[ cw: sacrifice / self sacrifice / slight suicidal themes / death mention / ]
I personally think that Leo took the wrong lessons from the movie. I definitely think he grew to understand the importance of teamwork and making sure he takes others into account so as to not harm them by proxy of whatever scheme he has cooked up, however based on the ending events I’m not quite certain he fully grasped two things.
The first thing is communication. Oh, he can communicate, and he does, when he deems it necessary. When he’s setting up a plan prior to the action. But this is where the second thing comes in.
The second thing I don’t think Leo truly grasped is “it’s not about you.” It’s so unbearably easy to take that the wrong way, especially when taking the rest of the series into account.
What I believe Leo took from this message is not “it’s not just you, everyone matters and can contribute, can help and be helped” but “put the whole of everyone above yourself” which can both be a good lesson…and a fatal one.
And it is fatal, we see as much in the movie.
Even after the big hope speech, when Leo is “fighting” Krang!Raph, he takes a huge risk. Sure, it worked, and Leo managed to get through to Raph through a well deserved apology, but it could have so easily ended in his death and yet he barely even hesitates to go for it.
And then again, to the big scene at the end, where Leo sacrifices himself not only for the sake of his family, but for the whole world.
To him, that’s the message to take from this. That the lives of everyone, of the greater good, matters…more than him. That the risk to himself is worth it if others can be saved.
Leo learned that gambling with his life as the betting chip is always the best move to make in the end.
And to make matters worse…this thinking is what works.
These risks are ultimately what is needed to save the day, so why would Leo look away from it now? Clearly it’s the right move and everything worked out!
Thing is, Leo did grow from the events of the movie. He learned to take things more seriously and be more mature, he learned to value his team’s input and capabilities enough to rely on them more, and he learned to be less self-centered and realize the turmoil others were going through (especially if that turmoil is a result of his actions.)
But still, he’s grown to accept the gamble of his life as a viable answer to their problems.
Personally, with how Leo has been shown to toy around with the idea of “it’s better me than them” I think this goes beyond sacrifice in the name of love or even sacrifice in the name of responsibility, and pushes over into sacrifice in the name of worth.
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Father had personally asked Feanor to stand for this portrait, so he was. Father had quietly suggested that perhaps this could be a painless exercise, which did not actually mean ‘painless’ but rather ‘silent’ for Feanor, but he agreed. Father told him this painting did not symbolize anything but his own desire to have a record of all his available loved ones around him, and Feanor was trying to see it that way- for the sake of his own sanity.
Because his stomach was roiling, and there was a heaviness in his chest, a great emptiness which his heart was pounding against, echoing, echoing, echoing.
Father had one hand on Feanor’s shoulder and the other was upon Indis’s. She was sat in front of them, smiling beautifully, little golden-haired Arafinwe in her lap. Around them, her three dark-haired children were gathered. Findis on Father’s other side, Nolofinwe with her, and Lalwen in front of Feanor.
To the unaware eye, Feanor knew, they must all look like they matched. Like they went together correctly. Like a family.
When the portrait was complete and those dark haired children were gathered around the mother and father, who would guess that one child was out of place? Who might glance at all that paint representing their faces and think anything but-
You could almost be her son, Feanor thought, and then his mind replied, But you’re not.
He was so still and he dared not move, because if he did, he’d never get back in place. If Feanor flinched once, the sharp, jagged pieces of him that never fit right in this puzzle would scratch one of them. They’d be annoyed and that would be it: he’d combust in anger, he’d shatter across the floor, snapping and snarling at everyone unnecessarily until he ruined their perfect little scene. Father said this might be a painless exercise. No, no; this was to be a silent, still exercise.
You could almost be her son. But you’re not.
How good a painter was this person Father hired? How varied his faces? Would he capture that Feanor’s nose resembled that of none of the people here? Could he represent that his frame was already different from his father and little half-brother’s?
Would he lie and throw a pleased smile on Feanor’s face? Not even Father had asked him to smile.
You could almost be her son. But you’re not.
Feanor’s presence made them fit together so symmetrically, maybe that was pleasing enough to hide the wrongness of this scene. Maybe that’s why Father made him come here today, the pretty scene. Why he asked him to suffer, even as the longer he stood here, the more and more Feanor felt like he was about to be sick all over the floor.
