#tma tickle

[adorkablenerd]

A Poet’s Demise

Just some jonmartin fluff cus they’re nerds and I love them 🥰  As always, sfw, and I made sure not to include any spoilers.  Doesn’t really have any place in the series, but they’re already in a relationship 👍 ( Also omg I can’t believe how fast I finished this one, but I’m glad I did cus I wanted to write smth for tma so bad!  Hope y’all like it!!)

Ship: Jon Sims x Martin Blackwood

Words: 1,514

"Martin." Jon spoke from his spot in the doorway, admiring the slight blush that has spread across his lover's face. 

"No."  Martin covered his face with his hands, not able to look at the other without his face burning. 

"Maaartiiin~"  Jon made his way over to the bed, slowly inching closer. 

"I'm not talking to you anymore."  He kept his face covered, words slightly muffled by his palms.

"Oh, why not?"  He cocked his head to the side while Martin peaked to look at him through his fingers, though he immediately looked away, a new rush of embarrassment flowing through him as he saw his boyfriend’s smug smile.

"You know why."  It was a dumb reason, one Martin wasn't even actually mad over, just quite flustered about.  

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."  Jon couldn’t help but tease the other a bit, he was just so cute like this.  Martin had been practicing his poetry again, and had been for about half an hour before realizing that Jon was standing in the doorway to their shared bedroom, and had been listening to him for a majority of the time, if not all of it.  

"You're a menace, truely an evil man."  Jon let out a small chuckle at that comment, and sat down in front of Martin, who had almost curled into a ball by now.

"Oh really?  I'm that cruel, am I?" Jon leaned down, giving him a peck on the forehead, which only served to make Martin's face turn even redder.

"Yes, you are."  He rolled over so that he was facing away from Jon, trying, and failing, to regain some composure. 

"Well, if that's how you feel I suppose there's no changing it. I'll just have to give in to my wicked nature."  Saying this, Jon began to trace around the back of the still heavily flustered man's neck, keeping his touch light and teasing.

"Ehehe t-thahat's nohot fahahahair!"  He fought the urge to push the hands away, wanting to keep his face covered, and not completely minding the sensation.

"And why would I play fair?  I'm evil, remember?"  Jon’s hands quickly moved to the other’s underarms, making Martin’s hands finally move away from his face.  Instead, shooting down, though they did nothing but trap Jon’s fingers where they were already wiggling.

“EEhehehe f-fuhuhuck ohohoff!” Jon’s hands froze for a moment, but Martin couldn’t stop the giggles that were spilling out, both from the tickly feeling that hadn’t quite gone away, and from the silliness of the situation.

“Well, I never!  I can’t believe you would ever tell me to do such a thing Martin, it’s truly quite rude.”  Even when not looking at him, Martin could hear the smile in Jon’s voice, though he was trying his best to sound somewhat serious.

“Oho, my ahapologies.  Did I offend the great and powerful archivist?  What a grave mihisTAHAEKEHE!”  Martin could barely finish what he was saying before Jon decided he’d heard enough, hands shooting to his ribs and sides, squeezing up and down them.  This time, Jon moved so that he was on top of the other, sitting on his thighs and not giving him the option of turning his body away from him. 

“Yes, yes it was.  Honestly, you should know by now not to push me, especially not when you’re in such a vulnerable position.  Though, I do suppose I can forgive you this time, but only because you’re quite adorable like this.”  A small whine could be heard through the loud giggling in response to Jon’s teasing.  

“Nohohot adorahAHAHA!”  This time, Martin couldn't even finish his sentence before Jon targeted his hips and the tops of his thighs, still squeezing rapidly.

“Hm, sorry, what was that?  Really you have to speak more clearly, how else am I supposed to understand you?”  Though he slowed his squeezing, he didn’t completely relent, mesmerized by Martin’s hiccupy laughter.

“Ihihi cahahahan’t!”  His hands had moved back over his face, unable to figure out what else to do with them.  

“Of course you can.  It’s quite easy, as you can see, I'm doing it right now.  Unless, there's something stopping you, though I'm not sure what that could be.”  Jon’s hands moved under Martin’s shirt, nails scribbling across his soft tummy.  

“Ihihihit tihicklehehes!”  He whined at Jon, who just laughed along with him, both enjoying this game they had started.

“Oh my, really?  Well that explains it then, I suppose it would be a bit hard to talk clearly with someone tickling you.  Especially if they were as ticklish as you are.  I’m sure you’ll learn to manage though, how about some more practice?”  Without waiting for an answer, Jon dug into his hips again, causing a new shriek of laughter from the man under him.

“AHAHAHA SHIHIT, JOHOHON YOHOU DIHIHICK!”  He couldn’t help himself, he knew the name calling would only make it worse, but god this was just so fun.  There were no worries left in his head, barely any thoughts at all other than fuck this tickles, and it was wonderful.

“Oh Martin, I really have tried to remain patient with you, but you still seem to have an attitude problem.  One that really needs fixing.”  His hands stopped, giving Martin a chance to breathe. The smirk that Jon had on his face would probably have been described as evil by those who didn’t know him well, but when Martin managed to open his eyes which had been squeezed shut from laughter, he recognized it immediately.  

“Johohon wahahait, Johon plehehease!”  Martin preemptively brought his shoulders up, trying to protect his worst spot without actually stopping Jon from being able to target the area.

“Wait for what, have you decided to have some manners and take back your oh so horrid words to me?”  Jon’s hands were at both sides of his head, not yet touching, giving him a chance to back out if he really didn’t want this.

“Ehehe, Ihi just wahanted to tehell yohou somehihing.”  He couldn’t stop the giggles from slipping out, both in anticipation and thinking about all the things he could say next.

“Yes?  I do hope it’s an apology, frankly I think I deserve one after all those rude remarks.  So, what is it?”  Jon was almost laughing as well, they both knew that whatever Martin was about to say, it wasn’t an apology.

“Fuhuhuhuck youhuhu!”  Before Jon could even do anything, Martin broke into giggles, brain fuzzy from the previous tickling and the anticipation of more.  Jon couldn’t help but laugh along with him, unable to keep up any sort of serious charade he had before,

“You really are asking for it today, aren’t you?  Well, who am I to deny you of something you so clearly want~”  The smirk he had prior had turned to a soft smile, unable to help himself when seeing Martin like this.  Leaning over him, Jon brought both hands up to Martin’s ears, one lightly tracing the shell of his right ear, while the other scribbled softly behind his left.  The result was immediate.  His breathy, light giggles turned into what at first sounded like a scream, but then turned into loud, high pitched cackles.

“EHEHE JOHOHON T-TIHIHICKLEHES!” He could barely form words anymore, the sensations taking over too much of his brain.

“Yes, that is rather the point, isn’t it?  It is very cute that you feel the need to point it out though.”  Jon leaned in close, making sure to whisper the last part into Martin’s ear, making him squeal through his laughter.  That sound only spurred Jon on more, blowing into his ear to hear it again.  Deciding to finish things before Martin got too overwhelmed or tired, Jon focused on the back of both of his ears, moving his head back down to blow a raspberry into his neck.  One last shriek made its way out before the cackling resumed, Martin shaking his head back and forth, unable to stay still.

“NAHAHA IHIHIHI YOHOHOU FUHUHUCK!”  He quickly ran out of energy to move, only able to laugh, mind no longer forming any words.  As soon as Martin’s laughter started sounding more tired, Jon stopped, moving off of him, instead laying next to the still slightly giggling man, running his fingers through his hair to help calm him down.

“It’s really nothing to be embarrassed about, you know?”  Jon spoke once Martin’s laughter had completely dissipated.

“Oh shush, you’re lucky I’m too tired to get you back right now, but I will be getting you for this.”  Martin smiled into Jon’s neck, feeling the shudder of anticipation that went through his body. 

“I suppose it is only fair you get your revenge, though not right now.  I think it’s best to stay like this for a bit.”  The promise of revenge would echo in the back of Jon’s head for a while, but now wasn’t the time.  For now they would relax, both tired out and at peace in each other's arms, falling asleep on their bed.  

[tk-fandom-stuff]

Rn im thinking abt Mike crew being ticklish he's so silly and like scars tend to be more sensitive and I'm imagining he has The Cutest giggles when his scar get lightly traced and he just melts into a puddle basically pls imagine this with me

[sparky-is-spiders]

Jonmelanie would communicate near exclusively in arguing and nobody would find out that they were dating for three years.

