#she is so painfully human and she shines a light into the doctor's soul and she Feels™ things. she reaches out to those like her.

[aq2003]

youtube user haruyasumi616 comes onto the internet to lie

[qvid-pro-qvo]

vampire!hotch, and other assorted mythical creatures. takes place immediately post route 66 (09x05).

tw: hospitalization/blood for this snippet.

-

Aaron sees flashes, bright white. The feel of a stretcher at his back. He blinks once, and he sees a hallway, fluorescent light burning at his eyes, and then blinks again and it’s dark and dim. Blinks a third time, and sees figures at his bed, and then he smells it.

It brings him out of semi-consciousness, helps him claw his way back to the surface. He doesn’t startle, but his pupils go wide as the scent makes his fangs sharpen. But the other body in there, a fresh beating heart, doesn’t even startle. There’s a couple minutes of heavy breathing, and then the prey urge dies down as his surroundings settle in.

The hospital room around him, the well-worn nurse looking down at him with tired eyes. Unfortunately, he’s been down this road before, so he knows what sits in front of him on the bedside table. A styrofoam cup of warmed O-positive. To take one careful mouthful at a time. And then he’ll get a bag to drain, one for the road to get him back to his place.

He doesn’t remember collapsing, to be fair. He remembers standing in front of his team. Remembers the way they all turned to him, attentive, the way his own voice felt distant. Excuse me. Remembers hearing Morgan’s voice, then Rossi’s, and then… the flashes.

Back to the present. The nurse is patiently waiting in front of him as he reaches for the styrofoam cup and takes a drink. It’s almost instantaneous, the effect, the way his eyes widen, pupils dilating, and she has no time to warn him to take it slow before he’s downing the rest of the whole blood.

His stomach rolls with the sudden surge of nutrition, and everything around him fades away as his nose picks up the scent of the expected extra bags. That’s all that matters - the blood in the corner of the room. His fangs drop further, bright against his bottom lip. He moves to stand, and with a sudden shove the bedside table is rolling and colliding with the wall, the clatter echoing in his own head.

The nurse takes a step back, but keeps her hand extended to him, eyes narrowed. There’s a shine in them, as he meets them, hunt drive activated. Heart beating strong. His target.

“Mr. Hotchner! You need to slow down.”

Her words hit immediately. He feels dizzy. He needs to slow down, right? He can barely register the word banshee in his head before he’s falling to a sitting position, slumping forward into her awaiting arms.

“Good. Now lean back for me.”

There’s no suggestion or compulsion to obey anymore, but he feels inclined to obey anyway, since standing again seems like way too much work. His fangs slowly retract and no longer press against his own lips. He leans back against the pillows, the inclined head of the bed, and when he blinks the fuzziness is finally gone.

Another person, painfully human, comes in, white coat on, eyes narrowed at what Aaron assumes is his chart.

His voice is sharp. “You were incredibly malnourished, Mr. Hotchner. You mind telling me why your labs were so low?”

“I -” Hotch whispers, voice hoarse as the cup of blood slowly makes his limbs obey him. He lifts a hand to rub at his eye. “I haven’t gotten the chance to feed in a while.”

“And what’s a while?” the doctor asks.

There’s a pause. “A… few months?”

It’s embarrassing to admit. A vampire that doesn’t feed himself. But the doctor’s disappointment isn’t even a blip on his radar, not when he feels a familiar warmth before he even sees her.

Penelope Garcia strides into the room. Her eyes are big and worried behind her glasses, and that’s enough for him to turn his gaze away. God, the last thing he wants is for anyone to pity him, even as he feels particularly pitiful. But that’s just Penelope, and deep in his soul he knows it isn’t pity.

Deep in his soul isn’t how he’s thinking right now, however. He nods when asked if the medical team can disclose to her and then turns his head, ducks his gaze and watches the nurse refill his cup out of the corner of his eyes.

And when the medical team is gone, and it’s just him and Garcia, that’s when he manages to look up and swallow his pride.

“Is Jack... “

“Him and Jess know that you’re here. They’re - they’re gonna visit! Just when you’re a little more recovered. More stable.”

More stable, Garcia says. But Hotch knows that Jess more than likely said, in her gentle way, that they’d come when he was less likely to lunge at his own son with the need to feed.

