Some interests of mine: nature, earth in general, thrisfting, reading, writing, listening to music, playing the flute, gaming, plants/gardening, 420, envrionmentalism, feminism, history, education, atla, and nascar
games in my rotation rn: rdr2, Stardew, gta, sims 4, slime rancher, terraria, stray, and little kitty big city
i have very little patience for the -isms. racism, sexism, homophobia- ect. will not be tolerated in my space. i will tweak out.
some things i DO NOT like: racism, xenophobia, transphobia, literally just anyone mean. also being treated like anything other than a sweet angel princess.
if discord is more comfortable for you, feel free to reach out to me there!
showing levi how much you appreciate him or .. riding levi after his accident
cw: smut ⸝⸝ hurt to comfort ⸝⸝ levi's a bit insecure
ever since levi’s injury, he’s been more distant. he’d flinch slightly when you tried to engage anything sexual, claiming that he wasn’t in the mood. you believed him, until you found him in your shared bedroom fucking his fist with your panties. it was time, you decided, for an intervention.
“levi?” you called out. you peeked your head into the room. he was on the bed reading a book. when he heard your voice, he glanced up and set it aside.
“hm?” he replied eyes scanning yours. he looked well rested for once and it made you smile. levi caught this immediately and raised a brow.
“what?”
“nothing.” you joined him on the bed, smile only growing wider. he narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously, but wrapped his arm around you. “it doesn’t look like nothing,” he said in a pointed tone. he kissed your cheek before reaching over on the nightstand.
“well, it’s truly nothing, i’ll go back to my book…” you grabbed his arm to stop him. he raised an eyebrow at you once more.
“what now—”
instead of responding, you crawled into his laps and straddled him. he stared at you before his hands found purchase on your waist.
“ever since your accident, you’ve been distant.” you started off, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “and i’ve missed you levi. i understand why, but i promise you that i want you no matter not. and honestly..." you ran your hand along his defined abs, not failing to miss the way he inhaled sharply at your touch, "how could i not?" you pressed a kiss to his cheek and grinned at him. before he could even speak, his eyes told you everything that was on the tip of his tongue. he sighed and averted his gaze from you.
"i have been distance," he admitted, "but i don't want you to do this because you feel like you have to. that's the last thing i'd want." he swallowed hard before meeting your eyes. you held his gaze, before leaning in and peppering kisses down his jawline. he groaned softly and squeezed the plush of your ass through your shorts. you rolled your hips absentmindedly, still littering his face with kisses. levi bucked his hips against your clothed cunt and you groaned. your lips found their way to his neck as you grinded against his hard on.
"levi—" your breath caught in your throat as his hand found its way underneath your tank top. shivering under his touch, he cupped your breasts under the fabric, whispering about how beautiful you were.
"just perfect." he murmured, fingers teasing your nipples. you whined softly and grinded against the tent in his pants even more. "missed this so much levi," you confessed. you truly had, it's been a tortuous few weeks without him. he's plagued every one one of your dreams since the last time you had him all to yourself. and this time, you weren't going to let him slip away again as easily.
levi gestured for you to lift your hips so he could take off your flimsy shorts. he tossed them somewhere in the room without a second glance and focused his attention back on you. or, more specifically, your tits. they were peaking through your tank top and catching levi's attention. he tugged the hem of it and you swiftly took it off. his mouth attacked them instantly: swirling one nipple and rolling the other in between his fingers before switching. you let out a sinful moan, tugging lightly on his hair. after he pulled away, he looked up at you, dark eyes filled with lust and impatience.
"it's been too long, i need you," he said just above a whisper. you smiled, he was still a bit shy. you didn't mind, you unbuttoned his pants in a blink. he was hard, tip leaking with precum. you pumped the base of his cock, earning a low guttural moan from the dark haired man. you smirked, running your thumb across the head of his dick. he cursed under his breath and bucked his hips involuntarily.
