#the indefatigable doctor

[warabola]

a fallen london sideblog, following back from @abstractkind. grown adult, they/them, living canadian stereotype.

i do not know brevity. if you see me here, i am likely procrastinating on a task at work by overthinking fallen london lore or cheering for everyone's fl ocs.

i have four main characters/accounts. i accept calling cards and social actions on any of them!

The Intemperate Director (#the director) (almost an introduction)

The Silvered Assistant (#the silvered assistant) (almost an introduction)

The Heedless Novice (#the heedless novice)

The Indefatigable Doctor (#the indefatigable doctor)

someday i may even post proper introductions for them.

i have a memory like a sieve unless it's for deep lore and the adhd to boot, so i preemptively apologize for the all-or-nothing posting behaviors🙏

or basically:

[warabola]

The Director, unsurprisingly, and their coat. They earned that coat. But on the (alarmingly common) chances they have to remove the coat so they can put it out of harms way during a duel, tussle, fight-- they always seem to have at the very least one or two rings on. It is an eccentric collection of rings they have a habit of playing with.

In their younger days, they often had a set of tomb colonist style bandages worn like a loose scarf, granted as a gift from the Mercies. Very handy for covering facial wounds, swollen eyes, broken noses, etc.

The Heedless Novice has an ornate cross on their person, sometimes fashioned as a broach or worn on a necklace. Rumours of it coming from sacrilegious origins have been greatly exaggerated.

The Indefatigable Doctor isn't seen without their cloak and one of two masks-- both of which are of an old Venetian style.

Join me in calming down by talking about OCs.

Prompt: What are your character(s)' signature accessories?

Orsinio likes scarves and often wears black gloves; he's usually cold. Miles wears snake jewelry, a blue jewel necklace their sister game them, and white gloves. (Yeah I didn't realize the symbolism at first with their chessboard colors but it's so good.) Samuel is someone who dresses as basic as possible, but he has the strangling willow ring. He'd also consider the monster hunter bone harpoon an accessory for threatening people who don't treat his kids well. Lucretia likes flowers in her hair or pinned to her jacket.

[ryuzakemo128]

Goodnight

Chapter One: Family Ties

Pairing: Poly 141 x female reader (Boomer)

Words: 1733

Masterlist - Prequel

Divider Credit: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Content Warnings: Boomer is both a callsign and nickname for the female reader, Violence and Aggression, Mature Themes, Family Dysfunction, Mental Health, plus many others I might not have covered here.

Summary:

What could he even give her in return?

What would he be able to give her?

What can he offer her that she doesn’t already possess?

Does he bring joy? Does he offer security?

What does he have to offer her?

John had to look up at her, stretching his neck to get a clear view of her face. Towering over him, much like her father would tower over many others around him.

Her mother, Meredith, warned him about her daughter’s height and intimidating presence beforehand. He assumed it was some kind of joke. An oddly specific joke.

Seeing her in person now? He started to swallow down the words of doubt piling up. Eat each word, each one as they clawed, crawled from the depths of his throat.

She had given him her file, and it made his skin crawl once I started looking through it. Her genetics written in the many medical forms. In greater detail than he bargained for.

Boomer hasn’t spoken to her mother since her parents divorced. She was nine years old at the time. Her opinion of her mother changed when the affair came to light. She couldn’t even look at her.

Adamant in her refusal to be around her. She wanted to stay with her father. She didn’t want to live with her mother and the affair partner.

Not only that, but she wanted nothing to do with her or her ‘uncle’.

Boomer never changed her mind on her choice. Not even once.

What took precedence over the other mission?

What did her mother hope to achieve by doing this?

Boomer, a daughter, descendant of a lineage of soldiers, political figures, legislators, and engineers. A young woman taught to be self-sufficient, independent, self-reliant, and autonomous.

What could he even give her in return?

What would he be able to give her?

What can he offer her that she doesn’t already possess?

Does he bring joy? Does he offer security?

What does he have to offer her?

Boomer, the operative with 'quirks' inside of her genetic DNA. According to the information, her mother had provided him. Heavily documented, recorded, detailed enough to make any scientist and genetics researcher wet their slacks.

The files listed them in great detail to make sure nothing was or ever will be left up in the air for assumption, postulation, conjecture or theorised.

Mental, physical, and technical prowess, all rolled into one intimidating package — that's how John Price saw the Australian operative.

All written down by numerous doctors, specialists, consultants, physicians, and practitioners.

Mental traits passed down to her from her father's side of the family genetics were:

Eidetic Memory: Also known as photographic memory and total recall. Essentially, it’s the ability to recall an image from memory with high precision for at least a brief period of time.

Hyperthymesia: This condition is known as Hyperthymestic syndrome or high superior autobiographical memory (HSAM). Leadings to people to be able to remember an abnormally large number of life experiences in vivid detail.

Indefatigability: This is a trait that allows Boomer to never get tired, even when everyone around her is begging for a break.

Physical traits passed down to her from her father's side of the family genetics were:

Hypermobility Syndrome: Also known as double-jointness. Which means the joints can move beyond the normal range of motion. Often stretching farther than the norm. Some hypermobile people can bend their thumbs backwards to their wrists and bend their knee joints backwards.

High Pain Tolerance: The ability to endure pain without succumbing to it. A trait that would come in handy in the line of work she's chosen.

Efficient Metabolism: A high metabolic rate that supports her indefatigability, keeping her energised and allowing for rapid recovery after physical exertion.

He had to take a short break to process through this new information. Boomer would be inducted into the task force sometime before the month was over.

In need to make sure this was the right choice for his squad, as well as Boomer, the woman in question. Her mother certainly didn’t.

John Price picked up the phone and dialled a familiar number, one that had been etched in his mind for years.

“Meredith,” he began, his voice ringing the bulk of his considerations, “I need to know more about your daughter's condition. What aren't you telling me?”

The silence between them stretched on painfully as a result. John had an on again, off again relationship with her for the past three years.

What would this mean for Boomer?

He imagined Boomer saying, 'Cheaters like her cheat serially without compassion' with the same conviction that she'd say, 'A bullet doesn’t care how much you believe it won't hit you'. He recognised she wasn’t one to forgive easily or ever.

Most likely, she had gridlocked her mother out of her thoughts entirely, and that was something he had to be ready for once she allied with the team.

“Look, Meredith, I need both sides, not just the father��s. Don’t put your own bias by removing your flaws from the equation. It won’t be fair for my team and ultimately you are withholding information from your own child.” John sighed disappointed Meredith didn’t put the entire genetic history forward into her medical file.

John looked up from the medical file in his hand, “It reeks of personal bias. I don’t understand why you would prevent her from learning these things.”

Meredith’s voice quivered over the line, “I wanted to protect her, John. You know what they’ll do if they find out she’s got my genes. They’ll turn her into a lab rat, not a soldier. You have to promise me, you’ll keep this between us.”

“You can’t protect her if you can’t be bothered to tell her the truth.”

