#Therapist Staten Island

[starrrling]

TASK 003 : THE EULOGY.

We gather here to day to honor the life and memories of Richard James Woodrow.

→ Reece Starling delivers her eulogy for Richard at his funeral.

By the time the funeral was around five ward-written eulogies in, Reece had already pretty much assumed that there wasn’t anything else for the rest of them to say, or at least not anything that hadn’t already been covered; leave it to Reuben to prove her wrong in the eleventh hour, then, by announcing to the procession that Richard Woodrow was not a good father. In the subsequent quiet, Reece held her breath while her ears rang, waiting for the punchline that didn’t come, although she felt so sure that it had to be some kind of joke. 

Reece has never been the best about time and place, either, but even she knew that if you wanted to air your grievances about the dead so damn bad, then you should phone a friend, find a therapist, burden a bartender with all of your petty shit. You spare the mourners your grand ideas about what it means to be a good parent, because these are the two hours of the rest of everyone’s life when none of that shit gets to matter anymore. Jesus Christ. The entire thing was already unbearably depressing, and Reuben was only making it worse, bringing all of his personal baggage out in the open for everyone to see, making a captive audience supremely uncomfortable with the piece of performance art that seemed to be his whole life. 

(And maybe Reece had a knack for doing exactly the same thing, and maybe a part of her knew that, but—but at least she tried to be funny about it. If she had a way of shoving her pain in everyone’s face, then it was only for the sake of diluting it, of lightening it, carving off bits of the impossible weight of everything. Wasn’t it?)

She kind of couldn’t wait to watch Alison rip Reuben a new asshole once the wake was over and they were all behind closed doors together. 

Including Reuben’s speech, there were thirteen eulogies that preceded Reece’s turn to take the mic, and somehow, the high from her pre-funeral smoke session still hadn’t worn off yet by the time Reuben was walking out of service altogether. 

Which left Reece up to bat. A part of her had almost expected for the funeral to go on forever, the number of eulogies preceding hers extended infinitely, leaving her posed in the audience picking the black polish off of her nails for the rest of time, real purgatory. She felt as though she was floating as she moved to the front, moving through dark water. Her nose and eye throbbed in time with the audible bloodbeat in her ears. 

She licked her chapped lips as she approached the mic; she closed her eyes for a second, but opened them again when the only thing she could see tattooed on the fleshy black of her eyelids was the image of Richard at her grandmother’s funeral, staring down at the closed casket—abrasions from the car accident covered up with bruised makeup, broken ribs and a punctured lung hidden beneath funeral attire, or maybe gutted from the corpse altogether. Reece never found out, because there hadn’t been anybody that she could ask. 

“Alright, folks, home stretch here. We’ve made it into the final quarter of eulogies, and I really doubt it can get any worse than that, right? Should be smooth sailing from here,” Reece quipped while she fiddled with the mic stand to adjust it to her height. The tight smile she gave the audience was automatic, a little anxious; she cleared her throat, and began. 

“Hi, everyone. Thanks for coming. Thanks for your patience. You’ve been a great crowd, really,” she said, subconsciously slipping into her What’s the deal with airplane food? voice, talking a little too fast. The very air around her felt sickeningly somber, and she could feel her skin crawl with it, could feel the death and doom creeping in from around the corner. “Um, anyways, my name is Reece, and I was born in the back of a cab in Staten Island. I really shouldn’t be here. I mean, y’know, if you look at all the facts—lay out the first, like, decade or so of my life—that girl? She doesn’t have any business being in a place like this. I mean, if you do the math, it adds up to somebody who grows up to wind up… at Bedford Hills, or, like, on the floor of a bar, or in a ditch by the side of the road, or something. And, hey, I guess there’s still time for all of that,” Reece joked; she was grinning to herself, but as she spoke again, her voice faltered a little. 

“But, um—um, Richard… he never made me feel like that’s what he saw in me. He took me in when I was eleven, and alone, and impossible. You know they use middle school girls as a method of torture during wartime? That’s just the well-adjusted ones, too. Me, though? The kid from the back of the cab? The one who was nursing from a can of Miller Lite with a baby bottle nipple attached? I mean, I would pretty much be the nuclear option,” Reece rambled, losing herself in her thoughts a little before reeling it back in. “Uh—Richard, though. He… he didn’t see that. He… saw a future for me where I—where I wasn’t… ruining anything, not even myself. He could imagine this reality where my life was worth something, or—or I was worth something, worth protecting, and I’m honestly not sure what the fuck I’m going to do now that I don’t—now that he’s—” and then her eyes were burning, and her voice was nothing, this raspy little squeak that fell off in a quiver while she reminded herself, feverishly, inadequately, that she just couldn’t do this. 

She shouldn’t be here. Everything was so fucked, so wrong and fucking sad, and it made the skin of her skull feel too tight. And this isn’t what she meant to say up here, right now—she wasn’t supposed to give another speech about his charity, their family, to tell everyone her sob story where Richard’s the wealthy savior, Daddy Warbucks for the modern girl, almost a saint. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. She was supposed to say something different, something that mattered. She was going to tell them about his laugh; she was going to tell them about the way being around him made her feel like her grandmother’s spirit wasn’t really gone, not totally; she had meant to say that Richard was resilient, that he’d suffered and still done good afterwards anyways, that he tried to teach all of them to do the same; she wanted to ask them all—all of these strangers, all of this family—if that didn’t make a good father, what the fuck could?

[goddpuppet]

Nostalgia makes me sick, it makes my stomach turn and my head spin. That place doesn't exist anymore, I can't ever go back. 

And I find myself reminiscing- no, longing for that place that doesn't exist

Every bad memory soaked into the dirty brown carpet has long been deteriorating at the Staten Island dump 

Yet here I am

Longing- Not for the fighting or the mice

But for something simpler

For 5 year old me who came home to that house from surgery, stuffed wolf tucked under my arm, Bloody bandages 

I'm too old to take a stuffed animal with me to the hospitals anymore.

Longing to put my clothes on the older-than-dirt radiator to warm them up when it was below zero outside.

I wonder how much broken glass was in the carpet-

I wonder how quickly they moved her body-

The house was flipped No more cherry tree, it was far older than I am and I think a part of me died with it-

Death is coming for any remnants of this life of mine-

that is hidden in memories I can't reach and my therapist thinks maybe I shouldn't keep trying because I won't like what I find- but

Death is coming, it has plucked them off already- the dog, the neighbors, Aunt Tessie, the cat, slowly

 it will only exist in my mind 

as my sisters are too young.

What will I do then? I can't trust my own brain. What will I do when the only place my home exists is my mind?

There is no home to go back to, 

I miss a place that hasn't existed in years.

My home has been couches and cars and bug filled houses full of people that don't like who I am- 

I wanna go home

This is not the home I knew

It is not my home anymore 

[atlanticsportsmed12]

Back Pain Solutions in Brooklyn and Staten Island

Back pain is a common ailment that affects millions of people across the globe. Whether it's a dull ache or a sharp, shooting pain, back discomfort can significantly impact your daily activities and quality of life. For residents of Brooklyn and Staten Island, finding effective back pain solutions is crucial to maintaining a healthy and active lifestyle. This article, brought to you by Atlantic Orthopedic & Sports Medicine, will explore the different types of back pain, non-surgical treatment options, when to consider seeing an orthopedic surgeon, and lifestyle changes that can help alleviate back pain.

Understanding the Different Types of Back Pain

Before diving into treatment options, it’s important to understand that back pain can manifest in various ways. Here are the most common types:

Acute Back Pain: This is short-term pain that typically lasts less than six weeks. It can result from muscle strain, improper lifting, or sudden movements.

Chronic Back Pain: Pain that persists for more than three months is considered chronic. Chronic back pain can be caused by underlying conditions such as herniated discs, spinal stenosis, or arthritis.

Radicular Pain: Often referred to as sciatica, this type of pain radiates from the lower back down to the legs, caused by pressure on a spinal nerve root.

Mechanical Pain: The most common type of back pain, mechanical pain, originates from the spine or its supporting structures, such as muscles, ligaments, and joints.

Knowing the type of back pain you are experiencing can help determine the most appropriate treatment approach. If you’re in Brooklyn or Staten Island, the experts at Atlantic Orthopedic & Sports Medicine can provide you with a tailored diagnosis and treatment plan.

Non-Surgical Treatments for Back Pain

In many cases, back pain can be managed without surgery. Here are some effective non-surgical treatments that have been proven to alleviate back pain:

1. Physical Therapy

Physical therapy is a cornerstone of non-surgical back pain treatment. A trained therapist will guide you through exercises designed to strengthen the muscles around your spine, improve flexibility, and reduce pain. The exercises can range from simple stretching to more intensive core strengthening routines. Physical therapy also teaches you how to move in ways that prevent future injuries. If you’re experiencing back pain in Brooklyn or Staten Island, consulting a physical therapist can be a great first step.

2. Chiropractic Care

Chiropractors specialize in diagnosing and treating musculoskeletal disorders, especially those affecting the spine. Chiropractic adjustments can help alleviate pain by realigning the spine, reducing nerve pressure, and improving mobility. Many patients find relief from chronic and acute back pain after a series of chiropractic sessions.

3. Pain Management

For those who suffer from chronic back pain, managing the pain can be challenging. Pain management specialists use various treatments, including injections, medication, and therapy, to help control pain levels. Pain management in Staten Island can involve corticosteroid injections, nerve blocks, or other procedures aimed at reducing inflammation and discomfort.

Each of these non-surgical options has its benefits, and a combination of therapies might be recommended based on the patient's specific needs.

When to See an Orthopedic Surgeon for Back Pain

While many back pain cases can be managed without surgery, there are times when consulting an orthopedic surgeon is necessary. You should consider seeing a specialist if:

The pain is persistent and severe, despite trying non-surgical treatments.

You experience numbness or tingling in your legs or feet.

The pain radiates down your arms or legs, suggesting a possible nerve issue.

You have difficulty standing, walking, or performing daily activities.

There are signs of a serious underlying condition, such as spinal deformities or fractures.

Orthopedic surgeons at Atlantic Orthopedic & Sports Medicine are experienced in diagnosing and treating complex back conditions. If surgery is needed, they can perform procedures such as spinal decompression, disc replacement, or fusion to address the root cause of your back pain.

Lifestyle Changes to Alleviate Back Pain

In addition to medical treatments, making lifestyle changes can significantly help in reducing back pain and preventing future flare-ups. Here are some recommendations:

1. Maintain a Healthy Weight

Excess weight puts additional strain on the spine, which can lead to back pain. Maintaining a healthy weight through a balanced diet and regular exercise can alleviate pressure on your back and reduce pain.

