#tma tickle

[spoondrifts]

tma was crazy for the line "it does tickle me, that in this world of would-be occult dynasties and ageless monsters, the chosen one is simply that—someone i chose. it’s not in your blood, or your soul, or your destiny. it’s just in your own, rotten luck." JONAH WHEN I GET YOU.

[tk-fandom-stuff]

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

[eldritchtickles]

All That Glitters Is Gold

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Word Count: 2492

Another fic!! After a long fucking time too lmao. And my first fic for The Magnus Archives too!! This one is mostly due to @nintickleswitch constantly pumping ler!Michael thoughts my way, and also my love for Tim Stoker being an annoying little shit like myself and meeting consequences lmao. Thanks too to @spacetickles for helping!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a prank. A stupid one, sure, Tim was willing to admit that. But still, Sasha was usually good fun. She’d usually appreciate this. But today was apparently a bad day for-

“TIM, ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”, Sasha yelled from somewhere far in the archives behind him, far enough away that the man could spare a grin of satisfaction that he’d get away with this. “A GLITTER BOMB, IN THE ARCHIVES, ON MY DESK?!”

In his defence, Martin had thought the idea funny. And further in his defence, he didn’t think the explosion would be that big. And even further in his defence, how was Tim to know she’d have important files out- alright no, that was on him, it was an archive after all. Oh but still, the look of surprise on his long time co-worker’s face was absolutely delightful to witness. Tim would be living off the high of this for weeks, no matter the revenge that she’d inevitably get on him.

Taking a sharp right, Tim ducked into one of the less used archival rooms. In between the high filing cabinets, the yellowed light bulb flickering and fizzing, he eventually bent over and clutched his knees as he caught his breath. Sasha would have no reason to check in here, expecting him to run further than this. That cocky grin quickly returned to his face as he quietly celebrated this small victory, light titters of joy slipping out as he punched the air in triumph.

“When I find you, Timothy Stoker”, Sasha’s voice said, echoing down the halls and past the door to this room. “I will wring your neck and make you do my filing for a WEEK, and that’s the least of your troubles!! When Jon hears about this he’s going to flip his lid, I worked on that case for…”

Slowly the ranting faded in volume as Sasha passed by the room in search of the offending prankster, as Tim held in his laughter at her anger. Oh, it was too easy to rile her up. Stretching high from his cramped up position, Tim blew out a long held breath and let the tension run from his muscles.

“Right then, suppose I might as well have a gander around you old files, hm?”, he said to no one but the cabinets, cracking a handsome smile at his own half joke. “Must be some interesting ghoul or ghostie rattling around these things to pass the time reading, maybe nearer the back, that’s where they keep the good-“

The smile quickly fell from the archival assistant’s face as he looked upon the door at the end of the row of shelves. Not just a door, The Door. The one which had a colour, definitely, but if asked to name it Tim wouldn’t know where to start. The one he wasn’t sure was square or rounded, if it had windows or not, or even if it was there to begin with. The door that belonged to it. The thing that called itself Michael, that Sasha seemed so friendly with recently. The thing that, suddenly, Tim knew was towering behind him with that sadistic grin bearing down on him.

“I am afraid, Mr. Stoker”, it began, voice long and languid as the limbs that now contorted and shifted around him, its grin dizzying. “That our dear friend Sasha was not enjoying your little prank…?”

This far back in the archives, Tim knew no one would hear whatever happened between him and the thing that called itself Michael. But Tim knew ever since it had taken an interest in Sasha, it had been more… Agreeable. So another trip to the halls probably wasn’t on the table. He turned to take in the tall…. Man, he supposed. Tall, unnaturally so, with curly (was it curly or just moving?) blonde hair falling past it’s shoulders. It’s clothes shifted as it’s door would, an olive green cardigan covered by a brown jacket and paired with brown suit trousers. But the colours caught the refracting light in the air and burst like fireworks behind Tim’s eyes in such an entrancing way that he wasn’t sure how long it took him to shake his head and reply to it.

“Look, Michael, this hasn’t anything to do with you!”, Tim half hissed, half whispered. “If Sasha catches me after I pulled that stunt, she will absolutely-“

“Decimate you, I’m quite sure.”

The Distortion’s grin still continued to twist on its face, seeming so long it floated off its face. Tim found it hard to look at, but harder to look away from. Though rather than the sinister grin Tim had once watched stalk him and Martin through its twisting corridors, this one seemed… Playful, almost?

“I will help you escape my… Partner’s grasp, Tim Stoker.”, Michael drawled, seeming to take a second to decide the right word, before stepping closer to the giddily frightened Tim. The adrenaline hadn’t worn off from his chase just yet. Or did Michael step away? Or was he there at all? No, his face was nose to nose with the researcher’s now, definitely closer. “If, however, you can indulge me in a game~.”

“A game- Mike, buddy, pal, she is going to kill me, what don’t you underst-“

“I understand perfectly well, Tim. But if you seek solace in my doorway, I’m afraid I must insist.”

Fuck, Tim hated how eager the monster looked at the prospect of toying with him. Fine, a game it was. Better than Sasha getting her hands on him.

“Ugh, fiiiiine,what sort of game did you have in mind- H-Hey!! Get your bloody hands off me, Michael!!”