Traits from her mother’s side of the family still remains a large unknown. Even to Boomer herself. She still doesn’t know what they entail for her and her health.

And considering she hadn’t spoken to her mother since her parent’s divorce at the age of ten. Even then, school took precedence, and her father fought for full custody.

Her father didn’t care what she wore growing up, as long as she wore clothes. He received backlash from it after the mothers at the school noticed how he parented Boomer.

As well-behaved as Boomer was. Her father wasn't above the ire of the housewives, the stay-at-home mothers, the ones who saw her father's nonchalance as a form of neglect. Boomer knew better, her father didn't talk much, but he fixed more teddy bears than anyone she knew.

His tools were his words, his workshop his sanctuary, and his love, unspoken but as sturdy as the furniture he crafted. She often found refuge in his workshop, the smell of sawdust and the hum of his machines, comforting. It was here she discovered her love for tinkering, for creating, and for fixing things.

“D'ya think ebony varnish would look good for the bee's aviary?” Boomer asked one afternoon.

Her father, a six-foot ten giant of a man, broad shoulders, grey streaked beard, he didn't have the typical military buzzcut like most men inside the military.

Any blueprints he looked over for Boomer were meticulously studied, each piece of wood measured, sanded, and crafted with precision. Her curiosity grew with every project they completed together.

Sometimes, she frequently found herself lost in thought about the mysterious talents she might have inherited from her mother's lineage.

The odd questions, which slowly became rather uncomfortable, too personal and delving far too deep into personal information. If either one of them answered them, told them.

“I don’t feel comfortable talking about this with you. Can you please stop asking about it?”

They hated that answer.

Loathed it even.

Assumed they were anti-social losers of some kind.

They remarked that Boomer wasn’t ‘female’ enough because she wore overalls after school, got her hands dirty, played violent video games and loved horror movies.

Comments of:

‘If she was my daughter, I would have taken those violent video games from her and sent her to ballet classes’

‘If she were my wife she would not be allowed to leave the house dressed like that, she needs to learn to be a real woman’

‘Why is she so tall, she’s going to scare the men away’

‘What happened to her, is she a tomboy, why can’t she be more like a lady’

They echoed in the room like a symphony of ignorance.

Small comments to her father's disdain grew into a crescendo of whispers that followed her everywhere.

Meaning to those mothers. Boomer is the definition of the word ugly.

He didn't know mothers could get this vile or even be able to sleep at night being this level of horrid.

Part of him wanted to walk up to each one of those mothers and shake them until they saw some kind of sense between their ears. Telling them to leave his daughter alone.

He also knew he couldn’t do it and get away with it on legal terms.

What he could do? Send a passive-aggressive letter to each one of the mothers to get them to leave Boomer alone, or he would dig up so much dirt on them, they’ll regret ever speaking about his daughter in the first place.

The same moms who were poking, prodding and invading his privacy.

“You sure you want to give them those letters? They won’t or might not react all too nicely to them, dad.”

“It’s also for your safety, Boomer.”

“I know. I know. It just feels….nasty. Petty. Going down to their level.”

“Bullies often pick on those they deem to be weak or too shy to stand up for themselves. Often assuming just because the person they target is too weak to do anything about it.”

“I thought you said they also have a rough home life, too.”

“Children are bullies. Often because they have a rough home life because they have awful parents who shouldn’t have been parents.”

“And?”

“It means they never saw what they did was the wrong thing. They didn’t see it as a problem. Now, they’re still making everyone else’s life miserable.”

“These women could just double down on their stance.”

“And they could also take the hint. We won’t know until we find out.”

“Ten bucks to say they will.”

“Ten bucks and an extra week of laundry, they will take the hint.”

“Fingers crossed they don't get physical.”

“Fingers crossed they leave you alone.”

“Only one way, someone is gonna win this bet.”

“It's to let it play out.”

[meret118]

In fact, Dalla Ragione has spent more than a decade scouring the masterpieces of 15th- and 16th-century art for answers to one of the great questions of Italian agriculture: Whatever happened to the boisterous selection of fruits that, for centuries, were a celebrated part of Italian cuisine and culture? Slowly and indefatigably, she has been rediscovering those fruits, first in archives and paintings and then, incredibly, in small forgotten plots across Italy. Her nonprofit, Archeologia Arborea, is helping farmers and governments around the world preserve and even bring back into cultivation all manner of forgotten fruits. In the process, Dalla Ragione has become a globally renowned fruit detective, by recognizing in her country’s Renaissance artworks not only exceptional examples of cultural patrimony but also hidden messages from a bygone era of genetic abundance that can offer clues about how to recover what was seemingly lost.

. . .

Six centuries ago, Italy boasted hundreds of varieties for every fruit, each adapted to specific ecological niches. Apple, pear and cherry varieties across Umbria were different, in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, from Venetian, Florentine or Piedmontese varieties. At the turn of the 20th century, the country was home to at least 1,000 pear varieties, according to Dalla Ragione. Today, Italy is one of Europe’s foremost producers of pears. Yet for both pears and apples, a mere four varieties each now compose more than 70 percent of the country’s production, compared with the hundreds of varieties that were common a century ago. A 2020 Atlas of Biodiversity commissioned by the Ministry of Agriculture—to which Dalla Ragione contributed—documents how dozens if not hundreds of varieties of peaches, cherries, grapes and apricots once cultivated in Italy’s many regions have shrunk to a handful of uniform varieties for each fruit nationwide.

The loss of those varieties isn’t just a question of lost deliciousness. It also means that we’ve lost centuries of adaptability encoded in the genes of the fruits of yesteryear. According to Mario Marino, an agronomist working with the Climate Change Division of the United Nations’ Food and Agriculture Organization, who serves on the board of advisers for Archeologia Arborea, rediscovering the descendants of those old fruits will be crucial for Italy’s ability to withstand the unpredictable and increasingly dramatic effects of climate change.

A tree in Dalla Ragione’s orchard bursts with cow-nose apples, like the one she spotted in Bellini’s Madonna With Child. They’re often mistaken for pears.

. . .

In 2017, Dalla Ragione obtained a PhD in biodiversity from the University of Perugia. For her doctoral thesis, she analyzed the genomes of hundreds of pear varieties, which led to a radical discovery: Older pears, dating back to the 15th century and earlier, have many more alleles—meaning more genetic diversity—than 21st-century varieties. “That diversity,” says Lorenzo Raggi, a researcher in agricultural genetics and biotechnologies at the University of Perugia, “can translate into a greater capacity to adapt to different conditions.” This genetic diversity also meant that there were huge differences among the fruits themselves, even those from the same roots. “One year the trees would produce fruits of one color, then the next year, another color,” Dalla Ragione says. It also gave these varieties the capacity to adapt to shifting conditions, generation after generation. They might not produce as much per tree as modern varieties, but their traits helped them survive new pests and changing weather conditions, meaning they produced fruit more steadily over decades and even centuries. 

