My friends and I all took a âwhich Jane Austen love interest would you fall for?â and I was like ooh ooh I hope I get Mr. Knightley. But also if they have Henry Tilney on there heâs super underrated and I would get his humor better than Catherine anyway so I want him too. One of my friends said she wanted Mr. Darcy and I was like eh hard pass. Everyone looked at me like I committed sacrilege and I was like look! I love him! As a character! And I think heâs great for Elizabeth! I am really super happy that Elizabeth ended up with him. And also perfectly content to not be Elizabeth because heâs just not for me. And then we took the test and I got Mr. Darcy and one of my friends said âI forgot not liking him was a prerequisite for falling in love with himâ and I threw my phone at her (spiritually, not physically, bc phones are expensive)
I think itâs very interesting that in the Pitt fandom, everyone who ships lesbian relationships with any sort of age gap / power dynamic (McVadi, Nolevans, Barsantos, etc.) is hawkishly aware of the inequality of the dynamic, so much so that it is integral to virtually all discussion and fan works depicting these relationships. I cannot begin to tell you how many guilty Cassieâs Iâve read, tormented by their attraction to Victoria, so worried of being predatory, of holding her back or hurting her career, and donât get me wrong, I eat it up every time. Itâs a great source of conflict and drama; the taboo nature of the fictional relationship mirrors how, in a cisheteronormative world, all gay desire, no matter how benign, is seen as scandalous and wrong.
But what I find really interesting is how absent that dynamic is in mlm age gap ship content (to be blunt, Hucklerobby, lol). Like maybe thereâs some swath of this that Iâm just not seeing (I doubt it, Tumblr loves to recommend Hucklerobby to me), but I never see this dynamic explored or even mentioned with this ship. Which seems kinda crazy to me, because Robby is literally the Chief Attending Physician of the ED, the power dynamics of their relationship would be crazy complex and messy and toxic!
I want to make sure I say this the right way, but I've noticed with the Langdon discourse that there's frequently this feeling that if you're in recovery then trust ought to be and will be a given.
But if you harm someone, addiction or behavioral disorder or health crisis or not, then trust is something that has to be earned. And sometimes seeking rehab is enough, sometimes 10 months sober is enough, sometimes an apology is enough. But sometimes if the thing you did is bad enough, then it's going to take more.
The reasons why Santos won't trust Langdon are no doubt complex, but the main motivation seems to stem from Langdon's failure to take accountability for the worst (perhaps *all*) of the harm he caused. Why would she believe he's changed when he actively covered them up? When he lies about how his addiction hurt his patients? When he downplays his behavior towards her as "being an asshole"?
It's hard to believe someone won't cause more harm if they won't admit the harm they've already cause.
becca king who has an active sex life and a boyfriend and wants to be independent and not infantilized and known first and foremost as 'becca' and not 'mel's sister'...............mel king who has structured her entire life around becca's needs and care and being 'becca's sister', even moving to pittsburgh specifically because becca got into an independent living center there, now not knowing what to do or who she is if becca is keeping secrets from her and no longer needs her..............pitt writers you are cooking with gas
Whitaker is easily liked because heâs compliant. Santos isnât easily liked because sheâs defiant. The most well liked person in the room caring about the most âdifficultâ person to like as if itâs the easiest thing in the world to do. Everyone looking at him as if he were a saint for withstanding her, when to him she is his savior. Literally the most important platonic relationship on screen right now for me. Donât look at me.
Trinity Santos walks into the Pitt everyday with a bucket of unresolved trauma, a toxic yuri situationship, and Dennis Whitaker hanging off her belt like a labubu and still manages to serve cunt
trinity santos is a study in fandom misogyny because they gave her all the characteristics fandoms usually salivate for in men, being gruff, quippy and misunderstood with a tragic backstory but a heart of gold beneath it all. they put all this into her AND let her be a lesbian. she's everything you could ever want in a character but she's not a man so half the fandom either hates her or constantly mischaracterizes her as petty, callous and aggressive while doing mental gymnastics to baby the male characters around her
has anyone noticed that after the porn ban of 2018 tumblr was essentially killed from the mainstream and everyone flocked to other social media sites like twitter and meta. then those sites got enshittified to where twitter became Nazi Central and meta sites had an entire meme around getting âzuccedâ aka mark zuckerberg himself would ban you for saying a no-no word like fuck. and then the mainstream shifted to tiktok where infamous toddlerspeak sentences like âhe got unalived by a pew pewâ were born because if you once again say a no-no word like kill or gun or any other word that isnât corporate i mean kid friendly then the algorithm will bury your post into the ground. and somehow weâve come full circle and tumblr is now the most bearable social media site because although we canât have female presenting nipples we can at least talk to each other like adults. has anyone noticed that at all or is it just me and the flaming skull
"i don't care if they make their whole way though uni with chatgpt" i think you guys are so internetpilled that you have forgotten there are actual jobs out there that require people to know what they are doing in any way possible or else people die
114 people died in the Hyatt Regency collapse, and in the US it's the third largest structural collapse fatality count, behind 9/11 and the Pemberton Mill collapse in 1860.
