#gotta torture my blorbo :(

[unityrain24]

ok but i'm like in love with the concept of the chitauri scepter acting like a drug. and you suffer withdrawals when you are severed from its influence

[yappacadaver]

im just obsessed with his themes and motifs, i love when guys have suffering tailor-made just for them, and i love watching how their psyche tries to grow through the torture dungeon's twisting labyrinth, until the shape of their soul is a cast of it

[abunnsburrow]

Just want to say, as a general statement to everyone, that in any Green Ninja is Someone Else AU, that the blorbo you are putting on the green ninja role is gonna become incredibly traumatized.

[riccissance]

thinking about this in the context of the chapter i’m writing of my current fic and it’s driving me bonkers. jackie had been a girl and then shauna made her a god, and she was shauna’s god for so much longer than she was her friend.

but now shauna is back with jackie the girl and good news! no more suffering necessary because jackie never actually wanted that from shauna! but she’s asking shauna for honesty which is actually so much worse because shauna’s entire life and identity is a (not so) carefully constructed tower of lies that she can’t dismantle without destroying herself.

so what now? when the god is dead but the girl is here and she only wants what will tear you apart?

jackieshauna and sainthood is such a rich topic and it's been stuck in my head for a while now. jackie definitely has saint vibes, but i think there's an argument to be made that shauna is the saint and jackie is the god she devotes her life to. shauna constructs this elaborate shrine of punishment and shame that at it's core is a twisted form of worship. she suffers because of jackie and she suffers for jackie and that suffering defines her entire existence. the saints are all tragic, after all. and it adds another layer to their connection if shauna sees jackie as her saint but shauna has actually become the saint, just like she tried to become jackie. it's yet another form of consumption and jackie's actual body was the communion that started it all

i also love the idea of saints having visions of god while shauna gets visions of jackie

[the-artist-grimm]

It's ironic how we are both torturing our overly attached but emotionally tone death Narinders in our lore posts. They aren't even that bad as their canon version, just... Really bad at communicating.

Yeah Crimson Angel Narinder goes through it lol. He grew up so used to being told not having problems was a 'good thing' and praised by Shamura for being the easy child that now as an adult he can't bring himself to tell people when something's wrong-like he thinks that will bother people/be more of a problem.

Which sidenote look I give my characters happy endings EVENTUALLY but they gotta go through the spirit-crushing wringer first. Like they gotta work for that happiness XD

Like hey sorry guys I love you blorbos but I have a THEME to express at the expense of your joy, please leave all complaints in the writer's journal thank you~

[anoray]

My brain: Does he have magic powers and a stick thingie that he can light up?

My brain: Okay, but is he a handsome smartass with a tortured past and a soft heart?

My brain: Hmmm, good, good. But what about the goofy factor? Gotta have some goofy.

My brain: Okay, fine, but does he love his woman, like A LOT? (Insert angst and trauma here)

My brain: Congratulations, your blorbos have passed inspection. You may now go cry in a corner. Have a nice day :)

My brain again: Uh oh.

[sotwk]

Me when I saw Bucky Barnes was one of the Special Guest Blorbos:

Bucky Barnes for Summertime Drabbles pleeeaassee 😁

Thank you for the request, @morethantheycansay! <3 If I go full-on Bucky Barnes stan, I will have you to blame thank! XD Your constant support of my writing means the world and helps a lot!

Content/Genre: Marvel; Gen fluffy summer romance

To Read on Ao3: LINK

PRICELESS

Bucky Barnes x Reader

“They’re just scams, all of them,” Bucky grumbled, dragging his feet as you tugged him in the direction of the county fair midway. A wide alley of garishly colored and brightly lit stalls competed for the attention of passers-by, with hawkers yelling out invitations to play amid the clamor of electronic bells and blaring buzzers.

You pointed at a toddler rolling by in a parent-drawn Radio Flyer, jubilantly hugging an oversized Spiderman plush toy. “If people are still somehow able to win, then they can’t entirely be scams.” You linked your arm with his and snuggled up close, which softened his resistance to being led through the noisy crowd. “They’re just made to be, um, challenging!” He snorted at your assessment, and your retort of jabbing an elbow into his ribs went barely noticed. 