. . .

“Industrial agriculture created a few varieties that are very productive in very precise conditions, with a lot of chemicals and a lot of water. The new varieties may be bigger and have more consistent color, but they have very few genes—few words. Their genetic patrimony is very simple. If you present the right question, they can answer, because maybe they have four or five or maybe ten words. But if you present other questions—like drought or climate change or other situations—they have no words to answer. They can’t answer because they do not have enough genetic variability inside to answer these questions. Old varieties have a big vocabulary. They have many words to answer these new questions.” 

[sinni-ok-sessi]

Five ships in five fandoms

with thanks to @tallangrycockatiel for the tag

Well, there's the Enterprise, obviously, the Surprise, the Terror, the Indefatigable...

OK no, I will do this properly

1. Lin Chen/Mei Changsu/Xiao Jingyan (Nirvana in Fire)

Coming in first and surprising absolutely nobody! I am so very onboard with any and all permutations of the Greater Liang Polycule, but I have a special fondness for Guy Who Is Very Invested In Mei Changsu and Guy Who Is Very Invested In Lin Shu becoming jointly Guys Who Are Very Invested In Keeping This Idiot Alive In Spite Of Himself. Also I love angst and this ship offers the incredible buy one get one free deal of grief that your best friend now has someone else who knows more of his secrets and grief that your best friend is burning his life up in service of someone else, all turning on the fulcrum of a man who would probably just die on the spot if he let himself feel one tenth of the things he's been repressing for the last decade. Also, I love characters who won't say what they mean, so. You know.

2. Charley Pollard/Eighth Doctor (Doctor Who Big Finish Audios)

God, they're so weird about each other. It's not romantic but it's not not-romantic and also at one point they eat each other's corpse in an anti-time universe (I think? It's been a while since I listened to Scherzo) and I remember experiencing a lot of confusing and proto-aromantic feelings over them when I was seventeen, so they deserve a mention

3. Francis Crozier/James Fitzjames (The Terror)

YES I FEEL WEIRD ABOUT IT OK. Constantly I am playing this game with my brain where a fic can neither be too historically inaccurate nor too obviously Just Straight-Up RPF and let me tell you, this narrows my options considerably. BUT. Hhhh. The fact that they're doomed from the start. The way both of them, through sheer effort of will, put aside the selves they've been playing and better, truer people, in circumstances that really would have justified the opposite. They're doomed and they keep trying anyway. I'm going to go stare at a wall now and maybe bite something.

4. Kirk/Spock (Star Trek TOS)

I know, I know, I'm basic, but look, I didn't get an E in C4 maths because I was too busy writing k/s fic to revise to deny this truth of my heart now. What can I say, I love a man who is repressing a planet's worth of emotions at any given time. I love gentle bickering, I love putting your life in someone else's hands with absolute trust, I love this simple feeling. Ok, gonna go stare at a different wall for a bit now

5. Crowley/Aziraphale (Good Omens)

This one's dedicated to last summer, when I spent three months losing my goddamn mind, having been a casual Good Omens enjoyer for years at that point. I love all the permutations of these characters, but I do especially love watching Michael Sheen and David Tennant's faces do things. I think I mentioned before my love of characters who won't say what they mean, and I especially enjoy SIX THOUSAND YEARS OF IT AND COUNTING. Also, as someone who didn't so much break with the church as saunter vaguely away, GO fic sure does tap some long-buried part of my psyche.

~

I have all the object permanence of a concussed goldfish, so I'm almost certainly forgetting some personality-defining ship, but! I have done my best and no one should criticise me!

tagging @betweencrossedblades @trans-cuchulainn (you can count each tain recension as a separate fandom if you like), @cendiar , @bitterflames and anyone else who'd like to do it

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Nickolaus Hines

Published: Oct 18, 2021

In 2016, the famous nun Mother Teresa was declared a saint by Pope Francis — but many people say she doesn't deserve it.

Ever since the Vatican made Mother Teresa a saint in 2016, the response has been controversial and polarizing.

In order for Mother Teresa to achieve sainthood, the Vatican had to recognize two miracles that the famous nun performed after her death. Pope John Paul II recognized the first miracle in 2003, just six years after she died in 1997. And Pope Francis recognized the second miracle in 2015.

The popes claimed that Mother Teresa performed miracles when she cured one woman and then one man of their respective tumors. However, these “miracles” have been disputed by some — especially since a doctor who worked on the woman’s case said that she had been treated with drugs.

But debates over Mother Teresa’s miracles didn’t dissuade the Vatican from moving forward with its plans. Pope Francis officially proclaimed Mother Teresa a saint on September 4, 2016. But the decision remains controversial, and the dispute over her miracles is just one small part of it.

Of course, Mother Teresa’s sainthood may seem well-deserved to some. After all, she cultivated a mostly sparkling reputation as a selfless humanitarian while she was alive. But in recent years, her image has lost its luster. And when you take a closer look at her story, it’s not hard to see why.

Inside Mother Teresa’s “Selfless” Intentions

Mother Teresa was intent on converting as many people to Catholicism as possible, even at the expense of the poor and sick.

No one builds a church purely for the love of God — especially in places like India where critical services, like hospitals, are lacking. Religious groups that erect churches in these areas do so not just out of the kindness of their hearts, but to increase the number of people who believe in their faith.

Like those missionaries, conversion — the Church’s key to survival — was Mother Teresa’s primary goal. And in the context of the Catholic Church, charity can be viewed as a self-interested act.

“It’s good to work for a cause with selfless intentions,” said Mohan Bhagwat, the head of a Hindu nationalist group. “But Mother Teresa’s work had ulterior motive, which was to convert the person who was being served to Christianity. In the name of service, religious conversions were made.”

And when The New York Times reviewed the British documentary Hell’s Angel, a film that highlighted some of Mother Teresa’s flaws, the paper concluded that she was “less interested in helping the poor than in using them as an indefatigable source of wretchedness on which to fuel the expansion of her fundamentalist Roman Catholic beliefs.”

Still, some argue that even if Mother Teresa had ulterior motives, at least the people she cared for were better off for it. But others who have actually visited and worked in her medical centers wholeheartedly disagree.

The Horrific Conditions At Mother Teresa’s Medical Centers And Missions

Though Mother Teresa’s medical centers were meant to heal people, her patients were often subjected to conditions that made them even sicker. In the same documentary, an Indian journalist compared Mother Teresa’s flagship location for “Missionaries of Charity” to photographs that he had seen of the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp in Nazi Germany.

“Workers washed needles under tap water and then reused them. Medicine and other vital items were stored for months on end, expiring and still applied sporadically to patients,” said Hemley Gonzalez, a noted humanitarian who briefly volunteered at Missionaries of Charity.

Gonzalez continued, “Volunteers with little or no training carried out dangerous work on patients with highly contagious cases of tuberculosis and other life-threatening illnesses. The individuals who operated the charity refused to accept and implement medical equipment and machinery that would have safely automated processes and saved lives.”