[doppel-dean-er]

thinking about an alternate universe where in TMA whenever Trevor Herbert and Julia Montauk show up, instead of the ominous swell of static it's just team rocket music

[amazingmsme]

You're The Mouse

AN: I was having a hard time wondering just what I wanted to do for the chase prompt, and then I met Distortion Michael & the rest is history! This was an absolute blast of a fic to write, definitely one of the longer ones you'll see this month. I already miss Tim a lot so he gets a nice lil spotlight too. Posting this at 2am because I'm excited & the one time I did that it blew up. Hope y'all enjoy day 6!

It had been a long, tiring day with some rather harrowing statements he had to hear and record himself. His back ached from hunching over the desk for hours without a good break, and he felt tired down to his bones. Even his eyes felt tired, burning from the strain of staring at small font and lack of blinking. He couldn't wait to get home and crash in the couch. It was only Wednesday, which for him didn't bode well for the rest of the week.

He should've noticed the static. That fuzzy ringing in his ears that started out quiet, only to grow in intensity. If his mind wasn't so frazzled, he would've noticed that's not his usual office door.

A chill ran down his spine when he stepped through the doorway and found himself deep in the tunnels.

"Oh God," he muttered to himself, backing up and turning to run, but it was too late. The door was gone, and he ran straight into Michael's arms. Though he didn't remain there for long.

He screamed and started trashing, managing to elbow him in the stomach and stomp on his foot. Temporarily hurt, he recoiled enough for his grip to slip so Jon could free himself. He whipped around to face him once he felt there was a suitable distance between them. Although with Michael, he wasn't sure there even was such a thing.

"What the hell do you want now?" he growled, hands gripping the strap of his messenger bag tightly. Michael let out an echoing, disorienting chuckle.

"Oh archivist, I simply want some fun."

That was quite possible one of the worst things he could've said, at least in Jon's opinion. Because when Michael had fun, people usually ended up dead or insane, or in a cruel twist of fate, both.

"Maybe you should pick up a hobby, like drawing or golfing, or literally anything that involves leaving all of us alone," he suggested, though it felt more like a plea once it left his tongue. Michael let out a shrill giggle.

"You just don't get it, do you?" he asked with a tilt of his head. His wide smile was unnerving. "You're my favorite little toy."

Jonathan's face scrunched up in disgust as he looked him up and down, clearly not amused by his statement.

"Oh get your mind out of the gutter archivist, I didn't mean it like that," he scolded. "It's more like... when you were a child and you'd build fantastic cities out of blocks just so you could watch their destruction at your own hands." He took a step closer. "I'm just looking for a bit of fun amidst the chaos."

His held his hand out in front of him, reaching for Jon. His eyes widened in fear, stumbling backwards. Michael's hand distorted and stretched before his very eyes, long fingers growing in the darkness of the tunnels. Jon was already halfway down the hall.

Michael loved the thrill of the chase. He loved hearing the rapid thud of a racing heart, the panicked gasps for air as they ran for an escape. They were all the same, really, if he thought about it. Just a mindless chase through endless, winding halls that always ended victoriously. (For him, at least.)

Jon was frantic. Why now, of all days? He was so ready to walk through his front door, kick off his shoes and enjoy a nice hot frozen meal on his couch. It really was the least he could ask for, and yet, he couldn't even have that. The only saving grace was the fact that he was in the archive tunnels instead of whatever weird pocket dimension the Distortion liked to trap people in. His lungs ached as his feet pounded against the hard, dirt floor, eyes searching through the dark for something, anything to register with him and give him a clue as to his whereabouts, but it all looked the same.

"Joooon, come out come out wherever you are!" the voice was shrill and empty, the words hollowed out and stuffed to the brim with static. It echoed through the tunnels, and Jon couldn't tell where it came from, but the echo made it sound so fucking close and that sent him into a panic.

He ran ahead, ducking in a small alcove to catch his breath. He felt like he'd put a sufficient distance between them to be safe enough to do so. He gulped down air until the burn in his lungs subsided. He raised two fingers to his neck, checking his racing pulse and willed himself to calm down. Every reaction was just giving Michael exactly what he wants.

He needed to conserve his energy, move slower to remain quiet and keep his wits about him. He was pretty sure he had his bearings now, which was a plus. But if he really was where he thought he was, then they were deep in the underground maze. It took the better part of 30 minutes to even get to this point in the tunnels!

At least he knew where he was, he told himself, forcing himself to focus on the bright side of things. He walked at a brisk pace, a borderline jog really. He wanted to get out of here quickly, but he didn't want to give Michael the satisfaction of causing him to panic.

"Believe it or not, I don't want to hurt you, archivist. I simply want to have some simple, haaarmless funnn together, ehehehehehe!" His voice went shrill and warbly and distorted towards the end of his unnerving giggle so much that it became almost inaudible. And fuck, if it didn't make Jon run.

Could you blame him though? There was no way that- that thing actually meant what it said. It was absolutely going to hurt him. And it was probably going to do so in the most terrible ways imaginable.

Jon hated the deep, guttural scream that ripped from his throat when he rounded a corner and came face to face with the blonde monster.

His feet scrambled on the packed dirt and he was already turning around, but arms that were too long wrapped around him from behind, dragging him back as they retracted to a more normal length. He was screaming and kicking the air, arms fighting to free themselves.

"Shh shh shhhh, would you relax? What part of I don't want to hurt you did you not understand?" he chastised, holding a single finger to Jon's lips to quiet him. He went silent out of shock more than actual compliance.

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you. Now what do you really want?" Jon demanded, mustering enough confidence to glare him down. Michael just laughed.

"Like I said, I'm just looking for some fun. You humans aren't the only ones who get bored you know," he said condescendingly. Jon remained silent.

"I tend to- peak in, from time to time, just to see how my favorite sheeple are holding up," he mused, causing Jon to visibly cringe and roll his eyes.

"Good to know there's actual reason behind always feeling like I'm being watched," he grumbled.

"Oh no, I'm not the only one, but trust me, I'm your favorite."

"Quite the opposite."

"Well, I will be your favorite," he winked and giggled to himself. "But last week, I noticed you playing with your friends. You looked soooo happy then... I'd like to make you happy like that too, Jon."

What a nice sentiment from such a not nice entity, not to mention he had no clue what he was talking about. "Bullshit, you don't want to make me happy, you want to ruin my life!" he snapped, still continuing his struggle.

"Oh, but can't I do both? Life ruining is such a long process, and I'd really like to hear that laugh in person."

Realization dawned on him the same time terror wracked his body, body going stiff and eyes bugging out. Michael cocked his head, that unnaturally large smile forming into a curious pout.

"Why archivist, if I didn't know better I'd say you look frightened," he cooed. "There's no need for that. You didn't have that look when Martin snuck up on you in the break room," he pointed out.

"You keep his name out your fucking mouth," Jon growled, and in a moment he was pressing into the Distortion's space. He had grabbed him by the shirt collar and jerked him so hard his neck snapped at the momentum, their noses almost touching. A few flecks of spit even landed on Michael's cheek from the force of Jon's rage. It genuinely took him aback before a wicked grin took over.

"Your boy toy's off limits, lesson learned."

"He's not my-" Jon cut himself off, seeing no use in arguing with him. His eyes were closed and he pressed a free hand to his temple. "Look. You said you wanted your sick fun, but all you've done since capturing me is talk. I'm a smart man, I know I can't escape this. But I'm fucking tired, and I just wanna go home, so the sooner you shut up and get on with it, the better."

There was a beat of silence, and then a shit eating grin followed by, "If you wanted me to tickle you already, you could've just said so."

"No, I want to go home you assho-" Jon cut off his own rambling mid sentence as Michael started fluttering his fingers over his sides, prompting him to clamp his mouth shut. He rolled his eyes.

"I'm doing this so I can hear that cute, funny laugh of yours archivist! The longer you hold out the longer I have to tickle tickle tickle you!" his taunt echoed off the walls. Jon flushed and hid his face in his hands.

"Y-you're sohoho fucking weheheird!" His voice pitched higher towards the end of his sentence when Michael tweaked his sides before drilling in his thumb. He tossed his head back with a discordant cackle of his own, seemingly amused by the response.

"Is that really the best insult you can come up with? How adorably pathetic!" he cooed, reaching around with his other hand to knead his belly. Jon writhed in his grip, snickering and squealing with no way to escape.

"Shut up or Ihihi'll- nohoho wahahait!" the threat died on his tongue, melting into frantic giggles. He kicked his feet in the air and gently shoved at the offending tickly hands, but to no avail. He slumped in his hold, leaning back over his arm and covered his face with his hands.

