DO NO HARM

[hiippocrates]

overview | HIGHLY SELECTIVE & PRIVATE Independent RP blog for:

AOS DOCTOR LEONARD MCCOY.

mobile friendly rules under the cut.

this blog is very low activity.  interactions are reserved mostly for good friends and generally serves for world building and plot support. please DO NOT FOLLOW this blog unless i know you and / or we are interacting on my main.

all fandoms, original characters, multis, duplicates, and all other star trek timelines are welcome here.

romantic shipping is virtually UNAVAILABLE on this blog and as a general rule is not open to anyone I am not very close to.

no bigotry allowed. any display of homophobia, transphobia, racism, etc., will be blocked on sight.

no drama, fake positivity, or any bullshit. you have a problem, eat shit and block me.

this blog is 21 PLUS ONLY. minors will be blocked.

while crossovers and au's are abundantly welcome, and i love deForest Kelley, you'll only find an interpretation of the aos/kelvin timeline McCoy on this blog.

don't call him bones, unless you're Jim Kirk.

all icons are from @fasciinating.

[vanngoghs]

where no man has gone before

[fasciinating]

He can admit the Doctor’s demeanor is strange in hindsight. The man’s attire, the accruing facial hair, the lack of decorum in an otherwise professional environment. Altogether, the circumstances are strange.

Staring after McCoy, Spock stands beside Kirk, thoughtful.

“ It is likely we both are, ” he comments. And resolved to no immediate answer, he determines a proper conclusion requires further data, “ It may be in our combined interest to, as they say, follow along. ”

@endeavvor / @hiippocrates

[endeavvor]

The Captain does not expect Spock to have all the answers, but the slight drag in his tone as he too stares after McCoy's hulking form discomforts him. The doctor had only been sent planet side in the first place because the possibility of injured colonists had called for it.

There was a soft pull of regret forming in the pit of Jim's stomach that called to the tide of his anger. Nothing yet seemed overtly wrong to call for such a response, but it was there all the same. He settles somewhere in agitation.

"Come on," He nudges the Commander with his elbow. "Let's go see what's up."

Striding forward into the hall it is almost startling the change. Where it appeared cold and clinical on the outside, inside it is warm and reminds him of the kitchen of an old farm house. Everything is soft wood and dirt, and there are people and bodies everywhere. It takes Jim longer than it should to track McCoy down, already seated with a plate in front of him.

He stops short from sitting across from him.

"Bones, you missed your check in. You were supposed to call us three hours ago."

@hiippocrates / @fasciinating

[hiippocrates]

McCoy waves a hand; they don’t know what they’re missing. Down here, it’s all sunshine and beautiful people, smiling faces, and like he’s argued a thousand times before, it’s a hell of a lot better than space.

“Oh, please. I was fine an’ you know it.” Barely sparing a glance the two of them, he doesn’t need to look long to know full well that the Captain and Commander are still too stiff for their own good. They could use this: r and r, wholesome food — music and candlelight — maybe a friendly night with a stranger.

Each other, finally.

It’d get the sticks out of their asses.

“This,” McCoy spins his plate, showing off an overflow of breads and multi-colored cubes, “Is where it’s at.”

@fasciinating / @endeavvor

[awhiteshirt]

Bones!

[trek-daily]

Star Trek (2009), dir. J.J. Abrams

[hiippocrates]

@endeavvor

[juramentum]

juramentum (oath)   -   for god is my witness   (©)      characters curated & portrayed by crow (he/him, 21+)              independent, selective & mutually exclusive multi-muse

Featuring characters from Baldur's Gate 3, Constantine (2005), Diablo IV, Mass Effect, and others. Strictly 21+ for interactions. Sporadic activity, both IC and OOC.

[hiippocrates]

hello, hello. just a little note that I've been backed up on drafts on this blog and unfortunately, mccoy's taken a little nap on me. but he'll be back eventually; the other one is just waking, so i'll be concentrating there first. usually that one pisses this one off, so it's only a matter of time haha

[endeavvor]

The silence from the commander is surprising as it is rare he is rendered speechless. Jim tears his gaze away from the doctor for a moment simply to glance at him. The expression on Spock's face is amusing in that the processing is visible. But he says nothing about it as his gaze returns to McCoy. It's the sound of nails against the texture coarse hair that sets him on edge.

