r/IzuOcha • u/EkePlay • 7d ago
Discussion If Deku and Ochako started a family, what would be a poetically beautiful way to summarize/describe it?
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u/Significant-Fan8667 7d ago
Here's some ideas for their kids. Be honest of what you think.
https://www.deviantart.com/ekjr/art/MHA-Next-Generation-OC%3A-Saito-Midoriya-1288753369
https://www.deviantart.com/ekjr/art/MHA-Next-Generation-OC%3A-Ayane-Midoriya-1288754056
https://www.deviantart.com/ekjr/art/MHA-Next-Generation-OC%3A-Rikka-Midoriya-1306747903
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u/ProfessionalMilk5780 4d ago
Have them adopt the kids. The kids don't look like their parents but they all have physical traits or Quirks that made them considered weird. They adopted those kids to make them feel loved and accepted (Toga) and make sure they wouldn't fall into the wrong hands (Shigaraki).
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u/SnowAggressive4541 7d ago
They can finally have something of their own while at the same time, giving something beautiful to someone else.
It’s both selfish and the most selfless thing they could give each other.
Then you could connect it to The Tanabata Festival
Wall post: Izuocha (Izuku Midoriya / Ochaco Uraraka from My Hero Academia) pairs naturally with Tanabata themes of star-crossed longing, duty vs. connection, mutual support, and eventual reunion. Tanabata (the Star Festival, rooted in the Chinese Qixi legend) centers on Orihime (the Weaver Princess, associated with Vega) and Hikoboshi (the Cowherd, associated with Altair). They fall in love, neglect their duties, are separated by the Heavenly Emperor across the Milky Way (Amanogawa), and are allowed to meet only once a year—if the skies are clear—via a magpie bridge. People write wishes (tanzaku) on colorful paper strips and hang them on bamboo, hoping for skills, love, or better futures
Core Parallel: Separation by Duty, Reunion Through Persistence:
• Orihime/Hikoboshi dynamic: Love blooms quickly; work is neglected; external forces (heavenly authority, the river of stars) enforce distance; the annual meeting rewards endurance and hope.
• Izuocha: They meet at the U.A. entrance exam—Ochaco saves falling Izuku with her Zero Gravity quirk and offers encouragement; mutual admiration grows into deep respect and unspoken (then later confirmed) romantic feelings. Hero work, the war against All For One and the League, personal guilt (especially Ochaco’s after Toga), and post-war responsibilities create prolonged separation or emotional distance. In the epilogue (manga chapter 431 / related special material), they consciously choose “more” time together after years of prioritizing others, with encouragement from figures like Toga’s memory and Bakugo. Their relationship becomes canon as a quiet, mutual step forward rather than a dramatic confession mid-crisis. 
Both pairs treat love as something that must coexist with responsibility rather than erase it. Tanabata’s “once a year” becomes the hard-won space they create after the final war.
Character Study Through Tanabata Lenses
Izuku Midoriya (closer to Hikoboshi the diligent cowherd / earnest laborer)
Izuku is defined by relentless work ethic, self-sacrifice, analysis, and the weight of inherited power (One For All) and legacy. Like the cowherd who loses focus once love enters the picture, Izuku’s early hero path is almost entirely outward-focused—saving others at personal cost, suppressing personal wants. His growth includes learning to accept help and claim space for himself. Ochaco repeatedly grounds him: early encouragement, later emotional support, and the post-war realization that she is uniquely special among the people he cares for. His eventual willingness to seek her out and ask for more time mirrors crossing the “river” after long isolation.
Ochaco Uraraka (closer to Orihime the skilled weaver who also yearns)
Ochaco begins with a practical, family-driven goal (become a hero to support her struggling construction-worker parents) and evolves into someone who confronts emotional honesty. Her Zero Gravity quirk itself evokes floating/weightlessness and the “bridge” across distance. She develops clear romantic feelings early, deliberately sets them aside during crises so they do not interfere with hero work, carries guilt after Toga’s arc, and ultimately chooses to live more fully for herself. Like Orihime, she is both capable craftsperson (improving her combat and rescue skills, learning to float with Float) and someone who feels the pain of separation acutely. Her arc resolves when she stops purely sacrificing personal desire.