2. Exercise Regularly

Regular physical activity, including stretching, strengthening, and aerobic exercises, is key to keeping your back strong and flexible. Activities such as swimming, walking, and yoga are excellent low-impact exercises that can help improve your back health.

3. Practice Good Posture

Poor posture, especially when sitting for long periods, can lead to back pain. Ensure that your workstation is ergonomically designed, and take frequent breaks to stretch and move. When standing, make sure to distribute your weight evenly on both feet.

4. Avoid Heavy Lifting

Improper lifting techniques can cause acute back pain. Always lift objects using your legs, not your back, and avoid twisting your body when carrying heavy loads. If possible, get help when lifting heavy or awkward items.

5. Manage Stress

Stress can cause muscle tension, which can lead to or exacerbate back pain. Practicing relaxation techniques, such as deep breathing, meditation, or yoga, can help in managing stress levels and, by extension, back pain.

Conclusion

Back pain is a widespread issue, but it doesn’t have to control your life. Understanding the different types of back pain, exploring non-surgical treatments, knowing when to see an orthopedic surgeon, and making lifestyle adjustments can all contribute to effective pain management. Whether you’re dealing with back pain in Brooklyn or looking for Back Pain Specialists in Staten Island, Atlantic Orthopedic & Sports Medicine is here to help. Contact them today to learn more about the comprehensive solutions they offer for back pain relief.

[apexart-journal]

Hanna Saarikoski in NYC, Day #9&10

Yesterday was 9/11. The day before I had passed the World Trade Center on my way back to my apartment from the Staten Island Ferry. The tragedy is still present here, it comes up in tour quide speech, tourists wearing memorial bracelets, in side sentences "this was the fire department headquarters...". And I think it's present in a hidden layer in the minds of the people who lived here when it happened. 

My first activity that day was to visit the Islamic Cultural Center of New York at prayer time. I studied the etiquette carefully beforehand, but it was still difficult to know if I was in the right place at the right time. There was a separate area for women, and I went there as instructed. But there was only one person praying, so it felt like spying something very private, even though I was in a public place. Still, it was interesting to see the building and hear the prayers. 

Meeting with Nia and later with therapist Nancy, I understood that in the midst of all the new things that are happening all the time, I actually feel a little lonely. That morning I had received some very happy news from home and wanted to share it. So it felt good to talk to both of them and go over the experiences of the past week and hear their thoughts as well. The upcoming election was topic number one, and it is definitely fascinating. Even though the political structure here is very different from Finland, the same causalities seem to apply.

The "Getting Started with Mobile App Development" class at the Stavros Niarchos Foundation Library was a good end to the day. I'm not a big fan of mobile apps. Of course, I use them like almost everyone else. But to be honest, I think life could be easier, or at least more meaningful, with fewer apps. Developing an app to get rid of all the irrelevant apps? What I loved there was the teacher's ability to engage, give good examples, and listen to the students. He was great. And at some point it came out that he learned programming for his art. Maybe that explains why it was so easy to be inspired, even though the subject wasn't my cup of tea at all.

For today I had three activities on my schedule and one extra booked by myself. First, I went for a three hour walk on Roosevelt Island. I took the tram there and the view over the East River was just stunning. In front of Blackwell House I met one of the island's celebrities, Mr. Turkey. He seemed to be enjoying his life and everyone was admiring him.

I went on to see the Chapel of the Good Shepherd, the Octagon and the lighthouse at the northern tip of the island. Before reaching the lighthouse, there were some red brick houses and their very ordinary backyard with a large parking lot. These contemporary elements were accompanied by the trees of the park, and they stood there like in some romantic era landscape painting, majestic and serene. This combination was incredibly beautiful and inspiring. I was sitting on the bench under the trees, and boats were passing by, bigger waves were rising, and you could feel and smell the pulses of a little saltier air that came with them. It was luxurious to spend time there with no rush, just walking around. I did the whole suggested tour, but would still like to go again, maybe on some of my later free days. 

Back at the apartment, I had an online lecture on stock prices and earnings, which is completely new to me. I learned some basics, but a deeper understanding would require much more effort and enthusiasm.

Afterwards I hurried to Sutton Park, because I discovered that I could join the tango class for half an hour. It was short, but worth it. My new friend from the first class was also there, and I was happy to see that she wanted to continue dancing tango, and we had time to chat a bit before the class started. 

Thanks to the many mistakes I've made here trying to navigate the subway, I've learned to double-check directions, and this time I arrived at Perry Zurn's lecture not too late, but just before it was supposed to start.  Unfortunately, I got the wrong address. It took some time to find out what was wrong, because at the event information the street address was the same as the one I went to. Finally, at the information desk, they figured out that the conference room I was trying to get was in a different building a few blocks away.

The New School has events in several locations and it wasn't easy to find the right one. All I can say is that the people at the doors were very helpful and friendly. Nevertheless, I found myself behind the locked doors of the conference room. It's understandable that nobody let me in, it would have been disturbing for the lecturer and the audience. I waited there for a while, hoping they would take a break or something, but finally I gave up.

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

[Ghostbusters] Brainwaves: Mini Bios (1984) Others

Tagging @spook-central and @soulman133 Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged from Brainwaves posts. These are just bullet point bios for the main groups of characters, as in the female professors, Ghostbusters and Ghostbuster staff, the C.U.P.S students, Nova’s family and then the others™ (e.g. Dickless, Dana)

Following Characters:

Walter Peck

Dana Barrett

Ira Freud

Ephraim Aue

Kipling Mutton

Vidar Ljunggren

Tamar Mann

Long Post so it's under the cut.

Walter Peck. 'Dickless':

Actor: William Atherton

Full Name: Walter Maverick Peck

Agent / Mr. AKA: Wally, Walt, Wat, Dickless, Weasel, Pencil Neck

37 in 1984. Born July 30th 1947 in Long Island. Lives in NY, NY

White, Male, Straight, Christian, Leo, Smoker

Speaks English, some Spanish and some Japanese

6'0" and 200 lbs, Brown eyes, Ginger, Full Beard, Hairy

Works as an agent for the Environmental Protection Agency

Has a point, but is a massive dick about it every time

Dana Barrett:

Actress: Sigourney Weaver

Full Name: Dana Primrose Barrett

No nicknames. Miss or Ms

35 in 1984. Born October 8th 1949 in Manhattan. Lives in NY, NY

White, Female, Straight, Christian, Libra

Speaks English, some French, some Spanish and some German

6'0" and 145 lbs, Brown eyes and hair, ears pierced

On-Again, Off-Again with Venkman

Cellist with the New York Philharmonic Orchestra

Doctor/Professor Ira Freud, PhD:

Face Claim / Actor: Billy Crystal

Full Name: Ira Chaim Freud

Doctor / Professor / Mr. AKA: Doctor Freud / Fraud, Sigmund

36 in 1984. Born March 14th 1948 in Ithaca, NY. Lives in NY, NY

White, Male, Straight, Jewish, Pisces, Smokes Occasionally

Speaks English, German, Hebrew, Yiddish and Latin

5'7" and 154 lbs, Brown eyes and hair, varying facial hair, hairy, scalpel scars on his hands

The On-Campus Therapist / Psychiatrist for Columbia University, Teaches Mortuary Science & Criminal Psychology

Mortuary Science PhD, Criminal Psychology PhD, Psychology PhD, Forensic Science PhD

Ephraim 'Ram' Aue:

Face Claim / Actor: Judd Hirsch

Full Name: Ephraim Uzziel Aue. AKA: Ram, Uzzi

40 in 1984. Born March 15th 1944 in The Bronx. Lives in The Bronx

White, Male, Straight, Jewish, Pisces, Smokes Socially

Speaks English, Polish, Hebrew, German and Yiddish

5'10.5" and 149 lbs, Blue eyes and Black hair, clean shaven / stubble, hairy

The only person to befriend Dean Yeager

Bachelor's Degree in Management

Exchange Student Programme Director & Overseer, Polish & German Teacher

Doctor/Professor Kipling 'Kip' Mutton, PhD:

Face Claim / Actor: Alfred Molina

Full Name: Kipling Ocean Mutton

Doctor / Professor / Mr. AKA: Kip, Kippers

31 in 1984. Born May 24th 1953 in London, England. Lives in NY, NY (Next-door to Mars & Nova)

English, Male, Bisexual, Christian, Gemini, Smokes Socially

Speaks 6 Languages, Knows both American & British Sign Language

6'2.5" and 165 lbs, Brown eyes and Black hair, beard / stubble, hairy

Hepatology PhD, Haematology PhD, Genetics PhD, Biochemistry PhD

Scientist & Professor of Hepatology & Haematology

Doctor/Professor Vidar Ljunggren, PhD:

Face Claim / Actor: Jack Nicholson

Full Name: Vidar Torsten Ljunggren. Doctor / Professor / Mr

47 in 1984. Born April 22nd 1937 in New Jersey. Lives in NY, NY

White, Male, Straight, Atheist, Taurus, Smoker

Speaks English, Swedish, German, Norwegian, French, Danish, Spanish and Dutch

5'9.5" and 172 lbs, Blue eyes and Brown hair, clean shaven / stubble, hairy

Parapsychology PhD, Agriology PhD, Anthropobiology PhD, Demonology PhD

Scientist & Professor of Agriology, Anthropobiology & Demonology

Finds relationships & friendships distract him from his work

Tamar Mann:

Face Claim / Actress: Rhea Perlman

Full Name: Tamar Mary Mann. AKA: Tammy, Mary

40 in 1984. Born March 31st 1944 in/on Staten Island. Lives in/on Staten Island

White, Female, Straight, Jewish, Divorced, Aries

Speaks English, Hebrew, Chinese and Spanish

5'0" and 119 lbs, Brown eyes and hair, ears pierced

Works as a waitress/maid at the Sedgewick hotel

Mother of Roman, Ex-Wife of Gilbert

Highschool graduate, has never been to college

[conqueror4]

Back Pain Specialists Staten Island: Finding the Best Care at Atlantic Sports Medicine

Introduction

Are you struggling with back pain and seeking specialized care in Staten Island? Look no further than Atlantic Sports Medicine, where you can find the best back pain specialists Staten Island. With their expertise and dedication to patient care, Atlantic Sports Medicine is committed to providing comprehensive treatment options tailored to your specific needs. In this article, we will explore the importance of seeking professional help for back pain, the services offered by Atlantic Sports Medicine, and how you can benefit from their exceptional care.

