#Cookie. They hit the fucking pentagon

[shaadowmilkcookie]

ABDBBBWHEBSBWBEKWSKDNDNWWKDKDKLKFFNRBEBDBBSJJWJWSFLLFMDNSBSBSBSBSBSHHEJSKSLDDBDBSBSBB???????????????????????????

@shaadowmilkcookie ICON ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[brittle-doughie]

I keep looking at @/kokohiki's absolutely PEAK Benign Butter/Molten Butter design and thinking how funny the differences between everyone's interoperation of Benign Butter is like-

"I hope that small cookie will choose a path of justice and virtue,,, and not down a path of darkness like my old comrades..."

"ok y/n cookie now hit the second tower."

They hit the fucking Earthbread Pentagon.

[sapphicmsmarvel]

JJ: Pregnancy PT 4- Labor

masterlist

-You and Reid were the only ones that hadn’t gone to Maryland. You couldn’t fly because you were in your third trimester, and Reid, well, he had to get requalified to shoot a gun later that day. 

-Reid, you and Garcia were in Garcias lair, Garcia was researching as you and Reid put your input in.

-You were currently diving into your most prominent pregnancy craving, popcorn dipped in pickle juice. Yes, it was quite disgusting to others, including Garcia who told you, “if you spill pickle juice, I will ensure that your child's first word is a swear word.” To which you laughed. 

-But then, you felt a sharp pain. You winced, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth. It had been happening earlier in the day, you were sure it was braxton hicks contractions, you dealt with them last week, wasted a whole hospital visit checking them out. You were waiting until your actual water broke. 

-You sighed, “I’m gonna go get some cookies and dip them in peanut butter.” They both chuckled, your cravings changed constantly. 

-As you got up, you felt something, it felt like discharge but you knew it wasn’t. “Guys,” You breathed.

-They both turned, “my water broke.” You breathed. Oh, how you were absolutely terrified. 

-Garcia squealed. “Oh my God!’ She turned to Reid, “you take her to the hospital. I’ll call JJ, Hotch said she could fly in no matter where they were in the case.” 

“Take my car, it has my pregnancy bag.” You handed Reid your lanyard that had the keys. 

-He gently guided you to the car. People stared, people congratulated you, it was all very odd, you hated the attention but appreciated the sentiment. He got you to the car, buckled in, and prepared for the hospital. 

-Another contraction hit, you groaned, “I swear to fucking god if this labor takes longer than 24 hours, I will kill someone.” “Did you know the longest labor was 75 days?” Reid nervously babbled off as you guys pulled out of the parking lot. 

You felt like you were gonna throw up, “Reid…” You trailed off. 

He took the hint, “the shortest labor was two minutes.” He offered. 

You sighed, “that’s much better.”

“Taller women are more likely to give birth to twins.”

“Thank God, we checked. There’s one bitch in there.”

You looked at Reid to see him smile slightly, “should you be cussing since babies can hear you in the womb?”

“Should you be criticising the mother?” You punched his shoulder jokingly and he smiled back.

Then you winced, another sharp pain radiating through your stomach, “speed Reid, we get pulled over, we show our badges and say a baby is about to pop out of my vagina.” 

“On it.” He swallowed. 

-You heard your guys’ phones go off, pinging constantly, you answered JJ’s call. “Hey babe.” 

“Are you okay? How dilated are you? Are you eating ice chips?” “If going into labor and being a pain is okay, then yes I am. I don’t know and no. I’m not at the hospital yet.” 

“I’m boarding the plane now, the team is staying behind. Am I on speaker?” 

“Yeah.”

“Reid, you stay with her no matter what.” “Already was planning on it.” Reid answered as you guys turned into the parking lot of the hospital. 

“Okay, when will you be here?”

“3 hours tops. I love you so much, goodbye.” “I love you too.” You answered. 

-Reid got you into the waiting room, shouting, “we have a woman in labor!” 

-That got their attention. 

-In ten minutes you were in a private room, Reid was next to you, holding your hand. They had brought you ice chips, then the doctor came in. 

-Before you let him even touch you or your baby you said, “listen here buddy, if you put a husband stitch in me I will destroy your career. I will sue your ass. Do you understand? Cause if you don’t understand, I will find another doctor. Don't test me.” 

He nodded and said, “of course. Would you be more comfortable with a woman?” He offered. 

You shook your head. 

-He said you were at 2 centimeters, so you had a lot of time to kill. Reid went out and got your bag, you guys tossed a stress ball back and forth, colored a coloring book that you had in your bag, read a book that you had stashed for this exact reason. 

-You felt your anxiety crawling up your throat, the hot feeling of anxiety crept up your arms. “Reid, talk to me about something. Anything, any random fact in that head of yours.” 

“Hitler invented sex dolls.” “What?”

“He wanted to keep his soldiers away from prostitutes, so he invented the dolls.”

“Not gonna lie, I didn’t expect that one.” 

-Thus, that started a whole discussion about random facts. 

“A dentist invented the electric chair.”

“That makes sense, I feel like dentists are just people who haven’t discovered certain kinks yet, with all the weird ass tools they use.” 

“You can’t bring a furby into the pentagon.”

“Sounds about right, they are the devil.”

“Mary Shelley allegedly lost her virginity on her mother's grave.”

“That is so fucked up.” 

-JJ arrived 3 hours later, right when you were 6 centimeters. She ran in and gave you a kiss right on the lips. “Keep that up and we’re gonna make another baby.” You said. 