He hasn't seen the other this rough since they met. Pardon him if it's alarming.

"Get used to it? Why would I have to get used to it? It's not staying."

@hiippocrates | @fasciinating

[fasciinating]

The Captain's conviction against it is a bold, outspoken thing. Though, Spock had expected as much. Raising his chin, he vehemently concurs. The visual change is alarming and out of place; a vagabond that Spock does not care for.

It is only appropriate that he extrapolate his perspective in their usual banter. Such an offense deserves nothing less.

Void of all inflection, he responds to the Doctor accordingly, " Are you experiencing some manner of a midlife existentialism? "

@endeavvor / @hiippocrates

[hiippocrates]

Rich.

Hilarious even, coming from an overgrown asparagus with a bowl cut. McCoy rolls his eyes at them both. " Yeah? Maybe once we’re back on the ship. ”

Regulations and all that. Like with any military organization, he knows where the facial hair stands. It’ll have to go eventually. It’s just that they’re not there yet. They’re on planet, wrapped around by sunshine and outside of the occasional patient, not a care in the world.

Besides, the clear road to conniption these two are on is worth every stray hair wrestling for residence on his face.

“ For now, tough shit, Jim. ” He claps a large hand on the Captain’s back, then waves it dismissively at Spock, “ We can thank you for that, now, can’t we? ”

Pushing a smile, he strides toward the cafeteria building, “ Come on. Don’t know about you two, but I’m starving. ” @endeavvor

[doctorbrown]

❝No, hope is about all we have.❞ It's that incessant light shining at the end of what feels like a near-infinite tunnel, beckoning them deeper and deeper in. ❝Otherwise we would've resigned ourselves to our fate and let them do whatever they damn well please.❞

Emmett pauses, cataloguing the exhaustion and doubt carved into the young doctor's face. Though it is not without merit, considering all they've been through, he knows nothing short of results may change that surly outlook McCoy has been carrying around since they'd been carted away as prisoners.

❝And the hope is not misplaced. Even if I'm wrong, seeing only what I hope to see, it's something to strive for. And we're here, aren't we?❞

Alive, for whatever that's worth, and in arguably relative comfort so long as they continue to prove useful.

Two hours from the riskiest, most grand escape plan he could have concocted.

❝Good. Because we are, and not a moment too soon.❞ This had been a long time coming, months of careful planning and preparation, of hiding designs beneath the noses of the Romulans and constructing their gear in secret, knowing that even a whiff of suspicion on their part would spell certain death for him and Leonard.

They can't fail now.

❝I won't be late,❞ he reaffirms, setting an alarm on his watch. It would be so easy to leave it at that, to not add another worry to Leonard's overflowing plate, but he finds the words coming faster than the signal travels to his mouth to stop talking. It has to be said.

❝But if I am, as I said, the explosion is going off. I've designed it so that it can't be tampered with once the countdown begins.❞ Before McCoy can scowl or retaliate with a few emotionally charged protests, Emmett holds up a hand. ❝I said I have no intention of being late, but the reality of it is that anything can happen. If I'm not there, you don't wait for me. Understood? Get out, follow the plan, and seek shelter amongst the Fremen.❞

[hiippocrates]

It’s the butt end of that sentence that keeps McCoy from leaving. He stops full in his tracks, taking a second to snuff out the flare of anger that’s come flying into his dust addled brain a little quickly to be considered rational.

He’s — they’ve — lost too much already. The King, the royal family; hell, he’s got no idea where Jim is and if that nagging feeling in his gut is right, well, let’s just say McCoy can’t even go there.

What happened with Joycelyn doesn’t count. It doesn’t matter anymore except where it absolutely does, shoved down into the depths never to be seen again.

At least until McCoy answers the gods themselves.

“I ain’t hearing none of that, Emmett, and you know it. You’ll be there.”

Because McCoy can’t do this alone. In all this time, he’s been one poisoned apple away from penance. A final fuck you very much to the entire Romulan Empire and that pile of dung worm Emperor Khan. They wanted a doctor. They wanted his skillset on Arrakis. Same as Emmett for all of the old man’s experiments and science. And it’s been just this — just that same old man behind him now — that’s kept that apple locked away and out of his mind.