He gets it. Doesn’t make it hurt any less.

The fairy must see the way he crumples a little, because she reaches out to rest her hand on his. There’s an extra oomph from her aura, and he doesn’t feel quite as cool as he normally does. “Don’t worry, sir. The team knows you’re okay, too. They finished their case, and Rossi -”

At the mention of the human, Hotch winces. Someone else disappointed, surely. He takes another sip of the blood, feels another surge of warmth as it slowly sharpens his gaze, his hearing. He can hear Penelope’s heartbeat now, the steady thu-thump quickening only slightly as he lets out a groan to sit up. “Sir…” she whispers, and his head shakes.

“Garcia, would you mind… handing me my phone?”

She does so with a little flourish, presenting it to him from her lap. He looks at her, thinks about the gentle, quiet, firm, and insistent way she surely plans on taking care of him, and manages a little smile.

“And… thank you. For coming in to see me.”

Suddenly, her eyes get bright, flashing at him. “Oh, no, don’t you think I’m going anywhere. The team is flying back as we speak, and once they’re here, we are going to have a firm conversation about why our fearless leader is so scared of taking care of himself.”

“I’m not -” he starts, but her words barrel through his.

“Not going to do that anymore, that is correct,” she says. It’s the sharpest tone she’s ever gotten towards him, and it makes him tense. “Hotch, you know that if you ever needed to feed, you could come to us. We would help you!”

He still remembers when Rossi came to him, in his office, all those months ago. At that point the words had started blurring on his papers, and it took more than a few blinks to get his vision sorted. But Hotch had refused, point blank.

The consequences of that decision he felt now. He was in a hospital bed, after all. But after Haley… after the Reaper...

How often does your wife help you cheat death, Aaron? Will your son once he’s grown? How many lives have you taken to preserve yours? What makes you any different than the killers you take in?

Aaron squeezes his eyes shut, shakes the voice out of his thoughts, and looks at Garcia.

“I don’t want that,” he says. And when he hears Garcia’s voice again, a protest, he says it again. “I don’t want that. No one from our team will be offering their blood to me, and if they do I will ensure their transfer. Is that clear?”

And yet she pushes once more. “Sir, I -”

He drains the second cup, fangs revealing themselves again, and squishes the flimsy styrofoam into nothing. Once more there’s a surge of his senses, and he realizes that his irises must finally be red-rimmed, the bloodlust sinking into his gaze. He turns that gaze to Garcia, jaw tight, and hears the way her heart rate rises once more. “End of discussion. You are dismissed, Garcia.”

After a moment she nods, but there’s no fear in her gaze anymore. Only sadness. She scurries out, heels clicking on the tiled floor, and any fight Hotch has left is gone as he once more sinks back into the pillows.

That’s what he does after all. Drive away his friends. Kill his wife. Fail to stop the bad guys.

He’s… a really shitty vampire.

[notesfrome]

Wrote a thing for @thebarsondaily‘s Halloween Fic-a-Thon and it is weird as fuck. But..it has been written, so have at it, and don’t kill me too badly for this. 

one-shot; turn it all to ash pairing: rafael barba/olivia benson, past elliot stabler/olivia benson word count: 2482 words note: Complete AU and there’s nothing even remotely SVU-ish about this. What can I say, my brain = whacked. Also, I wrote this in between transits, flights and train rides (Melbourne-Kuala Lumpur-Kaohsiung-Taipei-Hong Kong-Melbourne - it was been batshit crazy the last two weeks) so I kinda want to blame that, too. Anyway, have at it.

Link to fic on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16485026

Olivia’s hands were shaking as she stared at her reflection in the mirror, trying to fasten a long, dangling earring. It took her three attempts before she could finally manage it. Placing her hands on her dressing table, she tried to even her breathing.

Hurry, Liv, hurry, she told herself. Time is ticking, time is running out.

She steadied her hand, and began to line her eyes with black eyeliner. Finishing her eye makeup, she then painted her lips a rich ruby red. Holding the final pièce de résistance – an elaborate mask fashioned with feathers, she took a deep breath, and placed the mask onto her face.

She would do anything for Rafael. Anything, and everything.

