#be more ldn

[badnewswhatsleft]

hey.. so uhh.. there are a few 1080p pro shot streams of ENTIRE tourdust shows on jack edinger’s vimeo…………… ??

⬆️ bristow va - july 19 2023 (best audio out of them)

⬆️ london night 1 - nov 2 2023

⬆️ london night 2 - nov 3 2023

there is some pretty intense flashing/strobe effect editing during calm before the storm for all the vids so just fyi if you're watching

but like haha what the FUCK

[starlightshenanigans]

i support women’s wrongs

🖤💛

[faaun]

last night i got home kind of tipsy and very much in tears and my mother told me the force you exert to keep someone in your life is proportional to the force with which they will leave your life. if you have to fight tooth and claw to keep them, their leaving will be just as hard, just as harsh, and just as definite.

[harnessyourhoping]

finished listening to ttpd and its like i could make one whole song out of the parts i liked. the first minute of i hate it here. clara bow excluding the bridge. touch me while your bros play grand theft auto is funny😭 it grew on me. umm also the prophecy also excluding the bridge kind of. nvm the prophecy is good i had a good cry to it lol. florida!!! shouldve been longer .. the manuscript is soo good and sweet in THEORYY but execution feels clunky idk.. i couldnt 100% like any of the songs . everything just blurs into blah blah blah for me.. aaron dessner what happened 😭 i feel like she really wanted to do the lana stream of consciousness and she had the ideas (self-mythologizing + imploding love life duh) but with the ten billion senseless verbose metaphors and the bland instrumentals she shot herself in the foot. why is no one saying this. pitchfork come thru 🤞🏼

[mzyraj]

Feeling like getting on Low Dose Naltrexone even if I have to pull it out of doctors with my bare hands

[tele-mesmerism]

fibromyalgia is a hell diagnosis lol no one wants to do anything for it and everyone treats you like an idiot for being hopeful or asking abt a treatment

[vampmcr]

pj harvey tour in september . finally something real to look forward to ig i wont be throwing myself off a bridge this summer after all 💋💋

[suoulfillem]

oh ….. :( one of my good friends has decided to move back home to nz by june :( I’m so sad

[wheelie-sick]

people on low dose naltrexone: we're not like those guys on high dose naltrexone for addictions. I'm tired of being confused for them

[ID: a blad cat staring in the corner with text saying"[sobbing]"]

.....I am those people

why are people on LDN so obsessed with distancing themselves from us instead of dismantling the stigma around taking naltrexone? why are you guys just abandoning us? why do you think your chronic pain is better than my addiction? why do you think you're better than me? more worthy of support than me? less worth of stigma than me?

you get to explain "oh don't worry, I'm not like them" to doctors and I dont because I am them. instead of realizing that's wrong, that treating people poorly because they have an addiction is wrong, you try to distance yourself and naltrexone from addiction entirely. you don't want to be associated with us. it hurts.

[daydreamtofiction]

The Feature XXVI // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | First Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) LDN -> LA

Chapter Word Count: 5.5K

Chapter Warnings: Strong language, adult and sexual themes. Readers must be 18+

Join the Tag List Here*

“You might want to put this on,” said Ben, pulling a surgical mask from the back pocket of his jeans and handing it to you.

You took it from him with a raised brow. “Is this so you don’t get recognised?” 

“That, and germs.” He slipped on his own mask, adjusting it to sit comfortably over his nose and mouth. “Press tours are draining enough without being sick on top of it.” 

You put on your mask and slid on a pair of sunglasses - brand new, more money than you’d usually be willing to spend on something so superfluous. But you’d been pressed for time, caught up in the excitement of last minute holiday shopping.

The driver was taking your bags from the boot of the car, placing them on the ground one by one. The early morning was bright and crisp, making you shiver as you stepped out, teeth clenching with every brush of cold air across your bare arms. You’d dressed for California; soft, comfy trousers, a little white baby tee, stupidly forgetting the unpredictable British weather that would come first.  

A man was waiting near the airport entrance, his short greying hair and casual clothes making him indistinguishable from any other person around him. But Ben seemed to know him, acknowledging him with a nod and a quick wave as he grabbed your luggage and began walking towards him.

You turned to the driver and gave a quick smile; your numerous awkward moments alone in the back of his car making you feel like you somewhat knew him now. He nodded at you in response, before closing the boot with a heavy thud and making his way back to the driver’s side door. 

The man with the greying hair walked you briskly through the airport. It was emptier than you’d expected; short queues, no crowds, the sound of muted footsteps and hushed murmurs filling the vast, open space. Your suitcase rolled smoothly over the tiled floor as you dragged it behind you, while Ben was somehow managing to haul everything else on his own; his suitcase, his backpack, your large carry-on slugged over his shoulder. You’d offered to take it from him, but he simply shook his head, grabbing it before you even had the chance to protest. 

You were guided through check-in and security, following Ben’s lead as he followed his escort’s. The smell hit you first; the overwhelming blend of expensive perfumes and colognes, burnt coffee, food wafting from restaurants and cafés. It was such a familiar scent, nostalgic, exciting, no matter how long it had been since your last flight.

People were slumped in stiff chairs, some curled up like they’d been waiting forever. The cry of a baby echoed somewhere in the distance, while a muffled, metallic voice spoke over the tannoy. You continued past it all, past the people with their neck pillows and coffee cups, duffel bags tucked between their knees, past the shoppers with their duty free bags and a group of young women in matching hen party t-shirts. Yet here you were, drifting along in a surreal, peaceful current, bypassing the chaos.

Eventually, you were brought to a quiet corner of the terminal where a small welcome desk stood in front of a sleek glass door, a subtle, shiny plaque on the wall beside it that read: The Windsor Suite. There was a man standing at the desk in a shirt and gold coloured tie, a name tag across the breast of his long black tailcoat. He was wearing a bowler hat, and it took everything in you not to laugh at the absurdity of it all as you watched him reach out his leather-gloved hand and take your boarding passes from Ben.