As soon as Tim had agreed to the game, the thing that was not and forever will be Michael swept him deeper between the stacks of shelves. Tim tried to tear from his grasp and run from the room, but a second of being lost in the soft curls of the creature’s hair left him lost. Next thing he knew, his back was against a wall and Michael’s tall form had its sharp fingers resting on his sides as those spiralling, hypnotising blue eyes looked down at him in undulating shades.

“The game is simple, Tim. Don’t make so much noise that Sasha might hear you.”

“No, Michael, you’re simple, that’s what I’ve been doing this entire-“

The sentence stopped short as Tim’s breath hitched. Michael had dragged two nails across his lowest ribs, not hard enough to cut like those fingers usually would. It… Tingled. A lot. Michael’s grin grew once more, a short roundabout giggle filling Tim’s head and making him chuckle nervously back.

“I did not finish explaining the rules, Timothy Stoker”

Its hands had a lot more of a deliberate grip on his sides now. Tim gulped, then nodded for it to continue. Michael seemed happy with that.

“Thank you. As for the remaining rules, you must stay quiet while I investigate a certain… Phenomena, we shall call it”, the monster mused, a pout of curiosity coming to it’s features. Like a confused puppy, Tim thought stupidly. “I have… Memories of this thing, if they can be called such things. And Sasha has recently brought them to light.”

“Look, Michael, whatever memories Sasha’s reminded you of have nothing to do with-“

“They have everything to do with you Tim, as I wish to see if acting on it will surface more of these past images. You see, Sasha has told me an interesting fact about you. That you are, if her word is to be believed…”

Tim’s look of absolute confusion changed to one of surprise as his breath hitched in his throat. Michael’s sharp fingers were now, deliberately, scratching slow methodical circles over his ribs. Holding down the initial flood of laughter, Tim’s face flushed as he squirmed side to side. Did Sasha really tell Michael this?! No, she wouldn’t, she wouldn’t let slip he was-

“Ticklish, are we Tim?”

It’s grin of satisfaction was maddening.

“You… Y-You fuckihing wish, Michael!!”, Tim yelled as quietly as he could, a single giggle slipping into his words. Fuck, it was like Michael’s fingers were madeto tickle. The sharp tips dragged just firmly enough to set his ribs alight with the maddening itch that just piled laughter into the growing dam in Tim’s throat. And his ribs weren’t even that bad.

“If you can survive just five minutes of me administering this test”, Michael drawled, watching the way Tim slid down the wall and held his laughter even as his cheeks puffed up. “Then yes, I will save you from Sasha’s wrath.”

That’s what it wanted?! To fucking tickle him?! Oh just for this, the glitter bomb was well deserved, Tim decides. Though his thoughts begin to shake from the rails of rationality as Michael’s big hands wrap around the entirety of his ribs and scratch at the backs of them, thumbs wiggling deep between the bones at the front, and Tim wants to scream bloody murder.

Not that he was… Against this. He was man enough to admit he enjoyed the little tussles with Sasha over the last scone, where her small deft fingers slipped under his arms so her smaller form could reach for the treat. Or when he’d tease Martin about his little workplace crush, poking at his soft tummy until he was red and giggly and swatting at Tim’s hands in embarrassment. But not now, not when he needed to be quiet, not when it was killing him to hold it in.

“This does not seem a worthy challenge, Mr. Stoker”, Michael said with a soft, teasing laugh of his own. The playful twinkle in his eyes still held a hint of the sadistic malice Tim had seen in their first meeting, but it was subdued. Not harmful, but nonetheless enjoying this odd torture. “Let us up the ante, yes?”

“Nohoho, Michael, don’t you dahaHA-“

The word was cut off by a strangled scream as the things fingers suddenly shot down to burrow into the dips of his hips. They moved like wiggling worms (something the Archive staff unfortunately had adequate knowledge of), only these ones didn’t hurt in their burrowing. Instead it was titillating in the worst of ways, digging deep at the sensitive skin, and making Tim’s stomach flutter in the most embarrassing of way’s. Between the fingers over his thin shirt, and Michael’s stupid otherworldly pretty face grinning at him between a curtain of soft curls, Tim wasn’t sure if his blush was more from the embarrassment, the exertion of holding in laughter, or the attention of the Distortion directed at him.

Though he was earned a respite from taking in the unknowable grin as his eyes squeezed shut and a muffled squeal joined the muffled giggles behind his lips. Michael tutted, like on would in disappointment, as his fingers slid under the little bit of protection the shirt provided, to scritch at the bare hipbones with one hand as the other began to unbutton the last few buttons of the hapless archivist’s shirt.

“I do feel as if this flimsy thing is cheating slightly…”, Michael mumbled, maybe more to itself than to Tim, even if the slight tease made all his nerves jolt. “I hope you don’t mind, I won’t be undoing it the whole way.”

“A-At leheheheast buy me fuhuhuhucking DINNER fihihirst!!”, Tim yelped out, suddenly unable to keep the deep chuckles and laughter at bay any longer now that he felt his last bit of protection slowly slip away. He didn’t even remember sliding into a laying down position on the carpeted floor, only realising it as his back arched upward when Michael’s other hand played at the spot just above his waistband with wispy light strokes. One of his worst spots it seemed, and Michael’s twisting joyous laughter made it clear he knew it too.

“Ohohoho, oh, oh Tim….”, the thing said, its tone dripping with faux sympathy that wrapped around Tim’s mind like a boa constrictor and made him lose his grip on his laughter that one bit more. “This is so much more fun than Sasha made it out to be. I’m afraid this just might become a regular occurrence for you and I~.”