"Oh? And what exactly am I waiting for?" Michael asked, cocking his head. The way he was so calm while picking Jon apart made it all the more maddening. Those long, spindly fingers were able to work their way into every tickle spot they could find, and it was perhaps the most horrendous thing he's ever felt in his life.

"I-Ihihi dohon't knohohow!" he whined, yelping when Michael pinched and prodded at his soft tummy. "Just shuhut up!"

"Hm, I don't think I will. Especially if it gets you all worked up like that," he taunted. Ironically, he started tracing a large spiral over his stomach, closing in on his bellybutton. Jon snorted, covering his face with one hand while trying to push Michael away with the other.

"Ohoho you've gotta behehe johoking," Jon groaned through his giddy laughter, rolling his eyes.

"What? It's my signature, I simply have to," he said casually, closing in on the center of his stomach. Jon's deep chuckles morphed until they were high pitched and bubbly. He was blushing like a fool behind his hand, shrieking and wiggling in Michael's arms all the while.

~~~

Tim had the worst luck. He had been halfway home when he realized he'd not only left his wallet, but his keys as well, at the institute. He backtracked, grumbling to himself the whole time.

He hated nothing more than being alone in the archives. It was bad enough being there during the day surrounded by people, but at night when those endless halls and rooms were empty? It might as well be straight out of a horror game.

He was trying to get to his office as fast as possible, but slowed as he neared Jon's office. The light was off, and he couldn't hear talking, sure, but the door was left open. Jon never left his door open.  The sight filled Tim with dread.

"Boss? You still here?" he called out, but received no answer. He walked to the door and peeked inside, greeted only by a dark and empty room.

Maybe he just forgot to shut the door when he left, he tried to reason with himself. But none of them were that lucky, especially not Jon. Still, he went back to retrieve his things and be on his way.

Execpt that's when he heard it.

Muffled screaming. Coming from below.

Tim froze, unsure if what he was hearing was true. He bent down, putting his ear to the floor and listened.

He could just make it out.

"Please, no, have mercyyyyy!"

That was someone pleading for their life. That was Jon pleading for his life... He raced to the trapped doors.

He had the sickening feeling that he'd walk in on Elias standing over Jon's body, having killed him deep within the tunnels just as he did Gertrude. Well not today.

He descended into the tunnels, pausing when he heard frantic, hysterical screams echoing down the halls, but he could swear it sounded like... laughter. And now that he was within the tunnels, he could hear that it was undeniably Jon's.

Just what the hell was going on?

~~~

Jon knew he was going to die here, in these godforsaken tunnels. He had no way of stopping this, and Michael proved to be just as relentless now as he's ever been. And those long fucking fingers of his were absolute torture. Just one hand was big enough to vibrate over his entire stomach and still wrap around to dig  into his sides and scribble at the base of his spine. Jon was effectively in hysterics, shrieking and giggling with no end in sight.

He should hate this. Should hate that it was Michael of all people doing this to him, but an overwhelming part of him was relieved that he wasn't subjected to legitimate torture. A more foolish part of him thought that maybe Michael was warming up to them: that maybe he wasn't so downright malicious after all.

And then he felt sharp nails scratching behind both his ears, and that thought was gone as soon as it had arrived. If he hadn't been cackling so loud, perhaps they would've heard Tim calling out for Jon, telling him to just hold on, he'll be right there.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?"

If Jon hadn't been so preoccupied, he'd have jumped and shrieked in fright, though he was shrieking for an entirely different reason at the moment. Michael on the other hand, did startle, having been caught red handed. He almost seemed embarrassed, and dropped him like a sack of potatoes. Jon landed flat on his back, the breath being knocked out of his already breathless lungs. Tim was frozen in place, taking in the scene. He was knocked out of his daze when he saw Jon hit the ground, and he immediately rushed over to help him up.

Jon was gasping and wheezing, face red and hair messy, but he still had that rare, genuine smile on his face.

"Sorry you had to see that, I had thought the archives was empty," Michael said in lieu of an explanation.

"Yeah, it was. Good thing I had to come back," Tim snapped. Michael rolled his eyes.

"Oh please, he's perfectly fine. I didn't harm a single hair on his head."

"You fucking dropped me!"

Michael let out a shrill chuckle. "And that was a complete accident! But you can't really blame me for wanting to have my own fun with you. Especially after everyone else made it look like so much fun."

"Hey, you stay away from him! Only we're allowed to torture Jon like that!" Tim scolded weakly, but it was all he could think to say. Which just made him feel stupid when Michael continued to laugh at them.

"Oh, so you're the only ones who can toy with the archivist, is that it?" he asked tauntingly, cocking his head. Tim opens his mouth to answer, but stops short. Jon is sitting curled in a ball, hiding his face in his knees.

"No, you've got it wrong. We do it because we care about him, and want him to be happy, even if it's short lived. You do it for your own sick kicks!" Tim accused. Jon's head snapped up when he admitted their reasoning for why they always seem to tickle him out of the blue. It brought a shy smile to his face as he recovered from the ordeal.

"... Well that's a rude assumption. I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

Tim snorted, "My point exactly." They were all quiet, the three of them engaged in a bit of a stalemate. "Aren't you going to show yourself the door?" he boldly prompted. Jon choked on his own spit in shock.

Michael's smile widened. "You know, I wasn't quite finished yet. And I'd hate for you to feel left out," he playfully threatened, and his limbs stretched ever so slightly as he spoke. Tim took a step back, eyes wide. Jon was just now making to stand, and pointed at him sternly.

"No." He stood up and dusted himself off, glasses askew on his face. He straightened them and cleared his throat. "Haven't you had enough? You leave him, and everyone else alone." And just because he knows better than to trust Michael, added, "That includes me too."

"I'll think about it. It'd be easier if you weren't so fun to tickle. Isn't that right Tim?" Michael asked, even winking at the pair. Jon blushed and turned away, and Tim failed to fight back a smile.

"Heh. Right." He shook himself out of it, glaring at Michael as he stood by Jon protectively. "B-but you just mind your business."

"Ha! Unlikely, diet archivist."

"Hey!" Tim snapped at the insulted and Jon stifled an amused  snicker. He was just about to give him a piece of his mind when Michael opened a door that hadn't been there a second ago, standing in the doorway.

"Until we meet again," he waved at them, closing the door behind him, leaving them stunned and alone.

Now that Michael was gone, Tim turned to Jon with a teasing smirk. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah, I'll be fine. I'm honestly... more confused than anything." Tim barked out a laugh and patted his shoulder.

"You and me both."

They began their trek out of the tunnels, walking side by side quietly until Tim broke the silence.

"So, what's it like being tickled senseless by the Distortion?" he asked in a teasing tone. Jon flushed and shot a glare his way, but he had that happy, sheepish grin plastered on his fast, just like every other time they wrecked him.

"Oh, should I have let you find out for yourself?" Jon quipped to mask his own embarrassment.

Tim looked down with a faint blush. "Fair point." A beat, and then, "You know we have to tell the others, right?"

Jon choked on his own spit, and Tim stopped walking to give him a moment. He looked at him expectantly, while Jon looked at him with a floored look.

"Are you joking?" he asked.

"As much as I wish I were, no." The shit eating grin on his face said otherwise. "You heard what that thing said. We're all fair game in his eyes." Jon gave a noncommittal hum. "They deserve a bit of a warning, don't you think?" It was true, but he didn't have to be so damn smug about it.

"Yes," Jon begrudgingly agreed through a growl.

"Think it might be best if you made a statement. You know, so we have an accurate account for the record."

Jon groaned and hid behind his hair. "I would literally rather die." Tim barked out a laugh and threw an arm over his shoulders.

"Always with the dramatics! So you're saying you'd rather tell them in person? Look them in the eyes and admit how I saved you-"

"Don't-"

"From the big bad ti-"

Jon didn't think he'd ever been so embarrassed. "Stop!"

"The big bad tickle monster named Michael!" Tim rushed out in one breath, laughing at the flustered squeak he made as he marched ahead. It took him no time at all to catch up, thanks to his long legs. "Oh come on, you know it's funny!"

Jon huffed, unable to hide his lingering smile. "Only because it wasn't you, asshole."

