#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]

Here's a sneak peek of the fic im writing for yall to chew on while you wait :]

[ajax-is-not-a-lee]

Y’all this fic is my everything right now. I can not get enough of it it’s so perfect❤️❤️❤️

Ticket, Ticket, Ticket

A/N: A make up Squealing Santa fic for @1832wasalongtimeago, except now it's Valentine's Day themed!

Summary: Martin's Valentine's Day gift for Jon: a roll of tickly tickets.

Words: 1.9k

After he set down the card, Jon reached into the gift bag Martin had given him and felt around amidst the tissue paper. Though he didn’t look directly at him, he could see how Martin was watching eagerly, nearly bouncing on his toes as Jon pulled out something shaped like a hockey puck. And he immediately knew why as he read the first hand-labeled ticket on the pastel pink roll:

Redeemable for one (1) visit from the tickle monster.

His eyes darted to the next before he consciously decided if he dare read more.

Redeemable for ten (10) minutes of upper body wreckage.

Redeemable for one (1) morning of being gently tickled awake with a side of snuggles.

Redeemable for one (1) TV binge/movie marathon’s worth of absentminded tickling.

Jon felt heat rushing to his face. He couldn’t help but stare down at the tickets, frozen — perhaps better than looking up at Martin, who was undoubtedly watching his reactions play out with delight. Didn’t keep Martin from saying something, though.

“What do you think?” He was shit at hiding his glee under faux innocence. He was barely trying! But somehow, that made the butterflies all the worse.

Jon shoved the ticket roll against Martin’s chest, willing it to be taken out of his hands before he combusted right there in their living room.

Martin’s mischievous smile was so very visible even out of Jon’s peripheral vision. “Oh, so you want to cash them all in at once, do you?”

Jon nearly yelped, and retracted his arm to keep the ticket roll safe in his possession. Martin laughed.

“Good thing, actually, I don’t think I have enough fingers for that. Don’t think you could survive it, either.” A beat. “So…? Thoughts?”

Jon was mostly just internally screaming, but he managed a rough English translation: “You have to be joking.”

“Nope! I know you have trouble asking for it sometimes, and I figured this would help. And get you pretty embarrassed in the process.”

Bloody hell, just because Martin was right on all accounts didn’t mean he ought to call Jon out on it. On Valentine’s Day of all days! There was nothing wrong with mutual knowledge going unacknowledged.

“I don’t think gifts are traditionally meant to be embarrassing,” Jon grumbled.

“Well, mine are.” Martin leaned in and pressed a big smooch to Jon’s cheek, though he had to cover a bit of extra distance as Jon shied away from his advance, anticipating something else.

Jon pressed his lips together to keep from twisting into a cringe or, more damning yet, a smile. He cleared his throat. “How do I… redeem one?” he asked, as measured as his voice box would allow.

“Just give it back to yours truly. Hand it to me, leave it somewhere obvious for me to find, whatever tickles your fancy.”

Maintain your composure, Jon. He gripped the roll harder. “And do I have to go in the order you put them in?”

Seemingly taken aback Martin chuckled. “No, of course not, why?”

“They’re in one long strip. You can only tear off the last one off, or you separate the others from the rest of the roll and make a mess.”

That clearly hadn’t occurred to Martin. “Huh. Well, I don’t know. Figure something out. Live with my order or get a plastic baggie. Aren’t you going to say thank you for the super thoughtful, personalized gift?”

Jon felt a spark of reckless bravery ignite in him and met Martin’s teasing eyes. “Which is quite impractically designed?”

Martin scoffed and began to saunter forward, never one to pass up being baited so obviously. “Oh, you’re going to insult it before you even try it? At least let me give you a free sample, see if we can’t change your mind.” And with that, Martin pounced on Jon, who shrieked and went down immediately, the roll of tickets getting flung away amidst the scuffle. Finding it could wait until after Jon’s appetite was whetted, though.

——————————————————

Jon redeemed his first (he was going in his own order, thank you very much) indirectly, putting it out before Martin awoke. It didn’t stay taped to the TV for long before it disappeared, letting Jon know his request had been received, and it wasn’t much longer after when…

“So, what are we going to be binge watching today, Jon?”

On the agenda, per his request: one (1) TV binge/movie marathon’s worth of absentminded tickling.

Jon shrugged, looking away. “Don’t have much of a preference. You can pick.”

“You’re really not that invested in the watching part of this, are you?” Martin teased. He poked Jon in the side, and Jon gasped, jerking away.

“That’s not what I—!”

“Sure it wasn’t.” Martin took his hand and pulled him towards the couch. After grabbing the remote, he got situated lounging longways and manhandled Jon into a comfortable cuddle position leaning back against him. “We’ll just do the first thing on our watchlist, unless you come up with something better in the next 30 seconds.”

Jon didn’t, so they did, putting on some old sitcom they’d been meaning to watch for ages. Martin’s arms snaked around Jon’s middle, and one hand crept under Jon’s lazy day shirt to make itself at home by his ribs.

