#artaswellasscience

              “  so you seem a little MAD right now.  ”

@artaswellasscience // MEME REPLY.character in general:Firstly I love Bones - and I love that this mun decided to play Bones because it suits them perfectly.how they play them: They are entirely spot on with how they play their character - seriously they are one of my favourite Bones to interact with. I ALWAYS get excited when I see them online. For real.They’re so accurate with Bones, and it’s hilarious, I love that about them. For real.the mun: I love their mun. They are one of the nicest and friendliest people I’ve met on this site.

do i;

follow them: HELL YES.rp with them:  HELL YES.want to rp with them: ALWAYS.ship their character with mine: Look for a while I sorta did, and then we were chatting in their IM and we came up with the best possible ship for our characters - they’re just perfect with the way they ship.

what is my;

TEXT MEME // accepting. 

[text: doctor leonard mccoy. unsent..] what is your middle name? the captain was laughing about it. [text: doctor leonard mccoy. unsent.] why does your face always look like that? sad. angry. grumpy. [text: doctor leonard mccoy. unsent.] you should come drink with scotty and i. [text: doctor leonard mccoy. unsent.] do you miss your life on earth?[text: doctor leonard mccoy.] unsent.] please be more gentle with the hypos. i think i am bruising.

book starters ( accepting )

                                              the archon by catherine fisher.

     “I’ll take that, pretty boy.”

     Jim laughs, soft and quiet, sliding the brandy bottle from Bones’ grasp. It’s a gentle movement, but firm, and Bones’ fingers let the alcohol go, though the doctor does sigh, disappointed. It’s late, long since past Bones’ beta shift should have ended. Jim should have been in bed long ago; instead, he is here, with McCoy, while the potent smell of brandy rolls off of them both.

   "Pretty boy," Bones mutters, but it isn't with any amount of venom.     It’s a silent effort from there on out.

    Bones is not a loud drunk. He’s a quiet and contemplative one— a side of the man Jim sees only rarely— and he allows himself to be guided back to his quarters. Jim had considered leaving McCoy back in his office, to sleep on his uncomfortable couch as punishment for staying awake so late, but— he can’t quite bring himself to do so.

    Surely McCoy has been through enough without Jim leaving him behind.

    So the two make their way through the Enterprise, the bustle of activity slightly waned with the late hour, but with a decent amount of people running around the decks.

    It’s quiet. Mercifully quiet.

    Jim directs McCoy through the door, which slides open with a gentle hsss, and onto his bed. McCoy grunts, curling in on himself, exhausted. He makes sure the blanket is suitably arranged on his person, along with leaving a glass of water on the night stand. If a few painkillers found their way into McCoy’s drawer, well, Jim surely wasn’t to blame.

ooc; i don’t need a starter i just love jim kirk’s back.

4. firm kiss ☆ @artaswellasscience                                                                                             ٭☆→ i want the k.

   The doctor is exhausted.

   It’s easy to see that much— it’s in the slope of his shoulders, clothed in that vibrant medical blue, heavy with the weight of his calling. It’s in the bags under his eyes, a cool purple, and the muffled yawns. McCoy is a professional, and Jim knows that he prides himself on it. He will not let weakness show. When he works, he is not a human, he is a doctor. He is a gentle, firm touch, and he is your saving grace.

   Jim coughs. McCoy does not glance up from his PADD. His eyes twitch listlessly across the words, his lips moving imperceptibly as he reads.

   Jim clears his throat. No answer. Concern blooms in his chest, twisting his heart. It wasn’t the time of year, but Jim supposes it doesn’t particularly ease the pain. You never forget a loss. ( And Bones has lost too much. )

   Finally, Jim strides fully into the room, abandoning his hovering position on the threshold. He grasps the doctor’s shoulder, gently, shaking only slightly to disrupt the haze.

   Bones blinks, starting, head jerking upwards. Jim raises his eyebrows, and Bones sighs, letting the PADD slide onto his desk. His hands ease through his hair, before rubbing at his temples. Jim makes a noise that could be called a laugh, if it was more than a huff.

   Jim lets his hand drop.

   “I suppose I should sleep,” McCoy finally says, grudging, his mouth twisting into a wry smile.

   “I suppose you should.”

   There is silence, then, as the doctor tidies his desk, preparing himself to face the dark night. Jim steps back, giving him room to work, but he stays.

   Enough people have left, Jim thinks, and I will not be one of them.

   When Bones is finished, he stands and stretches, joints popping with the strain. Jim figures he could slide in a comment about the good doctor’s age, but he doesn’t, and saves the comment for another night. Another night, when the ghosts of the past aren’t nipping at their heels.

   McCoy turns to Jim, as if finally noticing the captain’s continual presence.

   “Jim—”

   “I was just making sure.”

   “Makin’ sure.”

   Jim gives another not-laugh, then, closing the space between them with a few long-legged strides. Before McCoy could quip at him, he gives McCoy an unyielding kiss. It doesn’t last long, but Jim is pleased. He winks, once, grinning as he takes his leave.

hurt meme. accepting

“Doctor, now is not the time for hysterics.” He does not lift his eyes from the wound: phaser fire from a gun built not to stun or to kill, but to main. His uniform is singed all around the wound. Inconvenient, he thinks, and folds back a corner of the torn fabric to inspect the injury. It feels like fire, smells like smoke. Spock’s forehead creases, almost imperceptibly.

McCoy is still watching. The human’s hands are restless by his sides, itching for a regenerator and a sedative, no doubt. Wishing to help. 

That is not an option.

“I am fine.” Squaring his shoulders, Spock looks towards the horizon over which their attackers had appeared then disappeared again. He takes a breath. “Perhaps that is not the word. I am – functional. Which is enough for us to continue our mission without sacrificing precious time to reactionary and improvised medical operations.”