They continued their playful banter back and forth, unaware of the tape recorder that had appeared in Jon's pocket the moment he entered the tunnels, listening in and capturing every word.

~~~

Tim was relieved when he made it back home, slipping his key in the door and stepping inside. Strange, how he didn't seem to notice the change from handle to doorknob.

His eyes flew open when he was met with the sight of an endless, shifting corridor. He felt sick. A chill ran down his spine, his ears were ringing, his head filled with static and he stumbled in an attempt to get his bearings. There was a sinking feeling in his gut, and he felt so trapped.

Michael walked out from the nothingness, grin much too wide for his face. Tim hugged his arms to his body and stepped back, fighting an involuntary smile tugging at his lips.

"Y-you stay back! I'll fuck you up!" Tim cried, bravely putting his hands up, balled into fists and ready to swing. Michael laughed, and it was a sound that unsettled Tim to his very core. He held his hands up, and Tim couldn't help but flinch at the movement.

"Believe it or not, I'm not here to torture you. I'll save that for a rainy day," he added, chuckling at his own joke. Tim lowered his arms, staring at him skeptically.

"Okaaaay. So what the hell are you doing in my home?"

"But I brought you to my home," he corrected, and that wide grin turned just a tad condescending. Tim narrowed his eyes and set his jaw.

"Yeah, through my front door!" he argued before sighing in defeat, pinching the bride of his nose. "So what do you want?"

"I wanted to give you something." Tim perked up, looking at him in shock. He jumped and yelped when Michael was standing right in front of him. He held out the tape recorder.

"A little... souvenir from earlier. I doubt Sasha and Martin will believe you without proof." He placed the tape in Tim's hand, leaving him dumbstruck. "And I really have a hard time believing Jon will corroborate your story, don't you?"

Tim didn't know what to say. "Um... thank you?"

Michael winked at him. "You're welcome." And because he couldn't help himself, he skittered his fingers over his belly. Tim jerked back with a surprised laugh, a blush and a growing look of fear on his face.

"Relax. Like I said, rainy day."

He gave him a small wave and opened a door off to the side and left. Everything melted into his flat, and he was safe in the middle of his living room.

~~~

Jon walked into work the next day as if it were any other, eager to forget the events of last night. He went to the break room for a cup of coffee to start the day and walked in to see Sasha, Martin, and of course, Tim, huddled around a tape recorder. They all wore a look of concern. Well, except for Tim.

"What're you listening to?" he asked. Sasha and Martin jumped out of their skin when they heard his voice, whipping around to meet him. They looked rather guilty, but more concerning, they looked worried.

The next thing he knew, Martin was hugging him.

"I'm sorry, what's-" A voice on the tape interrupts him.

"Joooon, come out come out wherever you are!"

"I-I'm so sorry, we left you here alone, and Tim said Michael got you and-"

"Did he now?" he asked, cocking his head.

"Now Jon, is that any way to speak to your knight in shining armor?"

"Oh please, you're not my bloody knight." He spoke over the sound of his own erratic breathing and feet pounding against hard packed dirt.

"Were you even gonna tell us Michael attacked you?" Sasha asked, brows furrowed with worry. "Because I really doubt it."

Jon floundered for an answer, face going red. "Um- it- look, it really wasn't as serious as Tim undoubtedly made it seem." He glanced up at his smiling face and said, "Would he really be grinning like that if it was?"

Of course, as soon as they looked at him, he schooled his features into a serious expression, but they each caught a glimpse of a fading smirk.

"Okay what's... what's happening right now?" Martin asked, looking between the two.

"You wanna tell them yourself Jon? Or uh, let the tape do the talking for you?" he asked, holding up the tape.

"Shh shh shhhh, would you relax? What part of I don't want to hurt you did you not understand?"

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you. Now what do you really want?"

Jon refused to meet his friends' gaze as he spoke over his previous conversation. "Look, I'm fine. He didn't hurt me, didn't psychologically scar me, the only thing damaged was my pride."

The tape played on in the background as Jon tried to explain himself. Michael's endless talk of having fun did nothing to calm Sasha and Martin's nerves for past-Jon. "I-I don't really know why he t- uuh, did what he did, but he seemed almost... friendly isn't exactly the word I'd use, maybe tame? Toned down?" That was about the time Michael mentioned the rest of them, and how they all "played" with Jon. A hesitant smile ghosted over Sasha's lips as she thought she knew what he was hinting at, and judging by Jon's reaction, she might be right, but there was just no way... Was there?

"Jon, did Michael-"

"Yes," he cut her off before she could finish the sentence. "Yeah, he uh, said you all made it look like fun, so he decided to try it out," he said, staring at the faded break room carpet.

"Wait, so it's our fault?" Martin asked, and Jon immediately felt guilty for saying it like that.

"No! God no, you guys are just trying to make me loosen up. Michael's just... morbidly curious."

"Right," Tim agreed, suddenly more serious. "He uh, told me he was waiting for a rainy day. So obviously, he has his sights set on all of us. Which is... unnerving to say the least." He locked eyes with Jon, a soft smile on his face. "So I'm not just doing this to fuck with you. But that is an excellent perk!" Jon couldn't help but chuckle. "But I thought everyone deserved a bit of a heads up. And maybe ease some worry while I'm at it." "Where'd you even get this?" Jon asked, pointing at the recorder just as his own bubbly giggles  started pouring out.

"Michael gave it to me."

"Very funny." When Tim's expression didn't change, his jaw dropped, "You're serious."

"Where else would I have gotten it from?"

"Fair point."

A loud shriek followed by shrill cackling and snorts emitted from the tape. All heads snapped over to look at him with amused grins and fond expressions.

"Right. Well, I lived through this once already. No need to stick around for a second time," he said, cheeks burning from embarrassment. He paused in the door. "I'm never gonna hear the end of this, am I?"

"Not likely."

"Nope!"

"Absolutely not."

He gave a curt nod, lips pursed together. "Thought so."

[nintickleswitch]

Strung in Her Web

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: Annabelle Cane, Statement Giver OC

Word Count: 1965

Content Warnings: CNC tickling, bondage, arachnophobia (no spiders directly involved, but they are mentioned and Annabelle has spider-like features), implied NSFW

Summary: Statement of Marjorie Winters, regarding a... A really weird first date. F/F, monster bondage + tickling. enjoy :)

Statement of Marjorie Winters, regarding a... A really weird first date. Let's just call it that. Statement given July 21st, 2014. Audio recording by Marjorie Winters, per my request. Statement begins.

Look, I'm sorry. I know this isn't how you usually do things. But... When I got an ad for your Institute last night, I knew I had to tell my story. I'm not really articulate in writing, though, and I don't think I could tell this to another person with a straight face. So I'll just do the tape myself. Hopefully I've done all the formatting correctly. Anyways, I suppose I should begin.

I'm a database administrator. It's not exactly a glamorous career, but it lets me live in London without going bankrupt so I suppose I'm happy with it. You've got to understand though, it's an incredibly demanding job. You have to stay on top of everything to make sure it's running smoothly 24/7, which means weird schedules and constantly scrambling to fix outages. At least I get the choice of working from home most days, which gives me room to at least half enjoy my hobbies.

On the flip side, it means I don't really get out much to meet new people. I've always been introverted, so making the effort to trek to a bar or club has never been worth it for me. IT also happens to be a boys' club for the most part, and the couple of fellow trans girls that I do know live overseas, which is a problem when you prefer women. So you can understand with the pressures of having to keep everything under control and my lonely lifestyle, I needed something to cut loose for once.

I never really trusted dating apps, but it wasn't like I had much choice. It was that or go out and try to mingle in person. I ended up creating a pretty decent profile, with a few cute pictures of myself, my job and a list of my hobbies. I actually managed to get quite a few hits - some from male chasers, which I mean, that does happen, but most from women who seemed to be genuinely interested in me.

I didn't swipe right on most of them even then, as I was somewhat picky about people in general, but there was one woman who caught my eye. Her stark white hair complemented her beautiful dark eyes and eccentric outfit so perfectly, along with that elegant spiderweb dyed into her undercut. I was almost magnetized to her from the start. So I swiped right, and it turns out she'd already matched me. I was giddy from excitement, my hands almost shaking when I dropped her a line. My flirting was... Beyond awkward, let's say, but she took it in stride and seemed to find it rather charming. In the end, she dropped the location of a cafe and invited me to meet her there around mid-afternoon. Of course, I accepted.

You know, it's odd. I don't seem to remember learning that much about her. I know her name was Annabelle Cane. She was just as gorgeous in person as she was online, wearing a beautiful vintage tweed suit with a maroon shirt underneath. It turned out we both liked black and white movies and thrift shopping. She said she was a huge fashion enthusiast, being really fond of needlecraft and weaving in particular. She liked a bunch of cool bands I never heard of, and eagerly listened to me ramble on about my job and my life, never once taking those piercing dark eyes off me, like she was studying my every move to see what she should do next.