As promised, the tickling was absentminded. Light and bearable, gentle enough that Jon could keep the budding laughter quiet by squinching his eyes shut and digging nails into the couch cushion at moments of peril. But he was hopeless against the twitching, squirming, fidgeting his body demanded to do. And though Martin didn’t go so far as to comment on it, every once in awhile after a flinch there was a soft teasing coo, right in Jon’s ear, that made it nearly impossible not to flinch again even harder.

Sneaky fingertips figure skating patterns on his abdomen (perhaps too intentional to still count as “absentminded”) did him in. A giggle escaped, and Jon turned himself to face into Martin’s torso and the back of the couch, show be damned. Martin’s efforts were not deterred, and his fingers continued making their patterns where they’d ended up at the back of Jon’s ribs instead. Huffs start slipping out of Jon’s airways into Martin’s chest.

“Where’re you going?”

“N-nowhehere.”

“But how are you going to see if you’re facing that way?”

“Don’t worry about me, I-hI’ll just Know what’s going on on-screen.”

“Right, clever.”

He didn’t end up absorbing much about the show over the course of the next several hours after all. Not that that’d ever really been the aim.

——————————————————

You’re also welcome, Martin had clarified in a less charged moment, to cross one I’ve written out and write your own on the back if something I put wasn’t to your taste. Couple of blank ones at the end too, I figured you might have some ideas of your own.

Jon scribbled out the rest of the ticket’s label after “Redeemable for” and drew a little arrow to indicate turn over. On the back, he wrote — oh so aware of how his fate rode on his wording — “a great night’s sleep after getting thoroughly tired out.”

“You know I can’t actually control how well you sleep, right Jon?” Martin teased after he found it, doing something dastardly to Jon’s ribs. Jon could only cackle in response. “And you didn’t say how you wanted me to tire you out. I could’ve made you run on a treadmill.”

Jon managed an indignant sound.

“Stand behind you with my fingers all wiggly so you’d have motivation to keep going. But maybe that would make you want to stop running altogether instead, what do you think?

Burying his face in his hands, Jon shook his head frantically.

“God, you’re really not trying to stop me a bit, huh? Let’s find somewhere that will make you fight back, that’ll tire you out.”

——————————————————

Martin prided himself on being an attentive partner, but even if he wasn’t, the way Jon got that giddy sort of on-edge the moment Martin entered the kitchen for the first time that morning wasn’t lost on him.

“What?” Martin said. Jon looked away nervously, and Martin bit back a laugh. “What, Jon? I haven’t done anything!”

He caught Jon’s eyes flicking towards the breast pocket of the button up he’d just put on, and he got an idea of what might have Jon all wound up. He glanced down and sure enough, the corner of a little pink slip of paper was visible. Who knows how long this ticket had been waiting to be found? It wasn’t like Jon knew in advance he would pick this shirt today; the ticket must’ve been snuck in while the shirt was still hung in the closet, leaving it up to fate to decide when it would be redeemed.

Fate, or rather, Martin’s fashion whims of the day, had decided the time was now.

“Now, what have we here…?” Martin plucked it out and made a big show of reading it to himself: Redeemable for one (1) trip to the grave by way of unbearable amounts of teasing.

Finally. He’d been waiting for Jon to cash this one in for weeks. He was starting to think Jon didn’t have it in him. And to think, maybe it’d been right here all this time.

This was the best damn gift idea he’d ever had.

Now that Martin had his directive, Jon seemed even more nervous, in the most endearing of ways. Martin gave him a sly smile. “Are you sure you’re ready for this~?”

“Y-you wrote it down!”

“But you decided to use it.” Martin advanced on Jon oh so slowly. Jon had plenty of time to fumble his way to his feet from the kitchen table chair, and he could only look at Martin with wide prey eyes and an infiltrating smile as he backed up at the same pace.

“Brave of you, really,” Martin continued. “You know I know what gets to you. And all that time you made me wait was time I had to brainstorm.”

Jon gulped. His spatial awareness told him without looking he was being directed, like a sheep being herded by the very wolf that plans to eat it, right into a corner. Martin was going to literally corner him, and Jon knew this tactic because he’d seen it before — even if he made a break for it, Martin would just continue this slow, prowling pursuit until Jon gave in and accepted his fate (one he very much signed himself up for, but the nerves right before it started could be a hell of a drug). Not only would fleeing not work, it would be more ammo to be teased with.

So he surrendered to what his past self knew he’d have a blast with eventually, and allowed himself to be backed into the corner.

“Absolutely adorable the way you cashed this in, by the way,” Martin said. “Too shy to even give it to me yourself, huh? Doing it directly too flustering?”

“Shut up!”

“That’s the opposite of the point though, isn’t it? I’m supposed to destroy you with teases.” Martin’s smile went, somehow, more mischievous. “And there are plenty of ways to tease, now aren’t there?”

And as Jon felt familiar fingertips touch down oh so gently on his stomach, he knew he was in for a long, flustering, delightful morning.

