Ticklish Cosmic Horror

“It looks like you’ve got that handled, Fearne,” Imogen snickers, turning back to her book. After a few more seconds, Ashton lets up. Fearne clops over, taking out the good reading light with her shadow. 

“Imogen?” Fearne tilts her head. “Would you try something with me?”

“Uhm, depends on what we’re talkin’ about?” Imogen looks up.

“Just an experiment involving your--” Fearne waves her hands around her head and makes a ‘woo-woo’ sound. Imogen stifles a snort. 

“If you tell me what we’re doin’, then sure. We’ve got a bit of time to kill.” Imogen shuts her book and stows it with the rest of her belongings. 

“Oooh, that’s the thing. It will be so much more fun if it’s a surprise.” Fearne rocks on her hooves, her dress swaying around her. Imogen bites her lip. She trusts Fearne. She doesn’t, but she does. Fearne would lay down her life for her, as would any of them, but Fearne would also nick things she shouldn’t from any open pockets. 

Fearne suddenly drops to sit next to Imogen, her dress poofing up around her. A circle of small wildflowers blooms around her. 

“I would never lead you astray,” Fearne says seriously, taking Imogen’s hand in her own. “Not on purpose.”

Imogen regards her for a while, considers the low hum of others’ thoughts in her mind. Today’s a good day. Not much internal noise, just the noise she’s come to grow used to. It would be nice to preserve that--quiet is a rare privilege, after all. But Fearne is…very persuasive in her suggestive leaning and fluttering lashes. 

“Fine. But only for a couple minutes.” Imogen sighs, closing her eyes. Fearne’s mind bubbles up against her own, jubilant and warm. Imogen presses further and they both shiver. Like a hook catching, they link, and thoughts pass from Fearne to Imogen easy as a sigh. Not the other way around, those walls rarely come down, but this…this will do. Enough to entertain a Fey. 

Fearne beams.

“Of course. Juuust a couple of minutes.” Fearne pats Imogen’s hand. Mischief flares off of Fearne, circling the two of them. Imogen’s lips twitch in amusement. 

“I can feel you scheming.” Imogen quirks an eyebrow. Fearne heaves a great big offended sigh, but love floods between them like sunbeams. 

“I’ve never done anything wrong in my life,” Fearne hums, taking out a red coin purse and rifling through it. Imogen furrows her brow. Fearne’s coin purse is a velvety green, not red--

“Where the fuck is my--Fearne!” Ashton’s voice carries easily and so does their fondness. Fearne giggles and winks conspiratorially at Imogen before hiding the coin purse among her things. By the time Ashton stomps over, Fearne’s reclined against the flowers like the subject of a romantic painting. 

“You’re somethin’ else, y’know that? Where’s my fuckin’ gold?” Ashton puts their hands on their hips. 

“I dunno, where’d you leave it?” Fearne blinks at them innocently. They stare at each other intently. Fearne’s poker face is excellent, but her mind is doing grabby hands at Ashton. Imogen bites her lip to hide her smile. 

Ashton unceremoniously drops into Fearne’s lap and starts tickling anywhere he can reach. Fearne squeals, a great resounding yes! Ricocheting through her mind and into Imogen’s. Fearne dissolves into airy giggles, grabbing at everything in reach except Ashton. 

“C-Can you--Ahashton, wait--can you feel me getting tickled, Imogen?”

Imogen’s a little more focused on trying not to explode. She’s curled into herself as far as she can, eyes winched shut with effort. The more she thinks about the crawling little sparks bursting all across her torso, the more she feels the warm, solid weight of Ashton’s hands where they shouldn’t be. She tries not to think about it, but Fearne’s thoughts only seem to get louder. 

“Well, that’s interesting.” Ashton grins, pinching experimentally at Fearne’s side. Imogen jolts with a squeak. She glares at Ashton. They grin back.

“Alright, Fearne. You’ve had your fun--” Imogen huffs, starting to reel her mind back in. 

Ticklish starbursts flare along Imogen’s sides and she crumples. It’s not even--she’s not that ticklish, not really, but if Fearne thinks it tickles, then it becomes her reality. Fearne’s so tactile, too. Most of her thoughts are a jumbled mess, but she’s incredibly hyperfixated on sensation. When Ashton pokes or scribbles just so, it echoes through Fearne’s mind in a silly little feedback loop, even after he’s stopped. 

Imogen has half a mind to accuse Fearne of thinking this way on purpose, making it worse like the sneaky Fey she is, but a garbled stream of ‘please’ and ‘tickles’ immediately disprove that theory. Soon, it’s hard to determine whose thoughts are whose amid the tumbling giddy panic from both of them. 

Imogen has a terrifying realization about the power Fearne could wield with merely her thoughts. She thanks her lucky stars that this connection doesn’t go both ways.