When she brought up that she played piano, I decided to be a little bolder than I was. I took her hand, and said I figured - she had the most elegant hands. At this, she broke into a wide smile. For a moment, I saw something strange behind the corners of her mouth - like something *retracted*. But I blinked, and it was gone. She stood up, and said her flat was just a 10 minute walk away from here if I wanted to see just how skilled they were. I couldn't believe my luck. So obviously I followed her, up to a modest little flat decorated in dark wine, purple and green hues, styled effortlessly just like the rest of her was.

She poured me a glass of red, and told me not to be so nervous. That she was going to take care of me. Now, she was 5 years younger than me, and a couple of inches shorter, but the way she spoke made me feel like I was down on my knees for her already. I hastily downed the glass, and before I knew it, I was in her bedroom. She pushed me down onto the bed, kissing me with a hunger I hadn't experienced in years. Her deft hands made quick work of my outer layers, leaving me just in my camisole and skirt, stroking and pinching me in ways that had me sighing desperately for her before anything had even happened.

Eventually, she pulled away with a wicked grin, and asked me if I wanted to do something a little more special. Before I could ask what she meant, she grabbed several lengths of silk rope from a nearby drawer. I'd written that I had a fair amount of experience with kink in my profile from my college days, and I was always down to experiment, so I hastily nodded. I lay down on the bed prone, with my arms raised above my head, waiting for her patiently and eagerly.

She started with my body, her hands working quickly to create an intricate pattern that I only recognized as a web when she was finished. It was as mesmerizing as it was complex, and the tightness of it underneath my chest, around my hips and my thighs made me ache for her touch even more. Her work continued with my arms and legs, securing them to each of the four corners of the bed. I could hardly move by the time she was done. My heart pounded in my throat like a caged bird battering itself against the gilded wire as she told me to close my eyes, whispering the safeword in my ear before leaving imprints of her teeth in the cartilage.

The stroking started off slow, sensual. By that time I gathered she liked being in control, and I relished in it. I could tell she was having fun by her pleased little hums whenever I squirmed too much, digging her nails in slightly more wherever I was particularly sensitive. She pulled light giggles and soft, delighted moans out of me, mapping out every inch of my body with her hands. Even when she intensified the pace, making me buck and squirm and laugh properly with her clever touches, I couldn't help but melt into her touch. Her nails caressed my chest, up along my inner arms, circling my stomach and the grooves of my hips, dancing along my inner thighs... I was in heaven.

In fact, I was so caught up in how good it felt to let go that I didn't even notice that something was definitely amiss. I mean, I did notice, but not consciously. Trying to cut through all of those mixed nerve signals was almost impossible in my state. It didn't click for me until I felt a fourth hand tracing the curves of my neck until I realized what the problem was. My eyes snapped open, expecting to see a second person she'd brought along without warning me. But that wasn't what I saw.

Kneeling on the bed in front of me was Annabelle Cane. It wasn't the woman I saw before, though. Her eyes... Oh god, you don't understand. She had so many eyes. Protruding from her lips were a set of vicious looking mouthparts, clicking and chittering with excitement. And where I once saw two perfectly normal arms, she had four more, their languid movements unnatural. Inhuman.

Believe me, I tried to scream, with all my might I tried. But the moment I did, it turned into cacophonous laughter when every one of those six, swaying arms descended on my prone body. And I realized I never knew what true helplessness felt like until that moment.

One set plunged its thumbs into the pockets of my hips, kneading there mercilessly. Another raked its neatly manicured fingers from my ribs to my underarms, scraping those hollows with what felt more like stiff bristles than nails. I was almost reminded of the bristles on a tarantula's leg. One of my exes was a real exotics nut, and he'd often try to convince me how cute and fuzzy they were, holding his prized pets up to me with a wide grin. But all I could see were those beady little eyes, watching me like they were plotting my every move - the same eyes that were now staring down at me with utter glee.

The last set wrapped around my knees, squeezing the caps and skittering its fingers along the underside. Occasionally, they roamed to my tight calves, the tender underside of my thighs. And all I could do was laugh. Do you understand? I couldn't - I couldn't move an inch. If this was normal bondage, I would have at least been able to squirm - she certainly gave me plenty of room to, but I couldn't. It was like I was hypnotized under some horrible spell, like a fly caught in her web, forced to endure the barrage of unbearable tickling torture.

So I laughed. And I wept. Once I got over the shock of it, I even remembered that she'd given me a safe word. But I didn't say it. Because I think the worst part of it was, I didn't really hate it. I mean, yes, I was begging for mercy, begging to do anything for it to stop, and I was petrified with fear like I'd never been in my life. But I just... I couldn't help myself, I guess. The rush that came with losing all that control, terrifying as it may have been. And she was gorgeous, and such a skilled domme...

When it finally, mercifully ended after what felt like forever, I was a wreck. My hair was plastered against my forehead, I was sweating like crazy. My body couldn't stop... Trembling. That was all the movement she allowed. All she did, leaning in close with those clicking mandibles and those dark, beady eyes sprouting from her forehead and her cheeks, was whisper a single word to me in a low, husky voice:

And I answered.

"Safeword?"

"Chelicerae."

"Good girl."

She leaned in for a kiss, and it was... God. Intoxicating would be the best word for it. At some point, she bit my lip, and I started to feel... Fuzzy. Sensitive, helpless. When she finally drew back, that was when I saw what she really was. Each of her arms a chitinous, segmented leg with those bristly little hairs all over that scratched and tickled like cruel little brushes. But it didn't matter at that point. I was all hers.

Statement ends. 

I'll spare you the rest of the details. For my sake, and for yours. I think you know what happens next, and this statement is... Hardly appropriate for your archives at this point, I think. But I had to get it out there. Had to save whatever poor soul runs into her next. She's scheduled a second date with me at some contemporary art exhibit. I think I'm going to go. After all... I just can't help myself.

[missholloween]

tell me about crossnamera. To be honest, they’ve never really clicked with me but the fic I’m planning has them be together and I wanna do it well.

Okay, so this will probably be long.

For me, one of the things that make me love crossnamara is about the trust they had with each other.

We don't know much about their relationship pre-portal: Wilbur was MacNamara's mentor, he taught Macnamara all about the creatures he would later leave him to serve. By the way they speak about the other, they might've spent a lot of time together, working on different missions, getting to know the other. Maybe they shared some drinks, maybe they shared some secrets that no one else could understand. After all, not everyone would believe them if they talked about the paranormal, the extraterrestrial or the interdimensional.

Moreover, they might have had other secrets they shared. On one hand, MacNamara is confirmed to be queer by the Langs. On the other, Wilbur reads as the same type of antagonist as Owen, that is, a queer villain (I hc there's something funky going on with his gender too, but that's for another day). By being two queer men working for the government in the early 2000s, they could not only see someone like them (as people wouldn't be as out as they are today), but also they could see someone like them in a field not made for them. They'd have another person to go to.

However, what makes their relationship so interesting to me is how, even if there is/was a deep bond between them, their convictions are greater than any of their feelings. Wilbur will always turn to the Lords in Black, as he believes they'll liberate him and humanity. On the other hand, even if John once loved the person that called himself Wilbur Cross, he'd never let the world die for him. Their love is very important, but, when the chips are down, it won't make much of a difference. Maybe their conversations will be softer, maybe they'll kill the other in a fastest way than they'd do with others, but facing their former partner won't make them stop.

Although during their face-downs they will do what they have to do, I also think they are haunting presences in the other's life. MacNamara sees Wilbur in new cadets and old threats, remembering the person he knew before the portal. Wilbur remembers the man he once trained when he tricks younger folks to enter a world too big for them. It's about absences, and what might be built on them (I also love the headcanon that Wilbur and John switched tags before the portal incident and they've kept them).

TL;DR them..... I need the Langs to give us more info about what happened in 2005, because there's so much (angst) potential.

[tickled-2-death]

I saw your post about tma tickle requests and I have literally never thought about lonelyeyes tickles, but now I need to see Elias brought down a peg or six by his ex-ex-ex husband(soon to add another ex) who's probably at least semi-transparent and covered in fog. Bonus points for all the sass!

Attitude Adjustment

Content warnings: unhealthy relationship, dubious consent(?), tickle torture, begging, feet content specifically, not necessarily sexual but sexual acts are mentioned.

This is a tickle fic.

“Peter, I have told you this several times before, and I will only repeat myself this once. I am not going anywhere near that pathetic boat.”