It wasn’t just volunteers who criticized Mother Teresa’s treatment of patients, either. In her hospice care centers, Mother Teresa practiced her belief that patients only needed to feel wanted and die at peace with God — not receive proper medical care — and medical experts went after her for it.

In 1994, the British medical journal The Lancet reported that medicine was scarce in her centers and that patients received nothing close to the treatment that they needed to relieve their pain.

Meanwhile, some doctors took to calling her missions “homes for the dying” since her Calcutta home for the sick had a mortality rate of more than 40 percent. But in her view, this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

In response to all the criticism, Mother Teresa allegedly said, “There is something beautiful in seeing the poor accept their lot, to suffer it like Christ’s Passion. The world gains much from their suffering.”

However, when it came to her own suffering, Mother Teresa apparently took a different stance. When she began experiencing severe heart problems, she received care in a modern American hospital.

The Questionable Company That Mother Teresa Kept Throughout Her Life

While neglecting the needs of the sick, Mother Teresa was also called out for rubbing elbows with several wealthy — and corrupt — world leaders.

This included Haitian dictator Jean-Claude Duvalier, who was eventually charged with crimes against humanity for his abuse of his fellow Haitians.

At one point, 60 Minutes released footage that showed Mother Teresa praising Duvalier’s wife Michele. In the footage, Mother Teresa said that she had “never seen the poor people being so familiar with their head of state as they were with her. It was a beautiful lesson for me.”

That wasn’t the only friendship that raised eyebrows. Mother Teresa also received $1.25 million from her friend Charles Keating.

Keating was one of the key figures behind the 1980s savings and loan crisis, brought about by housing market and loan speculation, which cost American taxpayers $124 billion. And while he was on trial, Mother Teresa wrote to the judge presiding over his case — seeking clemency for him.

“I do not know anything about Mr. Charles Keating’s work or his business or the matters you are dealing with,” she said. “I only know that he has always been kind and generous to God’s poor and always ready to help whenever there was a need. It is for this reason that I do not want to forget him now while he and his family are suffering.”

Though a co-prosecutor of Keating actually responded to Mother Teresa after his conviction — and pointed out that one of the people Keating stole from was a poor carpenter — he never got a response from her.

And that wasn’t the only issue related to Mother Teresa’s finances.

The Enduring Mystery Of Where Mother Teresa’s Money Went

Countless well-meaning Catholics gave money to Mother Teresa’s charitable organizations throughout the years, but many of them would never see their generous donations go toward good works.

Keating’s $1.25 million donation alone would seem large enough to lift all of those in her care out of poverty, but one volunteer said that “even when bread was over at the soup kitchens, none was bought unless donated.”

Once, after running up an $800 tab at a grocery store to feed people at her charity, Mother Teresa refused to get out of line until someone else paid.

A 1991 report in the German magazine Stern also estimated that only seven percent of the millions of dollars she received were used for charity.

But seven percent of what total figure, exactly? The world will never know. Nirmala Joshi, the leader of Missionaries of Charity who succeeded Mother Teresa, said the donations were “countless,” and there was only one person with the actual numbers. “God knows,” Joshi said. “He is our banker.”

One is left to wonder where all of that money was actually going — and what happened to it after Mother Teresa’s death.

Mother Teresa’s Views On Reproductive Rights

Though it’s not surprising that a Catholic nun would be against abortion, Mother Teresa still raised eyebrows when she discussed her stance while she was accepting the Nobel Peace Prize in 1979.

In reference to Bosnian women who had been raped by Serbs and who were seeking abortions for their unwanted pregnancies, Mother Teresa said, “I feel the greatest destroyer of peace today is abortion, because it is a direct war, a direct killing — direct murder by the mother herself.”

She also rallied against birth control, claiming that “natural family planning” would solve the woes of women who were not ready for a child.

What Mother Teresa did promote in the realm of family planning — like abstinence — didn’t help anyone, either. And despite abstinence-only education being proven ineffective, she still stuck by her claims.

But even though she gained some critics for views like these, Mother Teresa was mostly successful at avoiding controversy while she was alive. However, a glimpse of her “dark side” would slip through the cracks every so often — especially when it came to her infamous homes for the sick. 

In hindsight, these issues are hard to ignore today. And it’s also difficult to understand why the Catholic Church decided to make Mother Teresa a saint. She may have been revered for helping the poor and the sick, but her practices ensured that they were mired in pain until their final moments.

==

Reminder: Mother Teresa was a sadistic fundamentalist.

[hypokeimena]

the thing about house md that makes me insane is all doctors are bastards, all doctors are ableist, and dr. housemd himself specifically is INSANELY so, but particularly and specifically related to his own disability, which happened to him because his partner (inexplicably, or perhaps explicably due to the 2005ness of it all, a woman) made medical decisions for him EXPLICITLY against his wishes which left him crippled and with a painkiller addiction. and he's a mean and nasty man but he "forgives" her for this and for leaving him after the procedure. in that episode that reveals this.

BUT

the same episode that reveals this also reveals that he was already a nasty, unpleasant addict BEFORE his disability in ways that impacted his treatment (he was not diagnosed effectively because he was written off as drug-seeking, which he fully admits that he was) and this is like. never engaged with really (iirc. i am not an encyclopedic knower of housemd lore) like. he just has a moment in that episode where he says "drug addicts get sick too" and it just makes me want to CLAW MY SKIN OFF because YES! YES THEY DO! the way he navigates patient rights pinballs between his indefatigable knowledge that he is in fact usually right and that patients dont know what he knows, the patient's legal right to privacy and autonomy, and his occasional fling with actually sticking to medical ethics makes me literally INSANE!!! IT MAKES ME CRAZY

[artisanoftheredscience]

About Me

The name's Genesis! I use any pronouns, including neopronouns. The only ones I ask you not to refer to me with is She/Her. I am an adult! Exact age not specified for privacy reasons. I'm a recent arrival to the Sunless universe but I love the lore, I'm a writer and an okay artist (though I get better every day). Currently I'm mid-ambition and pre-railway on my main FL account.

You can send calling cards my way via Gem Stone (@/distortedgenesis)! I'm always happy to have friends over there!

I may occasionally reblog spicier content.

TAG LIST

#my writing and #my art for content I post that is, well, mine

#other peoples blorbos is for content from other blogs featuring their characters

I'll tag nsfw content as #nsft and mark it as mature.

#genesis rambles for screaming into the void and/or shitposting

OTHER INFORMATION

Check out my sideblog where I reblog silly little aesthetic stuff for my blorbos @ifallshallbewell

CHARACTERS

FALLEN LONDON

Dr. Gem Stone [The Abberant Doctor]: My Light Fingers PC. Slowcakes Page.

Detective Peculiar [The Indefatigable Detective]: My Nemesis PC. Slowcake's Page.

Liz O'Connor [The Impetous Monsterhunter]: My Bag a Legend PC. Slowcake's Page.