Your escort seemed to disappear, making himself scarce without a word, or maybe you were just too focused on the man in front of you to notice.  

“The Windsor Suite?” you whispered to Ben with a raised eyebrow. 

He nodded towards the doors as the man pulled them open for you, gesturing for you to go inside.

And you did, your mouth falling open in shock as you wandered further in. The place looked like a luxury hotel penthouse; polished wooden floors and buttery leather chairs, fresh flowers in tall metallic vases. Everything was soft, neutral, warmly lit and beautifully decorated. A long, open bar extended the length of one wall, another wall filled with books and a large mounted TV. There was artwork everywhere, plush sofas and armchairs in textures of velvet, leather and chenille, a discreet butler standing near a serving cart.

You pulled down your mask as you looked around in awe. “This is… Insane.” 

Ben set down your bags, taking off his own mask to reveal a slight smile. “How else are we supposed to wait for our flight?” he asked, clearly joking. 

You turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. “I usually just sit on the floor near a plug socket somewhere with an overpriced sandwich.”

He laughed, dropping into an armchair with a sigh. “Trust me, if I could still get away with doing that, I would.” 

“Oh, I’m not complaining.” You flopped into the armchair beside him, your body sinking into the soft cushions like a warm embrace. “Definitely not complaining.” 

He laughed again and checked his watch, before settling back into his chair and closing his eyes. 

You watched him for a moment before turning your attention to the rest of the room, eyeing the glossy sheen of the bar, the precisely placed books on the shelves and bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice. There was a large, frameless window, providing an uninterrupted view of the runway outside, a private jet waiting on the tarmac, baggage handlers lugging suitcases onto the conveyor of a commercial plane. 

If you weren’t so tired, you were certain you’d be exploring; walking the entire length of the suite and back, touching every surface, peering into cabinets and smelling the flowers. It was probably a good job you were exhausted, saving Ben the embarrassment of his ‘commoner’ girlfriend acting like she’d never seen a coffee table before.

“Would either of you like a glass of champagne?” the butler asked in a soft, posh voice.

You hadn’t even heard him approach you, startling slightly when you saw him standing at your side.

“It’s half past six in the morning,” you said with a quiet laugh, before pausing for a brief moment. “Yeah, okay. Can you put a bit of Chambord in it as well?” 

He subdued his amusement, but the smile still managed to reach his eyes. He nodded and turned his attention to Ben. 

“No I’m alright, thank you. But could I possibly get some water?” 

“Of course, sir,” he replied, before quickly walking away. 

You leaned in towards Ben, speaking quietly. “You’re making me look bad.” 

“You said yourself it’s only half six,” he chuckled.

“Mm, well, I’d feel like we wasted this place if I didn’t at least do one extravagant thing. How much is this even costing you- actually, no, don’t tell me.” 

He laughed again, a deep, tired laugh in the base of his throat. 

The butler handed you a tall, thin champagne flute, the rosy liquid fizzing gently, tickling your nose as you brought it to your lips. It was sweet, slightly bitter, scratchy as it slid down your throat and cold as it hit your empty stomach. But it was undeniably satisfying, making your cheeks flush and your muscles relax as you curled your feet underneath yourself and settled back further.

You talked quietly for a while, the conversation drifting aimlessly from work schedules to bucket lists, stories, jokes, favourite things. The sun was getting brighter as the morning progressed, but the lighting inside the suite stayed soft and ambient, keeping you suspended in your relaxed, comfortable bubble. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you took it out to see a message from your mother.

Did you get to the airport ok? How long til your flight? x

“Everything okay?” Ben asked.

“Yeah,” you laughed. “Just my mum worrying about me as always.” 

You leaned towards him, holding your phone up to take a selfie together. He tilted his head towards you, pulling a stupid face at the camera. 

“I’m sending this to my mum,” you said. 

“Oh.” He quickly adjusted his expression, smiling warmly and waiting for you to snap the photo. 

But before you could, your phone began to ring, an unknown number popping up on the screen. You looked at it with confusion for a moment before finally answering it with a dubious ‘hello?’ 

“May I speak with Quinn Armitage?” said a smooth, intimidating voice.

You knew immediately who it was, sitting up straighter in your seat and clearing your throat. “Yes, this is- speaking…” 

“Quinn, hello, this is Ellen Ford.” 

Ben was watching you with curious eyes, analysing your face. 

“Hi, Ms Ford, how are you?” you replied, locking eyes with him and watching his brows raise in surprise. 

“I understand you’re taking some personal leave so I wanted to catch you first,” she began, her voice calm, unbothered, a complete juxtaposition to your shaking hands and swirling stomach. “A piece came across my desk recently that I understand you wrote; ‘Still, They Watch’...?”

It felt surreal to hear the title of something you’d written come from her. “Y-yes that’s mine, I… i brought it to Julia a while back but she-”

“It’s very good,” she interrupted simply, as though she hadn’t even registered that you were speaking.

“Thank you.” 

“With some minor edits, I’d like to run it in the next issue.” 

Your hand instinctively lunged for Ben’s thigh, fingers gripping him like a vice. 

“However, with you being out of office for the foreseeable-”

“No, I’m,” you interjected, too excited to care about cutting her off. “I am out of office but I’m still working. If you send it, I can make the changes and get it right back to you.” 

“Excellent. I’d like to talk more with you about the piece when you get back.”

“I- Yes, definitely. Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how-”

She’d already hung up. You looked down at your phone in stunned silence, the camera reflecting your awestruck face back at you. 

“What was that about?” asked Ben. 

“My op-ed. She wants to publish my op-ed.” 

He breathed out a single, quick laugh, smiling as he reached over and placed a hand on the back of your head, shaking you with restrained excitement. “That’s amazing!”

“I don’t even know how she got hold of it-” You paused, before looking up at him suspiciously. “Did you have something to do with this?” 

“What? No! I swear to god, no.”