Forgetting the game completely, Tim writhed and kicked and snorted even as Michael sat on his lap to keep him pinned. The thing’s hair had fallen further, and it felt like it was curling deliberately against Tim’s neck and ears resulting in a giggle filled whine to seep out of the man’s mouth, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He had never been tickled this badly, this wholly, it filled him and overwhelmed and he loved it and he pushed that thought away and pushed at Michael’s hands even if he didn’t really and feared and looked forward and was anxious for these further encounters as the Distortion’s laughter wrapped his fragile mind tight in its symphony of discordant twisting staccato notes that were worse than any words it could have uttered until he noticed another figure through bleary eyes and the harmony of laughter began to dissipate.

“Having fun in here, are we?”, Sasha asked, looking down at Tim with a knowing smirk. Unable to speak as he caught his breath in the break, Tim gave her the finger instead.

“Oh, quite. He’s quite the livewire when he wants to be.”, Michael said with a short laugh, dazzling eyes and smile shifting to look at Sasha faster than its head turned. It’s fingers still rested on Tim’s body, shirt rucked up to his lower ribs and stomach sucking in heavy breaths. Sasha gave a laugh herself.

“I told you, he is so bloody ticklish”, she said, giving his side a poke and earning and indignant squeal and scowl from her co-worker. “Though I’m hoping this little encounter was enough to deter you from further pranks, aren’t I right, Tim?”

His breath back to a regular pace, Tim wiped his eyes of residual tears. His cheeks ached from smiling for so long, but even that couldn’t keep the grin off his face seeing that Sasha wasn’t genuinely angry with him. Looking to Michael, it smiled a rare soft smile at him as if to ask if he was alright after that endeavour. Fuck, Tim could see what Sasha saw in it even if he really didn’t want to.

“Hehe… Phew… Yeah, that was enough for this time…”, he giggled out, flopping back to look at the ceiling.

“This time? Now what does that mean?”, Sasha said, a grin of her own on her lips.

“………. There’s a glitter bomb in Jon’s post box.”

“……….. You are such a little troublemaker.”

“And don’t you love me for it~? ……. Wait, no, Michael get off, Sasha no, no!! We agreed raspberries are off the- NAHAHAHAHAAAAAA YOU EHEHEHEVIL WOHOHOMAN!!”

Tim took the bomb out of Jon’s cubby hole later that day.

[lesiasmadness]

Tbh my fave consept from tma is the fact that some of the entities are just based on fears that don't originate from humans, or at least not modern humans. It tickles my brain in interesting ways to imagine being inflicted with dread that's basically software not made for your hardware. That you can experience instinctive dread at the idea of meat existing. That you can bend to the will of the hive. And of course you physically can not experience something outside of the limits of your own perception, so it manifests in ways relatable to humans. Through fear of your own body, or injuries, through social anxiety and restless thoughts. But despite the output being fairly digestible, the origin of those behaviors connects you with species you were never meant to understand and empathize with fully. And nobody will ever know, because it can't be explained in words. Only the person inflicted can know

[dathen]

Me and some friends were comparing calliope pronunciations when talking about Jon and Sasha’s banter in TMA 24, and came to the following realizations:

- We’ve never heard of the way Jon says Americans pronounce it

- Most of us + nearly everyone we know say it the way Jon did

- The only places Sasha’s pronunciation was heard was in Homestuck circles

Therefore:  Sasha is a Homestuck

[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.

[crowleystolemyshoes]

nothing tickles me quite like opening my email inbox and seeing an email from ao3 saying a guest left kudos on my horrible crack tma statement in which jane prentiss reveals she snorted fish food titled snwormt

[nebulations]

[ID: A sepia-toned comic of Martin and Jon from TMA being romantic. Martin is a tall fat white man with short hair wearing a jumper, and Jon is a short thin brown man with short hair and black sclera and white irises. They embrace as Martin hums and presses his face into Jon's neck to kiss him while Jon smiles helplessly and protests, "Martin, that tickles!" Both of them are blushing.

Martin moves his head up but doesn't draw back. He raises his eyebrows with a smirk, still blushing, and asks: "Oh? You want me to stop?" Jon startles, his eyes going wide. He looks down with a pout and says, "... I didn't say that." Then he smiles softly and sweetly.

There's a small panel in a more comedic style of Martin pressing his lips tight and furrowing his eyebrows as a blush overtakes his face, a heart floating above him. Then he bends back down to nuzzle into the side of Jon's face with vigor. Blushing brightly, Martin replies, "Whatever you say, Mr. 'I'm not adorable.'" Jon laughs helplessly, blushing equally hard. End ID]

i have no shame

[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

[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

[totalee-flushed]

RAAAAAHHHHHH🗣🗣🗣 THIS FIC IS SO CUTE DHSDHFSDGFD

Ignoring It

Summary: Tim has a Thing for tickling that he's not keen on bringing up with his partners. Doing his best to ignore it works, until it really doesn't. Polychives, light angst with a happy ending.

Words: 5.3k

If Tim refused to think about it, it wasn’t a problem. So he was refusing to think about it.

He was refusing to think about The Tickling Thing, a Thing which he kinda wished was not a Thing for him in the first place. For some reason, his brain had always seemed to shine some kind of spotlight on the act — replaying moments he saw it happen over and over, getting stuck on the sound of particularly endearing laughter, dispatching unreasonable amounts of butterflies to his stomach at the thought of being loomed over with wiggly fingers, and so on. Tim had never managed to figure out why he had this Thing (if there even was a reason apart from his default settings) but he was very conscious about it being unusual. The more he dwelled on it, the more of a Thing it became, so he tried to box it up in a corner of his brain and focus on the more standard types of affection he liked. Simpler that way.