“Mind your watch.” He pressures, unwilling to turn around at this point. McCoy’s got places to be, things to collect; he’s got one last favor to a friend long gone and some privacy to destroy. It’s where he heads off to first, making his way to their former quarters and rifling through one of Jim’s drawers.

The truth is — that he’ll never admit — is that he’ll keep that second promise if he has to. With Jim’s stash in hand, he tries to push the thought of moving on without Emmett out of his skull, setting a small fire to a box as he waits for time to do the rest.

At the hour, the burst of flames from an unknown explosion is right on target, and McCoy is navigating to their meeting place as fast as he can. He somehow narrowly avoids guards, the soldiers and members of the Sardaukar, before finally arriving at the literal hole in the wall.

There are others with him. The others he’s either paid off or convinced to take off with them — spice miners for hire — because despite Emmett’s genius, the labor is a lot of what they needed out there in the sand. He makes them wait. He makes them wait seconds or minutes and what feels like an eternity until he hears a noise.

“Emmett? Is that you?”

@doctorbrown

[paramounticebound]

@hiippocrates from here!

It's with that stare that says something not unlike, are you going to manifest an entire medkit out of thin air?

No?

Then what is the point?

What is the point indeed, but he doesn't ask, doesn't say anything because no words that weigh his tongue mean enough to exert the vibrations of vocal chords. His epiglottis needs a reprieve before it falls prey to that anesthesia-less fate that awaits him beyond just a few closed doors. Khan is kind enough to his body to offer that.

If kindness exists at all, if it's anything aside from a little leg room in a place he can't quite fit.

That chunk missing from his back might actually leave a scar. The way his shirt clings to him uncomfortably says so in a way that scratches against his clammy skin. His blood has never been good about staying in his body.

Some sort of conviction in the good doctor's voice, maybe. Something like it it. It's always good to have a friend that points out the scalpels and the bloodied beds, despite their glaringly obvious implications.

Besides, Khan's arm is just a little longer.

"Were you going to sew me back together with a toothpick and a frayed thread?"

Not quite worth the subtle bite beneath it. He wouldn't be grateful for a closed casket funeral nor a glowing pyre. Tosses the metal filer to McCoy while he listens for footsteps, for rusted hinges. No augmentation, not matter how boastful, contends with the multiple ascending pain pathways unto part thalamus, part cortex.

He needs to breathe.

"If we do not make it out of here, I need you to promise me," he mutters, hissing as the simple exertion of lung-release creates a surge of agony, "That we will not occupy the same spot in hell. This is more than enough."

[hiippocrates]

He could laugh. Withdrawing his arm out of the hole and looking at Khan, he almost does. It takes up space at the corners of his eyes, short creases that might give way to a chuckle or some other godforsaken noise because the whole thing’s downright hilarious, isn’t it now?

Who would’ve thought he’d be stuck here with Khan of all people. Even while missing an entire internal organ, the right bastard is still as sharp as a knife, which is saying something given Khan’s gone under one once or twice by now.

The weird doctor in the other room saw to that, wants to see some more — rattling on and on with that annoying as well hell power monologue — and not for the first time in his life, did McCoy wish the bad guy of the week would just end him and put him out of his misery.

Straightening up, McCoy swipes the filer into his grasp. It’s rusted at the edges, burnt orange with oxidized blood from who the fuck knows at this point. They can’t be the first unwilling experiments to get locked up into this place. But McCoy can hope to some extent that they’ll be the last. He’s not dying without a fight, however that shakes out.

“No can do, pal,” McCoy shakes his head, “I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on sticking around long enough to be filleted like a goddamn tuna fish ; I hate sushi.”

Hobbling over to the wall, his bad knee is acting up, sore and forcing him to take his time digging through another hole in the rock. It might have gotten bashed in when they got snatched. But he isn’t commenting on it. Not when Khan worse off between the two of them.

“Speaking of toothpicks.” He pulls out a loose stone, collects the thin shard of silver he picked up yesterday when it was his turn to get poked by Doctor Moreau or whatever the fuck their name is. McCoy can’t decide if how average he — apparently — is, is an insult or a compliment when it’s the only thing that kept him and all his insides inside.