She stood outside the ritzy nightclub, clenching the front of her coat with one hand, seemingly unable to take that few steps forward. She stared at the heavy doors with eyes that were haunted, haunted with unwanted memories, of the person inside. And of what that was awaiting her, once she stepped through those doors.

But she had made her decision from the moment she retrieved the card and the mask from the hidden compartment in her drawer.

Squaring her shoulders, Olivia pushed the doors opened, and stepped into the club, fleetingly thinking that the lit interior of the establishment seeming even darker than the night beyond the doors.

She walked slowly, keeping her eyes trained ahead, scanning the room, trying to look past all the masks and costumes of the club’s patrons, trying to locate the one person that she had come to see. She caught the eye of a woman in a long red dress and a glittery gold mask, who smiled at her, head tilting suggestively. A shiver went down her spine, as she turned away, trying to calm herself, without much success.

She didn’t know how long she had been circling the room - it could be ten minutes, or it could be an hour – when she felt a hand on her bare arm. Turning around, she saw herself looking into unfamiliar blue eyes, staring at her behind a sinister yet elaborate werewolf mask.

“He’s waiting for you,” he said, nodding towards a heavy oak door, and she felt her heart sped up, skipping beats. Without acknowledging the stranger, she strode towards the door. Steeling herself to face what was about to come, she found herself involuntarily whispering a prayer, a forgotten phrase, and she nearly laughed at the absurdity of it.

She had no right to say any word of prayer.

Raising her hand, she was about to knock, and then she changed her mind. Dropping her hand, she pushed the doors opened, and walked into the room.

“Hello, Liv.”

He stood before her, leaning against his desk, a mocking smile on his lips. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Seeing him again, for the first time in almost seven years, had a certain effect on someone who had loved him before he strayed. He hadn’t changed much. He still looked the way he did, before he had left her. If there was any difference, it was his aura. He radiated a menacing darkness. A spiritual darkness. She knew that she was one of the few, that was not of them, who could sense it. Perhaps it was because she knew him too well. Or maybe it was because she had loved him once.

“Elliot,” Olivia managed to form his name, as he approached her, still smiling. He looked almost human, but they both knew he was no longer one. He raised his hand, and removed the mask from her face, resting the tips of his fingers against her cheek. She immediately flinched, almost as a reflex, and his eyes darkened considerably.

Dropping his hand, he spread out his arms in a mockery of welcoming gesture. “After seven years. Seven years without a word, Olivia. And here you are now.”

A shudder went through her. “You look well,” she said, trying to maintain eye contact. It was harder than she thought it would be, so much harder.

But she would do anything for Rafael.

“I’m very well indeed, Liv. As you can clearly see.” His lips curved again into another smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes, didn’t even come close. His eyes used to light up with his smiles.

He knew she was afraid of him, and she knew he hated it. They used to be so close. Even before they became lovers, they were best friends. And then Elliot changed, and that had been the end of everything. His straying onto the other path had been their undoing; she didn’t want what he called The Gift. It wasn’t a gift to her, it was a curse, an eternal curse and damnation. But to him, it was a gift. And she wanted no part of it, so she left him.

For a while, she lived in fear, thinking that he might pursue her. But perhaps some remnant of his love for her had remained, and he had let her go.

Elliot leaned back against his oak desk, still eyeing her. “What can I do for you?” He asked, almost politely.

This was it, this was the moment. “It’s…Rafael,” she said, and then faltered.

His eyes flickered again, a light of hatred shining through. “Rafael Barba,” he said, his voice bitter with resentment. However, his slight smile at his next words almost sickened her. “He’s going to die.”

She blanched at the word ��die’, desperation and grief tearing through her, causing her next words to come tumbling out. “You can save him.”

Elliot let out a bark of laughter, looking amused as he lighted a cigarette and began smoking. “You want me to save him? Do you even realise what you’re asking of me?”

“I do,” she forced her voice to remain steady. She did realise it, of course. It was all that she had realised from the moment she put on the mask.

“You hated me after I converted. Would it be any different for Rafael if he is one of us?”

“I don’t hate…” she began, and then stopped. Did she hate him? No, she loved him. She never hated him, but she could never understand his reasons for being one of the Damned.