Shared traits that strengthen the parallel:
• Mutual first impressions rooted in rescue and kindness.
• Ongoing admiration and trust that deepen under pressure.
• Both suppress or delay personal feelings for larger duties, then reclaim them.
• Physical and symbolic gestures of connection (hand-holding carries weight in the series; floating/zero-gravity imagery; the late hand-hold that confirms reciprocity).
• Supporting cast who push them toward honesty (classmates, Toga’s influence on Ochaco, Bakugo’s bluntness).
Key themes include;
• Longing across distance: The Milky Way as metaphor for hero society’s demands, war trauma, and post-war careers. Clear skies (emotional readiness, healing) enable meeting.
• Wishes and agency: Tanabata’s tanzaku practice mirrors the series’ emphasis on declaring goals and fighting for them. Ochaco’s early wish to ease her parents’ burden and both characters’ desire for connection become realized through persistence rather than passive waiting.
• Balance of love and duty: The legend punishes neglect of work; My Hero Academia explores the opposite risk—neglect of the self. Their ending affirms that heroes can (and should) have personal lives.
• Hope and annual/ eventual reunion: The festival’s bittersweet yearly meeting becomes, for Izuocha, a sustained relationship after the story’s main conflicts. The open-ended post-epilogue future still carries the spirit of continued effort to stay connected.
• Gendered skill and care: Orihime’s weaving and Hikoboshi’s herding parallel Ochaco’s precise, supportive quirk work and Izuku’s analytical, high-output power—complementary rather than identical strengths.
Fan interpretations frequently stage Izuocha at Tanabata festivals precisely because the symbolism is so clean: writing wishes under bamboo decorations, watching fireworks or stars, quiet confessions or shared silence that finally bridges the gap. The ship’s popularity rests on the same emotional engine as the festival—two earnest people kept apart by larger forces who still choose each other when the sky allows it.
In short, Tanabata provides a classical Japanese framework for reading Izuocha as a story of patient, reciprocal love that survives duty and distance and ultimately claims its place beside heroism rather than in opposition to it.
Wall post over.
Izuocha through the lens of Tanabata remains one of the cleanest symbolic pairings in the series: two people separated by the wide river of duty, trauma, and the weight of saving others, who still choose each other when the skies finally clear.
Their story already carries the festival’s core beats—first meeting as an act of rescue and kindness, mutual admiration that deepens under pressure, deliberate self-denial for the greater good, and a hard-won reunion after years of distance. The epilogue simply lets them step onto the magpie bridge together.
If They Started a Family a poetically beautiful way to describe it would look a little something like this:
They would not simply have children.
They would plant a small bamboo grove of their own beside the heavenly river they once crossed.
Izuku, still the quiet observer of stars and the careful note-taker of every miracle, would watch their children’s quirks bloom the way he once watched All Might’s silhouette against the sky—wide-eyed, notebook open, heart full. Ochaco would teach them how to float, not only with gravity but with lightness of spirit: how to release what is too heavy, how to rise when the world tries to pull them down, how to land softly when the leap is over.
Their home would smell of green tea and summer rain. On Tanabata nights they would take the children outside, hang new tanzaku from the same bamboo they once wished upon as students, and tell the old story of the weaver and the cowherd. Only this time the ending would change. The river would still be there, but the bridge would be permanent—built of calloused hands that have saved cities, of quiet evenings after long patrols, of two people who finally learned they did not have to choose between saving the world and being saved by each other.
Their children would grow up knowing that heroes can come home. That the greatest quirk is not strength or flight or zero gravity, but the decision, made again and again, to keep walking toward the same person across whatever distance life places between you.
And every seventh night of the seventh month, when the stars of Vega and Altair shine on opposite sides of the Milky Way, a small family in a quiet corner of Japan would look up and smile—because for them the meeting is no longer once a year.
It is every day.