That worked great, until he found himself in a relationship that defied his previous understanding of how relationships could work at all, with not one but three partners, and there were suddenly a lot of cute laughs and smirks and playful moments to be tempted by. Ignoring it was impossible, what with Sasha making jokes until Jon’s stubbornness crumbled and he couldn’t help but break into a smile, and Martin looking away with a blush when one of them complimented him, and Sasha reaching up to tie her hair into a ponytail with nimble fingers, Jon giving Tim those fond-exasperated looks at his every wisecrack, Martin getting that light in his eyes when he made a playful remark, Sash—

No. Nope. He was going to be chill about this. And the more he thought about it, the more he wanted it all, taking them apart with his fingers alone, them doing the same back to him, huge chaotic tickle fights… He was left with no choice but to ignore and endure the best he could.

Though, he figured it fit well enough with his general nature for him to give into the urge to tickle his partners every once in awhile without being suspicious. And he’d been doing it since before he really identified how deep the Thing really went for him, so he’d already established that enjoyed doing it to others. At least it could be passed off as, y’know, a typical level of enjoyment despite the blazing spotlights in his mind. Indulging occasionally was better than nothing.

Letting himself receive it was a very different story. He knew himself, or at least knew how he’d been with previous lovers. He could stand it at first, but as it went on he would get gigglier and deeper into that delicious floaty headspace until he lost the ability to do anything but give in and hope for more. In, like, a super obvious way. Or at least obvious enough that his partners would surely pick up on it, because they knew him too damn well (not to mention Jon’s supernatural shit) for him to get away with things like that. He’d melt, flop over, bury his face in something instead of fighting back, forget to protest, leave spots open for attack, something that would expose him. And he didn’t want to deal with the aftermath of that.

He was— he was fuckin’ embarrassed about it, okay? Embarrassed over how easy it was to incapacitate him and how much he loved it. And, on the other end, embarrassed over how fixated he could get on one of their reactions. There was an extra little worry that it’d come off as creepy or something, but at least Jon could use his Eye stuff to confirm he meant what he’d tell them about his intentions and concern with their comfort vastly outweighing his impulses. But as long as Tim kept The Tickling Thing to himself, there would be no awkward conversations and potential weirding out in the first place, so he resolved not to let himself slip into the headspace that risked exposing it.

Going after the others, naturally, meant they sometimes tried to turn it around on him. More than okay in theory, but he had an image to maintain and a Thing to keep to himself. Luckily, he prided himself on being a slippery bastard (Sasha’s words), and that plus his tickle monster prowess meant he only ever got tickled for a few seconds at a time before he got away or regained control. Never long enough to get him to that point of giddy delirium that would expose him. Nothing like the delightfully drawn out sessions of him dishing it out on them. God he loved doing that. He really should do it more oft—

Nope. Ignoring it.

Frankly, he was proud of his impulse control. He wasn’t overdoing it.

Or so he thought. Until the afternoon they decided to team up on him.

It wasn’t out of nowhere, to be fair. He’d gone after each of them at least once in the past few days, and had just made some cheeky comment or other when Sasha clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

“Okay, that’s it. Martin, Jon?”

Jon sighed and put down his book. Martin stepped closer to Tim and gave a look of almost-regret.

“Sorry, Tim, but this has to be done.”

And all of a sudden he started wrestling Tim down onto the carpet of their living room. Tim could’ve slipped away without any trouble like he had so many times if Martin was working alone, but this time, Sasha and Jon weren’t far behind. Three against one? He didn’t stand a chance.

He was pinned and winded in short order. Jon was above his head looking at him from upside down, keeping Tim’s wrists pinned so his arms were raised. Martin sat on his thighs. And Sasha made herself smugly comfortable laying down on her side next to Tim like lounging royalty waiting to be fed grapes. But he knew her, and knew she was also very ready to jump into action again if he made an escape attempt. Basically, he was fucked. Completely at their mercy.

Tim’s heart pounded frantically, and he knew it wasn’t just from exertion.

“Alright Tim. We want answers,” Sasha said. “Specifically about why you’re always such a little shit.” Thankfully, he recognized the light in her eyes that meant it was playful irritation at worst.

“You do have a lot to answer for,” Jon said.

“Especially all the tickling,” Martin added. He had been the most recent victim of a prolonged attack, and even as nervous as Tim was right now, the memory was a hit of proud delight. The way Martin had snorted—

Sasha poked Tim in the side, jolting him out of the memory and back to the present. “Right. So we figured you deserved a taste of your own medicine.”

Shit.

(Not that it was at all surprising. But a guy can hope.)

“Are you going to cooperate? Or do we have to do this the hard way?”

Tim glared defiantly at her and kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t sure if he could get words out in a steady voice, and he didn’t intend to find out. He pulled at his arms hard and twisted his hips as best as he could to try to throw Jon and Martin off, but he’d only gotten Martin halfway unseated and one arm free when Sasha scribbled fingers on his stomach and he was useless. In a moment, Tim was right back where he was before pinned under his partners… and now in much deeper trouble.

Well, no one could say he went down without a fight.

Martin was smirking. “I was hoping you’d pick the hard way.”