You narrowed your eyes at him before quickly realising he was telling the truth, your mouth swiftly curling into a smile. “I wish I could see the look on Julia’s face when she finds out.”

“Maybe she’s the one who showed it to her?” 

“Definitely not. Maybe Nick snuck it into her office. I need to text him.”

“Text your mum first.” 

“Oh, yeah.” You lifted the phone, leaning into him and finally snapping the photo.   

You couldn’t stop giggling. Not as you were driven across the tarmac, or as you climbed the steps to the plane, not even when you finally got onboard. The whole thing just seemed so ridiculous to you; the special treatment and constant fast tracking, the flight attendants calling you ‘madam’ as they led you to your seat.

You’d stared out of the window during takeoff like a wonderstruck child, the reality of what you were doing finally starting to sink in - you were on a plane, tucked cosily inside your own personal business class cubicle as you soared towards the atlantic, your famous boyfriend sat directly behind you. Was this your life now? Would there come a day when trips like this no longer felt special? When boarding a plane and sitting in business class felt as mundane as catching the tube?

You’d been in the air for almost eight hours, and you were growing restless. You’d tried to sleep, took out your laptop and tried to write, you’d flicked through films on the TV, even resorted to playing word games on your phone.

You huffed and stood up, kneeling on your seat and resting your arms on top of the partition separating your cubicle from Ben’s. 

He glanced up at you before taking off his headphones. “Hi,” he greeted with a smile.

“Hi. What’re you watching?” 

“Hm? Oh, nothing, I’m listening to music.” He looked up at you for a moment. “Are you bored?” 

“Mhm.” You looked around the quiet cabin, then over to the toilets, then back to him, lowering your voice to a whisper. “Do you want to go and join the mile high club?” 

“Quinn,” he said, his voice low and steady, like a warning. 

“I’m only joking. I’m too loud to ever get away with that.”

“I know.” 

You rested your chin on your arms as you looked down at him, smirking slightly. “Well if you won’t meet me in the toilets, will you at least play scrabble with me for a bit?”

He rolled his eyes, giving in to a smile and reaching for his phone. “Fine, but you can’t get pissed off with me like you did last time.”

“No promises,” you replied, turning around and sinking back down into your seat.

It was noon when you landed in LA, but your bodyclock was still stuck on London time. The evening would be closing in there now, the temperature dropping, sun beginning to sink towards the horizon. Yet here, it was bright and busy, with air conditioning blasting from the ceilings and deafeningly loud crowds at every turn. You were exhausted as you followed another escort through the airport, your eyelids gritty, limbs heavy, wondering why your mind hadn’t let you sleep on the plane when your body so desperately needed it. 

Ben took you by the hand as you walked, while his other hand pushed a large luggage trolley. “You okay?” he asked, his voice muffled by the mask covering his mouth. 

You nodded, giving him a slight squeeze. 

It was strange how different everything felt already, like the atmosphere itself was unfamiliar; the current moved faster here, more erratic, pulling everyone along in sharp, errant bursts. There was a restlessness, a sense that no one had time to walk slowly or speak quietly, not even inside the airport.

Ben kept hold of your hand as you were ushered towards a private exit, and as the doors slid open, you were hit by a wall of sudden, intense heat. It was thick yet dry, like stepping into a cloud of dust. You’d visited hot countries before, but none that had taken your breath away quite like this. It was exciting, to feel so far removed from home.

A black SUV was waiting outside, the windows tinted so dark they looked opaque. The driver stood beside it holding up a discreet sign; Ben’s initials and a string of numbers you didn’t understand. The escort handed you both off to him, like children who couldn’t be left unsupervised for even a moment. 

You climbed into the backseat as they piled your bags into the boot, breathing a sigh of relief to find the aircon blasting through the car. You leaned your head against the window and closed your eyes, listening as the door opened and Ben shuffled in beside you, his voice hoarse from tiredness and the recycled plane air as he spoke to the driver. 

His hand found your thigh, thumb stroking gently back and forth in a silently soothing gesture. You appreciated it, turning to look at him with a sleepy smile.

“How long until we get there?” you asked as the car began to move.

“About an hour.” 

You rolled your eyes and he laughed. 

“You just survived an eleven hour flight,” he said. “You’ll cope.” 

The car rolled to a stop, but you weren’t there yet. You peered into the front, watching the driver roll down his window next to a small wood-paneled outbuilding. Ben leaned over, handing him a small plastic card. The engine rumbled quietly as you waited, and after a moment, you saw a barrier rise to let you through. You flashed Ben a curious glance but he didn’t seem to notice, too busy directing the driver on where to go. 

You moved steadily along wide, winding roads, and even in your tired haze, your eyes stayed wide open. Huge gates stood before endless driveways, leading to grand entrances set into ivy-covered walls. Tall palms framed perfectly manicured lawns that stretched across hillsides, spanish villas with clay tile roofs, modern houses of glass and steel set like art installations against the dusty gold backdrop of hills and valleys. It was surreal, so perfect it almost seemed fake. 

You kept going further up the winding road, the houses growing larger and further apart like they needed room to breathe. When you finally turned a corner, you’d almost forgotten why you were there, finally snapping back into reality when Ben handed the driver another keycard.

He used it to open a gate, rolling slowly up a long private road lined with neat grass and pruned hedges, wild bushes, trees and shrubbery providing a sense of seclusion as you ventured further in. The car finally stopped in the middle of a large, paved driveway, the house surrounding it making your mouth fall open. 

You climbed out of the car, shielding your eyes from the sun as you stared up at the building before you. Lime Washed walls and terracotta roofs, arches and walkways, windows with wooden shutters and stone paths leading to standalone structures. The front entrance was like its own private courtyard; plants and pillars, another magnificent arch framing a glass front door. You stood gawping at it as Ben lifted your luggage out of the boot. And by the time the car had begun to drive away, you still hadn’t uttered a word. 

“Quinn, can you come and get your suitcase?” he called out. 

