#or because they say 'oh sorry :( we can't schedule this :(' even though my insurance is fine and they don't even give me any other reason

[nexus-nebulae]

i want to fucking explode

[morvantmortuary]

Ya boi got treated like absolute garbage by their primary doctor today and ended up crying in their car. (I know you know cuz' Twitter <3) And I recieved a hint of seratonin in imagining having one of the Morvants in my corner in that moment. So what would their reactions be if their S/O called them up, crying from a doctor's office parking lot?

the first thought would be MURDER and their second would be DEATH--

I'm sorry, L, that was just fucking awful. going to the doctor is a stressful enough experience, but for him to be an asshole on top of that? absolutely unforgivable. that's some major horseshit, and feel terrible that you had to deal with that today, honey 3:

so, without further ado, here's just a small sample of some MURDER comfort on their part:

Maxi's first instinct with the call is to ask if you want him to come get you - if that means ducking out of a service or having to quick shove a body back in the cooler before it's quite done, he'll do that, no questions asked. If you want him to, he'll drive you home and then come back with you to get your car when you feel better (and if anyone thinks about slapping you with a parking ticket, they're going to be sorry). If you still want to drive, he'll try to insist, but eventually tell you he'll meet you at your place, that you don't have to worry about anything tonight because he'll handle it.

The first thing he does when he sees you is cup your face - he hates seeing you cry because someone made you. when you cry at sad movies, it's adorable, and other times it's just part of life. this, though, breaks his heart. this requires punishment. once he's properly hugged you and kissed your forehead, reassuring you in a hush that he'll take care of you, he'll insist on taking a warm, wet washcloth to your face. "I know it's weird," he says quietly, taking time to erase the tear tracks and help you feel fresh again. "But I read once that emotion-triggered tears are meant to cling to your skin, they're chemically different than just gettin' somethin' in your eye." He smiles at you once you're cleaned up, kissing the end of your nose. "We can't have those stickin' around, now can we?"

he'll then tell you to get comfortable, whatever that means for you - favorite sweats, pajamas, etc., and ask what you want for dinner. he'll order your favorite for delivery in a heartbeat (or go pick it up if they don't do that), and if there's something he can cook for you, even better. if you don't have much of an appetite, he'll just make sure you always have a favorite drink and a small snack nearby, wanting to make sure you don't go without and stay hydrated at least. after that, it's whatever you want: a nap, a favorite movie to distract you, video games on the couch or in your bed. he'll even read to you, if you want, mellowing prose with his voice into a soothing honeyed tone so you can relax. any chores tonight, he'll be happy to manage - he just wants you to rest, to feel like there's nothing on your plate.

once you go to bed for the night, he lays next to you, his mind racing even as he steadfastly hugs you close.

doctors have schedules, obviously. they have routines, habits. little quirks that they adopt through years of working the same job, growing callous to it. to the people that need them, that have nowhere else to go.

he does some research once he makes you breakfast the next morning - checking this doctor's patient reviews, poking around for information on their practice, their standing in their field. he looks for another doctor, one he thinks will be a better fit for you. one whose business card will mysteriously end up at the Mortuary, that he'll happen to innocently pass to you in a few days - "Oh hey, sugar, doesn't this guy do the same thing as that jerk you had to go to? Would you wanna check them out instead, see if they work with your insurance? I could drive you, if you wanna go."

(That's not actually a question. They're going to take your insurance, he's already checked. If they don't, he has a good two centuries' worth of spoils and bribes in the family crypt that should neatly handle any difference, and you'd never know.

not to mention, he'll be waiting in the lobby during your first visit to make sure they behave.)

once he has you neatly squared away, so you never have to see that dickweed again and can comfortably know your care is in better hands, he'll handle the rest.

the thing about the doctor's routine is that, like most people's, it's fairly easy to learn. it's easy for him, after so many pickups from various hospitals, to know when the slower times are for the different specialists, how they tend to structure their work days --

when they tend to be alone in their parking lots, fiddling with their keys while they're on their phone, not paying attention to the tall dark figure red eyes suddenly standing behind them.

the practice would close soon after the doctor's mysterious disappearance. apparently, in the face of multiple fairly serious patient complaints coming to light, the guy packed up and ran rather than risk license loss or going through a the litigation process.

"You see that a lot, hate to say," Maxi says when you idly bring it up over dessert one night, triumphant that at least that asshole is gone for good. "Some people just aren't meant to be in the care profession, darlin'. But you know that better than I do." He'd give you a bitter smile, remembering how that ogre had upset you. "Good riddance to that guy." He'd take your hand over the table, his thumb caressing the back.