“That’s not how it works.” She giggled. 

“I know, but don’t give me any ideas.” 

-She said hi to Reid and said, “this is gonna be another 5 hours, you can go home.” “I drove Y/N’s car, you guys are stuck with me.”

At least you weren’t left in bad company. 

-Pretty soon you were getting irritable and sweaty.  JJ asked Reid to go get you more ice chops, he went happily, you were being a bit of a bitch but he couldn’t be mad at you, you were extremely uncomfortable. 

JJ wet a towel that was in your bag and patted it onto your forehead, “I’m sorry.” You mumbled.

“It’s okay, baby.” She said,

You sighed, “I’m gonna buy Reid a book after this, I’ve been a pain in the ass.” 

“He understands.” She said softly. 

“I still feel bad. I can be a real bitch.” “At least you’re beautiful.” 

You scoffed, “I’m sweaty, bitchy, hungry and pissed off. How can I be beautiful right now?” 

“You are.” She shrugged, “you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, you have the most beautiful soul, you are a loving mother to the boys and the little one in there. I love you more than anything.” Your eyes were watering, she gave you a kiss. 

-Reid came back to you crying, he was really confused and worried. “What happened?” 

“JJ’s being a sweetheart. I’m okay, hey Reid?” You sniffed. “Yeah?” He asked, handing you the ice chips. “I love you,” you squeezed his hand. 

“I love you too.” He smiled and kissed your forehead. 

-The pain was getting worse, which meant you were getting closer to the birth of the baby. The doctor came in after Reid went and got him. “You’re about to become a mom Y/N.” The doctor said. 

-Your eyes widened, “oh God.” 

-The doctor told Reid that only the moms were allowed there and the nurses. He left but didn’t go far, he stood outside the door. 

-His stomach lurched when he heard your screaming. You were his best friend and you were in pain. 

-JJ was trying to keep her cool, she was worried obviously. You were her wife and her child was coming today. 

-After a painful thirty minutes, you guys heard the cry of your beautiful baby. All three of you were crying. 

-”It’s a girl.” The nurse said, going to clean up your child.  You started sobbing some more and went to reach for her. Another nurse jumped in, “we have to take her vitals, put a bracelet on her foot, then you can hold her okay?” 

You nodded, crying more. JJ leaned over and kissed your head, “she’s here.” She breathed. “Our baby girl is here.” 

You sniffed. 

-It felt like an eternity before the nurse handed you your baby back. You quickly wiped your eyes and took her. Of course, more tears slipped out and JJ wiped them away gently. She leaned her head on your head, both of you gazing down at your beautiful daughter. 

-She had opened her eyes, they were your eye color. Her face was red and splotchy from crying, she was the most beautiful baby you had ever seen. 

-”Do we have a name?” The nurse asked gently. 

You looked at JJ, you had agreed on a gender neutral name, in case your baby doesn’t feel connected with being a female, they don’t have to change their name, but you knew that if they wanted to, you and JJ would have their backs. 

“Aiden Penelope L/N-Jareau”

[asphaltapostle]

What I have long predicted is now coming to pass: Google believes it should assume control.

Out of all the technology companies that have made my knees knock and my voice hoarse and my [Tweets manic](https://twitter.com/search?f=tweets&q="google" %40ficklecrux&src=typd) as a technoheretic in the past several years, Jumbo Google would easily take home the winning trophy for Dystopian of the Millennium. I have been rehearsing an especially dear pet prophecy of mine, unsolicited, to family, friends, and podcast guests since 2011 in which I end up arguing quite convincingly that Google is a dead ringer for the 16th-century Vatican: an inherently self-isolating organization with an absolute monopoly yielding gargantuan levels of essentially passive income from a service which nearly everybody transacts with, but only Google understands (and is therefore assumed to be its only possible provider,) which inevitably develops such a distance from the rest of the populace and their way of life (in tandem with total notoriety and celebrity among them all) not intentionally out of malice, but from the delusion of mythically-bestowed philanthropic duty that is borned of and compounded by this economic and cultural isolation in a perpetual accumulation of power and wealth that radicalizes the monopolizers — the majority already highly predisposed to zeal as they would’ve needed to be in order to find themselves in this singular, universally powerful position over every other class — and leaves their egocentric minds to wander exempt from all criticism save for that of fellow radicalized monopolizers, who together begin to feel more and more comfortable wondering aloud about themselves in increasingly fantastic presumptions: what if all of this was bestowed upon us because we are superior to them? What if it is our divine responsibility as superior beings to take charge and shepherd the common people as our sheep — for they cannot possibly know as well as we what is truly best for them?

You see it, right? And you can feel a very specific flavor of terror that is both awed by the scale of the circumstances created by so few human minds and sincerely amused by the absoluteness of your own inability to alter them in any way. Perhaps you even recognize this taste as one perfected by Christianity’s ancient advertising business, but Google knows so much about you that it’s rumored to’ve been selling user data to the Judeochristian God for some time now at a 10% discount, and so we extrapolate and anticipate, yes?

Of course, it’s admittedly satisfying for me to deliver you to this godfearing place in the most perverse look what I saw first that you didn’t see because you’re just not as bright but lucky for you, I’m so fucking generous with my wisdom sort of thinking around which the entire personas and livelihoods of fringe movement fanatics are built upon, but this is my one thing, okay? I’ve been waiting years for the right time to formally argue this theory in depth, and — thanks to this year’s public spotlight finally pivoting on the giants who’ve been silently swallowing their competition and relentlessly forcing their already ridiculous margins higher and higher in relative obscurity for decades, the time has come, indeed. The common people’s trust in Google had a godawful week.