"missed this soo badly," you hummed, kissing his tip. "i'm guessing you did too, hm?"
levi barely managed a nod before his head dipped and he kissed your collarbone. he could come right now, just from your touch. that's how badly he missed you, so much it hurt. when you finally sink down on his cock, groaning as you took every inch of him, levi died right then and there. he silently cursed himself for denying himself of this for so long. he'd been quietly yearning for you, hiding in the shadows when he wanted to get off, all because he was terrified. but the way you looked at him, kissed him, and squeezed around him made all that fear melt away.
"jesus christ, you're tight," levi groaned. his thick cock only made it halfway into your poor cunt. your palms were flat on his chest to steady yourself. you fluttered around him at his words and whined softly, "levi, i don't know if i can take anymore."
levi shook his head firmly. "you've taken all of me before, it's just... been a while." you nodded and spread your legs wider so you could fully sink down on his cock. with a bit of coaxing, he almost bottomed out. tears prickled in your eyes from the stretch. he felt so good, splitting you apart like this. you whispered his name like a mantra, sinful moans escaping your lips.
"i know, i know, you're almost there," he encouraged you. you bit your bottom lip and cried out his name when he finally bottomed out. "there, that's all of me," his breath hitched at the feeling of being fully nested inside of you after so long. it felt like heaven—your gummy cunt, already squeezing around him so tightly he was sure to come right there and then. you were so warm, so delicate, so perfect. he was sure he didn't deserve you, but your words from earlier rang in his head.
"levi," you pulled him out of your thoughts with your wrecked voice, "you okay?"
he nodded and sighed. "i'm sorry for depriving us of this...and for so long too." lifting his chin up with your finger, you kissed him, lips capturing his in a sweet kiss. his hands cupped your face and you slowly lifted your hips and slammed back down. he swallowed your moans and smacked your ass. you yelped and he smirked below you. you rode him, thighs trembling as you fluttered around his length. he was so big, it still took a second to get used to. you didn't last long, your legs gave out after a bit. you insisted on a break before continuing, but levi insisted.
"let me make it up to you," his dark eyes met with yours. the intensity of his gaze made your stomach churn. all you could do was nod. his hands found your hips once more and he thrusted into you. your velvet walls fluttered around him as you trembled above him. your broken moans only pushed him to pick up the paste. each thrust was a silent apology, a way to make up for lost time. he kissed your chest, littering it with soft kisses. the last thing you heard before you fell apart was your name escaping from his lips. your thighs shook as you came down from your high. levi came deep inside of you with a low grunt.
"beautiful," he murmured. you looked into his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he let you see him vulnerable. he looked a little broken with his brows furrowed, searching your eyes for any sign of regret. he still didn't want you to want him out of pity.
"i missed you levi," you finally said with a happy sigh. you cupped his face and grinned. "i could never not want you, i promise."
levi leaned forward and sealed your promise with a kiss. it was tender, his hands found their way in your hair, and yours in his. he stole your breath, kissing you like he'd been waiting all of eternity to do so. it was him twitching, still very much inside of you, that broke the kiss.
"shit," he muttered, slightly embarassed.
you cackled and poked his cheek. "all from a kiss? you defintely missed me, huh?"
"gosh, no need to rub it in," he rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite in his tone.
you lifted your hips slowly and he froze. "make me." he smirked at you before rolling the two of you over. the two of you stayed up all night, tangled in the sheets, making up for lost time.
tysm to the nonnie that request this && the paris fic !!! i'm sorry i took so long </3
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Standard disclaimer: I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may found is on tumblr or A03 under the same name. This is all fake. It does not reflect real people, real events or their actual actions or relationships. May contain google translated languages.
Looking for more? Left Turns & Long Distances Masterlist
Portage, Michigan, did not smell like anything.
That was the first thing she noticed, standing on the sidewalk outside a house that wasn’t going to be her house for very long if her dad’s last three postings were anything to go by, suitcases stacked around her like a small fort. Back home the air had smelled like salt and eucalyptus and, closer to the track, like rubber and gasoline, and here it just smelled like — nothing. Cut grass, maybe. Rain that hadn’t happened yet.
