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turtleblogatlast · 1 month

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Thinking about how Leo says he uses his jokes to cope and y’know, thinking harder on it I think it may very well be because of what else uses one-liners and puns and that type of humor.

Specifically, 80’s action movies and campy sci-fi. Even more specifically, the protagonists of these.

So I can imagine why, exactly, Leo leans toward this brand of humor. It’s directly linked to things he loves! But even more than that is why I think it’s used as a coping mechanism.

In these genres, these quips tend to be said by the winner - or, if not a winner, then someone who will stay alive. So there’s a confidence behind them, an assurance, almost, that even if things go wrong, things aren’t ever too serious. There’s no bad endings here! It’s all good fun, even if the stakes seem high.

Leo canonically has been known to steer his brothers away from the more brutal villains and toward more fun, lighthearted activities and not-so-dangerous criminals. So for Leo, these jokes definitely make things less heavy, make the situations they find themselves in less intense.

It’s kinda not just coping, but also can be seen as a form of escapism. A safety blanket. A way for Leo to defuse the tension of knowing just how dangerous their lives are and replace that with a levity which implies that things will be okay.

Unfortunately, levity alone does not alter reality.

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt leo #rise leo #rottmnt headcanons #how pretentious can I sound when talking about a fictional turtle more at eight #anyway I always loved to think about Leo’s quick line about coping with humor #I don’t care how much people think it doesn’t REALLY matter it’s fun to play around with tbh #also love the idea that Leo’s sense of humor comes from the protags of his fav campy series #(+ from his confident and awesome big sis April)#like idk Leo’s special interests directly paving out how he presents himself both to others and in general is so interesting to me!!!#he is someone who KNOWS people and their quirks so 100% he caught on to that 80’s style of quippy one-liners-#-and associated that with safety and levity #even the villains of these genres who spout off quips tend to be the ones who survive!#Leo desperately fighting to keep the same lighthearted genre as 87 TMNT as the horrors of 2003 and 2012 loom on the horizon #and I think something important to note is that Leo KNOWS things are real #he is WELL AWARE of how dangerous things can get for them #but he copes anyway because it’s easier to deal with everything that way #bro just wants he and his family to be safe tbh

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slymanner · 7 months

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this was smart <'3

#fionna and cake #adventure time #fionna and cake spoilers #simon petrikov #fionna campbell #i love this turn around for fionna's thought's on the ice king its so smart...#at the beginning she saw ice king as just a funny and goofy guy side to simon. not really knowing the depths of what he truly represented.#and at that time she barley KNEW him #so of course she'd say ice king seemed happier then simon #but now that she KNOWS things about him #his love life with betty #his research into magic #his humor. his heart. his dedication to help her and cake as much as he can.#seeing how bad a ice king CAN be with the winter king.#and seeing those tapes.#that's not him.#that guy...who he was for thousands of year's... that's not the TRUE simon.#ice king IS sad #on the outside he looks happy. to people who dont know hes just a goofy guy having fun with his penguin's!#but now with fionna knowing context...#simon is the happier one out of the two.#the less insane.#the one who sure isnt in a great moment in his life right now. but he's HIMSELF.#not ice king. he's simon.#simon petrikov. the true version.

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sprout-fics · 8 months

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Humbly requesting the stay the night prompt of “wait…you’ve been here all night?” Pairing whatever. Just wanting to see this written out 💜

When you wake, the world feels like it’s trying to hammer you back unconscious.

“Shit…” You say immediately following your groan, pressing the heel of your palm to your eyes to quell the horrible pulsing pain there. The headache feels like it’s trying to carve inside your skull, and you can taste bile still on your lips, tacky in your mouth.

The hell happened last night? You think blearily, blinking in the brightness of late morning sunlight that filters through your curtains. It’s too bright, but when you twist to try and draw them closed your body aches in protest.