Don’t Be Evil

On Monday, Gizmodo reported that twelve frustrated Google employees were quitting the company in protest of their work assisting the Department of Defense to “implement machine learning to classify images gathered by drones” for the detail fleeting Project Maven, despite some 4000 employee signatures on a letter addressed to CEO Sundar Pichai requesting (in full) that he “cancel this project immediately,” and “draft, publicize, and enforce a clear policy stating that neither Google nor its contractors will ever build warfare technology,” citing the infamous “Don’t Be Evil” motto, which Google then proceeded to remove from its code of conduct for the first time in 18 years the day after the New York Times article went to press, on April 5th.

On initial approach to the abstract of this story, from the ass to our thoughts arrives an easy narrative of a Silicon Valley mutiny comprised of twelve brave, conscientious souls who’ve been eaten up inside by their complicity in the filthy deals made by their power-obsessed CEO over scotch and cigars in a dark D.C. study — kept awake for months by the sound of his puffing cackles at satellite images of dead toddlers in a bombed-out street.

Ah ha, we say. That man is no good, and he just wouldn’t listen! They knew they didn’t have a choice… They only did what they had to do…

The reality of internal disagreements at Google, though, manages to be even more theatrical. The sheer volume of correspondence must surely be beyond anything capable of the enduser’s imagination, so let’s phone a friend: my favorite peek into the day-to-days of inter-Google existence is an old blog post by Benjamin Tilly on his first month at the company in which he was compelled almost immediately to describe in great detail how best to “deal with a lot of email in gmail” at peak efficiency using shortcuts and labels. “As you get email, you need to be aggressive about deciding what you need to see, versus what is context specific.”

Now we have a bit better idea of the aggressive emailing that was a sure constant on a normal workday at Google in 2010, so it must’ve been deafening after 8 years of Gmail development as 4000 employees no doubt vented, debated, and decided to organize last month, though without making much headway because the leadership’s response was apparently “complicated by the fact that Google claims it is only providing open-source software to Project Maven,” this new knowledge having significant effect on our mind’s image of Sundar Pichai’s activities in Washington: he is now swapping seats with a frustrated Colin Powell in order to install OpenOffice onto his desktop from a flash drive, and we recall that Google’s Googleplex headquarters resembles nowhere in modern life more than a brand new playground built in a design language borrowing heavily from Spy Kids. And though these Twelve disciples are unnamed for the moment, a few of them could immediately land book deals by going public, and every single one would always have by default not only the badge of “I landed a job at Google,” (which is really to say I have hit Life’s maximum level cap,) but “I worked at Google for a while, but ended up quitting to do something else,” which is guaranteed to make you the most interesting, intellectually superior person present in whatever crowd for the rest of your life. The ultra-cool Sarah Cooper quit Google to become a comedian and even got to talk to Kara Swisher! I won’t pretend to understand big tech’s diminutive bastardization of prestige, but “more than 90 academics” jumping to publish an open letter (adjacent to a huge DONATE: Support the Campaign to Stop Killer Robots button) in which they “write in solidarity with the 3100+ Google employees” who’s terrible boss decided to help some lackeys in the Pentagon set up their email and didn’t text back for a whole hour doesn’t sound 100% sincere. Notably, I don’t know how or why the fuck 90 people would go about collaborating on a single document, but if it really was managed, they definitely used Google Docs… At one point, it was fun to think about the history of the friendly side-scroller-playing garage ghouls and dorm dorks who gave cooky, wacko names to their dot com startups in parody and defiance of the lame-ass surname anagrams on the buildings of their established competitors, but those who’ve stuck around have only done so by becoming expert at SUCKING UP EVERYTHING around them, and it pisses me off every day how worried I am that my species will finally be done in by a company with a name like Yahoo! and be known only to a bunch of adolescent interdimensional silicon blobs 30 million years in the future as that bipedal race who remained dignified until the last 0.01% of their reign on Earth, when in way less than a single generation, they all just went FUCKING INSANE and blew themselves up because they suddenly hated all sense.

“Google” is perhaps the worst of these to have to shout in fear and/or anger in your last moments as it sounds in American English like you’ve startled your subject with a ticklish pinch followed so immediately by an esophagus-busting chokehold that the two events appear simultaneous, and in real English English, it almost always sounds like a parent speaking of a character on a pre-K children’s television programme whom they find quite foul and upsetting, but will manage to refrain from expressing so otherwise because they know that Teletubbies shit is the most quickly forgotten stage of television viewership. It’s fascinating how exclusive the word “Google” is to American English because in everything else it really is complete nonsense, but lets halt all etymological discussions right now because we’ve only now just finished with Monday.