“Oooh! I want to try this one!” You broke away abruptly to dash toward a quieter, less ostentatiously decorated booth, where aluminum milk bottles were stacked up on a line of pedestals. The attendant, a ruddy-faced, heavyset fellow, beamed at your arrival. 

“Three throws for ten credits,” he announced, holding up a pair of softballs. 

“Huh?” Bucky froze with his hand in the back pocket of his jeans, in the middle of digging out his wallet for cash payment.  

“No worries, I’ve got it.” You held out the neon green band around your wrist, and the attendant promptly scanned the barcode. Grasping the first ball, you turned to smile at Bucky, only to find him sporting that brooding scowl he promised he was still learning to keep out of your dates. 

“Ten bucks for three chances, you gotta be joking,” he muttered, having figured out what the pre-loaded credits you discreetly purchased cost.

“It’s fine, really. For the priceless memories, remember?” You hoped this wouldn’t trigger another overdrawn tirade about how it was criminal to charge so much for family-friendly entertainment, and how county fair admission cost next to nothing back in his day. (“Back in 1939?” you gently reminded him of his last fair experience.) 

He stared at you, at the little pout puppy-dog-eyes combo you put up for his benefit, and finally cracked a smile. “Right. Show off that arm, then.”

You stepped up to the line marker and drew back your arm for the first throw. Thunk. Too low. You struck the platform base solidly, but noticed that the little pyramid of bottles didn't even wiggle.

In your second throw, the ball caught the top bottle and knocked it off the stack.  You threw up your hands with a triumphant hoot, but the attendant was quick to remind you that you needed to knock over all three bottles for the big win.

Feeling a little more pressure (and admittedly pessimistic), you reached for the last ball. Bucky's gloved hand snatched it up first. 

“May I?”

You couldn't even remember if you nodded or said anything to indicate consent. You would only remember the sharp gleam in his eyes and the hard line of his clenched jaw. 

The rocket force of Bucky's throw blew all three bottles clear off the pedestal and smacked into the back of the booth with a crack, leaving a souvenir on the wooden paneling.

You walked off still mildly dazed with a giant Bluey stuffie clutched to your chest. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky finally blurted out. “I should have let you take the last shot, I know you like doing these things for yourself. But it was torture watching that guy take you for a ride. I had to either throw the ball or slap that smirk off his face.”

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his hair and looked at you again, his excuses trailing off. “Aw hell, let’s face it. In the end I really just wanted to win you that ridiculously large teddy bear.”

“It’s a dog, actually. An Australian Cattle Dog.”

“It would need its own plane ticket.” He sighed. “Whatever. Again, I'm sorry.”

“Quit apologizing.” You reached out to give his hand a squeeze. “Did you have fun doing it?”

Bucky shrugged. “Gotta admit, it was a lot more satisfying than my last time at a fair.” Drawing you slowly into his arms, he gave a low chuckle. “In 1939.”

“Sounds like a great new memory.” You smiled and slid a hand around the back of his neck. “Mission accomplished, Sergeant,” you murmured before pressing your lips to his, in a kiss that he returned with twice the enthusiasm. 

“Let me win you every damn prize in this carnival,” he said, still slightly breathless after he broke off, that spine-tingling gleam reinvigorated in his piercing eyes. “Turn these fixed games around and con the swindlers right back.”

You bit your lip, the eager tone in his voice giving you pause. Would it be ethical to unleash a hungry White Wolf with a tireless metal arm on these game hawkers? 

“I do have that toy drive at work coming up in a few months.”

“My girl.” Bucky grinned and looped an arm around your waist to drop a sloppy kiss on your temple that made you squeal. “Point me to the next sucker.”

Steve: You remember that time we had to ride back from Rockaway Beach in the back of that freezer truck? Bucky: Was that the time you used our train money to buy hotdogs? Steve: You blew three bucks trying to win that stuffed bear for a redhead. Captain America: Civil War (2016)

This limited edition Marvel fic is a gift written as part of SotWK's Summer Campfire Sleepover 2024.

[lets-try-some-writing]

i wish more continuities played with the horror of being revived after your (presumably) grisly demise. It must be real traumatizing right?? Like, it's gotta be! It could really help with characterizing/building a particular character too (cough optimus cough).

You my dear requester have come to exactly the right writer for this request. I have a fic based on this general premise called A Mere Shadow if you are interested. However, I will never turn down the chance to hurt my blorbo even more.