You try to recall the evening from the night before, recalling your giggling laughter as Soap slung an arm around your shoulder and dragged you over to the dance floor of the club. He and Gaz had belted out the lyrics to the songs, muffled by the pump of the speakers, had stumbled over to the bar and ordered more drinks. The rest is a dizzying haze of color and light, but judging from your clothes crumpled and the foul taste in your mouth, you can judge it didn’t go well.

“Fuckin hell…” You groan at a fresh wave of throbbing at your temples. Yet your stomach rumbles, empty and biting at your insides, and at last it forces you from bed, stumbling down the stairs of your flat towards the kitchen.

Yet as you enter inside you’re startled to find a gigantic, looming figure in a dark hoodie, mask bunched around his nose as he sips from a mug that seems far too small for his massive hands.

“Ghost?” You squeak in surprise, bracing in the doorway with shock clear across your face.

Ghost looks up at you, dark eyes not smudged with paint and clear behind his plain black balaclava. He doesn’t look surprised to see you at all, unlike you.

“Was beginning to wonder if you were dead.” He remarks flatly, holding your gaze for a long moment, just enough to make your cheeks burn. You’re still dressed in your clothes from last night, hair messy and makeup likely smudged to shit. Yet Ghost appears entirely nonplussed, at last turning towards the kettle.

“You don’t remember.” He observes, and when you shake your head you groan, the motion far too much for your hangover headache. He glances over his shoulder at you, nodding with meaning towards a chair at the kitchen table.

“Where’s Johnny…Gaz?” You ask as you gently lower yourself down, cradling your head in your hands.

“Probably still bollocksed.” Ghost declares, turning and leaning on the counter as the kettle simmers behind him. “They were bog-faced by the time they called me. Said you were fallen from grace, from what I could make out.”

You knew that much, can tell from the way your stomach distantly rolls with discontent. It doesn’t explain why he’s here.

“So what?” You ask, rubbing your temples. “You helped me home?”

Ghost shrugs, mouth quirking with a hint of amusement in a rare glimpse of his expression. “Held your hair while you got sick, made you drink some water, kept you from texting your ex…joking.” He supplies at your aghast expression. “Settled down on your couch to make sure you didn’t wander out into the streets.”

You blink at that, raising your head from your hands and snapping to look at him. “Wait…you’ve been here all night?”

Ghost shrugs again, but this time there’s a strange ounce of guardedness to it, like he’s reluctant to admit he kept watch.

“...and Soap and Gaz?” You venture, and that makes the wry, barely sinister smile return.

“Told ‘em to bugger off. Might have to go hunting in some alleys for them later.”

You aren’t sure whether to laugh or be horrified with the dryness of his tone, half-convinced he’s telling the truth. Before you can ask, the kettle whistles behind him and Ghost turns, pouring the hot water into a second mug.

“Bloody sergeants.” He sighs, a little irritated. “Should have never let them take you out. Can’t be trusted when they’re sloshed.”

There’s a tone there that’s frustrated, and rather than it sitting unhappily in your chest it instead makes you smile.

He was worried.

Ghost turns, sets the mug of tea on the table before you, his hand covering the top. Yet when you reach for it he doesn’t move, and you glance up to see his severe stare leveled down at you.

“No more getting pished.” Ghost tells you severely in a low murmur, and you grimace, duck your head in a rightful amount of shame.

“No more drinking with the sergeants.” You recite dutifully, and Simon huffs a sound that almost feels like a chuckle.