The Soul Ledger

On Thursday, all of my Google experiences, suppositions, and soul-detaching screenshots were usurped when a thoroughly alarming internal company video called The Selfish Ledger was leaked to The Verge, which I watched once then and do not want to watch again for the sake of this piece, but I will. Though the big V has been disappointingly timid for years about editorializing — when tech journalism desperately needs some confident, informed opinion more than ever — Vlad Savov’s accompanying article should be read in its entirety, to which I can add my own terror where he perhaps could not. The production style is technically identical to that of the very popular thinkpiece-esque, motion-graphics-paired-with-obligatory-sharpie illustrated videos which you find playing at max volume on your mom’s iPad from where she’s fallen asleep on the couch at 9PM, but the repeating stock string soundtrack multiplies one’s discomfort as such that we would all end up in the fetal position without remembering the transition were it not for the appearance of trusty old Dank Jenkins, who’s face I thankfully associate heavily enough with his infamous down-and-out Tweet to be a welcome respite in attention before the very scary hypothesis for which it’s been buttering me up, as best summed by Vlad:

> The system would be able to “plug gaps in its knowledge and refine its model of human behavior” — not just your particular behavior or mine, but that of the entire human species. “By thinking of user data as multigenerational,” explains Foster, “it becomes possible for emerging users to benefit from the preceding generation’s behaviors and decisions.” Foster imagines mining the database of human behavior for patterns, “sequencing” it like the human genome, and making “increasingly accurate predictions about decisions and future behaviors.”

The next time the what if they do something scary question comes up in a casual conversation about Google, you’ll have something a lot more substantial than just speculation. Or will you? The Verge reached out for comment and got an awfully convenient response.

> This is a thought-experiment by the Design team from years ago that uses a technique known as ‘speculative design’ to explore uncomfortable ideas and concepts in order to provoke discussion and debate.

Wow! Leave it up to grand ole Googe to reveal the ultimate excuse for just about any suggestion or behavior, though it does seem almost deliberately uncomfortable, doesn’t it? No matter — whether or not this video was ever about a project or tangible product development, or simply to explore uncomfortable ideas because it is proof that the company has reached that critical Vatican stage — if you’ll remember — where they now feel comfortable exploring Very Bad, but Very easily made Real Ideas amongst themselves about what would happen if they allowed their system to nudge its users around a different, slightly less optimal route to the bar, let’s say — without their knowledge — in order for the system to collect traffic data for the sake of its own interests? Which would be, technically, in the interest of all Ledger users now and in the future, so why not?

> The ledger could be given a focus, shifting it from a system which not only tracks our behavior, but offers direction towards a desired result.”

This, my dear privacy-obsessed friends, is the real issue with data collection — its power over huge groups by way of their behavior and it is never going to be remedied in any significant way by ad-blockers or VPNs because the EndUser shall always out number you 50 to 1, even decades from now. EndUser does not understand — or, crucially, have any desire to understand anything technical about what leads to the PewDiePie videos playing on his filthy screen. Here’s a great opportunity to escape Silicon Valley’s technolibertarianism and resign your Darwinian empathy in favor of meaningful and truly-effective action: if you want to avoid a future Google Church (or Google Government, more worryingly,) you should invest your time, effort, and knowledge into electing officials more capable of understanding and regulating Big Tech.

Google Government

The internet as it stands is made possible by Google as the goto resource for online advertising. In 2016, “Google held 75.8 percent of the search ad market, bringing in $24.6 billion in revenue from search ads,” according to Recode. By 2019, “that’s expected to grow to $36.62 billion in revenue, or 80.2 percent of the market.” Google’s edge in user behavior and targeted advertising combined with their extensive resources available developers to integrate independent platforms with Google’s software services at various levels makes it very difficult for any advertising-funded individual or organization to compete online without dipping in to the Google universe. YouTube — a Google property since 2006 — has actively invested in and supported a new career path entirely within their own platform that is rapidly becoming popularly aspired-to by young children, while the reality of existence as a full-time YouTuber is far less glamorous than the immediately-visible surface would indicate, and the effort already expended by my generation in its pursuit has already made us insane.

So, what would the internet look like if Google didn’t exist? We know they’ve been working with the government now on various projects, but what if some terrible exposed transgression of theirs suddenly warranted an immediate shutdown and seizure of all Google properties? Well, we know from a post on Quora by Googler Ashish Kedia that even 5 years ago, the sudden absence of Google for “2–3 mins” set the internet into a bit of a panic, reducing overall traffic by 40%. In the time since, we’ve all grown exponentially more dependent on Google properties: billions of people rely on Google Maps for directions and, thousands of companies (including the Pentagon and other government institutions) rely on Gmail and GSuites for intercommunication, file sharing, task management, etc., and more and more academic institutions rely on Chromebook devices running connection-dependent operating systems. It’s not much of a stretch to argue that Google’s sudden disappearance would constitute a Civil Emergency in the United States, which will only become a stronger and more serious incentive for regulatory bodies to look the other way.

Though the tangible results of advertising have been quantified significantly in the past 20 years, one can’t help but wonder after watching YouTube ads for the new Mercedes-Benz S-Class on toy unboxing videos if the companies who spend big bucks on Google advertising understand where their money is going, but they know that if they don’t advertise there, their competitors will. This, of course, is a fundamental practice of a monopoly, and it’s yielded Google so much fucking money that they cannot possibly spend it fast enough, as evidenced by their investments in life extension — so that, perhaps, they will have more time on Earth to figure it out.

When you build a collection of the world’s smartest people in a self-sufficient environment that discourages exploration of other lifestyles and ideas, and you sustain the society with a gargantuan, relatively low-maintenance revenue stream, you create a culture which is not only well-primed for isolationism, but is also extremely inefficient. In fact, with its vast collection of abandoned products and properties, Google must surely be one of the most inefficient companies in history. Thinking back on recent software releases along with its recent entries into the hardware space, Google is also one of the worst competing tech companies. Very little aside from Gmail, Google Photos, Google Maps, and Chrome have found their place or garnered significant usership. Google Play Music is unintuitive and impossible, Google Allo and Google+ are all but forgotten addendums to other services, and Google Search — its core, original function — has been out of control for years, and all of them are designed blandly and excruciatingly tiring to look at.