A ghost, a ghost, there was a ghost looming over their shoulders ruining this perfectly symmetrical scene. Couldn’t they feel her breathing down their necks, icy chill against sweat? Didn’t their perfectly posed heads feel her long, clever fingers wrapped lovingly around their necks?
You could almost be her son. But you’re not.
Feanor’s gaze slipped down to the back of Indis’s head. Her beautiful golden hair. She didn’t wear a crown, this was a family portrait, and that felt worse. So much worse.
If he let his eyes unfocus and his mind wander, he could try to lie to himself that her hair was much lighter and the faces of the children around them more closely resembled his own. The woman in front of him loved him, and she fussed over his hair before they sat for this portrait, and he’d let her do it.
The worst part was Feanor did know that Indis would help him with the ties of his robes, if only he let her.
You could almost be her son. But you’re not.
She’s not, she’s not, she’s not. It was a simple statement of fact. It was scandal enough that the father replaced the wife, when one at least chose a wife, but what freak replaced his own mother?
What would the people who saw this portrait think? Would they see Finwe’s happy family or would they see Feanor’s blaring, uncomfortable intrusion upon what gods and men declared to be a better order of things? Father wanted him to belong here, but he didn’t.
He just didn’t.
You could almost be her son. But you’re not.
A painless exercise. Painless, painless, painless, for them. Silent, still Feanor, a happy accessory to the triumphant union of Finwe and Indis, a grateful stray dog permitted to drink from the bowls provided by Indis’s family.
This exercise was just meant to capture the image of all Finwe loved, nothing more. Don’t think too hard about it, Feanor. You might make the children unhappy.
You could almost be her son. But you’re not.
You should pretend you are, though. That’ll make them like you.
Because they did so disdain him, most of the time. They disliked how he glared at their mother and started fights at family dinners and ignored them in the hallways. Why shouldn’t they? Feanor would hate a person who did those things to his family, too.
He just couldn’t stop, though. He wanted to, sometimes, when the exhaustion and loneliness caught up, and then he remembered that he wasn’t Indis’s son and never would be, and remembering that made him angry. Wouldn’t it just be so damn convenient for them all if he was almost her son?
But he wasn’t.
He was Miriel’s son. That was her name. He had no portrait with her. He loved her.
He loved Miriel, but it was Indis he posed with and-
When the session was done, Feanor jerked away from his father and shoved his way past Lalwen. As he went, Indis looked up at him, caught his eye, and he couldn’t help the sneer that crossed his face.
He hoped that was painless enough for her.
When he returned to his chamber, he went to the wash room and heaved in the pot there. The gagging and retching made wetness prick his eyes, and the sudden tightness of throat made him choke all the harder. The sickness and heaving stayed long past when there was anything in his stomach to lose.
No one came. Feanor hoped maybe Father would, but really, why would he? Feanor had been mostly good, just a little rudeness wasn’t worth either reprimand or comfort.
No, they were together. Maybe admiring their portrait, happy and pleased, or complaining about his behavior again. Really, why couldnt that Curufinwe just accept nice things?
I need to get out of here, Feanor thought, face and body wet with both sweat and tears. I need to leave this place.
He was a good son, and he could do anything else his father wanted but betray his mother any more.
Feanor couldn’t pose as Indis’s son even a second longer. He would destroy himself, if he had to think one more time-
You could almost be her son. But you’re not.
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guys can we PLEASE stop shipping riz w people. honestly at this point i kind of don’t even care if you yourself are also acespec/arospec/aspec.
yes, aspec people can be in relationships, etc etc, but riz specifically has expressed over and over and over again that that is something he personally has absolutely zero interest in.
he’s not just canonically aroace, he also canonically does not want a relationship.