Elias just can’t seem to catch a fucking break today. First it was some shipment issue at the Archives, namely involving those two identical circus freaks with some mysterious box. Then, once they finally convinced him to sign off on it (he’ll just replace whoever dies in artifact storage, no big deal), there was some petty little catfight in the archives itself. One that he, despite all the paperwork that needed to be sorted, had to go downstairs and tell Jonathan off about. That’s not to mention that his coffee was cold by the time he got back, and-

“Darling, my love, my light. You’re thinking too hard.”

… and his husband, one Mr. Peter “just fuck off out to sea and forget it all” Lukas, simply will not shut up.

Elias pinches the bridge of his nose, propped up in their lavish bed in his silk pajamas, by all means in a position to relax that he intends not to spoil.

“I can’t stand the smell”, he begins to explain, “I cant stand the Lonely, and honestly the thought of being trapped on a giant metal hunk of rubbish with you for several months on end makes me want to disappear already.”

Peter, despite his patron and what you’d expect as a result of it, nearly never stops smiling. It’s a smug little shit sort of smile, mind you, but it hardly ever leaves his face. As of now, it droops into a frown.

“Elias, if we’re going to beat our record of staying married for four months-“

“Five months. Five months is the record.”

The captain sighs.

“If we’re going to make this work for more than five months, we’ve got to accept one another’s help! I’m just trying to think of a way to cheer you up, to get some of that tension out of you, in the only way I know how!”

Elias considers this, and ultimately decides that his husband is right. He’s a snarky bastard, even worse than Elias himself at times, but he’s trying to do the right thing. It’s the thought that counts? Right???

It doesn’t really matter. 200 years and counting, and he’s never been interested in admitting his own faults. Why start now? Especially for Peter goddamn Lukas.

So the shrewish little Beholder pulls out his bitchiest of bitch voices, and simply replies; “Well, you’d hardly like it if I recommended you to take someone’s statement, or delve into someone’s personal life for an ounce of fear, now would you?”, before rolling over and turning off his bedside lamp.

Something within Peter snaps just then. Not genuine anger, or at least not the violent sort. No, it’s simply the sudden and undeniable urge to teach someone a lesson. Elias’ eyes go wide, having Known what was about to happen, but it’s too late.

Peter roughly digs his fingers into his husband’s ribs, and vibrates them between the bones with all his might.

“OH FUCK-“ is all the poor, helpless man can manage before descending into mad cackles against his will. His dignity would never allow such a boisterous display of emotion, but there’s hardly a chance to suppress it in this position.

Instinctively, he rolls onto his stomach to escape the horrific sensation at his side. However, this proves to be the worst thing he could’ve possibly done, because Peter takes the opportunity to straddle his ass and get both sides at once.

“PEHEHETER! YOU- STOHAHAP THIS AT OHAHANCE! NOW!” Elias demands through several squeals, drumming his bare feet against the mattress behind them. Hands desperately grabbing for purchase or perhaps Peter’s dastardly wrists.

He doesn’t let up, of course, and that smile is back with a vengeance.

“Hmm- what was that kinky sex term you told me about? Where you punish someone for talking back?” Peter asks, tone jovial and unclear as to whether the question is genuine or rhetorical.

Elias, in turn, accidentally projects the answer into his mind. Mouth otherwise occupied with screams of ticklish agony.

“Brat taming, that’s right! Are you going to stop being a brat, Elias? Or is your significantly larger, stronger husband going to have to tickle you until you cry? We both know I’m well trained in regards to tying knots, so you’d better keep that in mind.”

Deciding to give the ribs a bit of a break, lest he accidentally bruise them, Peter jams his fingers into Elias’ sensitive underarms. It’s absolutely delightful, the way he screams even louder and clamps his arms to his sides. As if that will help, now that the offending digits are trapped exactly where they shouldn’t be.

“NOW! YOUHOHOHOL STOP RIHIGHT NOW! I DEHEHEE- DEMAHAHAND IT!!!” Elias tries to compel, but the concentration required to do so simply isn’t there.

Peter continues to burrow his fingertips into Elias’ armpits, wiggling and scritching across the ultra sensitive skin like worms trying to dig into the earth. He flails as much as humanly possible, twisting and snorting up a storm all the while, but Peter’s legs hold firm to his hips. He’s stuck, and completely at the other avatar’s mercy.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to keep on like this, love. That is, until you apologize, and whatever comes out of your mouth even now can and will be held against you. So let’s fix that attitude, yeah?”

Elias’ laugh goes silent, eyes screwed shut rendering his powers completely useless. Not that they weren’t already, but now he can’t even read Peter’s thoughts.

Mercifully, the tickling comes to a stop after about five straight minutes of torture. Elias takes the opportunity to breath, and to pout, while Peter continues to ramble on.

“Not going to say anything, then? That’s alright, I’ve got another place in mind. Remember that one time you asked for a foot massage, and every time I pressed too light you’d kick and tell me to do better? Well, if you can’t handle a massage I’d hate to see how you’ll handle ten fingers intentionally tickling you.”

Elias uses what little of his strength he’s got left to buck his hips. Nothing happens, so he begins to thrash any way he can, kicking and babbling out a mantra of “nononono”-

But Peter is quick, and built tough like the boat that stared this whole argument. It takes about two seconds for him to turn around, placing all his weight on the trapped ankles of his smart-mouthed partner. He cracks his knuckles, gives a quick wink in Elias’ direction, and scribbles his fingers up two shaking soles.

Elias cries out, pounding his fists against the mattress. “NNOOHOHO! PETERPETERPETER- GEHEET OOHOFF- I CAHANT!”

“Are you pleading with me?” He responds, otherwise uncaring and unwavering in his assault. He wiggles his nails against the soles of one foot, and digs in between the toes of the other.

Even now, there is the slightest hesitation. But when he adjusts his position so that he can rub his beard against Elias’ trapped feet, all remaining pride goes out the window and into the endless Vast.

“PLEHEHASEPLEASEPLEASE- SOHAHA- SORRY! DAHARLINGPLEASE-“

“Trying to appeal to my humanity, darling? I should be offended you’d use such language just to get away from me and my glorious facial hair”.

Tears stream down Elias’ face. The scruffy hairs rubbing against his soles is just too much to handle. So he does the unthinkable and gives up.

“PEHEHEETEERRRR-“ is all he can manage, all he can think in the midst of this hell, and somehow it’s enough for him to get the message.

“Alright, alright. Calm down, love, let me help.” Peter soothes, giggling at the little twitches he evokes by firmly rubbing Elias’ feet of residual tingles.

Elias, on the other hand, is utterly spent. He feels heavy as a sack of bricks, completely limp and hiccuping like a maniac. Once his awful, evil husband has decided that his feet can be left alone, he starts to rub his back.

“Poor, mean little thing you are. So sensitive for such a powerful man.” Peter coos, and despite himself Elias falls asleep to the sound of his voice and comforting feel of his hands.

[clown-eating-pig]

melanie's blue hair just being a commonly accepted trait fandom-wide is sooooo funny to me. I want to know who the first blue-haired melanie truther was.

[stray-tickles]

HI. HELLO. I HAVE A QUESTION. DO YOU STILL WRITE FOR THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES. AND A FOLLOW UP QUESTION. HAVE YOU LISTENED TO PROTOCOL YET. AND A FOLLOW UP QUESTION. LEE!ALICE? I DON’T KNOW I FEEL LIKE I’M GOING INSANE.

Hi anon!

I haven't been writing much the last 18 months unfortunately! I've been having some medical issues with fatigue, and my work's been busy, which hasn't given me much energy to write :(

I have listened to protocol and you are so right, Alice is such a shit, someone needs to get her.

[hardcoffeegardener]

fandoms that need more tk content

scp, backrooms, doors, camp here and there, welcome to nightvale, the magnus archives, ena(joel g's ena), once upon a time, and fnaf

[ashes-in-a-jar]

The most Beholding thing I've seen the tma fandom do is when people keep writing that they've watched The Magnus Archives instead of listened to it

[elias-magnusnt]

WOE. FIFTY THOUSAND BEES IN YOUR WALLS

That is entirely too many bees. I'm glad I kept some bug spray around? Nasty little critters

[rosileeduckie]

Haunted Safehouse

Yes, I’m aware my house is haunted; this ghost, I did consent to rooming with.

Jon and Martin have a discussion about costumes. Projecting only a little how excited I am getting dressed up for the occasion. 😋 Happy Halloween! 🧡🎃

SFW. Potential warnings: none. TMA JonMartin tickle fic.

Word count: 1,942

~*~

“I’m just saying, it’d be a brilliant costume. Especially since I wouldn’t need to go buy a lot; could just wear what I usually do. What do you think, Jon?”