Lady Spring Lovelace [The Ambitious Showman]: My Heart's Desire PC. Slowcake's Page.

Kendrick Starlee [The Resilient Railwoman]: Engineer for the GHBR. Long-suffering acquaintance of the most involved people in London. Slowcake's Page.

Ellison Arrow. [The Consumed Polymath]: A Red Scientist, Liberationist, and perpetual thorn in the University's side (and budget). Slowcake's Page.

Samuel "Wells" Arrow [The Overzealous Voyager]: An unusual man made from a failed experiment in Parabola.

Captain Bell: A ship-captain and Ellison's best friend. Also my Sunless Skies captain.

Sophronia Meadows [The Perfervid Probationer/The Impassioned Monsterbreeder]: A grad student working in Ellison's lab, and an expert in the art of cryptozoological cons

ervation.

Deidamia [The Iniquitous Deviless]: Peculiar's partner and a player of the Great Game.

Mr. Watson Sterling: Dr. Stone's ex-husband.

Ives Walters [The Sepulchral Accountant]: The Great Hellbound Railway Board's Accountant.

Woefully Ironic [The Insufferable Playwright]: My SMEN PC and Failed Heart's Desire PC.

THE SUNLESS SKIES

Crew Details- WIP, link will be here soon.

Work Directory [Does Not Include my NSFW content]

Into the Neath | A brief introduction to my main characters and their backstories prior to the start of the ambition storylines.

Staring At The Moon | The beginnings of Light Fingers, following my PC Dr. Stone.

Momento Mori Leaves A Debt | The beginnings of Nemesis, following my PC Detective Peculiar.

Absinthe Makes The Heart Grow Fonder | The beginnings of Bag A Legend, following my PC Liz(ard) O'Connor.

If You Wanna Roll, Heads Are Gonna Roll | The beginnings of Heart's Desire, following my PC Lady Spring Lovelace.

Bad Dreams, Bad Things | Part 2 of my Light Fingers Retelling

The Game Plays Us For Fools | Part 2 of my Nemesis retelling

Are You A Man or A Monster? | Part 2 of my BAL retelling

All I Ever Wanted Was The World | Part 2 of my HD retelling

Let's See How Far We've Come | Part 3 of my LF retelling.

Inscribed | An Epistolary fic following Oliver Bergamot, one of my Mask of the Rose ocs. 11 chapters, completed.

A Foolproof Guide To Impersonating A Master | A BAL fic following Liz's attempt to impersonate Mr. Veils.

[danieljosephusa]

The heart, that indefatigable organ, pumps 100,000 times daily to keep us alive. In terms of comprehending its complexities, echocardiography takes the lead. This extensively recommended non-invasive cardiac diagnostic test offers priceless information about the heart’s composition, operation, and general health. If your doctor has prescribed you an Echocardiogram Test Pimlico, visit North Queensland Cardiac Clinic in Pimlico, Australia, today.

[grandhotelabyss]

Five years ago, when "cancel culture" was at its height and books were being pulled from publication schedules due to social-media outrage campaigns, I proposed that publishers turn the controversies to their advantage using the old "Banned in Boston" technique.

This phrase refers to olden times, when the puritanical authorities in Boston were always proscribing material they found objectionable. (According to Wikipedia, they literally banned the Decameron. It's admittedly a pretty filthy book, but, as it's been in print since the 14th century, since before print, the Bostonians were a little late to the bonfire.) Publishers began to hope their products would be "Banned in Boston" since it promised to the public that their contents would be satisfyingly salacious.

And now we see a small-press book—with an extraordinarily ubiquitous publicity campaign; this guy's everywhere from Interview and Vanity Fair to the dissident-right culture podcasts—being marketed with "they forced me to have a content warning" and "the woke girls in the office almost staged a walkout." "Banned in Canada" would be a good selling point, too, though "Euthanized in Canada" might even be better: "My book's so dangerous, the doctor asked me if I'd ever considered MAiD!" Anyway, good to see that publishers and publicists have caught on at last. I wonder whether the book's any good...

(If Alex's indefatigable publicist is reading this, my email's in my bio in case you want to send me a review copy. Or in case you want to be my publicist, in the event that I can afford your services. I almost said "unlikely event," but Alex is a manifestor and would no doubt object to such a "limiting belief.")

[warabola]

2, 10, 12, 25!

Ask game time!

2. How loosely or strictly do they use the word ‘friend’?

Maybe this is just me, but have you ever met that person that says your name regularly in conversation, or uses endearments, or finds small chances for respectful physical touch (a pat on the shoulder, back, etc) and somehow makes you feel incredibly seen, heard, or like the center of the world when you talk to them? That's the Director. Specc'd fully into emotional/social intelligence and uses it entirely to get away with being a menace or to find things that annoy their acquaintances. Joking aside, networking is their livelihood, and they use 'friend' fairly freely (and sometimes pointedly). They "know a guy", they "have a friend in that business", they "would be willing to help a friend out".

The Silvered Assistant, meanwhile, is the exact opposite, and reacts to calling someone a friend the same way someone else might receiving a heartfelt confession.

10. What fact do they excitedly tell everyone about at every opportunity?

Oh boy. While it doesn't really count as a fact, The Silvered Assistant, when not working for the Director or attending to her business as an Oneirotect, is a researcher and adjunct professor at the University for Glasswork Studies. She tempers her excitement and interest around most folk out of habit, but has a hard time containing herself if the subject of advanced applications comes up. If in the presence of other academics or experts in the field, she will launch into a dissemination of glasswork applied to their field, the application of palindromes in Red Science, anything she's been working on recently. The Stalwart Scholar receives most of this enthusiasm.

The Indefatigable Doctor loves to bring up that one of their rubbery companions overdosed when partaking in amber. Opposite of a fun fact. They'll often have a medical fact pertaining to the limits of the body to share as well. It's best they don't talk.

12. What’s something that makes them laugh every single time? Be specific!

The Heedless Novice loves when people try to come at her or her reputation only to fail miserably, or to fall into a pit of blackmail and politics. There's a reason why she fixated so strongly on the Bishop of St Fiacres after their round in the Marvellous– the moment he started to realize what she did to him was, in essence, pure delight for her.

The Director laughs easily, but you can guarantee a genuine smile from them by: riling up the Bishop of Southwark (particularly embarrassment or harmless things that get him heated); catching the Stalwart Scholar off guard or managing to give him a good case of fuckor; or teasing their newest victim, the naive himbo Uranist Sybarite. That said, all of the above need to be in good humour.

(He's so easy to tease.)

25. What subject / topic do they know a lot about that’s completely useless to the direct plot?

The Director: Very dependent on what you'd consider useless. They tend not to get into things excessively unless it's for a purpose, and there's a whole lot of things they've researched that might seem entirely inane to a bystander, while actually building a very specific identity in the Cabinet Noir. If asked however, they'd likely insist any in-depth knowledge they have regarding Christianity and the workings of the Anglican clergy to be useless and learned largely against their will. The Bishop of Southwark would probably burst a blood vessel to hear his envoy say it.