He sits down in a heavy heap, filing away at the pick, “That’s exactly what I was thinking, actually. Your healing mojo don’t seem to be doin’ its job fast enough.”

@paramounticebound

[endeavvor]

The captain's initial response is a deep growl that significantly darkens his features. Were he a different man, he might actually bite the hand that holds the thermometer that feels cool against his suddenly heated skin. It's overly aggressive in a way he cannot explain, but feels par for the course on the day he's had.

No wonder his blood pressure is so high.

He feels it pounding in a vein protruding against his temple. His growl cuts off into a hiss into a defeated sigh as he slumps.

"I don't know what the hell is wrong with me." The denial is partially a farce, he knows exactly what is wrong with him when it comes to Spock, but refuses to name it. The rest of it, he only has an inkling. The start of a theory, but dredging it to the surface would spark a conversation everyone has been avoiding.

"Bones, have you compared my chart from before the warp core to now?"

@hiippocrates

[hiippocrates]

McCoy could list off a number of things that are wrong with Jim Kirk given the chance. But it’s just his luck that when he’s actually got one for once, he ends up thinking better of it first.

According to his readings, Jim’s blood is boiling like an egg stuck in the spinner, and if that weren’t clear enough a warning to shut his mouth before he can put his foot in it, he can see it plain as day on Jim’s face.

“No.” McCoy sets down his thermometer. “I was planning on it. ‘Cept it got shuffled to the bottom of my list after couple of missions went sideways.”

It’s been a shitstorm for lack of a better word otherwise.

He gives Jim a look. They’re nearby enough to his office to make quick work of that job if need be.

“You want me to do that, now?”

@endeavvor

[hiippocrates]

❝ i don’t need your help. ❞

╰┈➤ STARTER PROMPTS.

He answers that with a rip of cloth. It's between his teeth, bandages. And it tastes dry, cotton against the inside of cheek. McCoy spits it out, stringing the material out in front of him to count the inches.

" Good. " He says flatly, knelt down in front of a body of some unnamed local, their face too burnt to be recognizable. But they're alive. And they need him more than she does. " Because they could sure use ours. "

About three hours ago from the looks of it. A fire had raged through the building, an attack from the west from what he's heard. He doesn't look up to the dozens of people lying around the room in various positions, half-dead, and maybe some of them already are; McCoy can't be sure until he can get to them.

" Grab my kit and get down here. This leg ain't sewing itself shut, you know. "

@ravagercherri

[lykaiia]

"It means, Leonard," she says with a honey-sweet smile that hides the sharpest thorns beneath, lifting the glass delicately between two clawed fingers, "that you better pray to whatever gods you believe in and not think too hard about it going down."

And that he's in for one hell of a hangover come morning.

"Don't worry." She winks. "It tastes better than you think it does."

[hiippocrates]

It’s quick. The sound of his own name. And his real name, too. Not ‘doctor’ or ‘sir’ or even that tried and stuck nickname Jim gave him that just won’t die.

It’s weird. Because in his defense, McCoy's not used to it. No one calls him that except a small few: his own family or someone more formal. Or maybe — if he’s lucky — someone willing to stay close for the night.

It makes a grin grow slow on his face.

But he’s grinning all the same, “Well, if you’re gonna sweet talk me like sweetheart,” McCoy swipes at the nearest glass and raises it, “Bottom’s up.”

@lykaiia

[hiippocrates]

"So, if it's burnin' you going down, what's that mean for me?" McCoy eyes the neon bottle between them, only hanging on a beat before he slides a dangerous looking shot glass her way. @lykaiia

[hiippocrates]

❝ you need rest. ❞

╰┈➤ STARTER PROMPTS.

He'd ignore her if she wasn't so damn loud. It's not her fault. Except that she's right and he does. He needs to sleep for the next seven hundred years and then some, rip van winkle it into the next millennia. Gritting his teeth, McCoy takes a second to chew the inside of his cheek next, keeping entirely too focused on his readouts and charts and the stupid way the Commander's heartrate keeps moving too slowly for his liking; damn Vulcan biological nonsense. Spock's been in here for three days already.

And McCoy — well, he can't be anywhere else right now.