I've learned about this tragedy in my physics classes, to demonstrate tensile strength, and as a reminder about the importance of calculations being done right. I've also learned about it in my legal classes as an example of construction defect lawsuits. I've seen it referenced in disaster response classes.
Between AI and the current Presidential administration, we're barrelling right back towards this nightmare.
There are multiple errors that resulted in this collapse, but these stand out to me:
1. Kansas City was facing high unemployment and needed to attract jobs and business into the city. So the planning and inspection departments may have looked too closely at the designs.
2. An engineering firm too lazy to double check their designs or design changes by the manufacturer before approving them. The error that resulted in the collapse was one that the owner of the engineering firm said that a "first year engineering student" would spot.
3. The steel manufacturer treating preliminary plans as final plans, not verifying the math on their end.
The bridges' original design could only hold 60% of the minimum load required by city code. The design changes recommended by the manufacturer halved that. Less than a year and 3 weeks from opening to the public, the whole thing collapse.
Articles about the collapse say that everyone "trusted" the other party to have done the calculations correctly.
A significant portion of the population trusts what the computer or AI tells them, without checking. Imprecisely calibrated AI hallucinate information. The US economy is going into a downturn and federal regulatory agencies are being gutted.
We are going to see the Hyatt Regency Collapse repeat over and over for decades, not just in buildings, but in medicine, manufacturing, the environment, etc.
Some of this we're just going to have to weather, but the message for AI users comes straight from IBM (once the world's leading computer manufacturer) back in 1979:
"A Computer Cannot Be Held Accountable. Therefore A Computer Should Never Make A Management Decision."
The owner of the engineering firm that designed the Hyatt Regency spent the rest of his life lecturing on the disaster, to serve as a warning to his fellow engineers about the real-life consequences of sloppy design.
I don't think Sam Altman or Mark Zuckerberg or Elon Musk will have the courage or the honor to do that when OpenAI / Meta / xAI are responsible for getting people killed.
So if you're going to blindly trust the AI to do critical work tasks, I hope you're prepared to be making an apology tour for the rest of your life if it all goes wrong.
We've already seen AI give incredibly bad advice in numerous fields, including stuff like trail directions and identifying mushrooms. Pretty sure some AI "therapists" have convinced people to do drugs or kill themselves or other harmful acts.
We've already at the danger point, if not past it.
We had some absolutely criminal negligence in the building of the Quebec Bridge, with multiple engineering firms ignoring real signs of structural issues.
There is some debate about this, but most engineers in Canada agree this started a new ritual upon graduation with a B. Eng from any Canadian university. You attend a ceremony upon graduation and are given an Iron Ring.
You wear it on the pinky of your dominant hand, so it touches any paper you are asked to sign. Every time you sign off on something in your capacity as an engineer, you are reminded of your duties and obligations.
I have engineers in my family, and it is considered a sacred oath. Much like doctors, Canadian engineers have an ethos to do no harm.
And if you genAI bullshitted your way through your degree, you didnât earn your ring. How fucking dare you accept one.
Summary: You have always been a touchy-feely person. Natasha on the other hand is not. But that doesnât mean she doesnât want your attention.
Warnings: fluff
Words: 1981
Natasha has always known you to be a touchy-feely person.
The first time she met you, you wrapped your arms around her before she even had the chance to blink. Her instincts flared immediately with her hand flying halfway to her weapon before her brain caught up to the fact that you werenât a threat.Â
Her grip on the concealed weapon relaxed, but her arms had remained stiff at her sides, unsure where to put them, uncertain what to do with affection offered so freely.
It had startled her more than any ambush ever had. That feeling of not being feared. Of being a person worthy of the affection of another, despite everything.
But you never held back with giving yours.Â
Not then, and not after.
Over time, it became part of the rhythm between you. Your hand or arm slipped naturally into hers whenever you walked beside her. The lazy weight of your head leaning on her shoulder during briefings. The way you always pulled her into a hug when either of you returned from a mission, arms around her waist or shoulders, grounding her in something real.