Elliot carried on speaking, smoking as he spoke. “I know what you are thinking, Liv. My gift can save him, and you wanted him to be saved.” He blew a puff of smoke into the air, and looked at her steadily. “But I offered it to you once, and you said no. It’s a non-transferable offer.”

“Elliot…”

He sniffed, lifting his hand to stop her from talking, and stabbed out his cigarette. “I can’t help you. But thanks for dropping by,” he said, his sarcasm evident.

“Please, Elliot.” She hated this, hated that she had to beg him, but there was no other choice, no other path she could take. Everything that could be done has been done. There was nothing else, but this.

Elliot’s expression softened, and for a moment, she saw a semblance of the old Elliot, the one she had loved, the one that had been her best friend. “Liv, you know that there is nothing I can do for him. In order to convert, one has to be willing. Barba hates me. He will never accept help from me.” He walked towards the door, and opened it. “Go to him, Liv,” he said, without a trace of mockery. “He doesn’t have much time left.”

“Rafa…” she said, not moving, holding her head high. “…will accept help from me.”

Elliot’s eyes widened as her words hung between them, in air that crackled with tension and electricity. She was painfully aware of what she was doing. Elliot could have her, she only wanted to save the man she loved.

Because she would do anything for Rafael.

What happened in that dark room was a blur, she would not ever want to remember it. It was something she didn’t want to dwell on, something that she knew that if she did, she would regret for the rest of her days.

She slipped into the hospital unnoticed, the night security simply did not notice her. The lift was empty when she stepped into it, and she felt her mouth curved into a smile when she saw her faded reflection on the mirrored walls. So she still had a reflection for now. That was nice to know.

The nurses ignored the shadow that flickered and streaked down the cold, sterile hospital corridors. She hurried silently to Rafael’s room. His room was cold, the atmosphere ominous and stifling, and it was as quiet as a morgue except for the occasional beep of machines hooked to him.

She stood by his bed, watching his pale but peaceful face. He looked different to her, somewhat. Elliot told her that things would seem different through the eyes of one of the Damned. This was the first time she had truly looked at anything since she left the club.

She leaned closer to the man she loved, hearing his steady breathing. Closing her eyes, she did what Elliot told her to, and she locked her mind with Rafael’s, her heart thudding furiously.

Rafa. Rafa, I love you.

He stirred, and one of the machines bleeped. She concentrated on building the link, willing for his life force to be strong enough. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, he answered.

Liv? Where are you? Where am I?

And so, she told him. She told him of all that happened – she told him why he was lying on that cold bed, what happened when that bus rammed into his Uber. She told him of her desperation at what the doctors said. She told him of her visit to Elliot, to the club, her deal with the devil, the exchange of her soul for immortality. She told him the death of her mortality and the ordeal of being reborn as one of the Damned. And she told him, again and again, how much she loved him.

There was a long silence after she was done, and she feared for his life force, as she held on to the link.

Liv…is this what you want? Is this what you truly want?

Her breath caught in her throat, tears swimming in her eyes as she looked at his pale, pale face. Paler than hers.

Yes. Yes, it is. I cannot lose you, Rafa. I can never, ever lose you.

He paused, and she felt his life force faltering, the link between them weakening.

Come with me, she begged. Come with me. She touched his cheek, and it was cold. As cold as her immortal skin. Time was running out.

He sighed, a resigned sound. So be it. Take me then, Olivia.

Relief swept over her as she heard his words, and she bent over him, fangs bared to his throat. Rafael would be saved. They would have to live a cursed life, but they would be together. They would be together, and as long as she had him, that would be enough.

And then something happened.

She couldn’t do it.

You have to hurry, Liv. I can’t hold on any longer.

She realised that she was no longer the Olivia he knew, not anymore. She would never be that person again.

But she still loved him. She would do anything for Rafael. Anything.

But this.

She backed away, tears spilling over, her breath coming out in ragged sobs. She didn’t know that vampires could cry, she though they were without emotions. But her tears kept coming.

“Rafa,” she whispered. “Rafa, I love you. I love you so much.”

With that, she severed the link between them, and watched as the machines started beeping faster and eventually stopped. She watched, hidden, as nurses ran into the room and started useless procedures of revival and finally covered his beautiful face with a white sheet. As they left the room, she approached Rafael’s cold body, and pulled back the sheet.