If you ever asked, he'd tell you just how much the doctor bled out when he aimed for the iris with the tip of his scalpel, the crunch as he stunned him by shoving his head back against the frame of the car door, then the near-surgical precision he went to puncture a lung through his dress shirt, and used his doubling over to shove him hard into the waiting trunk of the mustang nearby. how he made sure he was definitely still mostly alive and had vision in one eye when he kicked him down the steel chute where his ancestors' demons waited at the pitch black bottom, hungry.

But otherwise, he'd be more than happy to let it go, as long as you were feeling better.

-

Hector would drop the shoot he was on to get there, meeting you in the parking lot and taking one look at your face before having to keep himself from storming right through the waiting room and back into the examination rooms to give the motherfucker a piece of his mind and twin black eyes--

But he would be more concerned with you, with helping you feel heard, feel better. He'd want to get you home as soon as possible, would tell you to get what you needed from your car, he and Maxi would come get it tomorrow. "Don't even worry about it, okay?" he'd say, kissing the corner of your mouth after he wiped your tears away. "We're just gonna go home, take a break. Call it quits the rest of the day, yeah?"

It'd be close to the same as above - Hex would take you to your house, insist on you being comfortable, asking if you'd want a shower, or a bath so he can wash your hair. (If you wanted him to join you in the shower, he'd be fine doing so, but would be more focused on making you feel warm and loved and clean than anything mischievous unless you asked). Once you were in your favorite comfy clothes, he'd ask what he could get you to eat. He'd be secretly hoping you'd ask for something of his, because his favorite way to de-stress and think is to cook. And he'd cook it with gusto, double portions with some for later, anything to see you smile and feel better. He'd be happy to eat with you in front of the TV, or in your room, watching your favorite show or a movie or whatever you like. After dinner, he'd bake something for dessert, and then while he was still thinking about how to handle this, make some bread for your breakfast in the morning. He'd join you on the couch in between, or if you wanted to sit with him in the kitchen, he'd be happy to talk with you about anything, anything at all to take your mind off the previous visit.

If you still seemed down, he'd invite you to dance with him to your favorite song, if you felt like it, just around the span of your kitchen. If you wanted to take it a step further, play a round of Just Dance to take your mind off it, he'd be thrilled to do so (he would probably let you win, just because). Anything else - mario kart, animal crossing, resident evil, anything - he'd be happy to play it with you or watch you play, just to give you a place to lose yourself until you grew tired.

(he would be tempted to take photos of you - as he always is - but he would worry that you'd remember what day he took them, and how especially bad it was.)

His sleeping would be a little more restless than usual, but he would try to keep it down for your sake, keep himself still so you could get your rest. He'd work on this nifty little trick he's been developing, the ability to pass into the Veil into the spaces between, between sleep and waking, plucking away any frightening thing that might try to crawl into your dreams. He would make sure you'd sleep peacefully tonight of all nights.

He's not as into planning as Maxi is. He prefers improvisation, himself. Rather than him waiting to learn the doctor's whole routine, he would just wait for the first evening, maybe a week or so after your visit. pop by the doctor's swanky house, take a gander around their yard, note the particular style of the windows. The doors. How they open. How they open in the middle of the night.

If anybody ever actually found the doctor, it would be the strangest thing. Somehow his neck would be broken, but there would be no handprints, no bruising. Like something just walked through the wall and slipped inside his skin, turning his skull despite the screaming inside his own head until something vital snapped.

Before the body even cooled, it would have sat up seemingly of its own accord, walking itself into the driveway, then curling up inside the mustang's trunk, as if wanting to take the world's oddest nap. Hex would seemingly wake up from his own nap-like trance in the front seat, where he'd obligingly shut the trunk door for the good doctor before driving him back to the House.

After that, he'd happily spend his afternoons sitting with you while you found a replacement practitioner, now that yours had seemingly flown the coop to who-knows-where. He would also offer to come with you to the first appointment, just in case.

He wouldn't mind having to repeat the process, if he needed to. He wants you to shop around, to have the best care possible. All that matters is that his Queride is tended to, properly, for all their needs.

-

Rora, as always, is our outlier. She is a woman of distinction, bless her.

She would insist the boys drive her over right that very minute, staying on the phone with you the whole time as they did. When they pulled up, she would open the car door before Maxi had even totally stopped, running across the parking lot to where you were waiting. She'd kiss your cheeks, wiping your tears away with her thumbs, running her hand over your hair. She knows what it's like, to have doctors not take you seriously. To have no one take you seriously, or believe you. She knows that's a very particular sting.

She'd immediately storm inside and demand to see the doctor. Loudly, and impatiently, even as Maxi and Hex (after both checking on you, of course) would slip in behind her and quietly try to talk her down. Rora would refuse, instead demanding repeatedly that the doctor make themselves known, that she needed a word with them, urgently. No, she would not like to make an appointment, no, she would not be talked into coming back another day, and no, she would not keep her voice down, thank you very fucking much.