I may have gone a bit nuts with this concept so hold on-

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

A Shadow of Death

Optimus Prime has been faced with death many times. Even as Orion Pax he did not fear it. Death was a fact of life, one he came to accept in his youth. The Matrix only further eliminated that intrinsic desire to flee the possibility of being killed. To a certain extent, it was a blessing as it kept him from faltering at crucial moments, even if he was met with pain for his determination.

Blaster shots a little too close to his spark chamber for comfort, stab wounds deep enough to be concerning, plague of the deadly variety, and more close calls than he dared to count... they were all nothing compared to the true call and agony of death. The fire that rained down on the base that fateful cycle was torture for Optimus. When Smokescreen found him, he very nearly begged Primus to let him die. Only once he was dragged away did he have time to think and to rationalize. Living in that state was a torment, but at the time, he knew it was to end. He made his peace with death long ago. He did not fear its embrace.

It was painful, but it was meant to end. He felt his spark abandon his frame, he sensed his mortality fading as he gave up his life in the line of duty. He was not content, but he was ready to pass and leave the burden behind. It had been so long, and finally, death welcomed him into its patient arms. Its chill wrapped around him, digging into the core of his being. It ached, but it was not unpleasant, especially as he began to see the fallen welcoming him, beckoning him to come home. His attachments faded and for the first time since he was a youngling, he was at peace. He did not expect to be drawn back sharply by a power he instinctively knew belonged to another Prime. He did not know what to think when he woke in his new frame, one built stronger, faster, and more capable. However he knew it was wrong, or rather his frame was not the only thing about him to change.

There was not time to think or time to consider. All he could do was fight and spend the next several cycles focused on getting his team settled. They needed to see he was strong, and so he kept up the façade as weeks passed and a shadow of death hung over him. He could not tell them, for what would he say? How was he supposed to explain the oddities that hung around him at all hours, making him suffer in silence while unable to speak. Something didn't let him, almost as if there were rules that forbade him to reveal that which weighed on him to those who could not sense his discomfort as he could.

It began the first time he returned to their new base after a scouting mission. He had been chilled ever since he was reforged and thought it perhaps due to his spark adjusting to the new frame or vice versa. He spent hours flying and moving, working his engine and his thrusters to the point of his plating being hot to the touch. Despite that... he was cold, not in painful manner, but merely... uncomfortable. It was enough to keep his senses sharp and yet it was unnatural. He went to Ratchet to try and have his frame examined, but all the doctor could tell him was that it must have been a quirk of his reforging. His systems were operating fine and his fans were regulating his temperature even better than before. There was no reason for him to feel chilled unless it was a mental issue. At that Ratchet attempted to have him sit down for a mental exam, but Optimus waved it off as his frame still taking time to settle.

Optimus did not bring up the topic again, not even when he stood beside burning buildings and still felt that coldness seeping into his protoform. He could feel digits caressing his plating, yet when he tried to check his sensors, there was nothing there. The cold haunted him, and in the end, he wrote it off as a punishment of eluding death one too many times.

The cold was bearable, but he hated recharge with a passion. Up until his reforging, recharge was one of the rare blessed moment of rest he was allowed. But now? He dreaded every instance where his frame demanded time to recover. He tried to drag it out for as long as he could with additives and all sorts of substitutes for rest, including plugging his processors into the database to defrag while he was still up and active. But in the end, the need eventually came, or the team would grow suspicious and he would be forced to retreat to his berth all the same.

Laying down for recharge was always comforting. It was familiar and allowed age old routine to take over, allowing him to vent deeply and simply feel for a while. But that is when the trouble always started. Optimus could never stop himself from feeling the pull of recharge. Once it set in, he couldn't move. His frame froze up and despite him being quite active mentally, his frame eased and rested, falling into recharge long before he did. Sometimes his optics were unshuttered, other times they weren't when the paralysis set in. Whatever the case, it always felt like he was back in that cave, bleeding out and in agony. It was terrifying to be stuck in that paralysis before recharge as nearly every time there was a haunting moment when his vents failed to work and his spark ceased in its blaze for but a nanoklik. But Primus, that one nanoklik always felt like an eternity where his frame almost seemed uncertain if it was alive or dead.

