Toga were his feedback!! It was one of the biggest AHHHHHHHHHHH SO THAT'S WHY pin drop moments I've ever had.

No one was calling him out, because they didn't need to! Calling out Ochaco for that behaviour was all Izuku's same behaviour needed!

Chapter 15 is the first time Izuku displays this behaviour of wanting to be like Kacchan. In Chapter 48 Izuku trains his movement after thinking of "Kacchan and the others". His movement mimicking Katsuki's is first noticed by Iida in Chapter 52.

We spent so much time worrying what the difference is between Izuku and Ochaco’s admiration, but we tackled the problem all wrong! In fact, we didn’t need to tackle it at all.

Because not only did Ochaco’s crush sideplot serve as a red herring to veil the real love story going on from the average reader, it was also used as another tool to highlight it.

In chapter 58, Izuku showed off his new movement style and everybody, even Katsuki, noticed it was copying the way Katsuki moves. The fact we get another Ochaco shot of her watching Izuku mimic Katsuki really does add credence to the theory that she noticed Izuku's feelings because he's also copying the person he loves. And if their logic was true for her, then why couldn't it be true for Izuku too? Izuku's mimicry being such a non-issue for 1-A was surely done on purpose for us to see this hypocrisy one day: That her mimicry gets called out as love by everyone, but everyone sleeps on Izuku's own mimicry simply because it's between two boys.

Our take away was never meant to be “what’s the difference between their admiration/love”, but simply that Izuku was both wanting to become like and inadvertently becomes like Kacchan because he loves him so much and a way to keep Kacchan close to him was incorporating both his attitude and movement style into his own.

Hori was linking the two concepts of mimicry and romance together with commentary from Mina/Aoyama/Toga while having Izuku do this EXACT THING they were talking about, with Katsuki, right in front of our damn salad!

Because what other characters noted about Ochaco's behaviour... Izuku was also expressing towards Kacchan. (Hori even brought it up again in DvK2 just to remind *everyone* that Izuku is very conscious of doing the exact same thing as Ochaco)

Even if Ochaco later reveals their logic to not be true FOR HER (which I wholeheartedly believe in. BkDk+TogaChaco end game LETS GO), we know for sure this logic has absolutely been true for Izuku. And the feedback Ochaco got also fits Hori’s framework of;

Bkdk -> are the actions

Other characters -> are the words for their feelings and actions.

Ochaco never was a raid boss to begin with... she only had the appearance of one. All to get BkDK through to the finish line.

Ochaco talking about "putting the All Might doll away" here used the same verb as "shutting her feelings away" and her scene instantly jumps to Izuku looking at his black whip - a quirk he has also "put away" behind a locked door that represents OFA. Black whip is a quirk which emerged from the feelings he has for Katsuki, that Izuku has also had to "put away" because what happened to him was so traumatic. I think Hori wanted us to see their two stories of "locking something away" were actually the same in essence, and it wasn't just black whip itself that Izuku had to lock away, but also his feelings for Katsuki... because we lost Izuku's POV towards Katsuki after the "I'm too blessed." scene. Most likely to hide the romantic love Izuku feels towards him from the reader.

I realised the same logic of the other couples also applied to Ochaco too a few months ago, while I was putting together this meta about all the ways Hori has indirectly shown readers what Izuku’s feelings for Kacchan are. Hori couldn’t say it outright because of his demographic and the current expectations society has that BL should stay in it's own category and far removed from shounen.

So Hori gave bkdk their moments without a whole lot of context and developed the idea of them simultaneously in another language, by getting other various characters to do the talking. And he used these characters to indirectly spell out bkdk’s love story in conjunction with bkdk’s own behaviour, all for the sake of his big bkdk reveal in the series' finale.

And to think he’s been doing this almost since the beginning blows my mind. (Chapter 15! Chapter 15 was the start of WWKD: What Would Kacchan Do) The man is a genius. A lot of this feels like he had needed to release his feelings about bkdk, so he left these trails of code throughout the manga... and we’ve finally cracked the damn thing.

We did it. We realised Hori’s 2nd language and roundabout method of telling one of the greatest love stories in shounen history. And I’m sure there’s even more examples of it to discover, that all our fandom's talented, keen-eyed bkdks find every day.

If Horikoshi Kohei-Sensei wrote this story because he wanted to cement his mark in jump history, he has deservedly done just that!

Part B - The real ship of dreams

(It felt too good to be true, yet I was quietly hoping...) .•° ✿ 5. TogaChako ೋღ

Circling back to the first part of this meta, "The Shape of an Eternal Bond" ... Do you remember when I talked about how BkDk couldn't imagine a world without each other, and the sense of an eternity they both exude together? Something that has always been, something that will always be. It seems more themes and feelings we get from bkdk's relationship have now been thrown into the Togachaco fight.