He stands over you, arms crossed as you blow at your tea, watches as you finish it, and you feel warm under his gaze.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x you #stay the night writing prompts #OK BUT I REALLY LIKED THIS ONE #I love Simon's sarcastic and kind of biting humor it's so fun to write #drabbles

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whump-is-love-whump-is-life · 18 days

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Reblog to boop your whumpees

#whump #whump humor #boop #reblog bait #THE BOOPING IS SO FUN #PLEASE KEEP BOOPING ME #my posts #april fools

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giddlygoat · 10 months

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dave and buck sketches to test out some design headcanons on them <3 they have silly little sleepovers and stay up all night talking about their crushes [each other]

dave’s design includes the speakers visible on his forearms and chest that are meant to resemble body hair. the stylized framing over the mesh hopefully looks kind of like curly hair lol. i’m undecided about keeping the little meter on his collarbone yet.

buck’s design includes the long chip/coin dispensers in his forearms, which operate with a small lever on his inner arm and dispenses chips just below his palm, letting them fall in his hand. in these drawings they are mostly empty, which hopefully helps to imply that it’s the end of a day and they are now off the clock.

#dave brubot #buck ruffler #major player #duck shuffler #ttcc #toon town: corporate clash #ttcc fanart #brubuck #no id #giddly’s art #i’m so proud of the comic it’s so silly HAJSNSN #i think dave is soooo whimsical and funny actually. he has to have a great sense of humor and fun to have attached himself to buck

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that-sad-guy · 1 year

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ill stop making these either when i run out of the funnies (unlikely) or i stop being an attention-seeking clown (even more unlikely)

#mine #ace attorney #bobby fulbright #simon blackquill #blackbright #kristoph gavin #klavier gavin #apollo justice #klapollo #metis cykes #aura blackquill #athena cykes #juniper woods #junithena #omg 6 instead of 5!!!!#blasphemy!#i make a lot of simon memes but its not my fault he fits so well with my brand of humor #i do enjoy making these bc theyre fun #but seeing people encourage my tomfoolery is a bonus

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somnimagus · 9 months

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digitally colored some sketches from my sketchbook! i've fallen in love with yet another game and her name is Bayonetta

[id in alt]

#bayonetta #this game made me smile so much it just radiates fun #my favs are bayo and rodin! rodin looks so serious i wasn't expecting his silly sense of humor; he's super cool #and just. ms cereza you are everything to me #ahh but i love jeanne too #not sure about luka yet but his hair's very pretty! most exhausted looking man in the world #but gosh the game is gorgeous ost is gorgeous it's immediately one of my favorites #i really wanna get 2 3 and origins when i have enough money and don't have more pressing things to pay for someday #fan art #my art

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kabukiaku · 11 months

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The Resurrection of Papa Emeritus IV.

I've been itching to draw Antichrist Copia for a long time now.

bonus happy ending:

also close up of seestor and rain:

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dragonnarrative-writes · 19 days

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Transferrable Skills

Part 1

Your therapist warned you about superstitious thinking. You've been working on it. In fact, you've been very good at catching it, challenging yourself to relax, and letting things go. Even before this big work trip, you consciously avoided the "unhelpful" rituals and reminded yourself that the little ones were just to make you feel secure, not to actually influence the future across an ocean.

"I'm very nervous," you had told Señor Snuggly two weeks ago. Your worn out stuffed lizard hadn't said anything back, of course. "That's normal, because it’s an international flight. So I'm going to give you a hug good-bye, and you're gonna stay here to watch the house. I know it's not going to change anything, but I'll feel better knowing you're here."

At the airport, you realized that you had forgotten your toothbrush. It had satisfied the part of your brain that was looking for one (1) thing to go wrong. Superstitious thinking, but the kind that helped you to relax and listen to music until you boarded.

Now, forced to sit on the floor, surrounded by shouting men with guns, your brain is stuck on your lopsided stuffed animal and blue toothbrush. Of all the things that could pop into your head, why those?

You almost let out a nervous giggle at the mental image of Señor Snuggly using your toothbrush as a shiv to save the day. And then the idea of what would happen if you started laughing right now almost startles you into another burst of giggles. You clap your hands over your mouth and curl into yourself a little bit more.

Next to you, your boss throws you a sympathetic look. "You okay?"