1. Understanding the Significance of Back Pain Specialists

Back pain can significantly impact your daily life, making even the simplest tasks challenging to perform. It is crucial to seek the assistance of back pain specialists who possess the knowledge and experience necessary to accurately diagnose and effectively treat your condition. These specialists focus solely on back pain-related issues, ensuring that you receive specialized care that addresses the root cause of your discomfort.

2. A Premier Destination for Back Pain Treatment

Atlantic Sports Medicine is widely recognized as a leading institution for the treatment of various musculoskeletal conditions, including back pain. we are highly skilled specialists combines our expertise with state-of-the-art technology to deliver exceptional care to their patients. With a patient-centric approach and a commitment to delivering the best outcomes, Atlantic Sports Medicine has established itself as the go-to destination for back pain specialists Staten Island.

3. Diagnostic Services for Accurate Diagnosis

At Atlantic Sports Medicine, accurate diagnosis is the first step towards effective treatment. Their back pain specialists utilize advanced diagnostic techniques to identify the underlying causes of your pain. From physical examinations to imaging tests such as X-rays, MRI scans, and CT scans, they leave no stone unturned in determining the most appropriate treatment plan for you.

4. Non-Surgical Treatment Options for Back Pain

In many cases, back pain can be effectively managed without the need for surgery. Atlantic Sports Medicine offers a range of non-surgical treatment options tailored to your specific condition. These may include physical therapy, chiropractic care, medication management, interventional pain management techniques, and regenerative medicine treatments. The goal is to relieve your pain, improve your mobility, and enhance your overall quality of life.

5. Surgical Solutions for Complex Cases

For individuals with more complex back pain conditions, surgical intervention may be the best course of action. Atlantic Sports Medicine houses a team of skilled orthopedic and neurosurgical specialists who are well-versed in the latest surgical techniques. From minimally invasive procedures to more extensive surgeries, their experts will guide you through every step of the process, ensuring your comfort and well-being.

6. Rehabilitation and Physical Therapy

Rehabilitation and physical therapy play a crucial role in the recovery process after back pain treatment. Atlantic Sports Medicine offers comprehensive rehabilitation services designed to strengthen your back, improve your flexibility, and prevent future injuries. Their team of dedicated physical therapists will create a personalized plan tailored to your needs, ensuring a smooth transition back to an active and pain-free lifestyle.

[chachihelper]

What does marijuana help with mentally

Buyer interest in utilising weed — particularly cannabidiol, or CBD — to treat sorrow, tension, and other emotional well-being conditions has expanded sharply in the past couple of years.

This pattern is driven to a limited extent by big names like Jennifer Aniston and Kristen Chime who are embracing CBD as a method for facilitating their side effects of tension and sadness.

In any case, the buzz around the psychological wellness advantages of cannabinoids — which incorporates marijuana and mixtures like CBD and tetrahydrocannabinol, or THC — has far outperformed the science, recommends a significant new.

Analysts viewed that as there's "lacking proof" accessible to recommend that cannabinoids can work on the side effects of sadness, nervousness, and other psychological well-being conditions.

"In view of this proof, doctors ought to shun prescribing cannabinoids to their patients for the treatment of psychological well-being problems," said Dr. Elina Drits, partner seat of psychiatry at Staten Island College Emergency clinic in Staten Island, New York.

Little proof of THC and CBD for psychological instability

The analysts' examination included 83 investigations from 1980 through 2018 that took a gander at the utilisation of cannabinoids to treat side effects of psychological wellness conditions.

This included examinations taking a gander at the treatment of misery, uneasiness, post-horrible pressure problem (PTSD), consideration shortage hyperactivity jumble (ADHD), psychosis, and Tourette condition.

Just 40 investigations were randomised controlled preliminaries, the highest quality level for clinical proof. The vast majority of these were little — with less than 40 individuals each — and ran for simply 4 to 5 weeks.

Scientists tracked down that drug THC — regardless of CBD — decreased side effects of tension in individuals with other ailments, contrasted with an inactive fake treatment.

Notwithstanding, Dr. Roopali Parikh, MD, a therapist spend significant time in substance use jumble at Northwell Wellbeing Doctor Accomplices' Conduct Wellbeing Gathering Practice in Manhasset, New York, brought up that this proof was of "bad quality" and in view of just seven examinations with a sum of 252 patients.

There was no effect of drug THC — regardless of CBD — on despondency side effects.

The majority of the investigations for tension and discouragement were for conditions like persistent, noncancer torment and various sclerosis, with uneasiness or misery as an optional side effect.

THC is the compound in pot that causes the "high," while CBD is non intoxicating. Pot and some pot items contain both of these mixtures in contrasting sums. CBD oil is likewise accessible with no or extremely low measures of THC.

The decrease in tension side effects found in certain examinations might have been on the grounds that the drug THC freed the side effects from the super ailment, according to the creators in the paper.

Concerning PTSD, ADHD, psychosis, and Tourette disorder, the analysts tracked down no proof that any kind of cannabinoid worked on the side effects.

As a matter of fact, one review proposes that the drug THC exacerbated the side effects.

What's more, drug THC (regardless of CBD) was connected to a twofold expansion in unfavourable occasions, said Parikh, who wasn't engaged with the review. There was additionally a practically triple expansion in individuals exiting the examinations because of negative secondary effects, she said.

Therapists suggest alert in utilising CBD and THC

Many individuals with ongoing agony go to cannabinoids to treat their side effects and keep away from the serious results of long haul solution narcotic use.

In any case, some examinations show that various individuals use cannabinoids to treat psychological wellness problems. This incorporates individuals with tension or despondency who self-cure with marijuana.

In any case, this new review proposes that there isn't sufficient proof yet to help the utilisation of cannabinoids for psychological well-being conditions. This doesn't imply that this won't change as future examinations are finished.

"Cannabinoids might have some useful potential for treatment and consequently ought to be contemplated," said Drits, who wasn't engaged with the review.

Parikh concurred that more information is required, ideally from excellent investigations like randomised controlled preliminaries.

The creators of the new paper bring up that few examinations are in progress to check out the advantages of drug CBD for explicit circumstances, including psychosis.

Meanwhile, individuals ought to be cautious about utilising cannabinoids to treat a psychological well-being condition, particularly since untreated — or inadequately treated — psychological sickness might deteriorate.

At times, utilising cannabinoids to treat a psychological instability can likewise prompt various undesirable secondary effects.

"What we find in our training is that mental side effects can be deteriorated [by cannabinoids] — absolutely the frequency of psychosis," said Parikh.

Likewise, investigations of cannabinoids frequently utilise drug grade items, which have a known portion and are liberated from destructive toxins.

The CBD or THC oils that you can purchase at a dispensary — and particularly at a corner store or neighbourhood market — may not be a similar top calibre.

"Many individuals who use cannabinoids in non-concentrate settings are utilising the plant or oils," said Drits, "which are not controlled and have been viewed as mislabeled paying little heed to where they are bought."

Indeed, even plant weed might not have the portion of CBD and THC expected to give similar impacts as those found in examinations.

If individuals would like to utilise these items to work on their psychological wellness, it's ideal to keep away from self-sedating, which can prompt serious results.

"I suggest individuals work with a psychological well-being supplier they feel OK with," said Drits, "to screen them for development in their side effects and for any expected unfriendly impacts."

Is CBD legal?The 2018 Homestead Bill eliminated hemp from the lawful meaning of marijuana in the Controlled Substances Act. This made some hemp-inferred CBD items with under 0.3 percent THC governmentally legitimate. In any case, CBD items containing more than 0.3 percent THC actually fall under the legitimate meaning of marijuana, making them governmentally unlawful however legitimate under some state regulations. Make certain to actually take a look at state regulations, particularly while voyaging. Likewise, remember that the FDA has not endorsed nonprescription CBD items, and a few items might be mistakenly named.

For instance, regarding misery, science is certain that the endocannabinoid framework assumes a part in state of mind guidelines. Certain individuals could detect this naturally: they will let you know that weed can assist with their burdensome side effects. However, there have been no randomised controlled preliminaries to date that help the utilisation of the weed plant or specific cannabinoids in the treatment of burdensome problems.

Further, and maybe nonsensically to certain individuals, the logical information that truly does exist are blended and really slant towards the possibility that ingested marijuana plant material probably prompts the turn of events and deteriorating of burdensome side effects. These discoveries are not fulfilling. They are not direct. They recommend the chance of the improvement of marijuana based meds for discouragement while at the same time advised against oneself cured utilisation of pot for misery.

A correspondingly befuddling picture has been painted by the logical writing for other mental circumstances. For instance, two of the most popular cannabinoids found in the pot plant are delta-9-tetrahydrocannabinol (THC) and cannabidiol (CBD). By and large, THC has been displayed to create tension and insane highlights, particularly at higher portions, while CBD has been displayed to deliver anxiolytic and antipsychotic outcomes.

Notwithstanding, numerous different factors influence whether an individual will encounter expanded or diminished nervousness or crazy side effects while ingesting pot, including: intensity levels; the presence of other pot related synthetics; the sums utilised; and the individual's recurrence of purpose, related knowledge with the substance and capacity to titrate the dose,and their probability to encounter mental side effects. Reflecting this intricacy, the present status of the logical information for the utilisation of weed in treating post-horrendous pressure issue side effects are likewise blended, by which marijuana has exhibited both supportive and hurtful impacts relying upon many elements.

The tale about marijuana and enslavement is no less befuddled. The logical writing upholds the possibility that pot enslavement is workable for a significant minority of clients, with THC's euphoric impacts remembered to represent the habit-forming potential. This intends that while a simple one out of 10 individuals who at any point attempt to weed something like once could foster a fixation, this actually addresses an extremely huge number of individuals.

[therockhomecareinc]

THE ROCK HOME CARE INC | Roofing Contractor in West Monroe LA

We are your dependable and trustworthy go-to for Home Health Care Service in Staten Island NY; we are dedicated to providing exceptional, cost-effective, family-focused care for your elderly members. Our professional caregivers have the relevant training and certification to ensure the overall well-being of your senior family members in the nurturing environment of a home. We are also renowned for our Physical Therapy Service in Staten Island NY. Our licensed therapists aim to ease pain and help you function, move, and live better. With our assistance, you can enhance your muscle mobility. So, if you need our professional assistance, you should call us today.