Sasha gave Jon a you’re up gesture, and he met Tim’s eyes with sharp, supernatural focus.

“Timothy Stoker. Where… are you… most……. ticklish?”

Oh no. “Generally my ribs and sides, but if you do this one particular thing to my ankles I want to crawl out of my skin. Hips are a solid runner up. Also, no one’s ever t-tickled me on my back before,” (the stumble on the word, though subtle, was missed by none), “so that might be something, I really don’t know.”

For a long second, no one spoke. Then Tim, voice back under his control, broke the silence. “Using your spooky Eye powers is entirely unfair.” His indignation did nothing to hide the mortification in his eyes over all the information he’d just spilled.

“You know what else isn’t fair?” Jon said. (“Ankles?” Martin whispered disbelievingly to Sasha.) “Sneaking up on someone while they’re recording a statement.”

“Or tickling someone while they’re tangled up in blankets and not awake enough to get away,” Sasha chimed in.

“Or standing in the only doorway out so someone can’t leave without getting within reach,” Martin added.

“Or doing it in a library.”

“Taking someone’s favorite mug and putting it up too high so they have to stretch to reach it, then ambushing…”

“Replacing someone’s bookmark with a feather?”

Tim couldn’t help a grin at the affronted look on Martin’s face. “Okay, maybe that one was a bit much.”

“You think?”

“So if we’re talking ‘fair,’” Sasha concluded, “this is long overdue, babe.”

Unable to argue, Tim settled for something put-out and definitely not a pout.

“So. That was a very detailed list of your tickle spots,” Jon said.

“Thanks for that, by the way,” Martin said, soft, less teasing than the others. A hint of a smirk snuck onto his face anyway. “Even though you didn’t have much choice.”

“You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?” Sasha was fully grinning.

“No- shut up!”

“You sure don’t let us get you back much though. What’s that about?”

Tim’s jaw clenched, and Martin looked to Jon, worried they might be going too far.

Jon caught on and delivered his question with his truth compelling powers. “Tim, how do you feel about all of this right now?”

“Having to say this stuff is probably the most embarrassing thing in the world,” Tim said, cursing himself as he did, “but I don’t think I’d ever be able to get it out otherwise. If— when you guys do it, I won’t be able to hold out long, and that’s… a lot.”

He was grateful Jon hadn’t done the thing that squeezed every ounce of truth out of a person — that was a hard limit in their relationship, one that Jon himself had set when checking how comfortable the others were with him using the less forceful version in situations like this. Tim had to be honest, but was left with enough agency to phrase it ambiguously. ‘Hold out’ didn’t refer to his ability to withstand the tickling he was surely about to receive; it referred to his ability to maintain a façade of normalcy about it after the first few seconds. His pride was already hurting from it.

“‘A lot’… in a bad way? Should we stop?” Martin asked.

It was Martin. Tim could answer however he wanted. But… he was already in this deep. The truth was bound to come out eventually, might as well see this to the end rather than have to start the whole process over again later. Screw it.

He hoped a scoff would cover his embarrassment. “I suppose I do deserve it.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Sasha sat up, and Tim knew all too well what that meant— she was getting in position to strike. Butterflies swarmed inside him. He couldn’t find it in himself to dread it entirely; that craving for this kind of thing, after all the effort he’d put into it, could no longer be ignored.

She raised her eyebrows. “You’re really worked up over this, aren’t you?”

Tim felt himself flush. “Sasha!” he protested.

“I mean, I’ve never seen you do this before.” She leaned over past Martin and tapped his socked foot which was jiggling incessantly from pent up energy.

Fuck, he hadn’t even realized he was doing it until she pointed it out. He reflexively went to shove Sasha away, or cover his face, or something, but Jon’s hold was secure.

“Can we start already?” Martin said, fingers hovering over Tim’s hips. “I want my revenge.”

“Of course, darling.” And, always a supportive partner, Sasha dove into tickling Tim just as enthusiastically as Martin. Jon was content to just watch and put his efforts into keeping him still while Martin dug his thumbs into the dips of his hips and Sasha went for his stomach again. Tim cried out in surprise. There was zero build up, and he’d never been tickled by multiple people at once like this before, let alone while securely pinned down, unable to do a thing about it. He was right: it was a lot.

Not in a bad way. Very much not.

Before he knew it, he was dissolving into laughter. His body demanded to curl up, push their hands off, get away, but he could do none of those. Whatever the hell Martin was doing to his hips was especially bad, and yeah, maybe he deserved it or whatever, but holy shit he didn’t think Martin was going to be that mean.

“So this is why you never let us get back at you,” Sasha said. “You’re, like, ridiculously ticklish.”

A whine ripped out of Tim. That wasn’t fair, he was being teamed up on! If he could conscript them to turn against one another later, he’d show them how hard it was to handle.

He wished he could say as much, but it was hard to do anything except laugh. Sasha raked nails up and down his ribs, while Martin stayed at his hips, and Tim was utterly gone. Somewhere in the back of his mind it occurred to him — he was rapidly approaching that headspace, the dangerous one that would reveal how much he loved this, and the only way to save himself was to get free right now.

It sparked one final burst of desperate defiance, and he pulled and bucked and twisted and thrashed as hard as he could. To no avail. He was stuck there for as long as they wanted, lost to laughter until they had their fill.

He hoped they’d make the most of it.

————————

They certainly were, and by the time they gave him a break, he was heaving for air. Even as he recovered, he couldn’t stop giggling — it didn’t help that Sasha was keeping him jumping with the quickest erratic scritches to spots that had proven to be effective so far. 