“When you said you had a house you stayed in whenever you came to LA, you failed to mention it was a fucking mansion,” you said, whipping around to face him. 

He shrugged at you, brow furrowed like he didn’t understand.

“Is this yours?” you pressed. “Like… You own it? You’re not renting it out, it- this is your house?” 

“Yes, this is my house.” He began, talking sarcastically slow, like he was explaining the concept to a child. “This is my California home. So when I am in California, I live here.” 

 You sneered at him and grabbed the handle of your suitcase. “Well go on then, lead the way.” 

“Why are you annoyed with me for having a nice house?” he laughed. 

“I’m not annoyed, I’m just- I keep forgetting you’re… you. Then suddenly it’s like boom, vip lounge, business class, sprawling fucking mansion in the hills.” 

The corner of his mouth twitched, threatening a smirk he knew better than to let spread. Instead he kissed the side of your head and hoisted your bags onto his shoulders, dragging his suitcase behind him. You followed, eyeing more details of the house as you went; the architecture and the greenery, the steps leading up to the front door framed with lanterns, how everything seemed so thought out and deliberate. 

He unlocked the door and let you inside, your footsteps echoing against the polished tile floor as you wandered in. You bit the inside of your cheek as you gazed around, knowing you couldn’t keep harping on at him about it, no matter how much you wanted to. The walls were smooth and rounded, the staircase curving perfectly up to the second floor. Everything was neutral and clean, earth tones and natural textures, tall ceilings and minimal clutter. There were more archways, providing small glimpses into other parts of the house, and you wondered how one man could possibly make use of so much space, if there were places he rarely ever saw. 

“Go on, lay into me,” he said with a joking sigh.

“This is… beautiful,” you replied sincerely. 

“Oh. Thank you. Do you want a quick tour?” 

“Quick?” 

He glared at you. 

“Sorry,” you said, biting back a smirk. “Couldn’t help myself.” 

The house echoed as you walked through it, the tall ceilings and generous windows making the place feel airy and open. Walls and archways seemed sculpted into the space, tones of clay and earth accented with black iron banisters, tiled floors and carved mahogany finishes. It was a far cry from his home back in London. There, his wealth was hidden in the foundations, in the pricey location and quiet luxuries. But here, it was impossible to miss. 

The kitchen alone was bigger than your entire flat, bordered with pale oak cabinets and shiny industrial-sized appliances. Dim, warm spotlights lined the exposed beams in the ceiling, casting a glow over the huge island in the middle of the room. You ran your hand along the polished marble top as you passed it, catching a glimpse of what looked like a small orchard beyond the window.

“This is the kitchen,” said Ben.

There were a bunch of flowers sitting in a vase on the island. You reached out and touched the petals, surprised to discover they were real. “How are these not dead?” 

“Hm? Oh, well I have people who come once or twice a week to look after the house when I’m not staying here. Y’know, gardeners, housekeepers, pool maintenance…”

You nodded, slowly learning to take this new reality in your stride.

He showed you to the first of many living rooms, where framed art and floating bookshelves decorated the pristine white walls. Curved couches sat low to the ground, angled towards the windows and sliding glass door on the back wall. He slid it open and gestured for you to follow him outside, a slight smile on his face, like he was excited for you to see what lay beyond it.

There was a fire pit on the patio, outdoor furniture still wrapped in its waterproof covering. You stood there for a moment in the dry, california heat, looking out at the well-kept grass that seemed to blend into the hills in the distance. Across the lawn was a swimming pool, a tennis court, statues and water features, flowers and citrus trees.

“It’s not like you to be this quiet,” he said. “Where’s the snarky comments? The criticism telling me this is all too much?” 

You shrugged and shook your head. “I think you’ve finally managed to make me speechless.” 

The tour continued with Ben doing most of the talking. He showed you rooms you wouldn’t have even known were there; a bar, a study, a sun room, all tucked away down curved passageways and across small courtyards connecting one part of the building to the other. There was a cinema room, with velvet recliners and a huge projector screen, a sleek home gym with accompanying sauna, and a cellar stocked full of whiskeys and gins, wines and bottles with labels you couldn’t even make out. 

He lugged your bags upstairs and you followed behind in awe, staring up at the skylight above the landing, natural light flooding another vast, minimal space. You peered into passing guest rooms and bathrooms, verandas and more stairs leading back down to places you weren’t sure you’d even seen yet. 

“And this is our room,” said Ben breathlessly, pushing open a set of double doors and dropping  the luggage on the ground with a huff. 

You stepped into the master bedroom and let out a soft, quiet sigh, too overwhelmed to muster anything more. It was huge, with smooth, curving walls and a glass door leading out onto a private balcony. The bed was perfectly made, all soft linens and neutral tones, the large wooden headboard built into the back wall. There was a sitting area, a fireplace, a television, and yet still, the room somehow felt sparse.

“What’s through there?” you asked, pointing to another door facing the bed. 

“That’s the wardrobe- Well, closet,” he said in an American accent, making you giggle. “And if you come through it, I’ll show you the master bathroom.”

You watched him open the door and disappear into the walk-in closet space, refraining from making a Narnia joke as you began to follow him. 

You could have slapped him for calling it a wardrobe. It was more like a hallway, each side lined with shelves and cupboards, glass cabinets filled with watches and cufflinks, shoes neatly organised on racks beneath them. There was an archway on the other end, leading through to a bathroom of marble and tile, glass and stainless steel. The deep clawfoot tub stood in the centre of the room, behind it a large window looking out on another stunning landscape. 

“Toilet’s through there,” said Ben. “And the shower’s in that bit over there.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “I’m so embarrassed that I ever let you set foot in my flat.” 

He furrowed his brow and laughed. “What?”

“This. This is how you live, and then you come and stay with me where you need to punch the shower just to get it to turn on.” 

He laughed again, more heartily this time. “I did offer to get that fixed for you.” 

You rolled your eyes and made your way back through to the bedroom, your eyes immediately falling on the glass door. You walked across the room and slid it open, stepping out onto the balcony and resting your elbows on the railing. 