Sheâd gotten used to that. Maybe even come to expect it.Â
So when the elevator doors slide open and she sees you standing there, her first instinct is to pauseâher heart giving a quiet little stutter she doesnât acknowledge.Â
Natasha steps out of the elevator, ready for that familiar warmth, that brief but steadying moment of contact she hadnât let herself admit she was looking forward to.
You spot her a moment later.
âHey, Natasha,â you say casually, offering her a quick wave.
No arms reaching out for her. Just a passing greeting as you walk by her without so much as the brush of your sleeve against hers, slipping into the elevator she just stepped out of.
Natasha turns, confused, mouth parting like she might call after you, but the elevator doors are already sliding shut, cutting off her view of you. She stares at the closed metal panels for a few lingering seconds, the silence pressing in.
That wasâŚdifferent.
Her brows knit faintly, but after a moment, she exhales through her nose and shakes her head.Â
You probably had somewhere to be. That had to be it.
Still, the absence of your usual warmth settles heavy in her chest. She folds her arms loosely across her torso and forces the tension out of her shoulders with a quiet sigh.
Then she turns on her heel and heads toward the debriefing room, pushing the disappointment down before it has the chance to root too deeply.
~~~~~~~ ⧠~~~~~~~
Now Natasha is even more confused.
Earlier, sheâd told herself you were just in a rushâthat missing the hug in the hallway wasnât personalâjust bad timing. But now, sitting beside you in the common room with the other Avengers, that excuse feels thinner by the second.
Itâs one of those rare nights when everyoneâs actually home. Laughter ripples through the group, drinks are passed around, and stories are shared freely. Typically, nights like this meant youâd be curled up next to her, shoulder pressed to hers, fingers idly toying with the hem of her sleeve or resting on her thigh without thinking.
Tonight, though, youâre still right beside her on the couch. And yet you might as well be a mile away.
Itâs not that youâre ignoring her. You speak when spoken to. You laugh at the groupâs jokes. You even chime in when Natasha makes a dry comment that earns a snort from Sam.Â
But thereâs no contact. Not even the accidental kind.
Your posture is pulled in just enough to create a subtle space between your body and hers. And the longer it lingers, the more Natasha begins to feel it as a form of avoidance.
She tests it.
Casually, she stretches her arm along the back of the couch behind you, a gesture sheâs done countless times before that usually ends with you unconsciously shifting closer into her side.
But this time, you lean forward, seeming suddenly interested in one of Thorâs increasingly embellished battle stories, your shoulders moving just out of reach.
Natashaâs gaze sharpens. She shifts again, this time subtly sliding closer, just enough that your thighs would brush if you moved towards her even if just by a little.
You donât. Instead, you cross your legs in the opposite direction, slightly angling yourself away without a glance.
Her lips press into a thin line.
But what finally makes her frown is the way your body betrays your exhaustion.Â
Natasha knows your rhythms too well. At this hour, you always start to fade, no matter how hard you try to stay engaged. And usually, when that happened, your head would gradually drift until it came to rest on her shoulder.
Tonight, it tilts in the other direction. You rest your cheek against your hand, elbow on the armrest, turning completely away from her.
Like clockwork, your eyes begin to flutter closed.Â
Natasha catches the subtle slump of your posture and the way your breathing slows, soft and steady.
Her fingers twitch against her leg.
If you were leaning on her like usual, it would be easy, just a quiet nudge, a soft murmur of your name to guide you up to bed.Â
But now, thereâs nothingâno point of contact.Â
Not unless she reaches for it herself.
But Natasha hesitates.
And someone else beats her to it.
Wanda leans forward from her spot in the other chair next to the two of you, her voice low and gentle.Â
âHey,â she says, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder, giving it a soft shake. âIâm gonna turn in. Want to head up too?â
Your eyes blink open slowly. You nod, sleepy and half out of it, then reach up and take Wandaâs offered hand without hesitation.
You turn back toward Natasha, offering her a small, tired smile.
âGoodnight, Natasha,â you murmur.
Your hand lifts slightly as if youâre about to pat her leg like youâve done a dozen times before.
But at the last second, it shifts direction and lands instead on the cushion beside her, fingers pressing gently into fabric before retreating.
Natashaâs jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
âGoodnight,â she replies.
She watches as you stand, still holding onto Wandaâs hand. The two of you walk out together, your head tilted toward her in quiet laughter as you lean slightly into her side.
And Natasha is left sitting on the couch, surrounded by voices and laughter, and yet with a space beside her that feels colder than it should.
~~~~~~~ ⧠~~~~~~~
Natasha stands at the counter, fingers wrapped around a warm mug, steam curling up into her face as she takes a slow sip of coffee.
Sheâs been up for a while now, trying to clear her head. Sleep hadnât come easily. Not with questions buzzing around her thoughts.