Google Shun

If this all has stirred nothing more in you than a desire to eliminate Google from your own online life as much as possible, there are alternatives in almost every one of the sphere’s they dominate. As of late, DuckDuckGo has accumulated a fair amount of buzz and coverage as a private, more relevant alternative to Google’s plain old search engine. Though it is clever enough to list us as the first result for “extratone,” I’ve found it simply insufficient as a replacement in my own life because, essentially, it rarely delivers what I’m looking for. By contrast, Dropbox Paper is such an elegant cloud notetaking and word processing software that it makes Google Docs look simply idiotic (and warrants its own review very shortly.) For getting around, know that MapQuest is not only still around — it’s now a very competitive mobile navigation app.

I, myself, have allowed Google as complete of access to my information and behavior as possible because I believe “privacy” is a completely futile endeavor if one wishes to be a part of society, though I do often use alternatives to Google services simply because I fucking hate the way they look. If you want a more complete list of services and software that allow one to shun the Google God entirely, you’ll be forced to seek out less dignified sources like Lifehacker and Reddit and decide if the additional time you’ll spend using most of them to accomplish the same tasks is really worth your digital angst.

If Google were to be more explicit with its users and staff about its aspirations to take over control of our lives, there will be little to do but accept the future they intend to create because they’ve long been too powerful to control. In the meantime, I’d suggest you continue to use whatever software works best for you and refrain from wasting your time fretting on conspiratorial suppositions of what the tech industry may be doing to “invade your privacy,” because there is no longer any such thing, nor will there be ever again. However, I would also urge to you worship your own Gods, whomever they may be, for Google will never be worthy. I, for one, shall only pray to our Mother Sun.

#social #google #future #web #privacy

original post

[theforeverhiatus]

Don’t Leave Me || oneshot

Hi, this is my first phanfiction I'm uploading to this Tumblr, though not my first phanfiction written! I apologise for any typos. I've just bought a new laptop and the keyboard is a different size to my old keyboard.. If anyone wants to beta read for me, just let me know! 

Read on AO3

Words: 3979

SUMMARY 

Dan suffers from PTSD. He has a flashback whilst at Phil’s apartment and Phil finds him on the bathroom floor shaking and sobbing. Comfort and fluff ensues. 

Rating: 17+

Warnings: PTSD, moderately detailed mentions of sexual assault, swearing, v fluff, vomiting

Notes: I am writing this fic based on my own experiences with PTSD. PTSD is different for everyone and can be expressed in different ways. In case you aren't familiar with what a flashback entails, this is a definition given by RAINN: 

"A flashback is when memories of a past trauma feel as if they are taking place in the current moment. That means it’s possible to feel like the experience of sexual violence is happening all over again. During a flashback it can be difficult to connect with reality. It may even feel like the perpetrator is physically present." 

A flashback can be relating to any trauma, not just that of sexual violence.  If you require any help with this topic, you can message me and I'll be more than happy to help you find a helpline for your country or direct you to information.

Don't Leave Me 

It was 2am. Dan had just arrived at his friend, Phil's house after trailing through Manchester in the dark with a bag of laundry and an ever-growing feeling of dread rising through his body from his toes to the tip of his wavy hair. He wasn’t entirely sure what had triggered him to slip his shoes on and head for Phil’s, but he figured that if he shoved his dirty clothes into a bag and brought them along too, then he had an excuse regardless of how weak an excuse it was. Manchester was quite intimidating so early in the morning given how empty and isolating it was, so Dan walked quickly and with purpose in the direction of Phil’s apartment block. It was only a 40 minute walk, but it felt like much, much longer. He daren’t even put his earphones in his ears for the fear of someone creeping up on him. His chest felt tight, and his throat constricted as he tried to take in deep breaths, but he tried hard to push away his anxiety, telling himself it was just because of how unfit he was. He was fine. He just wanted to do laundry.

By the time he arrived, the adrenaline was racing through his veins as he tried to reason with himself for the fourth time that day that he wasn’t actually having a heart attack. He hated the dark, and he had known before he left that getting a taxi was probably the more sensible option, but what student has enough money to spare for a taxi across Manchester on a Friday evening/Saturday morning? Not Dan.