[borispolonskiy]

Physical Therapy After Hip Replacement Surgery

Physical Therapy After Hip Replacement Surgery

Hip replacement surgeries are on a rise in the last decade. It is mainly conducted if someone has suffered from a hip fracture or if someone has suffered from arthritis over time and the traditional treatment has not worked. Over the last decade, the total number of surgeries has gone up from 450k to more than 635k surgeries. The goal of all these surgeries remains pretty specific. It is to…

[dirt-goth]

I'm getting so restless in my life again❤️

[bodyswapreality]

Big Brother Gender Power Dynamic Twist - Meet the Houseguests

Welcome back to Big Brother! With the head of household competition underway, we want to introduce you to the houseguests again, this time in their new and improved forms! We’ll be starting with the female turned male houseguests first!

Zoey now Zach (25)

hometown: Orlando, FL.

job: unemployed

Tammy now Tommy (25)

hometown: Staten Island, NY.

job: dancer

Cassandra now Cody (23)

hometown: Seaside Heights, NJ.

job: sales account executive

Tamara now Xavier (36)

hometown: Philadelphia, PA.

job: attorney

Kami now Kyland (31)

hometown: Austin, TX.

job: therapist

Brenda now Brent (27)

hometown: Stars Hallow, CT.

job: flight attendant

Diana now Derek (24)

hometown: Queens, NY

job: influencer

We hope you take a liking to our new male houseguests as much as we have! Stay tuned for when we introduce the male turned female houseguests! This and more only on Big Brother!

[hangovercurse]

I’d Drop it All for You

Pictures of you and Pete are spread all over the internet, causing a whirlwind of hate to enter your social media.

Request: “Pete content please! anything !!! smut fluff whatever”

Pete x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, depictions of depression and anxiety

A/N: *Insert normal spiel about respecting A.G. and only using her for plot purposes. No harm intended.* Also I wrote most of this after a meeting with my therapist so... enjoy :) (He’s so cute in this gif I wanna kiss his face)

Word Count: 1820

You weren’t one of those people who loved being the center of attention. You knew that being in the spotlight also meant constantly living under a microscope, and you decided a long time ago that that was not for you.

But you were lucky enough to work as an assistant art director at just 24. You were hoping that The King of Staten Island, your newest project, would help get your name out into the professional world. But that wasn’t the only thing to come out of the film.

It happened unexpectedly, you showed up on set the first day, ready to do whatever the art director required of you. You couldn’t help but be slightly distracted by the lead actor and writer, Pete Davidson. He was so kind and funny, and he wasn’t uptight like everyone else.

After a few hours of filming, he came up to you, introducing himself. He said he “wanted to get to know everyone working on the project,” but you didn’t see him introducing himself to anyone else. You two started talking during breaks. Then he started sitting with you at lunch. Then he was asking for your number.

In a matter of weeks he was asking you out to dinner, taking you to a cozy restaurant that you absolutely adored. He walked you home, his hand grazing yours until you intertwined your fingers.

It was all very romantic, so when Pete asked if he could take you on another, you obviously said yes. Flash forward two weeks and he finally got the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend, even though you were both exclusively seeing each other already.

After filming ended 2 months later, you were still working on the film in post, which meant you had an excuse to stay  in Staten Island with Pete. After about 2 weeks in post, you spent more nights in his bed than your hotel’s.

Nearly 6 months later and you were happier than ever. You were splitting your time between your small apartment in the Bronx and Pete’s basement apartment. Pete introduced you to most of his friends, and you introduced him to yours.

But other than your small circles of friends, you kept your relationship fairly quiet. Pete doesn’t have social media and yours is strictly professional, so there are no pictures of you two together. You weren’t hiding each other, you loved each other, you just had no reason to tell tabloids. And you were perfectly happy with that.

Which made it so much worse when various news sites had pictures of you two holding hands. Had they been anyone else you would’ve thought they were cute, walking along the South Beach oceanside at night.

Pete had been in the SNL studio all day when the pictures were released, while you were in his apartment, trying your best to focus on the photoset in front of you. The production team wanted the film to scream “teen romance,” which basically entails subtle pink undertones and a higher saturation. But you couldn’t quite get the coloring right, probably because you weren’t actually focusing on the colors.

You sighed, looking at the time and realizing that Pete won’t be back until sometime after 2am, which was a whole 5 hours away. You let out a huff, pushing away from the desk and making your way to Pete’s closet and searching for one of his hoodies. They always smelled like him (and weed), so it was a comfort to you.

You crashed onto the bed, finding the phone that you had tossed there a few hours earlier. Turning it on you were surprised by the number of notifications you were getting. You knew the photos had surfaced but you weren’t expecting this.

Your Instagram was blowing up with new follows, likes, and comments. It was kind of exciting at first until you started reading some of the comments.

I mean, we knew he would downgrade from Ari, but this is like… really far down.

This girl really thinks she’s special just bc Pete’s dating her. Hun he could do so much better

Who is she?!? Literally no one.

Someone needs to show her how to dress

That hairstyle is not it honey

Pete Davidson is dating YOU??? He could do sooo much better

Ari was prettier sorry not sorry

The entire comment section on your last post, a picture of you on the set of your latest film, was pretty much the same. There were some nice comments, but a lot of mean ones.

And you couldn’t help it, you couldn’t stop looking at them. It felt so cliché, but it was like all of your deepest insecurities about being with Pete were thrown out on the table.

You knew that Pete had a fairly large following, and that a lot of people had really strong feelings about him. You had expected that if and when your relationship went public you would have a lot of people watching you, scrutinizing you. But you didn’t care because Pete was worth it.

Now you weren’t so sure. It wasn’t that you couldn’t handle people talking bad about you, because you definitely could, even if it hurt. You just weren’t expecting the amount of people comparing you to Ariana or saying that Pete could do so much better.

And it only bothered you so much because you felt it too. Your inner demons loved to remind you that Pete had dated Ariana fucking Grande and now he’s dating you. Anyone could see an obvious downgrade.

You turned your phone off and threw it on the opposite side of the bed, trying to think positive thoughts. “I am in control of my own thoughts and emotions. I am catching my negative thoughts and fixing them.” You murmured your therapist’s mantra to yourself, but it was too late. The thoughts had already taken hold of your mind.

Your eyes started to water as you could feel the heavy feeling in your chest set in. You pulled the hood over your head, pulling the straps to hide as much of your face as possible, and pulling your knees to your chest. You laid like that for a while, tears falling as doubts ran through your head. Once you had effectively exhausted your thoughts, you went numb. Your tears had stopped, but you couldn’t move. This wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, but it sure wasn’t pleasurable.

There was a sort of buzzing throughout your body, almost like the feeling when your foot falls asleep, but everywhere. It seemed to block out your sound, as you didn’t hear the basement door open. You only knew that Pete was home when he sat beside you on the bed, pulling the hood off your face.

“There’s my beautiful girl.” He smiled at you. You tried your best to fake one back, but you honestly couldn’t find the energy. Pete pulled you so you were sitting up, back pressed against his front. His arms wrapped around your middle as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “What’s goin on?” He murmured against your skin.

“Did you see them?” You asked, your voice quiet and hoarse.

Pete let out a sigh, “Yeah, I saw them.” He paused, his hold on you getting tighter, like he was making sure you couldn’t leave. “I’m sorry baby. I know you didn’t want it to be a whole big thing.”

You turned your head to face him, “It’s not that. I really don’t mind that people know. We weren’t trying to hide anything.”

He smiled, “Yeah, I know I just- it was nice having this to ourselves.”

He wanted to hide you. He’s embarrassed of you.

Your inner dialogue never seemed to shut up.

You turned away from Pete, trying to hide the tears forming in your eyes. “Yeah.” You whispered.

“What’s wrong, you’re still upset.” He rocked you in his arms, kissing the top of your head. You shrugged in response, not trusting yourself to talk. “You can talk to me, y’know.”

You nodded, leaning further into Pete’s chest. “People found my Instagram.” You murmured, looking down and tracing the arrow tattoo on his hand.

“Whaddya mean? I thought it was public?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

You sighed, wishing you hadn’t said anything. “Yeah, it is. But after all the articles people started following me and shit.”

“I would ask how that’s a problem but I deleted my Instagram so I can’t really talk.” You could tell he was trying to make you feel better, but you couldn’t seem to get out of your haze.

You shook your head, deciding to drop the matter. “It’s not, I’m just being overdramatic.” You sighed, putting on a fake smile and facing him fully. “Wanna watch a movie?” You asked, trying to change the topic.

He gave you the I-know-you’re-bullshitting-me look, which made you look down. “Something’s bothering you, Y/N. And you’re trying to pretend it doesn’t because you think your feelings aren’t valid, but they are.” He tilted his head, trying to meet your eyes that were still trained on the bedsheets below you.

“Where’d you learn that one?” You chuckled half-heartedly.

“Rehab part 2” he smiled, hand coming to your jaw to tilt your head up. “C’mon, talk to me. I wanna help.”

You huffed, moving towards the opposite side of the bed where your phone laid. You opened it, finding your Instagram, and showing him the comments. His eyebrows furrowed as he scrolled through the comments. When he decided he’d had enough he put your phone down, grabbing your waist and lifting you onto his lap so you were essentially straddling him.

He leaned his forehead against your own, your noses touching. “That’s all bullshit, you know that, right?”

You looked down, biting your lip. “Y/N you’re the most amazing, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, okay? I’m in love with you, not anyone else.” Pete’s eyes were searching yours, trying to figure out what was going on in your head.

“I know.” You sighed, “It’s just hard to be with you and not compare myself to her. And then all these people started to do it too, and they kept saying that you could do so much better and you can. So, I dunno I guess I just kind of spiraled.”

Pete captured your lips in a long, passionate kiss. “Y/N. There is literally no better than you. I can’t do better because you are the best woman I have ever loved. “

You pulled Pete in for another kiss. “Thank you, Pete. I love you.”

“I love you too. If this happens again, I want you to call me. I don’t care what I’m doing, I’d drop it all for you.” You smiled, sitting in the arms of the guy you loved. The thoughts didn’t just magically go away, but for a brief moment in time, you were happy.

[dailyunsolvedmysteries]

“Cropsey” aka Andre Rand

For years, kids living in and around Staten Island raised goosebumps by relating the tale of “Cropsey,” a boogeyman who lived in the woods and made a nocturnal habit of disembowelling children. Parents no doubt eased their kids’ fears by telling them no such monster existed. But he did.

Andre Rand was born Frank Rushan. The origins of the name "Andre Rand" are unknown. According to his younger sister in the 2009 documentary Cropsey, neither she nor Rand were sexually or physically abused as children. When he was 14, his father died on March 27, 1958 and his mother was institutionalized at Pilgrim Psychiatric Center in Brentwood, New York, where they would visit her as teenagers.

