What she means:
There's an unused Arceus event in Pokémon Heart Gold and Soul Silver that involes a place called the Sinjoh Ruins and it shows a freaky montage of real-life pictures and Arceus literally creates one of the Creation Trio out of thin air. It literally takes you to the ruins just to show you its true power. It creates a baby legendary Pokémon before your eyes. It literally gives you a baby legendary dragon the size of a school. What the fuck. Why were the gen 4 games so goddamn cryptic but badass at the same time. You get a baby god as a reward for coming. The fuck
So, I was thinking about what a goddamn badass Leonard McCoy is.
Actually, I was thinking about drug shortages. I am a resident in the United States. The United States of America. First world medicine, folks. And sometimes - all too frequently - I have to revise the treatment plan of a healthy patient undergoing elective surgery because I do not have access to the ideal drug.
In other words, I compromise.
That’s a sickening feeling, friends.
Which brings me back to Bones.
Bones, Chief Medical Officer on a five year mission in deep space, where no man has gone before. Bones, who cares so goddamn deeply. Bones, desperately filing requisition forms for medications that he has no hope of receiving in the foreseeable future. Bones, elbow deep in a unfortunate ensign that caught the wrong end of a blast in engineering, sweat dripping in his eyes, nagging thoughts of, “is his name Jason or Joseph?” Bones, mad as hell because medical takes another budget cut. Bones praying frantically to a god he doesn’t believe in, “oh, please, not again.” Bones, eyeballing a unknown species and making a quick judgment call, based on a hasty heart rate estimate and an eyeballed weight, the effective loading dose of a - probably - renal toxic drug. Bones, hissing at Spock to shut the hell up, all the while making his own calculations. Bones, who years after the mission has ended, bolts up out of a dead sleep in a panic of adrenaline, because endless nights of call have made gentle awakenings impossible. Bones, staring dumbstruck at Starfleet Medical’s supply rooms. Bones, dedicatedly carting his tiny medkit on his hip, facing an alien world with a tricorder and a few hypos. Bones, hiding in his quarters for days, pouring over all of the federation’s published xenophysiology records, searching for a connection, wondering where it went wrong. Bones replaying the day’s scene in his mind, fear still gripping his chest as Jim sleeps peacefully in the biobed. Bones alone in the field, performing a bilateral finger thoracostomy on a blue-lipped yeoman who reminds him a little too much of Joanna (if somebody does not write this fic, I will). Bones, fresh out of med school, feverently murmuring his oath with conviction and wide-eyed naivety. Bones blaming himself. Bones bitching about the unpredictability of genetically modified antimicrobials. Bones needing a goddamn drink. Bones, contemplating the nuances of therapeutic nihilism. Bones, forcing himself to meet Jim’s eyes as Jim officiates a funeral. Bones, calculating pharmacokinetics in his head. Bones, knowing there was nothing to be done, but dammit, what if? Bones, painstakingly documenting his every discovery, every treatment plan, every failure and every triumph, for the next generation of medical professionals. Bones in his office with his head in his hands. Bones, absolutely giddy and shaking with relief, “Don’t be so melodramatic; you were barely dead.”
Practicing medicine is terrifying. Every day, I am horrified at the thought that I will not be able to provide for my patients. I love my field with every breath in my body, but the responsibility is overwhelming, and sobering.
Disease and danger, indeed.
“By golly, Jim, I’m beginning to think I can cure a rainy day.”
We got three books about a whole pack of guys trying to destroy one piece of Sauron’s bling. Meanwhile,
back in the First Age at the height of Sauron’s power, Lúthien Tinúviel
confronted him directly and beat the shit out of him with an awesome hound. And then she went on right to the stronghold of his master, Morgoth, and put that shithead and his whole goddamn army to sleep. Like, if she hadn’t fallen in love with a human and essentially convinced the gatekeeper of death that she should be able to live and die as a mortal, I don’t think anyone would have ever stopped her.
Lúthien was the biggest goddamn badass in Middle-earth.
Total for all companions is 1,040 recorded swear words; female
characters total is 287 and male characters total is 753; organic total
is 832 and robot/synth total is 208
In totals from all the companions, damn and hell have significantly more uses than any of the other words, at 417 and 337 respectively, with shit at 113 and the others under 70
All companions favorite swear word is damn except for Codsworth who only uses bastard, Curie who doesn’t swear at all, and Deacon who prefers hell. MacCready actually has a tie between damn and hell
While Cait leads the ‘2 swears in a single line’ total with 9 lines
MacCready has a line with 2.5 swears which has 2 actual swears and 1
almost, specifically goddamn, hell, and son of a
The two companions that use the most unique words are Cait and Deacon. Cait uses 7 words that no one else uses (arse, arsehole, fucked, fucker, shite, shitehouse, and shitehole) and Deacon uses 5 unique to him words (badass, goddamned, absofuckinglutely, hellfire, and batshit)
You were sat in-between Glenn and Rosita. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Abraham’s body, lying limp. There had been an initial twitch to his finger or a shoulder but now he lay still. Where his head should’ve been there was a picture of blood, brains and bone all intermingled so that you could no longer tell what was what.
You could feel bile rise up your throat as you glanced toward your dead friend. Rosita was shaking, she wasn’t crying for her grief was beyond tears. She was just shaking silently, her hands were clenched and her face pale. Part of you wanted to reach out to her but you know that you couldn’t do that.
You couldn’t do that when there was a murderer stood in front of you, an unnerving smile caressing his features. His eyes held a glint of humour, as if he was actually enjoying this. He stood before Rosita who refused to meet his gaze. She was just staring, glazed eyes at the hulk of blood and brains that used to be the man she loved.