"No talking!" The nearest assailant yells in heavily accented English. You're pretty sure the attackers have been speaking Russian, but you could be mistaken. He brandishes his gun. "You want to die?"

"She needs to go to the restroom," your boss answers.

"No, I don't," you protest. You really, really do, and have for the last two hours. But being escorted out of the room alone seems like enough of a Bad Idea that your bladder can wait.

"No, she does not," the man confirms. "Shut up. Do not talk."

You meet your boss's eyes and try to silently convey, Why are you trying to get me killed?

His doughy face says back, I am a white man who goes to the gym once a week, and I really like the John Wick movies. I have delusions of being a hero. If one man takes you to the bathroom I have the mistaken belief that I can overpower two men with guns to save everyone. Also you're a black woman, so don't you have super powers? I believe in you, queen.

You may be projecting.

Ten minutes later, just as you're wondering if you should suggest a group field trip down the hall to the bathrooms, a series of gunshots rings through the building. The energy in the room goes from nervous to frantic in an instant. Your bladder shuts up. The Russian men start shouting and waving their guns, apparently too agitated to speak English. Two hostages start crying because no one else speaks Russian, just English, French and your half-forgotten, informal, Mexican Spanish.

Another three Russians come bursting in the room, snarling something you can’t understand. They grab at a couple of people, force them to stand at gunpoint and gesture to the rest of you. And then everyone is up and kind of moving in the direction of the door. But you can’t get out of the door because they’re blocking it, but they’re really agitated that the room is still full of hostages. And then some people are being pushed back down to the floor. Your boss ends up sitting back down again. A hard hand closes on your arm before you can get down, and you and four others are dragged out.

The leader says, “You all are dignitaries, yes? Your embassies will send money or they will watch you die.”

This is, potentially, the worst possible scenario. None of the five of you are even remotely important, let alone dignitaries. You’re not 100% sure about most of the others, but you’re an aid. An aid to an aid, really. The blonde woman with the remarkably sharp bob is a personal assistant. Today’s conference was about health data management, of all things.

You decide you’re not going to die with a full bladder. You look to the man holding your arm in an iron grip and point to the upcoming door on the right. “Can I please go to the restroom? I’ll be quick.”

He asks the leader something in Russian, and then you’re being shoved through the bathroom door. He doesn’t follow you into the stall, but it’s still so awkward to pee knowing that there’s a man with a gun waiting for you. You’re so glad you aren’t on your period - opening the wrapper on anything right now would feel louder than it has since middle school.

The door to the restroom opens just as the toilet finishes flushing. You hear a scuffle, an aborted shout, and then something heavy hits the floor. You freeze, heart racing. But then there’s no more sound.

You wait for what feels like an hour but must only be a minute before calling, “H-hello?”

You don’t get an answer. Unlocking the door and easing it open, you peek out and stifle a gasp. The man who had escorted you is on the ground, a pool of blood growing around him. His gun is gone.

You’re halfway through washing your hands before you realize you’re on autopilot.

It takes everything in you to fight down the urge to freeze in place and make yourself inch around the body to the door. When you poke your head out, the hall looks so normal that it makes you dizzy for a second. You try to decide what to do through the anxiety fog. You can’t hide in the bathroom with a dead body, and you probably can’t go back to the big room with everyone without getting shot. You have no idea where the other faux-dignitaries were taken. Apparently, there’s at least one person going around killing people in bathrooms.

You try to think of what your therapist would say in this situation. All of the options feel bad, she would say. So you can’t not do anything because it feels bad. Thank the anxiety for trying to keep you safe, then try to pick the least awful course of action.

“Fight, flight, freeze, fawn,” you whisper to yourself. Fighting is right out. “Flight, freeze, fawn.” There’s a body pouring blood right behind you. “Flight, fawn.” No one is around to appease. “Flight.”

Another gunshot and shouting. It sounds like it’s coming from the left, so you head right.

