Ruggie - It would be really funny doing eye fixation inductions with him. Classic following on a coin on a string he would be so locked in. He's so cute!! He would squirm and swat at the sensations but nothing makes them go away. (He likes it.) Giggles giggles giggles hes so cute. Also giving beastmen scent suggestions, they smell something sweet and it makes them laugh more!! Currently working on a fic with him and Jamil again 👀

Vil - Rook taking Vil down in trance, making him super super sensitive, then bringing him up and giving him a makeover! Vil Cannot stop twitching and giggling from the makeup brushes. Cannot sit still through a mani-pedi. Rook is just swimming in all his sounds and movements + he gets to touch all over that beautiful body! Hypnofreak Rook fans where are we?

Kalim - kaLEEm strikes again. He loves being tickled he does not care how. Finds realistic hypnosis fascinating. And then he laughs himself silly. He likes having his head empty to just fully enjoy it without feeling homesick.

Idia - this dude. shaking my head. listens to hypno tickle files (which i recently learned were a thing.) wants them to work sooo bad but he can only ever get a few pity giggles out of it. Inventor extraordinaire. Makes his own tickle machines, visors, programs, etc. He's such a looser. Just like me fr.

Ace - tsk tsk tsk ☝️ my guy loves to deny. "No, I'm not ticklish!" "(real)hypnosis? what a bunch of hoopla!" Confident FOOL! No one is falling for it bro 😭 Even an inexperienced hypnotist like Deuce could get him under. Everyone makes fun of him for weeeks after.

An incoherent guttural groan interrupted the scrolls rustling as the skeletal assistant placed a tray with a cup of elvenroot tea on the desk. Bitter swill, yet Emmrich favored it.

"Thank you, Manfred."

He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the ceiling, cup in hand. Thoughts tangled.

"Tell me, my friend... Do you think I shall miss the taste of fragrant tea once I'm transformed?"

"GRYAAKH!"

"I thought as much," Emmrich nodded, closing his eyes.

Just then, the door cracked.

"And what about my opinion? Care for that?" the radiance came from the doorway.

"Ah, Rook, why belabor the obvious?" Emmrich replied without opening his eyes, recognizing the familiar warmth in that voice. "Of course, I'll never again savor earthly delights. Such is the price of immortality."

"Still dreaming of turning into a Manfred-like mummy?"

Hearing this, the skeleton rattled sourly.

"Oh, my bad, Manfred. You are right." Rook walked over and, as if out of habit, the two began a quick game of patty-cake. "You’re far more lively and empathetic than the wretched thing your careless creator wants to become."

"A mummy? Don’t be ridiculous, Rook. As usual, you’re only looking at the surface."

"And you’re ignoring the other half. A heartless, wandering undead — that’s your future."

Emmrich let out a heavy sigh and took a sip of his tea.

"If that’s the cost of living forever... then so be it," the mage said quietly, setting the cup aside and returning to his reading with even sharper focus, his grim expression hardening.

Rook grew serious, ending his game with Manfred to approach and sit beside the mage. His hand came to rest comfortingly on Emmrich's shoulder.

"Why won't you give up on this idea?"

"You know why... We've had this discussion before. Many times."

Emmrich feared death. Deeply. Yet since meeting Rook, that terror had shifted poles — his dread of the end gradually being eclipsed by the horror of never again feeling his beloved's touch.

"I'll... be honest with you, Rook," Emmrich's voice almost remained steady, but the slightest tremor gave away his nerves. "Our time together has planted seeds of doubt in me. Perhaps I'm reaching beyond my grasp, trying to balance ambition with... you. I know it's impossible, but still..." The mage's eyes lifted to his companion's face, searching for understanding. "I stand at the precipice of a fateful decision. The outcome of my transformation could change lives of so many generations!"

Rook rolled their eyes at own naivety. Someone foolishly hoped that instead of the last phrase Emmrich might finally prioritize correctly and choose to spend his remaining days side by side with his beloved. "If you want my opinion, I'm still very much against your dehumanization.