Ochaco gave Toga what is essentially a marriage proposal to a vampire, and then her wires made the shape of the infinity symbol. Toga expresses to her "I can't stand the thought of you not being in this world anymore." This is 1. so touching 2. bkdk as HELL, and I am certain that Katsuki and Izuku will confess their desires to be together forever before this manga ends.

I mean, this just goes to show you how us bkdks and Hori are literally on the same neural link, and we've been right about his methods of storytelling and how he's leaving trails of love inside these other couples to express concepts that are present in bkdk's own (soon to be) very romantic relationship.

It's a fun thought exercise to look at Togachaco's fight and predict what certain themes of theirs Hori will install into bkdk's talk/feelings they will express to each other... but there is a certain one, other than "forever", I feel very strongly about and will focus on here...

And that is Izuku's smile.

Something Katsuki once detested became the thing he most advocated for and longed to protect. His thumbs pointing to himself while talking about smiles... no wonder this had an air of Katsuki, himself, being the biggest reason Izuku smiles. "How could you leave me and choose this for us - a life of no smiling like that?"

At the start of the series, Katsuki couldn't stand Izuku's face or the smile he made at him. Whenever he saw it, he could only think of it as somebody laughing at him, looking down on him... but then DvK2 reframed Izuku's wide smiles at him and turned them into something pure, and genuine, and I think that's when Katsuki started to realise how much he was being loved the whole time.

And how could Katsuki possibly not reciprocate those earnest feelings from his special person who helped him find his heroic heart?

And this seems to be something Ochaco has noticed about Izuku? Ochaco, somebody who loves when people smile, noticed how big Izuku smiles when he talks about heroes... but especially the besotted faces he makes whenever he's with Katsuki... Of course she did.

On the Weekly Shounen Jump cover that featured bnha chapter 394, most of the characters on it are happy and smiling. Izuku isn't, however. That's because he's lost the ability to smile because Katsuki is still dead in the manga... Hori used this jump issue to build on this theme in the manga - that if you take Katsuki away, then away goes Izuku's smile, too.

Because Katsuki's very existence gives Izuku his happiness.

These two panels were supposed to be compared to each other - "Blood" and "Smiles" are two concepts mirroring each other in Togachaco's story. It's their different love languages. Toga felt like she couldn't ask Saito-kun for blood because he'd never accept her, Ochaco felt like she couldn't ask Izuku for his smile... because he'd also never accept her... she knew this was because Izuku already had somebody who gave him his sweetest smile... the same person who knew him more than anyone.

Chapter 395's title, 'shiawase no ue ni' was an interesting one that feels nuanced with Ochaco's feelings towards Izuku. It can be read as "Above (my) happiness..." I think this title is describing the concept of prioritising something else BEFORE one's own happiness. It's the perfect concept title for self-sacrifice, like Toga putting Ochaco's life above her own, but could ALSO be referencing Ochaco placing Izuku's happiness with Katsuki before her own feelings for him!!

Ochaco's story, at present, appears to be about putting aside unrequited love for a person she didn't quite understand, and instead placing her efforts into an attainable goal - rescuing somebody's heart from despair, and in doing so, becoming each other's important person. And then neither have to journey through life alone anymore. Ochaco knew this is something Izuku and Katsuki found in each other. In the image above, the girls are looking at Izuku and Saito, who won't turn their way, because they are both looking at a blonde boy next to them. Their "Sometimes Saturday." Katsuki.

The hidden face as Ochaco says she "came to like" Izuku Midoriya is quite suspicious. It belies what she's saying and she seems to either be hiding something negative or she’s not being truly forthcoming about her situation and feelings for Izuku. There are also themes of envy that finally showed up in Togachaco's dialogue which may be foundation Hori has laid down for the reveal of Ochaco's feelings later, as well. Envy about the attention Izuku received from others as a hero. Envy towards Izuku's innate passion for heroes, and the adoring faces he makes for Katsuki, perhaps.

So this smile that Katsuki has always misunderstood as something negative aimed towards him ended up turning into something... very lovely and important to him, as shown in Izuku's panel and how Ochaco described Toga's smile right afterwards.

And honestly... if we get little snapshots of the many smiles Izuku has made for Katsuki, while Katsuki is thinking about how adorable Izuku looks just for him when they're talking, I don't think I'll make it out of this bkdk reveal alive. Hori is going to obliterate us with whatever he's got cooking for them.