As he rang the buzzer for Phil's flat, he suddenly realised that he hadn't actually warned Phil he was about to turn up on his doorstep in the middle of the night. After several minutes and no sign of Phil, Dan's anxiety began to sky-rocket. He was going to be stuck out here, in Manchester City Centre all alone, and cold, and he was certain there was a giant rain cloud looming above him. His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt tears gathering in his eyes. He blinked and tried to pull himself together. He was 18 for God’s sake, and he was acting like a child. Suddenly, the intercom let out a long beep and Dan heard Phil's tired voice. He could listen to that voice all day; the sound of kindness, reason, and love. "Hello?"  Dan blinked rapidly to hold back his tears and cleared his throat. "Phil, it's me, Dan."  "Dan?" Phil repeated, concern evident in his voice. "Umm, okay. I'll let you up. Hang on." Phil went silent as he tried to decipher the buttons on his intercom panel. Finally selecting the button to open the door, he clicked off, leaving Dan standing waiting, with small drops of rain beginning to fall onto him. The door began to open and the intercom fell silent. Dan began to drag his laundry bag up the 6 flights of stairs, reluctant to use the lift at this time of night. He trudged along the hall to Phil's door, careful to keep his footsteps as quiet as possible for the sake of the neighbours who were all no doubt sleeping by now. Dan crept along until he reached the right number, where he was greeted by a bleary eyed Phil, dressed in cookie monster pyjama bottoms and a red hoodie. "Are you moving in?" Phil asked. His tone was serious, brow furrowed with worry.  "No, you spork. I came to do laundry," Dan replied quietly, walking past Phil and into the apartment. He dumped his bag next to the washing machine in the kitchen and began to kick off his shoes. He’d grown accustomed to treating Phil’s apartment as a second home, because it practically was. Phil told him that he needn’t knock, and had even given him the spare key. Too bad he couldn’t give him a spare fob for the main entrance so that he didn’t have to stand in the rain at 2am waiting for Phil to work out how to use the control panel. "At 2am?" Phil followed Dan through to the lounge and motioned for him to pass his coat which he then went to hang up in the cupboard. Busted. "Yeah. Laundry."  "Dan..." Phil raised his eyebrows and looked into the boy's eyes, searching for the truth. He was met by slightly wet, brown eyes staring back at him, dark rings encircled beneath them. "You having a bad night?"  "Maybe...” Dan muttered, defeated. If he couldn’t be truthful with Phil, then who could he be truthful with?  Phil nodded and went to switch the kettle on. "Tea?"  "That's so fucking British, Phil," Dan smirked. "Yeah, go on then." He went to sit down on the sofa, watching Phil as he drew his knees up to his chest and rested his head there. He sniffed, and Phil turned around to check that Dan wasn't crying.   "Do you want to talk about it?" Phil yawned. "Sorry, I'm not bored, I'm just tired." The kettle came to a boil and Phil set out two mugs on the countertop.  "Not really," answered Dan with a shrug. "I kind of just want to forget about it for now." Truth was, Dan wasn’t quite sure what exactly had brought him here in the first place, and until he had mulled it over in a safe space with Phil by his side, he had no idea what it was he was even meant to be talking about. "That's okay." The wind howled outside and Dan was thankful he'd set off when he had. The weather was worsening, just like Dan's emotional state. He smirked to himself at the pathetic fallacy and accepted a mug from Phil with a topless anime character on the front. "I only give Haru to people I really like," Phil smiled, "You're lucky." He sat himself down next to Dan, wondering what he could do to help. He settled for switching on the TV to try and help Dan distract his thoughts from whatever was going on in his mind. Tomorrow, they'd probably have a good chat about it, but for now, Phil knew that wasn't what Dan needed. He was also fully aware that Dan may not actually know himself what was bothering him, and that was okay too. Feeling low didn’t have to have a reason. The TV switched on to BBC1, and began to run through the news. A suspected terrorist had been identified in London, an outbreak of Norovirus was threatening to close an A&E department in Bristol, and a man had been sexually assaulted in Manchester; a third in a string of attacks. Phil flicked through the TV guide looking for something to watch, but the news played in a small box in the corner until he selected E4 which was showing reruns of the Big Bang Theory.  

Dan flinched beside Phil, who didn't seem to notice. It crept up slow, burning in the pit of his stomach as the nausea began to rise, threatening to make him puke all over Phil’s cream rug. His mind slowly began swirling with a thick, black fog and he was filled with that all too familiar sinking feeling. Dan suddenly found himself having to exert extra effort in a bid to keep his vision focused; his mind was pulling him deep into the depths of his worst memories. He knew what was likely about to happen, and he had to protect himself.

"Uhh, I'm just going to the toilet," Dan muttered, quickly getting up off the sofa and rushing down the hall with urgency. No, not now. Please, not now. Dan's face began to burn up, and his cheeks flushed a bright red. Thankfully, Phil didn’t turn away from the TV as he mumbled his acknowledgement, sipping his tea slowly. As Dan walked into the bathroom, he was forced to steady himself against the radiator in order to stay upright. He tried to breathe just like his counsellor had taught him; in for 7, out for 11. He even opened Tumblr and searched for the GIF of the pentagon that helped you to breathe during a panic attack. He loved that GIF, and sometimes even found comfort in the slowly expanding pattern that moved rhythmically before him, counting his breaths when all he could focus on was filling his lungs with air. He tried grounding techniques; he counted the spots on the bathmat, and he counted how many shades of blue he could see in the room. Slowly, slowly, his focus faded. He lost grip of the radiator as he hit himself on the side of his head in frustration. Sliding down the wall, Dan curled tight into a ball and brought his knees to his chin. Why am I like this? His plan was to just sit tight and ride out the flashback as quietly and subtly as possible. The trouble was, Dan was an expert in judging the severity of his flashbacks by now; he knew this was going to be one of the worst ones, and he couldn't guarantee what he'd be like during it or who long it would last. For a long time, his counsellor had told him you can control this, Dan. You have the power to take back control of your thoughts. And Dan had tried, he really had, but it was just so disheartening each time to fight and fight against his memories, all the while being consumed by fear and despair until he was shaking uncontrollably on the floor. He squeezed his eyes closed as tight as he could, willing away the images that were flashing through his brain. He felt a soft, breathy whisper against his ear. Keep still. Dan let out a moan as it all came thundering back in full force. You're not going to try to run are you? No, Dan thought. He was firmly fixed to the spot, his legs like jelly. He couldn’t run even if he tried. Rough hands were pressing against him, tearing at his clothes as he sobbed. He held himself tightly, and cried out in terror. "GET OFF ME! STOP!" Angry eyes flashed him, and all he could smell was the bitter scent of whisky. And strawberries. Strawberries?   A soft handed rested on his shoulder, shaking him slightly. "Dan. Dan. Dan!" This voice was different from before, and not as forcibly in his personal space. It was a softer voice. Huh? This isn't right. This isn't how it goes. Dan was sharply tugged back to the present, and his every atom was suddenly filled with embarrassment as he stared up at the black haired man standing before him. "Where are you?" Dan croaked out in a whisper. He could see Phil, but he couldn’t comprehend how the man was standing before him as he was hurled through this memory. Phil wasn’t meant to be here.

