The Quetzatickle thing

	So you're sitting on your fuckin couch just flipping through channels like a fuckin dunce when something mildly interesting catches your eye, then immediately flips away because you buffered the remote's button like six times you goddamn buffoon. After fiddling around for a few boring seconds, you finally come back to what looks to be some kind of nature documentary on a channel you've never heard of. The show's CGI is quickly apparent as a pokemon you're pretty sure is extinct runs across the screen in a blur. The animated plants of some ancient jungle sway in the breeze.
	A narrator starts up, their old voice filled with a particularly galvanizing enthusiasm. "Some fifty million years ago, there were worse things to worry about than flesh-eating bacteria. Wild pokemon far more vicious than those we see today stalked every inch of these jungles, anxious for their next meal. The techniques they employed to earn it were truly merciless."
	Amidst the leaves of a giant fern, a pair of violet eyes emerged on cue, the creatures reptilian pupils as thin as a needle. It slowly emerged from the brush, revealing a fluttering pelt of feathers that covered the edges of its scaly body. Its generously-fanned tail whipped excitedly as it sniffed at the air. A guttural growl signaled that it had found prey. Two more of the pokemon burst out of the foliage beside it, then hungrily took off ahead.
	"Take, for instance, one of the apex predators of this era. The Quetzatickle," the narrator announced as the three creatures hurried through the dense jungle, tracking their prey with finely-tuned senses. "You wouldn't expect such a soft-looking creature to hold such a lofty title, but looks can certainly be deceiving. The Quetzatickle's well-groomed feathers are its most dangerous weapon of all. In fact, it will take around two million more years before this species starts to fall down the food chain."
	The pack of Quetzatickle slow as they come across a clearing, their narrow eyes filled with malicious intent. They quietly scattered through the treeline as the camera pans over to what appeared to be a solitary Enflora, though it looked quite a bit different compared to the ones from today. It was at least apparent that the represented season was spring, judging from the amount of leaves stuck to its body. Were there really Enflora fifty million years ago? What the fuck ever, you think to yourself.
	"Covering a majority of their body, and most prominently on the ends of their fingers and toes, are some of the softest feathers to have ever appeared in the pokemon kingdom." The camera snaps to the creature's twitching claws, which were indeed lined with an arsenal of high-budget purple feathers. "This lends itself to the pokemon's ruthless method of hunting: tickling. Doesn't sound too menacing when you say it out loud, does it? But like the Quetzatickle's plush appearance, there was nothing harmless about it."
	Peeking over its shoulder, the Enflora nervously meandered its way through the field, completely unaware of the danger it was in. There was a rise in the documentary's orchestra, and the three Quetzatickle burst out of the bushes like a horror movie jump scare. The Enflora had no chance to escape at all. Shrieking, the grass type attempted to cover itself up as it ran, but the predators were upon it in a matter of seconds. The leader of the pack tackled the Enflora to the ground, struggling to get a good grip on the back of the pokemon's neck through all the leaves. The two others came up the rear and piled onto their prey with a similar fervor.
	"A problem often associated with carnivores is when their own prey manages to fight back," the narrator happily began while this poor Enflora struggled to break free. "Out here in these relentless wilds, even the slightest injury could incapacitate the mightiest pokemon. Those who hunt the safest will live to hunt the most. To most effectively incapacitate their targets, some predators use means such as venom, or even crafted tools. One of the easier ways to achieve this is to tire the prey out. Force it to use its remaining strength until it can no longer pose a threat."
	Once the pack leader finally got a good grip on the Enflora, everything seemed to go still. Though the grass type kicked and struggled, the three pokemon had successfully managed to pin it to the ground. Some suspenseful seconds passed, all up until the leader raised one of its feathered claws. In a gentle, almost tender fashion, it began to run its fingers over the Enflora's side. It seized up in an instant, twitching at even the lightest touch.
	"First, once they've subdued their prey, the Quetzatickle will begin to prod for weaknesses. Their deft fingers are adept at finding sensitive spots that their prey may be protecting. There's no use in trying to hide it--once captured, every square inch of the pokemon will be tested and tickled."
	The Enflora was having a great deal of trouble trying to stifle its laughter as the feathers got to its belly. Once the other two pack members started to feel around, however, the grass type quickly lost its composure. Frantic giggling filled the air as a flurry of soft sensations bombarded its senses, peeling back its concealing leaves and teasing the bare skin beneath. The leader continued to explore its lower torso while the others poked their fingers into places they shouldn't be.
	"More often than not, it's only a matter of time before the Quetzatickle have their way. Many species hadn't developed much defense against this tactic, and more often than not couldn't concentrate on escaping because of the over-stimulation. Once a sweet spot is found, it will be exploited endlessly until total exhaustion is reached."
	Right on cue, an adventurous set of fingers found its way up to the Enflora's chest. The pokemon squealed helplessly as a bouquet of feathers twirled around its breasts. It seemed so distressed to have its nipples exposed to the open air, but immediately fell into laughter once more as the Quetzatickle sawed into them. Not an inch of skin was safe from the onslaught. From the ticklish undersides of the fleshy mounds, to the spacious sides that connected right into the armpit, and all the way against the sternum between the breasts. With so much attention being directed towards one of its most private parts, the poor creature was in absolute agony.
	"The others are working to earn their meal, as well. Having mostly pinned the Enflora down with their body weight, these Quetzatickle have much more range of motion than their leader. Their explorations are twice as thorough, and just as unbearable."
	Since the breasts were already taken, one of the predators began to work on the vulnerable belly and sides of its pray. The Enflora's stomach jiggled with uncontrollable laughter, made even worse by the claws that came skittering across it. Rows of abdominal muscles tensed up with every stroke, squirming from side to side with no hope for relief, then arching upwards when the Quetzatickle's feathers traveled down its sides and started swiping across its lower back.
	The last Quetzatickle held the desperate, kicking legs of its prey still and got right to work exploring their lengths. While the pits of its knees got a favorable reaction, the most sensitive spot seemed to be the creature's inner thighs. Those intelligent eyes carefully scrutinized every slight movement as the Enflora struggled to clamp its hips onto the offending sensation. For as desperately as its quadriceps pulsed, there was nothing that could stop the horrible fluttering feeling that scraped up the deepest part of its thighs.
	"And now, the real struggle begins," the narrator began as the predators lowered their tails and toe claws over the Enflora's body. "The Quetzatickle will target the weakest points with their dexterous hands while using their other appendages for support. With so many points being attacked at once, there's absolutely no hope for the prey to grow desensitized to the tickling. If the pokemon isn't completely wrestled to the ground, or too many limbs were dedicated to the act, then Quetzatickle may grind their soft bodies against their meal in the hopes that their other feathers will have some effect. This usually isn't the case, as the species tends to travel in packs."
	Some sort of strange trance came over the Quetzatickle. Their fingers seemed to move autonomously into ticklish spots, but they themselves were almost completely still. The Enflora, on the other hand, was wiggling around for dear life with tears streaming down its face. Heavy, labored breathing was spaced in between laughing fits that lasted for seconds at a time. It seemed like every part of its body was under attack at once, and every single tendon beneath each feather was firing off in a vain attempt to get away.
	"It's out of steam now. As long as it keeps struggling, the Quetzatickle won't feel safe enough to finish it off, but there's only so much fight left in the Enflora's body. Once their prey has fallen unconscious, that's when-"
	The TV went dark. Everything went dark, actually. All the lights went out in the whole house. You forgot to pay the power bill you fucking dolt. You absolute buffoon. How could you have done this. Now you'll never get to see a tickle raptor snap something's neck after torturing it for half an hour. Good job.