if you are struggling with choosing which fundraisers to support, please consider donating to the following places providing medical aid, food, and other supplies to palestine at this time:
donate to doctors without borders here
donate to careforgaza here, providing food, medicine and clothing
donate an e-sim to gaza today
donate feminine hygiene kits for women in gaza
donate to the palestinian civilian relief fund
donate to the palestine children's relief fund
donate to the world food programme
donate medical aid for palestinians
donate to the united nations relief for palestine refugees
donate to healpalestine
if you are looking for individual fundraisers to donate to but are struggling to choose, gazafunds gives a spotlight to fundraisers that are not close to their goal.
instead of watching and supporting eurovision tonight, please instead boost this post & donate if you can. keep your eyes on rafah.
Shout out to the doctor who responded with complete sincerity when I (on anesthesia) uttered the phrase “chat are we cooked” in her medical professional vicinity. You’re such a real one for that fr fr
Hikaru sat at the opposite end, drenched in red light. "I wanna kill ya, Yoshiki."
Yoshiki smiled. "Okay."
Hikaru was on top of him now, pinning his hands to the bed. "Yer sick in the head," Hikaru said, grinning his fanged smirk and narrowing his glowing, red eyes. "Ya want me to?"
"Yeah," Yoshiki said. "It feels good."
Hikaru laughed, then drew one finger across Yoshiki's chin, tilting his head to the left. Hikaru leaned in close, his lips brushing against the skin of Yoshiki's neck. "Then I'll kill ya slow, Yoshiki. I'll make it feel so good. And then… I'll turn ya. And we'll both be monsters."
The tireless staff at Tumblr continually push these updates in an effort to encourage me to log off this app and go outside instead. But I, brave and loyal, push on through all barriers...
I looked through this photographer’s other work, at first to reassure myself that these photos were taken in a sincere and respectful spirit (they were).
The author, Chris Arnade, has spent time chronicling the lives of unhoused people battling with addiction, and wrote a stark and heart-wrenching article about it some years ago. It really highlights how much the American right wing has a long legacy of trying to hurt and deprive underprivileged people.
isagi’s panicking. like sweating-through-his-shirt kind of panicking.
you’re crying, hiccuping, ugly sobs echoing off the walls, and he’s frantically running around the apartment like, “uh– should i– get tissues? tea? food? do i call my mom???”
he tries all of the above. nothing works.
then in a desperate act of boyfriend logic, he blurts, “what if i, uh… take my shirt off?”
you pause mid-sob. blinking. mascara tears and all.
“... what.”
but he’s already doing it. the shirt’s off. and suddenly you’re staring at abs sculpted from years of intense soccer training.
you sniffle, still snorting from your tears, but your eyes are definitely scanning his torso.
“yoichi. what the hell are you doing.”
“idk i panicked 😭 you like these right??”
and somehow, it works.
your tears dry up like magic. your brain just… blue screens. you reach out without thinking, poke his abs, and go, “wait they’re real.”
isagi is now the one malfunctioning. face red, holding his shirt awkwardly.
“so… does that mean you’re not sad anymore?”
“yeah. but now i’m just confused and a little horny.”
“oh.”
he panics again.
itoshi rin
rin’s the silent panicker. he looks calm on the outside but his brain’s a slideshow of “what do i do what do i do what do i do.”
he sits beside you, rubbing your back, offering water, trying to say comforting words, but they all come out stiff and awkward like “don’t cry, it’s… inefficient.”
you cry harder.
he’s like 😐 great.
he even tries hugging you, but you’re too deep in your feels. so rin sighs, gives up, and mutters, “... fine. you asked for it.”
you look up, confused, only to see him pulling his hoodie off.
bam. abs. deltoids. biceps. back muscles that look like they were carved by greek gods.
you freeze mid-sob. rin’s looking away with that annoyed blush like, “are you done?”
“... why are you stripping?”
“it usually distracts you.”
“... yeah okay fair.”
suddenly you’re silent, just staring. and then you reach out and touch his arm.
his muscles flex under your hand and you whisper, “oh my gosh, it’s like a rock.”
rin: 🧍♂️ “stop doing that or i’ll forget you were crying.”
you’re grinning through tears like “maybe that’s the point.”
he sighs, muttering something about you being ridiculous, but his lips are twitching, trying not to smile.
mission accomplished: sad girlfriend defeated by sexy abs.
itoshi sae
sae doesn’t do emotions. the man’s emotional availability is equivalent to an IKEA instruction manual.
but when you’re crying, like full sobbing, he actually looks concerned.
he hands you tissues, tells you to breathe, even offers to order your favorite food. but nothing works.
he tries logic, reasoning, sarcasm. nope. nothing.
finally, he leans back, crosses his arms, and goes, “you’re really not gonna stop, huh.”
you shake your head dramatically.
sigh. “... fine.”
next thing you know, his sweater’s off and there’s just… the purest, most expensive abs you’ve ever seen. like couture core muscles.