You shuck off your sensible kitten heels and fervently wish your otherwise sensible pantsuit wasn’t pastel purple in this very beige hallway. Not that a thicker-than-European-average black woman mincing around in a Swiss hotel and conference center would be inconspicuous in a black suit, your mind counters itself. You try to force your brain to shut up, with mixed success.

You wander a good five minutes, reminding yourself not to panic at every locked door you try. The halls are so quiet that you half convince yourself that you’ve gotten out of immediate danger. So of course, right as you’re about the round the next corner, one of the Russians appears, reeling backwards. And then he collapses, a knife sticking out of his neck.

You can’t really worry about that, though, because right after him comes one of the largest men you’ve ever seen. He must catch sight of you out of the corner of his eye, because his head snaps to look at you. You barely register the assault rifle in his hands because his eyes bore into you through the top half of a human skull.

Oh, I’m glad I already peed, you think, staring into the eyes of Death.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” the man says, growls really. “What are you doing here?”

“I… bathroom? Please don’t kill me. I’ll cooperate.” you squeak out. Oh, fawning! Cool.

“Price, I’ve got one of the hostages,” he says, nonsensically. “I’ve cleared the east wing.”

You jump when his walkie-talkie - of course it’s a walkie-talkie - squawks back an “Affirmative. Status?”

“She’s up and walking,” the man says, not taking his eyes from yours. “Seems uninjured.”

“Stow her somewhere safe.”

“Negative,” Death says. Before you can panic because what the fuck does that mean? he says, “Bringing her back with me.”

“Copy.”

When he takes a step toward you, you stop breathing. Everything in you is screaming RUN and DON’T MOVE at the same time. His second step in your direction results in a full body twitch. You get the impression that the gun is pointed at the ground, but the only thing you can really see is bone white over a black mask and what might be really pretty brown eyes, but the shadow from the overhead light really makes it hard to tell and your vision is going a bit darkaroundtheedgesandohI’mstillnotbreathingthat’snotgreat.

You’re shocked into gasping when a gloved palm touches the side of your face. The rough material helps you settle into your body, just in time to start hyperventilating.

And that’s when things get weird, because Death says, “Easy, lovie. Settle, f’ me, yeah? Deep breaths, like we’ve practiced.”

Your brain latches on to the familiar command to settle before you can even question why it’s familiar. The way the man makes a long, low shushing noise makes you so suddenly weak in the knees that you stagger where you stand.

And then it clicks. Holy shit. You know this voice. You know these commands. You’ve been listening to and learning them at least once a week for the last six months. He doesn’t even sound that different from over the phone or on a video call.

“There you go, that’s good,” Simon, the dominant you’ve been seeing online, tells you through his skull mask. “Keep breathin’. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

It’s the second time in your life you’ve been surprised out of a panic attack. “W-what the fuck? Si?” you gasp. “What are you doing here? Did you kill that guy?”

“Questions are gonna have to wait,” he says. “Keep breathing. In for four, hold for two. In for two, out for eight. Can you do that?”

“Why are you in Switzerland?”

“Breathe,” he rumbles. “Settle.”

“No,” you hiss, even as your shoulders relax another fraction. The corners of your eyes start prickling with tears.

“This is a double red light situation,” Si says, staring into your eyes. “I know you’re scared, but I’m going to get you out of here. You trust me?”

“You are wearing a skull on your face.”

“And you’re wearing a purple suit,” he answers. “There are people who want to shoot both of us. You get one more outburst, then you’re breathing and following me. Acknowledge.”

What the fuck? “This isn’t a scene!”

His eyes bore into yours. “Might surprise you, but I’m aware. Acknowledge.”

A distant shout makes you flinch. You relent. “Acknowledged. Four in, hold two, two in, out eight. Follow.”

“Good girl,” he says, patting your cheek once. “Stay behind me.”

#dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #transferrable skills #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #kink fics #this turned out so much more humorous than i expected and is so much fun to write #manic pixie dream ghost

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