Emmrich went still and gently moved Rook's hand off his shoulder.

"Would be foolish to expect any other answer."

Rook lowered their gaze, unwittingly landing it right on the scrolls filled with encrypted gibberish from so-called magical 'authorities' — who, in Rook's opinion, had simply lost their marbles after prolonged confinement in the Circle of Magi. Faintly understanding what any of it meant, they spoke just as faintly:

"You... will become someone entirely different, won’t you? Not the elegant gentleman who delights my eyes. But merely..." Rook trailed off, glancing at the observing them Manfred, who, catching attention on himself, tilted his head like a curious puppy.

The mage felt flattered, and his expression finally softened slightly.

"My dear, your imagination conjures scary things. Do not worry about it — when I become a lich, I shall ensure my appearance remains unchanged for you."

After a moment’s pause, the guest leaned in closer to their pompous companion. Silence settled between them once more. But then, with deliberate tenderness, one hand slipped behind Volkarin’s back in a half-embrace, while the other came to rest atop his unresisting palm.

"In the Anderfels, they used tickling to test if demons wore human skins…" Rook began insinuatingly, trailing a finger lightly along Emmrich’s palm. "A flinch betrays the life beneath the mask."

"Impressed by your cultural knowledge, but how does this pertain to our conversation?" Emmrich’s hand twitched, but he didn’t pull away to not hint at vulnerability. Still, after a few moments, he couldn’t help but yank it back.

"Well, you see..." the fingers of the embracing hand drummed rhythmically against Emmrich’s already fidgeting side, while the free one rested on the mage’s thigh, giving it a light squeeze. "I’ll need some way to figure out if you’ve become a soulless husk, since you insist on hiding this fact from me."

Emmrich started growing increasingly nervous, twitching from side to side while maintaining a stern expression.

"I don’t like where this is going-" he uttered with forced seriousness, though his voice trembled, struggling to suppress a very unserious reaction, "these… ha… methods are as crude as a child’s prank."

When Rook’s hands deftly shifted to full-scale warfare, tickling the vulnerable spots along his hip, the mage let out a startled gasp and leapt to his feet, spilling tea onto one of the chronicles.

"Rook! Don’t come closer," he exclaimed warningly and backpedaled blindly. "I’m too old for this kind of abuse!"

Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. Tickling was something he hadn’t experienced in decades, let alone physically endured on such short notice! Rook flashed a mischievous grin and stretched their hands forward, prompting Emmrich to retreat faster, only to bump his backside into something. Or someone.

"Good job, Manfred!" Rook cheered as the skeleton, with a playful rattle, seized his master from behind, cutting off all escape.

"Traitor! After all I gave you?" Emmrich glared at his undead assistant, but in the reflection of his emerald eyes he caught a glimpse of the blush on his own face, which unsettled him even more than the beginning of this nasty game itself.

No sooner had the man turned back than Rook’s nimble fingers started playing with his torso. Despite his tall, slender frame, Emmrich’s body was surprisingly soft and responsive, much like his personality.

At last, the room filled with a drawn-out, velvety laughter. The kind that made Rook's heart flutter. Typically, their beloved, though open with his affections, remained restrained in expressing them. Yet here was such vivid evidence written across his face. A thoroughly flushed face.

"Ah—hahaha! Merciful gods! Rook, please—my frail heart may not be able to take this!" Emmrich tried to appeal to pity, a tear flying out of the corner of his eye. Rook's fingers were so nimble and omnipresent that the man began to run out of breath in the first seconds of tickling.

"Emmrich, as usual you underestimate yourself," Rook chided with a hint of mock indignation, "at night your heart can withstand such strain that any healthy Qunari would envy".

Emmrich's laughter became whiny at such outrageous teasing. Of course, he had expected to encounter immaturity in tying his life to Rook, but he had not expected it to be so dangerous!