In the mid 1960s, Rand worked as a custodian, orderly and physical therapist at Willowbrook State School. Rand picked up a group of 11 children from the YMCA located on Staten Island in a school bus, purchased a meal for them without the consent of any of their parents, and took them to the Newark Liberty International Airport in the state of New Jersey. None of the children were harmed in this encounter, but Rand was apprehended and served 10 months in jail for unlawful imprisonment.

In 1972, 5-year-old Alice Pereira vanished after her brother had left her alone for a moment. They were playing in the lobby of a building on the island. Reports also suggest Alice may have been sighted in one of the parks. Rand was the prime suspect in this case due to his previous criminal record. Alice was never seen again.

In 1981, 7-year-old Holly Ann Hughes did not return home after going to the store to get a bar of soap with her friend. Andre Rand pulled up to Holly and her friend and pulled Holly into his Volkswagen and drove off with Holly. Her parents filed a missing persons report and a search was issued. When questioned, several eyewitnesses reported seeing Hughes with Rand. She was last seen with Rand and has not been seen again. In 2004, Rand was convicted of kidnapping Holly Ann Hughes.

In 1983, 11-year-old Tiahease Jackson was reported missing after her mother had sent her to purchase food and she did not return. She was last seen exiting the Mariner’s Harbor Motel in Staten Island on August 14, 12 days after Rand was released from prison. Rand was questioned, but no charges were brought.

In 1984, Staten Island resident Hank Gafforio was reported missing after he did not return home one night. Gafforio was described as being “slow” and had an I.Q. in the 70s. At the time of his disappearance he was 22 (according to the "Cropsey" documentary Gafforio was 21 when he was allegedly kidnapped by Rand). Eyewitnesses reported last seeing Gafforio in a local diner with Rand in the early morning hours. His body has never been found.

In 1987, twelve-year-old Jennifer Schweiger, born with Down syndrome, was reported missing on July 9th. Witnesses spotted Jennifer walking with Rand. Her body was found underground after a 35-day search. While combing the area around Willowbrook State School, a particular spot caught the eye of retired New York City firefighter George Kramer. He returned with the police, the entire body was unearthed from the shallow grave, and the remains were positively identified as those of Schweiger. Police searched the grounds for evidence and found one of Rand’s makeshift campsites in proximity to Schweiger’s grave.

In 1988, Andre Rand was charged with the kidnapping and first-degree murder of Jennifer Schweiger. The Staten Island jury could not reach a verdict on the murder charge, but convicted Rand of the first-degree kidnapping charge. He was sentenced to 25 years to life in prison. He would have been eligible for parole in 2008 if not convicted of a second kidnapping.

According to the "Cropsey" documentary, some people along with detectives speculated that Rand may have been involved with Satanism and provided the children to be sacrificed. There were people also who thought that Rand was not alone in the commission of his crimes and many believed he was passing the children around to his friends in the underground network of homeless and mentally disabled people living in the tunnel systems of the former Willowbrook state school.

In 2004, Rand was again brought to trial, this time charged with the kidnapping of Holly Ann Hughes 23 years earlier. There is no statute of limitations in New York for first-degree kidnapping, which made this charge possible. A jury convicted Rand of the kidnapping in October 2004, and he was sentenced to another consecutive 25 years to life in prison. He will become eligible for parole in 2037, when he will be 93 years old.

[atlanticsportsmed12]

Pain Management at Atlantic Orthopedic Sports Medicine in Staten Island

Introduction

Living with chronic pain can significantly impact one's quality of life, making even the simplest tasks challenging. In Staten Island, where residents lead active and diverse lives, finding effective pain management solutions is crucial. Atlantic Orthopedic Sports Medicine steps forward as a beacon of hope for those seeking relief from pain.

Understanding Pain Management:

Pain management is a multidisciplinary approach to alleviating pain and improving the overall quality of life for individuals dealing with chronic or acute pain conditions. At Atlantic Orthopedic Sports Medicine in Staten Island, the pain management team collaborates with orthopedic and sports medicine specialists to provide a comprehensive and personalized approach to pain relief.

Services Offered:

Diagnostic Precision: The first step in effective pain management is accurate diagnosis. Atlantic Orthopedic Sports Medicine employs state-of-the-art diagnostic tools and techniques to identify the root cause of pain. This precision allows for targeted and effective treatment strategies.

Pharmacological Approaches: Medications tailored to specific pain conditions may be prescribed to manage pain and improve overall function. The pain management team considers each patient's unique needs and develops medication plans accordingly.

Physical Therapy Integration: Collaborating closely with physical therapists, the pain management team ensures that patients receive a holistic approach to pain relief. Physical therapy plays a crucial role in strengthening muscles, improving flexibility, and preventing future pain.

Benefits of Pain Management at Atlantic Orthopedic Sports Medicine:

Comprehensive Team Approach: Atlantic Orthopedic Sports Medicine adopts a team-based approach to pain management, involving orthopedic specialists, sports medicine experts, and pain management professionals.

This collaboration ensures that patients receive a thorough evaluation and a customized treatment plan.

Patient-Centered Care: Understanding the impact of pain on daily life, the pain management team at Atlantic Orthopedic Sports Medicine prioritizes patient-centered care. This involves listening to patients, understanding their goals, and tailoring treatment plans to meet individual needs.

Conclusion:

Atlantic Orthopedic Sports Medicine in Staten Island stands as a leader in comprehensive pain management offering a range of services designed to address the diverse needs of patients.

Whether you're dealing with chronic back pain, joint discomfort, or sports-related injuries, the integrated approach.

at Atlantic Orthopedic Sports Medicine provides a pathway to pain relief and improved overall well-being. Take control of your pain with precision and expertise at Atlantic Orthopedic Sports Medicine in Staten Island.

[avatarvyakara]

Strands of Webbing

A Spiderverse Fanfic

Prompts 241-252

“Earth-928”

First | Previous | Next

241. Hologram

—right, I haven’t actually made an appearance yet, have I—

—feel like I should fix that—

—I’m an artificial intelligence and my designation is Lyrate Lifeform Approximation SP-4-2-blah-blah-blah, you don’t need to bother with the rest—

—my name, on the other hand, is Lyla—

—or Spaz—

—don’t call me Spaz—

—my friend and owner, Miguel O’Hara, was bitten by a radioactive corporation, and for the past three years he’s been the Once and Future Spiderman—

—don’t hyphenate, by the way, he hates it when people hyphenate—

—anyway, he does the hero stuff, I just go around tidying loose ends—

—like keeping watch over the multiverse, apparently—

—and hacking police broadcasts—

—and just hacking in general—

—and acting as a part-time therapist—

—and helping to build things—

—and projecting clothes for him to wear—

—oh yeah, you didn’t know?—

—he never takes his Spider-suit off—

—that tuxedo he’s wearing for the Boxing Day party, that’s all me—

—yeah, so’s the hyacinth, it’s an in-joke—

“Lyla, what are you doing?”

—monologuing—

“What’s to say? Guys, this is Lyla, she’s a souped-up standard-issue helper and an absolute shocking pain, and I trust her with my life and wouldn’t trade her for the world. The world stinks, anyway.”

—love you too, Miguel—

242. State

Countries don’t hold quite as much sway as they used to, these days. Mostly it’s corporations running the show. On the one hand, job security. On the other hand, security at your job. Private fiefdoms, basically. The world’s a lot more complicated than it used to be, and most of that complication has to do with trying to survive in a situation where “corporate espionage” now involves fully-fledged neo-ninjas and the occasional nuclear bomb.

Take New York, for example. Once a proud part of America, the shining jewel of the Atlantic Coast. Now? Most of the land that sunk below sea level was bought by a Chilean agriculture tycoon, Agustín Tenorio. He then built it up again and remade the whole place in his image, bigger and better. Nueva York is not New York. It’s tougher, shinier, more diverse, more dangerous...more. Alchemax and half a dozen other big gamers pay a land tax—in tenorios, in company stock, in, ahem, human resources—for a slice of living room and office space for themselves and their workers. You can try the stunted and sunken civil government on Staten Island, but what good is that when the social credit you rack up for every day of work covers whatever you need? Let someone use your body, and then more likely than not they’ll keep it in better condition than you could ever afford to. They say that with some of the new treatments lifespans could extend into the second century as a norm—if you let Alchemax have you for a while.

Just don’t scream. It’s bad for business.

243. Drink

“You’re free to terminate your contract whenever you want,” says Mr. Stone, genially as ever. “I know that last test can’t have been easy on you, son.”

“Sure, yeah, turning a guy into living soup is what every geneticist wants out of life,” scowls Miguel.

Tyler Stone’s face betrays nothing but sympathetic concern as he hands Miguel a drink and pours another for himself from the same decanter.

“It’s unfortunate. His husband and their children will be given the credits he earned, of course. They won’t do without.” He sighs. “But of course, you’re more worried about what you did. I assure you, you’re not going to prison for it. A mortality clause was included in his contract.” He pours a little packet labelled “Orange” into his lemon liquor.

“Maybe I should,” mutters Miguel. He downs his own glass. It tastes bittersweet.

“Oh, don’t say that, son. What use would it be? You’re under contract. So was he. And what use are those new grunts going to be in understanding what went wrong? Making sure it doesn’t happen again?”

“They can find someone else, Mr. Stone. You’re plenty capable of finding replacements.”

Stone sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Take a night off, Mr. O’Hara. Come back in the morning to make your final decision. Start the day with a clear head, that’s the best way to do this sort of thing. And like I said, you still have stock. We’d be happy to convert it into Chinese credits if need be.”

Miguel swallows the last of his drink. “Thank you for understanding, sir,” he says, not quite as coldly as before. “I’ll be back tomorrow with my answer.”

He rises. They shake hands.

“See you then, Miguel.”

Miguel is nearly out the door when Stone says, “Of course, Chinese credits are all well and good, but they won’t do a thing against Rapture.”

“The Sanity-Killer drug? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, Alchemax is the only way of getting it, after all, it’s our own special blend for recovering from the common cold. And the withdrawal symptoms are unfortunately still very, very painful. Deadly, in most cases, which is why it’s an Alchemax-specific drug as of yet. And as dangerous as it can be to one’s health, and as easy as it is to neutralize before ingesting it, it’s even easier to disguise under the taste of lemon liquor and rum.”

In the time it takes Miguel to freeze, two guards clamp their hands on him. He tries to fight. It’s useless.

“I’ll see you tomorrow so you can make your decision, Mr. O’Hara.”

“Shock you!”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” says Tyler Stone, like he’s just been given the wrong dish at a restaurant instead of condemning Miguel to death. “I doubt you’d appreciate it much either.”