He was well and truly in that floaty, happy zone. Far too deep to school his reaction at all when Martin said, terribly affectionate for someone supposedly getting revenge, “Having fun down there?”

Normal Tim would’ve shaken his head, growled out some complaint or insult or denial, use the reprieve to make another escape attempt. But Floaty Tim tipped his head back to giggle a little harder — it was as if the words were compounding on the physical sensation, increasing the potency of both.

“There’s still something I wanna know,” Sasha said, hand continuing to bounce from spot to spot. She looked Tim in the eyes, a wicked (beautiful) smile decorating her face. “You said your ankles were really bad. Tell us more about that.”

But the thought of it alone just made him even gigglier. There was no way he was going to be able to answer on his own. It wasn’t even a matter of embarrassment or trying to hide something or provoke a reaction anymore. He couldn’t answer because his head was spinning too much and he couldn’t formulate the words even in theory, let alone get them out coherently. Telling was hard. Being known would be worth it.

“Jonnn,” he whined, flapping his hands to get Jon’s attention.

Jon smirked down at him. “Need help saying it?”

Sasha’s fingers found a spot on Tim’s ribs and he twitched, scrunching his eyes closed as he nodded giddily.

“Alright. Tim, when you said your ankles drove you crazy if someone tickled them a certain way, what did you mean? What is that way?”

It was still punctuated by giggles (Sasha wasn’t stopping!), but the answer was clear enough for all three to understand:

“Super light tracing and spidering and scritching. Especially behind the bone that sticks out a bit. Makes me kick really bad so you have to be careful.”

“Noted.” Jon gave the other two a gesture to say go ahead, and Sasha relented as Martin turned around to face Tim’s feet.

The first touch of fingertips on his right ankle was whisper-soft, but even so made Tim flinch and his smile widen a fraction. As soon as they started to leisurely trace a twirling, spiraling pattern, he broke into helpless snickers, his leg trying to kick to get away despite how much he wanted to welcome the affection.

“Woah, he wasn’t kidding,” Martin said, scootching further down to put his weight on Tim’s calves instead.

“Nooooo,” Tim whined.

“‘No’ don’t do it or ‘no’ you weren’t kidding?” Jon asked, well aware of the answer but wanting to tease anyway. Tim just shook his head as residual laughter trickled out.

Martin went right back to work on Tim’s ankles, this time both of them, a single finger trailing a tickly path on the outside of each. Tim squeaked and broke down into giggles, feet flinching uselessly.

“He’s cute like this, huh?” Sasha said to Jon as she repositioned to get close to Tim’s feet too, obviously meaning to be heard by Tim himself, and it worked. He whined in complaint yet again, but at this point everyone knew he didn’t really mean it.

After an entertaining minute or two of Martin and Sasha exploring his ankles and the tops of his feet, Jon told them to pause and let Tim think enough to answer a question.

“It’s been very fun watching you like this, but I haven’t gotten to tickle you at all myself yet and I think I’m still owed some revenge. Do you think, if I let your arms go, you can keep them up for us?”

“Uh-hummm…” For them, for more of this, anything. “Y-yeah, I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can ask for.” Jon kissed him on the forehead, and that alone felt like reward enough for agreeing. Jon gave a final squeeze to Tim’s wrists then let go, leaving Tim with only his own willpower to help him ride the wave of endorphins and mind-scrambling affection for all it was worth. He put his arms more behind his head and grabbed his own wrists to brace himself for the fight against his reflexes — this was much more doable than trying to keep them straight up.

After a moment to see if Tim would stay put — he very much did — Jon repositioned to be to by Tim’s side at shoulder level. “I think you deserve a big finale, don’t you?” Jon said, and whereas before he seemed to be acting the moderator, now he was teasing too.

(Later, Tim would wonder whether Jon meant he “deserved it” as punishment or “deserved it” as an indulgence. Either worked.)

Tim didn’t have a hope of answering aloud. But he shakily pressed his elbows back in solicitation. His partners looked between themselves, mischief ready to boil over.

Then six hands descended at once, and everything else vacated his brain except the rush of ticklishness and that it was Jon and Sasha and Martin attacking him with affection and he loved it. He was lost in laughter immediately. God, what he wouldn’t give to return the favor(to all three at once if he somehow had enough arms) right now, they were so endearing each in their own way, but there was zero chance of Tim doing anything now except curl up and shriek, and fuck, not like he was complaining about that either.

If Martin kept doing that to his ankles, he was going to go fucking delirious.

Or Jon doing that to his ribs.

Or Sasha doing that to his kneecaps.

Tim kinda hoped they would.

———————————

“Meeting in the big bedroom,” Tim announced to the rest of the house from within it, then flopped face down onto it their king sized bed (one of their best investments). His partners found him there laying motionless, and they hesitated.

“Tim?” Martin said, as if approaching a spooked animal.

“Get comfy, this might be a bit,” Tim mumbled, just intelligible enough for the others to catch.

Sasha came over and sat on the edge of the mattress up by his head. “If you say so.”

Jon and Martin followed suit, and Tim felt someone’s hand bury itself in his hair comfortingly. They were too good to him. He hoped he wasn’t about to fuck it all up.

“So. Meeting?” Jon said.

“Wanted to talk about yesterday. When you…”

“Pinned you down and wrecked your shit?” Sasha’s proud grin was oh so audible.