"You know, I've long realized that you're sensitive, but I had no idea that such an honorable necromancer could be so weak before tickling," Rook sincerely noted when Emmrich completely weakened, which was filtered through the mage's ears as merciless taunting.

Emmrich let out a mock groan of protest, his laughter only growing.

"You’re diabolical,” he managed to say between laughs. “Absolutely wicked!"

"Isn’t that why you love me?" Rook flirted in a low purr, tormenting Volkarin’s underarms.

The mage thrashed so violently that Manfred lost his grip and sidestepped, sending both victim and tormentor tumbling to the floor.

Rook hastily checked if the magister was hurt, but he in turn tried to serve as a safety cushion and grabbed Rook tighter, protecting them from falling. They exchanged a quick smile, before a breathless Emmrich received a featherlight kiss on his forehead.

"Enjoy this while you still can. When you become immortal, your body will never again know the luxury of touch."

Rook’s palm grazed their beloved’s cheek, and Volkarin’s gaze dipped downward, sinking into a pensiveness that darkened his no-longer-mirthful expression. Even without the pressure on his tactile triggers, he understood perfectly what he stood to lose, and his reaction served only to underscore how fiercely he clung to it. To Rook and their absurd antics that never failed to send waves of warmth and tremors coursing through the mage.

"My love," he began in a half-whisper, removing Rook's palm from his face and bringing it to his lips, "you're putting me in an ever more difficult position."

Emmrich lightly touched Rook's fingers with his lips, and the latter smiled: "I know."

"Now, knowing my weakness, do you promise that you will not torment me with tickling at every convenient opportunity if I remain mortal?"

"I cannot promise that," Rook playfully shrugged, which caused the lying man to feign a frown. Then they moved closer to his face, and their voice became languid: "But I can promise that in return I will find many more other, more interesting weaknesses on your body..."

"Ah... You're shameless!" Emmrich tried his best to fight the smile tugging his lips, but the blush that flared up again on his face compromised him even more.

The first time he attempted it, the books had fallen before he could even make one step. The second time, he barely made it two steps before he was scrambling to catch them before they all fell to the ground.

With more attempts came more annoyance. “This is stupid, why do I have to do this..” He grumbled to himself. Vil and Rook made eye contact, yet did nothing more. There was no way this actually helped with posture.

But after a few more attempts, he could see himself getting better with it. But then, he took one wrong step, and lost his balance. Epel groaned out loud. “This is impossible. No way anyone can do this!” Epel exclaimed, angrily, but toned it down after seeing the look on Vil’s face.

“You must not only stand with posture, but move with grace and steadiness. Your head must be lifted from the ground,” Vil said, placing books on top of his head, and easily walking towards the other side with no difficulties at all.

Epel breathed, still refusing to believe any of that was possible for someone other than Vil, grumbling as he tried again. This time, however, his balance was thrown off by an extern force.

He felt fingers jab at his sides and without turning his head, he could see the blonde of Rook’s hair. Oh no..

Fortunately, the books were still balanced at the top of his head, and he hoped to everything he could that that was a one-time thing.

Then, he felt a little scribble along his ribs, this time coming from the other direction. It must have been Vil this time…

“S-stop!” Epel cried, feeling the familiar blush spread across his face, something he always did when his ticklishness was used against him.

Tickling was nothing new to Epel. It was inevitable afterall, being the youngest in his family (and in his small town). His grandparents and parents knew of his sensitivity, and much to his disdain, loved to exploit it as much as possible.

Unfortunately for him, the tickling didn’t end once he came to NRC. It had for a while, but once Rook, because of course why wouldn’t Rook find out, learned he was ticklish, it had become a bit of a recurring thing. Even more-so when Rook revealed this fact to Vil.