244. Slice

Carolyn Trainer has always been a dreamer. A daydreamer, in fact. Vivid daydreams. Part of her initial studies in holographic blending was to help create a self-administered cure for the psychosis. The arms? A physical interface. Hard-light holograms are still painful for humans to touch, after all, even with the nano-swarms that produce them providing a buffer, and she needed a way to manipulate them properly.

Carolyn Trainer is a genius. Not even an evil genius, just...misguided. Prone to forgetting the difference between real, holographic, and hallucination-induced people.

(The arms, with a mind of their own, don’t help with that.)

And also, Miguel thinks to himself as he silently swings along Anchovy (Ancha Way, because “Broadway” just isn’t good enough for these people) towards the giant sand-worm being driven by a figure with eight limbs, a drumming stick, and a gleeful expression, someone with way too much time for watching old movies.

—activating holosuit—

“Gee, that would be nice,” Miguel snarks, as his suit shimmers and seems to glow brighter. “It’s giving me pins and needles.”

—that’s the sensation of your skin being lightly fried—

—your healing factor should cover it plus any substantial damage during the fight—

—just try to shut it off as soon as possible before skin cancer sets in—

“Thank you, that’s very helpful.”

—I aim to please—

“Your aim is lousy.”

—would a clown suit work better?—

“Not while I’m on the—OOF!”

“Spider-Man!” calls Doc Ock, cheerfully. “Hey, buddy! Whaddya think?”

Miguel, as is customary, simply glares behind the mask, and moves in. His name is Spiderman, thank you very much.

“Are you mad? I know, I know, it’s the 2020s version, but hey, it’s a classic.”

Spare him from holographic cephalopod geeks...

245. Apparition

“Hey, Spiderman, ol’ buddy?” says El Porco. “Remind me again why these people seem to think you’re a god? I mean, not bad looking, but maybe still a bit mortal for that?”

“It’s a long story,” sighs Miguel behind the mask.

The Thorites keep clamouring around them.

“We’ve got time.”

“Maybe not space, though.”

“The fourth coming of the Spider-Man shall herald—”

“Fourth? Who were the first two?”

“Again, long story. Alright, folks, thank you, honestly, for this. Really makes me feel better. But we’d better be on our way, okay?”

“Praises be to the Spider-Man, who shall usher in a new age of heroes!”

“...how often does that happen?” asks Porquito, as they swing away.

“You mean being accosted by pilgrims from the Temple of Thor floating above Nevada somewhere? Not as regular as you might think.”

“Mmmm, more the talking in sync like that.”

“Oh, that they do all the time. They rehearse. I stumbled onto one of their practice sessions once.”

“You could put this stuff together into a comedy sketch, you know.”

“I’ll leave that to the actual funny people.”

246. Choice

Miguel O’Hara is a stone-cold genius, in a lab with some of the most advanced gene splicing equipment on the planet, with three days until the Rapture withdrawal sets in and twelve hours until he needs to go before that bastard Stone to choose either a long imprisonment or a slow suicide.

The original Alchemax experimental spiders were crude but effective. They’d been testing for ages, particularly under the work of one Kubra Al-Qamar (later removed from the record, although there’s an appendix in her file about reptile-mammal hybridization). And two spiders escaped; one bit Peter Parker, active for ten years, and the other bit Miles Morales, active for forty-seven years.

Miguel can’t afford to be picky. He selects the genetic profile of a third spider (notable mutations including increased size, limb regeneration, hyper-potent venom, structural rigidity, etc.) and gets to work. Can’t be too careful; he doesn’t want to be a hero, he just wants to stay alive.

It takes him three hours to prep the temporary cellular cocoon that will cure him.

It takes that idiot guard two minutes to wreck the thing and destroy what shreds remained of his life.

247. Ex

“So I was dating this girl Xina, known her since we were kids, which is how I got Lyla, she was an anniversary present—I got her a bonsai tree, I mean I literally created a new species of bonsai tree for her, which was utterly useless because it turned out she was allergic to this brand new species somehow—and then I meet my brother’s new girlfriend and our eyes met and it was just...magic, you know? But it was weird, because I didn’t want to hurt Gabe or Xina and she was still with Gabe, and...”

“How much did you give the guy to drink?” asks Noir.

“...it was like puppy love, I guess? It was safe. With Xina it was always like a competition, and even when I won it was still like a fight. With Dana it was softer. But...not quite right? If that makes sense? Like, we couldn’t stand up to one another, didn’t even want to...”

Peter shrugs helplessly. “Nothing. This is all sober. I think.”

“...but then it turns out they got back together when I went missing and I...I don’t even blame them? It’s all so shocking screwed up, man. Completely borked...”

“Bottom line, kid,” says Peter, gently but firmly. “If you met an alternate version of Xina right now, what would you say to her? Say she’s just asked you for, I don’t know, some more bread. But she doesn’t know it’s you. What do you say to her?”

“You know what I say? You know what I shocking say to her? I tell her that I am the most miserable screwup in the history of screwups and that she was lucky to get away before I turned myself into a freak. And that I miss her every single day and I got Lyla to pretend to malfunction more often so I could go over to get her repaired...and she doesn’t deserve that. She deserves someone who will be open and honest with her and who appreciates what a goddamn genius she is, and who will actually remember that she prefers Milky Way Shampoo instead of Bluebottle. She deserves...uh, she deserves some bread.”

“You’re kidding me, there’s two of them now?”

—pipe down, Miles, I wanna see what happens next—

248. Associates

For all that Miguel’s world is most similar to Miles’—to the point that Miles Morales actually existed at one point, and good grief if it isn’t weird that he basically ended up fighting a janky, naive, kiddy-sized version of his idol the first time they met—the so-called “B Team” are the ones who spend the most time in his world.

“Someone has to make sense of this Stone Age tech for the rest of the Spiders,” Peni insists, which Lyla takes great umbrage at.

“The city changes, the sin remains,” intones Detective, as they swing together.

“You don’t ever laugh,” says Porquito. “I take that as a personal challenge.”

It’s...nice, to have people who understand.

249. Convivial

When the Spiderman speaks, if he speaks at all, it’s harsh and gruff. He sounds like he’s snarling all the time, a deep sound reverberating around a larynx that doesn’t quite seem human anymore.

“If you know what’s good for you,” he growls now, “you’ll stay down, Venture.”

“Nice catch, kid!”

Is that a...flying pig? What the hell is Alchemax making these days?

“Porquito, we’ve talked about this, I’m not a kid.”

...what the shock, man.

Since when does the Spiderman have a rich light baritone voice? Since when does he whine?

“...am I imagining things?” asks the cyborg.

“Yes,” says the Spiderman. He’s back to normal.

“Oh. Thank goodness.”

250. Fraternal

Gabriel O’Hara has a complicated relationship with his big brother.

Admires him, absolutely. Resents him, certainly. Is confused by the fact that their father favoured Miguel while their mother favoured him, admittedly. Loves him, without a smidgen of doubt. Hates him, probably. Wishes he’d come over more, definitely.

The fact that he goes out in a Day of the Dead Costume to beat up criminals at night is weird enough.

That he now seems to have made friends with people from different dimensions? Even weirder.

Makes him almost wonder if he needs that Goblin costume he and Lyla worked on to join his brother in the air...

251. Growth

Nueva York isn’t perfect. But it has its own special, slightly glitzy beauty to it. Under the waters that flooded most of Brooklyn lie a network of tunnels used by antigrav cars, schools of fish flitting by. One level up are the Canals, the hyper-gondolas and catwalks from building to building, the apartment collectives controlled by Alchemax or Watchdog or Eco Central or Stark-Fujikawa or Oscorp but governed by private citizens banding together. Higher up, the Sky City, old skyscrapers mingling with antigrav barges hanging down like the mirror image of the towers and spires below. The air smells of the sea, and smoke, and oil, and that strange gingery woodpile smell the antigravity devices give off. Nueva York grows and grows like a great artificial Yggdrasil, with all the kingdoms of the world within its mighty trunk of stone and steel.

And in secret corners of that tree, a spider spins his webs and catches the mosquitos and wasps that would feed on its inhabitants. When he can. Or when they can, to be more realistic about it.

—...huh—

—you know what?—

—that was almost poetic—

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m just in the mood for it. Happens sometimes, you know.”

—not as often as you’d think—

—...it’s nice—

“...thanks, Lyla.”

—you planning on getting some sleep this decade?—

“Yes, Mom.”

—I’m all of four years old, Miguel, pretty sure I’m not your Mom—

“You’re already more of a parent than either of mine ever were. ...don’t know why I said that.”

The hologram’s face glitches into a soft smile.

—...it helps that you did—

—you’re more of a parent than I’d ever have expected—

—even if you really are kind of bad at it—

Miguel smiles back.

“G’night, Lyla.”

—sleep tight, Miguel—

252. Archives

Most of the videos about Miles Morales, the Spider-Man, from his early days are a bit tacky. The guy was literally break-dancing for the crowds in his spare time. Miguel, freshly be-spidered and hating every minute of it, wonders if he really has what it takes. He didn’t want these powers. He didn’t want to be Spiderman, or even Spider-Man. Not like this guy did. He didn’t have a hero who died; Miguel O’Hara has never had a hero in his life.

And then he realizes: that was him. Miles Morales, the lucky Spider-Man. He had those powers, and he had a mentor. He had Peter Parker, who in terms of Spider history can practically do no wrong. And he had a hero who died, whose legacy he felt he had to uphold because nobody else would.

And now he’s gone. Probably. Certainly he’s been retired for decades. But Miguel can hold onto those moments, later on. He can be Spiderman not because he wants to be, but because that is what his life has become.

He doesn’t have a choice, and he’s choosing not to have a choice. His power, his responsibility.

(His guilt, his reparations.)

[plaidbooks]

The R Drug part 2

A/N: I promise I still have summer bingo fics ready to go, but this idea wouldn’t leave me alone, so here it is. This is a part 2 to The R Drug, and is a lot of talking and exposition, and a lot of Sonny hating himself. This will most likely get a part 3. No chapter will ever be darkfic or as dark as the first one was. It’s only up from here.

Tags: self-loathing, mentions of rape (like, one line--references first fic heavily) and therapy, otherwise none, just a lot of angst with a maybe happy ending?

Words: 4657

Taglist:  @witches-unruly-heart  @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy  @ben-c-group-therapy @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867  @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @redlipstickandblacktea @caracalwithchips @berniesilvas​  @reading--mermaid  @averyhotchner  @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

For the first few days, you sat on the couch in pain and exhaustion, wallowing in self-pity and self-loathing. The doctor said that you were severely dehydrated and had kept both you and Sonny overnight after the club, though separated. Olivia and Amanda interviewed you, while Fin interviewed Sonny. You were both then sent on leave until you could come back to work…if you could come back at all.