The Heedless Novice is, unsurprisingly, rather versed in all things ecclesiastical, but particularly the politics of Anglican circles on the surface, as well as the workings and broader politics of other Christian denominations. With how often the scripture is adapted and interpreted in the Neath to account for their... unique situation, however, she rarely has to rely on this expertise in order to perform her work as a Crooked Cross. Memorization and recitation does not serve her purposes as well as mithridacy or being underestimated would; she finds being adaptable and personalizing the methodology to the listener goes much further. She still keeps up with the politics for fun, however.

The Silvered Assistant doesn't have a remarkable singing voice, but does know quite a few sea shanties, urchin chants, and drownie songs, as well as how to emulate the warbling of the latter. She's also by osmosis quite knowledgeable about the trends, artists, and art forms of all the popular artistic movements in London.

[saulweissberg]

now this felt familiar. the two of them, sporadically filling gaps of silence with strained voices. though terry had newly moved into this cabin, the pain that haunted the both of them (the three of them, really) for decades had clearly moved in alongside their belongings like an indefatigable poltergeist. he could almost see it now, sat between them on the couch, head swiveling between whichever participant was speaking at the moment. it was an oppressive feeling. the ceiling beams felt like they were sinking lower and lower with each breath, ready to knock him dead and release him from his misery. the fire was too hot in front of them, kindling cracking. his bourbon was smooth and welcomed, but the glass felt too heavy in his hand and he had the rare impulse to smash it onto the floor. 

especially when he heard that fucking tone. the one he had heard many times in his life, but with less frequency the older that micah got, and he wasn’t forced into the same room with terry as often. had to get her digs in where she could, eh? anyone else might’ve heard terry’s voice and thought nothing of it, they already had such a stilted way of speaking, but saul knew. he knew when terry was trying to snuff out the flame of their anger for the young micah’s benefit. their son wasn’t eleven years old anymore, though, and his presence only showed in a forgotten sweatshirt on the opposite chair. saul had to similarly restrain himself.

“guess i’ve always been a bigamist.” he quipped, cutting his eyes towards the fire instead of their face. work was his one true love, his soulmate, and most of the time, saul didn’t feel a need to apologize for that. until he was confronted with the people he failed, mainly micah. then he felt ashamed, but not regretful. a worthy sacrifice on the altar of his career, but a sacrifice nonetheless. he wondered if micah ever felt like isaac, the son of a man tested by g-d to kill him and almost committing the act before the test was completed. what did isaac say to abraham on the way back down the mountain, what sort of questions had he asked? was isaac ever able to look his father in the face again? was that why micah rarely made eye contact with him anymore? he hated the insinuation terry was making, but tried to extinguish the rising flame of his own temper before it had a chance to truly spark. “when micah is at the firm, he’s not my son. he’s my employee.” which was partially true. micah’s status as his son afforded him a lot of leeway, but saul had never been a particularly strict boss with any of his staff. “i try to spend as much time out of the office with him as i can.” he lightly defended himself, taking a recovering sip of his bourbon. 

mind you, not exactly an easy task, since micah always seemed to be busy with that comedian career of his. saul had his suspicions that maybe micah didn’t have as many gigs as he proclaimed, but he decided to take micah at his word rather than dig a little further and realize that his son just hadn’t wanted to spend any more time with him than their working hours required. it had all started with that fledgling youtube career, hadn’t it? saul had never understood any of it, rarely did time allow him to surf the internet like his son did, but he mostly nodded unknowingly and smiled placidly whenever the topic was brought up. their lineage demanded success. it demanded solemnity. comedian didn’t exactly fit within the parameters of white collar, but the elders might’ve been satisfied if micah earned his juris doctor, even if he never used it. saul, for his part, hoped that micah had success in any path he took—he just didn’t want to see any part of this particular path. he could only imagine the sort of jokes his son told about him. the thought of it always gave him an intense wave of nausea, so he did what he normally did any time he was confronted with his failures: he ignored it as best as he could. micah likely had material for years, and any jokes at saul’s expense were probably warranted, but saul still hadn’t wanted to hear them.

saul never said it directly to his son, or even to terry, but he never regretted having micah. he never even regretted having terry as his son’s mother. he only regretted how young they had been, and how he couldn’t split himself into two: a saul to be a proper father to micah, and a saul to advance in his career. send one off to work and the other would cut micah’s sandwiches into star shapes or teach him how to apply cologne. perhaps he could never do that because his soul was already split into two—born a twin, his other half was still in new york and had his own issues with parenting his children. levi was less of a physically avoidant father, more emotionally distant from gideon and elisha, but the weissberg twins had lost their role model for fatherhood before the concept had ever registered in their minds. it would be easy to pinpoint it all to that: see, katie? i lost my dad, how the fuck was i supposed to know how to be one?

it would be so, so easy, and not entirely untrue. not entirely true, too, however. it was a major source of his pain, his persona, but that excuse was wearing a little thin after thirty-seven years. perhaps the truth was simpler: saul was bad at it. bad at being a father, and a husband. good at being loved, but terrible at loving. for all his success in his career, he failed at relationships. were three divorces not enough proof? he never regretted having micah, but he had to be thankful he never had any more after micah. it caused his divorce from tamara, but it kept him from failing another child. small mercies.

“well, we’re not the sporty types. i only played tennis because i had to.” his private school had required each student to pick a sport, and like any blue blood type, saul had picked tennis because it was what his older cousins had done. for the casual player like saul, it was easy enough to do when his opponent didn’t take it so seriously, and it was practically required for country club members like his family to know how to do. that, and golf. other than that, saul had been a sedentary man, other than his half-heartedly used peloton in his guest room. anyway, he was getting distracted. sometimes, like terry, saul could retreat easily into himself. he just usually never wanted to.

saul nodded shallowly. just leasing, but she liked it here. he had the errant thought that terry might follow him again if he moved back to manhattan, but he reasoned that they had followed micah out here, not him. by their account, they hadn’t followed either of them to blue harbor. saul remained unconvinced. maybe that poltergeist made of hurt wasn’t some spectral manifestation, but terry herself. an uncharitable concept, but saul wasn’t in the mood to remember humility. he was pouting, really. he had half a mind to down the rest of his drink and gather his belongings, run out the door, and yell over his shoulder as he rushed to his car that he’d have terry trespassed if she came back to his firm.

where’s home, then? what does home mean to you?

that question made him want to run out the door even faster. instead, he stayed in situ, but his body language had changed noticeably. his knees locked, pointing towards the wall. he kept his gaze forward, unwilling to subject himself to terry’s analytical gaze. he was still leaning back against the couch, but his shoulders were tense and his knuckles grew white from how hard he was squeezing his glass. 