You closed your eyes and tilted your head back to let the sun warm your face, and after a moment, Ben was behind you, pressing up against your back and wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“I get why you want to live here full time,” you said softly. “It’s beautiful.”

“Who said I wanted to live here full time?” 

“Faye.”

He inhaled deeply, letting it out in a low groan. “I thought we’d learned not to listen to anything that woman says…” 

“Yeah but, I wouldn’t blame you if this one was true. Why on earth would you ever go back to London when you have the ability to wake up to this every morning?” 

He hummed in thought. “Well, I might not appreciate it as much if I was here all the time.” He kissed the side of your head. “I like it here, but… London’s my home.”

You let your head fall back against his chest, eyes scanning the hills in the distance, the afternoon light pouring over them like honey. A gentle breeze rolled in, taking the edge off the heat, and for a while neither of you spoke.

His chest rose and fell slowly as you rested against him, the quiet strength of his arms snug around your waist. Every time you thought you were finally getting used to it all, to the odd reality he existed in, something always came to throw you off kilter again. 

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and gentle against your ear.

“Mhm.” You nodded, leaning back further into him. “Readjusting.” 

He exhaled a laugh. “It’s been a long day. You’ll feel better tomorrow.” 

You turned your head slightly, intending to speak, but stopped yourself with a gentle sigh. The old Quinn would have corrected him, reminded him how far removed from normal his life was. But you no longer felt the need; understanding now that this wasn’t normal, but it was his normal. And, if you were going to stay with him, it would inevitably become yours too. 

For a short while, you stood there wrapped in the quiet, basking in the warmth and the soft brush of his thumbs over your hips. Until eventually you felt him shift, his hands moving to your waist to guide you back inside. 

“Shall we get a shower?” he asked.

His voice was low and casual, the same tone he might use when talking about dinner or the weather. There was no sly smile, no teasing edge, just an easy, simple offer.

It still surprised you how natural it felt; the idea of sharing something so intimate without expectation. Before him, you’d never have believed an invitation like that could be about comfort rather than sex. You wouldn’t have wanted it to be. 

*Yeah, that sounds nice,” you replied with a sleepy smile, letting him take your hand and lead you back towards the bathroom. 

You undressed together, throwing your clothes into a heap on the tiled floor. He opened the glass door of the shower and turned it on, holding his hand under the stream to test the temperature. And when it was ready, he gestured for you to step in.

He’d kept the water cool; a soothing relief from the California heat. You closed your eyes as you stood directly beneath the shower head, washing away the sweat and grime of your long journey. He got in behind you, pressing himself up close against your back and reaching over you for a bottle of shampoo.  

He washed your hair, his fingertips massaging your scalp with a firm pressure, making you relax into him with a grateful sigh. And when he was done, you turned to face him, tilting your head back to rinse away the suds before lathering him with shower gel. Your palms glided over his shoulders and down his arms, curving around his waist and trailing down his back. He leaned down to kiss you, his lips pressing against yours, just once, before returning his attention to your hair. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, lost in the scent of his soap and the sound of running water. Neither of you had spoken, moving with ease around the small space, taking turns under the stream and tending to each other carefully.

When you stepped out, your muscles felt looser, your skin fresh and clean, your mind pleasantly quiet. You wrapped yourself in a towel and wandered back into the bedroom, crouching at your suitcase and opening it to find the crumpled, disorganised mess of clothes you’d carelessly shoved inside.

Ben was sitting on the edge of the bed, a towel wrapped low around his waist, watching you as you rummaged for something to wear. His eyes followed you as you stood up and began to move around the room, drying yourself and peering at your reflection in the mirror.

“What?” you asked with a suspicious smirk.

He shook his head, leaning back on his elbows. “I just think you’re so beautiful.” 

You paused for a moment, pressing your lips together to hide a smile before continuing to dry yourself. “Well, that’s lucky. I imagine you’d find it quite challenging to sleep with me if you didn’t.” 

“I’m a man, darling. I’d manage.” 

You snorted. “Charming.” 

You slipped into your underwear and sat down to pull on a pair of leggings, your eyes flitting over to him every few moments as he began to get dressed too. Water stuck to his shoulders and chest like beads, his arms flexing as he unfolded a t-shirt, bottom lip sucked gently into his mouth. He was divine, mouthwatering, and there was a bed right there. Yet somehow, you were perfectly content on the other side of the room. 

"Oh no," you began dryly. "We've already hit the 'boring' stage, haven’t we." 

"What do you mean?" he asked with a laugh. 

"Beautiful place, huge bed, and we’re just… Getting dressed." 

His mouth curled in amusement as he realised what you were implying. Then his gaze drifted over you, his voice turning low and calm when he finally spoke.

“I’m letting you rest today.” 

He didn’t elaborate, didn’t punctuate his words with a wink or a smirk. Instead, he simply reached for his t-shirt and pulled it over his head.

“You’re letting me rest…?” you asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Mhm,” he replied as he rolled the material down over his torso. “Because I’m working all day tomorrow. And by the time I get home, I’ll need somewhere to put my frustration.”

You glanced up at him, your fingers paused with your leggings halfway up your thighs. 

He met your gaze, the weight of his meaning settling in the space between you. “And you’ll be right here,” he said simply. “Won’t you.”

The air seemed to thin, your throat tightening, heat blooming deep in your stomach. “I’ll be here,” you finally replied.

