the mayan

just another multifandom kinda’ gal

[achillesinhighheels]

[vetckkie]

girl get off that c.ai and embrace the 'x reader'

[raysome]

In a world of AO3 warriors, I'm forever a Tumblr Trooper...

[plottwistpotato]

"English isn't my first language-" say less pookie 😏

[hairscare]

pisses me off when i see people on other platforms talk about "everyone" abandoning tumblr after the sex ban and what a big impact that had. THE WEAK LEFT THE STRONG SURVIVED. REAL TUMBLR USERS WILL NEVER STOP. they could make a new update where you can only post 3 words at a time and id still be on here like "hey guys whats"

[redheadedflag]

fighting a big tummy ache rn all i want is to be in the arms of a big strong man💔

[lifehacksthatwork]

Signs of a heart attack are different for each gender yet we only really teach the male warning signs. Make sure you’re aware of both and spread it to as many other women as possible!

[branwyn-says]

EVERY SINGLE TIME I HAVE TAKEN A CPR CLASS I have had to be that person who points out that the training videos ALWAYS frame the “male” symptoms as the default universal heart attack experience, while the “female” symptoms are framed as though they’re a deviation from the norm, rather than the primary symptom set that cis women experience. 

ALSO: I just showed this post to my roommate, who is an MD at a clinic that specializes in care for the LGBT community in the Baltimore area. I asked her  whether hormones were responsible for the difference in the “male/female” symptom arrays. I asked how that would apply to her trans patients (which, she treats a LOT of trans patients). She said, basically, that the longer you’ve taken testosterone the more likely you are to get the intense chest pressure and the arm pain, versus the upper back pressure and shortness of breath.

Obviously I am not a doctor myself, consult your own health care provider, etc.

[sanscarte]

Reblogging this comment because this is the FIRST TIME I’ve ever seen someone address what XYZ medical condition would look like in trans patients. Also this is partly why my great-grandma died: the (male) doctor dismissed her heart attack as basically indigestion, because she didn’t have the typical male symptoms.

[solarpunkarchivist-deactivated2]

Oh my God someone was able to answer the trans patient question!

[m4nwhore69]

I love my husband

[jjmk-jjmk]

Happy birthday Jason 🎉 (w. FADE)

[murphysmom67]

[kenntoria-deactivated20250831]

you’re not used to people doing nice things for you. not really.

sure, people have done things to you, and maybe even for you, but rarely has it felt like it came from a place of softness. from love. from that gentle place nanami reaches for you from every time he looks at you.

you don’t know what to do with it, sometimes. like right now.

he’s standing at your stove—your stove, in your kitchen, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—and he’s wearing that damn apron again. the navy one with the little white pinstripes that matches the sleeve garters he wears to work.

he’s cooking you breakfast.

he’s made you coffee just the way you like it—without even asking this time—and he’s got a little pot of jam warming on the stove, and he’s slicing strawberries like it’s meditative.

you stand in the doorway and watch him for a minute, your throat burning.

he doesn’t even flinch when he sees you. just smiles, soft and unhurried, and says, “good morning, sweetheart. go sit, i’m almost done.”

and maybe it’s the way he says it. like you’re someone who deserves to be cared for. like this is normal.

you sit down, still blinking too fast.

he brings the plate over and sets it in front of you—golden french toast with warm strawberries and powdered sugar, and something in you cracks at the care of it all. the absurd, quiet kindness of a man who took the time to sift powdered sugar because he thought you would enjoy it.

you try to blink it away. you really do.

but when you look up at him, he sees it immediately. how your face has gone tight with the effort of keeping it in. how your lower lip wobbles.

“hey,” he murmurs, crouching beside your chair, one warm hand on your knee. “what is it?”

you laugh, shaky and a little pathetic. “you made me breakfast.”

“i did.” he’s smiling still, but it’s gentler now, more careful. “and that’s… upsetting?”

you shake your head, but your voice is cracking when you speak. “no. it’s just—no one’s ever really… done stuff like this. not for me.”

his brows knit, and he presses his temple against your arm, fingers squeezing your leg.

“then they’re all fools,” he says quietly. “because doing this for you is the easiest thing in the world.”

your chest aches. your eyes burn. and when he kisses the back of your hand and tells you, again, to eat before it gets cold—like it’s normal to be cherished like this—you cry into your breakfast.

just a little.

he doesn’t tease you. he just brings you a napkin and kisses your temple and tells you you’re allowed to feel whatever you’re feeling.

he’ll do it again tomorrow, too. and the day after.

until your heart stops breaking every time someone is good to it.

[maisy1111]

me staring at the search bar trying to decide which fictional man I’ll read about tonight:

[mintaii]

at the heart of it all

[evieliney-deactivated20260408]

giggling and kicking my feet after every fluff fics because IT HEALS ME

[satoruined]

husband!nanami preemptively budgeting for your unborn baby

on the morning after your second positive test, your husband’s standing hunched over the kitchen table—he’d left bed quietly, with the soft deliberation he applied to most things in life. in front of him sits a mug of untouched coffee gone tepid. a yellow legal pad: column after column of figures in tidy script, annotated with 0.5 uni ball pen.

you hover in the doorway a moment, admiring his profile: barefoot in his slacks, hair slightly mussed. he doesn’t hear you until you shift your weight, floorboard creaking underfoot.

“seven weeks,” you say, by way of greeting.

“approximately,” his gaze drops back to the paper. “which, optimistically, gives us about seven months to account for the first year’s expenses.”

“did you know,” he murmurs, “the average cost of a child’s first year is nearly two million yen? that doesn’t include school fees. or medical insurance. or college tuition.”

you step closer, skimming the columns. food, childcare, emergency savings, medical contingencies. even a line labeled ‘adjusted parental leave income.’

“this one here,” he says, tapping his pen against a neat cell, “is a preliminary projection for an international preschool program. in the event we don’t stay in tokyo. though it’s still early.”

you blink. “kento. our child is the size of a blueberry.”

“irrelevant at this stage. what matters is equity of access.”

you fold yourself into the space between his chair and the table, arms looped around his neck, cheek pressed against his temple. his pen halts midstroke.

“i’m not worried,” he adds finally. “i just want to plan ahead. i don’t want you—or them—to ever need anything.”

you kiss the top of his head. “you’re gonna be a great dad.”

he hums, then under his breath, “do you think two air purifiers would be too much?”

[whimsifae]

the most fun a girl can have is finding parallels, noticing patterns, making connections, contemplating

[miss-nerd-alert]

[thelhc]

nobody has been there for me like the ‘x reader’ tag has been there for me