Jon would have replied, but he found it necessary to dedicate the entirety of his focus to the fitted sheet in his hands, which was being very stubborn against his efforts to capture the corner of the mattress with it.

“Jon?”

“Hm?” Jon replied, not looking up from the fabric he was wrestling with.

He heard a chuckle, and then, in the next moment, Jon found himself nearly falling forward onto the bed when Martin yanked hard on the end of the sheet opposite to the one Jon’s hands were white-knuckling. The archivist caught himself, only to feel his stomach drop and his heart leap into his throat when he looked up to find Martin smirking down at him. “I was asking what you thought of me dressing as a tickle monster for Halloween,” Martin clarified, as though Jon hadn’t heard him the first time and wasn’t just trying to keep his face from catching fire.

“Uh-huh,” Jon said, clearing his throat and standing, smoothing out his jumper and the fitted sheet that suddenly wrapped snugly on all four mattress corners. “Well.” He went around the bed to the pile of somewhat-folded bedding that lay at the foot, gathering the top sheet into his arms to give himself something new to grip when he puckishly replied, “It sounds to me like you just don’t want to come up with a real costume.”

Still smiling, Martin narrowed his eyes, moving slowly to where Jon stood at the end of the bed. “I think it’s creative, actually,” he reasoned. “Simple, but smart, and effective for all those who get it.”

“‘All,’” Jon echoed with a roll of his eyes as though that gesturing was louder than the flush of his cheeks.

“Even if it’s just you,” Martin allowed with a sigh and a happy shrug. He picked through the sheet in Jon’s arms, looking for an end to take hold of and assist with, his lips widening into a grin as he did so. “Will have to try the costume out before Halloween, of course. See what you think before the day of. Though I have an idea already of how you’ll like it.”

The sparkle of mischief in Martin’s gaze that was so fondly and evilly fixed on Jon was too flustering for the poor archivist. He didn’t have to Know Martin’s thoughts to know exactly how his teasing costume would be broken in, but Jon, too, had an idea of what that process may entail, and he couldn’t bear the thought of it, nor the fact that it wasn’t happening at present. A hopelessly happy smile longed to spread across his face, and Jon bit his lip, knowing Martin would only tease him more for it. A minute ago, Jon had nearly burrowed into the top sheet in his arms, but, now, he implemented the defense another way, throwing the fabric up and over Martin’s head. “There. A ghost. Simple, but classic,” Jon said with a huff, praying the sheet was just thick enough that Martin couldn’t see through it to see how Jon was unable to curb the giddy smile at the thought of having his own personal tickle monster for Halloween. The novelty and silliness of it all was too sweet. “If you’re going to half-ass costumes this year anyway,” he tacked on, hoping to sound less excited and more of his usual calm and grumbling style. That effort was as fruitless as biting down his smile, which he didn’t know if Martin could see, but Jon knew he could hear Martin giggling beneath his shroud, and the archivist couldn’t help the soft smile that warmed his cheeks at the sound.

“I’m genuinely curious,” said Martin. “Is it less flustering when you can’t see me?”

And Jon could hear the grin in Martin’s words. His smile went wobbly and his cheeks went rosy at the familiarly teasing lilt to Martin’s voice, and the sensitive nerves under his arms and in his chest and behind his knees tingled in anticipation. Jon scoffed, glad Martin couldn’t see him pouting either. “No,” he admitted, reaching up to pull the sheet off Martin’s head.

The avatar of the all-seeing Eye realized several things simultaneously, and all of them too late. Firstly, his lifting of his own arms offered the perfect unintentionally opening for a very impish Martin to attack. If Martin were still in front of him. Because, secondly, Jon realized that there was no one under the sheet. It was like a middle school or social media magic trick, except Jon was never one for magic, and he certainly hadn’t conjured any hocus pocus to make his partner vanish. Thirdly, he realized Martin hadn’t vanished. Exactly. He’d teleported, in his invisible Lonely way, right behind Jon. And from where he stood just behind Jon, Martin took good advantage of Jon’s elevated arms, striking under them with wiggling fingers.

Dropping the sheet with a yelp, Jon’s arms crashed down against his sides, effectively trapping Martin’s hands in the archivist’s armpits. The rest of Jon crashed as well, prompting him to stumble back against Martin’s chest as laughter burst from his own lungs. “Martin!”

Martin withdrew his hands from Jon’s armpits, drawing him in for a hug that allowed him to hold Jon close whilst scribbling his fingers into the archivist’s belly. “Maybe I could be the ghost of a tickle monster,” he mused as though his boyfriend wasn’t cackling in his arms. “Seems I’ve already got the characteristics for both down pat, don’t you think?”

Jon was sure his being adamant in not answering Martin’s earlier question was the reason Martin now was tickling him too hard to let him even think about forming a response. When his fingers drifted to Jon’s hips and the poor chortling man’s knees buckled, Martin did pull back, just embracing Jon from behind until he could stand again and his breathing had slowed, even if the dizzy smile he wore was still beautifully present.

The mischief was far from over, it seemed, as Martin leaned in to chuckle into Jon’s ear. “Remind me again, Jon,” he said, the brush of his lips against Jon’s ear making him shiver, and the sudden vanishing of his arms around Jon making the archivist gulp. “Is it less flustering when you can’t see me?”

It took a brief glance for Jon to realize he was the only visible occupant in the room, and the unknown but inevitable promise of Martin’s next attack had butterflies winging in his stomach. “If you expect me to finish this bed by myself—” Jon said, trying hopelessly to sound stern despite his eager grin.

“Oh, I wouldn’t recommend staying in one place,” Martin teased, his voice fading in and out, louder and softer, as he presumably moved around Jon to keep his hackles raised. “Tickle monsters belong to the Hunt, you know.”

The words had hardly left Martin’s invisible lips before Jon had dashed out the door. He hardly had an avatar tailing him that wasn’t out for his blood or general destruction, so it was something of a relief to be able to run and know he was still safe. Fun. His heart pounded in his ears and his cheeks ached from the grin he wore. The corridor ended all too soon, and Jon screeched to a halt in the living room. Curse their flat for being so small. He couldn’t run far, and his options for hiding were scant. Subconsciously, Jon could feel Martin’s mind as it flitted and faded in and out around him, sashaying in close before darting away, keeping Jon from getting a grasp on his location. Curse the Lonely for having such helpful power. Curse the Eye for having no physical power to help Jon now. Having no course of action before him, Jon swiftly turned around, hoping against hope he could beat Martin to a room with a lock and that the Lonely would be too polite to warp inside. He felt Martin’s mind go amusedly blank in surprise, which was satisfying both for the expression Jon imagined on Martin’s face and for the fact that the archivist could See clearly now that Martin was at his back. With the tiny advantage he had, Jon ran.

Only to slam straight into Martin’s chest upon rounding the corner to duck back into the bedroom.

“Ah—!” Jon gasped, Martin’s thumbs catching the belt loops of his jeans before he could try to flee once more. “You— you knew where I’d go.” Jon definitely wasn’t pouting again.

“You Knew where I was going,” Martin replied, only a little accusatory.

“Thought we were going all out with cheating and powers,” Jon huffed, half crossing his arms and half shielding as many tickle spots as he could.

Martin chuckled, pressing a kiss to Jon’s forehead. “Would you like to know where I’m going to go, Jon?”

“No.”

“You sure? You’re welcome to, if you like.”

Jon couldn’t resist. Martin’s lips still rested on his forehead; it was as familiar and easy an invitation to follow as anything. The softness of that kiss juxtaposed harshly against the images he saw in Martin’s imagination—of Jon, breathless and howling, as Martin pinned him to the unmade bed and tickled him until there were stars outside the window to see—and Jon buried his face in Martin’s sweater. “Fuck.”

“Albeit,” said Martin, easily lifting Jon up to carry him to bed, the archivist naturally melting into the hold like a koala, seated at Martin’s waist with his arms around Martin’s neck, face still hidden, “I could be nice if there’s somewhere you’d rather I go.”

“To the store to get a real costume,” Jon replied, hoping the fabric of his new sweater mask didn’t dull the sarcasm in his words. It certainly didn’t muffle his squeak when Martin gave a chastising pinch to either of the backs of his thighs.

Martin lay Jon on the bed, quick to squish him to the fitted sheet and pin his arms above his head. “Nice offer rescinded,” Martin smiled, shaking his head. “The nicest I’ll be now is that I didn’t make you wait for this. Not to mention, waiting until after we got the bed made; we’d have to redo it all with how much you squirm.”