She'd start interrogating the people sitting in the waiting room, asking what their experiences with them had been like, how they'd been treated, if this had happened to them before. If their complaints were heard, if they felt tended to, or if they were ignored.

When the doctor finally showed up, Rora would walk over, all 5'9" of her in the heels she wore specifically for this moment, and begin to ask them just where exactly they got off making patients cry. If they did it regularly, and often, and if they had any inkling of the dignity they were taking from the people who came to them looking for help. She would stay loud and unrepentant as she asked them how often they did this, and to whom, and why, and she would stay in their face, until eventually someone called to have her removed.

(Maxi and Hex would very quickly step in at this point and assure the doctor that wasn't necessary, and they would be on their way, though they would do so less apologetically and more in the manner of "Touch her and we will touch you and you won't like that.")

Rora would sweep out of the waiting room, taking you with her as she went, and making a point to kick over an entire display of those generic paper information pamphlets they hand out for all sorts of reasons. "And they won't be coming back!" she'd yell over her shoulder, slamming the door behind the group of you. (I only saw some of A:TLA, but if you want to picture Maxi doing Katara's "watching you" hand gesture over his shoulder and Hex doing Sokka's "~Water Tribe out~" gesture, that would be very much the vibe.)

Rora would take the reins again outside - she'd tell Maxi he was driving the pair of you to your house in the mustang, while Hex was going to take your car for you. Neither of them argue (neither of them would dare), and on the ride home, her focus shifts entirely to you.

"I'm sorry I made a scene, petal," she'd say, suddenly her usual quiet self again. "I hope I didn't upset you further, I just..." She'd press her lips together, shaking her head. "I was not about to put up with that, for you. You shouldn't have to put up with that ever. I promise, I'll help you find a new doctor," she'd say, taking your hand in both of her chilled ones. "But they have no right to treat you like that, and they had to know."

The boys drop the pair of you off, with your car ready and waiting for you, and both of them give you huge hugs before they take off back to the House, promising to be there in a flash if you need anything. (There's a quiet moment where Maxi double checks Rora has her cell phone, because as a latecomer to the twenty-first century sometimes, she still has a tendency to leave it somewhere in her room or her workshop.) Afterwards, Rora takes you inside, only to immediately crush you in a hug once the door is closed behind the pair of you.

"I'm sorry if that was too much, back there," she'd say again, and when she'd pull away, she'd look almost self-conscious. "Why don't you tell me what you need most now, and let's do that. I'm all yours, all evenin'. Whatever you like."

Rora would want to help with the process of getting you comfortable - a shower or bath if you wanted it, brushing your hair, fresh clothes. She'd want to do little things that helped you feel better in your skin, like painting your nails, or rubbing in your favorite lotion. If you have face masks there, she's 100% on board, even down to cut cucumber eye slices. She'd offer to rub your back, your neck, wherever you most carry tension. Between her knowledge of anatomy and how dextrous she is with her hands, chances are she could work her way through even the toughest knot.

If you just wanted to talk about it, talk through how you felt, what you were worried about with your next doctor, what was weighing on you now with your current Dx, she'd be eager to listen. If there was pain of yours she could alleviate safely, be it with her powers or with her knowledge of herbs, she would do so in a heartbeat, even if it meant calling the boys again to demand they bring over her ingredients. If you wanted it, she's actually a damn good unofficial bartender from her years of making them for her parents, and would happily make you your favorite cocktail if that was something that could help take the edge off.

She might not be too up on games, or the latest movies, or really anything to do with recent media, but if you wanted to watch or play something, she'd camp out right next to you the whole time, only asking questions when she could quietly slide one in, nodding quietly to herself when you answered even if it just confused her more. She would be rapt if you explained to her why you loved those things, wanting to understand just what made it special to you, and in that way making it special to her in turn.

When you finally were ready to sleep, she'd hug you as close as you liked, singing old favorites of both of yours under her breath until at last she saw you doze off.

The doctor would take a bit longer to go missing, this time - especially so soon after she caused a scene in his office. It might be a month, it might be a couple, but eventually, the doctor would just stop coming into work. Weeks would go by with neither hide nor hair of them, and eventually, in the middle of the night, their house would mysteriously burn down due to an accidental grass-burning in another lot that ran out of control. Damnedest thing, really.

(I won't go into the doctor's fate in too much detail, except to say that human beings are really gross when their skeletons spontaneously collapse in on themselves like crumpled tinfoil. Then they're just a ball of squishy flesh and blood and bile with a few patches of hair poking up here and there. The demons don't care, though, it goes down just the same.)

-

I'm sorry this took me a while, Linds, but I hope it hits the serotonin button. <3 I'm sending you lots of love and hugs, and I hope your next visit goes much better, and that you get the care you deserve. <333 if I can do anything or lend an ear, lmk!