“Sasha,” Martin scolded, “be nice. He’s having a hard enough time as it is.”

If Tim haven’t been flushed before, he certainly was now. Even Martin taking his side like that was embarrassing! They were probably going to end him with teases once they knew he was more than down.

Which they would very soon.

Fuck.

“We’re listening,” Jon said, which coming from him wasn’t always the most comforting thing, but Tim knew how he meant it.

“I—” Tim tried. His voice got caught in his throat. “So there’s this— Um, so I…” Nope. This wasn’t going to work, despite all the times he practiced this in his head. Dammit, he didn’t want to have to resort to this, but— “Jon?”

“Mmhm?”

“Can you… help?”

“Are you asking me to use my powers and make you talk?” It was a rare occurrence in their relationship for someone to request it, especially as they’d grown comfortable to speak openly with one another, but not unheard of. This was the first time Tim had, though (apart from yesterday when he was… rather loopy).

Tim chucked sheepishly into the blankets, then turned his head enough to look at Jon. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Jon raised his eyebrows — are you sure?

Tim nodded.

“Alright, Tim.” Jon took a deep breath and channeled his powers. “What were you meaning to tell us regarding the other day?”

The flow of the truth, as embarrassing as it was, was a relief. He’d never shared this with anyone, nothing beyond reassuring a lover he didn’t mind receiving it. Even if this went bad, at least he wasn’t keeping it bottled up anymore.

“I’ve always had this… Thing for tickling. It just kind of sticks in my head, and I wanna do it all the time. Both sides. And I wish we could do it more together, it’s my favorite type of affection and intimacy, but I don’t want to overdo it on you guys or make you think I was weird if I wanted you to do it to me.”

There was a long pause. Sasha broke it. “Well for one thing, I don’t think any of us would complain about being allowed to tickle you, it’s pretty fun.”

“Hey!” He didn’t know why he was so immediately defensive when what she’d said wasn’t actually one of the many bad reactions he’d feared. But he was. Force of habit.

“What? Thought we were sharing here.” Sasha said.

“Okay, but that isn’t the point.”

“What is the point then?” Martin said.

“I’ve been holding this in for a long time. After yesterday, though…”

Jon softly laughed. “Yeah. It was pretty apparent you were enjoying yourself.” Tim’s face scrunched in an embarrassed scowl. Jon’s smile grew a little more, but his voice softened. “Sorry, guess I shouldn’t be teasing you right now, should I?”

Though Jon clearly meant it rhetorically, some combination of the spooky shit’s need for information and Tim’s conflicting want/fear to be known dragged the words out of him anyway. He managed to muffle them into the bedspread, but the message got through regardless. “No, it’s good. It’s one of my favorite parts.”

“Really?” By Sasha’s tone, you’d think Christmas had come early. “Tim, if you don’t take that back right now I’m never letting you live that down.”

Of course she wouldn’t. “I take it back,” Tim groaned.

“Do you really mean that?” Jon said.

“No.” Betrayed, Tim shoved Jon. “Oh, fuck you.”

“Do you mean that?”

“No.” So unfair.

Martin’s hand — Tim had figured out it was his — found Tim’s scalp again after all the sudden head motions stopped. “What do you find fun about it? The tickling, the teasing, everything.”

After yet another bout of stammering, Tim gave up and nudged Jon.

“What’s fun about it all?” Jon repeated.

“A million things. Laughs are cute, especially when it’s from someone you love and you’re the one causing it. It’s fun messing around, play-fighting, using up some extra energy in way that isn’t destructive. When I’m getting one of you really good, it’s the biggest power trip. And when I’m being —” Tim faltered, made an awkward hand motion. “—yeah. …I like the attention. Sorta fun to be put in my place sometimes. Feels good to just be super present with another person and lose your shit laughing until you’re all floaty.”

Tim’s face burned, but the truth kept flowing. “And the teasing makes it all so much more. I get butterflies like mad, and if you do both at the same time for some reason it makes it t-tickle more, and… I dunno. Affection. And if you’re saying stuff like that I know you’re having fun too, which is good because I’d feel bad if it was a chore.”

The supernatural powers apparently sated, Tim found himself able to stop baring his soul, and he yanked the nearest pillow toward him to bury his face in. He thought briefly of a bird sticking its head in the sand.

“Well first off,” came Jon’s voice, “thank you for sharing. Especially with it being so hard.”

Though Jon was being genuine, not a hint of tease in his delivery, Tim groaned into the pillow anyway. “Would you stop pointing it out?”

“What was that?” Martin asked with a light chuckle, not having made it out.

“He said to stop pointing it out,” Jon said. “But, well, he doesn’t seem to mean it all the way. Do you, Tim?”

“It’s more complicated than that.” He managed to turn his head enough to un-muffle himself, embarrassed as he was. “Depends if you’re pointing it out cuz you think it’s stupid and you’re mocking me, or cuz you still like me and are trying to have fun with it.”

(It was weird. He was starting to lose track of what information he was volunteering and what was being pulled from him. That was a good thing, he supposed? A sign that he was getting more comfortable opening up? Or at least desensitized to the mortification.)

“The second one, definitely,” Jon said quickly. “None of us are weirded out or anything, I promise.”

“You could let us speak for ourselves, y’know,” Martin said. Despite the irritation towards Jon, Tim felt the hand in his hair give a little affirming scritch that made his toes curl.

“I usually would, but I was trying to be efficient.”