[lonelyslutavatar]

Anon ask - I imagine that Jon is the big spoon just to feel his soft boyfriend

I'm on team Jon hates being groped but doing the groping on his soft boyfriend? hell ye

[amazingmsme]

Best Served Cold

AN: it shouldn’t really come as any surprise that I’m a Tim Stoker stan & that man needs to get knocked down a few pegs. The role reversal prompt was perfect for them, cause sometimes the tickle monster just needs a taste of his own medicine! Without further ado, here’s day 22’s fic!

Martin was on his way back down to the archives, a fresh cup of tea in hand. He was halfway back from the break room when a loud shriek echoed down the stone halls followed by shrill, frantic giggles. He smiled to himself, rolling his eyes fondly. It seems Sasha fell prey to Tim's antics once more.

Oh well, better her than him.

He walked down the rest of the stairs and around the corner, her laughter growing louder the closer he got closer. Sure enough, Tim had cornered her between the wall and a filing cabinet, giggling herself silly. She looked adorable like this, Martin had to admit, but he sympathized with her plight. He wasn't sure which of them he attacked more frequently...

A rare smirk settled on his face. Perhaps a bit of revenge was in order.

He crept up behind Tim as quietly as he could, but he was too preoccupied with the task at hand to notice anyway. He slowly raised his arms, a predator about to strike.

"Just one more piece! Come on, don't be stingYYYY! Hehehey whahat the hehehell?" His sly bargaining was interrupted by a shocked squeal that quickly gave way to confused laughter.

"What's the matter Tim? I thought you just loved tickling, seeing as you do it to us so much," Martin pointed out, surprisingly bold and teasing with his words, but a rare bout of mischief had taken root, and he was determined to put their resident trouble maker in his place. Sasha barked out a laugh at his words as she recovered, enjoying her front row seat to the show.

"Thahat's not- nohoho don't!" he pivoted mid sentence when Martin's hands scribbled down to his hips.

"I mean, it's only fair to return the favor, don't you think Sasha?" he asked innocently, continuing to hold Tim on his tickly hug. She made a miraculously quick recovery upon hearing those words, already wiggling her fingers at her previous tormentor.

"Oh I couldn't agree more! He's been extra annoying lately, maybe he was just waiting, begging for one of us to just snap," she finally struck, diving right for his belly. He immediately doubled over, bursting out into bright, bubbly giggles.

"I wahahas nohohot!" he denied, twisting in Martin's hold and trying to hold Sasha's hands away. A few quick pinches up his ribs reminded Tim that he was still very much a problem. He arched away with a shriek when he found a spot between his sixth and seventh rib that seemed worse than the rest.

“Noho, please! Nohohot thehehere!” his pleading went ignored as they continued to seek out the best spots.

“Alright then, how about here instead?” Martin asked as he plunged his hands beneath his arms to scribble at the center of his hollows.

“Ahahabsolutely nohohot!” he cried out through his laughter. He snorted and shook his head back and forth when Sasha reached up to flutter her nails along his neck, scribbling at the spot just behind his ears.

“NOHOHO! Ihihi hahate you bohohoth!” he whined through growing hysterics. But it was all for show. Being trapped in a tickle sandwich between your best friends wasn’t ideal, but it he’d choose that over filing any day.

“Awww, we love you too!” she cooed in a false honey sweet tone.

“N-nohot whahahat I said!” he choked out, trying to hide the blush quickly spreading across his cheeks.

“I know, but you forget I happen to be fluent in Tim Stoker sass,” she teased, scratching underneath his chin just to make him squeal.

“Ohoho fuck you!” he hissed through clenched teeth before another snort ripped free from his chest. He gave up on the useless endeavor of fighting back, instead focusing all his efforts on hiding his face.

“Aw, why are you hiding? There’s no need to be so embarrassed Tim!” Martin teased fondly, but he really meant what he said.

“Exactly! So stop hiding, and let me see that handsome smile,” Sasha taunted as she gently pulled his arms away from his face. His blush darkened and he immediately ducked his head to look away.

“Nohoho!”

“No? Well that’s a bit rude, innit?” she asked with a laugh of her own. She went back to poking around his tummy, drawing out jumpy, nervous giggles.

“This ihihis rude!” he argued, and they both gasped.

“What? We’re just sharing the love!” Sasha justified.

“And I’m simply returning the favor!” Martin added. An amused chuckle from behind made them all stop in their tracks as they turned to see Jon browsing a nearby cluttered desk.

“No need to stop on my account, I just needed to grab a few things,” he explained, eyes scanning the surface until he apparently found what he needed.

“Please, carry on. And don’t forget to go for his knees,” he advised with a teasing smirk, going as far as to wink at the crew. He was about to leave, when Martin’s voice called out and gave him pause.

“Or you could do it yourself.” And wasn’t that an enticing thought.

“I’m afraid I’m swamped,” he excused himself with a little shrug.

“Sounds like you could use a break then. And we have the perfect stress ball for you to try out,” Sasha insisted.

He stared at the three of them, all with varying degrees of a smile on their face. And they looked so hopeful, even Tim, that he just couldn’t refuse.

He sighed, setting down the file before cracking his knuckles, flashing a rare, mischievous smile.

They all could use a good laugh.

[sparky-is-spiders]

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

[bingsucks]

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

[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.

[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

[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

[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?

[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