“manhattan.” saul answered, surprised it wasn’t so obvious to them. he finally brought his eyes up to theirs. “i’ll always be a new yorker.” he supplied with a shrug. his heart was back in his former penthouse on west 61st street, left forgotten on the floor and covered in dust. blue harbor was too small of a pond for him, yet it seemed to fit terry perfectly. his protégé’s voice rang throughout his mind: who would willing move to fucking illinois? well, berenice, two out of his three ex-wives, that was who. now that poor girl was left all alone. just another loved one he abandoned for his own interests. he wondered if terry expected him to say connecticut, in that ancestral home of gideon and edna weissberg, where his mother still resided. that had belonged to his parents, despite his growing up there for eighteen years. that penthouse in midtown had been all his, and he gave it up for the midwest. he gave it up for thalia, just to no longer have her.

maybe he had no home at all. maybe he never did.

“what about you, katie? where exactly do you call home?” he asked, wanting to put it back on her. tit for tat, remember? saul inhaled noisily before he took another swig of his drink. “why did you leave white plains? it suited you fine for thirty years.”

“Hm, maybe you’re right,” Terry said, quietly. The truth was they didn’t have much practice with love—and heartbreak—at all. It was heavy and brimming and exhausting, and so contrasted the precision in which they had viewed the world. Even their hobbies had been constructed with rationality in mind. A birder, not a birdwatcher, Terry had always insisted, and they’d had the notebooks and journals to match. A Kentucky warbler could very well be mistaken for a hooded one, were it not for the latter’s darker crown and throat; the family Turdidae were virtually impossible to distinguish if one only stuck to their birdsong, and even then, wood, Swainson’s, and hermit thrushes could only be accurately detected when one found the extent to which dark spots had dotted its plumage. 

But love, loss, and heartbreak? Those were things best reserved for poems and books and the lovers of this world. A passion, unfettered, could be powerful but unhealthy. Saul was the first testament to it; Severine had been the second and the last—and they were not insistent on doing it, a third time over, just as Saul had, countless times as so. 

But they’d conceded the fight. They folded a hand in their lap, sat still, and took another steadying breath before placing the glass back to their lips. For a moment, they’d indulged in the thought that this was what a home should have felt like: the fire burning, the hearth running, the alcohol against one’s throat, the warm light from the ceiling fixtures above them, casting gentle shadows underfoot.

But frankly, all they remembered was the cold. His figure departing in the rearview mirror. The extravagant vocabulary of their fights. The expertise in which he’d carved his arguments, the heart and soul and the selfishness of a lawyer; the ways Katie would combat it with their own, precise and sharp, as a butcher’s daughter would. He could never quite placate her anger with a misplaced touch or a romantic gesture, as he might have placated Tamara, maybe even Thalia. And perhaps that was why their marriage had been over so quickly. In those years, Micah had been the only reason why she would have to cross through the thousand glass shards left on the floor, both their doing and undoing, and walk towards him again. Their feet might have grown calloused over time, and their skin had grown into sturdier stuff, like the old bark making way for the newer bark. But it still hurt. Especially if one knew which cracks to fall through, which old wound to reopen.

Eh, uh, no. Not right now. Trying to focus on the firm, and Micah—the words echoed in the airless, noiseless, room, and Terry fought back the urge to laugh. Speaking of old wounds, this was the story that had been told the most.

“Mhm,” they hummed, if a bit disappointedly. In truth, they’d almost wanted him to speak more honestly of his romantic exploits. Saul could trade stories about his old and new lovers and Terry could of hers—not that there were many—like college friends wandering into the same town and proceeding to get a drink to reminisce. They’d always had a morbid fascination into understanding how he’d loved, passionately and indiscriminately. But loving Saul Weissberg was the worst way to get to him, as they’d later found out, over, and over, and over. 

“Married to your work, then,” Terry began. Hard as they fought it, the temper that had disguised itself as something frozen over pore through the cracks. She cut from under the water, hard and fast, “I suppose now that Micah’s around in the office you don’t have to split your time between work and family anymore.” The rage of the words ran down like melting water, though, thawing slightly as it reached her throat, the surface of the room, and the distances between them: physical, emotional, temporal. 

They unrooted something that ought to resemble a concrete memory. Baseball games and school dropoffs? It had taken them a moment to consider what Saul might have meant. The words meant nothing to her, but he supposed Saul was there, a version of what a father might have looked like. “Sure,” they replied, not quite matching his false nostalgia, his sigh, his relaxing demeanor. “But Doc was never much of an athlete, anyway. He had his fledgling YouTube career to think about at the time.” 

How much had Micah told him about those years? With their son, they could never quite tell. Terry wondered just how much Saul had realized that he was still his father’s son—his strange generosity for loving, coupled with self-destructive habits—as much as he was her own, with his independence and dark humor but above all reticence. There was no nostalgia for Terry in the years before Tamara’s nurturing, still fresh off the hurt of a lost love, and the years after, realizing the weight of the responsibility that felt hers to bear alone. How their son was called up to school after being bullied and Terry had called him by his YouTube nickname, only fueling the fire. How Terry had spoken online in the PTA board with their typical clipped language and people incorrectly presumed her to be Micah’s 80-year-old grandfather, their way of understanding the world written off as a punchline. How they’d taken Micah for days and even weeks at a time to fly him off to whatever project their firm had been building, making him miss friends and school days, when they found themselves with little recourse as a single parent. How Micah had always been more comfortable with Tamara, radiant and graceful and beautiful. How Terry had never brought anyone home until Severine, only for neither party hold any affection for the other.

How Micah would come home with a broken leg decades ago, and then to come home with a broken arm only months back—like he hadn’t learned, or like Terry hadn’t taught him better. 

But they’d never been a talkative person. Even Severine got exhausted listening to the stories of the mother and son, eventually, and anyway, Sev always had far more exciting stories to share, each one literally more death-defying than the last. In face of real and present danger, Terry’s stories might have been rendered obscure, but they were no less happy or painful. 

“I’ve leased it for a year. As long as my contract ends. Only…” They paused, contemplating. “I quite like it. It’s very quiet. Not a performative kind of quiet, too, as in the suburbs. The world feels like it’s stopped, but I suppose I can find this kind of quiet anywhere.” 

The silence lingered. It occurred to her then that, of all the people in this world, Saul might have appreciated those stories the most—the mother and son’s flaws, misadventures, incidents and shared tragedies. But be it anger or pride or hurt, Terry could never find the courage to grow something new with him. In truth, they could spend years and years and years talking and it would never be quite enough to close the distance between what Saul knew and what Saul could’ve been there for, and still have time to create newer, fresher, and untarnished memories for their family of three. 

Maybe the tragedy laid there: that Terry would always have to work to fill the gaps, and Saul would always find another regret, and in the absence of an endpoint to a timeline, the cycle would run infinitely until someone stopped counting. 

“You told me earlier, while we were walking, that you don’t consider Blue Harbor to be your home.”