She was eight. She’d lived in California her whole life, which felt like a very long time when you were eight, and now she was standing in front of a beige house in an area she couldn’t have found on a map a month ago, because her dad had gotten orders, and orders were orders, and that was just how it worked when your dad was Coast Guard.
“It’s not the ocean,” he’d told her on the drive out, like that was supposed to help. “But it’s still water. Still a job.”
She hadn’t really understood what a job patrolling a lake instead of an ocean meant, exactly, except that it meant leaving her school and her friends and the kart track twenty minutes from their old house, the one with the tight infield turn she’d finally started taking flat.
Her mom had promised there’d be a track here too. Eventually. Once they got settled.
Eventually felt like a very long word.
The new school smelled like industrial cleaner and something vaguely like tater tots, and she’d been dropped into the middle of third grade in November, which everyone she’d ever talked to about moving agreed was the worst possible time to do it. Everyone already had their groups. Everyone already knew who sat where at lunch and who you were and were not allowed to talk to during recess, some invisible map that had apparently been drawn months ago and that she had no way of reading.
She didn’t have an accent, not really, not one anyone could actually put their finger on, but somebody in her class had decided she talked “weird” anyway, and the nickname California had stuck within the first week — not cruel exactly, not the kind of bullying that showed up in the books her mom had given her about starting a new school, more the quieter kind. Not being picked for things. Being asked where she was from and then not asked anything else after that, like the answer had used up everyone’s curiosity in one go.
She ate lunch by herself for the first eleven days. She counted.
Her karting gear stayed packed in a box in the garage, because there was nowhere to take it yet, and some nights she’d go stand next to the box just to look at it, like proof that a version of her existed somewhere that wasn’t just the new girl nobody talked to.
The project got assigned on a Tuesday.
Mrs. Halloran announced it during the last period before lunch — state history, some kind of poster board thing about Michigan, due in two weeks — and then read off partners from a list she’d created, which was how she ended up paired with a boy named Carson Hocevar, who she’d noticed before only in the vague way you noticed anyone in a class of twenty kids who mostly ignored you: loud, always finishing his work early, always in some kind of low-grade trouble that never seemed to actually bother him.
He turned around in his seat a few places ahead of her when their names got called together, looked at her for a second like he was doing quick math, and said, “You’re the California one.”
“Yeah.”
“Is it actually always sunny there? Like all the time?”
“Not all the time.”
He seemed to consider this a genuinely disappointing piece of information. “Huh.”
That was it. That was the whole conversation. He turned back around.
At lunch he found her.
She was at her usual table — the one near the end, close enough to the wall that nobody had to actually invite her to sit there, far enough from everyone else that it didn’t look like she was trying — when a tray dropped down across from her without warning, and Carson Hocevar sat down like this was something they did every day instead of something that had never once happened.
“We should probably talk about the project,” he said, already unwrapping a sandwich. “Mrs. Halloran said posters. I hate posters. I’m bad at cutting straight lines.”
“Okay.”
“You any good at cutting straight lines?”
“I don’t know. Probably.”
“Good. You do that part, then.” He said it like it was already decided, like there was no version of this where she’d say no, and something about the certainty of it — the complete lack of asking permission to just sit there and start planning — made her feel less like she was being interviewed and more like she’d already passed some test she hadn’t known she was taking.
“What are we even supposed to do it on,” she said. “Michigan history. That’s, like, everything.”
“Mrs. Halloran said we get to pick a topic. Like, mining, or the Great Lakes, or cars.” He said the last one with a little more weight than the others, like he’d been hoping someone would let him pick it. “I want to do cars.”
“Cars?”
“Michigan’s basically where cars come from. Detroit and all that. It’s a whole thing.” He looked at her, actually looked at her, for the first time since he’d sat down. “You know anything about cars?”
She almost said no, out of habit, the same instinct that had made her keep her mouth shut about pretty much everything for eleven days straight. But something about the way he’d asked — not like a test, not like he was trying to catch her out being weird again — made her hesitate.
“A little,” she said.
“A little how.”
“I race.”
Carson stopped chewing.
“Like — real racing? Or like, go-karts at the mall kind of racing?”