" How about you hand me that scanner instead, huh? "

@empathicstars

[he1msman-archived]

A BRIEF, GLRIOUS CALL, has Sulu spinning on his heel, arms outstretched to keep his balance. Eyes look to the pile of boulders before snapping up to find a wash of blue and a waving hand of Doctor McCoy. Air deflates from his lungs, sending his shoulders plunging down as he jogs to meet the doctor at the base of the hill.

"That was you?" he exclaims, searching for any wounds or ailments that the doctor might be suffering. He doesn't see anything off the bat and Hikaru counts that as a win.

Gaze drifts back to the damage and he winces. Heck of a way to go but it did the trick. They're not longer being perused. "I wonder who they were," Sulu says as he goes over to the mangled bodies. He crouches, searching for a uniform patch or anything to identify these men. They're glad in dark colors. Black, brown, green and gray. Nothing screams military. But nothing screams and organization, either. A rogue faction? The people they were supposed to meet. Sulu doesn't know.

"You don't suppose Starfleet is trying to kill us, do you?" Dark hues flick upwards to meet the doctors. "Because it seems that every mission to go on, death is waiting for us." The thought troubles the helmsman. Does Starfleet have it out for them? Has someone cursed them? Or is it really the luck of the drawl?

[hiippocrates]

McCoy shakes more dust from his hands, bending low to inspect one of the dead just like Sulu is, just from on high. He’d be sure to double check a pulse if he could. But even at this height, he can see that their attackers are deader than the rocks crushed against the entire pile. He huffs, hands splayed on his knees.

“Commander Spock’s the man for percentages.” He shouts down, “But I can’t say I haven’t considered it what with all the danger ya’ll get yourselves into.”

It’s all the time, he’d say. But maybe that’s his pessimism talking and the fact that he’s seen every single one of them on his operating table one too many times to be normal. He looks up, scans the landscape, eyes hovering over the tops of trees.

“Why don’t you head on up here?” McCoy waves Sulu up, then points at the ridge he’d climbed earlier. He judges it would be about a ten minute wait. But he’s going no further without the helmsman at this rate. The whole world is out to get them. And McCoy will be damned if he’s making the rest of the trip by himself.

“The height’s giving a better view of the terrain. We got more bullshit ahead of us from the looks of it.” McCoy changes hands, aims his finger down at the pile, “They got anything on them we can use?”

@he1msman

[fatalhymn]

She's been following McCoy close enough to keep an eye on him, and anything that could seek to cause harm, but she's made sure to give him enough space to process the situation ⸻ she could feel the storm of his stress a dozen feet back. Amelia's been quiet until now; she's aware of her talents for getting on people's nerves, and she doesn't want to distress him further.

❝ Oh good, ❞ she responds softly, sounding relieved. ❝ You were looking a little optimistic there, and I was worried you were getting your hopes up. I really didn't wanna be the one to break the bad news. ❞ Despite the current situation, Amelia appears to be in good spirits. Her tone is upbeat, and she's smiling, as if this were simply a stroll through the park. It a stark contrast to the scowl twisted across his face.

In truth, she is uneasy, anxiety clinging to her bones. She has no solution to offer, and her brain feels especially empty and useless. But, she still thinks this is better than where she's been. There really is only one thing Amelia can do, and that is keep McCoy safe, so she latches onto that.

❝ At least you're stuck with me, and not Spock. ❞

[hiippocrates]

“All there is, is bad news,” he retorts, breathing a sigh into the dusk, watching the sun sink lower and lower into the ground, running away from them. “Typically, I shouldn’t be seein’ most of you unless there’s a problem.”

McCoy kicks a loose rock, trying not to think about how pitiful it sounded when it landed somewhere in the distance. It makes the whole planet seem larger than it is, the more lost they are. And if he’s being honest, he’s glad someone is here — Spock or not — god forbid the hobgoblin ever finds out McCoy wouldn’t have minded it being his scrawny green ass either.

“And when I should, it’s like chasing down a toddler who’s got a hand on a knife. You shouldn’t be doin’ it but there y’all are anyway, making sure I’m getting my cardio in chasin’ you this way or that.”

McCoy takes a crooked step down a low slope, nearly slipping. His hands fly out for balance, “I’m too old for this.”

@fatalhymn