Jon gave a laugh at that, and more laughter easily followed when one of Martin’s hands danced its fingers down his outstretched arm and into the exposed hollow of his underarm. He did kick, he wiggled and giggled like the devil, but all the fight had gone out of Jon after being caught. It had been fun to be chased, but now he could revel in being happy, being seen, being loved. There was something unbearably lovely about it. Aside from the obvious fact that laughter had prompted his eyes to squeeze shut, he couldn’t See through this. Couldn’t See when all he could do was feel, couldn’t Know when all he could do was laugh. The hunt, he could steady his nerves enough during to Look, but now with his nerves alight like firecrackers, his head wasn’t straight enough to recall his own name, let alone Know where Martin was going to target next. Fun as the hunt had been, all anticipation and pitting their powers against one another, this—being tickled silly by his partner, when it was just human, warm, safe, and soft—he liked even better.

[amazingmsme]

Like Magic

AN: So this is a bit of a different spin on the prompt, but anything to write more TMA! Idk how the rest of this month is shaping out to look like for me, but I’m gonna try to finish things. Please be patient as I try to finish these fics. Here’s my fic for day 18!

Martin rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time as Tim droned on about how such great friends he apparently was with one Jonathan Sims. Of course he wasn't buying any of it. But that didn't mean he wouldn't play along.

"Wow, ya don't say?" Martin said breathily, sarcasm still evident.

"Yup! He even said so himself!" Tim proudly proclaimed. Martin raised his brows in shock.

"He said that you are the funniest one here?" he asked skeptically. Tim scoffed.

"Why'd you say that like it's hard to believe?"

Martin shrugged. "B-because it is! I mean, it's Jon we're talking about. Does... does he even have a sense of humor?"

Tim shook his head with an amused chuckle. "Oh Martin, always so naive. Everyone has a sense of humor if you know what tickles their funny bone," he winked, nudging him with his elbow.

"Yeah but, he just doesn't seem like the giddy type," he reasoned.

"Well, you just don't know Jon like I do. What can I say? We have an unspoken bond between us. I can make him crack up with a single look," he boasted, and that was where Martin called it.

"Oh you can not!"

"Wanna bet?" he asked with a crooked grin, wiggling his eyebrows at him. Martin opened his mouth but abruptly snapped it shut when Jon walked into the break room. Tim also shut up, hands shoved in his pockets. Jon looked between them and snorted, walking to the counter.

"If you're going to talk behind my back, I suggest making it less apparent," he casually teased.

"N-no, it's nothing like that!" Martin assured him.

"I was just telling Martin what great friends we are!"

"Hm, that's news to me." Jon barely hid his smirk  at the way Tim cried out indignantly.

"Ouch. I'm hurt Jon. You hurt me," he said, pointing an accusing finger. Jon grinned smugly, turning back to the kettle. He poured himself a cup as Tim walked back to the couch, flopping down next to Martin with a pout. Martin looked about as smug as Jon.

"What?" he snapped.

"You're so full of it," he said softly, an amused smile firmly in place. Tim shoved his shoulder.

"Oh sod off! You know, that last part was actually true," he said, and something in his voice seemed genuine enough for Martin to feel inclined to believe him.

"Really?" he asked, casting a quick glance Jon's direction. Tim followed it, nodding.

“Oh yeah. It’s a little magic power of mine,” he bragged, wiggling his fingers in a twinkly magic kind of way. Martin snorted in amusement.

“Magic, okay, sure,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh you don’t believe me? Here, I’ll prove it,” he said matter of factly. He hopped to his feet, sauntering over to the counter next to Jon. He looked over his shoulder at Martin, smug smirk already in place. He turned his attention to Jon, leaning his hip against the countertop.

“So how’s your day been so far?” he asked casually. Jon snorted.

“The same as every other damn day, what do you think?” When he looked up from adding the smallest amount of sugar to his tea, he froze like a deer in headlights.

Tim was giving him The Look. The one he always gave him before he pounced and turned him into a hysterical mess. His eyes were glowing with mischievous intent, deviously smug smirk peaking out from behind his mustache. Jon took a step back, a nervous grin already tugging at his lips. He glanced over at Martin- oh God, he was going to do it in front of Martin! He looked at Tim with wide eyes, shaking his head. His smile stretched ear to ear and quite literally lit up the room. Martin stared on in shock, a faint blush dusting his cheeks at the sight of their boss looking so adorable.

“Tim-“ Jon started, hoping to negotiate his way out of this.

“You sure it’s just another boring day?” he asked, cutting him off. When he wiggled his eyebrows at him, Jon giggled, actually giggled, bumping into the corner of the fridge when he backed up further.

“Tim I swear-“

“What? I’m just asking about your day. You seem to be rather chipper, thought I’d see what that’s all about,” he teased further. Jon was starting to visibly flush, and he was at a loss for words.

“Oh you bastard,” he huffed, turning away. Tim stepped in front of him.

“Where did this hostility come from? I think someone ought to teach you some manners,” he said, winking at him. Jon felt his blood run cold.

He turned to run, but Tim hooked an arm around his waist, immediately digging his fingers in his sides. Jon doubled over, choking back laughter that still forced its way out through quick bursts of giggles, snorts, and uncharacteristic shrieks. Martin was in awe.

But he couldn’t let himself look or act as lovestruck as he felt, so he just sat there in shock.

“Tihihim! Wha- whahahat dihid I dohoho?” he asked through an onslaught of helpless snickers. Tim brought his other hand into the fray, kneading his sides like a cat making biscuits. Jon snorted, knees buckling when devious hands made contact with his ribs. Those torturous fingers prodded every space between the bones, leaving him sputtering through laughter.

“Oh nothing, nothing at all. You just looked like an easy target,” he reasoned and Jon whined. He found the uppermost ribs and Jon arched his back with a giggly squeal.

Tim only kept at it for a while longer before he released him. He gave Jon a pat on the back as he caught his breath. Tim looked over at Martin and flashed a wide, cocky grin.

“See, what’d I tell ya? Magic,” he said with a grand flourish, making Martin snort in amusement. And if he noticed the way Jon was slowly creeping up behind Tim, fingers flexed and ready to strike, well, he didn’t say anything.

Where would be the fun in that?

[tklpilled]

free and young

(jon, tim)

summary: jon refuses to let go of his stoic persona, even on his birthday. tim takes matters into his own hands.

a/n: my motivation is gradually running out but it’s at least longer than some others. for ‘surprise’! for context, this takes place after the recording of jon’s surprise party found in early s5.

[this is a sfw tickle fic!]

See, Tim knows that Jon naturally always seems like he wouldn’t know fun if it slapped him in the face. But, being Jon’s friend before the archives, he knows that it wasn’t always this bad. He knows Jon’s only putting on a persona, he’s just not sure why.

He hopes that, with his friends and enough wine, Jon would be willing to crawl out of his shell a bit more. Which—Jon’s certainly more talkative than usual, but he still manages to keep his composure throughout it all. Tim’s disappointed when Jon goes back to his office for all of a few seconds before he remembers that the door is unlocked.

“Boss!” cries Tim as he stumbles in, hurrying over to the desk and slinging an arm around his friend’s shoulders.

Jon sighs. “What do you want.”

See what he means? “I’ve been thinking,” Tim announces as he takes his arm back in favour of resting his elbow on the desk, shoving papers aside to make room. “You’re too uptight.”

Jon quirks an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Well, y’know,” Tim says, “you’re always acting like you’ve got a stick up your ass. And as your best friend,” he ignores Jon’s skeptical look, “I think you should let loose a little!”

Jon turns back to his desk. “Why should I do that?”

“You’ve got a fun side to you, believe it or not,” says Tim, prodding Jon’s chest. “I’ve seen it.”

“I’ve no clue what you’re talking about.”

Ah, so Jon is going to be difficult. That’s alright. Tim’s dealt with him before, after all.

And, see, one of the many things Tim’s learned about him is that it’s actually quite easy to get Jon to open up; in theory, at least, because it only works when Jon is in a good mood—by his standards, of course.

So, at Jon’s refusal, Tim does the only thing that comes to mind: he reaches out and scribbles his fingers on Jon’s stomach.

The reaction is immediate. Jon jerks backwards as he starts to laugh, not having enough preparation to be able to pretend it doesn’t affect him.

“T-ihim!” he gasps, choked out in between uncharacteristic giggles.

“This is your own fault,” says Tim, pinching Jon’s lower ribs. “Better keep it down, you don’t want Martin knowing how ticklish you are, do you?”