“Real racing Karts.” She felt her face get a little hot, the way it always did when she talked about it around people who hadn’t seen it, people who might not believe her, or worse, might think it was weird, one more thing to add to the pile of reasons she didn’t fit here. “I’ve been doing it since I was six. There was a track by my old house. I haven’t found one here yet.”
Carson set his sandwich down entirely.
“You race,” he said again, slower this time, like he needed to make sure he’d heard it right.
“Yeah.”
“Are you good?”
She thought about the tight infield turn back home, the one she’d finally started taking flat right before they left, the trophy from States that was still packed in a box somewhere she hadn’t found yet either.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m pretty good.”
Carson looked at her for a long second, something shifting behind his eyes.
"Okay," he said finally, picking his sandwich back up like the conversation hadn't just tilted sideways into something bigger than a school project. "We're doing cars. And you're telling me everything. Right now. Before lunch is over."
And for the first time in eleven days, she did.
"I race too," Carson said, when she finished. "Quarter midgets. Since I was seven."
She stopped. "Wait, actually?"
He shrugged, more offhand about it than she expected. "I've won some. It's not really about that though. I just like doing it."
"What do you like about it?"
Carson thought about the question like it actually deserved a real answer, not just the first thing that came to mind.
"I don't know. Everything's quiet when you're in the car," he said finally. "Like, everything else just stops mattering for a while. It's just you and the track."
She knew exactly what he meant, in a way she hadn't expected anyone here to understand, let alone put into words so plainly.
"Yeah," she said. "That's exactly it."
"What do you drive? Kart, I mean. What's the setup like?"
She told him — the chassis, the tires, the engine — and Carson listened with real focus, nodding along, cutting in every so often with a question that told her he wasn't just being polite. He actually knew what she was talking about.
Carson chewed for a second, thinking, then said, like he'd just landed on something: "You should come watch me race. This weekend."
"Watch?"
"Yeah, just to see it. It's oval, not the road course stuff you're used to, so I don't know if you'd even like it. But if you did—" he shrugged again, like this part was obvious "—my dad knows everybody at the club. He could help your dad figure out where you'd even start looking, since you're new here and don't know anybody yet."
She looked at him for a second, something careful and unfamiliar rising in her chest, like she wasn't sure it was safe yet to want this as much as she already did.
"You'd ask him? For me?"
"Why wouldn't I."
She looked down at her tray for a second, blinking fast, because something about the ease of it — no hesitation, no weighing whether she was worth the favor — had caught her off guard more than she wanted to admit.
She shrugged and Carson went back to his sandwich like the matter was closed, and for her — in a way that would take years to fully understand — it was the exact moment that the last eleven days stopped being the whole story of Portage, Michigan, and started being just the beginning of it.
the idea that every summer will be as hot if not hotter than this for the rest of my life is unbearable i need to (remembers suicide jokes are bad for my mental health) murder an oil executive
Life is getting done with a marching band season and swearing on your life that you'll never go back and then going back anyway. And then you grow up and you're a staff member and you do the same thing
You ever think about how often you hear someone say "there's no such thing as natural talent! Anyone can be taught" and you want to believe that they mean "with the right method and accommodations, anyone can be taught this", but time and time again you learn that they meant "I don't believe in learning disabilities or accommodations, anyone whom I can't teach simply doesn't want to learn."
i was training a young person at work, and she referred to sexual assault as "SA" out loud, and i immediately was like, "no, it's sexual assault, call it what it is," bc idgaf if the algorithm overlords have taught y'all that you should fear direct language, how tf do any of you expect to ever address real issues with any amount of seriousness if you can't even say the words? imagine an advocate looking a sexual assault survivor in the eyes and asking "did he grape you?" it's absolutely fucking absurd, but these young interns and new hires are coming into an environment where we deal with survivors of all different kinds of abuse, and they're coming with the mindset that the words are as bad as the actions, and that makes them shitty at the job and look juvenile af
i HATE self-censorship for a lot of reasons, but being in crisis work makes it even more frustrating. who are you censoring for? like i am being so fr, WHO are you censoring for? have you even thought it through? people who have been raped know that they have been raped. if someone attempts suicide or is grieving someone who did, saying "sewer slide" isn't going to protect them from any of the feelings. a murder victim's family isn't going to feel better bc you said "unalived" instead of murdered. if anything, it's just extremely invalidating and othering. it's saying "what happened to you is so bad that i won't even say the word," which is NOT trauma-informed care. you are not protecting survivors/victims when you self-censor. the ONLY things you protect when you self-censor are the puritanical ideologies that are being encouraged by rich fascists who want your money and obedience
say the fucking words, guys. just say the goddamn words before i go insane!!!