“aroace people can be happy in romantic/sexual/queerplatonic relationships” is a true statement. “people who do not want to be in any kind of monogamous committed relationship can be happy in a monogamous committed relationship” is quite a bit harder to argue.
i’m just so sick of it. i’m glad we all understand that there’s nuance to aspec identities, and everyone’s expressions of and experiences with their own aspec identities are going to be different and personal.
like, it’s not even just about the asexual/aromantic aspect anymore. it’s also just refusing to let him not want to be in a relationship. why are so many people so resistant to the idea that he does not want to be in a relationship. like genuinely, why can you not accept that there are people who just don’t want that. who would just be unhappy in a relationship. why can’t you wrap your head around the idea that wanting a relationship is not a thing that everyone secretly wants. like, No, he hasn’t just not “met the right person” yet. because there is no right person. because he’s simply not interested.
this post is kind of rambly and not as effectively phrased as it could be i think but idc.
TL;DR: riz being aroace is not the only reason to not ship him. he also, explicitly and repeatedly, has stated he does not want to be in a relationship. “aspec people can be in relationships” is completely irrelevant because regardless riz simply does not want a relationship. please just respect thag.
edit: plz don’t like this is u wont rb. i won’t guilt you into rbing, it’s ur blog i’m not ur dad do what u want etc etc. it’s just irritating for me personally to see ppl interacting w this but not willing to actually put it on their blogs.
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cw: yandere reader, implied stalking, implied drugging, dubcon
hello………have u ever considered being yandere and convincing yourself that you and Deku are actual soulmates, and he just doesn’t know it yet. you try to get his attention for so long, through so many different ways (you try to become a hero, and then a villain, and then a helpless civilian and then—) and he just. never really notices you.
so you take matters into your own hands. you get him down somehow, when it’s late and not enough important people catch onto it until you’ve already gotten him. trapped him somewhere far that’s hard for most to find, tied up and at your mercy.
he’s so cute when he wakes up confused and groggy, asking, what’s going on, who are you, what is he doing here? but you can’t let him know your plans too early on, so you only sit on the bed beside him, smiling, running a hand up his naked stomach (when did you undress him?).
all hell breaks loose when he tells you that he doesn’t remember you, that you need to let him go, he doesn’t know you, you won’t get into much trouble for doing this. and that—and that’s heart wrenching? earth shattering?
how does your soulmate just not remember you, know you, love you as much as you love him? it stings more than cold metal slicing your flesh, and you cry. you cry so fucking hard into your hands at the rejection, defeated sobs wracking your body as he valiantly tries to calm you down.
so Deku, ever the kind and gracious hero that he is, comforts you. he coos to you, negates all your whining about how you must be too ugly for him, how you’re not good enough for him. he doesn’t realize the monster he’s enabling with his words until it’s too late.
he thinks he may be too kind for his own good, because in only a few moments, your tears have dried up and you’re perched on top of his chest. you look down at him with big, glassy eyes, head tilted as you cup his freckled and warm cheeks in your hands.
“You think I’m pretty?” you ask quietly, and he knows, he knows he shouldn’t cater to you. but Deku’s not a liar despite the circumstances he’s put in, and he’s sure if you would’ve approached him normally, he would’ve been interested in you.
“So pretty.” He whispers out in a rushed breath. the rest of his words get lost in his throat, his plea to be released, because you’re climbing over him. you only wear his shirt (when did you break into his apartment? how didn’t he notice? he just wore that shirt last night?) and a pair of underwear that you’re sliding to the side. you look at him with starry eyes that hold more adoration than he’s comfortable to look back at.
“Is…she pretty, too?” you ask, your voice low as if you’re scared of anyone else hearing you. Deku tries to look away, but you don’t let him, gathering the crown of his hair to force him to look at you between your legs, your other wrist holding your underwear away, fingers stretching your lips until your hole is exposed.
“Answer me.” you try to snap but your voice is so wobbly, so unconvincing for a stronger man. Deku doesn’t think he’s all that strong in the moment.
“Prettiest one I’ve ever seen.” He tries to convince himself he’s lying just to appease you, but the twitch of his cock tells him otherwise. you let out a breath of laughter, a grin so wide on your face it unnerves him and also makes him a little harder.
“Kiss her then, if it’s so pretty.” You tell him with a jut of your chin, scooting up until you hover directly over his mouth. Deku splutters, hesitates, tries to close his eyes. but he finds himself kissing back when you sit on his face, and he thinks—he thinks he might be a sicko for how there isn’t much coercion to devour you after that.
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