With all the major bkdk-alike couples now finished, the next post of this meta series will be: Part III, and the conclusion of this meta series ->

Back to Part One

[sunnflowyyr]

Heya beautiful sunshine! How's going? Eating and drinking enough water? Really hope so!

I was thinking about this for a long time so,i'm gonna just drop it here for you :)

2012 or Rise Leo and reader (female or neutral, your choise) who's just can't see the obvious hints that he gives to her about he's feelings aways thinking that is a joke and one day, Leo just had enough and kiss her deeply looking into her eyes before the kiss and confess (probably again lol).

(Sorry if my english sounds weird, i still learning 😅)

me, beautiful sunshine?! NO YOU !! *dramatically places down reverse Uno card*

but, you have requested one of my favorite tropes, the "Partner A relentlessly flirting and Partner B just not getting it."

i also did this with rise!leo so i hope you don't mind! i color-coded the dialogue too so you could get a sense on who's talking (also bc my brain likes the color). i hope you like this one!

put a break below because i got a little carried away ... sorry. :-)

Take The Hint. || Rise!Leo x GN!Reader

"(Name), you're absolutely beautiful today. ~"

"Aw, you really think so? Thanks, Leo; you're beautiful too."

Then you walk away with an oblivious smile, leaving a stunned Leo frozen in place. His brothers try to hide their smirks as April shakes her head with her shoulders trembling from quiet giggles. While it was amusing to see the turtle's advances backfire, it was also torture that made them flinch from the second-hand embarrassment.

Leo watches you sit, your eyes glued to your phone as you scroll mindlessly through social media. His confidence rolls off of his shell, shoulders slack with defeat as he racks his brain for answers. It feels like he's tried every solution in the "Top 100 Ways to Hint to Your Crush You Like Them" article he found on the internet; Going out of his way to do things for you, hanging out with you, and pick up lines so obvious it makes him want to pull hair out when you don't understand him; and he doesn't even have hair!

"I told you (Name) wouldn't get it; Now, pay up." Donnie smirks, holding his plate out with a raised brow. "Fine." Raph grumbles and reluctantly sacrifices his slice of pizza to the purple-clad turtle. Leo's head snaps over, jaw dropped as he gawks at the scene he's witnessed. "You guys placed a bet about it?!" He screeches, ready to strangle them from embarrassment before Mikey stands next to him and places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He turns to look at his brother, though he doesn't like that scheming look in his eye as he smiles. "Don't worry, bro; This is a job for Dr. Delicate Touch," He struts forward before Leo yanks him back. "Mikey, no!"

April then settles the two, looking at Leo with a reassuring look as she looks at you, absolutely not aware to the chaos around you. "Listen, why don't I take them home tonight and you plan a really romantic evening tomorrow so you can just help them get a clue and confess to them?"

A great idea, finally. Why hadn't he thought of it sooner? He wasn't sure, but after you left, he sat in solitude and thought about some of the most romantic places in New York City, your favorite food and hobbies, your laugh, and ... he had gotten distracted by his nerves and just thinking about you, because he couldn't get you off of his mind. As he stares at the ceiling at 2 AM that night, he convinces himself that you had to be unaware of his advances; right? Maybe you guys were so friendly before he started flirting more that you didn't realize that he was genuinely trying and wanting to be with you ... yeah, that has to be it.

Otherwise, he'll feel like the sorest loser in the entire world.

He feels like backing out, but after getting a stern look from April, he decides to stomach his nerves for now and play it cool; as he always does, of course. He takes you out for the night, doing some of your favorite things before taking you to the rooftop of a really tall building, the artificial city lights clashing with the natural brightness of the moon and stars lighting the dark sky. The both of you talk and eat some of your favorite food, just enjoying the other's company with the faint city noise filling in for some moments of silence.

He feels his heart pound against his plastron and his guts twist in his stomach as he watches you, the longing of being with you filling him with a sickening dread; if he's rejected, he might just melt and spill away from you. Though he's excited at the relief of you finally understanding his advances and reciprocating his feelings, and how lucky he'll be to have you as his partner. He relaxes with a deep breath before turning his body to face yours.

"(Name)?"

You turn your head at his call, pausing the moment you look over to read his expression. His demeanor appears cool, though his small smile and that look his eye was much more serious compared to his playful attitude. It makes your heart flutter a bit, and you're thankful the lack of light in this area could hide your flustered expression. "What's up, Leo?" You reply, turning to face him but a bit surprised when he reaches out to hold your hand in his, scooting closer to you. "You mean a lot to me, you know that? You've not only shown kindness to me, but my family, and that is more than I could ever ask for from anyone in the world. I want you to be in my life forever, (Name); I love you."