Truthfully, she doesn’t know if she ever wants to stop. Who was the offender in this situation, she thought. What was the sin, the rightful restitution? Who ought to offer the teshuvah between them? But above all, Terry is a shochet’s daughter: they want to unroot those memories, to make him experience the immensity of their backward ache. Wants him to see the shadow cast by his personality, always so larger-than-life, and the darkness it has left behind. Wants to cut through his thick head the same way as a serrated blade, or as their father’s well-cared-for shechita knife would, and see how much of her is still left in those nerves and muscles and synapses, if she has ever taken up space at all. 

Mostly, though, she thinks she just wants to cry. 

“Where’s home, then?” Their fingers wrapped tighter around the glass, taking a slow and generous sip, the comfort its burn tracing a path down their throat. “What does home mean to you?”  

[our-health-is-our-wealth]

Maintaining healthy habits is crucial for overall health and well-being, however it's particularly vital for the health of our hearts. Our heart is important organ that employment indefatigably each day to pump blood and gas throughout our bodies. Taking care of our hearts is important for a protracted and healthy life.

Here are some straightforward and effective ways in which to take care of a healthy heart through healthy habits:

Exercise regularly: Exercise is crucial for maintaining a healthy heart. It helps to strengthen the guts muscles, lower vital sign, and scale backthe chance of heart condition. Aim for a minimum ofhalf-hour of moderate-intensity exercise, like brisk walking or athletics, every day.

Eat a healthy diet: A healthy diet is important for a healthy heart target. Consumption many fruits, vegetables, whole grains, and lean super molecule sources. Avoid processed and high-fat foods, as they'll increase your risk of heart condition.

Quit smoking: Smoking could be a major explanation for heart condition and stroke. If you smoke, quitting is one among the most effective stuff you will do for your heart health. talk over with your doctor or a smoking stop specialist for facilitate and support.

Limit alcohol consumption: Moderate alcohol consumption might have some wholesomeadvantages, however excessive alcohol consumption will increase your risk of heart condition. Limit your intake to at least one drink per day for ladies and 2 drinks per day for men.

Get enough sleep: Adequate sleep is very important for overall health and mightfacilitateto cut backthe chance of heart condition. Aim for seven to eight hours of sleep per night.

By incorporating these healthy habits into your daily routine, you'll be able to watch out of your heart and improve your overall health. do not wait till it's too late to start out taking care of your heart. begin active these healthy habits now a day sand luxuriate in a life of fine heart health.

[writer59january13]

Jinxed jesting jejune junior jobber...

just jabbering gibberish (A - J)

Again, another awkward ambitious

arduous attempt at alphabetically

arranging atrociously ambiguously

absolutely asinine avoidable alliteration.

Because...? Basically bonafide belching,

bobbing, bumbling, bohemian beastie boy,

bereft bummer, bleeds blasé blues, begetting

bloviated boilerplate bildungsroman,

boasting bougainvillea background.

Civil, clever clover chomping, cheap

chipper cool cutthroat clueless clodhopper,

chafed centenary, codifies communication

cryptically, challenging capable, certifiably

cheerful college coed.

Divine dapper daredevil, deft, destitute,

doddering, dorky dude, dummkopf Dagwood

descendent, dagnabbit, demands daring

dedicated doodling, dubious, dynamite,

deaf dwarf, diehard doppelganger, Doctor

Demento double, declaring depraved

daffy dis(pense)able dufus Donald Duck

derailed democracy devastatingly defunct.

Eccentric, edified English exile,

effervescent, elementary, echinoderm

eating egghead, Earthling, excretes,

etches, ejaculates, effortless exceptional

emphatic effluvium enraging eminent,

eschatologically entranced, elongated

elasmobranchii, emerald eyed Ebenezer,

effectively experiments, emulates epochal

eczema epidemic, elevating, escalating,

exaggerating enmity, enduring exhausting

emphysema. Freed fentanyl fueled, fickle figurative

flippant fiddler, fiendishly filmy, fishy,

fluke, flamboyantly frivolous, fictitious,

felonious, fallacious, fabulously fatalistic,

flabbergasted, fettered, flustered, facile,

faceless, feckless, financially forked,

foregone, forlorn futile fulsome, freckled

feverish, foo fighting, faulty, freezing,

fleeting famously failing forecaster, flubs

"FAKE" fundamental fibber fiat, fabricating

fiery fissile fractured fios faculties.

Gamesomeness goads gawky, gingerly,

goofily graceful, grandiloquent gent, gallant,

genteel, geico, guppy gecko, gabbling gaffes,

gagging, gamboling, gestating, gesticulating,

garlic, gnashing, gobbling, gyrating,

gruesomely grinning, grappling, gnomadic

giggly, grubby, gastrointestinally grumpy

gewgaw gazing gesticulating guy,

geographically generically germane,

gungho, grave gremlin, grumbling, guiding,

guaranteeing, guerilla gripped gatling guns

ginning gumpshun.

Hello! Herewith halfway harmless hazmat,

haphazard haggard, hectored, hastily,

hurriedly, harriedly hammered, handsomely

hackneyed, heathen, hellbent hillbilly, hirsute,

hidden hippie, huffy humanoid, hexed, heady,

Hellenistic, holistic, hermetic, hedonistic

heterosexual Homo sapiens historical heirloom,

homeless, hopeful, holy, hee haw heretical hobo.

Indefatigable, iconographic, iconic, idealistic,

idyllic, inimitable, idiosyncratic, ineffable,

irreverently issuing idiotic, indifferent, inert,

ineffectual, ingeniously iniquitous, immaterial,

insignificant, indubitable, inexplicable, ignoble

itches, ineffectually illustriously illuminating

immovable infused ichthyosaurus implanted

inside igneous intrusions immensely

imperturbable improbable.

Jovial jabbering jinxed January jokester

just jimmying jabberwocky

justifying jangling jarring juvenile jibberish

jubilantly jousting jittering

jazzy jawbreaking jumble

justifying, jostling, Jesus;

junior jowly janissary joyful Jekyll

joined jumbo Jewess jolly Jane;

jammed jello junket jiggled

jeopardized jingled jugs.

[warabola]

The Director's changes regularly but at the moment I have the most entertaining death.

The Silvered Assistant features a defining moment and role:

The Heedless Novice is. Herself.

And the Indefatigable Doctor features their Seeking journey and dedication to their latest community.

So what is everyone's Mantlepiece/Scrapbook item?

These seemed like the obvious choices for a parabolan reflection. Slowly but surely going to get that Mirror-Fed higher, but Parabolan Orange-Apples are not cheap.

[danieljosephusa]

The heart, that indefatigable organ, pumps 100,000 times daily to keep us alive. In terms of comprehending its complexities, echocardiography takes the lead. This extensively recommended non-invasive cardiac diagnostic test offers priceless information about the heart’s composition, operation, and general health. If your doctor has prescribed you an Echocardiogram Test Pimlico, visit North Queensland Cardiac Clinic in Pimlico, Australia, today.