It was awful. Whenever he cursed, accident or not, he’d get tickled. When he misbehaved, he’d get tickled. Basically anything that wasn’t Pomefiore behavior, those torturous fingers would come down to his sensitive spots. It was embarrassing, especially after jumping so many times when his friends or Rook and Vil would put their hands anywhere near him just out of reflex.

And now… was it because of his grumbling complaints? Was this their revenge against him? Of course it was. Epel knew them well enough to know that that was exactly what it was.

Still, he moved forward, books evenly stacked on his head, as he took a small step forward. He managed a few more steps before there were full on fingers tickling his sides.

“Geheheh?!” Epel squealed, bending his torso as his hands reflexively reached towards the ones at his waist. With that quick shift in movement and his head no longer being lifted, the books all fell, meeting the floor with a loud thump.

For a moment, it was so silent you could hear a pin drop. Then, a moment later, Vil’s tongue clicked.

“It seems that no matter what, you cannot complete this lesson,” Vil sighed, sounding resigned. Epel’s eyes widened.

“W-what?! That wasn’t my fault—“

“Save it. I think a punishment is in order, don’t you agree?” Vil interrupted, looking towards the vice-housewarden, who had nodded.

“Oui!” And with one fluid motion, Rook’s arms were hooked under Epel’s with his brutish strength. No matter how much Epel had struggled in his grasp, it was useless. Epel knew what was coming.

“No! Wait! W-wahahaait!” Epel cried, as Vil tickled him, calculated and slow, yet effective all the same.

“Endure your punishment. Perhaps, after we are finished, you will be motivated enough to succeed this simple lesson.”

“S-sihihimple?! It’s ihihimpossible!” Epel laughed loudly, trying hard not to kick Vil. The punishment would surely be much worse if that were to happen.

Vil sighed again. “It is this mentality that always lands you in positions like this, Epel.”

“You really must like this, Monsieur Pommette, to be defying Vil so often!” Rook hummed. Epel looked at him, aghast.

“N-no wahahahay! That’s nohohot true! Lehehehet mehehehe go!” Epel giggled as Vil’s hands traced around his stomach. Even Rook had been scribbling across Epel’s neck and ears, being that they were the only places he could reach as he held Epel’s arms back.

“Hm? Is that what it is?” Epel wanted to die so badly that Vil played along. There was no way he liked this!!

…Right?

And yet, with the tingly sensations traveling over his body, unrelentling and absolutely torturous, he found himself not minding it all that much.

Apparently, his lack of response seemed to confirm it. Epel was always a talkative person when being tickled, even if beside himself with laughter.

“Hm,” Vil hummed. Epel scrunched his neck when Rook found a specific spot on his neck right below his ears, his laughter increasing slightly.

“S-stohohop, plehehehease!” Epel squeaked, as Vil continued to knead around his hips and his sides, spots that had always been bad for Epel. He hated that he didn’t know if there was anywhere he wasn’t ticklish.

Seconds later of him asking for mercy did Vil finally respond. “Will you try harder? You will be able to correct your posture this time.”

“Yehehehes! Yehehes! Ohohokay!” Epel exclaimed, his stomach beginning to hurt from all the laughter. Vil was so mean, he could never get used to it.

“I believe he is telling the truth, Vil,” Rook said, and with another hum, the two of them stop their ticklish attack, leaving Epel slumped on the floor, trying to catch his breath.

After he felt he could breathe normally, he stood up, placing the books on his head. He can do this. He can do this.

He took a step, then another one, the books still stacked neatly on his head. However, after a few more steps, he must’ve accidentally tilted his head, because again, he scrambled to catch the books before they fell to the ground.

Freezing, he heard another click of Vil’s tongue, and he turned slowly.

“It can’t be helped, then,” Vil crossed his arms before Epel felt himself in a familiar fate, much like the one he was in minutes before.

“N-nohoho, wahahahait! I’m sohohohorry!!”

It seemed Epel needed a bit more motivation to reach the other side. This was going to take forever, was his last coherent thought before he dissolved into more laughter