Phil didn’t quite understand what Dan was asking, but from what he had just witnessed, Dan wasn’t entirely in the same room as Phil. "Can I come closer again?" Phil spoke softly. "I think I frightened you a minute ago." When Dan didn't reply, Phil slowly edged toward him. "It's just me, it's Phil," he murmured, watching Dan carefully for any sign of discomfort. When Dan didn't flinch this time, and didn't continue to scream, Phil slowly lowered himself onto the ground beside him until he was sitting flush against him, their backs to the wall. Dan was watching Phil intently, his eyes still somewhat glazed over, but more focused than they had been moments earlier.

"Dan?" Phil whispered. "It's just me, Phil. I’m here." Dan remained silent, but slowly lowered his head onto Phil's chest, and he was quickly engulfed in warmth, and the very certain scent of strawberries. This was Phil. Phil was a safe person. He began to run through a list of things he knew about Phil; another grounding technique. Phil has black hair. Phil is 6ft 2. Phil hates cheese. Phil's birthday is January 30th. Phil wouldn't hurt me. He began to let out small, shaky sobs, which soon turned into loud, ugly wails. Just as he thought it was all over, the panic and terror returned all at once, and Dan promptly threw up all over Phil’s bathroom floor, narrowly missing Phil by inches. This only caused him to cry harder. If Phil was repulsed, or at all bothered by the smell, he didn’t give anything away. He gently directed Dan to the toilet where he continued to throw up until he was just retching, and his throat felt like it was on fire. Phil sat behind him rubbing small circles into his shoulder blades, whispering reassurance. “I’m here,” he soothed, “Just here, right behind you. Get it all out.”

Dan flopped onto the cold tile and Phil took this as a sign that Dan was done. He reached over him and flushed the toilet, pulling some toilet roll from the holder and wiping Dan’s mouth. “I’m about to take your shirt off, Dan. You just tell me if you want me to stop and I will, but it’s covered in sick.” Dan just sighed and continued to lie on the floor. He closed his eyes in exhaustion. Everything hurt; his chest, his throat, his head, his eyes, his heart. Though he remained fuzzy and distant, he was finally returning to the real world. Phil gently encouraged Dan’s arms out of the sleeves, and then pulled the t-shirt gently over his head, all whilst consoling Dan in hushed tones. He tossed the t-shirt into the corner and made a mental note to wash that as soon as he’d sorted Dan out. Standing up, and making his way to the door, Phil heard Dan whisper so quietly that he barely heard him. “Don’t leave me.” ”I’m just going to my bedroom, just across the hall to grab you another shirt and I’ll be right back.” Dan groaned, but Phil was concerned about how much the boy was shaking with fear and cold, so he quickly walked over to his dresser where he chose a pacman t-shirt and brought it back to the bathroom. He took a flannel from the side of the bath and began to fill the sink with soapy water. “Here’s a wet cloth,” Phil explained, holding it out to his friend. “Just give yourself a quick wash if you can, just to get the sick off. I’ll turn around if you want.” Dan whimpered softly. “You.” He opened his eyes, still lying on the floor shaking. ”Me? You want me to do it?” Phil asked. He was eager to have Dan’s explicit consent to engage in this intimate act, especially following what had just happened. The last thing he wanted was to scare Dan, or to make him feel uncomfortable. Dan’s head nodded ever so slightly, and Phil knelt down and gently encouraged Dan into a sitting position. He slowly wiped Dan’s torso, and then dipped the cloth into the sink, squeezing out the excess water and tossing it into the wash pile alongside Dan’s shirt. Tears continued to run down Dan’s face, and Phil felt a surge of sadness. His friend was suffering, and there was nothing he could do but be there. He had so many questions, none of which would help right now, so he pushed his thoughts away from everything he wanted to do to the bastard who’d damaged Dan, and focussed himself on just simply being there. Towelling Dan off felt strange; not because of the intimacy, but because Phil had never done this to anyone before and it just felt unnatural. Once he was convinced Dan was dry, he tugged the pacman shirt over Dan’s head. “There you go. Do you want pyjama bottoms or do you want to sleep in your boxers?” ”Pyjamas,” Dan whispered. He wasn’t sure he could handle wearing so little clothing right now, even though he trusted Phil with his life. He wanted to cover as much of his skin as possible; create a barrier between him and the world. Every touch lingered on Dan’s skin, and though Phil had stopped wiping him down, Dan could still feel the memory of it against him as though it were still happening. That’s how he knew he was beginning to come back to reality; he could reason with himself that Phil’s touch was gentle and kind. He wanted Phil’s touch. “Okay. I’m just going to have to go and get some, but I’ll be straight back.”

