I Got A Weighted Blanket And Plushie And Let Me Tell You This Shiy Is The Next Best Thing Sense Sliced

i did the thing

Inserts a bisexual flag

The machine proudly wears it as a cape.

merry crimblo

just give me an angsty bodyswap au!

me: *looks for fic with extremely specific scenario that I made up*

fic: *doesn’t exist*

me:

crybaby learns how to swim - subtitled

ha I'd like to see ai try to recreate this! /s

me when I can't word right so I wave my hands and loudly make a distressed sigh

Mikey got caught 🚬

The narrator has never seen Tyler show any form of affection towards anyone. His *thing* with Marla was pure lust diguised as misconstructed affection, something Tyler was particularly good at. But there was always something more to their relationship; a small hand movement, reaching for the Narrator in the hall when the latter passed to get out of the house. It took some time for this seed to grow into something; and it was quiet, always. Whatever Tyler did, as shocking or out of character as it might be, it was never to be mentioned in the moment nor anytime after it. It was like a dirty secret, hidden away in the darkest corners of a mind too complexed by violent emotions to fully grasp its concept.

It started out slow, the hand finally reaching the back of the Narrator's shirt as he's walking out the door.

"Tyler?" The Narrator had said, in slight confusion more than judgment. But it was too late, the damage was instantaneous and Tyler let go, turning around with a quiet " ...'thing", walking away from his friend back into the house. The further in he went the more painful his thoughts became, clawing at him like odors of ammonium or gas from a stove left open nearby.

Whatever was happening to him, it would be kept quiet.

After this instance, it took at least a month for something of a similar nature to occur again. It was after a rough night at Fight Club, a combination of exhaustion from the Narrator and a particularly wound up man, tall and muscular, ready to eat at the Narrator. After the fight, Tyler helped the Narrator walk home, serving as a cane to his slightly broken up friend.

Once they got home, the Narrator took his arm off, ready to nurse himself back to health on his own, as was custom between the two men. As he looked at Tyler walking up the stairs, he suddenly noticed a movement in Tyler's hand, a movement indicating "Come, follow me." Of course, he did just that.

Once up on the second floor, Tyler walked to their common bathroom, where all their medicine and treatments were somewhat neatly arranged together in the cabinet above the sink. Tyler closed the lid to the toilet, and signed to the Narrator to sit down on it. Taken aback by the strange actions of his once "show me pity and I will make you regret it" roomate, the Narrator simply followed orders like a lost puppy, positioning himself somewhat comfortably on the closed seat. After a short instant, Tyler came closer, holding bandages and disinfectant. The Narrator could barely believe his eyes.

"Tyler? What are y-"

"Sh." That was it. Nothing more, nothing less, just a short sound and a finger on the mouth. Then, there was an understanding between them: if this is to happen again, I want not a single word spoken.

So, in total silence, Tyler gently dabbed the Narrator's cuts and bruises, applying the right treatments and whatnot to every area in need of such. The Narrator watched, in awe, expecting to get thrice the treatment he got at Fight Club from Tyler. But once the ordeal was over, Tyler simply cleaned up, put everything back in its place, and that was done. The Narrator sat there for another fifteen minutes, pondering on the meaning of Tyler's actions, if there were any. Eventually he simply let go, understanding this was perhaps another of Mother Nature's great mysteries. He didn't see Tyler for the rest of the night, probably exhausted from that small showing of affection towards someone some would consider their closest friend. The Narrator went to sleep, accepting that maybe, Tyler just needed to make a right to undo a wrong he had done earlier, or just something to make it make sense. But it never really did in the end.

This instance is what really set the ball in motion, though very slowly. After that, it was shoulders touching on the bus where they previously had empty spaces, even a small accidental touch wouldve set off an alarm of shame onto every unknowing citizen within a 50 mile radius. The Narrator took it in, looking in slight disbelief the first time, but quickly accepting it, even embracing it after a few times. After that, another unspoken thing evidently, came the hands touching. When they'd sit next to each other, no matter the place, if the Narrator had his hand openly placed next to Tyler, the latter would arrange his hand to brush the Narrator's slightly, briefly, like the fleeting appearance of a shooting star in a moonless night sky. Since the Narrator never pulled away from these moments, Tyler slowly became more forward, purposefully placing his hand next the Narrator's, their skin now touching, burning, yearning. It never went further than that, at least not with the hands.

But sometimes, when there was nothing to do, and they were both too lonely to read medical magazines separated in their rooms, they'd sit on the desolate amalgamation of pillows and duvets they affectionately called a couch downstairs, turn on the tv, and simply place their bodies in close proximity, their skin and clothes comfortably against the other's. The Narrator was used to this by now, and simply appreciated what little acknowledgement Tyler had regarding him. These moments were like drops of heaven to two repressed and touch-starved men, both too wind up on old-school ideas of what is right or wrong, what is deserving of pain and suffering and what is pure and innocent.

They had both immensly suffered from the association of simple feelings to hatred and loathing, burying everything far beneath the earth, where no mortal man would ever be capable of digging them up, sentencing them to a lifetime of suffering at the hands of people with clouded judgments.

This was their redemption.