His eyes flitted to your fingers as they clutched the waistband of your leggings, still half-forgotten at your thighs. The sight seemed to amuse him, a soft, brief smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

*Tag List: @blondekel77 @bakerstreethound @annesthaeticc @aephereal @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sherlux @veryladyqueen @graciebear47 @allurenia @jamerlynn @cottagecore-cat @aysamuka @thegardenerofeden @cumbercatchmebaby @inspirationalandrandom @turkisherlockian @swds @weepingdreamerpanda @elzabethann @childofgod215 @briecantopme @lovecleastrange @paola-carter @greatburger @azu21 @xourownsidee @hunterofshadows04 @asgardianprincess1050 @teddycrimson @sherlocksgirl91 @oliveoilthoughts @hai-kbai @shjl15 @bloodyxsaint @charleighsblog @stephenstrangeaddictions @omgstarks @sleutherclaw @bisciwri @theevilsupreme @gwoods123 @classickook @coffee-d0t @strangeobsessed @januarycolor @strangeions @lonadane @downtownshabby

[ms-demeanor]

Hi! My employer's workplace wellness program was recently revamped, and I'm trying to assess whether it's slid into the nonsense side of wellness-world. Specifically, there's a webinar being offered by a guy named Abra Pappa on using an "anti-inflammatory diet" to "battle against chronic diseases… including heart disease, diabetes, arthritis, and even certain cancers." This sounds… sketchy to me, but I know you have both expertise in nutrition and a strong bullshit detector, so wanted to ask what you make of it.

Okay long story short never trust anyone who got their degree from a university that started off as a school for chiropractors.

Abra Pappa got her MS in Functional Medicine and Human Nutrition after getting a BA in Theater; I checked the requirements for that degree and the school's whole catalogue is throwing red flags but what's throwing the most red flags for me is that if I wanted to get a degree in nutrition from an ACEND accredited program I'd need to take a hell of a lot more than one bio class, one anatomy OR one physiology class, one medical terminology class, one nutrition class, and one biochemistry class in order to get into a master's program.

It's funny because she went from a BA in theater arts to an MS in Functional Nutrition and Human Nutrition and I've been trying to go from a BA in Theater Arts to an MS in nutrition and *aside* from the whole private school costs thing one of the major barriers is that I'd basically need to re-do all of my undergrad to get in a lot of chemistry, some calculus, and MANY nutrition classes before I qualified for a Master's program. But based on the program she took I'm only one medical terminology and one biochemistry class away from a Master's program instead of more like ten to fifteen classes (primarily in nutrition, chemistry, and physiology) away.

Anyway she says she's a Licensed Dietician Nutritionist. There are some states that allow LDN certification, New York is one of those states. *BUT* to be an LDN in New York you have to

Complete a program in dietetics-nutrition that culminates in a bachelor’s degree that qualifies for certification in dietetics-nutrition or has been accredited by the Commission on Accreditation for Dietetics Education (CADE).[Note: CADE is now ACEND] The program must include at least 45 semester hours of coursework in dietetics/nutrition and must include at least 20 semester hours of coursework in the area of human biological sciences and social and behavioral sciences

Pappa went to the University of Western States in Oregon, and the only ACEND accredited school in Oregon is at OSU, so if she's an LDN it's from someplace that isn't New York, where she lives and works.

She also claims to be a CNS, a Certified Nutrition Specialist, but in order to qualify for THAT you need to have an MS with some pretty rigorous coursework

And this is what the school required for her MS program:

And given that she didn't have a science degree for undergrad it seems pretty likely that she wasn't doing anything close to what an undergrad nutrition program looks like:

For the record, here are the MS requirements for an MS in nutrition with a health and wellness emphasis at that same school:

In order to get accepted to the MS in nutrition program in that school you either need to have a BS in nutrition or a BS in biology or chemistry and take all the undergrad level nutrition requirements ON TOP OF that BS.

I don't think that a theater degree and an MS from a woo-y correspondence school really count, even if you do pay $45k for your diploma.

If you go look at the requirements for any ACEND accredited school and compare them to the MS program from University of Western States it leaves UWS looking pretty shitty in comparison. Like, nowhere in her requirements is there a statistics class! Stats is required even for an associate transfer certificate in nutrition! EVEN AT THE 2-YEAR LEVEL FOR REAL NUTRITION DEGREES YOU HAVE TO DO STATS AND SHE DIDN'T HAVE TO TAKE A SINGLE STATS CLASS FOR HER MS. You will note that the cal poly MS program has one entire MS-Level class on vitamin metabolism and one entire MS-Level class on mineral metabolism for any of the three MS in Nutrition emphasis courses; her school required neither.

This shit makes me want to climb the walls.

I'm just going to start calling myself a nutritionist. California will let anyone call themselves a nutritionist, there are absolutely zero protections on that term and I can get myself a piece of paper for like three hundred dollars from a diploma mill that has some kind of bullshit accreditation.

Here are the programmatic accreditations her school has:

Compare with the Cal Poly programmatic accreditations (I cite cal poly a bunch because it was the program I was hoping to get into eventually so I researched it the most; that's where I got my BA, go broncos):

Note that the website for her school is listed with the department of education as wschiro.com because it was called Western States Chiropractic College until 2010.

Every time i dig into something like this it makes me want to stare into space for hours. No wonder college students are getting fucked on their loans and going to bullshit schools. No wonder everything is a scam these days. People bitch about credentialism but you know what maybe this lady is a CNS; sure, for some people that requires passing board certification tests, getting 1000 hours of clinical supervision, and becoming a Nurse Practitioner with real actual nutrition study from a solid program, but for other people it requires zero understanding of statistics, a theater degree, and three *whole* units of anatomy. Maybe she clears the bar on that one! She doesn't have the qualifications for an LDN in New York, she's not an RDN because she sure as fuck didn't take the classes required for a *VERY SERIOUSLY* protected title, but maybe you can be a CNS with an online diploma from the western states chiropractic college.

I fucking hate everything.

You know the whole reason I wanted to get a degree in nutrition was to yell about shit like this online, but fuck it. Fuck it, I'm a nutrition-isht because i live in california and I can say I am and who's going to check? Who's going to look up whether I took classes in public health or anatomy or the metabolism of micronutrients before they hire me to do corporate seminars on healing your relationship to food? I am legally allowed to do that so I might as well, right? If all I have to do is be charismatic and convincing I'm pretty sure I've got that down, actually, so who's going to check?