At the end of that long nanoklik he could feel digits running along his frame and he could see things in the corner of his vision regardless of whether or not his optics were functioning. Whispers that he could not comprehend echoed in his audials as his frame began to ache, desperate for ventilation and for energon to continue flowing. Then just as it started to grow unbearable, almost as if he were about to die, then his frame would return to its normal functioning and the paralysis would fade. For the first few deca-cycles after his restoration, Optimus threw himself to his pedes after such incidents and took up the night watch, unwilling to recharge after the threat of death hung over him.

He almost went to Ratchet, he almost burdened his oldest friend with his fears. So many cycles he spent nearly half in recharge as he fought against the need for rest, terrified of that looming death that never came. He did not fear death, but its agony was something he grew to be wary of. It was nearly enough to force him to act and plead with his team for aid. However in the end... he abstained, even though it pained him more when the dreams began.

Optimus had always dreamed, even as Orion. It was part of his nature, and gaining the Matrix only gave his dreams more vividness and viability. And yet... after being reforged, he no longer dreamed at all, at least not as he used to. When he fell into recharge, he found himself in a void with no light, no sound, and nothing to help him determine if he was up, down, or even within his own frame. He could never see his servos, nor could he sense himself moving if he willed himself to. He was simply left in a world of darkness for hours, unable to feel anything except the chill that plagued him during his waking cycles. That alone was nerve wracking but manageable due to the strange sense of peace he found within that void. Sometime he could swear he saw motes of light dash past him, slipping through that void and vanishing before he had time to observe them. He made it habit to search out those motes of light while within the void that came for him during recharge. It kept him occupied and made the chill less startling.

He learned to recharge through it all, but never for long. The lack of rest made itself known throughout his waking hours as he wandered and did his work. The chill kept him awake, but he could not stop himself from feeling the pull of that cold void whenever his focus slipped. It was almost as though it was calling him, trying to reclaim him after he escaped its grasp. Sometimes when he was particularly unfocused, he would find himself standing under the stars, watching and observing, unable to move as his mind seemed to leave the confines of his frame. In those instances he could sense things, he could see those same motes of light dashing around him, and with time, he came to understand what they were.

Life, sparks, souls.

It took time, but he came to understand. By the time Megatron was gunning to rebuild the Omega Lock and Ratchet left to join that effort, Optimus found himself... colder. He had never feared death, it was a part of life he didn't care to know but accepted all the same. Now though? Now he understood it. The chill forever sunk into his frame, and he noted that what once was a mere mental issue became reality. He was cold to the touch, even after battle. Things grew to be more distant, or rather less important as the cycles passed him by. The void that he walked in was trying to reclaim him. He could sense it in the way his spark flared and grew dimmer. The void wanted him back, and every day he was drawn closer to it.

What frightened him after his reforging grew to be commonplace. He didn't fear it anymore. The void that came in dreams came to be a second home of sorts, one he grew more adept at seeing the sparks within. It seemed wrong for him to be at peace with the way his mind shifted and how he no longer was terrified of those brief moments where his frame threatened to fail. It simply did not bother him when he saw the void in the corners of his vision or when chilled digits touched him. It became familiar, and with that familiarity, the living realm grew more distant.

He did not emote often, at least not as the others did. Now he did not express himself at all. There was no need. The world was changed for him. The team worried but chalked it up to Ratchet being gone. They were partially correct. Without that mortal tie, the cold came and seeped deeper, making it easier to slip and see the cracks, the thinner places between reality where sparks darted, returning to their maker after their lives ended. It fascinated him, even though it often had him staring into what the others considered empty space when he was supposed to be acting.

He was changing, and what fully solidified that for him was when he began to feel the chill of death closing in around others. He first noted it around Vehicons, mainly those who had brushes with death or were unfortunately killed in combat. There was little he could do for them, as usually by the time he noted the chill, it had already wrapped around the Vehicon in question, dooming them to their fate. He only acted when he felt it around Arcee before she tried to enter a groundbridge. It was harder to feel, but he still stopped her. When questioned, he found he could not speak and explain, so he opted for vague wording, hoping it would help her to see and understand.

Arcee: Optimus, what was that for?

Optimus: You cannot go there. The chill follows you.

Arcee: Sir? What does that mean.

Optimus: Danger Arcee. A threat I cannot save you from.

Arcee: I don't understand-

Optimus: You do not need to. I sense the chill, I see the looming cloud. Do not go. You shall not return if you do.