“Appreciate it,” Tim said.

He felt a shifting of weight, then the tiniest kiss on the shell of his ear that made him twitch away. “To elaborate on what Jon said,” Sasha murmured, most definitely teasing but still so warm that it made Tim’s insides flutter, “I think this may be the best thing I’ve ever learned about you.”

Tim choked on a breath. That was simultaneously the most embarrassing and reassuring thing he’d ever heard.

“I mean, come on, tickling? I haven’t thought about it as much as you, clearly, but you’re right, it’s fun. And you’re asking for more? That is the cutest, most you thing ever.”

“It’s— what’s that supposed to mean!?” Tim protested.

“She’s kinda right,” Martin said, mischief creeping into his voice too. “You like being a little shit. You like laughing at stuff and making other people laugh. You like bullying us. You like being the center of attention. You like being in our space. You like—“

“Okay, I get it!” Yeah, he was already kinda aware it fit his personality, but the detailed callout was rude. Even though he’d asked.

“Did we get to everything you wanted to talk about?” Jon said, evenness diffusing the tension.

Tim could feel he was no longer being compelled, but answered truthfully anyway. “Wanted to know what each of you thinks about it, knowing it’s a… Thing for me. What you’re comfortable with doing and stuff.”

Martin began, running fingers through Tim’s hair as he did. “Full steam ahead for me. If I get to get back at you, I’m okay with being tickled. I mean… as long as you don’t actually murder me, you’re mean sometimes.”

Tim found himself grinning from the affection, the feedback, and the prospect. “No promises.”

Sasha went next, back upright instead of right by Tim’s ear, thankfully. “I already said I think it’s fun. You should be more worried about all the rest of the revenge I need to get on you, cuz you’re in for it now.”

A thrill shot up Tim’s spine. There was a lot for her to get revenge for, and he had no doubt she meant to follow through on that threat. He hadn’t let himself entertain the idea before, but now that he could allow himself to go there…

“If you start to overdo it, I’ll let you know,” Jon said, refocusing him once again. Then, quieter, almost wry: “Don’t think that’ll happen though.”

“You haven’t seen me at full force.”

“I’m sure I will soon. As for me tickling you, I’m sure you’ll give me plenty of reasons to and I’d never say no to that.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“God, is he about to get more annoying?” Martin playfully complained to the others.

“We’ll see,” Tim said, his self-assuredness settling back into place inside him. They didn’t hate him, didn’t think he was weird, didn’t find it uncomfortable; they saw it as a good thing, and were open to more. And he didn’t have to avoid being the recipient anymore. He could fly.

But he was also exhausted. The emotional toll of confessing after years worried about how it might go really took a lot out of him. “Okay, I’m done. We can be done talking about it now.”

“Good,” said Sasha. “Is this the part where we tickle the rest of the stress out of you then? Is this the right time?”

Tim flinched, not expecting that. He’d figured they might want a bit to process before anything more happened. On one hand, he very much would not complain if they skipped straight to the fun part. But on the other…

“You don’t have to do it all my benefit. Just because you know now doesn’t mean you ever have to—”

“Oh, Tim,” Jon interrupted, seeping Tim’s name in play-pity.

“Sasha’s literally been sitting on her hands ever since you said you want us to tickle you,” Martin said.

“I was trying to be mature!” Sasha sounded betrayed.

Tim risked a peek, and indeed, Sasha was sitting on her hands, eyes raking over his still face-down body eagerly. Fuck, she wanted to get him that bad? He had never felt anything like this, such an overwhelming cocktail of embarrassment, excitement, nerves, affection, relief, and giddiness that it made his head spin.

“Tim, please can I?” Sasha said. How someone could manage puppy dog eyes and metaphorical devil horns at the same time like that was beyond him. Damn if he wasn’t a fan though. He took a deep, decisive breath.

“…Well, since you said ‘please’…”

And that was the last fully coherent thing to come out of Tim’s mouth for a good while.

[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

[littengamer909]

Failtopia TMA Entities

I've had The Magnus Archives on the brain for a while now (im only at episode 152 please no spoilers), but I've been thinking, and here's the Fears that I would assign to Failtopia characters, plus a few explanations and thoughts! I don't have all of them, so if you think of some, please let me know!

C!Fail: The Web. c'mon. you saw this coming. he's the Puppet Of The Universe guy. of course he serves the Mother of Puppets. Alternatively, he could be marked by the Lonely.

Erica: The Slaughter. I support women's wrongs

Simple Bob: The Hunt. demon hunting, you know

Bo: The Lonely. It's mostly vibes here, but I think it fits!

Rose: The Corruption. I was thinking the Vast for the space vibes, but thematically, the one that has unhealthy love and relationships in its domain probably makes more sense.

Chi: The Spiral. I was thinking of the Desolation because, you know, fire, but she's more into the good aspects of fire and the Desolation is all about the bad parts. Also, the Spiral works well with all the absolute insanity she has going on.

Friend: The Stranger. Granted, I'm playing off my own headcanons here, but I think that the identity aspect of it works just as well as the shapeshifting parts. The religious aspect does make me think of the Dark, but nothing else about it really works, so... yeah. The Web could also work for them, though!

Chat: The Spiral. I shouldn't have to explain this one

Big Bill: The Flesh. Jared Hopworth (Flesh avatar) is canonically jacked and I think that's all you need to know.

That's all I have for now, but I will make another post if I think of any more!

[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.

[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?

[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.