Nobody! Nobody is going to check and everything is a scam and I hate everything.

ANYWAY

The relationship between nutrition and inflammation and the relationship between chronic disease and inflammation are two different, complicated things that are difficult to point at and say definitively what the connections are.

I am of the opinion that any time you're getting deep into things like an anti-inflammatory, ketogenic, or PH-Balancing diet without a specific condition that calls for the avoidance of certain foods for very clearly scientifically reported reasons, you're dealing with a woo-woo biohacker who's looking to sell a diet plan.

The thing about nutrition science is that it seems like for most people the "answers" are pretty basic: eat enough food, get enough macro and micronutrients, eat a variety of food, avoid processed meats, try to eat more fruits and vegetables, get enough water, and stay as active as possible NOT for weight loss reasons but for metabolic health and joint/muscle maintenance. It's really, really, hard to sell that though, which is how you get people like Abra Pappa in 2013 writing out this bugfuck "Food and mood" handout with a midday snack that is so bonkers in the way the calories are distributed that I'm sitting down and doing math about it (it looks like about a third of the calories that day are supposed to come from the mid afternoon spinach, mint, cocoa nib, and coconut milk smoothie which is, as I said, bugfuck nuts).

It's hard to sell "please eat more fruits and vegetables, which is difficult because actually most places don't grow enough vegetables for the population's nutrition needs and it's cheaper to eat grains and industrially produced meat than it is to eat five cups of vegetables that you need to prepare daily and also maybe skip the bacon" but it's much easier to sell "five anti-inflammatory superfood milkshakes that will fill your belly and fight cancer" because it's packaging nutrition as a product and not as a massive systemic issue that happens to have very specific requirements for a large number of individuals who *do* happen to have disorders that are based on nutrition and inflammation (celiac disease! I've got one of them! Eating the wrong foods definitely causes inflammation in my body as the result of an autoimmune disorder! but that doesn't mean that the things that are inflammatory for me are inflammatory for everyone!)

Anyway I think like about 97% of workplace wellness programs are largely bullshit based, or at least import bullshit a lot of the time, and nutrition is a science that has, just, so much bullshit in and around it.

So I would take anything they say with a grain of salt, and hopefully less than 255% of your RDV of saturated fat (seriously that meal plan is ludicrous).

Side note: there is a subset of nutrition people who looked at the way that we got fat wrong in the 80s and flipped it and reversed it and went "actually you can have as much fat of any kind that you want as long as it is natural and you will have no issues" and this is how you end up with people on 100% natural clean keto diets who have cholesterol levels over 600. Abra Pappa recommends "clean/natural" eating and has taken continuing education on keto and has a recipe for a single-serving smoothie that calls for 8oz of coconut milk I think she's very much in the "'good' fat truther" camp (or at least she was in 2013 which is maybe why New York has a requirement for people to have some kind of nutrition certification for giving out nutrition advice and maybe she should have done that because she didn't even go to her bullshit "grad school" until 2017).

(We DID get fat wrong in the 80s and total avoidance of all fats is bad for you and there are 'good' fats that you should eat and everybody needs to eat some level of fat for proper nutrient absorption but even if you're only getting fat from nuts and avocados that's not going to prevent your arteries from forming plaques if you're having nearly triple the recommended daily value of saturated fat as part of your afternoon snack)

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

By Christopher Sharp

Doctor Joseph Ambani has warned that the XEC variant of Covid-19, which is currently surging across the UK, has the potential to fuel a tripledemic this winter

A doctor has issued a stark warning that the XEC variant of Covid-19 could bring back the dreaded masks and social distancing, over three years following the end of the last pandemic lockdown. Dr Joseph Ambani warned of "significant potential" for the new strain to trigger a crippling tripledemic this winter, where influenza, RSV, and Covid-19 could simultaneously skyrocket.

The healthcare expert from Glowbar LDN warned about the risks: "Unlike previous variants, XEC's immune-evasive properties could increase the risk of co-infections, posing a serious threat, particularly to individuals whose immunity has already been weakened post-Covid."

He detailed the dangers: "This could lead to not just overlapping infections but more severe illness in vulnerable populations, such as the elderly and those with pre-existing conditions."

Dr Ambani didn't stop there; he also raised the alarm that the XEC variant might push the NHS to its limits and escalate demand for ICUs (intensive care units) while possibly heralding a return to familiar Covid-era restrictions. His words spell out concern: "The strain on the NHS could be severe. With hospital resources already stretched to their limits, a tripledemic could bring services to the brink."

He then highlighted a critical issue: "What is particularly concerning is the increased demand for ICU care, as patients with compounded respiratory illnesses would require more intensive and prolonged treatment," reports the Express.

"This may disrupt not only routine care but also delay elective procedures and non-emergency treatments, creating a ripple effect throughout the healthcare system."

"Mask mandates and social distancing in high-risk settings, such as hospitals, public transport, and care homes, could be reinstated to protect the most vulnerable. Bubbling may once again be considered for at-risk individuals to minimise their exposure to multiple infections."

In light of XEC's threat, Dr Ambani urged government action: "Increased vaccination efforts, especially for flu and Covid, will be essential, and the public may need to renew their commitment to protective measures to prevent overwhelming the system."

Other healthcare experts are raising alarm bells on XEC, with the Manchester Evening News reporting insights from Dr Hellen Wall: "At the moment, it seems to be a bit more flu-like than previous iterations of Covid, with a high temperature, a cough, aching body, headache. Generally, if you've got true flu, you're bed-bound. With Covid, you might actually be quite well."

Dr Wall warned that the XEC variant's similarities to seasonal flu could lead to unintentional transmission, saying: "You might be coughing and having other symptoms, but able to go about your business – and you might be unintentionally spreading it to people who are vulnerable."

He noted that only the most severe cases are detected through hospital testing, and urged eligible individuals to get vaccinated to protect others, stating: "If you've been deemed eligible for these vaccines, it's because we think you're going to be very ill if you get these and end up in hospital."