He looked peaceful in death. Peace was something that she would never know again. Something in her broke, shattered completely, and she would never, ever be the same again.

“Goodbye,” she whispered, pressing a kiss onto his cold lips. “We will never meet again. Not in this lifetime, not in the next, not in this world.” They were going completely different places. Where Rafael’s soul would go, was no longer a place Olivia could enter.

She turned, and fled the hospital room.

She stood at the ledge of the hospital roof, her gown fluttering in the wind, where she could see almost nothing but dots and speckles that represented cars, and other people. Those who still lived. She wasn’t planning to jump; she doubted that the plunge could kill her.

What happened in that instant she was about to make him what she was? She closed her eyes, trying to calm the surge of thoughts in her head.

In the end, she just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t subject the one she loved to this dark world that she was now part of. She could condemn herself, condemn herself to hellfire and eternal damnation, but she could not condemn Rafael. She could not bring herself to save him from Death and in return, gave him a fate that was worse than Death.

In her moment of confusion and desperation, she had allowed herself to think that she could change the future. She thought that Elliot could save Rafael. And there could be a happily ever after them, even if they would never walk in the light again.

There was little cause to go back to her former existence. The elements that spurned the life force of the former Olivia Benson no longer existed. Her salvation, her beloved and her life.

Her condemnation was completed; she was a creature of the night, cursed to roam the nights, endless nights until time stopped. She would live with the knowledge that she could not be saved from the depths of eternal hell.

As she looked up the heavens and stars above, wondering if she still had the right to do so, her last tears spilled out of her eyes. After tonight, there would be no more reason for her to cry, or to feel any sort of emotion. She focused on the stars, and wonder if Rafael’s soul was among them, wondering if he could see her.

She hoped not.

She stood up, and her mask fell from her hand, tumbling down to the street below, and with it, the final vestige of who she was. There would be a new life for her. She was bound to Elliot, her Creator, who would teach her how to live her new life. One of the Damned.

Olivia Benson is dead.

[enzaime-blog]

A Male Mammogram Brings Relief, Life and Marketing Lessons

New Story has been published on http://enzaime.com/male-mammogram-brings-relief-life-marketing-lessons/

A Male Mammogram Brings Relief, Life and Marketing Lessons

Editor’s Note: Marty Weintraub, an entrepreneur, author, speaker and musician, came to Mayo Clinic in 2015 for a mammogram after noticing a lump on his chest. He wrote a compelling account of the experience on his blog, and gave us permission to repost his story. 

From a San Francisco truffle shop to an upscale St. Paul grocery store, I’ve been writing to share inspiration at the intersection of life experiences and my chosen profession, marketing. So it is with a keen eye, open heart and tuned ear I travel the world day-by-day, camera in hand.

Who would have thought we would unearth profound lessons of empathy, immediately transferable to life and career, following an unexpected health issue and resulting treks to the Mayo Clinic. The experience I am about to share will have an indelible impact on me as a man and a marketer.

Mayo Clinic is a shining city of healing and light. Each year more than a million precious human spirits find their way to Mayo for care. Patients flock from all 50 American states and 140+ countries, driven on a highly personal mission of body, soul and heart. The 6,600 staff physicians, scientists, residents and fellows across multiple campuses see most diagnoses over time.

Mayo helps to soothe nervous visitors with its international-class artistic aesthetic. Patients and care givers experience everything from Warhols to the carved mother-of-pearl box and book donated by King Hussein and Queen Noor of Jordan. Suspended from the Gonda Building great room ceiling looms a staggeringly beautiful, Chihuly glass installation. Beauty engulfs the visitor, easing fears and concerns – if even for a few minutes.

A Magnificent Woman Cares For Me

I found a lump and followed it to Mayo last week. Dr. Loni Neal, consultant at Mayo’s renowned Breast Clinic examined me. I’ll never be the same for the power of this kind healer. Dr. Neal is effectually a shaman, possessing an uncanny propensity to analyze available data and reasonably project future results.