why do people take someone else’s mental illness personally. why do people do that. i’m depressed and i have crippling ocd. this has nothing to do with you
sometimes mental illness will have you unironically thinking "if only everything about me was different, then people would love me" while the crowd of people who love you stands ten feet behind you
One thing that worries me about the use of AI is whether or not it can worsen people's dementia and alzheimer's in the future. When my grandmother was first diagnosed, we got her math activity books. Now, my grandmother never had a formal education, but we did our best to keep her sharp, get her to do math and writing activity books, sudokus, playing board games that required some level of strategizing with her. Her family is prone to alzheimer's and dementia (both her siblings had it and deteriorated very very very quickly, which yeah, scares the shit out of me being her granddaughter) but she was the one whose mind lasted the longest, she only passed away two years ago, at 88, ten whole years after her initial diagnosis and sure, she had forgotten things, recipes and where she put her glasses and appointments, but she never forgot any of us, ten whole years in, she still remembered us. Now, this may have been luck, but doctors always said the constant mental work + companionship + medicine helped her a lot. So I'm thinking, these people who are now relying on AI for everything, from email-writing to thinking what's for dinner to casual conversations, I've even seen people rely on it to calculate what time they should leave their house if they need to be at a place at a specific time and their commute lasts X number of minutes. As if that's not... the simplest math operation possible? You shouldn't even need a calculator for that!!! Idk I don't know how long it'll take us to see the effects of this + exposure to brain-rotting short form content that is completely meaningless + people addicted to right-wing conspiracy style media. Idk I'm very worried. Please, read, read complicated books! Take up a book on philosophy and try to decipher it and make your own opinions on it, please buy a maths activity book and relearn how to do math, please get a hobby that involves lots of thinking and concentrating. PLEASE!!!
As a neurologist, I’ll give you the pretty name for it: cognitive reserve.
The way I explain it to my patients is that our neurons don’t regenerate. They make connections with each other and that’s it. If you don’t use your brain, they make fewer connections and, if one of them dies, you’re gonna miss it, because that was the only one that knew how to do X. Now, if each one of them has many, many connections, you won’t notice the difference when one of them dies. The others pick up the slack.
As of 2024, 45% of dementia risk factors are modifiable. Relevant to this conversation, 5% for less education and 5% for social isolation.
We absolutely are going to see the reflection of this, but it’s gonna take decades and it’ll be too late. So, for the love of your brain, pretend that it’s a muscle and make it work. People complain about “when am I ever gonna use this maths formula in my life?” You’re not. You’re teaching your brain to think logically. Those sinapses will be there for when you need to figure out your week’s schedule. English classes taught me how to interpret data and how to convey it in this text so it’s clear and you understand what I’m saying, not because I needed to justify why the curtain is blue.
Make your brain know how to do different things. Logic games, puzzles, taking care of a garden even if small, planning a church’s event or birthday, learn a new instrument, learn a few words in another language, look at a calendar every day, do some manual labor if possible. Do not, I repeat, do not let your brain get rid of sinapses by letting AI do everything. Your brain uses 20% of your body’s energy — do you really think it’s going to maintain connexions that aren’t in use?
Most cases of Alzheimer’s are sporadic, meaning no family history. Family history of a first-degree relative with Alzheimer’s starting before they were 80yo increases your risk in 2-3x on average.
TLDR: Yes. From the knowledge we have today, AI will increase the number and severity of dementia cases.