He added: "It's about keeping that in perspective, you don't want to look back and wish you'd had the jabs."

[ruindunburnit]

I don't think y'all get it yet. Not only was this a phenomenal five-star performance from Valdes (as Light) and John-Wilson (as L), but this was a story told on stage, set in Tokyo, with an all-Asian main cast (all but for the shinigami).

This is proof that Wingard's decision to cast his flop Netflix film iteration as he did (without Asian actors) "in order to appeal to a Western audience" and "get the best actors for the roles" is simply not even a passable excuse, let alone a good excuse.

The main cast were each of them talented, dedicated powerhouses in their own right, and they did this show justice in every way. Authenticity and talent won the day here.

If the live action Western series goes ahead, I hope they take a few of the lessons learned to heart. You do not need to cut out the voices central to the story to make it appeal to a Western audience. We loved it with its authentic voice every time. I promise, if you actually look, there's talent and talent to spare who can fill those roles authentically.

They did THAT! 🍎💀📓

[tobeabatman]

Freeform fat activist post

Did you know that weight discrimination has increased by 66 % during the last decade and is one of the only forms of discrimination actively condoned by society? (From Adressing weight stigma and fatphobia in public health by Amanda Montgomery, RD, LDN, at publichealth.uic.edu)

And it’s like, it makes me so mad. It makes me so angry to see a bunch of thin people spreading bs without our fat people’s opinions, worsening the social conditions of people like me. It makes me mad that the first time I experienced medical fatphobia was at age 7. It makes me mad that it feels like there’s nothing I can do.

I can’t go to public transport without hearing casual fatphobia, I can’t study without hearing fatphobia, I can’t go online without seeing fatphobia, I can’t even film certain things online because of fatphobia.

I try escapism. I read a bunch of books: No fat characters, casual fatphobic comments.

I watch a bunch of videos on Youtube: Most fat creators are disencouraged from filming by either the algorithm or by viewers. The left-over thin creators casually act like fat people are lesser-than, when something triggers the topic of fat people.

I flinch, I wait, whenever a topic comes up that could possibly elicit fatphobia. The word ”lifestyle choices” makes my heart beat just a bit faster.

At school, I have to sit through an entire 115 minute lesson on how fat people should lose weight. I am the only ”obese” kid in class, there is one overweight person besides me.

I can’t look the teacher in the eye for the whole class. All my future lessons I sit in his class thinking, ”You don’t say it out loud, but I think you think of me differently than my thin classmates”.

I surround myself activism. Disability justice, anti-racism, feminism, -ism -ism. Justice is important to me.

..But I notice there’s no attention to people like me. Even though there’s so many different communities, fat people have a small and incomplete one. Even my leftist friends don’t note our struggles.

I continue my activism, but I’m getting more tired.

Someone lists different communities, says that medical bias is bad against those groups. I notice that mentioning fat people would fit right alongside those other communities. But I remember we’re invisible.

Another person says that confidence is sexy. I think it must be easy to see it that way if you’re not statistically more likely to have lower self-esteem.

Third person is concerned about my mental health for living in a fatphobic society. ”Who am I supposed to get help from?” I ask. Body-positive therapists are easy to find, but most of them don’t understand the pressure of living in a body hated by most.

—

The future I want is where no one is oppressed. That includes fat people. Get rid of your ”what about” thinking, and realize that fat people are human too.

And if you’re fat, then you deserve none of the sh*t this world has manipulated you into thinking you deserve (until you change your body, of course). I know you most likely had super low self-esteem growing up, maybe you got bullied, maybe that bullying continued into your work life.

I wish I could say it gets better, that there’s light at the end of the tunnel. But for that, we need the help of everyone. Are you willing to help?

Thank you for reading.

[headpainmigraine]

Your neurologist asking you how the dusolepin went and then saying 'we're running out of options' is... not a particularly reassuring thing.

Luckily, my guy came through and I have a treatment plan for this year

We're going to be trying some drugs off label, usually used for trigeminal neuralgia, so

1) baclofen, a muscle relaxant

2) oxcarbazepine, an anticonvulsant

3) trying topiramate, another anticonvulsant, again but at a higher dose

4) LDN, or low dose naltrexone, an opioid receptor antagonist used in the treatment of addiction, but also off-label in smaller doses for other conditions, including migraine

One at a time, of course, switching if a 3 month therapeutic dose doesn't work.

Hopefully I won't get to the end of that list, but my neuro told me there's research being done into other peptide blockers for migraine now, so there might be another drug out in a few years

I'll be checking out the Migraine World Summit w/c 20th March for more up to date info about what's new and/or coming up in the migraine world.

I told him that even though my dysautonomia causes tremors and makes me fall and necessitates the use of a wheelchair if I go out, I'd still rank it under refractory chronic migraine as my most disabling condition.

It's truly a gruelling bitch, one that no one takes seriously or even really understands.

It's not a bad headache.

[vhstown]

i just wanted to share this

can i just let you guys know that at british schools (im speaking for ldn mainly) they ban kids from talking about palestine. like you get in trouble for speaking about it / having symbols that relate to palestine at all.

a year 7 at my school got detention for drawing a palestine flag on their hand. my 5 yr old little cousin had a hairclip with the design of the flag confiscated. we do presentations at school every friday morning and our teacher told us we can't talk about anything related to palestine & israel. the only reason we got told this was because it was for our "safety"

trigger warning under the cut for bomb threats and threats to harm young children

today i heard about an islamic school getting a bomb threat (or some other violent threat) in relation to palestine. a primary school no less (children ages 4 to 11)

if this is part of the reason, it's understandable, but personally i struggle to understand why students are so punished for it. obviously im upset by it but then again im not sure how to feel, or just who advised schools to do this. i just wanted to share because i am deeply frustrated by the action of my school and many others, and worried by the increasing threats to muslim communities in the UK.

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free. continue to use your platforms and amplify the voices in palestine. do not forget. the genocide impacts you more than you think.