It was all from his vulnerable little heart; a piece that he hides behind playful one-liners and nonchalant behavior, and that much you could see. Leo knows that too and feels like he can't breathe as he holds his breath so he can hear your answer. What he doesn't expect after his heart-felt confession is that oblivious look in your eye and your small smile as you laugh a bit.

"Very funny, Leo. Did your brothers put you up to this?"

When he realized you didn't know, he felt his face drain of color. His stunned expression confuses you, as you assumed he'd grin and nod as his brothers would reveal themselves with laughter. He groans, smacking his face hard before peeking at you from behind his fingers; he tried to convince himself you were just messing with him, but that adorable, confused puppy-face you gave him said everything.

So he reaches forward, grabs your face, and gently pulls you inches away from his own.

"(Name), seriously?! Do you have any idea how long I've been trying to confess, huh?! I looked up how to drop obvious hints; way too obvious hints, for you, and you STILL DON'T REALIZE?!"

He can feel your heated cheeks against his fingers and see the surprise in your wide eyes, but you shake your head in his grip as you interrupt him.

"Look, you can drop the bit now; It's funny!"

"THAT'S IT, (NAME)!"

You gasp when he closes the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours and silencing you. Leo doesn't force you to stay, his grip loosens to encourage you to pull away if you're uncomfortable, but he's surprised when you stay frozen in place. He pulls away seconds later to look at you, a bit amused with himself at causing such a funny expression to sit across your features. "I'm not repeating myself all over again, but if it makes you get a clue, I will. I LOVE YOU, (Full Name). I want you to be my partner ... So will you be mine?"

Your hand falls to your lips, surprised at how he stole that kiss from you. The realization hit you like a train, and you felt the embarrassment make your face burn as you recall the hints he was talking about. It also washes a relief over you, because you had developed the quietest crush on him and assumed he'd never return the feeling; so, you had settled for daydreaming and having a friendship, but knowing he liked you too was a warm feeling that spread from your heart to your body.

When you nod and say yes, Leo flashes a playful grin as he leans forward to kiss your warm cheek.

"It's about time you took the hint, (Name)."

[leisi-lilacdreams]

IT'S HERE IT'S HERE IT'S FINALLY HERE! THE OFFICAL SHOP OPENING!

why april 1st? cause that's my birthday! woooo! °˖✧◝(≧▽≦)◜✧˖°

after months of work and prep, this is my birthday gift to me lol

Here's everything that will be in the shop!

Shop Link IG Link

Get your calendars and alarms set!

ps- i'm also trying to get into anime cons to sell at the AA i'm mainly based in the US south i've already got a few con set up for this year maybe you'll see me in the future 👀

secret bonus info: first 40 orders will get a random doodle (10x of each boy drawn) don't worry they'll be inked

if you put your tumblr name in the order notes and if i recognize it, i'll try to give you a boy you favor but no promises

[cerise-on-top]

Heyyyy :3 and could you do how Kate laswell would help you when your on your period?? :D

Hey! Sure I can!

Laswell Helping Her S/O on Their Period

Laswell doesn’t get periods anymore, which she couldn’t be happier about. Every time she did get her period she felt as though she was going to die. Her cramps were bad, everything else hurt as well, she was moody and probably almost decked someone several times throughout her life. She always thought getting her period was unnecessary. She's a lesbian, she was never going to do the devil’s tango with a man and get pregnant. Laswell always wished her body would understand that as well, but alas. However, she would feel a lot of pity and sympathy when you’re on your period as she knows how much it can suck. While she may not actively track it, she’ll always know when you’re about to get your period, being able to identify the signs. She’ll make the preparations as well, which can range from getting you some meds, should you need them, to buying chocolate or other snacks. Hell, she’ll buy you the best heating pad she can find as well. However, she still won’t be too big on cuddling with you, unless you insist on her doing so. She’s not the warmest person around, so she likely won’t be able to ease your pains like that either. However, she’ll bundle you up in a blanket and watch bloopers of your favorite shows with you until you’re laughing again and it gets a bit better. Although she’s usually okay with doing the chores on her own, when you’re not doing well because you’re menstruating she will actively encourage you to stay in bed and let her handle everything. Cleaning the dishes should be the least of your concerns for the time being. Makes you tea, coffee or maybe some hot chocolate. You won’t need to move a single finger. If she really needs to, then she’ll change the bed sheets as well if you bled on them. She won’t be mad, she gets it. It’s not something you can control, after all. So, all in all, she’ll do her best to take care of you as well as she can. Might take a day off too if you need her to.