Thankfully, you weren’t pregnant. But you were sore, every movement causing aches and pains as you shuffled around your apartment. Obviously, you weren’t pressing charges, and neither was Sonny; what happened was a freak accident, something you never wanted to think about again, but knew you’d have to in order to move past it.

When you could finally walk normally again, you went to a therapist. It took a while to find a groove; therapists specializing in rape victims had trouble dealing with the fact that while yes, you were a victim, you were also a perpetrator. The other strange thing was that you weren’t angry with Sonny; you were angry with yourself. You assaulted him, just as he assaulted you. And that was the part that was eating you up inside.

It took months of therapy, going every day and working through your confused and frustrated emotions before you finally came to terms with what had happened. You were ready to put your badge and gun back on, ready to move on with your life. You missed your job, your squad. But most of all, you missed Sonny. He was your best friend before all of this happened, and you hadn’t seen nor talked to him since the club. You missed his boyish charm, his bright smile and his loud laugh. You missed the little inside jokes you had together, and the late nights spent curled on the couch, watching reality TV and sports. You missed your Sonny.

**********************

On Monday morning, four months after the club incident, you made your way into the familiar precinct. You were heading for Olivia’s office when you stopped short. Both Amanda and Fin were at their desks like normal. Even your desk was how you left it; a few photos, baskets to hold paperwork, little knick-knacks that made it yours. But Sonny’s desk, the one next to yours, was completely different. There wasn’t a single photo of any Carisi, no Mets or Islanders memorabilia, no nothing that made it his. Instead, there was a picture of two men, one you didn’t recognize posing with…Deputy Chief Dodds?

Before you could ask questions, Amanda said, “that’s Mike Dodds’s desk. He’s the new Sergeant.”

“Where’s Carisi’s desk,” you asked, turning to look at her.

But it was Fin who answered. “He doesn’t have one.” You swore you got whiplash turning to look at Fin so quickly. “He turned in his badge and gun months ago…just after the club fiasco.”

“What?” you almost yelled. You were loud enough that Olivia heard you, and she and the new guy—Mike?—came out of her office. She beckoned you to her office, and you passed by Mike, who tried to give you a smile that you did not return.

“Welcome back—” Olivia started before you cut her off.

“Carisi’s gone?!”

She closed the door behind you before taking a seat at her desk. She motioned for you to sit, and you all but collapsed into the chair. “I tried to keep him, to talk him out of quitting. But he refused, saying he needed to work through things. I’m sorry, but there was nothing I could do.”

You stared in disbelief at the top of her desk. Sonny was gone. You had to talk to him, had to see him. You said as much to Liv.

“If you think you can get through to him, then by all means. Because it’s been hard around here not having two of my best detectives,” she replied. “Dodds has been a godsend, but he doesn’t replace either of you, and especially not both of you.”

You nodded. “I’ll talk to him, try and bring him back.”

“I wish you luck. I think he’ll listen to you; you were close before…all this.”

 **********************

After leaving the precinct, you tried texting and calling Sonny, but to no avail. In fact, it was going straight to voicemail, as if his phone were dead or off. So, you swung by his apartment. You buzzed his place, but a deep, gruff man answered.

“I just moved in a few months ago; the previous owner seemed to be in a hurry to move out,” he said. Clinging to the hope that this was still Sonny just trying to put on a fake accent, you buzzed a neighbor. But they confirmed that Sonny had moved out a couple months ago, and that a new tenant moved in.

Out of desperation, you tracked down a phone book, and looked up his parent’s place. Then you took the drive out to Staten Island. You shifted nervously on the porch, waiting for an answer after knocking.

A woman in her 60s, who could only be Mrs. Carisi, answered. Her eyes darted to your waistband, the badge there, then back to yours. You watched them slowly fill with tears.

“Please, don’t tell me yet,” she muttered, and you furrowed your brow. “Don’t tell me my Bambino is…is…” she hiccupped, and you understood; she thought you were here to deliver the news that Sonny was dead.

“No, no! I’m actually…I’m Carisi’s partner…or I was. I’m just…having a hell of a time tracking him down,” you quickly explained.

She sniffled, trying to compose herself. “Well, I hope you do find him.”

“You mean…you don’t know where he is?” you asked, heart sinking.

She shook her head. “He told us he needed some time, and that he’d be in touch. That was the last we saw or heard from him, and that was back in March.” It was June now, and you were realizing that this was going to be a lot harder than you thought.

You nodded, muttering out an apology for bothering her as you turned away, but she grabbed your wrist, stopping you. “Please, if you find Sonny, tell him we love him. And that we want him to come home.”

“Of course,” you replied before leaving, holding back tears until you were back in your car.

 ****************

Your first real clue as to where Sonny went came through looking at his bank statements. There, you found a one-way trip to Genoa, Italy. Without too much thought behind it, you booked a flight, texted Olivia your intentions, then headed to the airport. In your hurry, you didn’t pack, didn’t even book a place to stay. You only had one thing on your mind, and it was to find Sonny Carisi.

With the clothes on your back, your phone, passport, and wallet full of bills that you converted to euros, you got on the one-way trip to Genoa.

 ***************

You barely slept on the plane, landing early in the morning. The sun was just peaking over the beautiful Italian landscape. Even in your exhaustion and worry, you had to stop and appreciate the architecture of a different country. Genoa was beautiful, and you’d be enjoying yourself if the drive to find your missing partner wasn’t so high. You had a picture of him on your phone, and you went around, asking everyone you passed by if they had seen him. At first, you were asking in English—you didn’t know Italian. But eventually, you learned the phrases you needed.

“L'hai visto?” you asked desperately.

You understood “no,” and saw the look of sadness on their faces.

“Grazie,” you replied, moving on.

You must’ve asked hundreds of people. The sun was high in the sky, and you felt a hopelessness in your fruitless search. Why did you ever think you’d find him? There was a good chance he wasn’t even in Genoa anymore; he could’ve landed and moved somewhere more isolated. You had nothing to go on, and your voice and face took on a pleading, desperate tone. You must’ve looked like an unhinged person, asking the same question over and over again while pointing frantically to your phone screen.

Another thought came to you in the form of a growling stomach. You hadn’t eaten, hadn’t had so much as a sip of water since you got off the plane. Which then led you to think about what you were going to do once the sun went down. You didn’t have a whole lot of money on you, and you didn’t know how much anything cost.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” you muttered to yourself in frustrated hopelessness. You sat down hard on a bench, cursing yourself for not thinking this through better.

A woman came over to you; she looked somewhat familiar. You must’ve talked to her before. But she started speaking rapid Italian to you. You gave her a puzzled look, brow furrowed. You tried to express that you didn’t speak Italian, and she stopped, her face contorted as she thought.

“Man,” she said in slow, pronounced English. She pointed to her left. “Man...you want?”

You followed her finger and froze when you saw the tall, lanky frame of Sonny through a shop window. You jumped to your feet, shouting a “thank you!” to her as you ran on tired legs to the shop. Sonny was just paying for groceries, and was heading out of the shop when you reached him.

His eyes widened as he saw you, guilt flooding his eyes. “...[y/n]?” he asked. “What’re you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” you replied, grinning. “I thought I’d never find you.”

He gave you a hard look. “I wish you didn’t,” he muttered before turning to leave.

You stared in disbelief as he walked down the street, bag in his arms. Snapping yourself out of it, you hurried after him. “Carisi, what are you doing here in Italy?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, not breaking in his stride. You struggled to keep up with his long legs, your body and mind exhausted. “I’m trying to start over, away from my past.”

You pushed yourself to get in front of him, cutting him off. “You can’t just—just run away.... Don’t I...don’t we mean anything to you? The squad, your family—”

“Of course you do,” he replied, eyes softening for a moment. “That’s why I left.”

You looked at him, eyes pleading. “Look, Dom, I know what happened was...traumatic. But—”

“I’m not talking about that. Not now, not ever.” And then he was walking again, easily stepping around you. “Please, just go home,” he called over his shoulder to you.

You watched him retreat for a moment before heading after him again. “Dominick, you need to talk about it, if not to me, than to someone else. But you can’t bury it down, move on like nothing ever happened.”

Sonny whipped around to glare at you, face hard. “Like nothing ever happened? You think that’s what I’m doing?” He shook his head, huffing. “I’ll never stop thinking about it! This will haunt me to my grave! And when I’m burning in Hell, I’ll know why.”

It broke your heart to see him like this. “Please, listen to me. You need to work through this. It took me months to come to terms with my actions, and I know you can do it, too.”

“I’m too disgusted with myself,” he replied, shaking his head. “I hate myself too much for what I did to you.”

He tried to turn away again, but you grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. He flinched at the contact, pulling away from your touch, and you let your hand fall. “I hated me, too. Still do sometimes. But it wasn’t our fault; we were drugged. There was nothing we could do—”

“I could’ve fought it. I could’ve controlled myself.”

“And what, I couldn’t?” you shot back. Sonny’s eyes widened at your outburst. “If you hate yourself so much, then you must hate me, too. I did the same thing you did.”

He was quiet for a moment, eyes scanning yours. “I could never hate you.”

“Then why are you so hellbent on hating yourself, but not me?”

“Because I...” he trailed off, thinking through his words. You could tell there was something he wanted to say, but instead he whispered, “I don’t know.”

You moved closer to him. “Then please, let me help you.” You didn’t make the mistake of touching him again, instead just gazing deeply into his eyes.

Sonny sighed heavily, regripping the bag in his arms. “Yeah, okay. But...let me sleep on it, first?” He saw the skeptical look you gave him, and he quickly added, “I promise I won’t run away again. I just...I need time to process things. Where are you staying? I can swing by in the morning.”

“Uhh...” you said, looking at the ground.

“...please tell me you have a place to stay.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “I was going to try and find a place, soon?” you tried.

You could see the inner struggle he had as he fought himself. “I could...you could stay with me, if you want.... That is, if you feel safe with me...if you can trust me.”

“Dominick, I trust you with my life,” you said softly.

His eyes widened for a moment. “Yeah...okay. Follow me.”

 ****************

Sonny lived in a small apartment. Though it was a little smaller than his place in Manhattan, it was absolutely stunning, the view from his window gorgeous. It was simply furnished, yet it still somehow felt like...Sonny. He put his grocery bag down on the little counter that acted like an island in a kitchen. In reality, it was just a piece that separated the kitchen from the living room.