“I was out of place and felt it. She welcomed me. I was a man grappling with the thought of breast cancer, presenting distinctive circumstances. Dr. Neal patiently studied me from the inside out.” – Marty Weintraub

Mayo’s Breast Clinic is primarily a woman’s place. A small percentage of patients visiting Dr. Neal are male. She laid hands, studying much of my body in intimate detail to keep the greater picture in mind. For a minute I felt extraordinary, as if I were cool enough to be a woman. Dr. Neal believes doctors can help diverse populations and individuals understand their place. In this case, I was a male in a place of goddesses.

I was out of place and felt it. She welcomed me. I was a man grappling with the thought of breast cancer, presenting distinctive circumstances. Dr. Neal patiently studied me from the inside out, obviously committed to understand unique needs at hand.

Further Tests, “I’m That Guy”

Dr. Neal triaged me out for a male mammogram, which took place last Friday. I suddenly became “that guy” getting a mammogram.

At first I felt palpable trepidation. It’s true. Cancer (years back) turned out to be the blessed Genesis of so many amazingly positive mashups of life and career. Still I admit I’m afraid.

Checking in at Mayo Gonda 2 South, the desk nurse was clearly able to sense fear and alleviate apprehension in others, speaking in measured, methodical tones.

Female patients at Mayo Breast Clinic are usually routed to a good size community waiting room, pausing in gowns with lovely sisters of all ages. Men are cordoned off to a private room for obvious reasons to honor mutual modesty and societal norms.

I tunneled into my phone, surfing, working through a slight stress headache, reaching out to others to help get me by. I felt alone and worked to regulate emotions. Another nurse stopped by, asking questions about the lump’s history. She had an amazing capacity to make others feel safe in light of the unknown.

Fighting anxiety by breathing in, “Wise” and out, “Mind” then counting down by nines, I knew patience in light of challenge is often in order.

High-tech and humanity

It was time for my man-mammogram. A new nurse led me to another room housing the high-tech machine.

Tammy King, radiologic technician in the Breast Imaging Center, prepped me for the tests. I focused on her gentle direction, the sweet Midwestern lilt in her voice. Tammy was SO incredibly there with me, for me, it was clear something extraordinary was about to occur. The digital mammography machine tech is not the story. Humanity is the story.

Explicit targeting is crucial. I helped Tammy locate and mark the lump. I cried softly, feeling confident, vulnerable and desperate all at the same time. I wanted to be held.

Tammy helped me to the mammogram machine, offering precise instructions, physical guidance and positioned my body. I submitted to her gentle strength and let this powerful nurse guide me, knowing, understanding her goal, manipulate to serve.

First positioning my right arm and then firmly, lovingly and painfully compressing breast tissue I did not know I had. Being male, the pain was not as difficult as described to me by women. The lesson, however, was obvious. Walk a mile in another’s shoes.

Tammy became my teacher. Remember, this was my first, hopefully only male mammogram ever. She put her arm around me to offer support and validation. I’d never been held by a nurse or doctor like that, full body, feeling her warmth connected to my core, plutonic, maternal, professional, extraordinarily comforting, one of the richest moments of my life.

Tammy checked the images and consulted with a radiologist. The picture below was shot from behind the control room glass and shows imaging of my breast. I struggled to keep things in perspective.

Exhaling, reflecting, feeling gratitude

I got dressed and headed out via Mayo’s underground subway mall. I lingered to enjoy original lithographs from Andy Warhol’s famous “Endangered Species” series, decompressing from fear to artistic wonder. I thought, “Remember to breathe.” Yes, remember to breathe and feel gratitude.

Per tradition before leaving Mayo Clinic on this day, I stopped for a bite at Daube’s Down-Under bakery, ordering soup and a red velvet cupcake. It seemed important to take time and keep loved ones up to speed, express gratitude and I made a couple of calls. Yep, sure I was eating, and there was SO much more … nourished inside body, heart and soul of this again-humbled man, this mammogram-male-of-the-day.

As a man and marketer, I was blessed with yet another thought-provoking experience at Mayo. Lesson learned – genuine empathy eases fears, defeats objections and leads us to an amazing experience, regardless of circumstances.

I should note the results from my male mammogram came in a few minutes ago; no sign of malignancy. Thank you so much to the powerful women who touched my life over the last two weeks.