You hadnât touched her.
Not once.
And it was driving her insane.
Natasha exhales slowly, grounding herself in the weight of the mug and the quiet hum of the Compound just beginning to stir. Then she hears your footsteps approaching.
Her heart reacts before her mind does.
You enter the kitchen, still rubbing sleep from your eyes, dressed in the kind of clothes that suggest you only half pulled yourself together before wandering in search of caffeine. You spot her immediately, offering a small, friendly smileânot the sleepy, instinctive shoulder nudge or greeting she used to get.Â
Just a smile.
You head toward the cabinet, clearly aiming for a mug.Â
The only problem is sheâs in the way.
âHey, can I squeeze past?â you ask, voice gentle.
Natasha straightens instinctively, stepping just slightly to the side. Enough to let you through, but only barely, with the space between her and the counter still being narrow.Â
But itâs also close enough that brushing shoulders would be unavoidable.
Except it doesnât happen.
Natasha watches in disbelief as you deliberately maneuver your body in the smallest ways, turning sideways, angling your arm, even lifting your hand to avoid grazing hers. Itâs done with care, but itâs unmistakable.
You didnât want to touch her.
Natashaâs patience snaps.
Before you can reach the mug, her arms suddenly come down on either side of you, palms flat against the counter. Youâre trapped, caged in by her arms and presence.
You yelp, startled, immediately turning toward her with wide eyes. Your hands rise automatically as if to rest on her arms, but then hover awkwardly mid-air, uncertain, before you lean back into the counter in a clear effort to maintain distance.
Natasha frowns, eyes flicking to your hovering hands, then back to your face.
âDid I do something wrong?â she asks bluntly.
You blink, caught off guard.Â
âWhat? No. Why would you think that?â
Natashaâs jaw clenches before sighing in frustration.
âBecause ever since I got back, you havenât touched me.â
Her words hang in the air, too raw and direct to mistake.Â
You part your lips in surprise, but before you can say anything, footsteps sound in the hall before you can get a word out.
Steve appears in the doorway. He pauses mid-step, clearly having heard just enough to register the tension in the air and the compromising proximity of Natashaâs arms caging you in.
A beat passes. Then Steve clears his throat, awkwardly.
âIâll, uhâŚcircle back.â He turns and disappears almost immediately.
Both of you stare at the space he left behind for a second before Natasha turns back to you, one brow raised. Her gaze drops meaningfully to your still-hovering hands.
You fidget, realizing youâve been caught. Your fingers curl slightly in the air, unsure of where to go.
âIâŚuh..I read your file,â you admit quietly. âFrom your time in the Red Room. What they did to youâŚâ
Natashaâs expression eases immediately in understanding.
But you still look away, ashamed.Â
âIt justâafter that, I realized how much Iâve always justâŚtouched you without asking. And itâs your body, Natasha. You probably put up with it every time. And I didnât want to make you uncomfortable, so I thought I should give you some space for once.â
For a moment, Natasha just looks at you, stunned. Then she laughs. A quiet, surprised huff that escapes from her chest like sheâs been holding it in for days.
âYouâve been driving me crazy,â she says, voice fond with disbelief.
Your eyes widen in confusion. âWhat?â
Natasha doesnât answer right away. Instead, she lowers her head until her forehead rests gently against your shoulder.Â
Your hands hover again at her arms, but they donât land.
âI like when you touch me,â Natasha murmurs. âIt makes me feel safe. Like Iâm supposed to be here.âÂ
You blink, slightly dumbfounded. Still registering her words.Â
ââŚOh.â
Natasha lets out a soft, amused sound at your tone of stunned surprise.
âAnd Iâm still waiting,â she adds quietly, âfor my welcome back hug.â
That startles you out of your daze. You let out a breathâhalf laugh, half sighâas your arms finally rise and wrap tightly around her waist, pulling her in until thereâs no space between you.
âWelcome home, Natasha,â you whisper into her hair like youâve done many times before.
The effect is instant. Her body melts into yours, all the tension draining from her shoulders.
Natasha sinks into the embrace like sheâs been craving it for days. Then slowly her arms slide around you, steady and secure.
She closes her eyes, breathing you in, confirming what she already knew.
This is where she feels safest. Warmth from your arms and hands on her back. Your heartbeat against her body.Â
And that flutter in her chest? From just your touch?
Natasha decides, just for now, sheâll let it be.
That can be a different problem to confront for another day.
Right now, sheâs content to be in your arms once again.
yousharknotpass
gracieabrams
turnnoffyourmind
ellievsbear
origamiaround
vaporwave
gummygunk
romaincrisis