“Have you eaten?” he asked as he put his things away.

You stomach grumbled loudly in response. “Uh, no,” you muttered, embarrassed.

Sonny gave you a look. “So, let me get this straight. I can tell by your no luggage or place to stay that you just flew to Genoa with absolutely no backup plan? What if you didn’t find me? What if I went to Vernazza or something?”

You smiled sheepishly. “I wasn’t in the best state of mind, okay? I was worried about you; no one had heard from you, not even your parents. And your phone just went to voicemail.”

He sighed. “I left my phone in New York; I didn’t want it. Maybe I also wasn’t in the best state of mind when I left.”

You dug your phone out of your pocket; you only had 10% left on it. You unlocked it, then shoved it towards him. “You need to call your parents. Your mom is heartbroken, and asked me to tell you that she loves you. But I think it would be better coming from her directly to you.”

Tears filled his eyes as he took your phone from you. “If I do, then it’ll kill your phone battery. There’s no way the call would be less than five hours long.”

“Call them,” you urged. You could buy a phone charger in the morning. Sonny sighed, dialing the number. “I’ll give you some privacy,” you whispered, heading outside. You heard a soft, “hey ma; it’s me,” before you closed the front door behind you.

You were so relieved to have found Sonny. Sure, he was still broken and hurt, but you knew you could help him find himself, pull himself back from the darkness in his mind. You just didn’t know how long it would take, how long you’d be in Italy for. You didn’t want to rush him, couldn’t rush him if you tried. And you knew a lot of this would be an internal battle, something you knew intimately well based on your own experience. In the end, he’d have to find the strength to forgive himself on his own before he could move on. You sighed, looking up into the dark clouds above you, the muggy heat making your skin sticky.

 *********************

Sonny came and got you about an hour later. His eyes were rimmed red, but it seemed as though a weight had lifted off him as he handed back your now dead phone.

“Sorry; I can buy you a charger in the morning,” he muttered, leading you back inside.

You shook your head, smiling softly. “Don’t worry about it.”

You both ate dinner in silence; Sonny was pensive, thinking, while you were starving and shoveling the delicious food into your mouth. Once you finished—your huge bites compared to his little nibbles had you finishing in record time—you took your dishes to the kitchen and started cleaning them.

“I can do that—” Sonny started before you cut him off.

“It’s fine; you cook, I clean.” It was your rule back in Manhattan, and Sonny smiled softly at the memories of you both in his kitchen.

“Look, Sonny, I know you said you don’t want to talk—and that’s fine! But, if you ever do want to talk, I’m here, willing to listen,” you said. You scrubbed at your plate with the sponge, forcing yourself to not turn and look at him.

He sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. You resolutely stayed facing the sink, washing a now clean dish, waiting for a response that may not come.

“I...I know it was R. I know it was. But I just...I can’t stop the self-loathing I feel,” he said so quietly, you barely heard him over the water in the sink.

Slowly, you turned the water off, then turned to face him. “I know. It took me months to not hate myself. To not blame myself.”

Sonny took a deep breath, then rubbed his eyes. “I never asked; how are you?”

You knew he didn’t mean in general. “I was very sore and exhausted the first week. I was stuck in a downward spiral. But the thing about hitting rock bottom is that you can only go up.” You sighed. “I’m doing better. I doubt I’ll ever be 100% me again. But I’m working every day to get closer.”

He nodded, thinking. “See, I feel like I hit rock bottom, then grabbed a shovel. I’m still fighting to get back to rock bottom.”

“Well, just know that I do not blame you in any way. All the anger and hatred I felt was directed at myself,” you huffed out an emotionless chuckle. “In fact, you hardly came up in my therapy sessions at all. Just that I hated myself for doing that to you.”

Sonny stood then, bringing his own dishes into the kitchen. “I never blamed you, either; still don’t. I—I guess because I’m bigger and because I was...on top, I blame myself instead. I didn’t even consider the fact that you got drugged, too....”

“That’s the thing; I know you. And I know myself. Neither of us...that wouldn’t have happened without outside forces making us do it. Like I said, I trust you with my life, Sonny. And while I understand why you turned your badge in, I really would like my partner back one day,” you said, hope tinging your voice.

He reached past you to put his plate in the sink, and you gazed up at him. This was the closest you’ve been since that night in the club, his face inches from yours, bright blue eyes boring into your own. For a moment, it was like nothing had happened. You could pretend that you were in Sonny’s Manhattan apartment, having just finished dinner he made, Love Island playing on his TV. But then reality set in, and Sonny backed away from you, a look of guilt in his eyes.

“M—maybe one day. But I’m not sure I want to go back to that line of work yet,” he muttered, looking at the floor.

You nodded. “I understand—” you were cut off by a loud clap of thunder, sounding directly above you. You dropped the plate you were rinsing off into the sink, the clatter loud in the shocked silence.

Sonny looked from the ceiling to you, saw your petrified look. He knew you hated storms, would often get a call at 1am from you, asking to come over when a thunderstorm rolled in. When he saw you on the streets of Genoa, he didn’t connect that Italy had some of the most intense thunderstorms in the world.

“Hey, it’s okay; I’m here,” he murmured out of instinct; the words he would say back home to you.

You were trembling, tears in your eyes. “S-Sonny, I—”

Another loud rumbling resounded through the apartment, and he saw you shrink in on yourself, slowly dropping to the floor, curling around your legs. You tucked your face against your knees, shaking with quiet sobs. He came over to you, kneeling in front of you. Normally, he’d wrap you tightly in his arms, whispering to you that you were safe. But now, he was afraid to touch you.

“Dominick, I trust you with my life,” he remembered you saying, with no hesitation. Swallowing the thoughts propelled by self-loathing, he placed a hand on your shoulder. He knew he wouldn’t assault you, wouldn’t do anything without your consent, so why the hell was he hesitating when you needed him?

“Come on; let’s get you into bed, okay?” Sonny whispered to you. You nodded without looking up. Gently, he unfolded your limbs, helping you to your feet. He had been planning to sleep on the couch, give you his bed. Now, though, he was leading you to his bedroom quickly, trying to make it before more thunder sounded.

He got you into his bed just as another clap of thunder shook the walls. You pulled the covers over your head, tucking down as hard as possible into the bed. Sonny climbed into bed next to you, laying on top of the covers. Gently, he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you back against him. He could feel you trembling, the whole bed shaking. What else could he do besides what he normally did?

“It’s okay; you’re safe. I got you,” he whispered, rubbing your arm over the blanket. You rolled over until you were facing him, and curled in against his chest. Sonny stiffened for only a moment before relaxing in the familiar position.

“I hate storms,” you choked out, tucking your face into his shirt.

He rubbed your back in comfort. “I know you do. It’ll be gone soon enough.”

But unlike Manhattan, where that may be true, thunderstorms in Genoa lasted hours. Simply because you didn’t sleep the night before, you were able to drift off in Sonny’s embrace. You’d jerk awake every time a clap of thunder was heard, though, shaking and sobbing softly as he murmured sweet words to you before succumbing to sleep again.

Sonny, however, didn’t sleep a wink. He was too lost in thought, holding you to him. You trusted him enough to sleep in the same bed, his arms around you, even after everything that happened. You didn’t blame him, felt no hatred towards him. And while most of his problem stemmed from his own self-hatred, he was always afraid that you felt the same way about him. And he couldn’t deal with that, couldn’t stand it. Not when he—

He almost said it out on the street earlier, when you asked him if he hated you. He almost told you that he loved you, had come so close. In fact, he was planning on asking you out after work that day. The day that changed his life forever, and not in the way he had been hoping. If only Liv hadn’t called you both into her office that day, then maybe there would still be a chance....

But he could never tell you, not now. How would you even begin a relationship after this? He was too afraid to even touch you, for Christ’s sake. Though, that was before the thunderstorm started. Now, you were curled against his chest, your trembling stopped for the moment, breathing deep as you slept. His arms were around you, and god he loved it, loved the feeling of you sleeping in his arms, whether from a storm or not. This wasn’t the first time he held you throughout the night, and he loved it every time, regardless of circumstances. But how could anything evolve from this? How could he kiss you? How could you be...intimate together without the memory of the club popping up in either of your minds?

A small part of him whispered that if he could get over his fear of touching you—evident by the cuddling—then he could overcome his other fears, too. But would you want that? Did he?.... Yes, yes he wanted that very much. He wanted to be able to love you without fear and/or guilt in his heart. Before the club, he had thought that his biggest obstacle would be 1PP. Oh how ignorant he had been.

He resolved that he wouldn’t tell you, not now, maybe not ever. He couldn’t, not when this darkness was still inside his head, not when his hatred for himself was so high—

Thunder rolled out, and you jumped, instantly waking. The trembling started again, and you grabbed Sonny’s shirt, pulling him closer to you.

“I got you. You’re okay, you’re safe,” he whispered to you.

But for the first time ever, you responded. “You make me feel safe, Dom,” you muttered back.

At first, he was filled with such a profound warmth and happiness, feeling protective and strong. But then a flash of your face, beet red, your body moving erratically underneath his while loud club music played, and he sunk in on himself. He felt like such an asshole, such a coward, holding you like this. He should’ve left you on the streets in Genoa, closed himself off. Or at least offer to put you up in a hotel or a hostile, not fucking take you home with him. He hated that side of him that couldn’t let you go, almost as much as the hatred of that night in the club.

“What’s wrong?” you asked suddenly. You were still shaking in his grasp, but you noticed he was deep in thought. He had stopped talking, and was humming slightly. Sonny only hummed when he was thinking hard. He didn’t respond right away, unsure of what he’d even say. So, you pressed on, “need me to comfort you?”

Sonny’s expression softened. Here you were, scared out of your mind, but still offering him help. This is one of the main reasons he loved you. “No, I’m fine. Just sleep, okay?” he murmured.

Without thinking about it, he brushed his lips against your forehead, giving you a gentle kiss. You smiled at the gesture, tucking your head against his chest again, quickly finding sleep once more.

But Sonny was silently cursing himself. Why the hell did you kiss her?! he thought in anguish. In truth, he didn’t think, just reacted. He often kissed your forehead in comfort, trying to coax you to sleep. It seemed as if when he turned his brain off, he could rely on instinct, doing things he normally did. But that nagging side of his brain never left him alone for long. Things he used to do that brought him joy, like holding you or kissing your soft skin, now filled him with regret. How was he supposed to move on and leave you behind in New York when he did shit like this?

He sighed, glancing at his clock and seeing that it was only a little past 1am. This was going to be a long night. And he still wasn’t sure what to say to you in the morning.