Ashton’s hands get under Fearne’s arms and Imogen shouts, her laughter finally breaking free of her control. She flops around in the grass and downright cackles, clamping her arms tightly to her sides.  She can feel the solid weight of their hands playing with her top rib. The gentle grating of sun-warm stone is absolutely insufferable.

“You okay over there, Blue?”

Oh, fuck them. She’s not even blue anymore.

“I know you’re not blue, dumbass.” Ashton chuckles, then their gaze snaps down to the Fey attempting to squirm away. “Stop moving.” 

Imogen feels Fearne go breathless. And smirk.

“Fearne, don’t you dare!” Imogen shouts at her, clutching an arm to her torso. Fearne turns towards her, her hair cascading in pretty waves, and winks. 

“Make me.” Fearne crosses her arms behind her head. Ashton smirks. They hover their fingers just above Fearne’s armpits, making her shiver with anticipatory giggles she doesn’t bother to hide. 

Imogen catches the quiet mental ‘gotcha’ just a bit too late.

Ashton grips Fearne’s thigh and starts squeezing into the muscle. Fearne and Imogen shriek at equal volume, sending birds scattering out of the trees a little ways away. Fearne jackknifes into Ashton and wiggles from side to side, curled into their shoulder. Imogen drums her fists and heels into the ground. She’s already ticklish there, she doesn’t need help being ticklish there--

“Aw, fuck. Don’t die over there.” Ashton laughs, switching to doing this infuriating little pinchy thing all along Fearne’s stomach. Imogen screeches in harmony with Fearne. Apparently Fearne really likes this, despite the frantic little zings of ‘bad spot’ zipping through her mind, because she keeps thinking about it. Even as it happens. Imogen tries to get her bearings enough to communicate with Ashton, or maybe just beg for her life, but everything’s a bit staticky.

Tickles! Is what she manages in their general direction, wheezing up a storm. Through blurry eyes, she sees Ashton physically double over for a second. She mourns not hearing their laugh, but the little indignant huff sent mentally her way is more than enough. 

“You’re contagious. Good to know.” Ashton narrows his eyes in Imogen’s direction, tickling up Fearne’s sides instead. Imogen would heave a sigh of relief, but she can hardly breathe for laughing.

“Aww. You should laugh more.” Fearne’s voice drifts through Imogen’s brain. If she could remember which way was up, she’d point an accusatory finger. She instead settles for hurling a flustered mass of feeling back towards Fearne. Ashton pinches right at the curve of her waist and Imogen, regrettably, snorts.

“A-Ashton, do that again!” Fearne giggles brightly. 

“You are in no position to be making demands.” Yet they do as they’re told, mysteriously, hooking their fingers right into where Fearne is soft and solid. Another snort tumbles out of Imogen, then another. She can feel Fearne’s amusement lingering around the corners of her brain, like a child eavesdropping on an adjacent room.

“Cute.” Like a kiss to the forehead, it blooms in her mind. Imogen’s face burns. 

Imogen feels Laudna before she sees her, as always, her presence clear among the fuzzy collision of minds. She blinks her big eyes down at Imogen before collapsing into the grass like a puppet free of strings. 

“Imogen? Oh--” She scoops Imogen’s head into her lap. Imogen turns towards Laudna’s stomach to hide, but she tuts and turns her back. 

“I never knew you were this ticklish.” Laudna turns her head a little too far to the side to observe. Imogen makes a high-pitched noise and waves her hands around. Laudna grins and pokes her, just once. 

“I’m nohot!” Imogen buries her face in her hands again. Fearne giggles as if her life depends on it, but she does it in her head too. It would be exceptionally adorable if Imogen wasn’t wracked with those very same giggles, intent on dissolving into the earth.

“Imogen.” Laudna says her name like a prayer. “Look.”

Imogen peeks through her fingers. Around her, stones and leaves and flower petals float in lazy patterns. When she shivers her way through another laugh, so do they. She hides again with a squeak. 

“You really are incredible.” Laudna beams. Imogen whines and curls up more. Laudna laughs at her, carding spindly fingers through her hair. Hiccups start to pepper her laughter as she finds her limit. 

As Laudna holds her, Imogen finds herself once again. The walls come back up. Looking over at Fearne, though, still giggling in the grass, her heart flutters. Orym’s looming over her with more mischief than Imogen’s ever really seen from him. Without even meaning to she feels the giddy flare of playfulness that rockets off of Fearne.

“Did you have fun?” Laudna curls a lock of Imogen’s hair around her finger. Imogen squints up at her. She’s tired in her bones, in her brain, but she’s buzzing. It’s nice. 

“Yeah. I think I did.” Imogen grins, reaching up to tweak Laudna’s nose. Laudna skitters her fingers under the straps of her utility holster, hooking ever-so-gently into her stomach, and Imogen snickers. 

“T-These guys are rubbing off on you,” Imogen chides. Her nose scrunches as she giggles, fighting the urge to once again hide in her hands. Her entire being shivers, but she doesn’t resist.