Phil returned moments later holding some Star Wars bottoms to find that Dan had already shuffled out of his trousers…an improvement, thought Phil. At least Dan was managing to co-ordinate his limbs slightly better than he had minutes earlier when he’d lashed out at Phil, apparently unaware of who was nearby. Dan’s eyes were watching Phil intently rather than being fixed absent-mindedly ahead, and Phil noted the progress, however small. Phil passed over the pyjama bottoms, and Dan slipped them on quietly. Though he seemed calmer than he previously had, he was still shaking hard.

”Dan, I think it’s best we get you all comfy. You don’t have to go to sleep, and I’ll leave the light on. I’ll be right behind you, but I need to clean up,” Phil spoke softly, holding his hand out encouragingly. Dan grabbed it, and Phil pulled him up, slowly leading him into his bedroom. He flicked the bedside lamp on, and settled Dan under the covers, tucking them around him. “I’m just cleaning up. Nothing else. Then I’ll be right back and we can talk about it, or we can just lie here. It’s all your decision.” Dan nodded slowly and reached out for Phil’s hand, which Phil took immediately. Dan squeezed, and Phil leant down to stroke Dan’s fringe from his face. “Two minutes, okay?” Dan nodded again, and Phil left to grab his cleaning bucket from the kitchen. He hated sick. Usually, the very sound of someone being sick made Phil gag, but something about the urgency of the situation meant that he had successfully stayed by Dan’s side. He wondered if that was what being a parent was like; if that’s how his Mum coped when he and Martyn were sick - because you had to. The stench hit him as soon as he returned to the bathroom. Man up, he thought. He crouched down and began to clean his floor, spraying it with disinfectant that smelled like lemon and lime. He’d never seen Dan in this state before. Sure, Dan had come round to his apartment before, sometimes with an extremely anxious demeanour about him, and he’d even cried into Phil’s chest, but he’d never been like he had been tonight. Phil knew that it was some sort of intrusive memory, and he knew that Dan must have been through some sort of trauma that he hadn’t yet disclosed to him; the very thought almost making him throw up as well. His friend was suffering, and he felt an intense urge to help in any way he could, no matter what it took. Suddenly, he heard soft sobs coming from his bedroom. Dan was crying again. Phil sped up with his cleaning, and within a minute or two had finished; his floor looked cleaner than it had before Dan arrived. Quickly throwing some toilet cleaner down the toilet and setting his washing machine away on a hot wash, he rushed back to Dan’s side with a glass of water. “Hey, hey hey hey…I’m back. Dan, can you hear me?” Dan looked up in acknowledgement, his head rested on the pillows. He looked exhausted, and Phil knew he wouldn’t take long to fall asleep. He was prepared to sleep on the sofa if Dan needed space, but he thought he’d ask if he could join him in the bed anyway in case he needed the safety of having someone nearby.”Please,” Dan whispered. Phil lifted the covers and joined Dan under them, reaching out to find his hand. “Shhhh,” he soothed, “It’s okay, I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Dan’s cries lessened, and his breathing slowed until he was taking deep breaths. Phil knew he shouldn’t ask questions, but he couldn’t help himself. He had to know who. If Dan didn’t want to answer, that was fine, but Phil really needed to know if Dan was safe now or not. ”Who was it, Dan?” Phil murmured, so quietly that for a moment, he didn’t think Dan had heard him. Dan’s eyes stayed closed tight. ”Eric” Phil knew Eric. Phil knew that Dan still knew Eric. This was going to need to be dealt with, but it would have to wait. “From Reading? The one I met at the reunion we went to?” Eric was Dan’s ex-boyfriend, who’d been with Dan through some of high school. Phil knew the break up was messy, but that’s all Dan had told him. He felt Dan’s head move up and down beside him on the pillow. ”Before I left for uni. Every time I saw him...he would...make me...” Dan’s tears began to flow again, and Phil pulled Dan closer, enveloping him in a warm hug. He held him close and whispered reassurances to him soothingly, running his fingers through his fringe. The sobs continued to rack through Dan’s body and Phil’s neck quickly became wet with tears. “Every damn time.” ”We don’t have to talk about it now, but listen to me; I will hold you for as long as you need, and I will be right by your side wiping away your tears.” He hushed Dan, and continued to thumb his fingers through the boys fringe, until he quietened once more. ”I’m sorry,” Dan muttered. “For turning up so late. And being sick. And pushing you away. And-” ”Dan. Stop.” Phil interrupted him urgently. “You have nothing - nothing to be sorry about. I am here for you always. You aren’t alone. Dan, I love you with all my heart and I will do anything for you.” His love for Dan, regardless of whether platonic or romantic, soared through him, and he needed Dan to know he wasn’t on his own anymore; that he would never be on his own ever again. The two of them lay there in silence for a long time, before Dan’s breathing began to slow, and he let out a little snore, relaxing into Phil’s embrace. Phil only hugged him tighter, quietly vowing to never ever let anyone hurt Dan again. He would protect him, hold him tightly, and most importantly, he would never ever leave him.

 ~fin~

 If you’ve been affected by any of the topics raised in this fic, please feel free to message me. Also, I really welcome feedback/prompts, as it’s so hard starting out a new tumblr and I’d appreciate it so, so much!