Harder to focus, harder to think. Whenever he was not working, Optimus watched the sparks come and go, observing with a strange distant affection he could not place. All the while the chill grew deeper, closer to his spark, and his frame became weary despite its power. He was changing...

And the void wanted him back.

[booigi-boi]

Would my Tinky Ted fusion AU I made in 2021 make rounds in these Tinky x Ted times we've managed to find ourselves in? 🐐

It's about Tinky torturing Ted by fusing with him, cause blorbo gotta suffer. Actually, I have few different ways of making a Tinky Ted fusion possible

[sinimake]

The Mouth of a Wolf & The Eyes of a Lamb

Me reading the latest chapter.

Why the emotional damage, Madam Bo?

Things were getting too comfy 😆😆 i really wanted to raise the stakes because i dont like how rushed Armageddon scene was in the story mode, so of course, i gotta torture my blorbos ❤️😘

[director-yomi-hellsmile]

Cube joke (pinned post)

If you know me from @/growling or @/seth-burroughs then you get a krówka. Personal blog of Yomi Hellsmile, so just call me by that name. Serious metaphysical fictionkind & fictive, I'm actually fine with treated as literal Blorbo From Your Games it makes me feel sane and slightly better than just having it ignored. Please poke me around and bombard me with questions as much as you like I thrive off of attention and require constant enrichment in my containment chamber. Just no being weirdly invasive/rude with questions like ''what is the exact mechanism of how you tried to kill your girlfriend that one time'' or otherwise not saying shit to me I know you wouldn't say to literally anyone else please I'm trying to be so nice every day

Fine with source talk / Rain Code discussion (if you're cool with me getting a bit weird about it), fine with all sourcemates if you are respectful/nice in turn, I don't have anything against doubles and I'm waving at you same hat style but I'll probably just nonjudgmentally block you for my own comfort, sorryyyy I gotta take care of my shitty heart rate.

I'm very often not good at articulating myself and a lot of things I end up writing end up kind of incomprehensible or weird, I can't really do anything about it so don't point this out unless you absolutely need to have something clarified. Sometimes I get confused and either not really get what you're saying or can't reply to you for quite some time whether because of that or my perpetual low energy, if you @'d me or sent me an ask and I don't respond within a week then I'm not purposefully ignoring you; either need to take longer time with writing, or I don't really have an answer. Don't blow up at me for asking you to clarify something in simpler terms. My tone might be off either due to those, my brain just working differently, or english not being my first language.

Other info + disclaimers/warnings:

Trans man + non-binary bigender, masculine or neutral terms only - and no, "girl" is not gender neutral and I do not care if you use it that way. If you'd like to perceive me perhaps refer to me even: he/him, it/its or xe/xem/xir, and only those; do not call me by they. Also don't call me a "boy" I am a grown ass man.

Loveless aroace (and a fagdyke if you unlock my easter egg), aplatonic, afamilial, posting about those pretty often. Or I think. I'm trying.

Semiverbal LSN-MSN Autistic and refuses to shut up about it + Narcissistic PD (so please bring criticism up nicely) and will keep talking about it and my beautiful big dark narc rage eyes. Follow me in order to fulfill your mutual list diversity quota /joking that was a /joke

Do not insult me as a "joke", or approach me with any sort of overly familiar playful rudeness. I kind of hate how normalized just being ~ironically~ straight up mean to people is on here. No I probably won't read your sarcasm unless I've already memorized all your speech patterns or something

Mainly into: Rain Code (lol. lmao, even), Warriors, Akuma Kun, Mouthwashing, Henry Stickmin, birds, cat genetics and scraping pretty rocks off of sidewalks

Plural, we are not interested in assigning roles to each other or specifying our "origin" or how it all happened as it's not currently relevant to us nor is it any of your business like why do you care. Anyway this blog is safe for endos or like, any other type of plural.

Occasional nsfw posts under the #nsft tag, which will contain a bunch of hard kinks like torture rape violence etcetera, so, block that if you don't want to see those. That's also the only tag I consistently use on this blog.