“sae. what are you doing.”
“using the only thing that works on you.”
you pause. sniff. blink. stare.
“... it’s working.”
he smirks, “figured.”
you reach out, fingertips brushing his abs, and he deadpans, “are you done crying or should i flex the other side, too?”
“other side–?”
he turns around. broad back. shoulder blades flex. your sadness? gone. obliterated.
he smirks without looking back, “you’re welcome.”
bro literally mansplained, manstared, manflexed your depression away.
nagi seishiro
nagi wakes up from a nap to the sound of you crying.
at first he just stares like 🧍♂️ “eh?”
then he’s immediately pulling you into a lazy hug, rubbing your head, trying to comfort you while still half-asleep.
“don’t cry, it’s too much energy,” he mumbles into your hair.
you still cry. nagi frowns. “huh. okay. plan b.”
this man… sits up slowly, yawns, then takes off his shirt like it’s some ancient ritual.
“what are you doing???”
“dunno. saw on tiktok that muscles help.”
“sei, that’s not–”
but then you see them. the abs. the v-line. the lean muscle from training. your brain just goes: static noise.
you stop crying instantly, mouth slightly open.
“oh,” nagi says, blinking. “it worked?”
you reach out and poke his chest like it’s the eighth wonder of the world.
“huh,” he hums. “guess you’re not sad anymore.”
“no, i’m just in shock.”
he smirks, stretching his arms behind his head, abs flexing more. “then keep looking. it’s free therapy.”
“seishiro.”
“what? i’m helping.”
he says that with the laziest grin ever as you sit there, teary-eyed, emotionally healed, and also down bad.
mikage reo
reo’s the overachiever boyfriend – he brings snacks, cuddles, money, pep talks, playlists, everything.
and you’re still crying.
he’s lowkey panicking because he’s tried everything. the only thing left is… drastic measures.
“okay, baby, this is my last resort,” he says dramatically, standing up.
you’re like, hiccuping mid-cry, “w-what are you doing–”
shirt gone. abs sparkling like they were sponsored by gucci. he even does a little flex like it’s a photoshoot.
you’re silent. jaw slightly dropped.
“are you… feeling better?” he asks, voice smug.
“you’re so dumb.”
“but you’re not crying.”
“... shut up.”
you reach out and touch his bicep, muttering, “it’s not even fair.”
“it’s called luxury therapy, baby. exclusive treatment.”
“luxury therapy?”
“yeah. costs one kiss per ab.”
“reo.”
“that’s eight kisses minimum. ten if you include the biceps.”
you stop crying completely just to smack his arm, then burst into laughter.
his grin softens instantly. “there she is.”
bachira meguru
bachira’s first reaction to you crying is immediate panic and also curiosity.
like, he crouches down in front of you, big eyes sparkling with worry like, “oh nooo, my baby’s leaking from her eyes 😭 who hurt you?? i’ll bite them.”
he tries to make you laugh first – does funny faces, wiggles his eyebrows, even attempts to balance a pillow on his head while singing about how you’re “the prettiest crier in the whole world.”
but nope. you’re still crying. ugly crying, hiccuping, red-nose level crying.
then bachira blinks. stops. and you can see the light bulb go off.
“okay, okay, okay. if plan giggle doesn’t work…”
rip. shirt gone. he’s grinning mischievously as he flexes just a little.
you look up mid-sob like, “... what are you doing.”
“distraction!”
and honestly?? it works. because bachira’s body is deceptively toned. his abs are cut, but not overbearing, like a perfect mix of “soccer player” and “trouble.”
you blink, your sniffles slowing.
“oh? is it working?” he says with that feral grin.
“meguru–”
“you can touch ‘em if you want~”
“MEGURU.”
you end up laughing mid-tears, smacking his chest while he’s giggling like a maniac, proud of himself.
“see! smiles are way prettier on you, baby~”
“you’re so stupid.”
“stupidly hot,” he corrects, flexing one more time.
and just like that, bachira 1 – sadness 0.
shidou ryusei
if there’s one man who would use shirtless chaos as step one instead of last resort, it’s shidou.
you’re crying on the couch, and he walks in shirtless already because that’s just his natural state of being.
“yo, what’s wrong with my baby girl?” he says, crouching down, smirking like he’s about to start trouble.