[julewolfstar]

gotta give Actor some flashbacks an shit.

y'know, just make him cry.

that is my go-to torture blorbo.

he isn't allowed to have nice things (/j)

[anxiety-is-my-lullaby-fangirl21]

YALLLLLLLLL IMMA GO ON ABOUT MY BLORBOS FOR A SEC

So this was brought on by this fanfic on a03 called the way we are by KindDevina which is a sequel in a series called are you really okay? Which is about ghost x reader and ive been a big big big fan of this fanfic bc theres a lot of angst (come on its ghost so theres gonna be angst) and basically spoilers for thia fanfic and all but basically at the end of the first part ghost goes mia and is presumed dead. Then in part 2 its years later and reader was pregnant when the end of part 1 happened so now she has her kid and is a writer of a successful book has some friends and is friends with this other parent of riley (her kid) 's friend antoni and then ghost comes back after being tortured by Makarov and his wife and they get all romantic again (FINALLY) things going well and then the parent of rileys friend goes missing for a bit and ends up in the hospital and reader has to take care of antoni for a bit and she learns his father was abusive and shitty and then theres this fight between reader and ghost about if ghost will go back to work in t141 and he does right AND THEN MAKAROV COMES TO HER DOORSTEP AND IS ANTONIS FATHER and laid out like this like yeah could see this coming a mile away but getting it chapter by chapter?!?!?! Oh my god and i still gotta read the rest of the chapter bc i was so taken back that i needed to rant and get it out

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

I gotta know your blorbo et al for Star Wars bc there’s so many characters and I don’t know about you but so many of them share categories, shifting who they are to me based off of what perspective the story is at

Too true, honestly. Star Wars is fucking weird.

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most):

Honestly a really hard call. But if you base it on the amount of fanfiction I've written, this one has to go to Thrawn.

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped):

BB-8. Obviously this one has to go to a droid and this little guy is just so friend shaped. I love him.

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave):

Bodhi Rook. The man only deserves love and respect and I can't find merch for him anywhere! Justice for Bodhi!

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week):

Can I get a shout out to Commander Fox? His personality is entire fan made and I love him for it.

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave)

Maul. Is there any question?

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason):

Hux. I'd love to see him punch in the face more. Frankly the sequel trilogy would have been better for it.

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell):

Kylo Ren. He's not even fun to torture. I just want him gone.

Send Me a Fandom

[liesmyth]

diff anon but I agree with you about needing gideon to be happy more than Harrow! gideon is my little baby, my saddest girl in the universe, my girl of all time. literally all I want for her is to have a life that she enjoys.

harrow on the other hand. I also love her. But like with her I love the misery. you ever have a character where the thing you really love about them is that they are constantly suffering? that sounds ridiculous but it’s how I feel about harrow sdhhgssjk. idk I think harrow’s guilt and reaction to that guilt is totally justified and honestly not over the top at all. she tortured that girl! I wanna see her grapple with the consequences. all this from love of course lol

I UNDERSTAND Harrow suffers so beautifully. I spent a sizable chunk of my Formative Early Fandom Time reading fic where my fave got sick or beat up or broken up with and just wallowed in beautiful misery... I get it. Sometimes u gotta whump that blorbo

[mrnnki]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers! :D!!

Cats! Rats! Animals in general! I enjoy creatures. Not as big a fan of dogs/canids as I am of other animals, but I can appreciate them from a distance.

Art, writing, animation, and generally making stuff! Right now, I'm working on a remake of an animatic from a multi-animator project call I made back in 2020, though it'll just be a standalone video this time. Don't have the energy to revive that one when I'm still hosting All I See is Darkness and I'm getting the audio together for a Warriors parody series.

Gonna say whump and hurt/comfort cause I've been on a whump kick lately. It helps me study for class cause when I need to memorize a medicine's effects or an illness's symptoms, I can just torture a blorbo.

Angsty music. Gotta imagine my blorbo suffering to something, lmao. Icon for Hire will never not be my favorite (they recently released a collab with Citizen Soldier, another artist I like!). YouTube handed me Sharp Pains by Hang Your Hate so I've been listening to that on loop. They have some other songs so I'm probably gonna check those out soon. But if you wanna get real edgy, TX2 has some great songs (one of my favorites is Loaded Guns).

This one is very specific, but I've been playing Sonic Origins the past couple of weeks (asked for it for my birthday) and I'm partway through Sonic 2. Tails's sprite is absolutely adorable and made me push through a couple of sections I would've been too frustrated by otherwise cause I've got a little dude following me. I'm not particularly great at video games, but when I'm too tired to draw, they bring me joy.