“leave me alone, ryu,” you sniffle.
he tilts his head, grin fading for half a second. then he gets this look – mischievous, but weirdly serious.
“nah, can’t do that.”
he sits down, flexes his arm slowly, on purpose, while pretending to stretch.
you catch a glimpse of the muscle definition, and it’s like your brain suddenly runs out of sadness storage.
“you crying over something worth less than me, baby?” he says teasingly, leaning back so his abs catch the light.
you glare at him through tears, but your face definitely softens.
“you’re an idiot.”
“but you stopped crying, didn’t ya?”
“... maybe.”
“uh-huh. now come here before i flex you into next week.”
he literally pulls you onto his lap and kisses your cheek until you start laughing instead of crying.
and when you finally relax, he whispers near your ear, “see? i told you. best therapy’s me.”
disgusting. effective. dangerously hot.
karasu tabito
karasu’s the type who pretends he’s calm while absolutely freaking out inside.
you’re sitting on the floor crying, and he’s pacing behind you like he’s calculating tactical plays in his head.
“okay… i’ve said sorry twice… offered snacks three times… what’s next…”
you sniffle. he freezes. looks down at you.
“yer still crying?”
“obviously.”
“damn.” he clicks his tongue, muttering something like, “desperate times, desperate measures.”
and then. without a word. he just takes off his hoodie.
broad shoulders. lean muscles. abs that look illegal.
you literally stop mid-sob and look up, eyes wide.
“tabito… what–”
“i’m improvising,” he says with a smirk. “ya always get weirdly quiet when i come out of the shower. figured i’d try it.”
“… you’re insufferable.”
“but yer not crying anymore.”
and god help you, he’s right. your brain forgot sadness existed.
you roll your eyes, but your hand betrays you. you poke his abs. then his arm.
“so this is the new comfort method?”
“apparently it works,” he says with that smug grin.
“hm. i might cry more often then.”
he laughs, leaning down so his face is inches from yours. “don’t push it, pretty girl.”
safe to say, you’re no longer crying, just flustered as hell.
kaiser michael
oh this man. this smug, self-satisfied menace.
he walks into the room, sees you crying, and his immediate reaction is… a slow sigh and a soft, “oh, liebling.”
he tries gentle things first – wiping your tears, brushing your hair back, kissing your temple. it’s sweet, and you almost stop crying, but the sadness lingers.
so he tilts his head, smirks faintly, and murmurs, “hm. nothing’s working, huh.”
and then he very casually starts unbuttoning his shirt.
“mihya. what are you doing?”
“statistically speaking,” he says, voice teasing, “you smile when i’m shirtless. consider it experimental therapy.”
“that’s not–”
but your words die when you see his chest.
lean, toned, defined lines from years of training and god-tier confidence.
your tears literally dry up on sight.
he chuckles when your gaze lingers too long. “works like a charm every time.”
“you’re so full of yourself.”
“and you’re still staring.”
you groan, trying to hide your face, but he gently lifts your chin.
“better, ja?” he says softly. and he’s smiling, real and genuine this time.
you nod, muttering, “yeah, fine. you win.”
“of course i do.”
he presses a kiss to your forehead. “the abs always win.”
scientist, therapist, narcissist – whatever he is, it worked.
ness alexis
poor ness. he’s so stressed when you cry 😭
like, you start sobbing and he just freezes mid-step, eyes wide, hands half-raised like, “oh gosh oh gosh what do i do??”
he tries everything. tissues, cuddles, chocolate, playing your favorite song. nothing works.
eventually, he sits down beside you, defeated. “i don’t know how to fix this…”
and then, from pure panic-brain, he blurts: “should i take my shirt off???”
you stop crying for one second to blink at him.
“… what?”
“i don’t know!! it worked in a movie once!!”
you stare at him. he stares back. then, mortified but determined, he actually does it.
and you’re both silent. because holy crap – ness is actually built.
his muscles are soft but firm, his abs defined but not overdone. your tears just… disappear.
“alexis. what. the hell.”
he’s blushing furiously. “i–i thought maybe it’d help??”
“you’re ridiculous.”
“but– are you still crying?”
“… no.”
“then it worked!” he beams proudly, even flexes a little like an awkward puppy showing off.
you giggle mid-sniffle, poking his chest. “yeah, okay, you win.”
“muscle magic!” he says cheerfully.
you both start laughing again, and suddenly everything feels lighter.
boy really panic-unclothed his way into curing sadness.
Two Itoshi love triangles???? It’s hard being the secondary it girls of Blue Lock…
Anyhow, I really like how two of the players most involved with Sae both have religious themes. Like Shidou with demons and Bunny’s last name meaning church plus his cross-shaped scar.
